SiSU: - Homeland - Cory Doctorow

Homeland
out, you need to work it out. Give me a call when you've sorted it out. Maybe I'll still be
around.”
It took everything I had not to chase after her as she left the burrito place, but I stayed in
my seat, facing away from the door, staring at the burrito cooling in front of me. I gave her
a decent interval to get a ways down Mission Street, then I left the place myself, leaving
the food untouched.
-..-
I hung around across the street from the Joe Noss for State Senate campaign office, wearing
trackpants, a hooded sweatshirt and carrying a gym-bag, figuring that what worked for
Masha would probably work for me. Autumn was on us, and the sun had set early, making
me just one more anonymous, slightly menacing guy with his hands in his pockets on a
street in the upper Mission. But I wasn't clutching a vial of rock. I was holding onto a USB
stick.
I hadn't been able to talk this over with anyone. Talking to Darryl meant talking to Van, and
that meant being a theoretically single man talking to his theoretical best friend's girlfriend
who had some kind of theoretical crush on him that might or might not be theoretically
mutual. Jolu was busy with Kylie, because what had failed so miserably for me had worked
really well for him. And of course, there was no way to talk to Ange about anything now,
and maybe never again.
Liam left the building. Then the speechwriter and the researchers whose names I forgot.
Then some volunteers, with Flor behind them. I was sure I'd seen Joe go in there, but Flor
locked the door behind her, so maybe I'd missed Joe somehow. But I'd seen a few lights
on inside the office as she shut the door, and so I hung tight. Joe came out twenty minutes
later, wearing his Joe uniform, his cardigan buttoned high against the chill night.
I crossed the street and matched his stride. He looked at me, did a double take.
“Hello, Marcus,” he said, his voice gentle and unconcerned. Statesmanlike.
I held out my closed fist, hand down. “Here,” I said.
He held his hand out, let me transfer the USB stick to him. He felt it, put it in his pocket.
“Do I want to know what this is?”
“No,” I said. “But your friend in the FBI might.”
“Aha,” he said, and patted his pocket. “Well, I'll take that under advisement.”
We walked on for a few steps.
“Is this going to get me into trouble, Marcus?”
“No,” I said.
“Is it going to get you into trouble?”
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