got to see every site that was located between your starting point and your destination; and second of all, you
literally
got to see them—fleshed out as constructs of every conceivable design, in full surroundsight, and haloed by other flyers entering, exiting, or simply lurking about with no fixed destination in mind.
Positioned between Grand Adventure and the head of the Ribbon was CyberSquare, a meeting place and hangout for frequent flyers, and sometimes a launch point for illegal races.
Bios7's saucer was parked at the southern perimeter of the square when Tech maneuvered the Venom down to the grid's principal horizontal axis.
“Nice ship,” Bios7 quipped. “Does it actually fly?”
“You'll see soon enough,” Tech said.
Bios7 snorted. “Our crafts are rated almost equal for endurance and speed. So I say anything goes—malfunctions, pilot errors, oversights.”
“Force commands?” Tech asked.
“If you think you can handle them,” Bios7 said.
“You'd be surprised what I can handle.”
By then word of the one-on-one race had spread through the Network, and untold numbers of spectators were lining up along the Ribbon to watch. The lots fronting the hot spots and hangouts— Ziggy's Cyberchop Shop, the Opposite 7, Sinema—were quickly filling to capacity with heavily customized cruisers, cybercycles, and other craft of wide-ranging design. Wagers were being placed.
To both sides of the broad avenue that was the Network's commercial zone rose unimaginably tall towers, some reminiscent of buildings drawn from old cartoons, and others so detailed you could swear you were back in the real world. Encased in plasmascript advertising banners, the towers were home to dating services, brokerage houses, PG and adult entertainments, role-playing realms, religious instruction, martial arts and wrestling matches, TV shows and movies, music raves, and live chats that had been going on for years.
Beyond the towers and the deep canyons that separated them spread a span of cubes, spheres, and pyramids that were corporate headquarters, storage facilities, data libraries, and outposts for syndicate neural nets. Elsewhere were cathedrals, arenas, and wooded parks.
At the far end of the Ribbon, rising from the heart of the grid, loomed the fairy-tale castle of Peerless Engineering, the multinational corporation that had wrested control of the Network from the cyberwizards who had designed it. Peerless also had been largely responsible for making the Network accessible to anyone with a cybersystem, a willingness to explore, and a tolerance for mild vertigo.
Side by side, Tech and Bios7 moved their craft onto the Ribbon. Tech took a calming breath and told himself to make his hands and feet extensions of his mind.
“You ready, hotshot?” Bios7 asked.
“I was reincarnated ready.”
Piloting a lipstick-shaped craft to a position between the Venom and the saucer, a girl named Eye-Catcher counted down from ten and the race began.
Traffic was heavy as the racers shot straight down the center of the Ribbon. Tourists tried to move out of their path, but some weren't quick enough. Tech could only guess at the number of browsers and lurkers he and Bios7 displaced or knocked off-Network in their rapid passing— though Marz could be counted on to furnish him with the exact number at some point after the race.
Navigating the avenues, alleys, overpasses, and tunnels of the Network was similar to moving about in the real world. The speeds you could attain depended on power, timing, traffic flow, and just how much you were willing or able to bend or break the rules. Anyone with a fast machine could perform the equivalent of running yellow or red lights, passing on the inside, slipping into high-occupancy lanes—even though flying solo—or taking advantage of any number of shortcuts. But if you had a really fast machine, loaded to the max with the necessary software, you could not only reach speeds impossible to attain in the
literally
got to see them—fleshed out as constructs of every conceivable design, in full surroundsight, and haloed by other flyers entering, exiting, or simply lurking about with no fixed destination in mind.
Positioned between Grand Adventure and the head of the Ribbon was CyberSquare, a meeting place and hangout for frequent flyers, and sometimes a launch point for illegal races.
Bios7's saucer was parked at the southern perimeter of the square when Tech maneuvered the Venom down to the grid's principal horizontal axis.
“Nice ship,” Bios7 quipped. “Does it actually fly?”
“You'll see soon enough,” Tech said.
Bios7 snorted. “Our crafts are rated almost equal for endurance and speed. So I say anything goes—malfunctions, pilot errors, oversights.”
“Force commands?” Tech asked.
“If you think you can handle them,” Bios7 said.
“You'd be surprised what I can handle.”
By then word of the one-on-one race had spread through the Network, and untold numbers of spectators were lining up along the Ribbon to watch. The lots fronting the hot spots and hangouts— Ziggy's Cyberchop Shop, the Opposite 7, Sinema—were quickly filling to capacity with heavily customized cruisers, cybercycles, and other craft of wide-ranging design. Wagers were being placed.
To both sides of the broad avenue that was the Network's commercial zone rose unimaginably tall towers, some reminiscent of buildings drawn from old cartoons, and others so detailed you could swear you were back in the real world. Encased in plasmascript advertising banners, the towers were home to dating services, brokerage houses, PG and adult entertainments, role-playing realms, religious instruction, martial arts and wrestling matches, TV shows and movies, music raves, and live chats that had been going on for years.
Beyond the towers and the deep canyons that separated them spread a span of cubes, spheres, and pyramids that were corporate headquarters, storage facilities, data libraries, and outposts for syndicate neural nets. Elsewhere were cathedrals, arenas, and wooded parks.
At the far end of the Ribbon, rising from the heart of the grid, loomed the fairy-tale castle of Peerless Engineering, the multinational corporation that had wrested control of the Network from the cyberwizards who had designed it. Peerless also had been largely responsible for making the Network accessible to anyone with a cybersystem, a willingness to explore, and a tolerance for mild vertigo.
Side by side, Tech and Bios7 moved their craft onto the Ribbon. Tech took a calming breath and told himself to make his hands and feet extensions of his mind.
“You ready, hotshot?” Bios7 asked.
“I was reincarnated ready.”
Piloting a lipstick-shaped craft to a position between the Venom and the saucer, a girl named Eye-Catcher counted down from ten and the race began.
Traffic was heavy as the racers shot straight down the center of the Ribbon. Tourists tried to move out of their path, but some weren't quick enough. Tech could only guess at the number of browsers and lurkers he and Bios7 displaced or knocked off-Network in their rapid passing— though Marz could be counted on to furnish him with the exact number at some point after the race.
Navigating the avenues, alleys, overpasses, and tunnels of the Network was similar to moving about in the real world. The speeds you could attain depended on power, timing, traffic flow, and just how much you were willing or able to bend or break the rules. Anyone with a fast machine could perform the equivalent of running yellow or red lights, passing on the inside, slipping into high-occupancy lanes—even though flying solo—or taking advantage of any number of shortcuts. But if you had a really fast machine, loaded to the max with the necessary software, you could not only reach speeds impossible to attain in the
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