By Raven Alder as Natasha

Natasha smiled winningly as she prepared a double-caramel latte, 2% milk, no whipped cream. The entrepreneurial customer across the counter smiled back with perfect white teeth.

It s really amazing that you can do this! he enthused. I didn t have to say a word.

Well, with our custom biometric systems, we can remember everyone s regular order and get it perfect every time, Natasha said. That s the technological wave of the future.

She had the patter down by this point six months and counting behind the counter of Manhattan s hippest coffee joint, and she was damn near ready to spiel off a FAQ about the caf and its systems at will. The caf s website had one, as a matter of fact not that many of the Wall Street high-rollers who made up a substantial portion of their customer base ever read it. However, the caf also enjoyed the patronage of a fair subset of New York s digerati, drawn by the lure of new technology with an interface to the public. They certainly read the FAQ, and often showed off the caf proudly to their out-of-town friends.

Mr. Pearly Whites walked away with his Armani suit and his latte, and Natasha glanced down at the screen before her. One Mr. Kendall Haverford, lately of a wellknown financial institution nearby. If he only knew where his data was going; parsed, cross-referenced, filed, and stored for later use. In the meantime, there were beans to grind and frappucinos to whip it...