"Charles Stross & Cory Doctorow - Appeals Court" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

"I feel like shit." Huw rubs his forehead. "Like I've been shat. Where am I? Where's Bonnie gotten to?"



"Flying the bloody ship. We can't all sleep. Don't worry, she's just hunky-dory. How about you?"



"Flying." Huw blinks. "Where the hell —"



"You've been sleeping like a baby for a good long while." Ade looks smug. "Don't worry, we got you out
of Libya one jump ahead of Judge Rosa. You won't be arriving in Charleston, South Carolina for another
four or five hours, why'n't you kick back and smoke some grass? I left at least a quarter of your stash
—"



"South Carolina?" Huw screams, nearly dropping the teapot. "Unclefucking sewage filter, what do you
want to send me there for?"



"Ah, pecker up. They're your co-religionists, aren't they? You won't find a more natural, flesh-hugging
bunch on the planet than the Jesonians who got left behind in the Geek Rapture. Hell, they're the kind of
down-home Luddites what make you look like Buck Rogers."



"They're radioactive," Huw wails. "And I'm an atheist. They burn atheists at the stake, don't they?" He
rummages through his skanky clothes, turning them inside out and outside in as he searches for something
not so a-crawl that he'd be unwilling to have it touch his nethers.



"Oh, hardly," says Adrian. "Just get a little activated charcoal and iodine in your diet and memorize the
Lord's prayer and you'll be fine, sonny."



Huw ends up tying a t-shirt around his middle like a diaper and seizing the teapot, which has developed a
nasty rattle in its guts.



"Breakfast and toilet. Not in that order. Sharp."