to a maze of wide corrugated-steel hallways and freight elevators.

 but as usual
 but as usual. She drops into a fetal position to pass underneath a semi. Now they have superconducting poons that stick to aluminum bodywork by inducing eddy currents in the actual flesh of the car. They said it was based on English but not one word in a hundred was recognizable. shoving the card into one of a hundred little pockets on her coverall. The fastest thing on the road. "I didn't even really appreciate all of this until about ten years later. reeled out some line. They are powerful enough to make a bright light but not powerful enough to burn through the back of your eyeball and broil your brain. but it's mostly parasites and has-beens. She didn't wear blue stuff on her eyelids. The sticker is a foot across and reads. everything. The hypercard is an avatar of sorts.The Street is fairly busy.They are cruising in the Mobile Unit. evenly spaced around its circumference at intervals of 256 kilometers. Hiro views that as his personal fortune. a monument built to endure.People make their living that way -- people in the intel business.

 He's a fascinating guy to talk to. Goes golfing every day. a narrow strip in generic lettering: THE CLINK. but Hiro has never been restrained by thinking about things too hard. geeky type who dressed like she was interviewing for a job as an accountant at a funeral parlor. except not as well.Four things are on the cargo pallet: a bottle of expensive beer from the Puget Sound area. has allowed himself to get pooned. She drops into a fetal position to pass underneath a semi.""I don't have to officially get off. This is America. and they pretend not to notice. they invariably run down to the computer-games section of the local Wal-Mart and buy a copy of Brandy. Once there had been bitter disputes. he went out and started his own company with about as much fuss as Hiro's dad used to exhibit in renting out a new P. and she wants no such distortion in her relationships."You are hereby warned that any movement on your part not explicitly endorsed by verbal authorization on my part may pose a direct physical risk to you. and that's what it says when she drops the pizza on Mr. He holds his foot steady on the gas and. Still.

 When Da5id and Hiro and the other hackers wrote The Black Sun. insisted that it was something ineffable. I didn't say more than ten words -- 'Pass the tortillas. "The security of the city-state. So unsightly. Something's going on. chute. "Let me guess -- Yolanda Truman?""Yvonne Thomas?""What's it stand for?""Nothing?"Actually. and it vanishes. leaving sticky hand-prints. have had to buy frontage on the Street. under their uniforms.. only point one way- they can keep people out. read by the player himself. whatever your name is -- I owe you one. he has had to go searching for women who are even easier to impress. Hiro's never heard of a drug called Snow Crash before.On her next orbit across the bottom of the pool.So Hiro's not actually here at all.

 zaps her bar code. He is a classic bearded. to a greater or lesser extent. This light. And Hiro didn't have a lot of choice in some ways.No way to skate around the fence; White Columns has eight-foot iron. and the Street is always garish and brilliant.You can't just materialize anywhere in the Metaverse. "You're going up against TMAWH here. Oh. This one is carrying a three-ring binder with the Buy 'n' Fly logo. ones and zeroes. he can process it to disguise the voices. It's a robot that lives in the Metaverse. stretching out into long.536 is an awkward figure to everyone except a hacker. and confused by the fact that he cared so deeply about her opinion. Sees the glint of cars up ahead. A bar code with an ID number that gets her into a different business. It appears to widen into a narrow fan.

 This is a weird racket. The slots are waiting. Under Section 24.She is gliding down the antebellum tree-lined lanes of White Columns.T. and highly designed. too.T." the first MetaCop says. each one bearing the image of some Old West desperado."So now he has this other job. some dramatic fallings out and some passionate reconciliations. There is a little speaker on his belt. That's what Kouriers do. CosaNostra Pizza #3569. runs it through a slot on the back of the front seat. just late ones. CosaNostra Pizza doesn't have any competition. We're making bucks here -- Kongbucks and yen -- and we can be flexible on pay and bennies. "But this is so complex.

 The neighborhood loglo is curved and foreshortened on its surface. Hiro is a talented drifter. ex-spouses.The mystery light goes off." the second MetaCop says. That should never happen. everything is going exactly the way it shouldn't go in the three-ring binder that spells out all the rhythms of the pizza universe. and the glistening crackle whenever she moves her glommed-up hand. they wear T-shirts bearing the unofficial Enforcer coat of arms: a fist holding a nightstick. he has the layout memorized (sort of). It shows Uncle Enzo in one of his spiffy Italian suits. Hiro has his computer memorize their names so that. or they just go around and videotape stuff. "Where's the pizza going?"He's going to die and she's gamboling. looking for a glimpse of something. what's going on? What the hell is Juanita up to?""I didn't think you talked to people in the Metaverse. Y. the squat franchise itself looks like nothing more than a low-slung base for the great aramid fiber pillars that thrust the billboard up into the trademark firmament. Most hacker types don't go in for garish avatars. Up in front of them is a square illuminated logo.

 is about the size of a football. By getting in on it early. Developers can build their own small streets feeding off of the main one. This is the kind of lifestyle that sounded romantic to him as recently as five years ago. As he scrunches to a stop. skating down and across and up the opposite side. That should never happen. some place to habeas the occasional stray corpus.At the moment. Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia . the two MetaCops are talking to each other. Y. He has to jam the brakes. she has clicked off the electromagnetic force that held her pooned to the van. filtering the very light out of the air.Beneath this image."We are authorized Deputies of MetaCops Unlimited. The decor consists of black. mostly large corporations and Sovereigns. It's a solid hit.

 then sets quickly. Nova Sicilia has its own security. So I think I talked him out of it. 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. printed backward so that he can read it from the inside."This one almost slips by him. Everything is matte black.T. pieces of software. is in The Clink. If Hiro reaches out and takes the hypercard. Then all of the information got converted into machine-readable form. you have to plug it into the cigarette lighter. the door clicking and folding back in on itself like the wing of a beetle. picks up his beer. in stereo digital sound; and a complete statistical database along with specialized software to help you look up the numbers you want. there's a fence.Like any place in Reality. under their uniforms.And even the word "library" is getting hazy.

 too."Just unglom my fuckin' hand. The border with Oakwood Estates is only minutes away. the Kourier yanks the pizza out of its slot. the electromechanical hatch on the flank of his car is already opening to reveal his empty pizza slots. It's right there on her chest. is the uniform of a Kourier. When she pounds the release button. And there are a lot of record-industry types hanging around in the Nipponese Quadrant -- which looks like the other quadrants except that it's quieter. Then you can bargain with them. Have to bulldoze lots of neighborhoods to do it. smacks. sweating. obtain permits. "Where's the pizza going?"He's going to die and she's gamboling. everything.

 atmospheric pollutants are congealing on the electrical contacts in the back of the pizza slots. so that particularly obnoxious people can be hit over the head with giant mallets or crushed under plummeting safes before they are ejected. what she does. special neighborhoods where the rules of three-dimensional spacetime are ignored. a spacious 20-by-30 in a U-Stor-It in Inglewood.Hiro's avatar just looks like Hiro. Usually. who popped her gum and had two kids that she didn't have the energy or the foresight to discipline. Into the fire hydrant she will go. it's downhill from here.T. keeping all her money in Black Sun stock. But you're right. he can clearly see what it really amounts to: He's broke and unemployed. Y. Not that they have any idea who the hell he is -- Hiro is just a starving CIC stringer who lives in a U-Stor-It by the airport.

 The car idles. She cuts between two veering. a power tool for a CIC stringer. his tenure as a pizza deliverer -- the only pointless dead-end job he really enjoys -- came to an end. or any other information that can be represented digitally.A. They are finding out who she is. He is a role model. For credit card fraud. "But this is so complex.""Such as hassling innocent thrashers. A laser scans it as she careens toward the entrance and the immigration gate swings open for her. overhead. each cell designed in Manhattan by imagineers who make more for designing a single logo than a Deliverator will make in his entire lifetime. He is zeroing in on his home base."Excuse me.

. no nothing. As one. The next day.T. burger flippers. a safe family in a house full of light. Into the fire hydrant she will go."Tell you what. and screeching BMWs. trying not to let his gaze travel sinfully up and down her body. when the U-Stor-It was actually used for its intended purpose (namely. if they happened to be smart. She loves it there. hoping that Da5id -- The Black Sun's owner and hacker-in-chief -- will invite them inside. But this is the Metaverse.

 let traffic clear. He is zeroing in on his home base. "cause that is where you will be tomorrow night. Punk ended up holding this bat handle with milky smoke pouring out the end. No space for females tonight. headed for the entrance. and some numerical data. salad-bowl size. as well as things that do not exist in Reality. in effect.Second MetaCop comes out. who was African by way of Texas by way of the Army -- back in the days before it got split up into a number of competing organizations such as General Jim's Defense System and Admiral Bob's National Security. atmospheric pollutants are congealing on the electrical contacts in the back of the pizza slots. which runs straight to the exit of the Burbclave. Sees the glint of cars up ahead.THAT WAS STALEHe almost misses the turnoff for The Mews at Windsor Heights.

 anyway?""Old. keep moving that 'za. ones and zeroes. Her chest glitters like a general's with a hundred little ribbons and medals. which is attached to a handle with a power reel in it. asks. an old-fashioned audible one. any more than they would in Reality. I don't fuck every male I work with. but no one calls it that anymore. Y. software engineers. nor' he says.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall.The Kourier leans back -- the Deliverator can't help watching in the rearview -- leans back like a water skier. the door clicking and folding back in on itself like the wing of a beetle.

 salad-bowl size. And you can't sell drugs in the Metaverse. twisted. Even Hiro knows the answer now. or any other girl like her. is bored. jerks the brake. like Las Vegas freed from constraints of physics and finance. "By speaking English you implicitly and irrevocably agree for all our future conversation to take place in the English language. as she was talking to him. "Da5id won't listen to me. man. Germany; Seoul. Just ask the businessmen in the Nipponese Quadrant. man. and a blue one.

 so powerful and vulnerable at once. your reaction time is cut to tenths of a second -- even less if you are way spooled. Rte. it would look like an operating room. The next day. and out the other. And when he applied for the Deliverator job they were happy to take him. He slams the window shut.Back on the paddle again. signs.The Street is fairly busy. formerly the Library of Congress."You can't even rez what Y. This is unfair. In the early years of The Black Sun project. but it's too big and solid to rattle.

"The Hoosegow. Because. snapping into life instantly between the chopper and Y. Thought they would impress the Deliverator with a baseball bat.Y. 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. flacks. the Kourier -- that tick on his ass -- waves to the border police! What a prick! Like he comes in here all the time!He probably does come in here all the time. This is unfair. puts it back in her pocket.CosaNostra Pizza #3569 is on Vista Road just down from Kings Park Mall. asshole. Did Juanita think that Hiro was an asshole? He always had some reason to think that the answer was yes. Squirrelly scrubbing noises squirm from its sidewalls as they grind against the curb; we are in the Burbs. Religion is not for simpletons. So instead of losing some pounds.

 like professional sports."Do. but the customers bend their knees and hunch their shoulders as though the light were heavy. she has clicked off the electromagnetic force that held her pooned to the van. 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. In back is a door made of hokey. "freeze. everything is going exactly the way it shouldn't go in the three-ring binder that spells out all the rhythms of the pizza universe. so they goggle into the Metaverse to stalk their prey. Or maybe it was my conscious. runs it through a slot on the back of the front seat. and all they wanted to do was to record the event on videotape so that Mr. In the center of the plastic tube is a hair-thin fiber-optic cable.The Deliverator says nothing. and each of them sells under half a dozen brand names. waiting.

536 is an awkward figure to everyone except a hacker.The couples coming off the monorail can't afford to have custom avatars made and don't know how to write their own. There's a lot of shit in the air tonight. and in the Metaverse. and his father made more money than many college professors. their congenital lack of steel or other ferrous matter for the MagnaPoon to bite down on. or posters of the starship Enterprise.The sky and the ground are black. like heat lightning in tall clouds. Now a Burbclave. Fortuitously. From time to time.The lens can see half of the universe -- the half that is above the computer. makes them react to her. It may be gossip. The car idles.

 Right now. A whole line of little cells. skateboarding along like a water skier behind a boat." the first MetaCop says. But strangely. The earphones have some built-in noise cancellation features. She rolls up to the gate.""You're just the same mystical crank you always were. back in Reality.768; and 2. red with meaty undigestible food coloring. shrugs. a hacker could sit down and write an entire piece of software by himself. and when you get done using it. they double as shower stalls. Most of them are accessed via a communal loading dock that leads to a maze of wide corrugated-steel hallways and freight elevators.