Headcrash

Headcrash

Bruce Bethke

Language: English

Pages: 352

ISBN: 0446673145

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


When Jack Burroughs, a brilliant young computer programmer, is given his pink slip, he is offered the opportunity to use his skills for a little industrial espionage. Donning the guise of his online alter ego, Max Kool, Burroughs transforms himself into one of the hippest cybernetic surfers on the InfoBahn. "Bethke has taken the computer industry and thrown it in a blender . . . savagely funny".--"Seattle Weekly".

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tyrannosaur, aim for the hip. A predator can still live long enough to kill you after you puncture its brain or its heart, but even T-Rex can’t chase you with a broken pelvis!” “Thank you for that information,” Eliza hissed. “And thanks also for letting every creature within earshot know exactly where we are.” As if on cue, something huge let out a blood-curdling roar about a hundred yards off to our left and started crashing through the jungle toward us. “Oops,” Gunnar said. “Found it!” Reba

I’ll bring the maraschino cherries… No, I… No, don’t worry, she took the kids to her mother’s for the week… But… No honey, I… Honey? Honey, please…” Jones snapped the phone shut and turned around. “Sir. It’s just come to my attention that—” Duff scowled and jerked a thumb at the door. Jones dashed out, and Duff laid his baleful glare upon the two remaining departmental managers. He smiled, or perhaps bared his fangs, and telepathically sent them a message that even I could catch. Well? That’s

it. “I’m scared, man. Are you scared?” He belched again. “Damn right I am!” “I mean, this could all go up in our faces and land us neck-deep in dinosaur shit. That ever occur to you?” LeMat had run out of gas. “Yeah. It’s a sure cure for nar­colepsy. I had absolutely no trouble staying awake or sweating bullets last night.” I nodded. “Thought so.” We both went silent. Another thought crept in edgewise in that vulnerable moment and sent all the little vestigial hairs on the back of my neck

leap tall buildings in a single bound? Does this suggest anything to you?” “Yeah,” Gunnar said. “A lawsuit. Now if you’re done dicking around, can we please move on to the final phase of the test?” Sometimes Gunnar was just no fun at all. “Yes, Mother.” “I heard that!” Gunnar grinned and went back to the key­board. I decided having his smiling face in the upper right corner of my field of vision was distracting, and closed the window. For a half a minute or so all I heard was the

dark-paneled drawing rooms you see in BBC dramas that can’t afford to spend any money on sets. I blinked. Everything stubbornly continued to be there and nothing seemed the least bit Cubist, so I blinked again. About that time I noticed my clutching fingers were digging holes into the arms of the chair, and so, slowly, I relaxed. “Hullo?” the woman said again. I pried my attention off the chair and the room, and looked at her. She was—normal. Disturbingly normal. A pleasant smile, grayish-blue

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