"Нейл Стефенсон. Snow Crash (Снежная лавина, англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

About the second or third thing they learned how to do when studying to
become Kouriers was how to shiv open a pair of handcuffs. Handcuffs are not
intended as long-term restraint devices, millions of Clink franchisees to
the contrary. And the longtime
SNOW CRASH
status of skateboarders as an oppressed ethnic group means that by now
all of them are escape artists of some degree.
First things first. Y.T. has many a thing hanging off her uniform. The
uniform has a hundred pockets, big flat pockets for deliveries and eensy
narrow pockets for gear, pockets sewn into sleeves, thighs, shins. The
equipment stuck into these multifarious pockets tends to be small, tricky,
lightweight pens, markers, penlights, penknives, lock picks, bar-code
scanners, flares, screwdrivers, Liquid Knuckles, bundy stunners, and
lightsticks. A cal. culator is stuck upside-down to her right thigh,
doubling as a taxi meter and a stopwatch.
On the other thigh is a personal phone. As the manager is locking the
door upstairs, it begins to ring. Y.T. offhooks it with her free hand. It is
her mother.
"Hi, Mom. Fine, how are you? I'm at Tracy's house. Yeah, we went to the
Metaverse. We were just fooling around at this arcade on the Street. Pretty
bumpin'. Yes, I used a nice avatar. Nab, Tracy's mom said she'd give me a
ride home later. But we might stop off at the Joyride on Victory for a
while, okay? Okay, well, sleep tight, Mom. I will. I love you, too. See you
later."
She punches the flash button, killing the chat with Mom and giving her
a fresh dial tone in the space of about half a second. "Roadkill," she says.
The telephone remembers and dials Roadkill's number.
Roaring sounds. This is the sound of air peeling over the microphone of
Roadkill's personal phone at some terrifying velocity. Also the competing
whooshes of many vehicles' tires on pavement, broken by chuckhole
percussion; sounds like the crumbling Ventura.
"Yo, Y.T.," Roadkill says, " 'sup?"
"'Sup with you?"
"Surfing the Tura. 'Sup with you?"
"Maxing The Clink."
"Whoa! Who popped you?"
"MetaCops. Affixed me to the gate of White Columns with a loogie gun."
"Whoa, how very! When you leaving?"
"Soon. Can you swing by and give me a hand?"
"What do you mean?"
NEAL STEPHENSON
73
Men. "You know, give me a hand. You're my boyfriend," she says,
speaking very simply and plainly. "If I get popped, you're supposed to come
around and help bust me out." Isn't everyone supposed to know this stuff?
Don't parents teach their kids anything anymore?
"Well, uh, where are you?"
"Buy 'n' Fly number 501,762."