Cory Doctorow: Little Brother

Now I had an indie browser running, I needed an indie network connection. The school’s network logged every click in and out of the system, which was bad news if you were planning on surfing over to the Harajuku Fun Madness site for some extra-curricular fun.

The answer is something ingenious called TOR — The Onion Router. An onion router is an Internet site that takes requests for web-pages and passes them onto other onion routers, and on to other onion routers, until one of them finally decides to fetch the page and pass it back through the layers of the onion until it reaches you. The traffic to the onion-routers is encrypted, which means that the school can’t see what you’re asking for, and the layers of the onion don’t know who they’re working for. There are millions of nodes — the program was set up by the US Office of Naval Research to help their people get around the censorware in countries like Syria and China, which means that it’s perfectly designed for operating in the confines of an average American high school.

TOR works because the school has a finite blacklist of naughty addresses we aren’t allowed to visit, and the addresses of the nodes change all the time — no way could the school keep track of them all. Firefox and TOR together made me into the invisible man, impervious to Board of Ed snooping, free to check out the Harajuku FM site and see what was up.

There it was, a new clue. Like all Harajuku Fun Madness clues, it had a physical, online and mental component. The online component was a puzzle you had to solve, one that required you to research the answers to a bunch of obscure questions. This batch included a bunch of questions on the plots in dojinshi — those are comic books drawn by fans of manga, Japanese comics. They can be as big as the official comics that inspire them, but they’re a lot weirder, with crossover story-lines and sometimes really silly songs and action. Lots of love stories, of course. Everyone loves to see their favorite toons hook up.

I’d have to solve those riddles later, when I got home. They were easiest to solve with the whole team, downloading tons of dojinshi files and scouring them for answers to the puzzles.

I’d just finished scrap-booking all the clues when the bell rang and we began our escape. I surreptitiously slid the gravel down the side of my short boots — ankle-high Blundstones from Australia, great for running and climbing, and the easy slip-on/slip-off laceless design makes them convenient at the never-ending metal-detectors that are everywhere now.

We also had to evade physical surveillance, of course, but that gets easier every time they add a new layer of physical snoopery — all the bells and whistles lull our beloved faculty into a totally false sense of security. We surfed the crowd down the hallways, heading for my favorite side-exit. We were halfway along when Darryl hissed, “Crap! I forgot, I’ve got a library book in my bag.”

“You’re kidding me,” I said, and hauled him into the next bathroom we passed. Library books are bad news. Every one of them has an arphid — Radio Frequency ID tag — glued into its binding, which makes it possible for the librarians to check out the books by waving them over a reader, and lets a library shelf tell you if any of the books on it are out of place.

But it also lets the school track where you are at all times. It was another of those legal loopholes: the courts wouldn’t let the schools track us with arphids, but they could track library books , and use the school records to tell them who was likely to be carrying which library book.

I had a little Faraday pouch in my bag — these are little wallets lined with a mesh of copper wires that effectively block radio energy, silencing arphids. But the pouches were made for neutralizing ID cards and toll-booth transponders, not books like —

“Introduction to Physics?” I groaned. The book was the size of a dictionary.

“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.

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

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

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

“What are we going to do, Marcus?”

“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.

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.

All we needed was a microwave.

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

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

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

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

“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 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.”

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