NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #27/NN_1992_27.iso/spool/alt/folklore/computer/16614

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From: [e-mail] (Sgt. Kleper)
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.computers
Subject: A story
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Date: 22 Nov 92 23:12:52 GMT
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Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
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The following is a short story I had to write for a high school English
class. Don't flame me about inaccuracies or how I depict a hacker. I had
to make something that my teacher would understand, and when I describe
a hacker here, I'm talking about a very distinct few, and not the
majority. Again, I wrote what I did so that she would understand it.
The numbers throughout the text refer to the footnotes at the bottom.
Please note that in the transfer from MS-WORD, there were some
inaccuracies, so for example, a ' might show up as a U or something.
Sorry.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=Story Follows-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Scott J. Kleper                                                 Short Story

    I never considered myself a criminal, yet I mustUve broken about every law
that protects the computer industry. It started innocently enough. It was
1982, and I was about twelve years old. It was my first day at a new school in
Cupertino, California. I knew nobody in the huge school of about a thousand
kids. It was difficult finding my classes, and I had nothing to do during my
lunch period. I eventually wandered into the computer lab, where I met Ken.
The lab had a dozen old Apples1, and Ken looked like he owned them all. He was
an older boy, about sixteen. He had long slovenly hair, and a crooked smile.
Ken was walking up and down the aisles, helping kids and teachers with any
problems they were having. I was intrigued, so I continued to watch until Ken
saw me. He came over and introduced himself, and before I could say anything,
he sat me down at an Apple and attempted to teach me to program in the BASIC
computer language. I was entirely disinterested. The computer seemed awkward
to me, so I told Ken that I had to go, and walked back to my locker, where I
just sat until the bell rang.
    I was late to my next four classes and then, to make things worse, I missed
my bus. While I was digging around in my bag for a quarter to call my Dad, I
noticed that Ken came down the hall. Somehow he convinced me to go back to the
computer lab. This time Ken showed me how we could use a phone with a coupler2
to call other computers. This seemed truly remarkable to me, and I began to
wonder if it was fate that made me miss my bus. We called bulletin boards,
public computers from which we could get programs. We got a game called Hunt
the Wumpus. After we played for a while, Ken hacked3 it. I didnUt know how he
did it, but he looked at the code that controlled the game, and changed it so
that we could always win. By now, I knew that it was my destiny to work with
computers, and I had to get one. Ken had changed my life for the
first time, but not the last. That summer, Ken moved away. But I knew that I
had to continue with computers, and I took over as master of the computer lab
after Ken left.
    Eventually, I decided that I had to have a computer of my own. I would never
be able to raise $600, so I decided that the only option was to build my own
computer. Buying parts every month, I slowly saw my pile of boards and chips
grow into an actual Apple RcloneS. When I finally gathered all the parts, I
stayed up all night putting everything together. I had become obsessive and I
was convinced that there was nothing more important in life than my computer.
I burned myself more than a dozen times soldering, causing scars that I still
have. I used my sisterUs paints to make a decal that said RCrab AppleS for my
home-
made Apple Computer clone. Finally, at 7:07 A.M. on Friday, July 7, 1984, I
turned the power on my new Crab Apple and the little TV. I had it hooked up to
blinked a few times, and then showed the familiar prompt. In my intense shock
and happiness, I totally forgot about school and missed my bus for the second
time in my life. Again, I knew it mustUve been my destiny. Things seemed to be
going well, and everything I was doing was still mostly legal until one day
when I came home from school, I got a small package in the mail from Ken.
There was
no note, but instead a little black book with phone numbers in it. The names
next to the numbers seemed somewhat cryptic4. I knew that they mustUve been
modem numbers, probably for bulletin boards, but what I didnUt know was that
Ken had become a ruthless hacker5. I tried a few of the numbers, but most of
them required passwords. I kept the book, but never looked at it after that
day.
Gradually, I changed from a computer nerd to a hacker. In the following
years, I did a little innocent hacking. I customized all my programs by
hacking the serial number off of them, so that I could copy it for my friends.
I sometimes added what Ken called backdoors to programs. A backdoor was
something that only the hacker knew about, like a hidden part of a program.
Sometimes I deleted anything that was just taking up space, convinced that
whatever I was doing was just and nobody could tell me otherwise.
    Two days after my seventeenth birthday, I got a letter from Ken. He said that
he was in trouble, and needed me to come to L.A. It was the beginning of
spring vacation, and since I wasnUt busy, the next day I took the black book
that I knew was connected in some way with all of this, and drove down to L.A.
I grabbed my new portable computer and jumped in my car, following KenUs
directions to L.A., which were so detailed and perfect that they reminded me
of the way he attacked a new program when we used to hack. About six in the
evening, I reached KenUs condo. He had told me that he wouldnUt be there, and
instructed me to look in his mailbox to get in. I did as told, and retrieved
an envelope out of his mailbox. In it was the assembly code6 for a program. It
looked remarkably like the Hunt the Wumpus game we hacked so long ago, but it
was much longer. Of course, I had my notebook computer with me, so I typed in
the ten page program, and sat on his front step while the slow turtle-like
machine compiled the data. It turned out to be Hunt the Wumpus, or something
exactly like it. Since I only had the assembly code, and not the actual
program, I had to play the game to find out the message Ken had hidden inside.
    The idea behind the game quickly came back to me. There are a hundred rooms
in the WumpusU cave, but none are directly connected. Any room may border any
other. The player had to find the room with the Wumpus without going into a
dangerous room. After two hours of playing over and over again, I finally
found the Wumpus and won the game. The screen went immediately blank. Then
some words gradually faded onto the screen. It said, RThe key is under the
mat, and the alarm code is 2550182. Rest assured. WALRUS.S
    I entered KenUs condo cautiously. There were papers all over, like somebody
had been looking for something. It didnUt make sense. What could Ken have
done? Who had broken into KenUs condo and what were they looking for? Whatever
they were looking for, I knew that I must find it. I scanned the condo
quickly. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. The building looked
noticeably bigger outside than it did inside, as if there was a hidden room.
The last part of KenUs cryptic message puzzled me. I remembered something
about the word RWalrusS from our hacking days at school, but I just couldnUt
remember what it was from. I explored the condo some more. There was a twin
size bed, a couch, a TV., which had been smashed, a table, but no computer.
Now I knew there must be a hidden room. Just like me, Ken would never be able
to live without a computer. I kept thinking about the message, RRest assured.
WALRUS.S I figured what the hell and sat on the bed and said
RWalrus.S I heard a low grinding noise downstairs, which turned out to be a
wall moving. It revealed KenUs vast computer room. I was surprised by how much
equipment Ken could afford, even on a programmerUs salary. I quickly entered
what seemed like heaven.
    Entering a hacker's chamber is like entering another microcosm. These
computer prodigies, or computer nerds, always keep their doors closed, and
some even discourage non-hackers from entering. A faint buzzing sound from the
monitor can always be heard and the strong smell of printer ink and burning
cables is constantly present. The stuffy room is always hot and depressing,
not a very inviting aura. However, it's perfect for a hacker. Of course, the
main commodity in the room is the computer. A power user can't be without a
personal computer, or "number cruncher." There is usually a shelf in the room
with some papers scattered over it and a drawer or cabinet holds broken
pencils, empty soda cans, and notebooks full of unfinished programs and e-mail
addresses.7 A locked or hidden cabinet stores a six pack of any soda with
caffeine and bags of candy. Hackers stay awake all night hacking so they must
have plenty of caffeine. Another shelf houses some software. Disks are
scattered about, and manuals are ripped apart and buried under boxes. The
garbage can, if one exists, is always full to the top with buggy algorithms8
and bad disks. There isnUt any real trash, like candy wrappers, in the
garbage. A true computer whiz leaves them all on the floor. A hacker's room
appears anything but organized, but astonishingly, a hacker can find
everything. Most hackers have some fancy equipment, like a digitizer9, sitting
next to the computer. If the digitizer isnUt used often enough, things
accumulate on top of it until it becomes just another place for a hacker to
put his or stuff. A hacker only cleans when forced to, and even then he is
still never really organized until everything is disorganized again.
Occasionally, one can find a hacker's room that has posters or pictures on the
walls, but most hackers consider such decorations a waste of time. Why put up
advertisements for some bureaucratic corporation when you can be hacking its
passwords?10 For the same reason, hackers generally don't listen to music or
watch TV while they're working. It's just a distraction. A classic computer
nerd gets completely absorbed in his work, to the point where he blocks out
the rest of the world. A hacker is dehumanized. A hacker is an extraordinary
being like nothing else. Call them slobs, call them nerds, call them geniuses.
They don't care. They know that they're just the '90's breed of hackers.
    KenUs room was no exception. He had keyboards all over and each was connected
to a terminal, but I couldnUt tell which one went where. In spite of this
apparent disarray, everything was organized so that only Ken would be able to
use any of it. Still not sure what RWalrusS meant, I flipped the switch on the
only computer I was really familiar with, the old Apple. I was immediately
prompted for a password, which I obviously did not know. For twenty minutes, I
tried to bypass the password prompt, but Ken was too good at programming to
allow
any shortcuts. When I figured out that RWalrusS was the password, I jumped up,
hitting my head on a shelf and knocking down piles of software. Now with
access to KenUs computer, I proceeded to look for any clue as to what was
going on. The disk in the drive had no label, so I pushed it in the computer
and typed Rrun helloS, the basic command to start the program. Soon I was
startled when
all the monitors in the room turned on and started glowing. KenUs face
appeared on one of them, and a muffled deep voice started talking through one
of the speakers. Ken said, RI finally got it. The ultimate hack is on this
disk. It will allow a user to use an ordinary cassette or video tape recorder
to store huge amounts of data. This would mean the end of hard drives and
disks. Everybody wants it, especially the companies that would most suffer by
its exposure. I instructed my girlfriend, Roberta, to send you that letter if
I disappeared. Take the disk, find Roberta at 2501 39th St. and help her find
me. YouUre my only hope. Good luck.S
    Still shocked at how Ken was able to project his voice and picture with an
Apple, I didnUt fully understand the message. RobertaUs address was displayed
on one of the screens, so I wrote it down on the back of KenUs programmerUs
notebook and hurried off to 39th St.
    I knew it mustUve been Roberta when she answered the door. She looked just
like I would have pictured KenUs girlfriend. Long dark hair, no makeup,
glasses, skinny, and smart-looking. I introduced myself and she quickly
grabbed my collar and pulled me inside. She asked me if I had the disk. I gave
it to her, still a little confused. After giving me a cup of coffee, she
explained the situation to me. KenUs RhackS would put several multi-million
dollar companies out of business instantly. It would also allow small
inexpensive computers, like the old Apples, to have power never imagined
before. Ken knew that I was the only one
who knew enough about computers and could be trusted to find him and protect
the program. Roberta explained that she tried many times to find any clue, but
Ken didnUt fully trust her either, so she didnUt know about KenUs room.  I
asked Roberta if she had notified the police. She said that Ken told her not
to because that would mean the exposure of the program which was now unstable
and still buggy.
    It took me a while to sort everything out and decide what to do. I knew
nothing about KenUs project. All I had was his black book. Scanning through
it, I found a local number. We used my notebook computer to call up, and I
used RWalrusS to log in. The name wasnUt recognized, but I learned that the
place was a disk manufacturer about an hour away from RobertaUs house in
downtown L.A. I advised Roberta not to come. If she was captured, Ken would be
forced to give up his hack. I grabbed the disk and the black book and headed
toward the city.
    I was confused when I first got to the corporationUs headquarters. It didnUt
look like a big company that would have its own bulletin board. It was almost
midnight, but the doors were unlocked, and a few lights were on inside. I
slowly opened the door, not knowing what IUd say or what to expect. To my
surprise, Ken was standing in the lobby, as if he knew I was coming.
Demanding an immediate explanation as to why he had made me think
he was in trouble when he was alive and well, Ken calmly explained everything.
He said his hack was a fluke. He had discovered it by accident and it still
had
bugs in it. Since its discovery, hundreds of companies had been trying to find
it and steal it. Ken had sent me on a false chase, knowing that IUd be
followed. The last part of his plan was for me to report his death to the
police and let it be known that the hack was forever lost.
    Ken wasnUt disappointed. He changed his looks and his name and married
Roberta the next month. Together, they started a computer game company which
went on to make millions. I got a job there designing games, and making sure
that people like myself would have no way of hacking them. I destroyed KenUs
hack and the computer industry still thrives. ItUs a difficult world. I never
wonder what would have happened with the exposure of the hack. Ken refuses to
discuss it, and simply says, RIt was a fluke. It didnUt work.S

Footnotes:
1At the time, an Apple was about the only option a school had for a computer.
The Apples were advanced for their time, but a user needed to be really
talented to use one. Apples are still being made, but the company does not
recommend them over their newer models.
2A coupler is a slightly obsolete method of putting a phone receiver up to a
mechanism that will translate data from noise.
3This it means that Ken in some way changed the program to do something it was
not meant to do. The author (me) uses this vague term to show KenUs vast
knowledge over the narratorUs.
4Computer people love the word cryptic. Here it means that the names meant
something, but their meaning wasnUt clear.
5A hacker, as used here, refers to a computer hacker. A computer hacker
generally stays up late using computers and trying to break passwords and
access things that shouldnUt be accessed.
6Assembly code refers to the oneUs and zeroUs in a computer program. The
narrator was typing ten pages of just weird letters to find out what Ken had
done to the program. Hackers are funny that way.
7An e-mail address is used to correspond with a person through a computer.
Often times, hackers have pages full of addresses of contacts that end up
being thrown out.
8 A buggy algorithm is a computer program that has something missing or wrong
in it that will cause a RcrashS, or error, when the program is compiled or run.
9A digitizer is anything that translates data to binary form to be read by a
computer. In this case, it refers to something like a graphics digitizer or
sound digitizer.
10This remark has to do with the Rhacker ethicS, which basically states that
all information should be free. Hackers try to access information that is
protected.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-END-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-
Again, sorry about inaccuracies, and sorry about the mistakes in the
file transfer. I think all ' showed up as U's. and all "'s showed up
as R's and S's. Weird. Remember - I'm only 15, don't flame me, but
give me your opinions.

-scott