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

2. Esplode

Mostra ance la testo orijinal

“Me considera spesiali a fisica cuando me vade a Berkeley.” – Darryl ia dise. Sua papa ia ensenia a la Universia de California en Berkeley, donce el va es instruida sin custa cuando el va vade ala. E la familia de Darryl ia duta nunca ce el va vade.

“I’m thinking of majoring in physics when I go to Berkeley,” Darryl said. His dad taught at the University of California at Berkeley, which meant he’d get free tuition when he went. And there’d never been any question in Darryl’s household about whether he’d go.

“Oce, ma tu no ta pote enlinia rexerca lo?”

“Fine, but couldn’t you research it online?”

“Mea papa ia dise ce me debe leje lo. Plu, me no ia intende fa un crimin oji.”

“My dad said I should read it. Besides, I didn’t plan on committing any crimes today.”

“Evita la scola no es un crimin. Lo es un desobedi. Los difere completa.”

“Skipping school isn’t a crime. It’s an infraction. They’re totally different.”

“Cua nos va fa, Marcus?”

“What are we going to do, Marcus?”

“Bon, me no pote asconde lo, donce me debe coce lo.” Mata radioeticetas es la majia negra. No vendor desira ce clientes malvolente fa un pasea sirca la boteca, lasante pos se un colie de benes lobotomida par manca de sua codigo de baras nonvidable, e donce la fabricores ia refusa reali un “sinial matante” cual on ta envia par radio a un eticeta per fa ce lo descomuta. On pote reprogrami eticetas si on ave un aparato conveninte, ma me odia fa esta a libros de biblioteca. Lo no es esata la mesma como estrae pajes de un libro par aranca, ma lo es ancora mal, car un libro con eticeta reprogramida no pote es scafalida e no pote es trovada. Lo deveni mera un ago en un monton de feno.

“Well, I can’t hide it, so I’m going to have to nuke it.” Killing arphids is a dark art. No merchant wants malicious customers going for a walk around the shop-floor and leaving behind a bunch of lobotomized merchandise that is missing its invisible bar-code, so the manufacturers have refused to implement a “kill signal” that you can radio to an arphid to get it to switch off. You can reprogram arphids with the right box, but I hate doing that to library books. It’s not exactly tearing pages out of a book, but it’s still bad, since a book with a reprogrammed arphid can’t be shelved and can’t be found. It just becomes a needle in a haystack.

Esta ia lasa me con sola un posible: coce la cosa. Leteral. Tredes secondos en un forno de microonda va ruina cuasi cada eticeta disponable. E car la eticeta tota no ta responde cuando D ta redona lo a la biblioteca, on ta primi mera un fresca per lo e ta recodigi lo con la informas catalogal de la libro, e lo ta fini en bon ordina limpa sur sua scafal.

That left me with only one option: nuking the thing. Literally. 30 seconds in a microwave will do in pretty much every arphid on the market. And because the arphid wouldn’t answer at all when D checked it back in at the library, they’d just print a fresh one for it and recode it with the book’s catalog info, and it would end up clean and neat back on its shelf.

Nos ia nesesa sola un microondador.

All we needed was a microwave.

“Pos reposa per du plu minutos, la salon de enseniores va es vacua.” – me ia dise.

“Give it another two minutes and the teacher’s lounge will be empty,” I said.

Darryl ia saisi sua libro e ia dirije se a la porte. “Oblida lo. Asoluta no. Me vade a lesones.”

Darryl grabbed his book and headed for the door. “Forget it, no way. I’m going to class.”

Me ia onci sua codo e ia retira el. “Veni, D, resta calma. Lo va es bon.”

I snagged his elbow and dragged him back. “Come on, D, easy now. It’ll be fine.”

“La salon de enseniores? Cisa tu no ia escuta, Marcus. Pos sola un plu catura, me va es espulsada. Tu oia lo? Espulsada.”

“The teacher’s lounge? Maybe you weren’t listening, Marcus. If I get busted just once more, I am expelled. You hear that? Expelled.”

“On no va catura tu.” – me ia dise. La salon ia es esata la loca do no ensenior va es pos esta sesion. “Nos va entra tra la porte retro.” La salon ia ave un cosineta peti a un lado, con sua propre entra per enseniores ci desira mera prende un tas de cafe en pasa. La microondador – cual apesta sempre de popcorn e sopa malversada – ia es simple ala, sur la friador miniatur.

“You won’t get caught,” I said. The one place a teacher wouldn’t be after this period was the lounge. “We’ll go in the back way.” The lounge had a little kitchenette off to one side, with its own entrance for teachers who just wanted to pop in and get a cup of joe. The microwave – which always reeked of popcorn and spilled soup – was right in there, on top of the miniature fridge.

Darryl ia jemi. Me ia pensa rapida. “Vide, la campana ia sona ja. Si tu vade a la salon de studia aora, tu va reseta un formulario de tardia. Plu bon si tu no apare an, a esta paso. Me pote infiltra e esfiltra cualce sala en esta compleso, D. Tu ia vide ce me fa lo. Tu va es secur con me, ami.”

Darryl groaned. I thought fast. “Look, the bell’s already rung. If you go to study hall now, you’ll get a late-slip. Better not to show at all at this point. I can infiltrate and exfiltrate any room on this campus, D. You’ve seen me do it. I’ll keep you safe, bro.”

El ia jemi denova. Esta ia es un de sua revelantes: cuando Darryl comensa jemi, el es a punto de sede.

He groaned again. That was one of Darryl’s tells: once he starts groaning, he’s ready to give in.

“Ta ce nos vade.” – me ia dise, e nos ia move.

“Let’s roll,” I said, and we took off.

Lo ia es perfeta. Nos ia contorni la salas de clase, ia segue la scalera retro asta la sutera, e ia asende la scalera fronte, direta ante la salon de enseniores. No sona ia veni tra la porte, e me ia turna cuieta la manico e ia tira Darryl a en, ante clui silente la porte.

It was flawless. We skirted the classrooms, took the back stairs into the basement, and came up the front stairs right in front of the teachers’ lounge. Not a sound came from the door, and I quietly turned the knob and dragged Darryl in before silently closing the door.

La libro ia cabe apena en la forno, cual ia aspeta an min ijeniosa ca a la ves pasada cuando me ia apare asi per usa lo. Consiensosa, me ia envolve lo en teletas de paper ante pone lo. “U, enseniores es porcos.” – me ia sisa. Darryl, con fas pal e tensada, ia dise no cosa.

The book just barely fit in the microwave, which was looking even less sanitary than it had the last time I’d popped in here to use it. I conscientiously wrapped it in paper towels before I set it down. “Man, teachers are pigs,” I hissed. Darryl, white faced and tense, said nothing.

La eticeta ia mori en un pluveta de sintiles cual ia es vera intera bela (an si multe min atraosa como la efeto produida par un uva jelada en un microondador, cual on no pote crede sin vide lo).

The arphid died in a shower of sparks, which was really quite lovely (though not nearly as pretty as the effect you get when you nuke a frozen grape, which has to be seen to be believed).

Aora, nos ia debe esfiltra la compleso con anonimia completa e fa nosa evade.

Now, to exfiltrate the campus in perfect anonymity and make our escape.

Darryl ia abri la porte e ia comensa sorti, cuasi tocada par me a sua talones. Pos un secondo, el ia sta sur mea orteos, con codos puxada a mea peto, atentante reentra a la cosina-saleta de cual nos ia veni de emerji.

Darryl opened the door and began to move out, me on his heels. A second later, he was standing on my toes, elbows jammed into my chest, as he tried to back-pedal into the closet-sized kitchen we’d just left.

“A retro.” – el ia xuxa urjente. “Rapida – Carl veni!”

“Get back,” he whispered urgently. “Quick – it’s Charles!”

Carl Walker e me no coesiste bon. Nos es en la mesma anio scolal, e nos conose lunlotra tra tempo tan longa como me conose Darryl, ma asi la similia sesa. Carl ia es sempre grande en relata con sua eda, e car el jua aora futbal con jus anabolinte, el es an plu grande. El ave un problem de controla sua coleria – me ia perde a el un dente de bebe en scola prima – e el ia susede evita es punida per lo par deveni la denunsior la plu ativa en la scola.

Charles Walker and I don’t get along. We’re in the same grade, and we’ve known each other as long as I’ve known Darryl, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Charles has always been big for his age, and now that he’s playing football and on the juice, he’s even bigger. He’s got anger management problems – I lost a milk-tooth to him in the third grade – and he’s managed to keep from getting in trouble over them by becoming the most active snitch in school.

Lo es un mal combina: un tormentor ci denunsia ance, multe saboreante vade a la enseniores con cualce violes cual el ia trova. Benson ia ama Carl. Carl ia gusta indica ce el ave alga spesie de problem nonspesifada de vesica, cual ia dona a el un escusa ja preparada per patrulia furtiva la coredores de Chavez, xercante persones ci el va tradi.

It’s a bad combination, a bully who also snitches, taking great pleasure in going to the teachers with whatever infractions he’s found. Benson loved Charles. Charles liked to let on that he had some kind of unspecified bladder problem, which gave him a ready-made excuse to prowl the hallways at Chavez, looking for people to fink on.

A la fini de la ves pasada cuando Carl ia trova fango sur me, me ia debe sesa fa JuRoVis. Me no ia intende es caturada par el denova.

The last time Charles had caught some dirt on me, it had ended with me giving up LARPing. I had no intention of being caught by him again.

“Cua el fa?”

“What’s he doing?”

“Veni en esta dirije es cua el fa.” – Darryl ia dise. El ia es tremante.

“He’s coming this way is what he’s doing,” Darryl said. He was shaking.

“Oce.” – me ia dise. “Oce, aora es la ora per defende se en crise.” Me ia estrae mea telefon. Me ia prepara ja longa esta scema. Carl va catura nunca denova me. Me ia eposta a mea servador a casa, e lo ia ativi.

“OK,” I said. “OK, time for emergency countermeasures.” I got my phone out. I’d planned this well in advance. Charles would never get me again. I emailed my server at home, and it got into motion.

Pos alga secondos, la telefon de Carl ia dementi spetaculin. Me ia fa ce deses de miles de telefonis e mesajetas acaso es simultan enviada a lo, causante ce cada de sua pias e tintinas sona e continua sona. La ataca ia es esecutada par un botnet, e per esta me ia vergonia, ma me ia fa lo per servi un bon intende.

A few seconds later, Charles’s phone spazzed out spectacularly. I’d had tens of thousands of simultaneous random calls and text messages sent to it, causing every chirp and ring it had to go off and keep on going off. The attack was accomplished by means of a botnet, and for that I felt bad, but it was in the service of a good cause.

Botnetes es do computadores infetada vive pos mori. Cuando on ave un verme o un virus, la computador envia un mesaje a un canal de conversa IRC – Internet Relay Chat. Esta mesaje informa la mestre de botnet – la xice ci ia reali la verme – ce la computadores es ala preparada per obedi el. Botnetes es suprema potiosa, car los pote es composada de miles, an sentos de miles, de computadores, sperdeda tra tota la interede, juntada par lias forte de rapidia alta e operante en PCs rapida de casa. Esta PCs funsiona normal per sua posesores, ma cuando la mestre de botnet clama los, los leva como zombis per obedi sua comandas.

Botnets are where infected computers spend their afterlives. When you get a worm or a virus, your computer sends a message to a chat channel on IRC – the Internet Relay Chat. That message tells the botmaster – the guy who deployed the worm – that the computers are there ready to do his bidding. Botnets are supremely powerful, since they can comprise thousands, even hundreds of thousands of computers, scattered all over the Internet, connected to juicy high-speed connections and running on fast home PCs. Those PCs normally function on behalf of their owners, but when the botmaster calls them, they rise like zombies to do his bidding.

On ave tan multe PCs infetada en la interede ce la custa de lua un o du oras de botnet ia tufa. Jeneral, esta cosas labora per spamores como macinas de spami, barata e desentrida, pleninte caxas de eposta con mesajes anunsiante piles de pixon o con viruses nova cual pote infeta la resetor e enscrive sua macina como membro de la botnet.

There are so many infected PCs on the Internet that the price of hiring an hour or two on a botnet has crashed. Mostly these things work for spammers as cheap, distributed spambots, filling your mailbox with come-ons for boner-pills or with new viruses that can infect you and recruit your machine to join the botnet.

Me ia veni de lua 10 secondos de tempo en tre mil PCs e ia fa ce un mesajeta o un telefoni par interede es enviada par cada de los a la aparato de Carl, de cual me ia estrae sua numero de un papereta aderente sur la buro de Benson en un visita importante a sua ofisia.

I’d just rented 10 seconds’ time on three thousand PCs and had each of them send a text message or voice-over-IP call to Charles’s phone, whose number I’d extracted from a sticky note on Benson’s desk during one fateful office-visit.

On no nesesa dise ce la aparato de Carl no ia es preparada per esta trata. Prima, la mesajetas ia pleni la memoria en sua telefon, tal ce lo ia comensa tropeza en sua taxes costumal de maneja la tintinador e nota la numeros falsa de la enviores de tota esta clamas arivante. (Esce tu sabe ce lo es vera fasil ce on falsi la numero de envior en un sistem cual presenta lo? On ave sirca sincodes modos per fa lo – gugli mera lo.)

Needless to say, Charles’s phone was not equipped to handle this. First the SMSes filled the memory on his phone, causing it to start choking on the routine operations it needed to do things like manage the ringer and log all those incoming calls’ bogus return numbers (did you know that it’s really easy to fake the return number on a caller ID? There are about fifty ways of doing it – just google “spoof caller id”).

Carl ia regarda lo con confonde, picante lo con dito furiosa, e sua suprasiles densa ia ximi fronsida en cuando el ia luta contra la demones cual ia infesta la plu personal de sua aparatos. La scema ia susede asta aora, ma el no ia fa la ata seguente cual me ia suposa – me ia suposa ce el va parti per trova alga loca per senta e atenta dedui un metodo de reclama sua telefon.

Charles stared at it dumbfounded, and jabbed at it furiously, his thick eyebrows knotting and wiggling as he struggled with the demons that had possessed his most personal of devices. The plan was working so far, but he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to be doing next – he was supposed to go find some place to sit down and try to figure out how to get his phone back.

Darryl ia secute me a la spala, e me ia tira mea oio a via de la fesur de la porte.

Darryl shook me by the shoulder, and I pulled my eye away from the crack in the door.

“Cua el fa?” – Darryl ia xuxa.

“What’s he doing?” Darryl whispered.

“Me ia destrui sua telefon, ma aora el no fa plu ca regarda lo sin parti.” Reinisia acel aparato no va es fasil. Cuando la memoria ia es intera plenida, lo no ia pote carga fasil la codigo cual lo nesesa per dejeta la mesajes falsa – e sua telefon ia ave no comanda per fa un dejeta coletiva de mesajetas, donce el va debe dejeta tota la miles de mesajes par mano.

“I totaled his phone, but he’s just staring at it now instead of moving on.” It wasn’t going to be easy to reboot that thing. Once the memory was totally filled, it would have a hard time loading the code it needed to delete the bogus messages – and there was no bulk-erase for texts on his phone, so he’d have to manually delete all of the thousands of messages.

Darryl ia puxa me a retro e ia pone sua oio a la porte. Pos un momento, sua spalas ia comensa trema. Me ia deveni asustada, pensante ce el panica, ma cuando el ia retira se, me ia vide ce el rie tan forte ce larmas flue sur sua jenas.

Darryl shoved me back and stuck his eye up to the door. A moment later, his shoulders started to shake. I got scared, thinking he was panicking, but when he pulled back, I saw that he was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Galvez veni de reproxa el a grado grandiosa pos trova el en la coredores a ora de leson e usante sua telefon – ta ce tu ia vide sua ataca. El ia saborea vera lo.”

“Galvez just totally busted him for being in the halls during class and for having his phone out – you should have seen her tear into him. She was really enjoying it.”

Pos un presa ritual de manos, nos ia furtivi denova longo la coredor, desendente la scalera, sirca la retro, tra la porte, ultra la serca e a estra a la lus gloriosa de sol en la Mision. Strada Valencia ia aspeta nunca tan bon. Me ia regarda mea orolojeta e ia abaieta.

We shook hands solemnly and snuck back out of the corridor, down the stairs, around the back, out the door, past the fence and out into the glorious sunlight of afternoon in the Mission. Valencia Street had never looked so good. I checked my watch and yelped.

“Ta ce nos vade! La resta de la gang va encontra nos a la trames pos dudes minutos!”

“Let’s move! The rest of the gang is meeting us at the cable-cars in twenty minutes!”

Van ia es la prima ci ia vide nos. El ia fusa con un grupo de turistes corean, en un de sua modos favoreda de camufla cuando el evita la scola. Pos la abri de la blog sur asentia de scolores, nosa mundo es constante plen de botecores intruosa e moralistes ci emprende la taxe de fa fotos de nos e pone los a la rede do los pote es esaminada par manejores de scola.

Van spotted us first. She was blending in with a group of Korean tourists, which is one of her favorite ways of camouflaging herself when she’s ditching school. Ever since the truancy moblog went live, our world is full of nosy shopkeepers and pecksniffs who take it upon themselves to snap our piccies and put them on the net where they can be perused by school administrators.

El ia emerji de la fola e ia bondi en dirije a nos. Darryl es atraeda a Van de sempre, e Van es tan dulse ce el finje ce el no sabe. El ia abrasa me e ia continua a Darryl, besante el a la jena en modo rapida e sorin cual ia roji el asta la altas de sua oreas.

She came out of the crowd and bounded toward us. Darryl has had a thing for Van since forever, and she’s sweet enough to pretend she doesn’t know it. She gave me a hug and then moved onto Darryl, giving him a quick sisterly kiss on the cheek that made him go red to the tops of his ears.

La du de los ia formi un duple strana: Darryl es de tipo pico pesosa, ma aspeta bon an tal, e el ave un pel ros de un spesie cual roji sempre a la jenas cuando el core o deveni stimulada. El pote crese un barba ja de cuando nos ia ave 14 anios, ma, fortunosa, el ia comensa rasa pos un periodo corta cual nosa gang conose como “la tempo de Abraham Lincoln”. E el es alta. Multe multe alta. Me vole dise como un bascetbalor.

The two of them made a funny pair: Darryl is a little on the heavy side, though he wears it well, and he’s got a kind of pink complexion that goes red in the cheeks whenever he runs or gets excited. He’s been able to grow a beard since we were 14, but thankfully he started shaving after a brief period known to our gang as “the Lincoln years.” And he’s tall. Very, very tall. Like basketball player tall.

Entretempo, Van es plu corta ca me par un dui de testa, e magra, con capeles negra e reta cual el porta en trensas bizara e complicada cual el rexerca en la rede. El ave un pel bela cuprin e oios oscur, e el ama anelos grande de vitro con grandia de rabanos, cual clica e clace contra lunlotra cuando el dansa.

Meanwhile, Van is half a head shorter than me, and skinny, with straight black hair that she wears in crazy, elaborate braids that she researches on the net. She’s got pretty coppery skin and dark eyes, and she loves big glass rings the size of radishes, which click and clack together when she dances.

“Do es Jolu?” – el ia dise.

“Where’s Jolu?” she said.

“Como lo vade, Van?” – Darryl ia demanda en vose strangulada. El ia es sempre a paso retardada en conversas con Van.

“How are you, Van?” Darryl asked in a choked voice. He always ran a step behind the conversation when it came to Van.

“Eselente, D. Como lo vade en cada parte peti de tu?” Ai, Van ia es un mal person, un mal. Darryl ia desmaia cuasi.

“I’m great, D. How’s your every little thing?” Oh, she was a bad, bad person. Darryl nearly fainted.

Jolu ia salva el de desonora sosial par apare a acel momento, en un jaca estragrande de basebal en cuoro, sapatos modosa de sporte, e un xapeta con retro abrida cual ia anunsia nosa favoreda de la lutores mascida mexican, El Santo Minor. Jolu es Jose Luis Torrez, la membro completinte de nosa cuatruple. El ia vade a un scola catolica suprasever en Richmond Esterna, donce sorti no ia es fasil per el. Ma el ia susede sempre: nun esfiltra como nosa Jolu. El ia gusta sua jaca car lo ia pende basa – esta ia es alga stilosa en partes de la site – e lo ia covre tota sua caca de scola catolica, cual ta pare como un blanco per la culos ci ave la adirije de la blog de asentia en sua telefones.

Jolu saved him from social disgrace by showing up just then, in an oversize leather baseball jacket, sharp sneakers, and a meshback cap advertising our favorite Mexican masked wrestler, El Santo Junior. Jolu is Jose Luis Torrez, the completing member of our foursome. He went to a super-strict Catholic school in the Outer Richmond, so it wasn’t easy for him to get out. But he always did: no one exfiltrated like our Jolu. He liked his jacket because it hung down low – which was pretty stylish in parts of the city – and covered up all his Catholic school crap, which was like a bulls-eye for nosy jerks with the truancy moblog bookmarked on their phones.

“Ci vole vade?” – me ia demanda, pos cuando cadun ia dise alo. Me ia estrae mea telefon e ia mostra a los la mapa cual me ia descarga a lo en la metro. “Cuanto me pote dedui, nos nesesa revade asta la Nikko, alora ultra lo par un bloco asta O’Farrell, alora a sinistra en dirije a Van Ness. A alga loca ala, probable nos va trova la sinial Wi-Fi.”

“Who’s ready to go?” I asked, once we’d all said hello. I pulled out my phone and showed them the map I’d downloaded to it on the BART. “Near as I can work out, we wanna go up to the Nikko again, then one block past it to O’Farrell, then left up toward Van Ness. Somewhere in there we should find the wireless signal.”

Van ia grima. “Acel es un parte desplasente de la Filete.” Me no ia pote disputa lo. Acel distrito de San Francisco es un de la partes strana – si on entra a la fronte de Otel Hilton, tota es per la turistes, como la plata jirante per trames e la restorantes per familias. Si on traversa a la otra lado, on es en la distrito Filete, la parte de la urbe do tota la prostituidas transvestida e tro usada, la prostituores dur, la vendores sisante de drogas e la manicas de crac sin casa ia es consentrada. Nun de nos ia es sufisinte vea per partisipa en lo cual los compra e vende (an si multe prostituidas de nosa eda ia labora a sua comersia en la Filete).

Van made a face. “That’s a nasty part of the Tenderloin.” I couldn’t argue with her. That part of San Francisco is one of the weird bits – you go in through the Hilton’s front entrance and it’s all touristy stuff like the cable-car turnaround and family restaurants. Go through to the other side and you’re in the ‘Loin, where every tracked out transvestite hooker, hard-case pimp, hissing drug dealer and cracked up homeless person in town was concentrated. What they bought and sold, none of us were old enough to be a part of (though there were plenty of hookers our age plying their trade in the ‘Loin.)

“Regarda la bon lado.” – me ia dise. “La sola tempo cuando on ta pasa volente tra acel parte es en la lus plen de dia. Nun de la otra juores va prosimi a lo asta doman, a la plu temprana. Esta es lo cual nos en la campo de JuReAl nomi un comensa con vantaje jigante.”

“Look on the bright side,” I said. “The only time you want to go up around there is broad daylight. None of the other players are going to go near it until tomorrow at the earliest. This is what we in the ARG business call a monster head start.”

Jolu ia surie a me. “Tu fa ce lo pare un bon cualia.” – el ia dise.

Jolu grinned at me. “You make it sound like a good thing,” he said.

“Plu bon ca come erisos-de-mar.” – me ia dise.

“Beats eating uni,” I said.

“Nos va parla o nos va vinse?” – Van ia dise. Estra me, el ia es nondutada la juor la plu dedicada en nosa grupo. Per el, vinse ia es un cosa estrema importante.

“We going to talk or we going to win?” Van said. After me, she was hands-down the most hardcore player in our group. She took winning very, very seriously.

Nos ia comensa en via, cuatro bon amis, en dirije a desifri un avisa, gania la jua – e perde tota importante a nos, per sempre.

We struck out, four good friends, on our way to decode a clue, win the game – and lose everything we cared about, forever.

La composante fisical de la avisa oji ia es un colie de coordinadas jeolocalinte – on ia ave coordinadas per tota la sites major do on jua Joia Loco Harajuku – do nos va trova la sinial de un stasion Wi-Fi. Acel sinial ia es blocida, en modo intendeda, par un otra punto Wi-Fi prosima, ascondeda per no es persepida par detetadores Wi-Fi ortodox, utiles peti afisable a cadenas de clave, cual informa cuando on es en campo de alga stasion abrida cual on pote usa sin custa.

The physical component of today’s clue was a set of GPS coordinates – there were coordinates for all the major cities where Harajuku Fun Madness was played – where we’d find a WiFi access-point’s signal. That signal was being deliberately jammed by another, nearby WiFi point that was hidden so that it couldn’t be spotted by conventional wifinders, little key-fobs that told you when you were within range of someone’s open access-point, which you could use for free.

Nos va debe xasa la situa de la punto “ascondeda” par mesura la fortia de la “vidable”, trovante la loca do lo es la plu misteriosa debil. Ala nos va trova un plu avisa – a la ves pasada, lo ia es en la plato de la dia a Anzu, la restorante lusosa de suxi en la otel Nikko en la Filete. La Nikko ia parteni a JAL, airocompania japanes, un de la sponsores de Joia Loco Harajuku, e tota la empleadas ia reata con amira grande cuando nos ia trasa final la avisa. Los ia dona a nos boles de sopa miso e ia insiste ce nos proba uni, cual es suxi preparada de eriso-de-mar, con la trama de un ceso licuida e un odor simil a feces licuida de can. Ma lo ia sabori vera bon. A la min, Darryl ia dise tal a me. Me no ia desira come acel.

We’d have to track down the location of the “hidden” access point by measuring the strength of the “visible” one, finding the spot where it was most mysteriously weakest. There we’d find another clue – last time it had been in the special of the day at Anzu, the swanky sushi restaurant in the Nikko hotel in the Tenderloin. The Nikko was owned by Japan Airlines, one of Harajuku Fun Madness’s sponsors, and the staff had all made a big fuss over us when we finally tracked down the clue. They’d given us bowls of miso soup and made us try uni, which is sushi made from sea urchin, with the texture of very runny cheese and a smell like very runny dog-droppings. But it tasted really good. Or so Darryl told me. I wasn’t going to eat that stuff.

Me ia persepi la sinial Wi-Fi par la detetador Wi-Fi en mea telefon pos sirca tre blocos de la strada O’Farrell, direta ante Strada Hyde, ante un “Masajeria Asian” nonfidable con un indicador pulsante roja, “CLUIDA”, en la fenetra. La nom de la rede ia es JLHarajuku, donce nos ia sabe ce nos ave la loca coreta.

I picked up the WiFi signal with my phone’s wifinder about three blocks up O’Farrell, just before Hyde Street, in front of a dodgy “Asian Massage Parlor” with a red blinking CLOSED sign in the window. The network’s name was HarajukuFM, so we knew we had the right spot.

“Si lo es ala, me no va entra.” – Darryl ia dise.

“If it’s in there, I’m not going,” Darryl said.

“Vos ave vosa detetadores?” – me ia dise.

“You all got your wifinders?” I said.

Darryl e Van ia ave telefones con detetadores Wi-Fi integrada, ma Jolu, esente tro stilosa per porta un telefon plu grande ca sua dito peti, ia ave un aparateta separada puntable.

Darryl and Van had phones with built-in wifinders, while Jolu, being too cool to carry a phone bigger than his pinky finger, had a separate little directional fob.

“Oce, sperde vanin e vide la vista. Vos xerca un cade agu de la sinial cual diminui an plu cuando vos segue lo.”

“OK, fan out and see what we see. You’re looking for a sharp drop off in the signal that gets worse the more you move along it.”

Me ia fa un paso a retro e ia fini par sta sur la orteos de algun. Un vose fema ia dise “uf” e me ia turna rapida, ansiosa ce alga prostituida de crac va dagi me car me ia rompe sua talones.

I took a step backward and ended up standing on someone’s toes. A female voice said “oof” and I spun around, worried that some crack-ho was going to stab me for breaking her heels.

En loca, me ia trova me con fas a fas con un otra xice de mea eda. El ia ave un crinera briliante ros e un fas agu e rodentin, con un oculo grande de sol cual ia es cuasi un oculon de avionor. El ia es vestida en un calson raiosa su un roba negra de ava, con multe juetas peti de decora, stilo japanes, fisada a lo par spinos secur – carateres de anime, xefes pasada de mundo, logos de soda stranjer.

Instead, I found myself face to face with another kid my age. She had a shock of bright pink hair and a sharp, rodent-like face, with big sunglasses that were practically air-force goggles. She was dressed in striped tights beneath a black granny dress, with lots of little Japanese decorer toys safety pinned to it – anime characters, old world leaders, emblems from foreign soda-pop.

El ia leva un camera e ia fa un foto de me e mea ecipo.

She held up a camera and snapped a picture of me and my crew.

“Surie.” – el ia dise. “Vos apare en la canal denunsiante.”

“Cheese,” she said. “You’re on candid snitch-cam.”

“Asoluta no,” – me ia dise – “tu no va —”

“No way,” I said. “You wouldn’t –”

“Me va.” – el ia dise. “Me va envia esta foto a la vijilores de asentia pos tredes secondos, si vosa cuatruple no move a via de esta avisa e lasa ce me e mea amis asi xasa lo. Vos pote reveni pos un ora e lo va parteni intera a vos. Me pensa ce esta es plu ca justa.”

“I will,” she said. “I will send this photo to truant watch in thirty seconds unless you four back off from this clue and let me and my friends here run it down. You can come back in one hour and it’ll be all yours. I think that’s more than fair.”

Me ia regarda pos el e ia nota tre otra xicas en vestes simil – un con capeles blu, un con verdes, e un con purpures. “E vos imajina ce vos es ci? La Scuadron de Sucetas?”

I looked behind her and noticed three other girls in similar garb – one with blue hair, one with green, and one with purple. “Who are you supposed to be, the Popsicle Squad?”

“Nos es la ecipo ci va bate la culo de vosa ecipo en Joia Loco Harajuku.” – el ia dise. “E me es el ci a esta secondo va envia vosa foto e dona a vos tan multe problemes —”

“We’re the team that’s going to kick your team’s ass at Harajuku Fun Madness,” she said. “And I’m the one who’s right this second about to upload your photo and get you in so much trouble –”

Pos me, me ia sensa la avansa de Van. Sua scola fema ia es malfamosa per sua combates, e me ia es vera serta ce el es preparada per lansa sua punio contra esta xica.

Behind me I felt Van start forward. Her all-girls school was notorious for its brawls, and I was pretty sure she was ready to knock this chick’s block off.

Alora la mundo ia cambia per sempre.

Then the world changed forever.

Prima, nos ia sensa lo, acel secute nauseante de la semento su nosa pedes cual cada californian conose instintosa – trematera. Mea tende prima, como sempre, ia es fuji: “Si en duta o difisilia: core ronda, cria e xilia.” Ma, en fato, nos ia es ja en la loca tan secur como posible, no en un construida cual ta pote colasa sur nos, e no esposada en la media de la strada do pesos de cornisa cadente ta pote frati nosa cranios.

We felt it first, that sickening lurch of the cement under your feet that every Californian knows instinctively – earthquake. My first inclination, as always, was to get away: “when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout.” But the fact was, we were already in the safest place we could be, not in a building that could fall in on us, not out toward the middle of the road where bits of falling cornice could brain us.

Tremateras es strana cuieta – a la comensa, a la min – ma esta no ia es cuieta. Esta ia es forte, un sona noncredable de ruji cual ia es plu forte ca cualce cosa cual me ia oia a ante. La sona ia es tan cruel ce lo ia forsa me a ajena, e me no ia es la sola. Darryl ia secute mea braso e ia punta supra la construidas e nos ia vide alora lo: un nube vasta negra cual asende de la norde-este, de la dirije de la Baia.

Earthquakes are eerily quiet – at first, anyway – but this wasn’t quiet. This was loud, an incredible roaring sound that was louder than anything I’d ever heard before. The sound was so punishing it drove me to my knees, and I wasn’t the only one. Darryl shook my arm and pointed over the buildings and we saw it then: a huge black cloud rising from the northeast, from the direction of the Bay.

On ia ave un plu ronci, e la nube de fuma ia sperde, acel forma negra estendente cual tota nos ia es abituada a vide en la sinema. Algun ia veni de esplode alga cosa, en modo grande.

There was another rumble, and the cloud of smoke spread out, that spreading black shape we’d all grown up seeing in movies. Someone had just blown up something, in a big way.

On ia ave plu roncis e plu tremas. Testas ia apare a fenetras asi e ala longo la strada. Tota ia regarda la nube xampinionin en silentia.

There were more rumbles and more tremors. Heads appeared at windows up and down the street. We all looked at the mushroom cloud in silence.

Alora la alarmas ia comensa.

Then the sirens started.

Me ia oia ja tal alarmas – on proba la alarmas de defende sivil a mediadia de cada martedi. Ma me ia oia sua sona a momentos nonespetada sola en filmas vea de gera e juas video, de la spesie en cual algun bombi un otra de supra. Alarmas de ataca airal. La sona de muuuuuuu ia fa ce tota pare min real.

I’d heard sirens like these before – they test the civil defense sirens at noon on Tuesdays. But I’d only heard them go off unscheduled in old war movies and video games, the kind where someone is bombing someone else from above. Air raid sirens. The wooooooo sound made it all less real.

“Vade direta a refujerias.” Lo ia es como la vose de Dio, simultan veninte de tota locas. On ia ave parladores sur alga de la palos eletrical, un cosa cual me no ia persepi a cualce ves pasada, e tota los ia comuta a la mesma tempo.

“Report to shelters immediately.” It was like the voice of God, coming from all places at once. There were speakers on some of the electric poles, something I’d never noticed before, and they’d all switched on at once.

“Vade direta a refujerias.” Refujerias? Nos ia regarda lunlotra con confusa. Cual refujerias? La nube ia es stable asendente, estendente. Esce lo es nucleal? Esce estas es nosa respiras final?

“Report to shelters immediately.” Shelters? We looked at each other in confusion. What shelters? The cloud was rising steadily, spreading out. Was it nuclear? Were we breathing in our last breaths?

La xica con la capeles ros ia saisi sua amis e los ia core lampin a vale, en dirije denova a la stasion de metro e la pedes de la colinas.

The girl with the pink hair grabbed her friends and they tore ass downhill, back toward the BART station and the foot of the hills.

“VADE DIRETA A REFUJERIAS.” On ia ave xilias aora, e multe de core de asi a ala. Turistes – on pote reconose sempre la turistes: los es la persones ci crede ce CALIFORNIA = CALDA e jela se en pantalas e camisetas tra sua vacanse en San Francisco – ia sperde en cada dirije.

“REPORT TO SHELTERS IMMEDIATELY.” There was screaming now, and a lot of running around. Tourists – you can always spot the tourists, they’re the ones who think CALIFORNIA = WARM and spend their San Francisco holidays freezing in shorts and t-shirts – scattered in every direction.

“Nos nesesa vade!” Darryl ia cria en mea orea, vera apena oiable contra la xilia de la alarmas, cual ia deveni acompaniada par alarmas tradisional de polisia. Un desduple de autos polisial ia ruidi pasante nos.

“We should go!” Darryl hollered in my ear, just barely audible over the shrieking of the sirens, which had been joined by traditional police sirens. A dozen SFPD cruisers screamed past us.

“VADE DIRETA A REFUJERIAS.”

“REPORT TO SHELTERS IMMEDIATELY.”

“A su a la metro!” – me ia abaia. Mea amis ia acorda con testa. Nos ia formi un foleta e ia comensa desende rapida.

“Down to the BART station,” I hollered. My friends nodded. We closed ranks and began to move quickly downhill.