"Cory Doctorow - The Super Man and Bugout" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dodd Christina)

thinking. I apologise."

#

Hershie touched down on Parliament Hill, heart racing. Thomas's warning echoed
in his head. His memories of Woolley were already morphing, so that the slick,
neat kid became feral, predatory. The Hill was marshy and cold and gray, and as
he squelched up to the main security desk, he felt a cold ooze of mud infiltrate
its way into his super-bootie. There was a new RCMP constable on duty, a
turbanned Sikh. Normally, he felt awkward around the Sikhs in the Mounties. He
imagined that their lack of cultural context made his tights and emblem seem
absurd, that they evoked grins beneath the Sikhs' fierce moustaches. But today,
he was glad the man was a Sikh, another foreigner with an uneasy berth in the
Canadian military-industrial complex. The Sikh was expressionless as Hershie
squirted his clearances from his comm to the security desk's transceiver.
Imperturbably, the Sikh squirted back directions to Woolley's new office, just a
short jaunt from the exalted heights of the Prime Minister's Office.

The Minister's office was guarded by: a dignified antique door that had the rich
finish of wood that has been buffed daily for two centuries; an RCMP constable
in plainclothes; a young, handsome receptionist in a silk navy power-suit; a
slightly older office manager whose heart-stopping beauty was only barely
restrained by her chaste blouse and skirt; and, finally, a pair of boardroom
doors with spotless brass handles and a retinal scanner.

Each obstacle took more time to weather than the last, so it was nearly an hour
before the office manager stared fixedly into the scanner until the locks opened
with a soft clack. Hershie squelched in, leaving a slushy dribble on the muted
industrial-grade brown carpet.

Woolley knelt on the stool of an ergonomic work-cart, enveloped in an
articulated nest of displays, comms, keyboards, datagloves, immersive headsets,
stylii, sticky notes and cup-holders. His posture, hair and expression rivaled
one-another for flawlessness.

"Hello, hello," he said, giving Hershie's hand a dry, firm pump. He smelled of


file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...20-%20The%20Super%20Man%20and%20Bugout.txt (13 of 22) [1/3/2005 12:32:36 AM]
 file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Cory%20Doctorow%20-%20The%20Super%20Man%20and%20Bugout.txt

expensive talc and leather car interiors.

He led Hershie to a pair of stark Scandinavian chairs whose polished lead
undersides bristled with user-interface knobs. The old Minister's tastes had run
to imposing oak desks and horsehair club-chairs, and Hershie felt a moment's
disorientation as he sank into the brilliantly functional sitting-machine. It
chittered like a roulette wheel and shifted to firmly support him.

"Thanks for seeing me," Hershie said. He caught his reflection in the