Little Brother

movements and they may be called Xnet or not.
    > 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.
    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.
    > I don't know
    I typed finally.
    > 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.
    > 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.
    > I know that's not a good answer. Sorry.
    > What do you mean when you say that the DHS wouldn't stop terrorists? How do you know?
    > Who are you?
    > I'm with the Sydney Morning Herald.
    > 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?
    > In Australia? Why yes I do
    The pirates all laughed.
    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.
    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.
    She kissed my neck and murmured something.
    "What?"
    "I said I love you," she said. "What, you want me to send you a telegram?"
    "Wow," I said.
    "You're that surprised, huh?"
    "No. Um. It's just — I was going to say that to you."
    "Sure you were," she said, and bit the tip of my nose.
    "It's just that I've never said it before," I said. "So I was working up to it."
    "You still haven't said it, you know. Don't think I haven't noticed. We girls pick upon these things."
    "I love you, Ange Carvelli," I said.
    "I love you too, Marcus Yallow."
    We kissed and nuzzled and I started to breathe hard and so did she. That's when her mom knocked on the door.
    "Angela," she said, "I think it's time your friend went home, don't you?"
    "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."
    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."
    "11:45," she said, checking her clock.
    "Crap!" I yelped and tied my shoes.
    "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."
    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.
    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