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

his hand.

"You broke my fucking thumb!" he said, and then Elaine was on her feet,
shouting incoherently, right up in Mortimer's face, darting her head at him
like a striking cobra. The frontliners broke off their gaming and boozing and
necking and rushed over, hooting for blood.

Lee-Daniel felt the old adrenaline, the "leadership" brain-reward that he got
when it all came down to a crisis. He jumped up on their table, scattering
their dinners' active packaging, which curled and waved as it flapped to the
floor, cycling through its upsell ads.

"Enough!" he roared. It wasn't a cop voice, but it was a voice nevertheless --
the voice of the man who signs the paycheck, the disappointed father who was
going to turn the bus around and take the company home this instant if he
didn't get respect. Lee- Daniel didn't have to use that voice often, but its
rarity was part of its effectiveness.

It didn't work. Elaine still shouted, Joey Riel was digging through the drifts
of trash for a weapon, and the frontliners were still cheering their bosses
on. "Enough!" he said again, just to check, but it didn't work any better the
second time around.

He got down off the table and circled Mortimer, who had the mic for his
loudhailer clipped to his belt. Lee-Daniel snatched it up and hit the Talk
button, dialing the volume up to max with his thumb.

"Enough!" he said, and the loudhailer amplified his voice to staggering
volume. At max, it was meant to be used to signal passing aircraft. Inside the
vending machine's claustrophobic bowels, it was like a bullet ricocheting
through their skulls. Some of the more delicate antennamen dropped to their
knees, their hands clutched to their heads, and Mortimer staggered back into
Lee-Daniel, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Lee-Daniel cut the volume in half and hit Talk again. The company shied back
when the speaker array on Mortimer's bandolier popped to life. "All right,
enough. Company meeting. Get chairs, sit on the floor, whatever. Right here,
right now." He handed the mic back to Mortimer, who wiped it down with care
and clipped it back to his belt.
He gave Mortimer his poker chip. "Get a bag of ice for Joey," he said. "And
thanks, man."

Mortimer gave him the cop stare and trudged off to one of the vending banks
and started prodding methodically at its display.

"All right," Lee-Daniel said, again, looking into the expectant, upturned
faces of his company. "All right.

"No one is happy about Akwesahsne, all right? I take responsibility. We're
wireless hackers, not guerrillas. We're not going to get into that kind of