Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

W >> Winn Schwartau >> Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

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"Ah, but that is already happening," said a gentleman in his mid-
fifties, who also sported a full beard, bushy mustache and long
well kept salt and pepper hair to his shoulders. "We are already
well on the road to a date with Silicon Armageddon. We didn't do
it with the Bomb, but it looks like we're sure as hell gonna do
it with technology for the masses. In this case computers."
Going only by 'Dave', he was a Philosophy Professor at Stanford.
In many ways he spoke like the early Timothy Leary, using tech-
nology instead of drugs as a mental catalyst. Scott though of
Dave as the futurist in the group.

"He's right. It is happening, right now. Long Live the Revolu-
tion," shouted Che2. "Hacking keeps our personal freedoms alive.
I know I'd much prefer everyone knowing my most intimate secrets
than have the government and TRW and the FBI and the CIA control
it and use only pieces of it for their greed-sucking reasons. No
way. I want everyone to have the tools to get into the Govern-
ment's Big Brother computer system and make the changes they see
fit."

Scott listened as his one comment spawned a heated and animated
discussion. He wouldn't break in unless they went too far
afield, wherever that was, or he simply wanted to join in on the
conversation.

"How can you support freedom without responsibility? You contra-
dict yourself by ignoring the Code." Solon made his comment with
Teutonic matter of factness in between mouthfuls.

"It is the most responsible thing we can do," retorted Che2. "It
is our moral duty, our responsibility to the world to protect our
privacy, our rights, before they are stripped away as they have
been since the Republicans bounced in, but not out, over a decade
ago." He turned in his chair and glared at Scott. Maybe thirty
years old, Che2 was mostly bald with great bushes of curly dark
brown hair encircling his head. The lack of hair emphasized his
large forehead which stood over his deeply inset eyes. Che2
called the Boston area his home but his cosmopolitan accent
belied his background.

The proper British man known as Doctor Doctor, DRDR on the BBS's,
was over six foot five with an unruly frock of thick white hair
which framed his ruddy pale face. "I do beg your pardon, but
this so violates the tenets of civilized behavior. What this
gentleman proposes is the philosophical antithesis of common
sense and rationality. I suggest we consider the position that
each of us in actual fact is working for the establishment, if I
may use such a politically pass descriptor." DRDR's comment
hushed the table. He continued. "Is it not true that security
is being installed as a result of many of our activities?"

Several nods of agreement preceded a small voice coming from the
far end of the table. "If you want to call it security." A
small pre-adolescent spoke in a high pitched whine.

"What do you mean . . .I'm sorry, I don't know what to call you,"
asked Scott.

"GWhiz. The security is a toy."

GWhiz spoke unpretentiously about how incredibly simple it is to
crack any security system. He maintained that there are theoret-
ical methods to crack into any, and he emphasized any, computer.
"It's impossible to protect a computer 100%. Can't be done. So
that means that every computer is crackable." He offered to
explain the math to Scott who politely feigned ignorance of
decimal points. "In short, I, or anyone, can get into any
computer they want. There is always a way."

"Isn't that a scary thought?" Scott asked to no one in particu-
lar.

Scott learned from the others that GWhiz was a 16 year old high
school junior from Phoenix, Arizona. He measured on the high-end
of the genius scale, joined Mensa at 4 and already had in hand
scholarships from Westinghouse, Mellon, CalTech, MIT, Stanford
to name a few. At the tender age of 7 he started programming and
was now fluent in eleven computer languages. GWhiz was regarded
with an intellectual awe from hackers for his theoretical analy-
ses that he had turned into hacking tools. He was a walking
encyclopedia of methods and techniques to both protect and attack
computers. To GWhiz, straddling the political fence by arming
both sides with the same weapons was a logical choice. Scott
viewed it as a high tech MAD - Mutual Assured Destruction, com-
puter wise.

"Don't you see," said the British DRDR, continuing as if there
had been no interruption. "The media portrays us as security
breaking phreaks, and that's exactly what we are. And that works
for the establishment as well. We keep the designers and securi-
ty people honest by testing their systems for free. What a great
deal, don't you think? We, the hackers of the world, are the
Good Housekeeping Seal of security systems by virtue of the fact
that either we can or we cannot penetrate them. If that's not
working for the system, I don't know what is."

"DRDR's heading down the right path," Dave the futurist spoke
up. "Even though he does work for GCHQ."

"GCHQ?" Scott asked quickly.

"The English version of your NSA," said Pinball, still engrossed
in his food.

"I do not!" protested DRDR. "Besides, what difference would it
make if I did?" He asked more defensively.

"None, none at all," agreed Dave. "The effect is the same.
However, if you are an MI-5 or MI-6 or whatever, that would show
a great deal of unanticipated foresight on the part of your
government. I wish ours would think farther ahead than today's
headlines. I have found that people everywhere in the world see
the problem as one of hackers, rather than the fundamental issues
that are at stake. We hackers are manifestations of the problems
that technology has bequeathed us. If any of our governments
were actually responsive enough to listen, they would have a
great deal of concern for the emerging infrastructure that
doesn't have a leader. Now, I'm not taking a side on this one,
but I am saying that if I were the government, I would sure as
all hell want to know what was going on in the trenches. The U.S.
especially."

Everyone seemed to agree with that.

"But they're too caught up in their own meaningless self-sustain-
ing parasitic lives to realize that a new world is shaping around
them." When Che2 spoke, he spoke his mind, leaving no doubt as
to how he felt. "They don't have the smarts to get involved and
see it first hand. Which is fine by me, because, as you said,"
he said pointing at DRDR, "it doesn't matter. They wouldn't
listen to him anyway. It gives us more time to build in de-
fenses."

"Defenses against what?" asked Scott.

"Against them, of course," responded Che2. "The fascist military
industrial establishment keeps us under a microscope. They're
scared of us. They have spent tens of billions of dollars to
construct huge computers, built into the insides of mountains,
protected from nuclear attack. In them are data bases about you,
and me, and him and hundreds of millions of others. There are a
lot of these systems, IRS, the Census Department has one, the
FBI, the DIA, the CIA, the NSA, the OBM, I can go on." Che2's
voice crescendo'd and he got more demonstrative as the importance
he attributed to each subject increased. "These computers con-
tain the most private information about us all. I for one, want
to prevent them from ever using that information against me or
letting others get at it either. Unlike those who feel that the
Bill of Rights should be re-interpreted and re-shaped and re-
packaged to feed their power frenzy, I say it's worked for 200
years and I don't want to fix something if it ain't broke."

"One needs to weigh the consequences of breaking and entering a
computer, assay the purpose, evaluate the goal against the possi-
ble negatives before wildly embarking through a foreign computer.
That is what we mean by the Code." Solon spoke English with
Teutonic precision and a mild lilt that gave his accented words
additional credibility. He sounded like an expert. "I believe,
quite strongly, that it is not so complicated to have a major
portion of the hacker community live by the Code. Unless you are
intent on damage, no one should have any trouble with the simple
Credo, 'leave things as you found them'. You see, there is
nothing wrong with breaking security as long as you're accom-
plishing something useful."

"Hold on," interrupted Scott. "Am I hearing this right? You're
saying that it's all right to break into a computer as long as
you don't do any damage, and put everything right before you
leave?"

"That's about it. It is so simple, yet so blanketing in its
ramifications. The beauty of the Code, if everyone lived by it,
would be a maximization of computer resources. Now, that is
good for everyone."

"Wait, I can't stand this, wait," said Scott holding his hands
over his head in surrender. He elicited a laugh from everyone
but Che2. "That's like saying, it's O.K. for you to come into my
house when I'm not there, use the house, wash the dishes, do the
laundry, sweep up and split. I have a real problem with that.
That's an invasion of my privacy and I would personally resent
the shit out of it." Scott tried this line of reasoning again as
he had with Kirk.

"Just the point," said DRDR. "When someone breaks into a house
it's a civil case. But this new bloody Computer Misuse Act makes
it a felony to enter a computer. Parliament isn't 100% perfect,"
he added comically. DRDR referred to the recent British attempts
at legislative guidelines to criminalize certain computer activi-
ties.

"As you should resent it." Dave jumped in speaking to Scott.
"But there's a higher purpose here. You resent your house being
used by an uninvited guest in your absence. Right?" Scott a-
greed. "Well, let's say that you are going to Hawaii for a
couple of weeks, and someone discovers that your house is going
to be robbed while you're gone. So instead of bothering you, he
house sits. Your house doesn't get robbed, you return, find
nothing amiss, totally unaware of your visitor. Would you rather
get robbed instead?"

"Well, I certainly don't want to get robbed, but . . . I know
what it is. I'm out of control and my privacy is still being
violated. I don't know if I have a quick answer." Scott looked
and sounded perplexed.

"Goot! You should not have a quick answer, for that answer is
the core, the essence of the ultimate problem that we all inves-
tigate every day." Solon gestured to their table of seven. "That
question is security versus freedom. Within the world of acade-
mia there is a strong tendency to share everything. Your ideas,
your thoughts, your successes and failures, the germs of an idea
thrown away and the migration of a brainstorm into the tangible.
They therefore desire complete freedom of information exchange,
they do not wish any restrictions on their freedom to interact.
However, the Governments of the world want to isolate and re-
strict access to information; right or wrong, we acknowledge
their concern. That is the other side, security with minimal
freedom. The banks also prefer security to freedom, although
they do it very poorly and give it a lot, how do you say, a lot
of lip service?"

Everyone agreed that describing a bank's security as lip service
was entirely too complimentary, but for the sake of brevity they
let it go uncontested.

"Then again, business hasn't made up its mind as to whether they
should bother protecting information assets or not. So, there
are now four groups with different needs and desires which vary
the ratio of freedom to security. In reality, of course, there
will be hundreds of opinions," Solon added for accuracy's sake.
"Mathematically, if there is no security, dividing by 0 results
in infinite freedom. Any security at all and some freedom is
curtailed. So, therein the problem to be solved. At what cost
freedom? It is an age old question that every generation must
ask, weigh and decide for itself. This generation will do the
same for information and freedom. They are inseparable."

Scott soaked in the words and wanted to think about them later,
at his leisure. The erudite positions taken by hackers was
astonishing compared to what he had expected. Yes, some of the
goals and convictions were radical to say the least, but the
arguments were persuasive.

"Let me ask you," Scott said to the group. "What happens when
computers are secure? What will you do then?"

"They won't get secure," GWhiz said. "As soon as they come up
with a defense, we will find a way around it."

"Won't that cycle ever end?"

"Technology is in the hands of the people," commented Che2.
"This is the first time in history when the power is not concen-
trated with a select few. The ancients kept the secrets of
writing with their religious leaders; traveling by ship in the
open sea was a hard learned and noble skill. Today, weapons of
mass destruction are controlled by a few mad men who are no
better than you or I. But now, computers, access to information,
that power will never be taken away. Never!"

"It doesn't matter." Dave was viewing the future in his own
mind. "I doubt that computers will ever be secure, but instead,
the barrier, the wall, the time and energy it takes to crack into
them will become prohibitive for all but the most determined.
Anyway, there'll be new technology to explore."

"Like what?" Asked Scott.

"Satellites are pretty interesting. They are a natural extension
of the computer network, and cracking them will be lots easier in
a couple of years." DRDR saw understanding any new technology as
apersonal challenge.

"How do you crack a satellite? What's there to crack?"

"How about beaming your own broadcasts to millions of people
using someone else's satellite?" DRDR speculated. "It's been
done before, and as the equipment gets cheaper, I can assure you
that we'll be seeing many more political statements illegally
being made over the public airwaves. The BBC and NBC will have
their hands full. In the near future, I see virtual realities
as an ideal milieu for next generation hackers."

"I agree," said Solon. "And with virtual realities, the ethical
issues are even more profound than with the Global Network."

Scott held up his hands. "I know what _I_ think it is, but
before you go on, I need to know how you define a virtual reali-
ty." The hackers looked at each until Dave took the ball.

"A virtual reality is fooling the mind and body into believing
something is real that isn't real." Scott's face was blank.
"Ever been to Disneyland?" Dave asked. Scott nodded. "And
you've ridden Star Tours?" Scott nodded again. "Well, that's a
simple virtual reality. Star Tours fools your body into thinking
that you are in a space ship careening through an asteroid belt,
but in reality, you are suspended on a few guy wires. The
projected image reinforces the sensory hallucination."

"Now imagine a visual field, currently it's done with goggles,
that creates real life pictures, in real time and interacts with
your movements."

Scott's light bulb went off. "That's like the Holo-Deck on Star
Trek!"

"That is the ultimate in virtual reality, yes. But before we can
achieve that, imagine sitting in a virtual cockpit of a virtual
car, and seeing exactly what you would see from a race car at the
Indy 500. The crowds, the noises, and just as importantly, the
feel of the car you are driving. As you drive, you shift and the
car reacts, you feel the car react. You actually follow the
track in the path that you steer. The combination of sight,
sound and hearing, even smell, creates a total illusion. In
short, there is no way to distinguish between reality and delu-
sion."

"Flight simulators for the people," chimed in Che2.

"I see the day when every Mall in America will have Virtual
Reality Parlors where you can live out your fantasies. No more
than 5 years," Dave confidently prognosticated.

Scott imagined the Spook's interpretation of virtual realities.
He immediately conjured up the memory of Woody Allen's Orgasma-
tron in the movie Sleeper. The hackers claimed that computer
generated sex was less than ten years away.

"And that will be an ideal terrain for hackers. That kind of
power over the mind can be used for terrible things, and it will
be up to us to make sure it's not abused." Che2 maintained his
position of guardian of world freedom.

As they finished their lunch and Scott paid the check, they
thanked him vigorously for the treat. They might be nuts, but
they were polite, and genuine.

"I'm confused about one thing," Scott said as they left the
restaurant and walked the wide boulevard. "You all advocate an
independence, an anarchy where the individual is paramount, and
the Government is worse than a necessary evil. Yet I detect
disorganization, no plan; more like a leaf in a lake, not knowing
where it will go next." There were no disagreements with his
summary assessment.

"Don't any of you work together? As a group, a kind of a gang?
It seems to me that if there was an agenda, a program, that you
might achieve your aims more quickly." Scott was trying to avoid
being critical by his inquisitiveness.

"Then we would be a government, too, and that's not what we want.
This is about individual power, responsibility. At any rate, I
don't think you could find two of us in enough agreement on
anything to build a platform." As usual, Solon maintained a
pragmatic approach.

"Well," Scott mused out loud. "What would happen if a group, like
you, got together and followed a game plan. Built a hacker's
guide book and stuck to it, all for a common cause, which I
realize is impossible. But for argument's sake, what would
happen?"

"That would be immense power," said Che2. "If there were enough,
they could do pretty much what they wanted. Very political."

"I would see it as dangerous, potentially very dangerous," com-
mented DRDR. He pondered the question. "The effects of synergy
in any endeavor are unpredictable. If they worked as group, a
unit, it is possible that they would be a force to be reckoned
with."

"There would be only one word for it," Dave said with finality.
"They could easily become a strong and deadly opponent if their
aims are not benevolent. Personally, I would have to call such a
group, terrorists."

"Sounds like the Freedom League," Pinball said off handedly.

Scott's head jerked toward Pinball. "What about the Freedom
League?" he asked pointedly.

"All I said is that this political hacking sounds like the Free-
dom League," Pinball said innocently. "They bloody well go on
for a fortnight and a day about how software should be free to
anyone that needs it, and that only those that can afford it
should pay. Like big corporations."

"I've heard of Freedom before," piped Scott.

"The Freedom League is a huge BBS, mate. They have hundreds of
local BBS's around the States, and even a few across the pond in
God's country. Quite an operation, if I say."

Pinball had Scott's full attention. "They run the BBS's, and
have an incredible shareware library. Thousands of programs, and
they give them all away."

"It's very impressive," Dave said giving credit where credit was
due. "They prove that software can be socially responsible.
We've been saying that for years."

"What does anybody know about this Freedom League?" Scott asked
suspiciously.

"What's to know? They've been around for years, have a great
service, fabulous BBS's, and reliable software."

"It just sounds too good to be true," Scott mused as they made
it back to the warehouse for more hours of education.

* * * * *

Until late that night, Scott continued to elicit viewpoints and
opinions and political positions from the radical underground
elements of the 1990's he had traveled 3000 miles to meet. Each
encounter, each discussion, each conversation yielded yet another
perspective on the social rational for hacking and the invasion
of privacy. Most everyone at the InterGalactic Hackers Confer-
ence had heard about Scott, the Repo Man, and knew why he was
there. He was accepted as a fair and impartial observer, thus
many of them made a concerted effort to preach their particular
case to him. By midnight, overload had consumed Scott and he made
a polite exit, promising to return the following day.

Still, no one had heard from or seen the Spook.

Scott walked back to his hotel through the Red Light District and
stopped to purchase a souvenir or two. The sexually explicit T-
Shirts would have both made Larry Flynt blush and be banned on
Florida beaches, but the counterfeit $1 bills, with George Wash-
ington and the pyramid replaced by closeups of impossible oral
sexual acts was a compelling gift. They were so well made, that
without a close inspection, the pornographic money could easily
find itself in the till at a church bake sale.

There was a message waiting for Scott when he arrived at the
Eureka! It was from Tyrone and marked urgent. New York was 6
hours behind, so hopefully Ty was at home. Scott dialed USA
Connect, the service that allows travelers to get to an AT&T
operator rather than fight the local phone system.

"Make it good." Tyrone answered his home phone.

"Hey, guy. You rang?" Scott said cheerily.

"Shit, it's about time. Where the hell have you been?" Tyrone
whispered as loud as he could. It was obvious he didn't want
anyone on his end hearing. "You can thank your secretary for
telling me where you were staying." Tyrone spoke quickly.

"I'll give her a raise," lied Scott. He didn't have a secretary.
The paper used a pool for all the reporters. "What's the panic?"

"Then you don't know." Tyrone caught himself. "Of course you
didn't hear, how could you?"

"How could I hear what?"

"The shit has done hit the fan," Tyrone said drawling his words.
"Two more EMP-T bombs. The Atlanta regional IRS office and a
payroll service in New Jersey. A quarter million folks aren't
getting paid tomorrow. And I'll tell you, these folks is mighty
pissed off."

"Christ," Scott said, mentally chastising himself for not having
been where the action was.

What lousy timing.

"So dig this. Did you know that the Senate was having open
subcommittee hearings on Privacy and Technology Protection?"

"No."

"Neither do a lot of people. It's been a completely underplayed
and underpromoted effort. Until yesterday that is. Now the eyes
of millions are watching. Starting tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Scott yelled across the Atlantic. "That's the eighth.
Congress doesn't usually convene until late January . . ."

"Used to," Ty said. "The Constitution says that Congress shall
meet on January third, after the holidays. Since the Gulf War
Congress has returned in the first week. 'Bout time they did
something for their paychecks."

"Damn," Scott thought out loud.

"I knew that would excite you," Tyrone said sarcastically. "And
there's more. Congressman Rickfield, you know who he is?" asked
Tyrone.

"Yeah, sure. Long timer on the Hill. Got as many enemies as he
does friends. Wields an immense amount of power," Scott re-
called.

"Right, exactly. And that little weasel is the chair."

"I guess you're not on his Christmas list," Scott observed.

"I really doubt it," Tyrone said. "But that's off the record.
He's been a Southern racist from day one, a real Hoover man.
During the riots, in the early '60's, he was not exactly a propo-
nent of civil rights. In fact that slime ball made Wallace look
like Martin Luther King." Tyrone sounded bitter and derisive in
his description of Rickfield. "He has no concept what civil
rights are. He makes it a black white issue instead of one of
constitutional law. Stupid bigots are the worst kind." The
derision in Ty's voice was unmistakable.

"Sounds like you're a big fan."

"I'll be a fan when he hangs high. Besides my personal and
racial beliefs about Rickfield, he really is a low life. He, and
a few of his cronies are one on the biggest threats to personal
freedom the country faces. He thinks that the Bill of Rights
should be edited from time to time and now's the time. He scares
me. Especially since there's more like him."