"Paul Di Filippo & Bruce Sterling - The Scabs Progress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Di Filippo Paul)

"The cat gets him out of trouble every time. Kids love that cat."

"Look, honey: kids are not the target demographic. This show isn't studio-
greenlighted or even indie-syndicated, okay? You know as well as I do that this is
outlaw media. Totally underground guerrilla infotainment, virally distributed. There
are laws on the booksтАФunenforced, sure, but still extantтАФthat make it illegal for us
even to watch this thing. After all, Ribo Zombie is a biological terrorist who's
robbing a Federal stash!"

"If it's not a kid's show, why is that cute little cartoon in the corner of the screen?"

"That's his grafitti icon! The sign of his street-wise authenticity."

Tupper gazed at him with limpid spousal pity. "Then who edits all his raw footage
and adds the special effects?"

"Oh, well, that's just the Vegas Mafia. The Mafia keeps up with modern times: no
more Rat Pack crooners and gangsta rappers! Nowadays they cut licensing deals
with freeware culture heroes like Ribo Zombie, lone wolf recombinants bent on
bringing hot goo to the masses."

Tupper waved her comic as a visual aid. "I still bet the cat's gonna save him.
Because none of that makes any difference to the archetypical narrative dynamics."

Fearon sighed. He opened a new window on his gelatinous screen and accessed
certain data. "Okay, look. You know what runs security on Federal Biosequestration
Sites like that one? Military-grade, laminated, mouse brains. You know how smart
that stuff is? A couple of cubic inches of murine brain has more processing power
than every computer ever deployed in the twentieth century. Plus, mouse brain is
unhackable. Computer viruses, no problem. Electromagnetic pulse doesn't affect it.
No power source to disrupt, since neurons run on blood sugar. That stuff is
indestructible."

Tupper shrugged. "Just turn your show back on."

Skratchy was poised at a vulnerable crack in the diatom's roof. The cat began
copiously to pee.

When the trickling urine reached the olfactory sensors wired to the mouse brains,
the controlling network went berserk. Ancient murine anti-predator instincts
swamped the cybernetic instructions, triggering terrified flight responses. Mis-aimed
spore bomblets thudded harmlessly to the soil, whizzing bolas wreaked havoc
through the innocent vegetation below, and vent ports spewed contaminated steam
and liquid nitrogen.

Cursing the zany but dangerous fusillade, Ribo Zombie set to work with a back-
mounted hydraulic can opener.

Glum and silent, Fearon gripped his jaw. His hooded eyes glazed over as Ribo
Zombie crept through surreal diorama of waist-high wells, HVAC systems and