Terminal Compromise - Winn Schwartau (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗

meaning, it’s just fun. He swallowed more of the exqui-

site food.

“Sounds like whoever dies with the most hacks wins,” Scott said

facetiously.

“Right. You got it, mate.” Pinball never looked up from his food

while talking.

Scott scanned his luncheon companions for reaction. A couple of

grunts, no objection. What an odd assortment, Scott thought. At

least the Flying Dutchman had been kind enough to assemble an

English speaking group for Scott’s benefit.

“We each have our reasons to hack,” said the one who called

himself Che2. By all appearance Che2 seemed more suited to a BMW

than a revolutionary cabal. He was a well bred American, dressed

casually but expensively. “We may not agree with each other, or

anyone, but we have an underlying understanding that permits us

to cooperate.”

“I can tell you why I hack,” said the sole German representative

at the table who spoke impeccable English with a thick accent “I

am a professional ethicist. It is people like me who help gov-

ernments formulate rules that decide who lives and who dies in

emergency situations. The right or wrong of weapons of mass

destruction. Ethics is a social moving target that must con-

stantly be re-examined as we as a civilized people grow and

strive to maintain our innate humanity.”

“So you equate hacking and ethics, in the same breath?” Scott

asked.

“I certainly do,” said the middle aged German hacker known as

Solon. “I am part of a group that promotes the Hacker Ethic. It

is really quite simple, if you would be interested.” Scott urged

him to continue. “We have before us, as a world, a marvelous

opportunity, to create a set of rules, behavior and attitudes

towards this magnificent technology that blossoms before our

eyes. That law is the Ethic, some call it the Code.” Kirk had

called it the Code, too.

“The Code is quite a crock,” interrupted a tall slender man with

disheveled white hair who spoke with an upper crust, ever so

proper British accent. “Unless everybody follows it, from A to

Zed, it simply won’t work. There can be no exceptions. Other-

wise my friends, we will find ourselves in a technological Lord

of the Flies.”

“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