“Of course,” Emily agrees, echoed by her husband. “And I would like to read your dissertation as it develops, if you don’t mind.”
Magnus shrugs. “I’ll share the document with you. Your insight would be valuable.” To me he explains, “My mother is a world renowned feminist sociologist and social psychologist.”
I didn’t know that. “Is that why you’ve chosen to market to women?”
Magnus pauses like it might not have occurred to him that his mother could influence his choices. “That is likely,” he decides and laughs. “I didn’t consider the influence you might’ve had on my decisions when I was coming up with this idea,” he admits to his mother.
She chuckles softly. “Well, I don’t mind being a good influence on you.”
Magnus Sr. beams at her. “You are an excellent influence on all the men in your life,” he says, leaning over to buss her cheek.
I honestly can’t imagine how anyone could give up their kid to academia, but I can admit that my inability to understand their motives doesn’t mean they don’t love their son. I thought they would be more antagonistic about our work, but they’re supportive and interested. I can’t say my parents would be the same, but I’m also fairly sure my dad at least is going to struggle with the idea of me dating another man. I know they love me, but the unreserved support Magnus’s parents have for him isn’t something my parents would give me.
That’s going to be Future Trent’s problem. Current Trent is going to enjoy sushi and sake and the people who might eventually become his future in-laws if things with Magnus progress how I expect them to, and isn’t that an interesting thought: these could be my future in-laws.
Chapter 20
Magnus
I fellinto bed as soon as Trent and I got back from dinner with my parents and forgot to charge my phone, which is why I’m currently running late to class. If Trent didn’t have a morning class before this one, he would have known to wake me since he knows my schedule. Alas, he has a class before mine, so I’m tardy.
Rushing, I make it through the classroom door only a minute late and wave at everyone in their seats as I dump my backpack onto the table. “Apologies, class, I forgot to charge my phone last night, so I didn’t have any alarms going off this morning. I have all of your papers graded, so why don’t you come get them while I set up my laptop?”
I set all their papers in two piles on the table and pull out my laptop while they descend to retrieve their work. The laptop connects to the bluetooth projector, and I open up the presentation I’ve prepared for today. This is one of two sociology courses I teach, a second year contemporary theory course that I enjoy. The other course is classical theory, and the two compliment each other. I mostly have overlapping students, which means that ninety percent of this class will also be in myother one where I’ll be giving them the papers they wrote for that class.
A gasp from beside me has me glancing over, but the girl with her hand over her mouth isn’t looking at her grade; she’s looking at the projector. A wave of stillness falls over my students, and I follow their gaze to the projector where the fake image of me with a face full of spunk is on-screen with the AI generated image of Chancellor Mustafa.
I immediately cover the projector with my hand and turn it off, looking around the room at my students. I study every face and reaction, looking for the perpetrator who put that image on the projector. “That bad AI generation job is not on my computer. I don’t know who put that image up, but I’m going to find the person, and this will not happen again. It is not appropriate for porn photos to appear in our classes, and I promise I’m going to make sure the person who did this regrets getting caught.” I have to say that just in case it’s one of my own students. “Since we seem to be having issues with the technology today, I will be posting the presentation to the class folder now, and anyone with access can follow along on their own device while I lecture. Any questions?”
Silence greets me, and I wave back to the papers still left unclaimed. “Get your work and get back to your seats. We will be going fast today since I have to use the whiteboard more than usual.”
With that, the class gets back into action. I know there is going to be at least one complaint about what just happened, but I get ahead of the incident by sending an email to Mehcad and the dean of the sociology college, Dr. Heimus, before I start the class. I post the presentation to the class folder and then get the lecture started. By the time class is over, I have two emails waiting for me in my inbox, one from each man, and a time to meet with them to address the issue.
As the students exit, I digitally break into the projector to find out what device connected to it at the same time as mine, and to no one’s surprise, the bluetooth connected device was a phone. I save the phone number to my notes and pack up. Time to trace this fucker back to his point of origin. Or her. I’m not disqualifying women from being weird and creepy.
I don’t have any classes for three hours, and since I always use the time to work on whatever is most pressing, I sit outside on the steps down from the building and open my laptop. I never felt the need to pursue computer science and technology classes because the information is so easily accessible without a university, but software was my first love, and sending the phone number a link is only the first step.
I take a selfie with a wide smile and imbed some homebrew spyware in it. If the person clicks the pic, I’ll have them as long as they’re using a compatible device. I send it as a message to the phone number and cross my fingers:
Me:Try harder; you’re up against a genius, and I guarantee you’re not as smart as me.
It’s taunting but likely true, too. I’m not going to say I’m smarter than everyone else on campus, that would be a ridiculous claim, but I am going to say that it’s unlikely the person stalking me and Trent is better at this than I am. Connecting to a bluetooth device is nothing compared to starting congressional hearings because of an email hack. Not that I’d ever admit to having done that. That would be criminal and the height of stupidity to cop to.
As soon as the person clicks on my picture, the software downloads, which tells me they’re not good at protecting their android device from people like me. I’m not going to be mad about that.
Unknown:I don’t have to be smarter than you, Magnus.
Interesting reply.
The device sends me its information (it’s unregistered and not using a carrier service) and location, which is, according to the coordinates, in the building behind me.
I glance behind me, but as good as my location tracking is, that’s as good as I’m going to get. I’ll have to watch to see if it moves. Here’s hoping for trackable movement.
Me:You can leave me and Trent alone, and I may not figure out who you are, but if you persist, I’m going to burn your world down.
Unknown:Let’s find out who’s world burns faster.
“You’re not touching mine,” I mutter to that message.
