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sure-fire thing. I slowed at the barricade of old cars
that was ahead of me. Then hit the accelerator pedal.
You are about to impact, the on-board car computer
told me.
Override collision avoidance, I ordered, hoping
the gov cars permitted this. They did. The car
continued forward at full throttle and I aimed carefully
at the lighter tail end of the vehicles blocking my path,
putting into practice a technique taught to me by an
old drug runner I d once met in jail.
The noise of the limo struck the two junkers
simultaneously and I held the pedal down. There was
an enormous clang and grinding of metal and then
the vehicles parted and I was through, causing the
would-be hijackers manning the barricade to scurry
for cover.
I wasn t out of the woods yet, however. Because
as my car hurtled down the dark street, barely lit by a
single remaining headlight, the thugs behind me
opened fire. Most of the lighter pistol and rifle bullets
thumped into the car, trapped in the bullet-proofing
Kevlar of the body. But that wasn t true about the .50-
caliber BMG projectiles that followed the initial
barrage. These cut through the armor of the car,
leaving a thought-provoking string of holes in the
windshield just to the right of my head.
The car skidded along on two wheels as I shoved
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the wheel to the side, shooting down a side street so
I d be out of the line of fire. Unfortunately I didn t quite
make it out of sight in time; a second burst rattled
through the aft section of the limo. For a couple of
minutes I thought I had made it. But then the car s
computer piped up, You are running low on fuel.
What? We had a full tank just a half hour ago.
The fuel tank appears to be leaking. Head for the
nearest Ford repair shop immediately. Be sure to buy
genuine Ford parts.
Somehow I didn t think I d be finding a friendly
neighborhood Mr. Goodwrench to service my stolen
vehicle in the middle of the night. Especially in the
cutthroat section of town I was in. I checked the
navigator; I was only about three blocks from my
target area. Good thing, because the engine started
to sputter. I slowed down, easing the car to the curb,
and got out.
I eyed the gang of homeless kids across the
street. Street children are tough for me to deal with
because I always feel too self-conscious to kill them,
even if that s exactly what they have planned for
anyone who comes across them.
But the car gave me an out. Before the gang of
street rats at the curb could collect their senses and
threaten me, I tossed the keys to the car to them. It s
all yours. I high-tailed it away from the vehicle,
gaining distance during the mad rush of the munchkin
gang members to get to the car.
By the time they discovered it was leaking
gasoline, I was down the block and able to duck into a
dark doorway to avoid their angry shouts, threats, and
bullets. When things got quiet a minute later, I started
to leave my hiding spot.
Not leaving so soon? a voice purred in the
darkness.
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I turned to see a syntha-prost whose beautiful face
was briefly lit as by the match that brought her
cigarette to life. She held the match up and blew it out
in a way that made me remember I was of the male
persuasion. Want a good time? The snakes grafted
into her scalp writhed around her face, making me
feel that I was about to be turned to stone.
Finally I tore my eyes from her wriggling crown and
found my voice. Thanks. Can t stop right now. I m in
a hurry.
I ve got some boyfriends if that would be more to
your liking.
I realized something wasn t right. She was too
persistent. No thanks. Gotta go. I leaped backward
and just barely made it out of the doorway when the
bars clanged shut, nearly trapping me in the small
space with her.
Now that wasn t very nice, I said, getting to my
feet and shaking my finger at the woman. Not much
repeat business, I bet.
The syntha-prost leaped forward, throwing herself
against the bars, lashing at me with the sharp stiletto
she d retrieved from its hiding place. The sharp blade
slashed past my face as I ducked back.
Ah, the wrath of a woman scorned.
I clicked the skate wheels out of my boots and
wheeled down the street, watching to be sure I didn t
trip over any of the garbage and bones that littered it.
A city block can make all the difference. In a few
minutes I was dodging through crowds of people in an
area that was better lit, with knots of vendors,
musicians, and drug dealers crowding the sidewalks
and spilling into the narrow street, offering their wares
to anyone who d buy. Had it not been for the distant
gunfire crackling from time to time, and the bodies
putrefying on the curb, I might have felt almost at
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home.
I skated around a nearly naked woman wearing a
tall headdress composed of tin cans and a g-string
composed of very little, then skirted a snaking line of
recombs, dressed like devils, dancing and singing as
they entered a building that proclaimed,
Live Girls, Girls, Girls
& in flashing LEDs.
I glanced into the open door as I whizzed past
hey, I m only human and saw women, women,
women, their fat naked bodies smeared with oil,
writhing snakes in their mouths as they cavorted on a
long silver table.
Turning back from that memorable sight, I got a
good look at the four-hundred pounds of man, man,
man which I was about to plow into.
Perhaps when the elephant man saw me hurtling
toward him at top speed, that I was trying to attack
him. Or perhaps he just couldn t see the humor in our
impending collision. Either way, I found myself
headed straight for a blade that was more sword than
pocketknife which had appeared from under his
jacket and now was in his hand, point aimed at my left
nostril.
Somehow I managed to weave and dodge and
avoid the blade at all costs, but in the process
tumbled and then slid along the rough sidewalk on
hands, knees, and face. Not a happy five point
landing. My knees were protected by my body armor.
But my hands and face weren t and I got to my feet
with the realization that I now had some serious
abrasions that were going to hurt for a while and
already smarted.
What re ya tryin ta pull, buddy? the man asked,
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blade held at his ample belt-buckle level and even
with my eye level.
Nothing, I said. Sorry. Wasn t watching where I
was going. Honest.
Maybe this will teach you a lesson.
I already knew the lesson so the blade passed
through the air where my head had been but no
longer was. It would have been nice if I could have
back pedaled on my skates at that point to avoid
further trouble. That wasn t possible because of the
crowd that was pressing up behind me, busy placing
bets on who would win the contest. So far it was ten
to one and I won t mention who the favored party
was.
I was getting both frightened and angry. And the
elephantine genius was now mad, too, apparently not
liking it when someone had the gall to move their face
out of the way of his sword, making him look bad in
front of his friends.
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