（外文电子版资料）Niven, Larry - Deadlier Weapon.doc

The Deadlier Weapon By Larry Niven He was standing just off Overland Drive, at the mouth of the on-ramp to the Santa Monica Freeway, eastbound. He waited with an air of ready confidence, and his thumbsmanship seemed practiced. His placement was perfect. A few yards further up the ramp, and no car could have stopped for him without being hit by the car behind. A few yards closer, and no driver would have known which route he wanted: the freeway, or the street going past the ramp. That was what caught my attention: the perfect placement, not too far, not too near. A traveler, for sure. I dropped my arm out the window to signal, hit the brakes, and pulled up an easy foot and a half beyond him. He was running before the car stopped. I pulled the lock knob and he threw the door open and was in, grinning, wasting no time. Good again. Nobody waits for a lazy hitchhiker; you trot or you dont ride. As soon as he was in I swung between two cars and headed up the ramp, accelerating. The traffic wasnt bad, not at three in the afternoon. Still, when you enter a freeway you concentrate on the traffic. Everything else gets ignored. I hardly knew what my passenger looked like; Id seen only a poised silhouette with its thumb raised against the afternoon sky. But I gave him points again. He didnt speak until I was firmly settled in the middle-right lane and could afford to relax a little. I dont pick up riders often. When I do, I follow the whim of the moment. The ones who look chatty when I want peace and quiet, and the ones who look glum or taciturn when Im after conversation-- these get left standing. I like the unusual ones, the ones who seem to have a kind of salesmanship. Six months ago thered been a college girl on Wilshire, carrying a bright red Christmas package almost as big as she was. She was homesick for Kansas. Shed told me what freezing rains are like, when water falls from the sky at night and freezes where it hits, so that in the morning all the trees and