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the square next to "Sushi rice in seaweed cone." Her order appeared in red letters in the middle section of the screen; a moment later the words !Good Choice! flashed on and off. Cute, she thought. What else would it say— !Lousy Choice! or !No Good For You!? Maybe the burgergobblers got !Slow Death!
    She selected "Coffee, caffeinated, pot" from the drink menu, and this time the message was unblinking. The Surgeons General wish you to be aware that caffeine is associated with chromosome breakage, headaches, tension, anxiety, and impaired motor coordination when taken to excess. In pregnant women birth defects can result in those prone to certain in imical chemistries. Abstinence may be advisable; consult your doctor.
    Sam stared. A pretentious quickie; that was new. She slapped her palm against the endit square with a defiant flourish. Too late; she had the guilts over the coffee even as she couldn't wait to drink half of it at one gulp. Modern life was making her sick by trying not to make her sick.
    "That's some menu," she said to the guy in the window as she stretched out of the open sunroof to pass him a few crumpled bills.
    "Yah, better living through technology," he said, glancing at her without interest. He was tall and good-looking, with icy white hair and luminous green contact lenses, most likely another member of the latest generation of aspiring actors. That may have been the biggest reason simulation hadn't shut down Old Hollywood, Sam thought a little light-headedly. If they stopped taping from live action, who would staff the quickies? "Be a minute," he added as he leaned out to hand her the change. "Just opened a fresh pot of rice."
    "Glad to know this place cares so much," she said. "I especially enjoyed the lecture on what caffeine would do to me."
    "Oh, hell. George!" he roared over his shoulder. "That goddamn virus is back!"
    Sam laughed aloud. She should have realized as soon as she'd seen it. A Dr. Fish, no doubt, making a house call with unsolicited health advice. Characteristic of the Dr. Fish strain — almost no destructiveness, just unexpected messages taking up space and slowing things down.
    An older man who was definitely not an aspiring actor appeared in the window next to the younger guy. "If it's not asking so terribly much of you, Harmon, could you not screech our troubles to the entire world?"
    The young guy gestured at Sam. "She says she got the caffeine message."
    "It was just one of those health warnings from the Surgeons General," she said, shrugging. "I thought it was supposed to be there."
    The older man frowned at her as if she were somehow responsible. "Great. We're never going to get rid of that thing. Every time I think it's cleaned out, it pops up somewhere else."
    "Just because of the way it reproduces," Sam told him. "Cleaning it out won't take care of any data carrying the infection dormantly. You've got herpes, not cholera."
    His expression took on a revolted tinge. "Excuse me?"
    Sam glanced at the younger guy, who was grinning behind his hand. "Cholera is a disease you treat by treating the symptoms. Herpes lesions can be treated so they go away, but the infection itself remains in the nerves, waiting to activate again."
    "Well, thank you so much, Miz Med School, that was just what I've been waiting all day to hear."
    "It's contagious," Sam couldn't help adding. "It can be passed on without being active."
    There was a short honk from the rental behind her. "Think it's taking long enough?" called the driver, leaning her head out the window.
    "It's coming, lady," the older man called back, and leaned out the window a little more. 'You sound like you know a lot about this."
    Sam shrugged again. If he was so off-line he didn't know about Dr. Fish, she wasn't going to enlighten him. "Anyone with computer equipment ought to know a lot about it."
    "I just manage this place. And hire and fire the help." He gave the younger guy a sidelong glance. "You want a free meal?"
    Sam drew