After flagging down one of the new autocabs, we were heading back toward Bellevue. Jocasta had jammed a credstick- not a personalized one-into the foul machine's maw, and pointed out our destination on the touchscreen. Then she'd settled back into the seat and withdrawn from further intercourse with anything, flesh or otherwise. From the set of her jawline, I could tell she had "a good mad on," as my old chummer Patrick Bambra would have put it.