"FWLS49" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

of the program) to your destination (the last compile) as fast as
humanly possible. What chaos you cause along the way isn't
important.

So she'll tear around corners, drive on sidewalks, lift up
on two wheels to roll BETWEEN traffic lanes, etc. Sure, the cops
ticket her, but she has a link into the cop computers and just
erases any new records. She coats her bedroom walls with tickets
long forgotten by the police, sort of a tribute to her unearthly
powers over the suburban security militia.

I cross-checked my mental cardfile to the map to see where
Lindsey lived. Not too far away, really; at 97 MPH we'd be there
about-- now.

The rover's advanced brakes (programmed by Jody, of course),
screamed to a halt in Lindsey's driveway.

I had never seen Lindsey before; I only knew her name,
grade, and chosen occupational path. Biotech HHer's were by
tradition a bit disturbed, using their superior greymatter to
modify themselves in strange ways. A diagonal scar along her
forehead and a small metal socket indicated that she had toyed
with her own brain a little too. Easy computer access, I
suppose, to let you work fast enough to handle neural
programming. Certainly more efficient than a suction cup jack.

Mitch was busy making out with Lindsey on the porch-swing.
Only Mitch, though; Lindsey ignored his slobbering. Jody
politely slammed on the horn, and they broke it up.

I can see how Lindsey could have easily encouraged Mitch to
get us involved in this trick. See, he has this weird problem
once he starts dating someone. That person is the only one he
can't analyze and manipulate... Sort of a blind spot, I guess.
Poor guy. Don't worry, he'll return to normal after the
inevitable break up, then everything I've said about him will
ring true.

"Greetings, fellow adolescent ones," Mitch said. "Hey,
Benton, get your ass in the front seat. We want the back this
time."

"There's just something more arousing about the historical
usage of backseat, right?" I joked, hopping out.

"Don't be crude. Lindsey, after you," he suaved, putting
all his usual smooth-operator moves into use. She didn't seem to
care, really, opening the door wider on her own and slumping into
the back seat. Mitch shrugged, and glided in after her.