Who is Pekanese Blue?

    "Seems like scary stuff. But mostly, we alter lines of code. There's very little actual piloting done these days. Tweaking facial recognition software, alignment with the GPS (though that's rapidly approaching perfection), improving how the intelligence handles infrared distinction..."
    "Uh-huh." Scotty screwed up his eyes to express his boredom, completely lost on his talking partner.
    "If I'm being honest," the twat whispered, "we don't really even code. The algorithms have been capable of making their own adjustments for years now."
    "Orly?"
    "Fortunately, most higher-ups can't tell the difference. Generated code looks the same as handwritten: gibberish vs. more gibberish."
    Scotty blew a bubble in his $20 coffee. He'd bet he had a 20 in his jacket somewhere, but he'd planned to dash even if Twat hadn't offered to pay. "You'll be techsourced, soon enough [[ya twat]]," he said [[and thought]].
    "Oh, I don't doubt it." The guy lit a $20 cigarette and smirked. "But I'm hoping I'll be dead by then. Shit takes time. Or maybe I'll hear that buzz like a dog-sized bee myself one day, huh? My own function busting my head like a watermelon?" He put it out and took out another one, in case the girls at the next table hadn't seen how smooth he looked lighting it. "That'd be some kind of poetry, right? You seem like the poetic type."
    "That's right."
    He lost his stare in the middle distance somewhere. "Where would I go? I don't have the scruples for marketing." A puff of smoke twatted from between his lips.
    "Sure."
    "And a place like this? Café work (he emphasized the diacritic on the second syllable) just feels...beneath me. Ya feel me?"
    "I feel you." He felt icky. But well caffeinated, damn.
    "Anyway, Transient, thanks for the chat." He put the butt out. "I get bored between shifts. And during. And sometimes while sleeping... I'm not selling it super well, but you wanna go corporate, I've got your back. You seem like a smart guy. Or good at hiding idiocy. Either way works in the biz, whatever the biz is." He handed Scotty a bizness card, decorated with gold-embossed lightning bolts.

    German Special
    Expert Ninja Coder
   
        and Professional Twat


    Scotty turned it in his hands and said, "Wow."
    "That's right, bud. Shall we get the check? Miss?! Little Miss! Yeah, you."
    She came over with a glossy smile and tried to nab the card he held out while avoiding his fingers.
    Scotty tried to slip in a couple platitudes before he slipped out, but found them dying to the far off whine of a bumblebee which he imagined to be somewhere between the size of a dog and a buffalo.
    German lit a final cigarette and openly ogled the women at the next table. "Sounds like a plus-sized model. Same software, though. We should probably be flattered. Something knows we exist, at least for the moment." He smiled. His teeth were the beyond-yellow of coffee and cigarettes. "Anyway, it's been sweet."
    Obligated to do so, Scotty Transient tried as hard as he could to think of something poetic to add, but the only two thoughts he could have were [[I've wasted my entire life.]] or [[My brain feels like Jell-O right now.]] Neither one seemed up to his own standards, so he was still thinking as the room filled with fire and shrapnel; too fast to process, too slow to escape.