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 · Epiloga

6. Rede X

Crede lo o no, ma mea jenitores ia obliga me a vade a scola en la dia seguente. Me ia entra a un dormi nonreposante a sola la ora tre de matina, ma a la ora sete de la dia seguente, mea papa ia sta a la pede de mea leto, menasante tira me a estra par mea talos. Me ia susede leva me – alga cosa ia mori en mea boca pos coli mea palpebras cluida – e vade su la dux.

Believe it or not, my parents made me go to school the next day. I’d only fallen into feverish sleep at three in the morning, but at seven the next day, my Dad was standing at the foot of my bed, threatening to drag me out by the ankles. I managed to get up – something had died in my mouth after painting my eyelids shut – and into the shower.

Me ia lasa ce mea mama forsa a me un peso de pan tostada e un banana, zelosa desirante ce mea jenitores ta permete ce me bevi cafe a casa. Me ia pote prende un furtiva en via a scola, ma la regarda de los sorbente sua oro negra en cuando me tira mea corpo sirca la casa, vesti me e pone mea libros en mea saco – esta ia es mal.

I let my mom force a piece of toast and a banana into me, wishing fervently that my parents would let me drink coffee at home. I could sneak one on the way to school, but watching them sip down their black gold while I was drag-assing around the house, getting dressed and putting my books in my bag – it was awful.

Me ia pasea a scola a ja mil veses, ma oji lo ia es diferente. Me ia asende e traversa la colinas per desende a la Mision, e camiones ia es en tota locas. Me ia vide sensadores nova e cameras de trafica instalada a multe de la avisas de para. Algun ia reteni multe aparatos de vijila en reserva, preparada per instala los a la momento prima posible. La ataca contra la Ponte Baia ia es esata lo cual el ia nesesa.

I’ve walked to school a thousand times, but today it was different. I went up and over the hills to get down into the Mission, and everywhere there were trucks. I saw new sensors and traffic cameras installed at many of the stop-signs. Someone had a lot of surveillance gear lying around, waiting to be installed at the first opportunity. The attack on the Bay Bridge had been just what they needed.

Tota esta ia fa ce la site pare plu cuietida, como cuando on es en un asendador, embarasada su la esamina prosima par sua visinas e la cameras sempre presente.

It all made the city seem more subdued, like being inside an elevator, embarrassed by the close scrutiny of your neighbors and the ubiquitous cameras.

La caferia turces en Strada 24 ia furni bon a me un copa dejetable de cafe turces. Esensal, cafe turces es fango cual finje es cafe. Lo es tan densa ce on pote sta un culier en lo, e lo conteni multe plu cafina ca la sodas enerjinte per enfantes como Red Bull. Crede algun ci ia leje la article de Vicipedia: en esta modo la Impero Osmanan ia es ganiada: cavalores coleriosa, nurida par cafe-fango jaieta e savaje.

The Turkish coffee shop on 24th Street fixed me up good with a go-cup of Turkish coffee. Basically, Turkish coffee is mud, pretending to be coffee. It’s thick enough to stand a spoon up in, and it has way more caffeine than the kiddee-pops like Red Bull. Take it from someone who’s read the Wikipedia entry: this is how the Ottoman Empire was won: maddened horsemen fueled by lethal jet-black coffee-mud.

Me ia estrae mea carta de debito e el ia grima. “No plu debito.” – el ia dise.

I pulled out my debit card to pay and he made a face. “No more debit,” he said.

“Como? Perce no?” Me ia paia per mea cafemania par mea carta ja tra anios a la turces. A veses pasada, el ia pesti sempre me, informante me ce me es tro joven per bevi lo, e ancora el ia refusa intera servi me en oras de scola, convinseda ce me evita lesones. Ma tra la anios, la turces e me ia developa un spesie de comprende bruta.

“Huh? Why not?” I’d paid for my coffee habit on my card for years at the Turk’s. He used to hassle me all the time, telling me I was too young to drink the stuff, and he still refused to serve me at all during school hours, convinced that I was skipping class. But over the years, the Turk and me have developed a kind of gruff understanding.

El ia secute triste sua testa. “Tu no ta comprende. Vade a scola, xico.”

He shook his head sadly. “You wouldn’t understand. Go to school, kid.”

On ave no modo plu serta per fa ce me vole comprende ca dise a me ce me no ta comprende. Me ia adula el, esijente ce el dise. El ia aspeta como si a punto de ejeta me, ma cuando me ia demanda esce el judi ce me no es sufisinte bon per es sua cliente, el ia comensa comunica.

There’s no surer way to make me want to understand than to tell me I won’t. I wheedled him, demanding that he tell me. He looked like he was going to throw me out, but when I asked him if he thought I wasn’t good enough to shop there, he opened up.

“La securia.” – el ia dise, regardante a sirca en sua boteca peti con sua vasos de favas e semes secida, sua scafales de comables turces. “La governa. Los monitori tota aora, lo ia es en la jornales. Lege PATRIOT 2, la Congresa ia aseta lo ier. Aora los pote monitori sempre cuando on usa carta. Me dise no. Me dise, mea boteca no va aida los a spia mea clientes.”

“The security,” he said, looking around his little shop with its tubs of dried beans and seeds, its shelves of Turkish groceries. “The government. They monitor it all now, it was in the papers. PATRIOT Act II, the Congress passed it yesterday. Now they can monitor every time you use your card. I say no. I say my shop will not help them spy on my customers.”

Mea boca ia abri stonada.

My jaw dropped.

“Tu pensa, esta no importa multe, cisa? Cua es problem si governa sabe cuando on compra cafe? Car lo es un modo per sabe do on es, do on ia es. Perce me ia vade de Turcia, tu pensa? Do on ave governa sempre spiante la popla, no es bon. Me move asi ante dudes anios per libria – me no aida los a prende libria a via.”

“You think it’s no big deal maybe? What is the problem with government knowing when you buy coffee? Because it’s one way they know where you are, where you been. Why you think I left Turkey? Where you have government always spying on the people, is no good. I move here twenty years ago for freedom – I no help them take freedom away.”

“Tu va perde tan multe vendes.” – me ia esclama. Me ia vole dise ce el es un eroe e presa sua mano, ma acel ia es lo cual ia emerje. “Cadun usa un carta de debito.”

“You’re going to lose so many sales,” I blurted. I wanted to tell him he was a hero and shake his hand, but that was what came out. “Everyone uses debit cards.”

“Cisa no plu tan multe. Cisa mea clientes veni asi car los sabe ce me ama libria ance. Me crea un avisa per fenetra. Cisa otra botecas fa la mesma. Me oia ce la Uni per Librias Sivil va litiga los per esta.”

“Maybe not so much anymore. Maybe my customers come here because they know I love freedom too. I am making sign for window. Maybe other stores do the same. I hear the ACLU will sue them for this.”

“Tu ave tota mea comersia de aora.” – me ia dise. Me no ia menti. Me ia pone un mano en mea pox. “Em, me ave no mone fisical, an tal.”

“You’ve got all my business from now on,” I said. I meant it. I reached into my pocket. “Um, I don’t have any cash, though.”

El ia rondi sua labios, acordante con testa. “Multe persones, los dise la mesma. Es bon. Tu dona mone de oji a Librias Sivil.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Many peoples say the same thing. Is OK. You give today’s money to the ACLU.”

En du minutos, la turces e me ia intercambia plu parolas ca nos ia fa en tota la tempo de mea visitas a sua boteca. Me ia ave no idea ce el ave tota esta pasiones. Me ia trata el como mera mea traficor amin de cafina en la distrito. Aora me ia presa sua mano, e cuando me ia sorti de sua boteca, me ia senti como si el e me ia junta nos a un ecipo. Un ecipo secreta.

In two minutes, the Turk and I had exchanged more words than we had in all the time I’d been coming to his shop. I had no idea he had all these passions. I just thought of him as my friendly neighborhood caffeine dealer. Now I shook his hand and when I left his store, I felt like he and I had joined a team. A secret team.

Me ia evita du dias de scola ma lo ia pare ce me no ia evita multe lesones. On ia clui la scola en un de acel dias en cuando la site ia luta per recovre. La dia seguente ia es dedicada, lo ia pare, a lamenta la persones mancante e suposada mor. La jornales ia publici biografias de la perdedas, recordas personal. La rede ia es plen de esta anunsias compata de moris, miles de los.

I’d missed two days of school but it seemed like I hadn’t missed much class. They’d shut the school on one of those days while the city scrambled to recover. The next day had been devoted, it seemed, to mourning those missing and presumed dead. The newspapers published biographies of the lost, personal memorials. The Web was filled with these capsule obituaries, thousands of them.

Embarasante, me ia es un de acel persones. Me ia entra a la campo de scola, no sabente esta, e alora on ia fa un cria e pos un momento me ia ave sento persones sirca me, colpante mea dorso, presante mea mano. Du xicas ci me no ia conose an ia besa me, e la besas ia es plu ca amin. Me ia senti como un stela de roc.

Embarrassingly, I was one of those people. I stepped into the schoolyard, not knowing this, and then there was a shout and a moment later there were a hundred people around me, pounding me on the back, shaking my hand. A couple girls I didn’t even know kissed me, and they were more than friendly kisses. I felt like a rock star.

Mea enseniores ia es sola pico plu restrinjeda. Sra Galvez ia plora tan como mea madre e ia abrasa me a tre veses ante permete ce me vade a mea table e senta. On ia ave un cosa nova a la fronte de la sala de clase. Un camera. Sra Galvez ia vide mea regarda fisada a lo e ia dona a me un formulario de permete, sur un fotocopia nonclar de la xapo de letera de la scola.

My teachers were only a little more subdued. Ms Galvez cried as much as my mother had and hugged me three times before she let me go to my desk and sit down. There was something new at the front of the classroom. A camera. Ms Galvez caught me staring at it and handed me a permission slip on smeary Xeroxed school letterhead.

La Comite de la Distrito Unida de Scolas de San Francisco ia fa un sesion de crise en la finisemana e ia vota en acorda completa per demanda a la jenitores de cada joven en la site per permete de pone cameras vijilante en cada sala de clase e coredor. La lege ia dise ce los no pote obliga nos a vade a scola con cameras en tota locas, ma lo ia dise no cosa sur un sede volente de nosa diretos constitual. La letera ia dise ce la Comite es serta ce lo va reseta la suporta completa de la jenitores en la Site, ma ce lo va organiza ce on ensenia la jovenes con jenitores oposante en un grupo separada de salas de clase “nonprotejeda”.

The Board of the San Francisco Unified School District had held an emergency session over the weekend and unanimously voted to ask the parents of every kid in the city for permission to put closed circuit television cameras in every classroom and corridor. The law said they couldn’t force us to go to school with cameras all over the place, but it didn’t say anything about us volunteering to give up our Constitutional rights. The letter said that the Board were sure that they would get complete compliance from the City’s parents, but that they would make arrangements to teach those kids’ whose parents objected in a separate set of “unprotected” classrooms.

Perce nos ia ave cameras en nosa salas de clase aora? Teroristes. Natural. Car par esplode un ponte, teroristes ia indica ce scolas va segue. En alga modo esta ia es la conclui cual la Comite ia ateni, a la min.

Why did we have cameras in our classrooms now? Terrorists. Of course. Because by blowing up a bridge, terrorists had indicated that schools were next. Somehow that was the conclusion that the Board had reached anyway.

Me ia leje esta nota a tre veses, e a pos me ia leva mea mano.

I read this note three times and then I stuck my hand up.

“Si, Marcus?”

“Yes, Marcus?”

“Sra Galvez, a esta nota?”

“Ms Galvez, about this note?”

“Si, Marcus.”

“Yes, Marcus.”

“La gol de terorisme es ce nos deveni asustada, no? Per esta razona on nomi lo terorisme, si?”

“Isn’t the point of terrorism to make us afraid? That’s why it’s called terrorism, right?”

“Me suposa tal.” La clase ia regarda me. Me no ia es la studiante la plu bon en scola, ma me ia gusta un bon debate en leson. Los ia espeta oia cua me va dise seguente.

“I suppose so.” The class was staring at me. I wasn’t the best student in school, but I did like a good in-class debate. They were waiting to hear what I’d say next.

“Donce esce nos no fa lo cual la teroristes desira de nos? Esce los no gania si nos condui tan temente e pone cameras en la salas de clase e tal plu?”

“So aren’t we doing what the terrorists want from us? Don’t they win if we act all afraid and put cameras in the classrooms and all of that?”

Alga persones ia rieta nervosa. Un de la otras ia leva sua mano. El ia es Carl. Sra Galvez ia invita el.

There was some nervous tittering. One of the others put his hand up. It was Charles. Ms Galvez called on him.

“La pone de cameras securi nos, e esta fa ce nos teme min.”

“Putting cameras in makes us safe, which makes us less afraid.”

“Securi nos de cua?” – me ia dise, sin pausa per es invitada.

“Safe from what?” I said, without waiting to be called on.

“Terorisme.” – Carl ia dise. La otras ia acorda con testa.

“Terrorism,” Charles said. The others were nodding their heads.

“Como los fa esta? Si un bomba umana ta entra corente asi e ta esplode tota nos —”

“How do they do that? If a suicide bomber rushed in here and blew us all up –”

“Sra Galvez, Marcus viole la politica de scola. Nos debe no fa bromas sur atacas teroriste —”

“Ms Galvez, Marcus is violating school policy. We’re not supposed to make jokes about terrorist attacks –”

“Ci fa bromas?”

“Who’s making jokes?”

“Grasias, ambos de vos.” – Galvez ia dise. El ia aspeta vera nonfelis. Me ia senti alga mal pos devia sua clase. “Me pensa ce esta es un discute vera interesante, ma me ta gusta pospone lo a un clase futur. Me pensa ce esta temas es cisa tan emosiante ce nos no pote fa un discute sur los oji. Bon, ta ce nos reveni a la promovores de vota fema, si?”

“Thank you, both of you,” Ms Galvez said. She looked really unhappy. I felt kind of bad for hijacking her class. “I think that this is a really interesting discussion, but I’d like to hold it over for a future class. I think that these issues may be too emotional for us to have a discussion about them today. Now, let’s get back to the suffragists, shall we?”

Donce nos ia pasa la resta de la ora en parla sur acel promovores e la stratejias nova campaniante cual los ia inventa per envia cuatro femes a la ofisia de cada congresor bestin per presa el e fa ce el comprende la resulta per sua futur political si el ta continua priva femes de la direto de vota. Normal me ia gusta multe tal cosas – persones minor ci fa ce la potiosas major es onesta. Ma oji me no ia pote consentra. Sin duta la causa ia es la asentia de Darryl. Ambos nos ia gusta Studias Sosial, e nos ia ta comuta nosa PortaScolas e un sesion de mesaje instante a mera secondos pos senta nos, un canal ladal per parla sur la leson.

So we spent the rest of the hour talking about suffragists and the new lobbying strategies they’d devised for getting four women into every congresscritter’s office to lean on him and let him know what it would mean for his political future if he kept on denying women the vote. It was normally the kind of thing I really liked – little guys making the big and powerful be honest. But today I couldn’t concentrate. It must have been Darryl’s absence. We both liked Social Studies and we would have had our SchoolBooks out and an IM session up seconds after sitting down, a back-channel for talking about the lesson.

Me ia scrive dudes discos de Xbox Paranoica en la note presedente e me ia ave tota los en mea saco. Me ia distribui los a persones sur ci mi ia sabe ce los ave un gusta estrema de juas video. Cada de los ia reseta un Xbox Universal o du en la anio presedente, ma la plu de los ia sesa usa los. La juas ia es vera custosa e no multe divertinte. Me ia prende los a lado entre lesones, en la come media e la salon de studia, e ia loda asta la sielo la meritas de la juas de Xbox Paranoica. Sin custa e divertinte – juas sosial e nondescomutable cual multe persones fresca jua tra tota la mundo.

I’d burned twenty ParanoidXbox discs the night before and I had them all in my bag. I handed them out to people I knew were really, really into gaming. They’d all gotten an Xbox Universal or two the year before, but most of them had stopped using them. The games were really expensive and not a lot of fun. I took them aside between periods, at lunch and study hall, and sang the praises of the ParanoidXbox games to the sky. Free and fun – addictive social games with lots of cool people playing them from all over the world.

La dona de un cosa per vende un otra es lo cual on nomi “la comersia de lama de rasa” – companias como Gillette dona manicos de rasa a no custa, ante completi la engana par esije un monton de mone per la lamas. Cartuxes de primador es la plu males de esta tipo – la xampania la plu custosa de mundo es barata en compara con inca de jeta, de cual sua prepara coletiva custa no plu ca un sentim per galon.

Giving away one thing to sell another is what they call a “razor blade business” – companies like Gillette give you free razor-blade handles and then stiff you by charging you a small fortune for the blades. Printer cartridges are the worst for that – the most expensive Champagne in the world is cheap when compared with inkjet ink, which costs all of a penny a gallon to make wholesale.

Comersias de lama de rasa depende de la nonposiblia de oteni la “lamas” de alga otra fonte. Ultima, si Gillette pote gania nove dolares par un lama recambial, perce on no ta inisia un compania competente cual gania sola cuatro dolares par vende un lama identica? Un marjin de profita de 80 persentos es tal cual fa ce un comersior tipal bava con oios ronda.

Razor-blade businesses depend on you not being able to get the “blades” from someone else. After all, if Gillette can make nine bucks on a ten-dollar replacement blade, why not start a competitor that makes only four bucks selling an identical blade: an 80 percent profit margin is the kind of thing that makes your average business-guy go all drooly and round-eyed.

Donce companias de lama de rasa, como Microsoft, labora multe per fa ce lo es difisil e/o nonlegal ce on compete contra los en la campo de lamas. En la caso de Microsoft, cada Xbox ia ave contrataticas per preveni ce on esecuta programes publicida par persones ci no ia paia la mone per soborna Microsoft per la direto de vende programes de Xbox.

So razor-blade companies like Microsoft pour a lot of effort into making it hard and/or illegal to compete with them on the blades. In Microsoft’s case, every Xbox has had countermeasures to keep you from running software that was released by people who didn’t pay the Microsoft blood-money for the right to sell Xbox programs.

La persones ci me ia encontra no ia pensa multe sur tal cosas. Los ia deveni plu interesada cuando me ia informa los ce la juas es nonvijilada. A esta dias, cada jua enlinia cual on fa es plen de persones malreputada de tota spesies. Prima on ave la pervertidas ci atenta fa ce on viaja a alga loca isolida afin los pote condui intera bizara como en La silentia de la ovetas. Alora on ave la polisiores, ci finje es enfantes credosa per aresta la pervertidas. Ma plu mal ca tota es la vijilores ci spende tota sua tempo en spia nosa discutes e denunsia nosa violes de sua Acorda de Servi, cual proibi flirta, blasfema, e “linguaje clar o mascida cual refere insultante a cualce aspeta de orienta sesal o sesia”.

The people I met didn’t think much about this stuff. They perked up when I told them that the games were unmonitored. These days, any online game you play is filled with all kinds of unsavory sorts. First there are the pervs who try to get you to come out to some remote location so they can go all weird and Silence of the Lambs on you. Then there are the cops, who are pretending to be gullible kids so they can bust the pervs. Worst of all, though, are the monitors who spend all their time spying on our discussions and snitching on us for violating their Terms of Service, which say, no flirting, no cussing, and no “clear or masked language which insultingly refers to any aspect of sexual orientation or sexuality.”

Me no es un can libidosa de tota oras, ma me es un xico de des-sete anios. Seso apare en conversa de ves a ves. Ma ta ce Dio aida si lo apare en conversa cuando on jua. Lo ia veneni vera la esperia. Nun ia vijila la juas de Xbox Paranoica, car los no ia es manejada par un compania: los es mera juas cual codigores ia scrive per diverti se.

I’m no 24/7 horn-dog, but I’m a seventeen year old boy. Sex does come up in conversation every now and again. But God help you if it came up in chat while you were gaming. It was a real buzz-kill. No one monitored the ParanoidXbox games, because they weren’t run by a company: they were just games that hackers had written for the hell of it.

Donce esta xices de jua ia ama la raconta. Los ia prende avar la discos, e ia promete scrive copias per tota sua amis – car vera, juas es la plu divertinte cuando on fa los con sua cameradas.

So these game-kids loved the story. They took the discs greedily, and promised to burn copies for all of their friends – after all, games are most fun when you’re playing them with your buddies.

Cuando me ia reveni a casa, me ia leje ce un grupo de jenitores litiga la dirijores de la scola sur la cameras vijilante en la salas de clase, ma ce los ia perde ja sua atenta de oteni un judi tempora contra los.

When I got home, I read that a group of parents were suing the school board over the surveillance cameras in the classrooms, but that they’d already lost their bid to get a preliminary injunction against them.

Me no sabe ci ia imajina la nom Rede X, ma lo ia persiste. On ia oia persones parlante sur lo en la bus munisipal. Van ia telefoni a me per demanda esce me conose lo, e me ia sofoca cuasi cuando me ia comprende a cua el refere: la discos cual me ia comensa distribui en la semana pasada es ja copiada e sperdeda par pede asta Oakland en periodo de du semanas. Esta ia fa ce me regarda supra mea spala – como si me ia ta desobedi un regula e aora la Departe de Securia Interna ta veni per prende me a via per sempre.

I don’t know who came up with the name Xnet, but it stuck. You’d hear people talking about it on the Muni. Van called me up to ask me if I’d heard of it and I nearly choked once I figured out what she was talking about: the discs I’d started distributing last week had been sneakernetted and copied all the way to Oakland in the space of two weeks. It made me look over my shoulder – like I’d broken a rule and now the DHS would come and take me away forever.

Los ia es semanas difisil. La metro ia abandona completa la paias fisical, sustituinte per los cartas radioidentifiante “sin contata” cual on ia brandi a la molinetas per pasa tra los. Los ia es stilosa e oportun, ma sempre cuando me ia usa un, me ia pensa sur como on trasa me. Algun en Rede X ia posta un lia a un documento de la Funda de Frontera Eletronical sur la modos en cual on pote usa esta cosas per trasa la popla, e la jornal ia ave racontas pico sur grupos peti de persones ci ia protesta a la stasiones de metro.

They’d been hard weeks. The BART had completely abandoned cash fares now, switching them for arphid “contactless” cards that you waved at the turnstiles to go through. They were cool and convenient, but every time I used one, I thought about how I was being tracked. Someone on Xnet posted a link to an Electronic Frontier Foundation white paper on the ways that these things could be used to track people, and the paper had tiny stories about little groups of people that had protested at the BART stations.

Me ia usa Rede X per cuasi tota cosas aora. Me ia crea un adirije falsa de eposta par la Partito Piratin, un partito political svensce cual ia odia la vijila de rede e ia promete secreti sua contas de eposta contra tota persones, an la polisia. Me ia asede lo sola par Rede X, saltante de un lia de interede visina a la seguente, restante anonim – me ia espera – asta Sveria. Me no ia usa plu w1n5ton. Si Benson ia pote dedui lo, cualcun ta pote. Mea alias nova, inventada en momento subita, ia es M1k3y, e me ia reseta multe epostas de persones ci ia oia en salas de rede e foros ce me pote aida los a desdefeti sua ajustas e lias de Rede X.

I used the Xnet for almost everything now. I’d set up a fake email address through the Pirate Party, a Swedish political party that hated Internet surveillance and promised to keep their mail accounts a secret from everyone, even the cops. I accessed it strictly via Xnet, hopping from one neighbor’s Internet connection to the next, staying anonymous – I hoped – all the way to Sweden. I wasn’t using w1n5ton anymore. If Benson could figure it out, anyone could. My new handle, come up with on the spur of the moment, was M1k3y, and I got a lot of email from people who heard in chat rooms and message boards that I could help them troubleshoot their Xnet configurations and connections.

Me ia senti la manca de Joia Loco Harajuku. La compania ia suspende la jua per sempre. Los ia dise ce per “razonas de securia” los no crede ce lo es un bon idea ce on asconde un cosa e envia persones per trova lo. Como lo ta vade si algun ta pensa ce lo es un bomba? Como si algun ta pone un bomba en la mesma loca?

I missed Harajuku Fun Madness. The company had suspended the game indefinitely. They said that for “security reasons” they didn’t think it would be a good idea to hide things and then send people off to find them. What if someone thought it was a bomb? What if someone put a bomb in the same spot?

Como si me ta es colpada par lampo en pasea con un parapluve? Proibi parapluves! Batalia la menasa de lampo!

What if I got hit by lightning while walking with an umbrella? Ban umbrellas! Fight the menace of lightning!

Me ia continua usa mea portable, an si me ia senti formicosa cuando me ia usa lo. El ci ia pone la spiador en lo ta demanda a se perce me no usa lo. Me ia deside ce me va fa mera alga surfa acaso de rede con lo a cada dia, alga min a cada dia, afin cualce oservor ta vide ce me cambia lenta mea abituas e no fa un reversa subita. Per la plu, me ia leje acel anunsias asustante de mori – tota acel miles de mea amis e visinas mor a la fondo de la Baia.

I kept on using my laptop, though I got a skin-crawly feeling when I used it. Whoever had wiretapped it would wonder why I didn’t use it. I figured I’d just do some random surfing with it every day, a little less each day, so that anyone watching would see me slowly changing my habits, not doing a sudden reversal. Mostly I read those creepy obits – all those thousands of my friends and neighbors dead at the bottom of the Bay.

Disente la vera, me ia fa sempre min eserses de scola a cada dia. Me ia ave otra taxes. Me ia scrive pilas de Xbox Paranoica a cada dia, sincodes o sesdes, e ia prende los tra la site a persones sur ci me ia oia ce los mesma va scrive volente sesdes e distribui los a sua amis.

Truth be told, I was doing less and less homework every day. I had business elsewhere. I burned new stacks of ParanoidXbox every day, fifty or sixty, and took them around the city to people I’d heard were willing to burn sixty of their own and hand them out to their friends.

Me no ia es tro ansiosa ce on va catura me en esta ata, car me ia ave bon cripto a mea lado. Cripto es criptografia, o “scrive secreta”, e lo esiste ja de la eda roman (leteral: Augusto Cesar ia es zelosa per lo e ia gusta inventa sua propre sifras, de cual nos usa algas oji per asconde la culminas de bromas en eposta).

I wasn’t too worried about getting caught doing this, because I had good crypto on my side. Crypto is cryptography, or “secret writing,” and it’s been around since Roman times (literally: Augustus Caesar was a big fan and liked to invent his own codes, some of which we use today for scrambling joke punchlines in email).

Cripto es matematica. Matematica difisil. Me no va atenta esplica detaliosa lo car me ance no sabe matematica sufisinte per comprende vera lo – xerca lo en Vicipedia si tu desira forte lo.

Crypto is math. Hard math. I’m not going to try to explain it in detail because I don’t have the math to really get my head around it, either – look it up on Wikipedia if you really want.

Ma asi es la varia consisa: Alga spesies de funsiona matematical es multe fasil per fa en un dirije e vera difisil per fa en la otra dirije. On pote fasil multipli du numeros primal par lunlotra per formi un numero jigante. On vera no pote multe fasil prende cualce numero jigante donada e descovre cual primales on ta multipli par lunlotra per jenera acel numero.

But here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: Some kinds of mathematical functions are really easy to do in one direction and really hard to do in the other direction. It’s easy to multiply two big prime numbers together and make a giant number. It’s really, really hard to take any given giant number and figure out which primes multiply together to give you that number.

Esta sinifia ce si on pote imajina un modo de misca alga cosa sur funda de multipli primales grande, la desmisca de lo sin sabe acel primales va es difisil. Diablin difisil. Per dise: milion milion anios de tota la computadores inventada de sempre e laborante sin sesa no va es capas de lo.

That means that if you can come up with a way of scrambling something based on multiplying large primes, unscrambling it without knowing those primes will be hard. Wicked hard. Like, a trillion years of all the computers ever invented working 24/7 won’t be able to do it.

Cualce criptomesaje ave cuatro partes: la mesaje orijinal, nomida la “testo clar”. La mesaje miscada, nomida la “testo sifrida”. La sistem de misca, nomida la “sifra”. E final on ave la clave: un cosa secreta par cual on nuri la sifra, con ance la testo clar, per crea la testo sifrida.

There are four parts to any crypto message: the original message, called the “cleartext.” The scrambled message, called the “ciphertext.” The scrambling system, called the “cipher.” And finally there’s the key: secret stuff you feed into the cipher along with the cleartext to make ciphertext.

En pasada, la criptografistes ia atenta secreti tota esta. Cada ajenteria e governa ia ave sua propre sifras e sua propre claves. La nazis e la Aliadas no ia vole ce la otra lado sabe como los misca sua mesajes, e serta no la claves cual los ta pote usa per desmisca los. Esta sona como un bon idea, si?

It used to be that crypto people tried to keep all of this a secret. Every agency and government had its own ciphers and its own keys. The Nazis and the Allies didn’t want the other guys to know how they scrambled their messages, let alone the keys that they could use to descramble them. That sounds like a good idea, right?

No.

Wrong.

A la ves prima cuando algun ia informa me sur tota esta idea de fatores primal, me ia dise instante: “Ma no, acel es caca. Bon, serta esta problem de fatori primal, o como tu ta nomi lo, es difisil. Ma en pasada on no ia pote vola, o vade a la Luna, o oteni un disco dur con plu ca alga cilobaites de spasio. Sin duta, algun ia inventa ja un modo de desmisca la mesajes.” Me ia imajina un monte cavetin e plen de matematicistes de la Ajenteria Nasional de Securia ci leje cada eposta en la mundo e rie.

The first time anyone told me about all this prime factoring stuff, I immediately said, “No way, that’s BS. I mean, sure it’s hard to do this prime factorization stuff, whatever you say it is. But it used to be impossible to fly or go to the moon or get a hard-drive with more than a few kilobytes of storage. Someone must have invented a way of descrambling the messages.” I had visions of a hollow mountain full of National Security Agency mathematicians reading every email in the world and snickering.

En fato, esta es plu o min lo cual ia aveni en la Gera Mundal Du. Esta es perce la vive no es plu simil a Castel Wolfenstein, do me ia spende multe dias en xasa nazis.

In fact, that’s pretty much what happened during World War II. That’s the reason that life isn’t more like Castle Wolfenstein, where I’ve spent many days hunting Nazis.

La problem es: sifras es difisil per secreti. Multe matematica es nesesada per crea un, e si lo es vasta usada, alora cadun ci usa lo debe ance secreti lo, e si algun vade a la otra lado, on debe trova un sifra nova.

The thing is, ciphers are hard to keep secret. There’s a lot of math that goes into one, and if they’re widely used, then everyone who uses them has to keep them a secret too, and if someone changes sides, you have to find a new cipher.

La sifra de la nazis ia es nomida Enigma, e los ia usa un peti computador macinal nomida un Macina Enigma per misca e desmisca la mesajes cual los ia prosede. Cada sumarina e barco e stasion ia nesesa un de estas, donce lo ia es nonevitable ce ultima la Aliadas va oteni un.

The Nazi cipher was called Enigma, and they used a little mechanical computer called an Enigma Machine to scramble and unscramble the messages they got. Every sub and boat and station needed one of these, so it was inevitable that eventually the Allies would get their hands on one.

Cuando los ia oteni lo, los ia craci lo. Esta labora ia es gidada par mea eroe personal de tota tempo, un om nomida Alan Turing, ci, plu o min, ia inventa computadores como nos conose los oji. Nonfortunosa per el, el ia es ge, donce pos la fini de la gera, la governa stupida brites ia obliga a el un injeta con ormones per “remedia” sua omosesalia, e el ia mata se. Darryl ia dona a me un biografia de Turing per mea aniversario 14 – envolveda en dudes stratos de paper e en un jueta Batmobil resiclida (el ia condui tal per donadas) – e pos alora me es un manica de Turing.

When they did, they cracked it. That work was led by my personal all-time hero, a guy named Alan Turing, who pretty much invented computers as we know them today. Unfortunately for him, he was gay, so after the war ended, the stupid British government forced him to get shot up with hormones to “cure” his homosexuality and he killed himself. Darryl gave me a biography of Turing for my 14th birthday – wrapped in twenty layers of paper and in a recycled Batmobile toy, he was like that with presents – and I’ve been a Turing junkie ever since.

Aora la Aliadas ia ave la Macina Enigma, e los ia pote intersepi multe radiomesajes nazi, ma esta no ia ta debe es multe importante, car cada capitan ia ave sua propre clave. Car la Aliadas no ia ave la claves, sua posese de la macina no ia ta debe aida.

Now the Allies had the Enigma Machine, and they could intercept lots of Nazi radio-messages, which shouldn’t have been that big a deal, since every captain had his own secret key. Since the Allies didn’t have the keys, having the machine shouldn’t have helped.

Asi es do cripto es danada par secretia. La sifra Enigma ia ave un defeto. Cuando Turing ia esamina forte lo, el ia dedui ce la criptografistes nazi ia fa un era matematical. Par oteni un Macina Enigma, Turing ia pote dedui como on ta craci cualce mesaje nazi, sin depende de la clave cual lo usa.

Here’s where secrecy hurts crypto. The Enigma cipher was flawed. Once Turing looked hard at it, he figured out that the Nazi cryptographers had made a mathematical mistake. By getting his hands on an Enigma Machine, Turing could figure out how to crack any Nazi message, no matter what key it used.

Esta ia perde la gera per la nazis. Per dise: no malcomprende me. Esta es un bon resulta. Aseta la declara de un veteran de Castel Wolfenstein: tu no ta desira ce la nazis rena la pais.

That cost the Nazis the war. I mean, don’t get me wrong. That’s good news. Take it from a Castle Wolfenstein veteran. You wouldn’t want the Nazis running the country.

Pos la gera, criptografistes ia spende multe tempo en pensa sur esta. La problem ia es ce Turing ia es plu astuta ca la person ci ia inventa Enigma. Sempre cuando on ave un sifra, on es atacable si algun plu astuta imajina un modo de craci lo.

After the war, cryptographers spent a lot of time thinking about this. The problem had been that Turing was smarter than the guy who thought up Enigma. Any time you had a cipher, you were vulnerable to someone smarter than you coming up with a way of breaking it.

E plu los ia pensa sur lo, plu los ia comprende ce cualcun pote inventa un sistem de securia per cual el no pote imajina un modo de craci. Ma nun pote imajina cua va es cisa fada par un person plu astuta.

And the more they thought about it, the more they realized that anyone can come up with a security system that he can’t figure out how to break. But no one can figure out what a smarter person might do.

On debe publici un sifra per sabe ce lo funsiona. On debe informa tan multe persones como posible como lo funsiona, afin los pote bate lo par tota metodos cual los conose, probante sua securia. Plu longa lo dura sin ce cualcun trova un defeto, plu secur lo es.

You have to publish a cipher to know that it works. You have to tell as many people as possible how it works, so that they can thwack on it with everything they have, testing its security. The longer you go without anyone finding a flaw, the more secure you are.

E esta es la situa oji. Si on vole es secur, on no usa un sifra cual alga jenio ia inventa en la semana pasada. On usa la sistemes cual persones usa ja tra tan longa como posible sin ce cualcun descovre como on pote rompe los. Lo no importa esce on es un banco, un teroriste, un governa o un adolesente: on usa la mesma sifras.

Which is how it stands today. If you want to be safe, you don’t use crypto that some genius thought of last week. You use the stuff that people have been using for as long as possible without anyone figuring out how to break them. Whether you’re a bank, a terrorist, a government or a teenager, you use the same ciphers.

Si on ta atenta usa sua propre sifra, on ta ave la posible ce algun en la mundo trova un defeto cual tu no ia persepi e ce el ataca tu en modo de Turing, desifrinte tota tua mesajes “secreta” e cacaretante a tua parletas stupida, intercambias finansial e secretas militar.

If you tried to use your own cipher, there’d be the chance that someone out there had found a flaw you missed and was doing a Turing on your butt, deciphering all your “secret” messages and chuckling at your dumb gossip, financial transactions and military secrets.

Donce me ia sabe ce cripto va securi me de oservores ascondeda, ma me no ia es preparada per fronti la istogrames.

So I knew that crypto would keep me safe from eavesdroppers, but I wasn’t ready to deal with histograms.

Me ia sorti de la metro e ia brandi mea carta supra la molineta en asende a la stasion de Strada 24. Como usual, multe persones bizara ia pigri en la stasion: enebriadas, e manicas de Jesus, e omes mexican intensa regardante la solo, e alga xices de gang. Me ia dirije mea oios a ultra los, ia ateni la scalera e ia core lenta asta la surfas. Mea saco ia es vacua aora, no plu bultinte con la discos de Xbox Paranoica cual me ia distribui, e lo ia dona un senti lejera a mea spalas e un pasea felis en cuando me ia veni longo la strada. La predicores ia es ancora laborante, urjente en espaniol e engles sur Jesus e tal plu.

I got off the BART and waved my card over the turnstile as I headed up to the 24th Street station. As usual, there were lots of weirdos hanging out in the station, drunks and Jesus freaks and intense Mexican men staring at the ground and a few gang kids. I looked straight past them as I hit the stairs and jogged up to the surface. My bag was empty now, no longer bulging with the ParanoidXbox discs I’d been distributing, and it made my shoulders feel light and put a spring in my step as I came up the street. The preachers were at work still, exhorting in Spanish and English about Jesus and so on.

La vendores falsa de oculos de sol ia parti, ma sustituinte per los ia es vendores de robotes canin cual abaia la imno nasional e leva sua gama si on mostra a los un imaje de Osama bin Laden. Probable alga cosas divertinte aveni en sua serebros peti, e me ia fa un nota mental per oteni un duple de los per desasembla plu tarda. La reconose de fas ia es multe nova en juetas, pos pasa resente de la militar, tra casinos cual atenta trova enganores, asta la polisia.

The counterfeit sunglass sellers were gone, but they’d been replaced by guys selling robot dogs that barked the national anthem and would lift their legs if you showed them a picture of Osama bin Laden. There was probably some cool stuff going on in their little brains and I made a mental note to pick a couple of them up and take them apart later. Face-recognition was pretty new in toys, having only recently made the leap from the military to casinos trying to find cheats, to law enforcement.

Me ia comensa longo Strada 24 en dirije a Colina Potrero e la casa, rolante mea spalas e olente la odores de burito cual sofla de la restorantes e pensante sur la come de sera.

I started down 24th Street toward Potrero Hill and home, rolling my shoulders and smelling the burrito smells wafting out of the restaurants and thinking about dinner.

Me no sabe perce me ia regardeta acaso a retro supra mea spala, ma me ia fa lo. Cisa par un pico de suconsensia a la sensa ses. Me ia sabe ce me es segueda.

I don’t know why I happened to glance back over my shoulder, but I did. Maybe it was a little bit of subconscious sixth-sense stuff. I knew I was being followed.

Los ia es du omes blanca e musculosa con mustaxes peti cual ia fa ce me pensa o a la polisia o a la motosiclistes ge ci turi de asi a ala tra la distrito Castro, ma omes ge ia ave usual capeles plu bon. Los ia porta jacas con color de semento vea e jinas blu, ascondente sua taies. Me ia pensa a tota la cosas cual un polisior porta cisa a sua taie, a la sintur de aparatos portada par acel om de Securia Interna en la camion. Ambos omes ia ave escutadores Bluetooth.

They were two beefy white guys with little mustaches that made me think of either cops or the gay bikers who rode up and down the Castro, but gay guys usually had better haircuts. They had on windbreakers the color of old cement and blue-jeans, with their waistbands concealed. I thought of all the things a cop might wear on his waistband, of the utility-belt that DHS guy in the truck had worn. Both guys were wearing Bluetooth headsets.

Me ia continua pasea, con cor puminte en mea peto. Me ia espeta esta ja de cuando me ia comensa. Me ia espeta ce Securia Interna va dedui cua me fa. Me ia fa tota cautis, ma Fem de Capeles Sever ia dise ce el va vijila me. El ia dise ce me es un om marcada. Me ia comprende ce me ia espeta deveni arestada e prendeda denova a prison. Perce no? Perce Darryl ta es en prison e me no? Cual vantaje me ia ave? Me no ia ave an la coraje per dise a mea jenitores – o suas – cua ia aveni vera a nos.

I kept walking, my heart thumping in my chest. I’d been expecting this since I started. I’d been expecting the DHS to figure out what I was doing. I took every precaution, but Severe-Haircut woman had told me that she’d be watching me. She’d told me I was a marked man. I realized that I’d been waiting to get picked up and taken back to jail. Why not? Why should Darryl be in jail and not me? What did I have going for me? I hadn’t even had the guts to tell my parents – or his – what had really happened to us.

Me ia rapidi mea pasos e ia fa un cataloga mental. Me ia ave no cosa criminal en mea saco. No tro criminal, a la min. Mea PortaScola ia ave la craci cual permete ce me mesaje instante e tal plu, ma un dui de la persones en la scola ia ave esta. Me ia cambia la modo en cual me sifri la contenida de mea telefon – aora me ia ave vera un divide falsa cual me ia pote reconverti a testo clar par un sola clave, ma tota la bon cosas ia es ascondeda, nesesante un plu clave per revela los. Acel divide ascondeda ia aspeta esata como dejetadas acaso – cuando on sifri datos, los deveni nondistinguable de ruido acaso – e on ta sabe nunca an ce lo esiste.

I quickened my steps and took a mental inventory. I didn’t have anything incriminating in my bag. Not too incriminating, anyway. My SchoolBook was running the crack that let me IM and stuff, but half the people in school had that. I’d changed the way I encrypted the stuff on my phone – now I did have a fake partition that I could turn back into cleartext with one password, but all the good stuff was hidden, and needed another password to open up. That hidden section looked just like random junk – when you encrypt data, it becomes indistinguishable from random noise – and they’d never even know it was there.

Me ia ave no discos en mea saco. Mea portable ia conteni no atestas criminal. Natural, si los ta pensa a esamina forte mea Xbox, mea jua ta fini. Metafor.

There were no discs in my bag. My laptop was free of incriminating evidence. Of course, if they thought to look hard at my Xbox, it was game over. So to speak.

Me ia para do me ia sta. Me ia fa ja la plu bon posible per proteje me. La tempo ia veni per fronti mea destina. Me ia entra a la boteca la plu prosima de buritos e ia comanda un con carnitas – trinxadas de porco – e plu salsa. Me ta es egal bon arestada con stomaco plen. Me ia prende ance un balde de ortxata, un bevida jelin de ris cual es simil a un gaxa de ris acuin e partal dulse (plu bon ca lo sona).

I stopped where I was standing. I’d done as good a job as I could of covering myself. It was time to face my fate. I stepped into the nearest burrito joint and ordered one with carnitas – shredded pork – and extra salsa. Might as well go down with a full stomach. I got a bucket of horchata, too, an ice-cold rice drink that’s like watery, semi-sweet rice-pudding (better than it sounds).

Me ia senta me per come, e un calmia profonda ia desende a me. Me ia es a punto de vade a prison per mea “crimines”, o no. Mea libria pos cuando los ia catura me ia es mera un vacanse tempora. Mea pais no ia es plu mea ami: nos ia es aora a lados diferente e me ia sabe ja ce me va pote nunca vinse.

I sat down to eat, and a profound calm fell over me. I was about to go to jail for my “crimes,” or I wasn’t. My freedom since they’d taken me in had been just a temporary holiday. My country was not my friend anymore: we were now on different sides and I’d known I could never win.

La du omes ia entra a la restorante cuando me ia es fininte la burito e vadente per comanda alga churros – pasta fritada en olio profonda con zucar de canela – per deser. Me suposa ce los ia espeta a estra e ia deveni fatigada par mea pigri.

The two guys came into the restaurant as I was finishing the burrito and going up to order some churros – deep-fried dough with cinnamon sugar – for dessert. I guess they’d been waiting outside and got tired of my dawdling.

Los ia sta pos me a la table de vende, caxinte me. Me ia prende mea churro de la ava bela e ia paia a el, rapida mordente la pasta a du veses ante turna a retro. Me ia vole come a la min alga de mea deser. Lo va es cisa la deser final cual me va reseta per tempo multe longa.

They stood behind me at the counter, boxing me in. I took my churro from the pretty granny and paid her, taking a couple of quick bites of the dough before I turned around. I wanted to eat at least a little of my dessert. It might be the last dessert I got for a long, long time.

Alora me ia turna a retro. Ambos ia es tan prosima ce me ia pote vide la pustula sur la jena de la om sinistra, la peseta de muco en la nas de la otra.

Then I turned around. They were both so close I could see the zit on the cheek of the one on the left, the little booger up the nose of the other.

“Pardona me.” – me ia dise, atentante puia los a lado. El con la muco ia move per bloci me.

“‘Scuse me,” I said, trying to push past them. The one with the booger moved to block me.

“Senior,” – el ia dise – “tu pote veni asi con nos?” El ia jesti a la porte de la restorante.

“Sir,” he said, “can you step over here with us?” He gestured toward the restaurant’s door.

“Pardona, me come.” – me ia dise e ia move denova. A esta ves, el ia pone sua mano a mea peto. El ia respira rapida tra sua nas, tremante la muco. Me pensa ce ance me ia respira intensa, ma me no ia sabe serta par causa de la marteli de mea cor.

“Sorry, I’m eating,” I said and moved again. This time he put his hand on my chest. He was breathing fast through his nose, making the booger wiggle. I think I was breathing hard too, but it was hard to tell over the hammering of my heart.

La otra om ia cade un covrente a fronte de sua jaca per revela un insinia SFPD. “Polisia.” – el ia dise. “Veni con nos, per favore.”

The other one flipped down a flap on the front of his windbreaker to reveal a SFPD insignia. “Police,” he said. “Please come with us.”

“Ta ce me prende mea cosas.” – me ia dise.

“Let me just get my stuff,” I said.

“Nos va fa acel.” – el ia dise. La om con la muco ia fa un paso multe prosima a me, con sua pede a la interna de mea. On fa esta en alga artes militar, ance. Lo permete ce on sensa esce la otra xice reloca sua pesa, preparante per move.

“We’ll take care of that,” he said. The booger one stepped right up close to me, his foot on the inside of mine. You do that in some martial arts, too. It lets you feel if the other guy is shifting his weight, getting ready to move.

Ma me no ia intende core. Me ia sabe ce mea destina ta core plu rapida.

I wasn’t going to run, though. I knew I couldn’t outrun fate.