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Message-ID: <29089asstr$983110203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "Hecate" <hecate1@bigfoot.com>
From: "Hecate" <hecate1@bigfoot.com>
Subject: {ASSM} <2ndS> The Server by {Joe} (MF, voy, job)
Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2001 09:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "The Server by  {Joe}.txt" begin>

The Server
   
        "'Ere! Don't bother trying to
   log in - the server's down this
   morning!"
        "Damn", I thought tetchily, "I
   knew getting out of bed this
   morning was a mistake." Out of
   habit I reached down to my PC's
   power button. I stopped myself
   before touching it. Glancing
   around, my eyes settled upon my
   expenses claim. After adding a
   final hurried signature I turned
   round with a flourish and headed
   for the door. "Is the copier down
   too? I don't suppose it's national
   `fix-the-office-equipment' day
   today, is it?"
        "No," the voice called as I
   opened the door, "but Carol's using
   it."
        "Damn!" I thought once more.
   "Carol eh? That's ok, I'm sure she
   won't mind letting me slip my
   little thing in between her
   sheets."
        I rather liked Carol. She was
   fun, but not in a `lets go and get
   ratted and shout at passers by'
   sort of way. She'd left that behind
   just a year or so before. She was
   the one who came and sat and talked
   to me at the Christmas Party as I
   sipped my third orange juice. She'd
   joined the company a year or so
   before me. Always efficient, and
   always smiling, even when she
   hassled me for my timesheets, which
   she did often. Some said I
   deliberately `forgot' to do them
   just so that she'd have to chase me
   up,. They weren't right, though
   they could have been. She was to be
   married soon, I didn't whom the guy
   was, but he was certainly lucky, no
   doubt he'd be able to name the soft
   hint of fragrance that she always
   carried about her. No doubt he'd
   know the effervescent thoughts that
   swirled behind her liquid eyes.
        I smiled as I approached the
   photocopier. She was there. Beyond
   her, the door of the server room
   stood firmly locked.
        "Do you mind if I slip one
   in?"
        "If I weren't getting married
   I'd think you were flirting with
   me!"
        I waved my expense claim form.
   She smiled back, half-laughing, and
   pressed the interrupt button. The
   copier stopped its rhythmical shish-
   stick and, with a final whimpering
   whirr calmed its self. Carol held
   out her hand to me.
        "Its ok, I can do it."
        "No, I'll do it for you. If
   you do it you'll mess up my piles,"
   she said with a laugh. "Come on,
   hand it over!"
        Her warm scent melded
   bizarrely with the strident rasp of
   ozone. I did as she asked. Turning
   the single sheet over she placed it
   in the feeder. With an indelicate
   thrust of her finger she sent it
   chasing into the machinery.
        "Do you know when the
   server'll be up?" I asked feigning
   innocence.
        She laughed
        "Soon," she said, trying to
   restrain herself, "very soon."
        "What happened?"
        "I don't know. It was down
   when I got her this morning."
        "Wasn't it supposed to be
   doing a back-up last night?" I
   asked, hoping to appear
   professional.
        "Yes, I think it was."
        I walked to the door and
   peered thorough the small square
   wired-glass window. There, to the
   side of the comms patch-panel, sat
   the server. Such a small thing for
   a company to rely on I thought.
        "Is the server man coming?"
        Carol burst out laughing, her
   laugh barely rising above the
   steady rhythm of the copier as over
   and over it slew paper out.
        "What's so funny?"
        She gave no answer, and
   handing me my now copied claim,
   waved me away. Shaking my head I
   walked off, leaving Carol to her
   laughter.
        I was sitting at my desk,
   looking blankly at my dead PC
   screen, sipping a coffee when the
   shout went up.
        "Carol! The Server's here!"
        "Funny..." I thought. I put down
   my cup and walked towards the door.
   Before I reached Carol bustled
   past, ignoring me. She let the door
   swing shut in my face.
        "Thanks!" I called. Turning
   away I went to the nearby admin
   office. "She's a bit keen isn't
   she."
        "Yes, she is," blushed one of
   her colleagues.
        "So what's the deal? Is she
   THAT keen to receive her e-mail?"
        "No, she's keen to see The
   Server."
        The tone of voice told me that
   all was not what it seemed.
        "Yes," added another hushed
   voice from a mouth lowered as if to
   hide what it said, "I'd be that
   keen to receive The Server's mail
   anytime."
        "Is it me or is something
   going on here?! What's all this
   about the server?"
        "No, not the server. The
   Server..."
        "What?"
        "No, no what: who!"
        "The server's a who?"
        "Yup. He certainly is."
        I was confused. It showed.
        "Don't tease the poor boy! The
   IT guy who comes to fix the server
   -everyone calls him The Server."
   In a land with relatively few names
   it was common for people to be
   known by their profession - Dai the
   Bread, Jones the Coal. It was only
   a matter of time, I supposed, that
   the concept should be brought up to
   date: Stu the Satellite Dish and
   Dave the Server. Then again, my
   upbringing betrayed me as images of
   a white cotter-clad, candle
   carrying youth setting up RAID
   controllers sprang into my mind. I
   shrugged it off and left shaking my
   head as I returned to my desk. All
   that did not explain why Carol was
   so eager to meet this `Server' guy.
        I considered eating something
   from my lunch as the following
   minutes crept by. Everything, every
   part of my working life revolved
   around that hidden machine, the
   server. The sooner it was up, the
   sooner I could get on, but it
   wasn't sooner at all. It was to be
   nearly an hour before `The Server',
   stuck his head around the door and
   announced that the server was up
   and running. He didn't say what had
   happened, just that it was now
   running. I switched on my PC and,
   after yet another age for the thing
   to boot, I logged on. Life had
   returned to normal.
         I printed off something to
   send to a supplier. When I got to
   the printer to collect it I
   remembered that I needed another
   copy for myself. I could have gone
   back and printed another off, but
   thinking Carol might still be at
   the copier, I decided to take a
   photocopy.
        Even as I left the office I
   knew the copier was not busy. When
   I reached it, it stood silent, its
   work done, its products stacked
   neatly in the trays of the
   collator. The original lay face
   down, a half-inch thick wad of
   paper, in the collector. Carol was
   not there. Unlike others she didn't
   smoke, so couldn't be outside in
   the miserable drizzle grabbing a
   quick drag. I'd not seen her come
   back into the office either. It was
   not like her to leave work lying
   around like that. I checked to see
   that it was here work. Yes, it was
   the same document I'd seen her
   copying earlier.
        Then I heard her name. At
   least I thought I heard her name
   there, somewhere in the background.
   It was far off. no, it was close,
   but quiet. Then I heard the server
   room door tap in its frame. I went
   to the door and looked in through
   its small window. I was nothing, it
   was dark, blocked by something. The
   door knocked again, louder this
   time, banging hard. I heard a
   muffled cry and the door shook. I
   heard her name again, repeated this
   time: "O Carol, O Carol." The door
   thumped again, I started, pulling
   back in surprise. The window
   suddenly lightened as whatever had
   been covering was dragged away. I
   stared, transfixed by what I saw.
   Bodies, intertwined and upright.
   Legs around legs, arms holding
   thighs high, buttocks, hair and
   thrusting. A face, a woman's face,
   her face, Carol's face, eyes tight
   shut, lips open and gasping, chin
   and cheeks on the other's shoulder.
   The buttocks pumped at her body, a
   man's hands clasped under her bare,
   stretched thighs, holding her up
   against the white wall. Her dark
   hair fell over another's head,
   covering it. In, in, in. Over and
   over she was thrust into the wall.
   Her voice began to flood the tiny
   room with cries barely audible
   through the thick fire door. I
   could imagine her driving aroma,
   every bit as hard as the pounding
   her hips were taking, filling the
   room and my head.
        She saw me. Her eyes opened
   and she saw me, our eye met, each
   staring into the other. I could not
   believe she was doing what she was
   doing, and I hoped she could not
   believe I was there, watching.
        Abruptly the buttocks rhythm
   changed. In three sharp upward
   movements they forced her higher up
   the wall. Then, pinning her hard
   against the wall they stilled,
   shaking and rippling. They jolted
   twice, then were still.
        I heard someone approaching.
   Instinctively I turned away from
   the scene in the server room and
   thrust a few of the sheets back
   into the copier and hit the go
   button. The copier drowned the few
   passionate moans that filtered
   through the server room door. The
   person walked by. My heart pounded
   with fear and guilt.
        I could not help myself but go
   back to the door when they were
   gone. I saw the buttocks swing back
   from her well-pounded hips. I saw a
   few milky drops slip from her hair-
   darkened cleft before the hands
   released her quivering thighs. I
   saw the buttocks be replaced by a
   head. I saw her stand before it,
   her ribcage rising and falling
   heavily, her nipples pouting
   prominently. I couldn't help but
   watch; I couldn't help it. And she
   couldn't help but stare back, open-
   eyed but unseeing, all absorbed by
   the feelings, welling up, flowing
   through and coming over her. I
   longed to be in there with her,
   sharing her thoughts, feeling what
   she felt. The head that gave her
   those feelings thought different.
   When it saw me I fled.
        The following day I arrived as
   normally as I could. Carol came up
   to me as I switched on my PC. She
   said nothing, though surprisingly
   she didn't try to avoid my gaze.
   She handed me an envelope. I put it
   in my pocket, not daring to open it
   for days. That Sunday I eventually
   did. It was a wedding invitation,
   her wedding.
        I went. It was an interesting
   affair, as interesting as they can
   be when you hardly know anyone. The
   groom was a nice enough guy, even
   though I'd never met him either.
   All through the service I wondered.
   I wondered what epithet they'd have
   given him, `John the Writ' perhaps.
   Later I learned that they had
   indeed updated those names, they'd
   have called the IT guy `Dave the
   Goat'. Funny that, I never did see
   him at that wedding....
   
   Joseph Lawrence, copyright 2001
        

<1st attachment end>


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