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Monday, April 14, 2008

The Cypher's Tale 30

index

Black Alice, freshly scrubbed, redheaded, denim-clad and apparently Irish, sauntered past a brothel. It was one of the few businesses in the area that was open all night- it catered to local yuppies like Shilo. "You are disgusting."
What now?
"You live in the jet stream. That's enough."
Among other things, the jetstream was known for its drab B2B-focused activities and ascetic industrial types.
30m nnw.
Black Alice rounded the corner and saw a friendly map icon pop into view. A pair of firefighters circled in vigilant holding pattern over the burn site. Muddy ashy water ran out of the door and collected on the sidewalk. At the edge of a circle of streetlight, a human worker climbed onto a scooter and hummed off.
A fragment of glass cracked under its tire.
"Shambalic."
What is it? Oh. Is it bad? Oh.
"Why do you type extra stuff, like you're talking."
Thoughts transcribed cuz am tuhleet. You're talking out loud and you're by yourself.
"Subvocalizing is unfun. Right, so I don't see anybody hanging around. I have to keep walking."
There's no one near you. You have minutes.
"I don't want to go in there! It's, unsurprisingly, disgusting. You cease to amaze me."
It wasn't always burned down, Alice. Oh, Cencom is up. Get closer. Gimme a channel.
"Use your own brain!"
You're close and secure, I need yours.
"This is-"
Disgusting, yeah. Fuck you too. Gimme port.
She watched a flood of code like a burst pipe. It configured her transmitter, opened ports, spawned a brood of tiny servers and spilled out into the airwaves, idle AM EM IM conversation and random menial tasks. There was no trace of coded communication.
"Crap. How did you do that so fast?"
Configure Aspect oriented Net by TRIgger Protocol
"What?"
This sucks.

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