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

The CogRadio magic bus pulled up to the guard in the pillbox at the Akwesahsne
main gate, abuzz with new-gig energy, the anticipation of thirty skilled
professionals who'd been crammed into a bus for four solid days, ready to tear
each other's throats out. The gatewoman was all of 17, not that you could tell
at first, so crufted up was she with obsolete martian armor/arms and sensory
array.

But once she came onto the bus for her customs inspection and removed her
immersive headgear, it was obvious that she was no older than the switch girls
who drifted in and out of the CogRad bus, using it as a means of making a
little e-gold between footloose adventures in the Great American Heartland.

A 17-year-old with a defensive array of fast-acting anti-serotonin misters was
a lot less threatening than a 30-year-old would have been, and orders of
magnitude less terrifying than a similarly armed innovation-sick 50-year-old
would have been. Joey Riel came forward, stinking of something between sweat
socks and Doritos, and greeted her in familiar, colloquial French, something
flirty by the sound of it, and she gave him a wry, patronizing smile.

"Why do you speak French, Brother? Why not greet me in Kanien'k├йha, or Cree,
or even Ojibwa? When we speak whiteman words, they make us think whiteman
thoughts." She turned to the bus and gave them a long stare. "Hello,
whitemen," she continued, "hello, whitewomen. Welcome to the Mohawk Warrior
Society autonomous zone. No weapons. No sex with First People. No drinks or
drugs. No whiteman tobacco."

"Cook your own meals, wash your own plates, step lightly on the land. You can
observe our nightly meetings if you are respectful, but it's more important
that you come to the seminars afterwards. There are lectures, role-playing
exercises, personal storytelling, theater of the oppressed, newsblogging,
warblogging, linkblogging, puppetmaking, outreach, filterbusting. Whiteman
guests are welcome here, provided that they're willing to help the cause."

Lee-Daniel had heard variations on this speech before, but they usually came
from hotheads who argued against renewing CogRad's maintenance contract, not
the official greeter before they'd even started the gig. He knew well enough
to take it in stride and move on, but Joey Riel was blushing furiously at
having been shot down for insufficient indianity by this highly macha hottie,
and so he waved some verbal dick, asking something in Ojibwa, all testicular.

She fixed him with a withering stare. "You're not the first apple I've met,"
she said. Apple -- red on the outside, white on the inside. "And you're not
the most pathetic. But you're an apple and you've forgotten who you are, and
that means that you don't mean anything to me except a sad story and a warning
to other First People."

Joey Riel's hands balled up into fists and the investors shifted nervously.
Lee-Daniel got to his feet and interposed himself between them.

"Ya-tay-hay, madam," he said. "Thank you for your welcome. Can you tell me