Legacy
(published in Legacy & other short fiction (chapbook) - November 1999)

I once had an affair with a hacker. We'd brew a couple pots of coffee, grab a half dozen cans of Jolt Cola and lock ourselves in his bedroom to discuss social engineering and the politics of technology. We'd toy with the computer, banter about our first experiences with code and debate about how many years we expected it to be before we'd be able to interface with our machines directly via neuro-electrical implants in our skulls.

As the nights wore on and we got progressively higher from the caffeine, he would begin to brag about the computer systems he'd compromised and the pranks he'd played. The more he would brag, the hotter the flesh between my thighs would get. I have a weakness for men who can have their way with technology. Nothing is a bigger turn-on than a rebel with a brain. I was small potatoes compared to him, all my risks were carefully calculated but he never judged me on that at least not publicly. I might not have broken the law as many times but I could certainly talk up a storm. He never questioned anything I said.

We wouldn't start fucking until our throats were raw from the heated debates and our fingers were stiff and numb from caressing the keyboards. We wouldn't start fucking until dawn was threatening to creep up on the earth. Even then it was the best sex I've ever had, he worked my body like he worked the code. He would penetrate my systems until I was little more than a shaking, satiated, naked figure tangled in his sheets. I would doze for fifteen or twenty minutes there, just until he had fallen asleep then I would dress and return home to my husband and my job.

Those were the six coffee days, the ones at work after a night with the hacker. Those were the days when I would empty six cups before noon. They were physically tough but my mind always felt like a well-oiled cog.

I can't say how long this behaviour continued. One day the FBI showed up at my office and arrested me. I should have felt humiliated at being led away in handcuffs in front of all my co-workers but I wasn't. I was proud. I was about to become what none of them ever would: a legend. I got implicated as an accessory, his neighbours had described a woman who spent a lot of late nights at his apartment and my name turned up on his computer several times. They didn't have enough evidence to charge me formally but I think they thought they could scare me into testifying against him.

"Why did you do it?" They would ask me during interrogation.

"Why would I do what?"

"Why would you be with someone who has a past history of computer crime? You work in the computer business surely you know how dangerous it is consorting with this type of predator."

I laugh, "What can I say, I like to fuck the bad boys."

That's the most I would say. I could tell they wanted to get me to say something damning, something that would hold up in court. They wanted DETAILS and I gave them all the details about how the sex was, I just didn't give them the information they wanted. I insisted I know nothing of his recent activities outside of bed. I don't think they believed me but eventually the questions ended.

They held me custody for two more days trying to scare the truth out of me. I remained silent and finally they released me. I didn't testify at the trial but I did watch from the back row of the courtroom. I had a difficult time following the proceeding especially when my lover was on the stand. Everytime he would say anything technical I began to feel a little wet between my legs and found myself imagining what it would be like to screw in the jury box or on the judge's desk. The trial lasted for two weeks, the prosecution introduced so much indisputable evidence that you could almost see the defeat on the faces of the defence team before the jury was even sent to deliberate.

The trial was covered by a largely unsympathetic media. I became known in the newspapers as The Mistress. I guess it could have been worse. My husband left me two days before the verdict was announced. The verdict was as expected and my lover was sentenced to eight years in prison. He looked me in the eye as he was led out of the courtroom into the awaiting van. His eyes asked the same question as mine did, 'what would it be like to fuck in prison?' This was something we would never find out, at least not together.

Three weeks after his lockup I found out I was pregnant. We kept our love affair going through letters and our imaginations. He wrote me by hand and I replied in type as if I were writing an email. This granted us the illusion of his merely being away not seperated by impenetrable bars and concrete. I sent him pictures of the baby, he remarked on his clear eyes and perfect hands, a sign of intelligence he called it.

We continue our relationship like this undaunted. If he truly hacked the systems the courts claimed he did, then he has got a secret stash of money somewhere. They never did find the money. They could prove he compromised the security of those places but they could never prove he took the money, but I know he did, I can tell by the cocky way he forms his letters when he writes me.

When my son turned four I bought him his first computer, a top of the line model, a real dream machine. I signed his birthday card, Happy Birthday, sweetie. Make Daddy proud. Love Mom.

© 1999 monica s. kuebler

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