“KUANG GRADE MARK Eleven is haulin’ ass in nine seconds, countin’, seven, six, five . . .” The Flatline punched them up, smooth ascent, the ventral surface of the black chrome shark a microsecond flick of darkness. “Four, three . . .” Case had the strange impression of being in the pilot’s seat in a small plane. A flat dark surface in front of him suddenly glowed with a perfect reproduction of the keyboard of his deck. “Two, an’ kick ass—” Headlong motion through walls of emerald green, milky jade, the sensation of speed beyond anything he’d known before in cyberspace. . . . The
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