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Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction 24 Cr Chromium 51.996 Babe She was a dual-cam '57 Chevy, with a Pentium 88 CPU, raked tail fins, and chrome up to here. She put the top down when she saw me coming, and I vaulted over the side and into the driver's seat. She fit me snug as a glove. "Where to, boss?" she asked. "Anywhere you like, Babe. Let's go cruising." And we hit the road. Top down, radio blasting, and a big fat harvest moon chasing us down the night. We were somewhere in northern Oklahoma when a pale white convertible blasted by us as if we were standing still. It was driven by a woman with long blonde hair that waved behind her like a flag. She was young, and she had great breasts. I could tell because she wasn't wearing a blouse. She flipped us the finger as she roared past. There was a hand-made sign taped to the trunk: IF YOU CATCH ME, YOU CAN HAVE ME. "Whaddaya think, Babe? Can we catch her?" "She's as good as yours, boss." Babe surged forward. Three states and as many hours later, we caught up to |
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