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

"AS your demeanor has been nonaggressive and you carry no visible
weapons, we are not authorized to employ heroic measures to ensure your
cooperation," the first MetaCop says.
"You stay ~oo1 and we'll stay cool," the second MetaCop says.
"However, we are equipped with devices, including but not limited to
projectile weapons, which, if used, may pose an extreme and immediate threat
to your health and well-being."
"Make one funny move and we'll blow your head off," the second MetaCop
says.
"Just unglom my fuckin' hand," Y.T. says. She has heard all this a
million times before.


__________ White Columns, like most Burbclaves, has no jail, no police
station. So unsightly. Property values. Think of the liability exposure.
MetaCops has a franchise just down the road that serves as headquarters. As
for a jail, some place to habeas the occasional stray corpus, any
half-decent franchise strip has one.
They are cruising in the Mobile Unit. YT.'s hands are cuffed together
in front of her. One hand is still half-encased in rubbery goo, smelling so
intensely of vinyl fumes that both MetaCops have rolled down their windows.
Six feet of loose fibers trail into her lap, across the floor of the Unit,
out the door, and drag on the pavement The MetaCops are taking it easy,
cruising down the middle lane, not above issuing a speeding ticket here and
there as long as they're in their jurisdiction. Motorists around them drive
slowly and sanely, appalled by the thought of having to pull over and listen
to half an hour of disclaimers, advisements, and tangled justifications from
the likes of these. The occasional CosaNostra delivery boy whips past them
in the left lane, orange lights aflame, and they pretend not to notice.
"What's it gonna be, the Hoosegow or The Clink?" the first MetaCop
says. From the way he is talking, he must be talking to the other MetaCop.
"The Hoosegow, please," Y.T. says.
"The Clinki" the other MetaCop says, turning around, sneering at her
through the antiballistic glass, wallowing in power.
The whole interior of the car lights up as they drive past a Buy 'n'
Fly. Loiter in the parking lot of a Buy 'n' Fly and you'd get a
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SNOW CRASH
suntan. Then WorldBeat Security would come and arrest you. All that
security-inducing light makes the Visa and MasterCard stickers on the
driver's-side window glow for a moment.
"Y.T. is card-carrying," Y.T. says. "What does it cost to get off?"
"How come you keep calling yourself Whitey?" the second MetaCop says.
Like many people of color, he has misconstrued her name.
"Not whitey. Y.T.," The first MetaCop says.
"That's what Y.T. is called," Y.T. says.
"That's what I said," the second MetaCop says. "Whitey."
"Y.T.," the first one says, accenting the T so brutally that he throws
a glittering burst of saliva against the windshield. "Let me. guess-Yolanda
Truman?"