Professor Masamichi Fujisawa opened up his mail account. It had been a difficult morning and he was already on his third smoke. He personally wanted to choke several of his assistants and T.A's after the debacle with the A.I. core. The damn thing was now obsessed with serving the needs of his lead assistant. He leaned back and took another drag off his cigarette as the mail system authenticated his password. A small chuckle came from his lips as he looked at the messages.
He mumbled to him self, “No Miz is perfectly content with the size of my penis.” He promptly deleted the message.
The message popped up and he mumbled to him self, “Doubt Miz would go for double penetration.” Another swift click of the delete button.
This message was slightly more relevant yet he started to type, “Sorry Stan, I cannot grant an extension by mail please come to my office hours tomorrow or see me after class with the work you have completed. I remind you the paper was do two weeks ago.”
A click of the send button sent hope and despair racing towards the undergraduate.
Fujisawa read the next message and cocked his head to the side, “Maybe, a few cup or two. Ah she'd kill me if I brought it up. Probably keep me sober for a month too.” He quickly hit the delete button.
He mused to him self out loud, “Jeeze, now that is just mean.”
He clicked on the offending message from an alleged Nanami Jinnai. It wouldn't be the first time a student had risen from the dead and joined the vast zombie horde of spammers. He hesitated to delete the offensive message part of him really wanted her to be alive. However, the professor in him knew better. He warned her when those head hunters came looking; graduate students like her just didn't get offers like that. Well they did but, the offers weren't because she was talented. It was because she was isolated and easy to manipulate. Any head-hunter worth their salt could see it in her. A dead brother, distant family at best and a slew of other flags both in public and less than private records set her up perfectly to disappear into some mega-corp lab. He'd seen plenty of good kids disappear just trying to pay off a their student loans.
With a sigh he clicked the message open. Then slid open the drawer by his left foot. The message took a while to load it really didn't matter to him at this point. The bottle rested easily in his hand as he unscrewed the lid. His eyes glossed over the message. Vague details on her past, a name dropped from her college records. He nodded at that detail; it was a nice touch and to finish and lead to the plea for money. Wait, he reread the message. No plea for money or invitations to a black balled planet or outpost. A massive encrypted file rested in the attached items list. He took one look at the size and whistled, several hundred gigs of compressed data. He eyed the file you could hide one hell of a virus in a file that big. His curiosity was peaked now and he checked the transmission data. A quick search on Ceti Alpha Seven turned up mostly nothing. Kessler Amalgamated Minerals made a few of the superconductive ceramics in the current project removing them from the shady competitor list. In fact they were a clean company by most standards. Well, as clean as a company in that line of work would get. Mining, minerals and prospecting were never a pretty business. He laughed to himself, four hundred years and spam had come along way.
He slowly took a hit from the bottle of Jack Danial's and started to type, “Nanami, good to hear from you. You would be surprised how often I hear from your brother. His research on Harvest is going well. He wrote the most moving obituary for you. I'm surprised you remembered Xavier's lecture you were always seemed to lean more towards Professor Eisenhardt's philosophy.”
He paused and considered his words how would he get her to respond if it was her, “Miz sends her best, even if she is still holding a grudge over the water treatment experiment.”
A small hand came across the back of the professors head, “Don't you dare send that.”
“Bah, I'm just messing with them.” He took another drink from the bottle, “It's a damn shitty thing those leaches do to grieving people.” He clicked the send button on the half finished message.
Miz swatted him on the back of the head, “Nothing good is going to come from that. The techs are going to be breathing down your neck for replying to spam like that.”
(Posted Tue, 16 Feb 2010 05:58)
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