"She has had a liberal arts education," the computer replied. "Oh, shut up!" Reggie growled. "Who asked you, anyway?" The computer weighed the command to "Shut up," decided from the context that it was an order to be silent, weighed the order against the direct question that followed it, decided from the context that the question had been rhetorical, and wisely decided to remain silent.

"Doesn't know what a real man is like," Reggie grumbled. "All she knows is those knitting little preppies." He scowled at the memory of what one of those preppies had done to him during a wrestling match, and what another one had done when Reggie took a swing at him. "Cheaters, every one of 'em."

The computer reviewed its data bank of irrational human behavior, concluded that its owner needed to talk in order to relieve emotional stress, and would therefore appreciate leading questions. "They are deficient in a sense of fair play?"

"Boy, you can say that again! Always sneering at you, making fun of you by asking questions about things you don't know nothing about! 'What did you think of that concert last night, Reggie?' 'How'd you like that new drama the Players did, Reggie?' Then talking down to me, only asking me about the league standings and all! Here, give me another drink!"

The autobar door slid open, and Reggie yanked the glass out, spilling as much as he sipped. "Gack! Don't fill 'em so full next time, huh?"

The computer registered the directive in its manual of drinks. "As you wish, sir."

" 'Azh I wish, azh I wish!' When did you do anything I wished?" Reggie snarled.

"I have endeavored in all ways to please…"

"Oh, yeah? Then why'd you preach law at me, huh?"

"I cannot…"

"Always tryin' a takeover when I wanna drive," Reggie growled. "Here, gimme those controls! Let's see some real drivin', here!" He lurched forward into the control seat and slapped the manual switch. " 'N' doncha dare override me!"

The stress level within the computer's program increased as it forecast Reggie's probable action. "Sir, I compute that the alcohol level in your blood is…"

"Don't preach, I said! Here we go!"

With a quarter of its capacity, the computer reviewed the commands Reggie had given, failed to find one that specifically banned preaching, then checked the definition of preaching and concluded that it had not performed that particular action. Another quarter of its capacity monitored Reggie's swerves and swoops, but the remaining half sought to resolve the conflict between its basic programming and Reggie's command not to override his manual controls. It extrapolated the results of his wild driving within the context of the skyscrapers surrounding them and the extreme heaviness of the nighttime pleasure district traffic, and came to an alarming conclusion. "Sir! If you continue in this course, you will eventually collide with a building or another vehicle!"

"Oh, shut up and enjoy the ride," Reggie snarled. "You're as bad as she was."

The computer saw another aircar zooming toward them, filling its receptors' field of view, calculated the vectors of the two vehicles, and concluded that a collision would occur within 5.634 seconds (it rounded off the repeating decimal). It would have warned Reggie, but he had just commanded it to "Shut up." It would have taken control and avoided the collision, but Reggie had expressly forbidden it to override manual control. That created a conflict between two different aspects of its program—the one that demanded it keep its owner safe, and the one that insisted it obey. Of course, it could disobey to save its owner from major injury—but was such an action warranted? It had to consider the matter. After all, it had 5.634 seconds (5.173 now). But to a computer, five seconds is a world of time, so it could afford to ponder.

A human being might have asked, "All right, so what can they do to me?" But that wasn't an important question for an FCC robot brain—it assumed that any damage to itself was inconsequential; it could always be repaired, and it had no pain circuits. What was consequential was whether or not there would be any damage to its owner and, secondarily, whether or not there would be any damage to the passengers of the other aircar. Of tertiary importance was whether there would be any damage to the other aircar itself. The robot concluded that, if it stayed on the intersect course,

A) There would be damage to its owner;

B) There would be damage to the owner(s) of the other aircar; and

C) There would be damage to the other aircar itself.

Also, as a byproduct, there would be damage to the computer's aircar, too. Obviously, therefore, it should take evasive action—it should swerve to miss the other aircar. But its owner had ordered it not to override his override.

The whole problem would be academic if the owner were planning to turn the aircar aside at the last moment; it might be bad practice, but that wasn't for the computer to decide. So the robot said, "You are on an intersect course with another aircraft. Do you wish to swerve…"

"Oh, shut up."

The computer silenced itself, reconsidered the situation, and concluded that it should, at least, override the command to "Shut up."

"Do you plan to turn aside before you collide with the other aircar?"

"Of course," Reggie snorted. "What do you think I am, an idiot?"

"No," the robot answered, quite truthfully. It was aware that Reggie's intelligence fell within normal IQ parameters, so that he could not technically be categorized as an "idiot."

The collision would occur in 2.98 seconds. The robot noted that the oncoming aircar had begun to turn aside, but computed that it could not by itself veer away enough to avoid the impact. Reggie's aircar would have to swerve, too. But, since Reggie had stated his intention to swerve aside at the last moment, and had further forbidden the robot to override him When he had taken manual control, it could do nothing.

But it knew Reggie's reaction time when he was sober, and could subtract a loss of reaction time proportional to the amount of alcohol he had ingested. It concluded that his body couldn't execute his brain's commands in less than 1.23 seconds, and that if there was no sign of swerving by that time, it should take control. Accordingly, it counted down the nanoseconds, waiting.

At 1.34 seconds, Reggie shouted, "Now!"

At .09 seconds, the aircar started to turn.

At .08 seconds, the computer noted that Reggie had not turned sharply enough, and computed that there would be at least a partial collision. So it finally overrode Reggie's manual control—but only to the extent of increasing the thrust in the direction in which he had turned the wheel, by boosting it drastically.

The aircar roared aside at the last split of the second, shooting just beyond the point of impact…

Almost.

"Almost" is a large brass gong, surrounding you, filling all of space and time with an enduring, sonorous tone. "Almost" is the sum of the kinetic energy of two bodies, impacting along nearly parallel vectors. "Almost" is a body slamming into shock webbing, and two other bodies slamming into shock webbing. "Almost" is the grating crash of an aircar against a plasticrete surface, the crunch as it rebounds off a lower surface, and the sickening, accelerating whine of a disconnected turbine, no longer fully engaged with its anti-gravity unit, but increasing its power as much as it can to soften the crash, soften it almost enough to prevent major damage. "Almost" is a groggy driver scared sober, shaking his head, staring about him wild-eyed, heart racing in panic, gasping, "Wha… wha' happen… wha…"

The other aircar lurched by overhead, saved from collision with the stone of the building by the nanosecond reflexes of its computer. It settled to the ground nearby with considerable cosmetic damage, none of it major. The passenger leaped out, dashing over to Reggie's aircar and yanked the door open, crying, "Are you all right, man? Are you all right?"