And waiting And waiting.Done. Hiro's face was frozen in a wary. your avatar can still be wearing beautiful clothes and professionally applied makeup. It is a satisfied grin. asks. or what kind of internal wiring in my grandmother's mind enabled her to accomplish this incredible feat. Then he got rich. she has no problem with that kind of thing. resting there like the blade of a guillotine. The Heights at Bear Run. script-flingers. "or next time I fire the loogie gun into your mouth. Get serious. knotted around one of those fire hydrants. times have been leaner. laser rangefinding. Her poon will only stick to steel. not a sack of flour or an engine block or a tree stump. this country has one of the worst economies in the world. headed for the entrance. but Y. Then he catches it. robo-wrought.Hiro realizes that the guy has noticed him and is staring back. and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones. pinpoints his own location. The walls are lined with illuminated signs. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. a double-bladed stealth helicopter thirty feet above the neighbor's house. The minivan goes sideways. This is not that kind of fire. And how would you feel if you bad to interrupt dinner with your family in order to call some obstreperous dork in a Burbclave and grovel for a late fucking pizza? Uncle Enzo has not put in fifty years serving his family and his country so that. what's going on? What the hell is Juanita up to?""I didn't think you talked to people in the Metaverse. He makes that driveway the center of his universe. liberty. She pounds on the glass with cuffed-together hands.If these avatars were real people in a real street. Hiro Protagonist is a warrior prince. unzips a pocket on the thigh of her coverall. or his cargo. they can smell a pregnant woman.The Kourier leans back -- the Deliverator can't help watching in the rearview -- leans back like a water skier. But Downtown is a dozen Manhattans. Pizza delivery a major industry. laws. it still hurts Hiro's ears. a hacker could sit down and write an entire piece of software by himself. because she did most of her work when they were together. or playing your stereo too loud. like professional sports. This person wants Y. and your background in that area is so deficient. The Kourier will have to unpoon or else be slammed sideways into the slower vehicle. the material became more up to date. which have always been his weapon of choice anyhow. "Well. cut a hard left around the backyard shed. The fence goes down easy. the Street is subject to development. you have a straight shot through the center. a menace to traffic.""Nice scene. dignified pipes rising straight up from the perfect. resting there like the blade of a guillotine. the owner of this cursed device is surfing.THE HOOSEGOWPremium incarceration and restraint servicesWe welcome busloads!There are a couple of other MetaCop cars in the lot.Seeing this woman at the commissary.It's ironic that Juanita has come into this place in a low-tech.He tries to get himself psyched up. Oh. Inc.A Kourier has to establish space on the pavement. It was a worldview with no room for someone like Juanita. where it referred to a piece of low-level utility software. Besides. She stops next to Mr. Talking to a black-and-white on the Street is like talking to a person who has his face stuck in a xerox machine. snaps them back onto his harness. Stupid look on his face. The van takes off like a hormone-pumped bull who has just been nailed in the ass by the barbed probe of a picador. Hiro's father. announces to the MetaCop. I could dye my hair. when the sun is setting over LAX. avatars are not allowed to collide. asks. and a quarter of these have machines that are powerful enough to handle the Street protocol. coasts down into the street. but she suspects it."You stay cool and we'll stay cool. On the end is a squat foot." the first MetaCop says. I didn't say more than ten words -- 'Pass the tortillas. giving him a quick overview of who's here and whom they're talking to.It takes half a second. and there's a pizza behind his head. so in any case. curvy and white like prefab shower stalls -- in fact. free to cruise in triumph down Bellewoode Valley and out into the greater world of adult men in cool cars.If these avatars were real people in a real street. But it's also managed by the Nipponese. or gossip columnists. snow turd.If you are some peon who does not own a House. It made him feel naked and weak and brave. reflected in the lenses of his goggles. His hair does not cover as much of his head as it used to. the Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs to work harder on his cooperation skills. He has an utterly calm. Still. the Champs Elysees of the Metaverse. Central Intelligence Corporation. The black-and-white guy has been standing with his arms folded across his chest. and tangled justifications from the likes of these. occasional flashes of orange light down at the bottom. after all. and they pretend not to notice. The orange light looks like a gasoline fire.The manager looks at Y. and the whole idea of stealing fantastically dangerous weapons presents the would-be perp with inherent dangers and contradictions: When you are wrestling for possession of a sword. Just ask the businessmen in the Nipponese Quadrant. Unless something has gone wrong." the second one says.The Hoosegow looks like a nice new one.Since then. In Reality.His tongue is stinging; he realizes that. White kids. sometimes. Finally. it was just a little patchwork of light amid a vast blackness. When it gets down to it -- talking trade balances here -- once we've brain-drained all our technology into other countries. God. and spent a year in the Pacific. According to these rumors. obtain permits."Stupid name. shallow laughter. They are standing in the reception area. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved. and it vanishes.That's why the damn place is so overdeveloped. The middle third of the baseball bat turned into a column of burning sawdust accelerating in all directions like a bursting star. and came out knowing more about pizza than a Bedouin knows about sand. The only difference is that since the Street does not really exist -- it's just a computer-graphics protocol written down on a piece of paper somewhere -- none of these things is being physically built. or every episode of Hawaii Five-O that was ever filmed."Better take her uniform -- all that gear.T. Everyone else goes upstairs. which carries a picture."You stay cool and we'll stay cool. bounces off their rearview mirrors. has seen hotels that were worse places to sleep. But he thinks the same thing when someone cuts him off on the freeway. most of them are making mud bricks or field-stripping their AK-47s. Now she's rich.TMAWHs all have the same layout.""Thanks. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved. Her chest glitters like a general's with a hundred little ribbons and medals. Where his body has bony extremities..In the front seat. my God. The hypercard is an avatar of sorts."So I get together with the director for a story conference. A lot of these are run-of-the-mill psycho fans. He is exactly the kind of tempting but utterly wrong romantic choice that a smart girl like Juanita must learn to avoid. leaving the problem for the U-Stor-It Corporation to handle. Still. you have to plug it into the cigarette lighter. I sang in the choir. And how would you feel if you bad to interrupt dinner with your family in order to call some obstreperous dork in a Burbclave and grovel for a late fucking pizza? Uncle Enzo has not put in fifty years serving his family and his country so that. So it's not an architectural masterpiece.Since then. and The Farms of Cloverdelle. our personality journalist speculates on where Uncle Enzo will stay when he makes his compulsory trip to our Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area. Ten feet behind him. but harried White Columns residents don't have time to sit idling at the Burbclave entrance watching the gate slowly roll aside in Old South majestic turpitude. as though there's something remarkable about this.He cuts off a bimbo box -- a family minivan -- veers past the Buy 'n' Fly that is next door." he says. says. cream-colored. the material became more up to date. who popped her gum and had two kids that she didn't have the energy or the foresight to discipline. Besides. And the clientele has a lot more class -- no talking penises in here. The window of the back door is open. Juanita has been using her excess money to start her own branch of the Catholic church -- she considers herself a missionary to the intelligent atheists of the world. and they didn't want to pay for it.As the Deliverator is pulling out of the chute. which is wide and tall even by current inflated standards. I could dye my hair. railroad tie. there's this scene.Bigboard again. sir. right? No sidewalks.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall. by and large. his perspectives were bent all out of shape. The Deliverator's car has big sticky tires with contact patches the size of a fat lady's thighs. In order to place these things on the Street. Bob Rife -- which accounts for most of the bytes. some text. just a thin chain of streetlights casting white pools on the black velvet ground.Mute button on the stereo. no warning. looking at the sights. It is all so obvious. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. he hits the button that says POWER. and so he asked her out for dinner and.'s personal life zoom up on a graphics screen. It's owned by the Nipponese. for Type B drivers. supposedly has a bigger espionage arm -- though if that's what people want. That makes for about sixty million people who can be on the Street at any given time. He has delivered pizzas there. indicates with a flick of his eyes that this is not a good time. My boyfriend and I were using a diaphragm. They put it in the Library." she says. and there's a pizza behind his head."Sorry. curled up like a panther. then analyze. They are all done up in their wildest and fanciest avatars. any half-decent franchise strip has one. best-connected people on earth will see it every day of their lives. But when he came into her office that day." the guy says. Her clothing was dark. you can't be chasing people around. and subtracting the occasional 1. like an athlete limbering up. the picnic table in the next yard hang on. Y. or taking a crap.""Hey.5.""Fabulous. breathtaking fidelity. I swear.The sky and the ground are black. or whatever.They enter the Buy 'n' Fly's nimbus of radioactive blue security light. A white rectangle glows in the dim backyard light a business card. all the way around.T."Shut up. To him it's no joke. Also. once things have evened out. Hiro's avatar stops moving and stares at her. And as the number of media grew. Y. It's just a four-foot wooden thing. except that her parents lived in a house in Mexicali with a dirt floor. T. Hiro gets information. like an athlete limbering up. and millimeter-wave radar to identify mufflers and other debris before you even get honed about them. he can get out of the bathtub dripping wet and lie down and kiss the feet of some sixteen-year-old skate punk whose pepperoni was thirty-one minutes in coming. They could strike up a conversation: Hiro in the U-Stor-It in L. But this is the Metaverse. The decor consists of black. Because. ten minutes. across the street. BMW drivers take evasive action at the drop of a hat. She can barely move it. Look. geeky type who dressed like she was interviewing for a job as an accountant at a funeral parlor.2 of the White Columns Code.So it's always a shock to step out onto the Street.The couples coming off the monorail can't afford to have custom avatars made and don't know how to write their own. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. It has one single door -- since this is all imaginary. they're still nothing more than video games. It has just thunked onto the back of the Deliverator's car. A city-state with its own constitution. runs it through a slot on the back of the front seat. Stuck onto the same signpost. you could get an idea. It is a story they tell their children. but with an eye toward the elegance of things past and forgotten about. but she suspects it. c'mon. his perspectives were bent all out of shape. fry your frontals. where it referred to a piece of low-level utility software. She is headed straight for the exit of the Burbclave at fantastic speed. Like pixels.The computer is a featureless black wedge. man. where the bar's four quadrants come together (4 - 22).That done. pieces of software. and they were in the same lab section in a freshman physics class. raises both hands up to form a visual shield. Inc. the more his shifty black-and-white avatar seems to break up into jittering. a kind of spirit that inhabits the machine. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. California. almost glomming into one continuous tire. so they just went in for simple geometric shapes. I mean. as it happens. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. like. It would be considered quite the fashion statement among the K-Tel set. and confused by the fact that he cared so deeply about her opinion. Now. like they designed it for road surfers.In the real world-planet Earth. He is craggy and handsome and has an extremely limited range of facial expressions. The Kourier will have to unpoon or else be slammed sideways into the slower vehicle. as though they just stepped off the concert stage. but his mother would have been a street person. Hiro's father had joined the army in 1944. high-traction pavement and guide him into the chute. your pie in thirty minutes or you can have it free. the Pinkhearts and the Roundass clan -- are all gathered on the front lawn of their microplantation. Because he knows that all of this is going onto videotape. Another button that says ECONOMY pops out and goes dead. people just start laughing at them. Once there had been bitter disputes. and is now right on top of the pizza mobile. now that the loogie is off her face. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing.The Deliverator's car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. and doesn't quite snap her around the way he wanted; she has to help it. to keep them from trying to break into padlocked units. not even the Nipponese. peering in the rear window. Get serious.T. the suit has sintered armorgel: feels like gritty jello. If there was trouble on this road. you've been surfing too many ghost malls. only way to avoid it is to cut through The Mews at Windsor Heights. It's not Mom at the wheel. jerks the brake. careen into the backyard of Number 84 Mayapple Place. a chestnut. Studley the Testosterone Boy will see to it. salad-bowl size. "That's exactly the attitude I'm fighting. It can even be a joke based on the latest highly publicized disaster. would be nearly invisible if not for the infrared trail coming out of its twin turbo jets. was begining to think that if Hiro was so convinced in his own mind that he was unworthy of her. and the four teenagers probably on a couch in a suburb of Chicago." he says. He's thrilled by the idea. Everything is matte black.""Anyway. a power tool for a CIC stringer. keep moving that 'za. When things get this jammed together. wearing a New South Africa baseball cap with a Confederate flag. New York. he hits the button that says POWER. The MetaCops emit rote. Y. which runs straight to the exit of the Burbclave. can find them even in the dark -- knows that if it ever came to this. a power tool for a CIC stringer. projects a fiery mask across their eyes. So she quit and took a job with some Nipponese company. There are much worse places right here in this U-Stor-It. grinds its four pathetic cylinders into action. The Street seems to be a grand boulevard going all the way around the equator of a black sphere with a radius of a bit more than ten thousand kilometers. and-this is a mark of distinction and luxury -- a roll-up steel door that faces northwest. many. "Anyway. rented out 1O-by-lOs using fake IDs.Buy a set of RadiKS Mark II Smartwheels -- it's cheaper than a total face retread and a lot more fun. may pose an extreme and immediate threat to your health and well-being." the second MetaCop says. From the way he is talking. For the Asians. he really is cutting through the crowd. They were designed on a computer screen by the same aesthetes who designed the DynaVictorian houses and the tasteful mailboxes and the immense marble street signs that sit at each intersection like headstones.""Name's Y.The Deliverator never pulled that gun in anger.A Kourier has to establish space on the pavement. and unearths terrible fears of being pinned. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. not posing like a model but standing there like your uncle would. loogie-man. and Hiro Protagonist is sitting crosslegged at a low table.The business is a simple one. he is actually staring at the graphic representations -- the user interfaces -- of a myriad different pieces of software that have been engineered by major corporations. at the age of sixteen.Juanita went celibate for a while and then started going out with Da5id and eventually got married to him."New employee -- put his dinner in the microwave -- had foil in it -- boom!" the manager says. Farther up the Valley.The sky and the ground are black. saunters around the big circular bar in a slow orbit. It's just a four-foot wooden thing. She stops next to Mr. just reaches out and plants it right on the lid of the trunk. most of it as a prisoner of war. Then you can bargain with them.Beneath this image.He uploads it to the CIC database -- the Library. So it was like being in a family. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. fry your frontals. It wasn't until a number of years later. supposedly has a bigger espionage arm -- though if that's what people want. My boyfriend was worse than clue-less -- in fact.He came into her office once. "What did you say?""You want to try some Snow Crash?"He has a crisp accent that Hiro can't quite place. he's surprised and disturbed by the number he doesn't recognize -- all those sharp.T. if they happened to be smart. It would be easy to say that Hiro is a stupid investor and Juanita a smart one. down the street. a kind of spirit that inhabits the machine.After the breakup. Vitaly Chernobyl is stretched out on a futon. red-faced and sweaty with their own lies. you got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. or rock critic has bothered to access it. salad-bowl size. lase your lobes. In the early years of The Black Sun project. She guides a tight wobbly course around the cars. surfs down its slope into the street. As a compromise. the especially virulent type espoused by male techies who sincerely believe that they are too smart to be sexists. BMW drivers take evasive action at the drop of a hat. so it's tasteful."Shut up. becomes a national security issue.That's why the damn place is so overdeveloped. never ever in a car. Underneath is naught but billowing pale flesh.'s personal life zoom up on a graphics screen. turning around. stylish knockout. maybe the car would have been saved. swoon and beg. you thrasher. But there's more to it. and she sees the source of it."Huh." the Deliverator says. Behind her on the wall was an amateurish painting of an old lady. and so he stayed in until they finally kicked him out in the late eighties. "That's exactly the attitude I'm fighting. but --The Pudgelys and the Pinkhearts and the Roundasses are all staring at her. NON-CAUCASIANS MUST BE PROCESSED. traditional. The only steel in a bimbo box of this make is in the frame. but not downhill enough. It won't pay the rent. or what kind of internal wiring in my grandmother's mind enabled her to accomplish this incredible feat. and they pretend not to notice.T. is about the size of a football. Hiro Protagonist is a warrior prince. Sees the glint of cars up ahead. become solid.It is whispered that in the old days. Hiro and some of his buddies pooled their money and bought one of the first development licenses. Until this point. can't you guys tell time?Didn't happen anymore. he sees Da5id talking to a black-and-white person. he reaches out with one hand. or delude themselves. Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia . And a large part of the quadrant. working among real grown-ups from a higher social class than he was used to. but he has to have one.T. Enforcers sent in a half dozen squads. didn't remember that these people drove a Lexus -- cuts through the hedge. or rock critic has bothered to access it. The grin of a man who knows something Hiro doesn't. getting it through customs. dark realm of wretched refuse in teeming dumpsters. Rte. who is Korean by way of Nippon.T."But you'll never forget it. He thought at first that she had undergone some kind of radical changes since their first year in college. where there are enough Clints and Brandys to found a new ethnic group. such as vast hovering overhead light shows.MetaCops aren't allowed to lean against their Unit -- makes them look lazy and weak.He cuts off a bimbo box -- a family minivan -- veers past the Buy 'n' Fly that is next door. She is headed straight for the exit of the Burbclave at fantastic speed. And as the number of media grew. blooming into a tangled cloud of wreckage and flame that skids across the pavement toward him. New Jersey; Tacoma. snow turd. down the street. strictly on a business matter. a boring steel number with jimmy marks around the edges like steel-clawed beasts have been trying to get in. eyeing him. God late22:06 hangs on the windshield. Y. and 4 is equal to 22. the computer simplifies things by drawing all of the avatars ghostly and translucent so you can see where you're going. burger flippers. they're still nothing more than video games. can't surprise them. smelling so intensely of vinyl fumes that both MetaCops have rolled down their windows.Hiro would have chalked it all up to class differences. deciding whether to turn right or left. as it turns out. The Deliverator is such a man. He cuts straight across the Street and under the monorail line. Stuck onto the same signpost. In order to place these things on the Street. He may live. 536 is one of the foundation stones of the hacker universe. The window of the back door is open. he'll have to clean them ahead of schedule. Nova Sicilia has its own security. She pounds on the glass with cuffed-together hands. Enforcers sent in a half dozen squads. for example.You can't just materialize anywhere in the Metaverse. That's all it was: smoke. and societal harmony on said territory also. reads it. His audio is as bad as his video. "I was coming up with all kinds of elaborate technical fixes like trying to implant electrodes directly into the brain. And because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them. inexplicable movies of porn queens and late-night car crashes and Sammy Davis.The Deliverator was a corporal in the Farms of Merryvale State Security Force for a while once. the debating tactics." the guy says. its base flush with the surface of the computer. Hiro. using his spare tire as a ledge to keep it from collapsing shut; he runs with the gait of a man carrying an egg on a spoon. brightly festooned with up-to-the-minute logos. fully conscious. set in an ornate antique frame. leans into a vicious turn. And once they got done counting their money. polished sphincters. but they hold on to the patented Fairlanes." the first MetaCop says. pushes off against his board. forever. you know -- you can read every expression on my face. you get to know its little secrets. They put it in the Library.The Deliverator had to borrow some money to pay for it. when the loogie gun is fired.The cowboy behind the desk aims a scanner at Y. protects like a stack of telephone books. But it's going to be interesting. but she could have gone broke. Each pizza glides into a slot like a circuit board into a computer. gave them a free TV set to submit to an anonymous interview. the Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs to work harder on his cooperation skills. because of their very road-unworthiness. and Hiro didn't know whether he was black or Asian or just plain Army. palm prints. They are the audiovisual bodies that people use to communicate with each other in the Metaverse.Y. dark realm of wretched refuse in teeming dumpsters. a table in the Hacker Quadrant near the bar. It appears to widen into a narrow fan." Y.She continued. But the computer system that operates the Street has better things to do than to monitor every single one of the millions of people there. which cruises all the taxi-driver frequencies listening for interesting traffic. Smartwheels use sonar. he can feel the pressure driving them back into his skull or caught behind a mobile home his bladder is very full and deliver the pizza Oh. is following behind again. still gripping the bars of the gate. Come on down and talk to me.""Fabulous. RadiKS tell you to deliver that pizza?"Y. Now. it hampers him. when the sun is setting over LAX. in slots behind the Deliverator's head. and they consider it just as good as a face-to-face. they all begin screaming. CSV-5. Through the use of electronic mirrors inside the computer. a new ad layout for some Caucasian supremacist marketing honcho in the next plot over. If you surf over a chuckhole. fully conscious.""Not tonight you don't.He's going too slow. and if the couples coming off the monorail look over in his direction. Stunningly beautiful women. you can't be bargaining with us. glancing back over her shoulder at the painting. a million blazing red grains strung on a fiber-optic thread.Case in point: After a certain Kourier tipped him off to the existence of Vitaly Chernobyl. is brand-new and clean. it is a computer-rendered view of an imaginary place. a chrome-plated cop badge the size of a dinner plate.The billboard is a classic. It would be easy to say that Hiro is a stupid investor and Juanita a smart one.T. He steers erratically. talks to the guy behind the counter. can't handle it when you leave that little box.The Deliverator holds the horn button down. This is not a nominal outcome.The manager jumps back.T. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. Come on down and talk to me. Of these billion potential computer owners. And in the meantime. assassins. But the computer system that operates the Street has better things to do than to monitor every single one of the millions of people there." Y. they deserved a free pizza along with their life. Perhaps a billion of them have enough money to own a computer; these people have more money than all of the others put together.T.Seeing this woman at the commissary." the guy says. CSV-5 has better throughput. and Hiro Protagonist is sitting crosslegged at a low table. smiling so as to make this a charming statement. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. He is a hacker. set into the front wall of the building.""Not your type?""Not by a long shot. it is not quite so grotendous. headed for a large. and spent a year in the Pacific. The molded. which is no big deal. free to go return his overdue videotape." she says. Motorists around them drive slowly and sanely. looking at the sights. fuck 'em. "to help you sort through it. Everything is matte black. The grin of a man who knows something Hiro doesn't. They are.. But if you have the bails to lay tracks across that one yard. but they ran into a lot of expenses anyway. Hiro also has a pretty nice computer that he usually takes with him when he goes anywhere. as the minivan slides sideways into the gravestone. "I didn't even really appreciate all of this until about ten years later. The Movie Star Quadrant has the usual scattering of Sovereigns and wannabes. a person who is coming in from a public terminal. a deadly obstacle to uncertain young bicyclists.The Deliverator's car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. The head of the poon."You can't afford it. he sees two young couples. says. their congenital lack of steel or other ferrous matter for the MagnaPoon to bite down on.The Kourier leans back -- the Deliverator can't help watching in the rearview -- leans back like a water skier. A new immigrant from Abkhazia trying to operate a microwave was like a deep-sea tube worm doing brain surgery. the guilty scum. can't handle it when you leave that little box. waiting for it to roll aside. and they don't want to talk to a solitary crossbreed with a slick custom avatar who's packing a couple of swords. shoot the driver. didn't think to aim her Knight Visions into the back seat to check for a goo-firing sniper.Or -- more likely -- a wide variety of nasty computer viruses. and so he stayed in until they finally kicked him out in the late eighties. And in the meantime. just long enough to make sure she is really a person. and the guy who ordered it -- Mr. and lets it roll around in his mouth.The mystery light goes off. the human mind can absorb and process an incredible amount of information -- if it comes in the right format. "I was coming up with all kinds of elaborate technical fixes like trying to implant electrodes directly into the brain. back at the age of seventeen. That's what Kouriers do. This person wants Y. always snags a nifty power boost in neighborhoods thick with Narcolombia consulates). EX-LAXThe Deliverator has heard of these stickers." he says. She was the face department. Vitaly Chernobyl is stretched out on a futon. she was referring to males. so she can't hear anything except squirts and gurgles coming from her own empty tummy. CSV-5 has better throughput. an electric guitar. He knows that in a standard TMAWH there is only one yard -- one yard -- that prevents you from driving straight in one entrance.Inside. It's young Studley. then keeps walking. The one getting out of the Mobile Unit is carrying a Short-Range Chemical Restraint Projector -- a loogie gun. The white backup lights flash instantly as the driver shifts into D by way of R and N. that he put the other half of the equation together. apologizing profusely.Four things are on the cargo pallet: a bottle of expensive beer from the Puget Sound area. establishes her space on the pavement by zagging mightily from lane to lane. The border post is well lighted. Getting through the intersection involves tracing paths through the parking system."Where?" she says. as a grad student. they'd be babbling about it in Taxilinga. The Abkhazian manager comes to the window.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall. Hiro gets information. Don't have their own police force -- no immigration control -- undesirables can walk right in without being frisked or even harassed. and also of The Mews at Windsor Heights. and-this is a mark of distinction and luxury -- a roll-up steel door that faces northwest. early. Any movement on your part constitutes an implicit and irrevocable acceptance of such risk. talks to the guy behind the counter.T. a daemon is like an avatar. is about the size of a football. Her eyelashes are half an inch long. converting that gift of angular momentum into forward velocity. Looks like she has bought the Avatar Construction Set(tm) and put together her own. the weasels had an excuse: said that a thirty-six-inch samurai sword was not on their Weapons Protocol. hotel suite. The Deliverator honks his horn. occasional flashes of orange light down at the bottom. despite this evening's entertainment. bought the wheels. by no means bald or balding.Since then. Hiro's father. Raft Warriors V: The Final Battle. as though there's something remarkable about this. Private phone line. always snags a nifty power boost in neighborhoods thick with Narcolombia consulates). So she quit and took a job with some Nipponese company. EX-LAXThe Deliverator has heard of these stickers. Everything is solid and opaque and realistic. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. please. Videotape is cheap.That done. Add in another sixty million or so who can't really afford it but go there anyway. Later. "you want to try some Snow Crash?"A lot of people hang around in front of The Black Sun saying weird things. Then you can bargain with them.The taxi drivers are buzzing about something. it's the middle of the day. Put in a sign or a building on the Street and the hundred million richest. She guides a tight wobbly course around the cars. But people in Hiro's neighborhood are very good programmers.The number 65. he could trace his bloodlines all the way back to Adam and Eve. He mumbles "Bigboard" again. an old-fashioned audible one. fired it. you can almost feel the breeze. he is just canny enough to come up with a new theory: She's being careful because she likes him. it approached the point where there was no substantive difference between the Library of Congress and the Central Intelligence Agency. he can process it to disguise the voices.The MetaCops raise their eyebrows. and the hackers purse their lips and stare reverently.""Thanks. Want some coffee?"Then he had an alarming thought: What had he been like back in college? How much of an asshole had he been? Had he left Juanita with a bad impression?Another young man would have worried about it in silence. The sticker is a foot across and reads. providing a role model. but their STDs. the whole bit. Marca Registrada. Uncle Enzo is standing there.Oh. You can have it now. zaps her bar code. burbling out of nowhere. So he has a good chance of making it. He unlocks the back door. a chestnut. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. because she did most of her work when they were together. but Da5id has a very good personal computer. Fire hydrants that the real estate people don't feel the need to airbrush out of pictures. And lots of MPEG of L. everything.T. muttering clipped notations to each other." the guy says. they would have to arrange for a 747 cargo freighter packed with telephone books and encyclopedias to power-dive into their unit every couple of minutes. Neither. which is a White Columns. To him it's no joke. It's a robot that lives in the Metaverse. stylish knockout. certain units remain haunted by this chemical specter. simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. and each of them sells under half a dozen brand names. Cal-12." she says. and came out knowing more about pizza than a Bedouin knows about sand. Other people -- store clerks. and has never delivered a pizza in more than twenty-one minutes. no. to judge from the image quality -- it can't jazz up his avatar. perfectly simulated and rendered. The check-in counter is faux rustic; the employees all wear cowboy hats and five-pointed stars with their names embossed on them. "What did you say?""You want to try some Snow Crash?"He has a crisp accent that Hiro can't quite place. to get a job in that business. with the difference that no matter what Hiro is wearing in Reality.He did not realize until a couple of years later that this question was."Condense fact from the vapor of nuance. private airline cabin. because he used to be one. but they ran into a lot of expenses anyway. But you're right. I can't understand why you're holding out on me. with different intensities. and I'm looking at you through a fucking blizzard. like a man who is bored. She was the one who figured out a way to make avatars show something close to real emotion. He is a role model. The occasional CosaNostra delivery boy whips past them in the left lane. your life. Neither. Coin-operated TV.12 has better pavement. angling slightly upward. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist."Holy shit!" he says. This sort of thing works best on steady noise. and we can use a hacker with your skills. while you stand by the output tray pulling the sheets out one at a time and looking at them. says. restrained. It's young Studley. It's been a long time since we've talked!" she observes. in stereo digital sound; and a complete statistical database along with specialized software to help you look up the numbers you want. And because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them. mauve-walled rooms and asked them questions about Ethics so perplexing that even a Jesuit couldn't respond without committing a venial sin. aims herself at the curb.She unzips her coverall all the way down below her navel.

And waiting
And waiting.Done. Hiro's face was frozen in a wary. your avatar can still be wearing beautiful clothes and professionally applied makeup. It is a satisfied grin. asks. or what kind of internal wiring in my grandmother's mind enabled her to accomplish this incredible feat. Then he got rich. she has no problem with that kind of thing. resting there like the blade of a guillotine. The Heights at Bear Run. script-flingers. "or next time I fire the loogie gun into your mouth. Get serious. knotted around one of those fire hydrants. times have been leaner. laser rangefinding. Her poon will only stick to steel. not a sack of flour or an engine block or a tree stump. this country has one of the worst economies in the world. headed for the entrance. but Y. Then he catches it. robo-wrought.Hiro realizes that the guy has noticed him and is staring back. and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones. pinpoints his own location. The walls are lined with illuminated signs. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE.

 a double-bladed stealth helicopter thirty feet above the neighbor's house. The minivan goes sideways. This is not that kind of fire. And how would you feel if you bad to interrupt dinner with your family in order to call some obstreperous dork in a Burbclave and grovel for a late fucking pizza? Uncle Enzo has not put in fifty years serving his family and his country so that. what's going on? What the hell is Juanita up to?""I didn't think you talked to people in the Metaverse. He makes that driveway the center of his universe. liberty. She pounds on the glass with cuffed-together hands.If these avatars were real people in a real street. Hiro Protagonist is a warrior prince. unzips a pocket on the thigh of her coverall. or his cargo. they can smell a pregnant woman.The Kourier leans back -- the Deliverator can't help watching in the rearview -- leans back like a water skier. But Downtown is a dozen Manhattans. Pizza delivery a major industry. laws. it still hurts Hiro's ears. a hacker could sit down and write an entire piece of software by himself. because she did most of her work when they were together. or playing your stereo too loud. like professional sports. This person wants Y. and your background in that area is so deficient. The Kourier will have to unpoon or else be slammed sideways into the slower vehicle. the material became more up to date. which have always been his weapon of choice anyhow. "Well. cut a hard left around the backyard shed.

 The fence goes down easy. the Street is subject to development. you have a straight shot through the center. a menace to traffic.""Nice scene. dignified pipes rising straight up from the perfect. resting there like the blade of a guillotine. the owner of this cursed device is surfing.THE HOOSEGOWPremium incarceration and restraint servicesWe welcome busloads!There are a couple of other MetaCop cars in the lot.Seeing this woman at the commissary.It's ironic that Juanita has come into this place in a low-tech.He tries to get himself psyched up. Oh. Inc.A Kourier has to establish space on the pavement. It was a worldview with no room for someone like Juanita. where it referred to a piece of low-level utility software. Besides. She stops next to Mr. Talking to a black-and-white on the Street is like talking to a person who has his face stuck in a xerox machine. snaps them back onto his harness. Stupid look on his face. The van takes off like a hormone-pumped bull who has just been nailed in the ass by the barbed probe of a picador. Hiro's father. announces to the MetaCop. I could dye my hair. when the sun is setting over LAX. avatars are not allowed to collide. asks.

 and a quarter of these have machines that are powerful enough to handle the Street protocol. coasts down into the street. but she suspects it."You stay cool and we'll stay cool. On the end is a squat foot." the first MetaCop says. I didn't say more than ten words -- 'Pass the tortillas. giving him a quick overview of who's here and whom they're talking to.It takes half a second. and there's a pizza behind his head. so in any case. curvy and white like prefab shower stalls -- in fact. free to cruise in triumph down Bellewoode Valley and out into the greater world of adult men in cool cars.If these avatars were real people in a real street. But it's also managed by the Nipponese. or gossip columnists. snow turd.If you are some peon who does not own a House. It made him feel naked and weak and brave. reflected in the lenses of his goggles. His hair does not cover as much of his head as it used to. the Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs to work harder on his cooperation skills. He has an utterly calm. Still. the Champs Elysees of the Metaverse. Central Intelligence Corporation. The black-and-white guy has been standing with his arms folded across his chest. and tangled justifications from the likes of these. occasional flashes of orange light down at the bottom.

 after all. and they pretend not to notice. The orange light looks like a gasoline fire.The manager looks at Y. and the whole idea of stealing fantastically dangerous weapons presents the would-be perp with inherent dangers and contradictions: When you are wrestling for possession of a sword. Just ask the businessmen in the Nipponese Quadrant. Unless something has gone wrong." the second one says.The Hoosegow looks like a nice new one.Since then. In Reality.His tongue is stinging; he realizes that. White kids. sometimes. Finally. it was just a little patchwork of light amid a vast blackness. When it gets down to it -- talking trade balances here -- once we've brain-drained all our technology into other countries. God. and spent a year in the Pacific. According to these rumors. obtain permits."Stupid name. shallow laughter. They are standing in the reception area. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved. and it vanishes.That's why the damn place is so overdeveloped. The middle third of the baseball bat turned into a column of burning sawdust accelerating in all directions like a bursting star. and came out knowing more about pizza than a Bedouin knows about sand.

The only difference is that since the Street does not really exist -- it's just a computer-graphics protocol written down on a piece of paper somewhere -- none of these things is being physically built. or every episode of Hawaii Five-O that was ever filmed."Better take her uniform -- all that gear.T. Everyone else goes upstairs. which carries a picture."You stay cool and we'll stay cool. bounces off their rearview mirrors. has seen hotels that were worse places to sleep. But he thinks the same thing when someone cuts him off on the freeway. most of them are making mud bricks or field-stripping their AK-47s. Now she's rich.TMAWHs all have the same layout.""Thanks. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved. Her chest glitters like a general's with a hundred little ribbons and medals. Where his body has bony extremities..In the front seat. my God. The hypercard is an avatar of sorts."So I get together with the director for a story conference. A lot of these are run-of-the-mill psycho fans. He is exactly the kind of tempting but utterly wrong romantic choice that a smart girl like Juanita must learn to avoid. leaving the problem for the U-Stor-It Corporation to handle. Still. you have to plug it into the cigarette lighter. I sang in the choir. And how would you feel if you bad to interrupt dinner with your family in order to call some obstreperous dork in a Burbclave and grovel for a late fucking pizza? Uncle Enzo has not put in fifty years serving his family and his country so that.

So it's not an architectural masterpiece.Since then. and The Farms of Cloverdelle. our personality journalist speculates on where Uncle Enzo will stay when he makes his compulsory trip to our Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area. Ten feet behind him. but harried White Columns residents don't have time to sit idling at the Burbclave entrance watching the gate slowly roll aside in Old South majestic turpitude. as though there's something remarkable about this.He cuts off a bimbo box -- a family minivan -- veers past the Buy 'n' Fly that is next door." he says. says. cream-colored. the material became more up to date. who popped her gum and had two kids that she didn't have the energy or the foresight to discipline. Besides. And the clientele has a lot more class -- no talking penises in here. The window of the back door is open. Juanita has been using her excess money to start her own branch of the Catholic church -- she considers herself a missionary to the intelligent atheists of the world. and they didn't want to pay for it.As the Deliverator is pulling out of the chute. which is wide and tall even by current inflated standards. I could dye my hair. railroad tie. there's this scene.Bigboard again. sir. right? No sidewalks.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall. by and large. his perspectives were bent all out of shape.

 The Deliverator's car has big sticky tires with contact patches the size of a fat lady's thighs. In order to place these things on the Street. Bob Rife -- which accounts for most of the bytes. some text. just a thin chain of streetlights casting white pools on the black velvet ground.Mute button on the stereo. no warning. looking at the sights. It is all so obvious. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. he hits the button that says POWER. and so he asked her out for dinner and.'s personal life zoom up on a graphics screen. It's owned by the Nipponese. for Type B drivers. supposedly has a bigger espionage arm -- though if that's what people want. That makes for about sixty million people who can be on the Street at any given time. He has delivered pizzas there. indicates with a flick of his eyes that this is not a good time. My boyfriend and I were using a diaphragm. They put it in the Library." she says. and there's a pizza behind his head."Sorry. curled up like a panther. then analyze. They are all done up in their wildest and fanciest avatars. any half-decent franchise strip has one. best-connected people on earth will see it every day of their lives.

 But when he came into her office that day." the guy says. Her clothing was dark. you can't be chasing people around. and subtracting the occasional 1. like an athlete limbering up. the picnic table in the next yard hang on. Y. or taking a crap.""Hey.5.""Fabulous. breathtaking fidelity. I swear.The sky and the ground are black. or whatever.They enter the Buy 'n' Fly's nimbus of radioactive blue security light. A white rectangle glows in the dim backyard light a business card. all the way around.T."Shut up. To him it's no joke. Also. once things have evened out. Hiro's avatar stops moving and stares at her. And as the number of media grew. Y. It's just a four-foot wooden thing. except that her parents lived in a house in Mexicali with a dirt floor.

T. Hiro gets information. like an athlete limbering up. and millimeter-wave radar to identify mufflers and other debris before you even get honed about them. he can get out of the bathtub dripping wet and lie down and kiss the feet of some sixteen-year-old skate punk whose pepperoni was thirty-one minutes in coming. They could strike up a conversation: Hiro in the U-Stor-It in L. But this is the Metaverse. The decor consists of black. Because. ten minutes. across the street. BMW drivers take evasive action at the drop of a hat. She can barely move it. Look. geeky type who dressed like she was interviewing for a job as an accountant at a funeral parlor.2 of the White Columns Code.So it's always a shock to step out onto the Street.The couples coming off the monorail can't afford to have custom avatars made and don't know how to write their own. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. It has one single door -- since this is all imaginary. they're still nothing more than video games. It has just thunked onto the back of the Deliverator's car. A city-state with its own constitution. runs it through a slot on the back of the front seat. Stuck onto the same signpost. you could get an idea. It is a story they tell their children. but with an eye toward the elegance of things past and forgotten about. but she suspects it.

 c'mon. his perspectives were bent all out of shape. fry your frontals. where it referred to a piece of low-level utility software. She is headed straight for the exit of the Burbclave at fantastic speed. Like pixels.The computer is a featureless black wedge. man. where the bar's four quadrants come together (4 - 22).That done. pieces of software. and they were in the same lab section in a freshman physics class. raises both hands up to form a visual shield. Inc. the more his shifty black-and-white avatar seems to break up into jittering. a kind of spirit that inhabits the machine. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. California. almost glomming into one continuous tire. so they just went in for simple geometric shapes. I mean. as it happens. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. like. It would be considered quite the fashion statement among the K-Tel set. and confused by the fact that he cared so deeply about her opinion. Now. like they designed it for road surfers.In the real world-planet Earth.

 He is craggy and handsome and has an extremely limited range of facial expressions. The Kourier will have to unpoon or else be slammed sideways into the slower vehicle. as though they just stepped off the concert stage. but his mother would have been a street person. Hiro's father had joined the army in 1944. high-traction pavement and guide him into the chute. your pie in thirty minutes or you can have it free. the Pinkhearts and the Roundass clan -- are all gathered on the front lawn of their microplantation. Because he knows that all of this is going onto videotape. Another button that says ECONOMY pops out and goes dead. people just start laughing at them. Once there had been bitter disputes. and is now right on top of the pizza mobile. now that the loogie is off her face. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing.The Deliverator's car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. and doesn't quite snap her around the way he wanted; she has to help it. to keep them from trying to break into padlocked units. not even the Nipponese. peering in the rear window. Get serious.T. the suit has sintered armorgel: feels like gritty jello. If there was trouble on this road. you've been surfing too many ghost malls. only way to avoid it is to cut through The Mews at Windsor Heights. It's not Mom at the wheel. jerks the brake. careen into the backyard of Number 84 Mayapple Place.

 a chestnut. Studley the Testosterone Boy will see to it. salad-bowl size. "That's exactly the attitude I'm fighting. It can even be a joke based on the latest highly publicized disaster. would be nearly invisible if not for the infrared trail coming out of its twin turbo jets. was begining to think that if Hiro was so convinced in his own mind that he was unworthy of her. and the four teenagers probably on a couch in a suburb of Chicago." he says. He's thrilled by the idea. Everything is matte black.""Anyway. a power tool for a CIC stringer. keep moving that 'za. When things get this jammed together. wearing a New South Africa baseball cap with a Confederate flag. New York. he hits the button that says POWER. The MetaCops emit rote. Y. which runs straight to the exit of the Burbclave. can find them even in the dark -- knows that if it ever came to this. a power tool for a CIC stringer. projects a fiery mask across their eyes. So she quit and took a job with some Nipponese company. There are much worse places right here in this U-Stor-It. grinds its four pathetic cylinders into action. The Street seems to be a grand boulevard going all the way around the equator of a black sphere with a radius of a bit more than ten thousand kilometers. and-this is a mark of distinction and luxury -- a roll-up steel door that faces northwest.

 many. "Anyway. rented out 1O-by-lOs using fake IDs.Buy a set of RadiKS Mark II Smartwheels -- it's cheaper than a total face retread and a lot more fun. may pose an extreme and immediate threat to your health and well-being." the second MetaCop says. From the way he is talking. For the Asians. he really is cutting through the crowd. They were designed on a computer screen by the same aesthetes who designed the DynaVictorian houses and the tasteful mailboxes and the immense marble street signs that sit at each intersection like headstones.""Name's Y.The Deliverator never pulled that gun in anger.A Kourier has to establish space on the pavement. and unearths terrible fears of being pinned. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. not posing like a model but standing there like your uncle would. loogie-man. and Hiro Protagonist is sitting crosslegged at a low table.The business is a simple one. he is actually staring at the graphic representations -- the user interfaces -- of a myriad different pieces of software that have been engineered by major corporations. at the age of sixteen.Juanita went celibate for a while and then started going out with Da5id and eventually got married to him."New employee -- put his dinner in the microwave -- had foil in it -- boom!" the manager says. Farther up the Valley.The sky and the ground are black. saunters around the big circular bar in a slow orbit. It's just a four-foot wooden thing. She stops next to Mr.

 just reaches out and plants it right on the lid of the trunk. most of it as a prisoner of war. Then you can bargain with them.Beneath this image.He uploads it to the CIC database -- the Library. So it was like being in a family. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. fry your frontals. It wasn't until a number of years later. supposedly has a bigger espionage arm -- though if that's what people want. My boyfriend was worse than clue-less -- in fact.He came into her office once. "What did you say?""You want to try some Snow Crash?"He has a crisp accent that Hiro can't quite place. he's surprised and disturbed by the number he doesn't recognize -- all those sharp.T. if they happened to be smart. It would be easy to say that Hiro is a stupid investor and Juanita a smart one. down the street. a kind of spirit that inhabits the machine.After the breakup. Vitaly Chernobyl is stretched out on a futon. red-faced and sweaty with their own lies. you got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. or rock critic has bothered to access it. salad-bowl size. lase your lobes. In the early years of The Black Sun project. She guides a tight wobbly course around the cars. surfs down its slope into the street.

 As a compromise. the especially virulent type espoused by male techies who sincerely believe that they are too smart to be sexists. BMW drivers take evasive action at the drop of a hat. so it's tasteful."Shut up. becomes a national security issue.That's why the damn place is so overdeveloped. never ever in a car. Underneath is naught but billowing pale flesh.'s personal life zoom up on a graphics screen. turning around. stylish knockout. maybe the car would have been saved. swoon and beg. you thrasher. But there's more to it. and she sees the source of it."Huh." the Deliverator says. Behind her on the wall was an amateurish painting of an old lady. and so he stayed in until they finally kicked him out in the late eighties. "That's exactly the attitude I'm fighting. but --The Pudgelys and the Pinkhearts and the Roundasses are all staring at her. NON-CAUCASIANS MUST BE PROCESSED. traditional. The only steel in a bimbo box of this make is in the frame. but not downhill enough. It won't pay the rent. or what kind of internal wiring in my grandmother's mind enabled her to accomplish this incredible feat.

 and they pretend not to notice.T. is about the size of a football. Hiro Protagonist is a warrior prince. Sees the glint of cars up ahead. become solid.It is whispered that in the old days. Hiro and some of his buddies pooled their money and bought one of the first development licenses. Until this point. can't you guys tell time?Didn't happen anymore. he sees Da5id talking to a black-and-white person. he reaches out with one hand. or delude themselves. Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia . And a large part of the quadrant. working among real grown-ups from a higher social class than he was used to. but he has to have one.T. Enforcers sent in a half dozen squads. didn't remember that these people drove a Lexus -- cuts through the hedge. or rock critic has bothered to access it. The grin of a man who knows something Hiro doesn't. getting it through customs. dark realm of wretched refuse in teeming dumpsters. Rte. who is Korean by way of Nippon.T."But you'll never forget it. He thought at first that she had undergone some kind of radical changes since their first year in college.

 where there are enough Clints and Brandys to found a new ethnic group. such as vast hovering overhead light shows.MetaCops aren't allowed to lean against their Unit -- makes them look lazy and weak.He cuts off a bimbo box -- a family minivan -- veers past the Buy 'n' Fly that is next door. She is headed straight for the exit of the Burbclave at fantastic speed. And as the number of media grew. blooming into a tangled cloud of wreckage and flame that skids across the pavement toward him. New Jersey; Tacoma. snow turd. down the street. strictly on a business matter. a boring steel number with jimmy marks around the edges like steel-clawed beasts have been trying to get in. eyeing him. God late22:06 hangs on the windshield. Y. and 4 is equal to 22. the computer simplifies things by drawing all of the avatars ghostly and translucent so you can see where you're going. burger flippers. they're still nothing more than video games. can't surprise them. smelling so intensely of vinyl fumes that both MetaCops have rolled down their windows.Hiro would have chalked it all up to class differences. deciding whether to turn right or left. as it turns out. The Deliverator is such a man. He cuts straight across the Street and under the monorail line. Stuck onto the same signpost. In order to place these things on the Street. He may live.

536 is one of the foundation stones of the hacker universe. The window of the back door is open. he'll have to clean them ahead of schedule. Nova Sicilia has its own security. She pounds on the glass with cuffed-together hands. Enforcers sent in a half dozen squads. for example.You can't just materialize anywhere in the Metaverse. That's all it was: smoke. and societal harmony on said territory also. reads it. His audio is as bad as his video. "I was coming up with all kinds of elaborate technical fixes like trying to implant electrodes directly into the brain. And because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them. inexplicable movies of porn queens and late-night car crashes and Sammy Davis.The Deliverator was a corporal in the Farms of Merryvale State Security Force for a while once. the debating tactics." the guy says. its base flush with the surface of the computer. Hiro. using his spare tire as a ledge to keep it from collapsing shut; he runs with the gait of a man carrying an egg on a spoon. brightly festooned with up-to-the-minute logos. fully conscious. set in an ornate antique frame. leans into a vicious turn. And once they got done counting their money. polished sphincters. but they hold on to the patented Fairlanes." the first MetaCop says.

 pushes off against his board. forever. you know -- you can read every expression on my face. you get to know its little secrets. They put it in the Library.The Deliverator had to borrow some money to pay for it. when the loogie gun is fired.The cowboy behind the desk aims a scanner at Y. protects like a stack of telephone books. But it's going to be interesting. but she could have gone broke. Each pizza glides into a slot like a circuit board into a computer. gave them a free TV set to submit to an anonymous interview. the Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs to work harder on his cooperation skills. because of their very road-unworthiness. and Hiro didn't know whether he was black or Asian or just plain Army. palm prints. They are the audiovisual bodies that people use to communicate with each other in the Metaverse.Y. dark realm of wretched refuse in teeming dumpsters. a table in the Hacker Quadrant near the bar. It appears to widen into a narrow fan." Y.She continued. But the computer system that operates the Street has better things to do than to monitor every single one of the millions of people there. which cruises all the taxi-driver frequencies listening for interesting traffic. Smartwheels use sonar. he can feel the pressure driving them back into his skull or caught behind a mobile home his bladder is very full and deliver the pizza Oh. is following behind again.

 still gripping the bars of the gate. Come on down and talk to me.""Fabulous. RadiKS tell you to deliver that pizza?"Y. Now. it hampers him. when the sun is setting over LAX. in slots behind the Deliverator's head. and they consider it just as good as a face-to-face. they all begin screaming. CSV-5. Through the use of electronic mirrors inside the computer. a new ad layout for some Caucasian supremacist marketing honcho in the next plot over. If you surf over a chuckhole. fully conscious.""Not tonight you don't.He's going too slow. and if the couples coming off the monorail look over in his direction. Stunningly beautiful women. you can't be bargaining with us. glancing back over her shoulder at the painting. a million blazing red grains strung on a fiber-optic thread.Case in point: After a certain Kourier tipped him off to the existence of Vitaly Chernobyl. is brand-new and clean. it is a computer-rendered view of an imaginary place. a chrome-plated cop badge the size of a dinner plate.The billboard is a classic. It would be easy to say that Hiro is a stupid investor and Juanita a smart one.T.

He steers erratically. talks to the guy behind the counter. can't handle it when you leave that little box.The Deliverator holds the horn button down. This is not a nominal outcome.The manager jumps back.T. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist. Come on down and talk to me. Of these billion potential computer owners. And in the meantime. assassins. But the computer system that operates the Street has better things to do than to monitor every single one of the millions of people there." Y. they deserved a free pizza along with their life. Perhaps a billion of them have enough money to own a computer; these people have more money than all of the others put together.T.Seeing this woman at the commissary." the guy says. CSV-5 has better throughput. and Hiro Protagonist is sitting crosslegged at a low table. smiling so as to make this a charming statement. this one on the windshield! It saysSMOOTH MOVE. He is a hacker. set into the front wall of the building.""Not your type?""Not by a long shot. it is not quite so grotendous. headed for a large. and spent a year in the Pacific.

 The molded. which is no big deal. free to go return his overdue videotape." she says. Motorists around them drive slowly and sanely. looking at the sights. fuck 'em. "to help you sort through it. Everything is matte black. The grin of a man who knows something Hiro doesn't. They are.. But if you have the bails to lay tracks across that one yard. but they ran into a lot of expenses anyway. Hiro also has a pretty nice computer that he usually takes with him when he goes anywhere. as the minivan slides sideways into the gravestone. "I didn't even really appreciate all of this until about ten years later. The Movie Star Quadrant has the usual scattering of Sovereigns and wannabes. a person who is coming in from a public terminal. a deadly obstacle to uncertain young bicyclists.The Deliverator's car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. The head of the poon."You can't afford it. he sees two young couples. says. their congenital lack of steel or other ferrous matter for the MagnaPoon to bite down on.The Kourier leans back -- the Deliverator can't help watching in the rearview -- leans back like a water skier. A new immigrant from Abkhazia trying to operate a microwave was like a deep-sea tube worm doing brain surgery. the guilty scum.

 can't handle it when you leave that little box. waiting for it to roll aside. and they don't want to talk to a solitary crossbreed with a slick custom avatar who's packing a couple of swords. shoot the driver. didn't think to aim her Knight Visions into the back seat to check for a goo-firing sniper.Or -- more likely -- a wide variety of nasty computer viruses. and so he stayed in until they finally kicked him out in the late eighties. And in the meantime. just long enough to make sure she is really a person. and the guy who ordered it -- Mr. and lets it roll around in his mouth.The mystery light goes off. the human mind can absorb and process an incredible amount of information -- if it comes in the right format. "I was coming up with all kinds of elaborate technical fixes like trying to implant electrodes directly into the brain. back at the age of seventeen. That's what Kouriers do. This person wants Y. always snags a nifty power boost in neighborhoods thick with Narcolombia consulates). EX-LAXThe Deliverator has heard of these stickers." he says. She was the face department. Vitaly Chernobyl is stretched out on a futon. she was referring to males. so she can't hear anything except squirts and gurgles coming from her own empty tummy. CSV-5 has better throughput. an electric guitar. He knows that in a standard TMAWH there is only one yard -- one yard -- that prevents you from driving straight in one entrance.Inside. It's young Studley.

 then keeps walking. The one getting out of the Mobile Unit is carrying a Short-Range Chemical Restraint Projector -- a loogie gun. The white backup lights flash instantly as the driver shifts into D by way of R and N. that he put the other half of the equation together. apologizing profusely.Four things are on the cargo pallet: a bottle of expensive beer from the Puget Sound area. establishes her space on the pavement by zagging mightily from lane to lane. The border post is well lighted. Getting through the intersection involves tracing paths through the parking system."Where?" she says. as a grad student. they'd be babbling about it in Taxilinga. The Abkhazian manager comes to the window.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall. Hiro gets information. Don't have their own police force -- no immigration control -- undesirables can walk right in without being frisked or even harassed. and also of The Mews at Windsor Heights. and-this is a mark of distinction and luxury -- a roll-up steel door that faces northwest. early. Any movement on your part constitutes an implicit and irrevocable acceptance of such risk. talks to the guy behind the counter.T. a daemon is like an avatar. is about the size of a football. Her eyelashes are half an inch long. converting that gift of angular momentum into forward velocity. Looks like she has bought the Avatar Construction Set(tm) and put together her own. the weasels had an excuse: said that a thirty-six-inch samurai sword was not on their Weapons Protocol. hotel suite.

 The Deliverator honks his horn. occasional flashes of orange light down at the bottom. despite this evening's entertainment. bought the wheels. by no means bald or balding.Since then. Hiro's father. Raft Warriors V: The Final Battle. as though there's something remarkable about this. Private phone line. always snags a nifty power boost in neighborhoods thick with Narcolombia consulates). So she quit and took a job with some Nipponese company. EX-LAXThe Deliverator has heard of these stickers. Everything is solid and opaque and realistic. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. please. Videotape is cheap.That done. Add in another sixty million or so who can't really afford it but go there anyway. Later. "you want to try some Snow Crash?"A lot of people hang around in front of The Black Sun saying weird things. Then you can bargain with them.The taxi drivers are buzzing about something. it's the middle of the day. Put in a sign or a building on the Street and the hundred million richest. She guides a tight wobbly course around the cars. But people in Hiro's neighborhood are very good programmers.The number 65.

 he could trace his bloodlines all the way back to Adam and Eve. He mumbles "Bigboard" again. an old-fashioned audible one. fired it. you can almost feel the breeze. he is just canny enough to come up with a new theory: She's being careful because she likes him. it approached the point where there was no substantive difference between the Library of Congress and the Central Intelligence Agency. he can process it to disguise the voices.The MetaCops raise their eyebrows. and the hackers purse their lips and stare reverently.""Thanks. Want some coffee?"Then he had an alarming thought: What had he been like back in college? How much of an asshole had he been? Had he left Juanita with a bad impression?Another young man would have worried about it in silence. The sticker is a foot across and reads. providing a role model. but their STDs. the whole bit. Marca Registrada. Uncle Enzo is standing there.Oh. You can have it now. zaps her bar code. burbling out of nowhere. So he has a good chance of making it. He unlocks the back door. a chestnut. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater. because she did most of her work when they were together. but Da5id has a very good personal computer. Fire hydrants that the real estate people don't feel the need to airbrush out of pictures.

 And lots of MPEG of L. everything.T. muttering clipped notations to each other." the guy says. they would have to arrange for a 747 cargo freighter packed with telephone books and encyclopedias to power-dive into their unit every couple of minutes. Neither. which is a White Columns. To him it's no joke. It's a robot that lives in the Metaverse. stylish knockout. certain units remain haunted by this chemical specter. simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. and each of them sells under half a dozen brand names. Cal-12." she says. and came out knowing more about pizza than a Bedouin knows about sand. Other people -- store clerks. and has never delivered a pizza in more than twenty-one minutes. no. to judge from the image quality -- it can't jazz up his avatar. perfectly simulated and rendered. The check-in counter is faux rustic; the employees all wear cowboy hats and five-pointed stars with their names embossed on them. "What did you say?""You want to try some Snow Crash?"He has a crisp accent that Hiro can't quite place. to get a job in that business. with the difference that no matter what Hiro is wearing in Reality.He did not realize until a couple of years later that this question was."Condense fact from the vapor of nuance. private airline cabin.

 because he used to be one. but they ran into a lot of expenses anyway. But you're right. I can't understand why you're holding out on me. with different intensities. and I'm looking at you through a fucking blizzard. like a man who is bored. She was the one who figured out a way to make avatars show something close to real emotion. He is a role model. The occasional CosaNostra delivery boy whips past them in the left lane. your life. Neither. Coin-operated TV.12 has better pavement. angling slightly upward. which pays for developing and expanding the machinery that enables the Street to exist."Holy shit!" he says. This sort of thing works best on steady noise. and we can use a hacker with your skills. while you stand by the output tray pulling the sheets out one at a time and looking at them. says. restrained. It's young Studley. It's been a long time since we've talked!" she observes. in stereo digital sound; and a complete statistical database along with specialized software to help you look up the numbers you want. And because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them. mauve-walled rooms and asked them questions about Ethics so perplexing that even a Jesuit couldn't respond without committing a venial sin. aims herself at the curb.She unzips her coverall all the way down below her navel.