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to my Chariot.
It's a Chariot 515, actually; as if you care. I mean, pretty much, a
Chariot is a Chariot. The only question is whether or not it makes your butt
go numb while you are in Cyberspace. Oh, ya, ya, the Ice Pirates make big
whoopie about how many flopdoodles per nanodweeb their Chairiot can do, but
I'm like 99 percent of all Cyberspacers; I'm just along for the ride. I don't
do rez work; I don't do programming, I don't educate expert systems clusters,
so all my beast has to do is be good enough to let me meet girls in Full
Virtual Reality and play games at an acceptably awesome speed, Dude. Oh, yeah,
and take me to work every day.
I run a machine shop in Yokohama; well, it looks like a machine-shop,
anyway. What it looks like in reality, I have no clue. I've asked, but I only
get inscrutable smiles. I'm making prototype machine parts of some kind, and I
have a good crew; Japs pay for the best. And that's all I'm gonna say about
it; aside from the Zaibatsu yellow-dog/nondisclosure agreement and the Yakuza
goons they have to back their paper up, it's fuckin' boring and you wouldn't
care.
I flop back into the Chariot; it powers up in my august p
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