Spy Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador, #4)

by E.M. Foner

looking over at her partner. “We better line up the two halves of the paper to—what are you chewing on?” A.P. held up his finger that Lynx should wait a minute and forced himself to swallow. “If it’s not a big deal, I’d prefer if you ate all the secret messages from now on,” he grumbled. “What were you just saying?” “You ate your half?” Lynx asked in dismay.

You won’t read this in the textbooks, but taken as a group, artificial intelligences are usually flawed idealizations of the species that create us.

I’m really a beer or wine gal. Buy me a beer or I’ll whine,” she delivered the old punch line.

The slit in her dress exposed both of her legs to the waist, revealing her lacy black panties. The crowd burst into applause,

“Digits,” she replied, making a show of counting from her thumb to her pinkie “You don’t have enough of them.” The glasses bounced in the air as he slammed his fist on the table. “I knew I forgot something when I left the hotel room. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Ba dum da

“Your electoral systems have always favored candidates who say what the people want to hear, and your great vice as a species is your ability to believe them. It’s the same mechanism of believing in impossibilities, even when the outcome means life or death, that doomed your global economy.”

“Highly effective,” Jeeves commented. “Just take an exposure with chemical-based film that the invisibility projector doesn’t recognize as an optical detection system, send it back to Earth by the fastest means available, and in approximately ten days, you’ll know if there was somebody standing in front of you swinging an axe.”

We’re all free agents, but free will loses a good deal of its meaning when everybody agrees on the path forward.” “Are you feeling alright, Jeeves?”