2 DAYS AGO:      Bug sneaks into the 'secure' (yeah right) parking lot , finds the horrendously green car he saw in the vision. Another little insectile robot (like the ones now feeding illusions into the lot's cameras) flies out of the deck he's plugged into.      10 seconds later the car's security is no more.(hmm surprisingly good security for a rolling pile of junk.) The car's little robot brain is reprogramed , an internal timer starts: 46:34:15 to all-systems shut-down.      Bug sneaks out, blends into the sidewalk crowds unseen. Walks past the storefront window with the badly painted stars and moons and zodiac signs, a strange little smile on his lips. YESTERDAY:      A busy day. Bug has: sold some trade secrets, contracted to steal the plans for some new "guard dog/pet bot" (pet? ha! pull the other one) from ARES for some Japanese mega-corp, bought an anvil and a kiddy slide, planted some 'evidence' in the apartment of some corporate big wig (paid for by his AI, always be nice to your computer), sold the location of some runaway-dictator-in-hiding to the death squad thats after him, rented an appartment, upgraded the security of a street gang's territory (the neighborhood's residents had been on the gangleader's back about the police's increased predations), assembled the slide inside the appartment so it face just the right window, set the anvil on the slide, attached some electronics to the anvil,set the timer, and then he went home. TODAY: 0:03:06      An horrendously green cars speeds up the street, the occupant looks at his list,"last place,at last",grabs the little holographic message display  robot, jumps out of the car when it stops in front of some rundown old bar, opens the door and without exposing himself throws the message bomb in, he dives back into the car shouting "GO!",the car peels off at full speed.      Inside the Chat. A flash of light as the door is thrown open, but instead of somebody standing at the door something the size and shape of a soda can flies in, the pattrons with better reflexes are already behind cover when the little robot stops, hovers in mid-air, its hologram goes on too bright, its screechy voice blares: In article <01bcbba1$d21bd760$b7bf39cc@default>, "jules"  <jg4093@hotmail.com> wrote:  > ***********************************************  >   Psychic tells you about your financial  >   future, love, success, and your health!  > ***********************************************  >   1 - 900 - 329 - 0983,  Ext 8880  >   $3.99 per min - Must be 18+ yrs  >   Serv-U  (619) 543-8434  > ***********************************************       The little robots is fast enough to evade the wannabe's shots but only theirs. Screech of tires outside, the newbies run out (to show that they care) and maybe one or two regulars who are fed up with spam, a mad dash for the few cars and cycles, an horrendously green car just goes around the corner with only a handfull of bullet holes in its back end. Inside, the bar's regulars sigh, shake their heads and order replacements for spilled drinks. On the floor, a little pile of slag cools down to merely cherry red. 0:00:42      The 'psychic' upon hearing the sound of pursuit hits the red panic button overriding the cars safety protocols and starting an evasion routine. The car swerves and weaves through traffic, around corners."ohmanohmanohman!" the car's  sole passenger looks back not beleiving he got away. The car suddenly stop all the lights on its console are dead."SHIT!" The spammer squeezes out of the half open window and starts to run, reaches the end of the block, turns the corner, stops against the wall gasping for breath trying to listen for the sound of pursuit. Nothing, he starts to relax. Overhead the sudden crash of a window breaking, the spammer looks up, he has just enough time to recognize the anvil before the lights go out.      The Bug walks up the street, ahead is the flashing neon sign of the bar he was looking for. He shakes his head and mutters: "And he called himself a psychic."      The Chatsubo's door opens a nondescipt figure walks in , hands in plain sight, hacker's deck on a shoulder strap, beat up old overcoat ,tight against his face black insectile lenses hide his eyes. Reaches the bar. "So this is the Chat. I've been hearing of this place for some time ,finally got a chance to check it out.", to Ratz "I'll have a beer, Medalla if you've got it." He takes a swig of the beer, looks around, smiles, "I think I'll like it here." , and heads for an empty table.   copyright 1997 Charleson Mambo