"Cory Doctorow - Liberation Spectrum" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dodd Christina)

and from that host, five bars all the way and not a single frame dropped if
all went according to plan.

The investors were with the Northeast party, along with Joey Riel, Meatloaf
and Mermaid. Not Mac, he was on the bus, where he usually spent the dusks and
dawns, in air-conditioned gloom out of the mosquitos' range. Lee-Daniel took
the opposite corner, Southwest, with Elaine and the hard-line girl from the
gate on the first day and Cobra, who'd taken to watching the sunsets with him
and sharing a pint of forbidden bourbon, not saying anything, ducking the
endless committee meetings.

They reached the perimeter and began to pace it off. Over the audio on the
videoconferencing tablet, he heard the investors' labored breathing, the
slipping of their impractical Oxfords on the slick humus that carpeted the
forest.

It was a nice early-fall day, with bloody streaks of sunset on the horizon and
the crisp smell of damp and wind and sap dripping from the maples. Lee-Daniel
loved an autumn walk in the woods, hell, who didn't, and even with the
choppers, he was pretty relaxed by the time he got halfway around the rez, an
hour later, in the growing gloom.

It was then that bright beams of light stabbed at them from all sides. Behind
him, he heard Cobra curse and then he was shoved aside and down as Cobra and
the girl took up back-to-back positions with their weapons -- a gas fogger for
her, a hunting rifle for him -- at ready.

"S├╗ret├й," Cobra hissed. S├╗ret├й du Qu├йbec -- the Provincial cops.

He'd done the research, knew that the SQ and the Warriors hated each other.
The Mohawk Warriors Society had been fired in a kiln bricked with SQ beatings,
shoot-outs and gassings. But the Akwesahsne Rez had been at peace for almost
three years! The radio cops must be using them to do their dirty work. Why the
hell couldn't this have happened tomorrow, when they were on the road?

His radio network, that's why.

Lee-Daniel knelt down and dialed down the screen brightness on his tablet,
then peered at it. His half showed his long, narrow face, uplit like a
jack-o'-lantern by the screen, eyesockets black and deep, cheeks hollow and
stippled with patchy three-day beard. Two of the other quadrants were black --
the tablets were offline or broken. The final one showed the Northeast party,
skinny Joey Riel holding a thick branch in one hand and a rock in the other,
ridiculous alongside Meatloaf and Mermaid, who had already fitted their masks
and goggles and drawn their sidearms, crouching back to back against each
other.

The investors hove into view, whey-faced, lips skinned back from their teeth,
eyes crazy-white.