Printcrime Remixed

Cory Doctorow’s ‘Printcrime’ remixed
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1,“Come here and listen to your stupid Da” 1,“Come here, Lanie, let me whisper in your ear” 1,“I’m not going to print none of that rubbish, never again” 1,“I’m not stupid, Lanie” 1,“I’ve learned my lesson” 1,“Lanie, I’m going to print more printers. Lots more printers. One for everyone” 1,“Lanie,” he said, as he sat me down 1,“Let me tell you the thing that I decided while I spent ten years in lockup” 1,“That’s worth going to jail for. That’s worth anything” 1,“There’s no hat or laptop that’s worth going to jail for” 1,“What, Da?” I said, leaning in close 1,“You wouldn’t know where your old Da could get a printer and some goop? You’re a smart girl, I know that. Trig” 1,“You’d risk another ten years to print out more blenders and pharma, more laptops and designer hats? … Wow” 1,“You’ve been in prison for ten years, Da. Ten. Years” 1,A prison fight had left him with a limp, and he looked over his shoulder so often it was like he had a tic 1,Back then, I could take apart and reassemble anything that could be printed 1,By the time I turned eighteen, they were ready to let Da out of prison 1,Da 1,God knew what he went through in prison 1,He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair 1,He grinned 1,He had a cup of tea, and he drank it now like it was whisky, a sip and then a long, satisfied exhalation 1,He was off his rocker, that much was clear 1,I closed my eyes 1,I felt a guilty pang about ticking him off 1,I remember the hot, cling-film-in-a-microwave smell of it, and Da’s look of ferocious concentration as he filled it with fresh goop, and the warm, fresh-baked feel of the objects that came out of it 1,I saw it all from my phone, in the remains of the sitting room, watching it on the screen and wondering how, just how anyone could look at our little flat and our terrible, manky estate and mistake it for the home of an organized crime kingpin 1,I squeezed my hands into fists so tight my fingernails cut into my palms 1,I was embarrassed when the minicab dropped us off in front of the estate, and tried to keep my distance from this ruined, limping skeleton as we went inside and up the stairs 1,I’d visited him three times – on my tenth birthday, on his fiftieth, and when Ma died 1,It had been two years since I’d last seen him and he was in bad shape 1,It was made out of printed parts, so it would only last a month before I’d need to print new bearings and other moving parts 1,Its little shrine in the kitchenette seemed horribly empty 1,My tweetybird escaped death by hiding in a corner of his cage as a big, booted foot crushed most of it into a sad tangle of printer-wire 1,One of Da’s customers had shopped him 1,The coppers came through the door with truncheons swinging, one of them reciting the terms of the warrant through a bullhorn 1,The coppers smashed my father’s printer when I was eight 1,The ipolice paid in high-grade pharmaceuticals – performance enhancers, memory supplements, metabolic boosters 1,The kind of thing that cost a fortune over the counter; the kind of thing you could print at home, if you didn’t mind the risk of having your kitchen filled with a sudden crush of big, beefy bodies, hard truncheons whistling through the air, smashing anyone and anything that got in the way 1,They brought him out the door and let the newsies get a good look at him as they tossed him in the car, while a spokesman told the world that my Da’s organized-crime bootlegging operation had been responsible for at least twenty million in contraband, and that my Da, the desperate villain, had resisted arrest 1,They destroyed grandma’s trunk, the one she’d brought from the old country 1,They smashed our little refrigerator and the purifier unit over the window 1,They took the printer away, of course, and displayed it like a trophy for the newsies 1,What they did to him 1,When he was done, he looked like he’d been brawling with an entire rugby side 1,When I roused myself and picked up the flat and rescued my peeping poor tweetybird, I put a blender there
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