The Firebird was a loud, uncouth, relic from a less civilized time. Inefficient. Dangerous. Cheap and poorly designed. But it had power and its wide rubber tires were a kind of violent propulsion system that the world hadn’t seen in a hundred years.
Andrus floored the accelerator and the Firebird ripped out of the garage and onto the roadway. He cut the wheels hard to the right, throwing Leon and the whole back end of the car towards the outside of the turn. Andrus counter-steered and the Firebird fishtailed over the gravel.
The roadway hadn’t been touched by tires in decades and the neatly manicured gravel paths were only there to hid the mag-levs the hovercrafts needed to stay aloft. The Firebird knew no such constraints. The V8 internal combustion gasoline engine wasn’t governed by speed li...
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