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

"Mr. Lee's Greater Hong Kong," Him says. "Half mile ahead on the right"
"Nice thinking-but they won't let you in with your swords, will they?"
"Yes," he says, "because I'm a Citizen."
Then she sees it. The sign stands out because it is a rare one. Don't
see many of these. It is a green-and-blue sign, soothing and calm in a
glare-torn franchise ghetto. It says:

MR. LEE'S GREATER HONG KONG

Explosive noise from in back. Her head smacks into the whiplash
arrestor. Another taxi rear-ended them.
And she screams into the parking lot of Mr. Lee's doing seventy-five.
The security system doesn't even have time to rez her visa and drop the STD,
so it's Severe Tire Damage all the way, those bald radials are left behind
on the spikes. Sparking along on four naked rims, she shrieks to a stop on
the lawngrid, which doubles as carbon dioxide-eating turf and impervious
parking lot.
She and Him climb out of the car.
Hiro is grinning wildly, pinioned in the crossfire of a dozen red laser
beams scanning him from every direction at once. The Hong Kong robot
security system is checking him out. Her, too; she looks down to see the
lasers scribbling across her chest.
'Welcome to Mr. Lee's Greater Hong Kong, Mr. Protagonist," the security
system says through a PA. speaker. "And welcome to your guest, Ms. Y.T."
The other taxis have stopped in formation along the curb.
78
SNOW CRASH
Several of them overshot the Hong Kong franchise and had to back up a
block or so. A barrage of doors thunking shut. Some of them don't bother,
just leave the engines running and the doors wide open. Three jeeks linger
on the sidewalk, eyeing the tire shreds impaled on spikes: long streaks of
neoprene sprouting steel and fiberglass hairs, like ruined toupees. One of
them has a revolver in his hand, pointed straight down at the sidewalk.
Four more jeeks run up to join them. Y.T. counts two more revolvers and
a pump shotgun. Any more of these guys and they'll be able to form a
government.
They step carefully over the spikes and onto the lush Hong Kong
lawngrid. As they do, the lasers appear once more. The jeeks turn all red
and grainy for a second.
Then something different happens. Lights come on. The security system
wants better illumination on these people.
Hong Kong franchulates are famous for their lawngrids-who. ever heard
of a lawn you could park on?-and for their antennas. They all look like NASA
research facilities with their antennas. Some of them are satellite uplinks,
pointed at the sky. But some of them, tiny little antennas, are pointed at
the ground, at the lawngnd.
Y.T. does not really get this, but these small antennas are
millimeter-wave radar transceivers. Like any other radar, they are good at
picking up metaffic objects. Unlike the radar in an air traffic control
center, they can rez fine details. The rez of a system is only as fine as