FRATE PETI
1. Scola · 2. Esplode · 3. Aresta · 4. Prison · 5. Paranoia · 6. Rede X · 7. Spleno-Porco · 8. Paradox · 9. Furgon · 10. Claves · 11. Slogan
12. Conserta · 13. Jornales · 14. Bitnic · 15. Enrolada · 16. Reportor · 17. Tuneli · 18. Juas · 19. Vampires · 20. Tortura · 21. Judi · Epilogo

15. Enrolada

Mostra ance la testo orijinal

Me ia blogi la confere jornaliste an ante envia la invitas al la jornales. Me ia pote persepi ce tota esta scrivores vole presenta me como un xef o un jeneral o un comandor suprema de gerilias, e me ia razona ce un modo de solve esta va es par ave alga usores de Rede X ci ta sirculi ance en la loca per responde a demandas.

I blogged the press-conference even before I’d sent out the invitations to the press. I could tell that all these writers wanted to make me into a leader or a general or a supreme guerrilla commandant, and I figured one way of solving that would be to have a bunch of Xnetters running around answering questions too.

A pos, me ia eposta a la jornales. La respondes ia varia de confonde asta zelo – sola la reportor de Fox ia es “scandalida” ce me ia es tan ososa per demanda ce el fa un jua afin me ta apare en sua televisa. La otras de los ia pare opina ce esta va produi un article vera bela, an si un bon cuantia de los ia desira multe suportas tecnical per entra a la jua.

Then I emailed the press. The responses ranged from puzzled to enthusiastic – only the Fox reporter was “outraged” that I had the gall to ask her to play a game in order to appear on her TV show. The rest of them seemed to think that it would make a pretty cool story, though plenty of them wanted lots of tech support for signing onto the game

Me ia eleje 20:00, pos la come de sera. Mama ia pesti me sur tota la seras cual me ia spende estra la casa, asta cuando me ia confesa sur Anj, a cual punto el ia deveni tota neblida e ia fa regardas a me de la tipo “mea fio peti deveni matur”. El ia vole encontra Anj, e me ia usa esta per influe, prometente ce Anj ta veni en la sera seguente si me ta pote “vade a la sinema” con el en esta.

I picked 8PM, after dinner. Mom had been bugging me about all the evenings I’d been spending out of the house until I finally spilled the beans about Ange, whereupon she came over all misty and kept looking at me like, my-little-boy’s-growing-up. She wanted to meet Ange, and I used that as leverage, promising to bring her over the next night if I could “go to the movies” with Ange tonight.

La mama e sore de Anj ia es denova no a casa – los no ia es pantoflores, vera – tal ce me e Anj ia resta solitar en sua sala con sua Xbox e la mea. Me ia deslia un de sua scermos de comodeta e ia lia mea Xbox a lo afin ambos nos va pote es enlinia a la mesma tempo.

Ange’s mom and sister were out again – they weren’t real stay-at-homes – which left me and Ange alone in her room with her Xbox and mine. I unplugged one of her bedside screens and attached my Xbox to it so that we could both login at once.

Ambos Xboxes ia reposa, liada a Ruba Enrolada. Me ia pasea pendulin.

Both Xboxes were idle, logged into Clockwork Plunder. I was pacing.

“Tota va vade bon.” – el ia dise. El ia regardeta sua scermo. “La Bazar de Cornelio Covreoio conteni aora 600 juores!” Nos ia eleje Cornelio Covreoio car lo ia es la mercato la plu prosima a la plaza de vileta do juores materi. Si la reportores no ia es ja juores de Ruba Enrolada – ha! – alora los va apare ala. En mea posta de blog me ia solisita ce persones ta pigri jeneral sur la via entre Cornelio Covreoio e la porte de materi e ta dirije a Cornelio cualcun ci aspeta como un reportor desorientada.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said. She glanced at her screen. “Patcheye Pete’s Market has 600 players in it now!” We’d picked Patcheye Pete’s because it was the market closest to the village square where new players spawned. If the reporters weren’t already Clockwork Plunder players – ha! – then that’s where they’d show up. In my blog post I’d asked people generally to hang out on the route between Patcheye Pete’s and the spawn-gate and direct anyone who looked like a disoriented reporter over to Pete’s.

“Cual de enferno me va dise a los?”

“What the hell am I going to tell them?”

“Responde mera a sua demandas – e si tu no gusta un demanda, iniora lo. Un otra person va pote responde lo. Lo va vade bon.”

“You just answer their questions – and if you don’t like a question, ignore it. Someone else can answer it. It’ll be fine.”

“Esta es demente.”

“This is insane.”

“Esta es perfeta, Marcus. Si tu vole vera dana la Departe de Securia Interna, tu debe embarasa lo. La situa no es tal ce tu pote vinse los par spara plu bon. Tua sola arma es tua capasia de fa ce los pare cretin.”

“This is perfect, Marcus. If you want to really screw the DHS, you have to embarrass them. It’s not like you’re going to be able to out-shoot them. Your only weapon is your ability to make them look like morons.”

Me ia colasa sur la leto e el ia tira mea testa a sua vasto e ia caresa mea capeles. Me ia jua con stilos diversa ante la bombi, tinjente con colores de tota spesies strana, ma de cuando me ia emerji de prison, me no ia ave plu la interesa. Mea capeles ia deveni longa e stupida e desordinada, e me ia vade a la sala de banio e ia prende mea cortador e ia redui los a un sentimetre a tota lados, un stilo cual ia nesesa no labora per cura e ia aida mea nonvidablia cuando me ia sorti per interfere e clone radioeticetas.

I flopped on the bed and she pulled my head into her lap and stroked my hair. I’d been playing around with different haircuts before the bombing, dying it all kinds of funny colors, but since I’d gotten out of jail I couldn’t be bothered. It had gotten long and stupid and shaggy and I’d gone into the bathroom and grabbed my clippers and buzzed it down to half an inch all around, which took zero effort to take care of and helped me to be invisible when I was out jamming and cloning arphids.

Me ia abri mea oios e ia regarda profonda sua grande oios brun pos sua oculo. Los ia es ronda e licuidin e espresosa. El ia pote protende los cuando el ia vole fa ce me rie, o cambia los a suave e triste, o pigra e dormosa en un modo cual ia fonde me a un stangeta de libidosia.

I opened my eyes and stared into her big brown eyes behind her glasses. They were round and liquid and expressive. She could make them bug out when she wanted to make me laugh, or make them soft and sad, or lazy and sleepy in a way that made me melt into a puddle of horniness.

Esta es lo cual el ia fa a acel momento.

That’s what she was doing right now.

Me ia senta lenta me e ia abrasa el. El ia abrasa me en responde. Nos ia besa. El ia es un besor stonante. Me sabe ce me ia dise ja esta, ma lo tolera la repete. Nos ia besa multe, ma per esta razona o acel, nos ia sesa sempre ante deveni tro intensa.

I sat up slowly and hugged her. She hugged me back. We kissed. She was an amazing kisser. I know I’ve already said that, but it bears repeating. We kissed a lot, but for one reason or another we always stopped before it got too heavy.

Aora me ia desira vade plu. Me ia trova la orlo de sua camiseta e ia tira. El ia pone sua manos supra sua testa e ia retira se par alga sentimetres. Me ia sabe ce el va fa esta. Me ia sabe de pos la note en la parce. Cisa esta ia es perce nos no ia vade ja plu – me ia sabe ce me no pote fida ce el ta desintensi, e lo ia asusta pico me.

Now I wanted to go farther. I found the hem of her t-shirt and tugged. She put her hands over her head and pulled back a few inches. I knew that she’d do that. I’d known since the night in the park. Maybe that’s why we hadn’t gone farther – I knew I couldn’t rely on her to back off, which scared me a little.

Ma me no ia es asustada aora. La confere jornaliste prosiminte, la batalias con mea jenitores, la atende internasional, la senti ce on ave un promove cual freta tra la site como un sfera savaje de pinbal – lo ia titila mea pel e mea sangue ia canta.

But I wasn’t scared then. The impending press-conference, the fights with my parents, the international attention, the sense that there was a movement that was careening around the city like a wild pinball – it made my skin tingle and my blood sing.

E el ia es bela, e astuta, e intelijente e comica, e me ia es deveninte enamada par el.

And she was beautiful, and smart, and clever and funny, and I was falling in love with her.

Sua camisa ia lisca de sur, e el ia arci sua dorso per aida me a leva lo ultra sua spalas. El ia pone sua manos pos se e ia fa alga cosa e sua portaseno ia cade a via. Me ia mervelia con oios fisada, sin move e sin respira, e alora el ia saisi mea camisa e ia tira lo supra mea testa, saisinte me e tirante mea peto nuda a la sua.

Her shirt slid off, her arching her back to help me get it over her shoulders. She reached behind her and did something and her bra fell away. I stared goggle-eyed, motionless and breathless, and then she grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head, grabbing me and pulling my bare chest to hers.

Nos ia rola sur la leto e ia toca lunlotra e ia presa nosa corpos a junta e ia jemi. El ia besa tota partes de mea peto e me ia fa la mesma a el. Me no ia pote respira, me no ia pote pensa; me ia pote sola move e besa e leca e toca.

We rolled on the bed and touched each other and ground our bodies together and groaned. She kissed all over my chest and I did the same to her. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I could only move and kiss and lick and touch.

Nos ia defia lunlotra a avansa. Me ia desfa sua jina. El ia desfa la mea. Me ia basi sua zipe, e el ia fa la mea e ia tira mea jina a via. Me ia tira la sua. Pos un momento, ambos nos ia es nuda, con eseta de mea calsetas, cual me ia desapone usante mea orteos.

We dared each other to go forward. I undid her jeans. She undid mine. I lowered her zipper, she did mine, and tugged my jeans off. I tugged off hers. A moment later we were both naked, except for my socks, which I peeled off with my toes.

Alora me ia videta la orolojo de comodeta, cual ia rola a sur la solo en la pasada distante e ia reposa aora ala, brilietante de su a nos.

It was then that I caught sight of the bedside clock, which had long ago rolled onto the floor and lay there, glowing up at us.

“Merda!” – me ia abaia. “Lo va comensa pos du minutos!” Txa, me no ia pote crede ce me es a punto de sesa lo cual me es a punto de sesa, cuando me es a punto de sesa lo. Me vole dise, si on ta demanda a me – “Marcus, tu es a punto de fode a la ves la plu prima de SEMPRE. Esce tu va sesa si me esplode esta bomba nucleal en la mesma sala como tu?” – la responde ta es un NO asentuada e nonambigua.

“Crap!” I yelped. “It starts in two minutes!” I couldn’t freaking believe that I was about to stop what I was about to stop doing, when I was about to stop doing it. I mean, if you’d asked me, “Marcus, you are about to get laid for the firstest time EVAR, will you stop if I let off this nuclear bomb in the same room as you?” the answer would have been a resounding and unequivocal NO.

E an tal, nos ia sesa per esta.

And yet we stopped for this.

El ia saisi me e ia tira mea fas a la sua e ia besa me asta cuando me ia pensa ce me va desmaia, e pos esta, ambos nos ia prende nosa vestes e ia apone los, plu o min, ante catura nosa tecladores e muses e dirije nos a Cornelio Covreoio.

She grabbed me and pulled my face to hers and kissed me until I thought I would pass out, then we both grabbed our clothes and more or less dressed, grabbing our keyboards and mice and heading for Patcheye Pete’s.


On ia pote vide fasil ci es la jornalistes: los es la avietas ci fa sua roles como enebriadas tropezante, bambolante de asi a ala e de supra a su, atentante comprende tota, presante un tecla noncoreta a veses e ofrente a nonconosedas tota o alga de sua benes, o donante a los abrasas e pedis acaso.

You could easily tell who the press were: they were the noobs who played their characters like staggering drunks, weaving back and forth and up and down, trying to get the hang of it all, occasionally hitting the wrong key and offering strangers all or part of their inventory, or giving them accidental hugs and kicks.

La usores de Rede X ia es ance fasil persepable: tota nos ia jua Ruba Enrolada cuando nos ia ave tempo libre (o no ia es en bon umor per fa nosa eserses de scola), e nosa carateres ia es multe decorada con bon armas e trapas desemblada sur la claves protendente de nosa dorsos, cual ta destrui cualcun ci ta atenta saisi los per lasa nos a desenrola.

The Xnetters were easy to spot, too: we all played Clockwork Plunder whenever we had some spare time (or didn’t feel like doing our homework), and we had pretty tricked-out characters with cool weapons and booby-traps on the keys sticking out of our backs that would cream anyone who tried to snatch them and leave us to wind down.

Cuando me ia apare, un avisa de sistem ia mostra: M1K3Y IA ARIVA A CORNELIO COVREOIO – BONVENI, PIRATA, NOS OFRE COMERSIA JUSTA PER BON FURADAS. Tota la juores sur la scermo ia sesa move, ante formi un fola sirca me. La parleta ia esplode. Me ia considera comuta la vosi de mesajes e usa un escutador, ma car tan multe persones ia atenta parla a la mesma tempo, me ia comprende ce acel ta es tro confusante. Testo ia es multe plu fasil per segue e on no ta pote malsita me (he he).

When I appeared, a system status message displayed M1K3Y HAS ENTERED PATCHEYE PETE’S – WELCOME SWABBIE WE OFFER FAIR TRADE FOR FINE BOOTY. All the players on the screen froze, then they crowded around me. The chat exploded. I thought about turning on my voice-paging and grabbing a headset, but seeing how many people were trying to talk at once, I realized how confusing that would be. Text was much easier to follow and they couldn’t misquote me (heh heh).

Me ia esplora la loca a ante con Anj – campanias con el ia es eselente, car ambos nos ia pote manteni la enrola de la otra. On ia ave un punto alta sur un pila de caxas de sal rasionada do me ta pote sta per es videda de tota partes de la bazar.

I’d scouted the location before with Ange – it was great campaigning with her, since we could both keep each other wound up. There was a high-spot on a pile of boxes of salt-rations that I could stand on and be seen from anywhere in the market.

Bon sera e grasias a tota per vosa veni. Mea nom es M1k3y e me no es un gidor de cualce cosa. En tota esta ambiente es usores de Rede X ci ave tan multe como me per dise sur nosa razona per es asi. Me usa Rede X car me crede a libria e la Constitui de la Statos Unida de America. Me usa Rede X car la Departe de Securia Interna ia cambia mea site a un stato polisial do tota nos es teroristes suspetada. Me usa Rede X car me pensa ce on no pote defende libria par trinxa la Declara de Diretos. Me ia aprende sur la Constitui en un scola de California, e on ia eleva me per ama mea pais par causa de sua libria. Si me ave un filosofia, lo es esta:
Good evening and thank you all for coming. My name is M1k3y and I’m not the leader of anything. All around you are Xnetters who have as much to say about why we’re here as I do. I use the Xnet because I believe in freedom and the Constitution of the United States of America. I use Xnet because the DHS has turned my city into a police-state where we’re all suspected terrorists. I use Xnet because I think you can’t defend freedom by tearing up the Bill of Rights. I learned about the Constitution in a California school and I was raised to love my country for its freedom. If I have a philosophy, it is this:
Governas es instituida entre persones, derivante sua potias justa par la acorda de la governadas; cuando cualce forma de governa comensa destrui esta intendes, la popla ave la direto de altera o aboli lo, e de institui un governa nova, ponente sua funda sur tal prinsipes, e organizante sua potias en tal forma, cual va pare a los la plu capas de reali sua securia e felisia.
Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.
Me no ia scrive acel, ma me crede lo. La Departe de Securia Interna no governa con mea acorda.
I didn’t write that, but I believe it. The DHS does not govern with my consent.
Grasias
Thank you

Me ia scrive esta a la dia presedente, intercambiante testos ru entre Anj e me. Copia e coli lo ia ocupa sola un secondo, an si cadun en la jua ia nesesa un tempo corta per leje lo. Multe de la usores de Rede X ia aclama, con un ura grande e ostentosa piratin con sabres levada e abaias de la papagaios domada ci vola supra sua testas.

I’d written this the day before, bouncing drafts back and forth with Ange. Pasting it in only took a second, though it took everyone in the game a moment to read it. A lot of the Xnetters cheered, big showy pirate “Hurrah”s with raised sabers and pet parrots squawking and flying overhead.

Gradal, ance la jornalistes ia dijesta lo. La parleta ia flue rapida, tan rapida ce on ia pote apena leje lo: multe usores de Rede X ia dise cosas como “Acordada” e “SUA, ama lo o abandona lo” e “Vade a via, Securia Interna” e “Espulsa SUA de San Francisco”, de cual tota ia es sloganes ja popular en la bloges de Rede X.

Gradually, the journalists digested it too. The chat was running past fast, so fast you could barely read it, lots of Xnetters saying things like “Right on” and “America, love it or leave it” and “DHS go home” and “America out of San Francisco,” all slogans that had been big on the Xnet blogosphere.

M1k3y, esta es Priya Rajneesh de BBC. Tu dise ce tu no es un gidor de cualce promove, ma esce tu crede ce un promove esiste? Esce lo es nomida Rede X?
M1k3y, this is Priya Rajneesh from the BBC. You say you’re not the leader of any movement, but do you believe there is a movement? Is it called the Xnet?

Multe respondes. Alga persones ia dise ce on no ave un promove, alga ia dise ce lo esiste, e multe persones ia ave ideas sur la nom: Rede X, Frates Peti, Sores Peti, e mea favoreda personal: la Statos Unida de America.

Lots of answers. Some people said there wasn’t a movement, some said there was and lots of people had ideas about what it was called: Xnet, Little Brothers, Little Sisters, and my personal favorite, the United States of America.

Los ia es vera bolante. Me ia lasa los, pensante a lo cual me ta pote dise. Cuando me ia ave lo, me ia tape:

They were really cooking. I let them go, thinking of what I could say. Once I had it, I typed,

Me pensa ce acel ia responde plu o min a tua demanda, no? On ave cisa un o plu promoves e cisa los es nomida Rede X, cisa no.
I think that kind of answers your question, doesn’t it? There may be one or more movements and they may be called Xnet or not.
M1k3y, me es Doug Christensen de la Jornal de Interede de Washington. En tua opina, como la Departe de Securia Interna debe ata per preveni un plu ataca contra San Francisco si sua ativia presente no susede?
M1k3y, I’m Doug Christensen from the Washington Internet Daily. What do you think the DHS should be doing to prevent another attack on San Francisco, if what they’re doing isn’t successful.

Plu parleta. Multe persones ia dise ce la teroristes e la governa es la mesma – o leteral, o mera intendente ce los es egal mal. Alga ia dise ce la governa sabe catura teroristes ma prefere no fa lo, car “presidentes de gera” deveni reelejeda.

More chatter. Lots of people said that the terrorists and the government were the same – either literally, or just meaning that they were equally bad. Some said the government knew how to catch terrorists but preferred not to because “war presidents” got re-elected.

Me no sabe
I don’t know

me ia tape final.

I typed finally.

Vera me no sabe. Me fa comun esta demanda a me car me no vole ce on esplode me, e me no vole ce on esplode mea site. Asi es lo cual me ia comprende, an tal: si la taxe de la Departe es manteni nosa securia, on fali. Tota la caca cual on ia fa – no parte de lo ta preveni ce la ponte es denova esplodeda. Trasa nos tra la site? Prende nosa libria a via? Fa ce nos suspeta lunlotra, puntante nos contra lunlotra? Nomi disentores tradores? La intende de terorisme es terori nos. La Departe de Securi Nasional terori me.
I really don’t. I ask myself this question a lot because I don’t want to get blown up and I don’t want my city to get blown up. Here’s what I’ve figured out, though: if it’s the DHS’s job to keep us safe, they’re failing. All the crap they’ve done, none of it would stop the bridge from being blown up again. Tracing us around the city? Taking away our freedom? Making us suspicious of each other, turning us against each other? Calling dissenters traitors? The point of terrorism is to terrify us. The DHS terrifies me.
Me no pote dise lo cual la teroristes va fa a me, ma si esta es un pais libre, alora me ta debe pote dise a la min lo cual mea propre polisiores va fa a me. Me ta debe pote proibi los de terori me.
I don’t have any say in what the terrorists do to me, but if this is a free country then I should be able to at least say what my own cops do to me. I should be able to keep them from terrorizing me.
Me sabe ce acel no es un bon responde. Pardona.
I know that’s not a good answer. Sorry.
Cual tu intende par dise ce la Departe no va preveni teroristes? Como tu sabe?
What do you mean when you say that the DHS wouldn’t stop terrorists? How do you know?
Ci es tu?
Who are you?
Me es de la Eraldo Matinal de Sydney.
I’m with the Sydney Morning Herald.
Me ave 17 anios. Como studiante, me no gania sempre la gradi prima. An tal, me ia susede trova un metodo de crea un interede nonspiable. Me ia trova un metodo de interfere contra la tecnolojia de los per trasa persones. Me pote fa ce los vide persones inosente como suspetadas e persones culpable como inosentes. Me ta pote porta metal a en un avion o sircoveni un lista proibinte ce me vola. Me ia dedui esta cosas par regarda la ueb e par pensa. Si me pote, teroristes pote. Los ia dise a nos ce los ia prende nosa libria a via per securi nos. Esce tu senti secur?
I’m 17 years old. I’m not a straight-A student or anything. Even so, I figured out how to make an Internet that they can’t wiretap. I figured out how to jam their person-tracking technology. I can turn innocent people into suspects and turn guilty people into innocents in their eyes. I could get metal onto an airplane or beat a no-fly list. I figured this stuff out by looking at the web and by thinking about it. If I can do it, terrorists can do it. They told us they took away our freedom to make us safe. Do you feel safe?
En Australia? Ma si
In Australia? Why yes I do

Tota la piratas ia rie.

The pirates all laughed.

Plu jornalistes ia fa demandas. Alga ia es simpatiosa, alga ia es enemin. Cuando me ia deveni fatigada, me ia pasa mea teclador a Anj e ia permete ce el es M1k3y per un tempo. Bon, me no ia senti vera plu ce M1k3y e me es la mesma person. M1k3y ia es la tipo de xice ci parla a jornalistes internasional e inspira un promove. Marcus ia deveni suspendeda de scola e ia batalia contra sua papa e ia demanda a se esce el es sufisinte bon per sua xica stonante de cor.

More journalists asked questions. Some were sympathetic, some were hostile. When I got tired, I handed my keyboard to Ange and let her be M1k3y for a while. It didn’t really feel like M1k3y and me were the same person anymore anyway. M1k3y was the kind of kid who talked to international journalists and inspired a movement. Marcus got suspended from school and fought with his dad and wondered if he was good enough for his kick-ass girlfriend.

A 23:00 me ia es ja plenida. En ajunta, mea jenitores va es a punto de espeta mea reveni. Me ia sorti de la jua, como ance Anj, e nos ia reclina ala per un momento. Me ia prende sua mano e el ia presa forte. Nos ia abrasa.

By 11PM I’d had enough. Besides, my parents would be expecting me home soon. I logged out of the game and so did Ange and we lay there for a moment. I took her hand and she squeezed hard. We hugged.

El ia besa mea colo e ia murmura alga cosa.

She kissed my neck and murmured something.

“Como?”

“What?”

“Me ia dise ce me ama tu.” – el ia dise. “He, tu vole ce me envia a tu un telegram?”

“I said I love you,” she said. “What, you want me to send you a telegram?”

“U!” – me ia dise.

“Wow,” I said.

“Tu es tan surprendeda, si?”

“You’re that surprised, huh?”

“No. Em. Mera ce – me ia es a punto de dise acel a tu.”

“No. Um. It’s just – I was going to say that to you.”

“Ma serta.” – el ia dise, e ia morde la fini de mea nas.

“Sure you were,” she said, and bit the tip of my nose.

“Mera ce me ia dise nunca lo a ante,” – me ia dise – “donce me ia es preparante me per lo.”

“It’s just that I’ve never said it before,” I said. “So I was working up to it.”

“Tu ancora no ia dise lo, sabe. No pensa ce me no ia nota. Nos xicas persepi tal cosas.”

“You still haven’t said it, you know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. We girls pick upon these things.”

“Me ama tu, Anj Carvelli.” – me ia dise.

“I love you, Ange Carvelli,” I said.

“Ance me ama tu, Marcus Yallow.”

“I love you too, Marcus Yallow.”

Nos ia besa e nasi e me ia comensa respira forte, como ance el. A acel momento, sua mama ia bateta la porte.

We kissed and nuzzled and I started to breathe hard and so did she. That’s when her mom knocked on the door.

“Anjela,” – el ia dise – “me pensa ce a esta ora tua ami debe vade a casa, no?”

“Angela,” she said, “I think it’s time your friend went home, don’t you?”

“Si, madre.” – el ia dise, e ia mima brandi un axa. En cuando me ia apone mea calsetas e sapatos, el ia farfulia: “On va dise ce acel Anjela ia es un xica tan bon, e ci ta pote imajina ce el ia es sempre en la jardin retro, aidante sua madre par agi acel axeta?”

“Yes, mother,” she said, and mimed swinging an axe. As I put my socks and shoes on, she muttered, “They’ll say, that Angela, she was such a good girl, who would have thought it, all the time she was in the back yard, helping her mother out by sharpening that hatchet.”

Me ia rie. “Tu no sabe como fasil es tua situa. En no modo mea jenitores ta permete ce nos resta solitar en mea sala de dormi asta la ora 23.”

I laughed. “You don’t know how easy you have it. There is no way my folks would leave us alone in my bedroom until 11 o’clock.”

“23:45.” – el ia dise, consultante sua orolojo.

“11:45,” she said, checking her clock.

“Txa!” – me ia abaia e ia lia mea sapatos.

“Crap!” I yelped and tied my shoes.

“Vade,” – el ia dise – “core a libria! Regarda en ambos dirijes ante traversa la strada! Scrive si tu trova labora! No para an per un abrasa! Si tu es ancora asi pos mea conta a des, tu va ave un problem, senior. Un. Du. Tre.”

“Go,” she said, “run and be free! Look both ways before crossing the road! Write if you get work! Don’t even stop for a hug! If you’re not out of here by the count of ten, there’s going to be trouble, mister. One. Two. Three.”

Me ia silenti el par salta a sur la leto, cadente sur el e besante el asta cuando el ia sesa atenta conta. Sasiada par mea vinse, me ia desende pesosa la scalera, con mea Xbox su mea braso.

I shut her up by leaping onto the bed, landing on her and kissing her until she stopped trying to count. Satisfied with my victory, I pounded down the stairs, my Xbox under my arm.

Sua mama ia es a basa de la scalera. Me ia encontra el a sola du veses. El ia aspeta como un varia de Anj plu vea, plu alta – Anj ia dise ce sua padre es la corta – con lentetas en loca de oculo. Lo ia pare ce per la presente el ia clasi me como un bonom, e me ia es grasiosa.

Her mom was at the foot of the stairs. We’d only met a couple times. She looked like an older, taller version of Ange – Ange said her father was the short one – with contacts instead of glasses. She seemed to have tentatively classed me as a good guy, and I appreciated it.

“Bon note, Sra Carvelli.” – me ia dise.

“Good night, Mrs Carvelli,” I said.

“Bon note, Sr Yallow.” – el ia dise. Lo ia es un de nosa rituos peti, de cuando me ia nomi el Sra Carvelli a nosa encontra prima.

“Good night, Mr Yallow,” she said. It was one of our little rituals, ever since I’d called her Mrs Carvelli when we first met.

Me ia trova ce me sta embarasada a la porte.

I found myself standing awkwardly by the door.

“Si?” – el ia dise.

“Yes?” she said.

“Em,” – me ia dise – “grasias per la ospitia.”

“Um,” I said. “Thanks for having me over.”

“Tu es sempre bonvenida en nosa casa, senior joven.” – el ia dise.

“You’re always welcome in our home, young man,” she said.

“E grasias per Anj.” – me ia dise final, odiante ce lo sona tan debil. Ma el ia surie larga e ia abrasa corta me.

“And thanks for Ange,” I said finally, hating how lame it sounded. But she smiled broadly and gave me a brief hug.

“Vera no problem.” – el ia dise.

“You’re very welcome,” she said.

Tra tota la viaja par bus a casa, me ia pensa sur la confere jornaliste, ia pensa a Anj nuda e contorsente con me sur sua leto, ia pensa a sua madre suriente e gidante me a la porte.

The whole bus ride home, I thought over the press-conference, thought about Ange naked and writhing with me on her bed, thought about her mother smiling and showing me the door.

Mea mama ia espeta me sin vade a leto. El ia demanda a me sur la filma, e me ia dona a el la responde cual me ia developa a ante, copiante de sua resenia en la Gardor de Baia.

My mom was waiting up for me. She asked me about the movie and I gave her the response I’d worked out in advance, cribbing from the review it had gotten in the Bay Guardian.

En cuando me ia adormi, la confere jornaliste ia reveni a me. Me ia es multe orgulosa de lo. Lo ia es eselente ce me ia fa ce tota esta jornalistes major apare en la jua, ce los escuta me e ce los escuta tota la persones ci crede la mesma cosas como me. Me ia adormi con un surie a mea labios.

As I fell asleep, the press-conference came back. I was really proud of it. It had been so cool, to have all these big-shot journos show up in the game, to have them listen to me and to have them listen to all the people who believed in the same things as me. I dropped off with a smile on my lips.


Me ia ta debe sabe plu bon.

I should have known better.

GIDOR DE REDE X: ME TA POTE PORTA METAL A EN UN AVION

XNET LEADER: I COULD GET METAL ONTO AN AIRPLANE

SECURIA INTERNA NO AVE MEA ACORDA PER GOVERNA

DHS DOESN’T HAVE MY CONSENT TO GOVERN

XICES DE REDE X: ESPULSA SUA DE SAN FRANCISCO

XNET KIDS: USA OUT OF SAN FRANCISCO

Estas ia es la bon titulos. Cadun ia envia a me la articles per blogi, ma esta ia es un ata cual me tota no ia desira fa.

Those were the good headlines. Everyone sent me the articles to blog, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Me ia gaxi la taxe, en alga modo. La jornalistes ia veni a mea confere e ia conclui ce nos es teroristes o enganadas de teroristes. La plu mal ia es la reportor de Novas Fox, ci ia veni an con tota, parente, e ci ia dedica a nos des minutos de comentas, parlante sur nosa “tradi criminal”. Sua dise la plu destruinte, repeteda en cada canal de novas cual me ia trova, ia es:

I’d blown it, somehow. The press had come to my press-conference and concluded that we were terrorists or terrorist dupes. The worst was the reporter on Fox News, who had apparently shown up anyway, and who devoted a ten-minute commentary to us, talking about our “criminal treason.” Her killer line, repeated on every news-outlet I found, was:

“Los dise ce los ave no nom. Me ave un nom per los. Ta ce nos nomi esta jovenes tro regalada ‘Cal-Qaida’. Los fa la labora de la teroristes a nosa fronte interna. Cuando – no si, ma cuando – California va es denova atacada, esta turbosas va es tan culpable como la dinastia Saud.”

“They say they don’t have a name. I’ve got one for them. Let’s call these spoiled children Cal-Quaeda. They do the terrorists’ work on the home front. When – not if, but when – California gets attacked again, these brats will be as much to blame as the House of Saud.”

Gidores de la promove contra gera ia denunsia nos como elementos marjinal. Un om ia apare en televisa per dise ce el crede ce Securia Interna ia fabrica nos per dana la reputa de acel gidores.

Leaders of the anti-war movement denounced us as fringe elements. One guy went on TV to say that he believed we had been fabricated by the DHS to discredit them.

Securia Interna ia fa sua propre confere jornaliste, anunsiante ce on va dupli la securia en San Francisco. Los ia presenta un clonador de radioeticeta cual los ia trova a alga loca, e ia mostra sua funsiona, usante lo per finje un fura de auto, e ia avisa cadun a es vijilante contra persones joven ci condui suspetable, spesial los de ci sua manos no es vidable.

The DHS had their own press-conference announcing that they would double the security in San Francisco. They held up an arphid cloner they’d found somewhere and demonstrated it in action, using it to stage a car-theft, and warned everyone to be on their alert for young people behaving suspiciously, especially those whose hands were out of sight.

Los no ia broma. Me ia fini mea esajo sur Kerouac e ia comensa un esajo sur la Estate de Ama, la estate de 1967 cuando la promove contra gera e la hipis ia converje en San Francisco. La omes ci ia fundi Ben and Jerry’s – ci ia es mesma hipis vea – ia fundi un museo sur hipis en la distrito Haight, e on ia pote visita otra arcivos e esibis en la urbe.

They weren’t kidding. I finished my Kerouac paper and started in on a paper about the Summer of Love, the summer of 1967 when the anti-war movement and the hippies converged on San Francisco. The guys who founded Ben and Jerry’s – old hippies themselves – had founded a hippie museum in the Haight, and there were other archives and exhibits to see around town.

Ma la viajas no ia es fasil. Ja a la fini de la semana, me ia esperia promedia cuatro esaminas par palpa a cada dia. Polisiores ia esamina mea carta de identia e ia demanda perce me es sur la stradas, atendosa regardante la letera de Chavez cual ia informa ce on ia suspende me.

But it wasn’t easy getting around. By the end of the week, I was getting frisked an average of four times a day. Cops checked my ID and questioned me about why I was out in the street, carefully eyeballing the letter from Chavez saying that I was suspended.

Me ia ave bon fortuna. Nun ia aresta me. Ma la resta de Rede X no ia es tan fortunosa. A cada sera, Securia Interna ia anunsia plu arestas, “xefes” e “ajentes” de Rede X, persones ci me no ia conose e de ci me ia oia nunca sua nom, paradeda en televisa como ance la detetadores de radioeticetas e la otra aparatos cual ia es en sua poxes. On ia anunsia ce la persones “nomi nomes”, rompente la “strutur Rede X”, e ce on previde pronto plu arestas. La nom “M1k3y” ia es comun oiada.

I got lucky. No one arrested me. But the rest of the Xnet weren’t so lucky. Every night the DHS announced more arrests, “ringleaders” and “operatives” of Xnet, people I didn’t know and had never heard of, paraded on TV along with the arphid sniffers and other devices that had been in their pockets. They announced that the people were “naming names,” compromising the “Xnet network” and that more arrests were expected soon. The name “M1k3y” was often heard.

Papa ia ama esta. El e me ia regarda la novas en junta, con el saboreante e me contraente, silente terorida. “Ta ce tu vide la cosas cual on va usa contra esta xices.” – Papa ia dise. – “Me ia vide los funsionante. On va prende un pico de esta xices e va regarda sua listas de amis de mesaji instante e la numeros rapida en sua telefones, xercante nomes cual apare sempre denova, xercante motifes, ajuntante plu xices. On va destexe los como un sueter vea.”

Dad loved this. He and I watched the news together, him gloating, me shrinking away, quietly freaking out. “You should see the stuff they’re going to use on these kids,” Dad said. “I’ve seen it in action. They’ll get a couple of these kids and check out their friends lists on IM and the speed-dials on their phones, look for names that come up over and over, look for patterns, bringing in more kids. They’re going to unravel them like an old sweater.”

Me ia cansela la come de sera con Anj a nosa casa e ia comensa spende an plu tempo ala. Tina, la sore peti de Anj, ia comensa nomi me “la visitor”, como en “esce la visitor va come con me a esta sera?” Me ia gusta Tina. Sua interesa ia es sola a sorti per selebra e encontra xicos, ma el ia es divertinte e completa dedicada a Anj. A un sera, cuando nos ia lava la platos, el ia seci sua manos e ia dise, conversal – “Sabe, tu pare un bonom, Marcus. Mea sore es manica per tu e tu plase ance a me. Me me debe dise alga cosa a tu: si tu creve sua cor, me va descovre do tu es e me va tira tua scroto supra tua testa. Lo no aspeta bela.”

I canceled Ange’s dinner at our place and started spending even more time there. Ange’s little sister Tina started to call me “the house-guest,” as in “is the house-guest eating dinner with me tonight?” I liked Tina. All she cared about was going out and partying and meeting guys, but she was funny and utterly devoted to Ange. One night as we were doing the dishes, she dried her hands and said, conversationally, “You know, you seem like a nice guy, Marcus. My sister’s just crazy about you and I like you too. But I have to tell you something: if you break her heart, I will track you down and pull your scrotum over your head. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Me ia serti el ce me ta tira plu volente mea propre scroto supra mea testa ca creve la cor de Anj, e el ia acorda con testa. “Nos debe es clar sur esta, mera.”

I assured her that I would sooner pull my own scrotum over my head than break Ange’s heart and she nodded. “So long as we’re clear on that.”

“Tua sore es loco.” – me ia dise en cuando nos ia reclina denova sur la leto de Anj, regardante bloges de Rede X. Esta es cuasi tota cual nos ia fa: bufoni e leje Rede X.

“Your sister is a nut,” I said as we lay on Ange’s bed again, looking at Xnet blogs. That is pretty much all we did: fool around and read Xnet.

“Esce el ia usa la menasa de scroto contra tu? Me odia cuando el fa acel. Simple, el ama la parola ‘scroto’, sabe. La cosa no es personal.”

“Did she use the scrotum line on you? I hate it when she does that. She just loves the word ‘scrotum,’ you know. It’s nothing personal.”

Me ia besa el. Nos ia leje plu.

I kissed her. We read some more.

“Escuta esta.” – el ia dise. “La polisia previde entre cuatro- e ses-sento arestas a esta fini de semana, en lo cual on descrive como la ataca coordinada la plu grande contra disentores de Rede X asta aora.”

“Listen to this,” she said. “Police project four to six hundred arrests this weekend in what they say will be the largest coordinated raid on Xnet dissidents to date.”

Me ia senti ce me va descome.

I felt like throwing up.

“Nos debe para esta.” – me ia dise. “Tu sabe ce on ave persones ci fa plu interferes per mostra ce los no es asustada? Esce acel no es simple demente?”

“We’ve got to stop this,” I said. “You know there are people who are doing more jamming to show that they’re not intimidated? Isn’t that just crazy?

“Me pensa ce lo es corajosa.” – el ia dise. “Nos no pote permete ce on asusta nos a sede.”

“I think it’s brave,” she said. “We can’t let them scare us into submission.”

“Como? No, Anj, no. Nos no pote permete ce sentos de persones vade a prison. Tu no ia es ala. Me ia es. Lo es plu mal ca tu pensa. Lo es plu mal ca tu pote imajina.”

“What? No, Ange, no. We can’t let hundreds of people go to jail. You haven’t been there. I have. It’s worse than you think. It’s worse than you can imagine.”

“Me ave un bon capasia fertil de imajina.” – el ia dise.

“I have a pretty fertile imagination,” she said.

“Ma sesa, oce? Condui seria per un secondo. Me no va fa esta. Me no va envia acel persones a prison. Si me ta fa esta, me ta es tal como Van opina sur me.”

“Stop it, OK? Be serious for a second. I won’t do this. I won’t send those people to jail. If I do, I’m the guy that Van thinks I am.”

“Marcus, me condui seria. Tu pensa ce esta persones no sabe ce los va vade cisa a prison? Los crede a la prinsipe. Ance tu crede a lo. Trata los como sufisinte intelijente per sabe en cual cosa los envolve se. Tu no debe deside lo cual los pote o no pote risca.”

“Marcus, I’m being serious. You think that these people don’t know they could go to jail? They believe in the cause. You believe in it too. Give them the credit to know what they’re getting into. It’s not up to you to decide what risks they can or can’t take.”

“Me es encargada, car si me comanda los a sesa, los va sesa.”

“It’s my responsibility because if I tell them to stop, they’ll stop.”

“Me ia crede ce tu no es la gidor?”

“I thought you weren’t the leader?”

“Me no es, natural me no es. Ma me no pote preveni ce los xerca gidas de me. E tra cuando los fa esta, me es encargada per aida los a resta secur. Tu comprende esta, no?”

“I’m not, of course I’m not. But I can’t help it if they look to me for guidance. And so long as they do, I have a responsibility to help them stay safe. You see that, right?”

“Me comprende sola ce tu prepara tu per fuji a la sinia prima de difisilia. Me pensa ce tu teme ce on va dedui ci tu es. Me pensa ce tu teme sur tu.”

“All I see is you getting ready to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. I think you’re afraid they’re going to figure out who you are. I think you’re afraid for you.”

“Acel no es justa.” – me ia dise, sentante me, retirante me de el.

“That’s not fair,” I said, sitting up, pulling away from her.

“Vera? Ci es la xico ci ia esperia cuasi un ataca de cor cuando el ia pensa ce sua identia secreta es publica?”

“Really? Who’s the guy who nearly had a heart attack when he thought that his secret identity was out?”

“Acel ia es diferente.” – me ia dise. “Esta no pertine a me. Tu sabe ce no. Perce tu parla tal?”

“That was different,” I said. “This isn’t about me. You know it isn’t. Why are you being like this?”

“Perce tu parla tal?” – el ia dise. “Perce tu no vole es la xico ci ia es tan corajosa ce el ia comensa tota esta?”

“Why are you like this?” she said. “Why aren’t you willing to be the guy who was brave enough to get all this started?”

“Esta no es coraje. Lo es suiside.”

“This isn’t brave, it’s suicide.”

“Melodrama debil e adolesente, M1k3y.”

“Cheap teenage melodrama, M1k3y.”

“No nomi tal me!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Como, ‘M1k3y’? Perce no, M1k3y?”

“What, ‘M1k3y’? Why not, M1k3y?”

Me ia apone mea sapatos. Me ia prende mea saco. Me ia pasea a casa.

I put my shoes on. I picked up my bag. I walked home.


Perce me no interfere
Why I’m not jamming
Me no va dise a cualce otra person lo cual el debe fa, car me no es un gidor de cualcun, an con la opina de Novas Fox.
I won’t tell anyone else what to do, because I’m not anyone’s leader, no matter what Fox News thinks.
Ma me va dise a tu lo cual ME intende fa. Si tu pensa ce esta es la curso coreta, cisa ance tu va fa lo.
But I am going to tell you what *I* plan on doing. If you think that’s the right thing to do, maybe you’ll do it too.
Me no interfere. No en esta semana. Cisa no la seguente. Esta no es car me es asustada. Lo es car me es sufisinte astuta per sabe ce me va vade plu bon en libria ca en prison. On ia descovre un modo de para nosa tatica, donce nos nesesa inventa un tatica nova. La natur de la tatica no importa a me, ma me desira ce lo susede. Nos es STUPIDA si nos es arestada. Nosa ativia es un interfere sola si nos no es punida a pos.
I’m not jamming. Not this week. Maybe not next. It’s not because I’m scared. It’s because I’m smart enough to know that I’m better free than in prison. They figured out how to stop our tactic, so we need to come up with a new tactic. I don’t care what the tactic is, but I want it to work. It’s *stupid* to get arrested. It’s only jamming if you get away with it.
On ave un plu razona per no interfere. Si on catura tu, cisa on va usa tu per catura tua amis, e sua amis, e sua amis. Cisa on va aresta tua amis an si los no es en Rede X, car Securia Interna es como un bove mas coler e lo no atende vera esce lo catura la xice culpable.
There’s another reason not to jam. If you get caught, they might use you to catch your friends, and their friends, and their friends. They might bust your friends even if they’re not on Xnet, because the DHS is like a maddened bull and they don’t exactly worry if they’ve got the right guy.
Me no dise a tu lo cual tu debe fa.
I’m not telling you what to do.
Ma la persones de Securia Interna es stupida e nos es astuta. La interfere demostra ce los no pote combate terorisme car lo demostra ce los no pote para an un colie de jovenes. Si nos es caturada, esta fa ce los pare plu astuta ca nos.
But the DHS is dumb and we’re smart. Jamming proves that they can’t fight terrorism because it proves that they can’t even stop a bunch of kids. If you get caught, it makes them look like they’re smarter than us.
LOS NO ES PLU ASTUTA CA NOS! Nos es plu astuta ca los. Ta ce nos condui astuta. Ta ce nos descovre metodos per interfere contra los, sin depende de cuanto brutas los pone sur la stradas de nosa site.
THEY AREN’T SMARTER THAN US! We are smarter than them. Let’s be smart. Let’s figure out how to jam them, no matter how many goons they put on the streets of our city.

Me ia posta lo. Me ia vade a leto.

I posted it. I went to bed.

Me ia es triste sin Anj.

I missed Ange.


Anj e me no ia parla a lunlotra tra la cuatro dias seguente, incluinte la finisemana, e alora la tempo ia ariva per revade a scola. Me ia es a punto de telefoni a el a milion veses, ia scrive mil epostas e mesajes instante sin envia los.

Ange and I didn’t speak for the next four days, including the weekend, and then it was time to go back to school. I’d almost called her a million times, written a thousand unsent emails and IMs.

Aora me ia es denova en la clase de Studias Sosial, e Sra Andersen ia saluta me con un deluvia de cortesia sarcasmosa, dulse demandante a me como mea “vacanse” ia vade. Me ia senta me e ia farfulia sin sinifia. Me ia oia un rieta de Carl.

Now I was back in Social Studies class, and Mrs Andersen greeted me with voluble, sarcastic courtesy, asking me sweetly how my “holiday” had been. I sat down and mumbled nothing. I could hear Charles snicker.

El ia ensenia a nos un leson sur la Destina Evidente, la idea ce esuanes es destinada a concista la mundo intera (o, a la min, el ia fa ce lo pare tal), e ia pare atenta provoca me a dise alga cosa afin el pote ejeta me.

She taught us a class on Manifest Destiny, the idea that the Americans were destined to take over the whole world (or at least that’s how she made it seem) and seemed to be trying to provoke me into saying something so she could throw me out.

Me ia sensa la oios de la clase a me, e esta ia fa ce me recorda M1k3y e la persones ci respeta el. Me ia esperia ja tro ce on respeta me. Me ia es triste sin Anj.

I felt the eyes of the class on me, and it reminded me of M1k3y and the people who looked up to him. I was sick of being looked up to. I missed Ange.

Me ia traversa la resta de la dia sin ce cualce cosa marca me en cualce modo. Me pensa ce me ia dise an no oto parolas.

I got through the rest of the day without anything making any kind of mark on me. I don’t think I said eight words.

Final, lo ia fini e me ia fa un sorti, dirijente me a la portetas e la Mision stupida e mea casa futil.

Finally it was over and I hit the doors, heading for the gates and the stupid Mission and my pointless house.

Me ia vade apena tra la portetas cuando algun ia colide con me. El ia es un xico joven sin casa, de cisa mea eda, cisa pico plu vea. El ia porta un jacon longa e grasida, un jina laxe, e sapatos putrida de sporte cual ia aspeta como si los ia pasa tra un trinxalenio. Sua capeles longa ia pende ante sua fas, e el ia ave un barba pubica cual ia vaga desendente sua garga e entrante a la colar de un sueter tricotada sin color.

I was barely out the gate when someone crashed into me. He was a young homeless guy, maybe my age, maybe a little older. He wore a long, greasy overcoat, a pair of baggy jeans, and rotting sneakers that looked like they’d been through a wood-chipper. His long hair hung over his face, and he had a pubic beard that straggled down his throat into the collar of a no-color knit sweater.

Me ia persepi tota esta en cuando nos ia reclina a lado de lunlotra sur la troteria, su regardas strana par persones pasante. Lo ia pare ce el ia colide con me en sua freta longo Strada Valencia, curvida a ante par la carga de un bolson fendeda cual ia reclina a sua lado sur la troteria, densa covreda en desinietas jeometrial con pen de fibre.

I took this all in as we lay next to each other on the sidewalk, people passing us and giving us weird looks. It seemed that he’d crashed into me while hurrying down Valencia, bent over with the burden of a split backpack that lay beside him on the pavement, covered in tight geometric doodles in magic-marker.

El ia ajena se e ia osila de asi a ala, como si el ia es enebriada o ia colpa sua testa.

He got to his knees and rocked back and forth, like he was drunk or had hit his head.

“Pardona, mea ami.” – el ia dise. “Me no ia vide tu. Tu es ferida?”

“Sorry buddy,” he said. “Didn’t see you. You hurt?”

Me ia senta ance me. No cosa ia pare ferida.

I sat up too. Nothing felt hurt.

“Em, no, lo es oce.”

“Um. No, it’s OK.”

El ia sta e surie. Sua dentes ia es xocante blanca e reta, como un comersial per un clinica ortodontial. El ia estende sua mano a me, e sua teni ia es forte e firma.

He stood up and smiled. His teeth were shockingly white and straight, like an ad for an orthodontic clinic. He held his hand out to me and his grip was strong and firm.

“Sinsera, pardona me.” Sua vose ia es ance clar e intelijente. Me ia espeta ce el va sona como la enebriadas ci parla a se en vaga tra la Mision en la tarda de note, ma el ia sona como un vendor sabosa en un libreria.

“I’m really sorry.” His voice was also clear and intelligent. I’d expected him to sound like the drunks who talked to themselves as they roamed the Mission late at night, but he sounded like a knowledgeable bookstore clerk.

“No problem.” – me ia dise.

“It’s no problem,” I said.

El ia estende denova sua mano.

He stuck out his hand again.

“Zeb.” – el ia dise.

“Zeb,” he said.

“Marcus.” – me ia dise.

“Marcus,” I said.

“Encantada, Marcus.” – el ia dise. “Asta revide, asta colide!”

“A pleasure, Marcus,” he said. “Hope to run into you again sometime!”

Riente, el ia prende sua bolson, ia turna sur talon e ia freta a via.

Laughing, he picked up his backpack, turned on his heel and hurried away.


Me ia pasea tra la via restante a casa en un nebla confondeda. Mama ia es a la table de cosina e nos ia fa un parleta peti sur tota no cosa, como nos ia fa en la pasada, ante cuando tota ia cambia.

I walked the rest of the way home in a bemused fug. Mom was at the kitchen table and we had a little chat about nothing at all, the way we used to do, before everything changed.

Me ia asende la scalera a mea scala e ia colasa sur mea seja. Unica, me no ia desira entra a Rede X. Me ia regarda ja a acel matina ante scola per descovre ce mea nota ia crea un controversa jigante entre persones ci acorda con me e persones ci senti un coleria santa ce me ia recomenda ce los retira se de sua sporte amada.

I took the stairs up to my room and flopped down in my chair. For once, I didn’t want to login to the Xnet. I’d checked in that morning before school to discover that my note had created a gigantic controversy among people who agreed with me and people who were righteously pissed that I was telling them to back off from their beloved sport.

Me ia ave tre mil projetas cual me ia es en curso de fa cuando tota ia comensa. Me ia es construinte un camera oscur con brices Lego. Me ia es juante con fotografia airal par agilon, usante un camera dijital vea con un gatilio rusosa de goma elastica cual ia es completa estendeda ante la lansa e ia reprende lenta sua forma orijinal, ativinte la cluador a intervales periodal. Me ia ave un fortador con tubos vacuida cual me ia es instalante en un bote per olio de oliva – antica, osidinte, indenteda – cual ia aspeta como un trovada arceolojial; pos completi lo, me ia intende ajunta un doca per mea telefon e un colie de parladores multicanalal fabricada con botes de tun.

I had three thousand projects I’d been in the middle of when it had all started. I was building a pinhole camera out of legos, I’d been playing with aerial kite photography using an old digital camera with a trigger hacked out of silly putty that was stretched out at launch and slowly snapped back to its original shape, triggering the shutter at regular intervals. I had a vacuum tube amp I’d been building into an ancient, rusted, dented olive-oil tin that looked like an archaeological find – once it was done, I’d planned to build in a dock for my phone and a set of 5.1 surround-sound speakers out of tuna-fish cans.

Me ia esamina mea table de labora e ia prende final la camera oscur. Junta brices Lego en modo sistemosa ia es plu o min mea nivel de taxe.

I looked over my workbench and finally picked up the pinhole camera. Methodically snapping legos together was just about my speed.

Me ia desapone mea orolojeta, e la anelo blocin de arjento per du ditos cual ia mostra un simia e un ninja preparada per combate, e ia cade los a la caxa peti cual me ia usa per tota la caca cual me pone en mea poxes e sirca mea colo ante sorti per la dia: telefon, portamone, claves, detetador Wi-Fi, monetas, pilas, cables estendente… Me ia espulsa tota a la caxa, e ia trova ce me teni un cosa sur cual me no ia recorda prende lo a la comensa.

I took off my watch and the chunky silver two-finger ring that showed a monkey and a ninja squaring off to fight and dropped them into the little box I used for all the crap I load into my pockets and around my neck before stepping out for the day: phone, wallet, keys, wifinder, change, batteries, retractable cables… I dumped it all out into the box, and found myself holding something I didn’t remember putting in there in the first place.

Lo ia es un peso de paper, gris e suave como flanela, pelin a la bordas do on ia lasera lo a via de alga peso plu grande de paper. Lo ia es covreda con la scrive de mano la plu pico e la plu atendosa cual me ia vide de sempre. Me ia desplia lo e ia esamina lo. La scrive ia covre ambos lados, desendente de la angulo alta sinistra de un lado asta un suscrive densa a la angulo basa destra de la otra lado.

It was a piece of paper, grey and soft as flannel, furry at the edges where it had been torn away from some larger piece of paper. It was covered in the tiniest, most careful handwriting I’d ever seen. I unfolded it and held it up. The writing covered both sides, running down from the top left corner of one side to a crabbed signature at the bottom right corner of the other side.

La suscrive ia dise, simple: ZEB.

The signature read, simply: ZEB.

Me ia prende lo e ia comensa leje.

I picked it up and started to read.

Cara Marcus
Dear Marcus
Tu no conose me ma me conose tu. Tra la tre menses pasada, de pos la esplode de la Ponte Baia, me ia es prisonida sur Isola Tesoro. Me ia es a la patio a la dia cuando tu ia parla a acel xica asian e ia es tacleda. Tu ia es corajosa. Bon fada.
You don’t know me but I know you. For the past three months, since the Bay Bridge was blown up, I have been imprisoned on Treasure Island. I was in the yard on the day you talked to that Asian girl and got tackled. You were brave. Good on you.
Me ia sufri un creve de apendis a la dia seguente e ia fini en la maladeria. En la leto visina on ia ave un xico nomida Darryl. Ambos nos ia spende un tempo longa per recovre, e cuando nos ia es denova sana, nos ia es tro embarasante a los per es librida.
I had a burst appendix the day afterward and ended up in the infirmary. In the next bed was a guy named Darryl. We were both in recovery for a long time and by the time we got well, we were too much of an embarrassment to them to let go.
Donce los ia deside ce nos es vera culpable. Los ia interoga nos a cada dia. Tu ia esperia sua interogas, me sabe. Imajina acel tra menses. Darryl e me ia fini como cameradas de selula. Nos ia sabe ce on escuta secreta nos, donce nos ia parla sola sur cosas nonimportante. Ma a note, cuando nos ia es sur nosa letetas, nos ia tape cuieta mesajes a lunlotra en codigo de Morse (me ia sabe ce mea dias como amator de radio va deveni usosa a alga tempo).
So they decided we must really be guilty. They questioned us every day. You’ve been through their questioning, I know. Imagine it for months. Darryl and I ended up cell-mates. We knew we were bugged, so we only talked about inconsequentialities. But at night, when we were in our cots, we would softly tap out messages to each other in Morse code (I knew my HAM radio days would come in useful sometime).
Prima, sua demandas a nos ia es mera la mesma merda como sempre: ci ia fa lo, como on ia fa lo? Ma pos alga tempo, los ia cambia a demanda a nos sur Rede X. Natural, nos ia oia nunca acel nom. Esta no ia para sua demandas.
At first, their questions to us were just the same crap as ever, who did it, how’d they do it. But after a little while, they switched to asking us about the Xnet. Of course, we’d never heard of it. That didn’t stop them asking.
Darryl ia dise a me ce los ia trae a el radioclonadores, Xboxes, tecnolojia de tota spesies, e ia esije ce el dise a los ci ia usa los, do on ia aprende altera los. Darryl ia informa me sur tua juas e la cosas cual tu ia aprende.
Darryl told me that they brought him arphid cloners, Xboxes, all kinds of technology and demanded that he tell them who used them, where they learned to mod them. Darryl told me about your games and the things you learned.
Spesial: Securia Interna ia demanda a nos sur nosa amis. Ci nos conose? Como los es? Esce los ave sentis political? Esce los ia esperia difisiles a scola? Con la polisia?
Especially: The DHS asked us about our friends. Who did we know? What were they like? Did they have political feelings? Had they been in trouble at school? With the law?
Nos nomi la prison Guantanamo de la Baia. Un semana ia pasa pos mea evade, e me pensa ce nun sabe ce sua fios e fias es prisonida a media de la Baia. A note, nos ia pote oia persones riente e selebrante sur la tera xef.
We call the prison Gitmo-by-the-Bay. It’s been a week since I got out and I don’t think that anyone knows that their sons and daughters are imprisoned in the middle of the Bay. At night we could hear people laughing and partying on the mainland.
Me ia evade en la semana pasada. Me no va dise como, per caso ce esta ariva en mal manos. Cisa otras va segue mea via.
I got out last week. I won’t tell you how, in case this falls into the wrong hands. Maybe others will take my route.
Darryl ia dise como me va pote trova tu, e ia fa ce me promete raconta a tu lo cual me sabe, pos reveni. Aora, pos fa esta, me va vade tan distante como la anio pasada. Par un modo o un otra, me va parti de esta pais. Merda a la SUA.
Darryl told me how to find you and made me promise to tell you what I knew when I got back. Now that I’ve done that I’m out of here like last year. One way or another, I’m leaving this country. Screw America.
Resta forte. Los teme tu. Pedi los per me. No deveni caturada.
Stay strong. They’re scared of you. Kick them for me. Don’t get caught.
Zeb
Zeb

Larmas ia es en mea oios cuando me ia fini la nota. Me ia ave un ensendador dejetable a alga loca sur mea table, cual me ia usa a veses per fonde la isolinte de sirca filos, e me ia foraje lo e ia teni lo a la nota. Me ia sabe ce me deta a Zeb destrui lo e serti ce otra persones va vide nunca lo, car cisa lo ta regida on a el, en cualce loca do el va vade.

There were tears in my eyes as I finished the note. I had a disposable lighter somewhere on my desk that I sometimes used to melt the insulation off of wires, and I dug it out and held it to the note. I knew I owed it to Zeb to destroy it and make sure no one else ever saw it, in case it might lead them back to him, wherever he was going.

Me ia teni la flama e la nota, ma me no ia pote fa lo.

I held the flame and the note, but I couldn’t do it.

Darryl.

Darryl.

Entre tota la caca de Rede X e Anj e Securia Interna, me ia oblida cuasi ce el esiste. El ia deveni un fantasma, como un ami vea ci ia move sua casa o ia partisipa en un projeta de intercambia. Tra tota acel tempo, los ia interoga el, esijente ce el denunsia me, esplica Rede X, la interferores. El ia es sur Isola Tesoro, la base militar abandonada a media de la traversa destruida de la Ponte Baia. El ia es tan prosima ce me ia ta pote nada a el.

With all the crap with the Xnet and Ange and the DHS, I’d almost forgotten he existed. He’d become a ghost, like an old friend who’d moved away or gone on an exchange program. All that time, they’d been questioning him, demanding that he rat me out, explain the Xnet, the jammers. He’d been on Treasure Island, the abandoned military base that was halfway along the demolished span of the Bay Bridge. He’d been so close I could have swam to him.

Me ia pone la ensendador e ia releje la nota. Cuando me ia fini lo, me ia plora, sanglotante. Tota ia reveni a me: la fem con la capeles sever e la demandas cual el ia fa e la apesta de pisa e la rijidia de mea pantalon cuando la urina ia seci lo a lona bruta.

I put the lighter down and re-read the note. By the time it was done, I was weeping, sobbing. It all came back to me, the lady with the severe haircut and the questions she’d asked and the reek of piss and the stiffness of my pants as the urine dried them into coarse canvas.

“Marcus?”

“Marcus?”

Mea porte ia es pico abrida, e mea madre ia sta ala, regardante me con aspeta ansiosa. Tra cuanto tempo el ia es ala?

My door was ajar and my mother was standing in it, watching me with a worried look. How long had she been there?

Par braso me ia brosa la larmas de mea fas, e ia ensofla la muco. “Mama.” – me ia dise. – “Alo.”

I armed the tears away from my face and snorted up the snot. “Mom,” I said. “Hi.”

El ia entra a mea sala e ia abrasa me. “Cual es mal? Tu desira parla?”

She came into my room and hugged me. “What is it? Do you need to talk?”

La nota ia reposa sur la table.

The note lay on the table.

“Esce acel es de tua xica de cor? Esce tota vade bon?”

“Is that from your girlfriend? Is everything all right?”

El ia dona a me un via de sorti. Me ta pote culpa problemes con Anj per tota, e el ta parti de mea sala e ta lasa ce me es solitar. Me ia abri mea boca per fa esata acel, e alora esta ia emerji:

She’d given me an out. I could just blame it all on problems with Ange and she’d leave my room and leave me alone. I opened my mouth to do just that, and then this came out:

“Me ia es en prison. Pos la esplode de la ponte. Me ia es en prison tra tota acel tempo.”

“I was in jail. After the bridge blew. I was in jail for that whole time.”

La sanglotas cual ia segue no ia sona como mea vose. Los ia sona como un vose de animal, cisa un asino o la ruido de alga spesie de gato grande en la note. Me ia sanglota tal ce mea garga ia arde e dole ance, ce mea peto ia onda.

The sobs that came then didn’t sound like my voice. They sounded like an animal noise, maybe a donkey or some kind of big cat noise in the night. I sobbed so my throat burned and ached with it, so my chest heaved.

Mama ia prende me en sua brasos, como el ia fa cuando me ia es un xico peti, e el ia caresa mea capeles, e el ia murmura en mea orea, e ia osila me, e gradal, lenta, la sanglotas ia disipa.

Mom took me in her arms, the way she used to when I was a little boy, and she stroked my hair, and she murmured in my ear, and rocked me, and gradually, slowly, the sobs dissipated.

Me ia enspira profonda e Mama ia trae per me un vitro de acua. Me ia senta sur la borda de mea leto, e el ia senta sur mea seja de table, e me ia dise a el tota la raconta.

I took a deep breath and Mom got me a glass of water. I sat on the edge of my bed and she sat in my desk chair and I told her everything.

Tota.

Everything.

Bon, o la plu de lo.

Well, most of it.

Esta paje es presentada con la lisensa CC Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International.
Lo ia es automatada jenerada de la paje corespondente en la Vici de Elefen a 21 april 2022 (17:21 UTC).