Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer

“We are in so much drek.”

“Did I not say that you were to be nice to him?”

“Nice? Emmett, he had his cyberpaw so far up my skirt I thought he was a gynaecologist!”

“Easy, Celene. Watch the tollway.”

“We’re only doing two hundred. I can do this with my eyes closed.”

“Please don’t.”

“I love it when you plead.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Emmett, baby, could you tell the cops to frack off? Didn’t you pay them enough?”

“I did. These are hired ronin. You know, friends of the razorboy you performed balls-in-the-throatomy on.”

“He grabbed my-”

“I know, Celene. I’m just hopin’ they can get his cajones out of his oesophagus.”

“I’m not. Now. We cannot outrun the interceptor they have as top cover, and they’re running interference on our drive. Got any ideas? You are my spannerman, after all.”

“That’s ‘drives’, darlin’. I mounted an extra two in series. As for the jammin’, let me get my axe.”

“The last thing I need now is to listen to you murder ‘Roll on Down the Highway’.”

“Oh, that’s harsh.”

“Truth hurts. Stick to Reo Speedwagon, baby. It’s more your speed.”

“Harsher. Much, much harsher.”

“The first stage is acceptance. Now, about our imminent blazing death?”

“Like I said. My axe.”

“You really have lost it, haven’t you? There are nine raging razorboys across five speeders, backed by two mercs in a mil-spec interceptor that I didn’t think you could even have drawings of outside Level Eight clearance, and your best answer is to go Hendrix on their collective arses?”

“Darlin’, I am a lot of things, but losin’ it is no one of ‘em. Shut up an’ drive. An’ be ready to drive real fast. When the speeders go, we’ll have about three seconds while the mercs engage hind brain. If we ain’t going like a Lenkormian Devil at the end o’ that, you better kiss me quick, coz that’s all the time we’ll have left on this earth.”

“That’s the ugliest guitar I’ve ever seen.”

“Tollway! Watch the tollway! For the love of Senna, drive!”

“No need to get mean.”

“You just insulted my vintage BC Rich Draco. Count y’self lucky I’m not tannin’ your butt instead of savin’ it.”

“Newsflash. Those are not custard pies they have started shooting at us.”

“Noted. Now pop my side of the targa.”

“What the hell is that?”

“A phased plasma rifle in the 40-watt range, built into the back of my Draco. Sometimes audiences get real critical.”

“I’m not saying a thing.”

“Get ready to hit the ‘go’ buttons.”

“Snapline!”

“Wup! Yeah, would be embarrassin’ fallin’ off the back.”

“And then some. I’m ready, babe.”

“It’s time to rock ‘n’ roll, then.”

“Kick their arses, Emmett.”

“Hello, you ugly mofo’s. Meet my lil’ friend.”

“Frack but that’s bright!”

“Tell me ‘bout it. Slipstream took me shades.”

“Louder! I can’t hear you over the wind!”

“Five down! GO!”

“I hear that! Wheeeeee!”

“B’garkuph!”

“You okay, baby?”

“Snapline was fine. Nearly becomin’ twins on the back edge of the door wasn’t.”

“I’ll kiss it all better later. After we finish selling the data.”

“Yeah, that stuff always has a short sell-by. Hang a left at Capella, kid. The Geek’s hangin’ off Auriga. We’re goin’ to be rich.”

“Amen to that. Play me something.”

“Roll on Dow-”

“Emmett! I have the passenger ejector seat button under my thumb.”

“Gimme Shelter?”

“Better. Sing me away, spannerman.”