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

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