SiSU: - Homeland - Cory Doctorow

Homeland
“You don't mind if I keep this, do you? As a memento, you know? Of our time campaigning
together for truth and justice?” His eyes glittered with lunatic merriment and he suddenly
looked more dangerous than Knothead. I shook my head.
“Keep it.”
“Gosh, that's very nice of you, Marcus,” he said. “Isn't that nice of him?”
Knothead laughed. I grabbed my bag and zipped it up, then shrugged into my jacket and
set out walking. I didn't know exactly where I was, but it wasn't hard to figure out that
walking away from the water would take me toward SoMa, and from there I could find
Mission Street and walk all the way home, or catch a bus, or hop on BART. I got about
twenty steps before I heard the car's big engine gun, and then I jumped to one side as the
car roared past me, nearly clipping me. It was a final dick-move screw-you from Knothead
and Timmy, a last reminder that I was a little pussy and they were big, tough guys. It was
so petty it should have been laughable, but if it was so funny, why did I start crying?
Real, big, wet sobs, too, and snot running down my face. My hands were shaking, and my
legs wobbled under me. I felt like my backpack weighed a million pounds, and I slipped
out of it and let it drop to the ground, not caring about my laptop.
I felt.../{beaten}/. Like I counted for nothing. Like I was nothing. I tried to comfort myself with
the fact that they were stupid enough to believe a lie detector, the fact that I'd outsmarted
them. It didn't matter. They were bigger, stronger, better funded. They believed in lie
detectors because they'd taken lie detector tests and so had everyone they knew, so they
“knew” that the tests worked. It was no different from people who believed in astrology
or faith healing because everyone they knew believed too. It didn't stop these guys from
being more powerful and stronger than me.
I made myself stop crying, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to get rid of that scratchy,
weepy feeling. I shouldered my bag again. I started walking. I needed to get home, get
in touch with Ange and Jolu, tell them about this. Tell them about everything. My broken
nose ached. It was nearly midnight and I was supposed to be at work in a few hours, with
a proposal for turning Joe's campaign into “Election 2.0.” I had no idea what I was going
to tell him.
Maybe I'd just tell him the mercenaries ate my homework.
-..-
I didn't make it home. Halfway to Mission Street, I kept going to Market, kept walking to
Hayes Valley and Ange's place. I stood at her door, dithering. It was late and every light
was off in the house, and the battery on my phone was dead so I couldn't even call. I was
going to have to ring the bell and wake up the whole house. Or I was going to have to go
home and spend the night alone. I couldn't face that.
I realized I could sit down on the front step, get out my laptop, log on to Ange's WiFi, and
use Skype to call her phone and wake her up. It was a perverse way of making a phone
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