An Appetite for Power

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William Field grunted in discomfort as he squeezed his bulk behind the wheel of his car. Why did they have to make these electrics so small, anyway? Barely room in them for a dwarf, much less a tall man of, er, ample proportions.

“Ample proportions”—so much kinder than “outsized,” the currently preferred term in Silicon Valley.

He thought fondly of Munich, which he visited on business three or four times a year. Now, that city respected ample proportions. Nobody there looked down on you for having a waistline larger than your inseam. They rather preferred it, in fact. If Germany would just cut its tax rates, he would not only move there, he’d even learn the damn language.

He slid his driver’s license and insurance card through the magnetic stripe reader on the dashboard computer. The system awoke the cellular modem, queried the remote databases, and verified his right to drive. When the OK flashed, he put his key into the power-on switch lock. The center of the steering wheel irised open. He scrunched down, kissed the breathalyzer mask built into the steering column, and breathed until it beeped.

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