Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

recently make the case that

computers should be licensed, and that not everyone should be

able to own one. He maintained that the use of a computer car-

ried with it an inherent social responsibility. What if the

technology that gives us the world’s highest standard of living,

convenience and luxury was used instead as a means of disruption;

a technological civil disobedience if you will? What if politi-

cal strength came from the corruption of an opponent’s computer

systems? Are we not dealing with a weapon as much as a gun is a

weapon? my friend pleaded.

Clearly the computer is Friend. And the computer, by itself is

not bad, but recent events have clearly demonstrated that it can

be used for sinister and illegal purposes. It is the use to

which one puts the tool that determines its effectiveness for

either good or bad. Any licensing of computers, information sys-

tems, would be morally abhorrent – a veritable decimation of the

Bill of Rights. But I must recognize that the history of indus-

trialized society does not support my case.

Automobiles were once not licensed. Do we want it any other way?

I am sure many of you wish that drivers licenses were harder to

come by. Radio transmitters have been licensed for most of this

century and many a civil libertarian will make the case that

because they are licensed, it is a restriction on my freedom of

speech to require approval by the Government before broadcast.

On the practical side, does it make sense for ten radio stations

all trying to use the same frequency?

Cellular phones are officially licensed as are CB’s. Guns re-

quire licenses in an increasing number of states. So it might

appear logical to say that computers be licensed, to prevent

whatever overcrowding calamity may unsuspectingly befall us. The

company phone effectively licenses lines to you, with the added

distinction of being able to record everything you do.

Computers represent an obvious boon and a potential bane. When

computers are turned against themselves, under the control of

humans of course, or against the contents of the computer under

attack, the results can ripple far and wide. I believe we are

indeed fortunate that computers have not yet been turned against

their creators by faction groups vying for power and attention.

Thus far isolated events, caused by ego or accident have been the

rule and large scale coordinated, well executed computer assaults

non-existent.

That, though, is certainly no guarantee that we will not have to

face the Computer Terrorists tomorrow.

This is Scott Mason searching the Galaxy at Warp 9.

* Tuesday, January 12 Federal Square, New York

Tyrone was required to come to the lobby of the FBI headquarters,

sign Scott in and escort him through the building. Scott didn’t

arrive until almost eleven; he let himself sleep in, in the hopes

of making up for lost sleep. He knew it didn’t work that way,

but twelve hours of dead rest had to do something.

Tyrone explained as they took an elevator two levels beneath the

street that they were going to work with a reconstructionist. A

man with a very powerful computer will build up the face that

Scott saw, piece by piece. They opened a door that was identi-

fied by only a number and entered an almost sterile work place.

A pair of Sun workstations with large high resolution monitors

sat on large white tables by one wall, with a row of racks of

floor to ceiling disk drives and tape units opposite.

“Remember,” Tyrone cautioned, “no names.”

“Right,” said Scott. “No names.”

Tyrone introduced Scott to Vinnie who would be running the com-

puter. Vinnie’s first job was to familiarize Scott with the

procedure. Tyrone told Vinnie to call him in his office when

they had something;he had other matters to attend to in the

meantime. Of obvious Italian descent, with a thick Brooklyn

accent, Vinnie Misselli epitomized the local boy making good.

His lantern jaw and classic Roman good looks were out of place

among the blue suits and white shirts that typified the FBI.

“All I need,” Vinnie said, “is a brief description to get things

started. Then, we’ll fix it piece by piece.”

Scott loosely described the Spook. Dark hair, good looking, no

noticeable marks and of course, the dimples. The face that

Vinnie built was generic. No unique features, just a nose and the

other parts that anatomically make up a face. Scott shook his

head, no that’s not even close. Vinnie seemed undaunted.

“O.K., now, I am going to stretch the head, the overall shape and

you tell me where to stop. All right?” Vinnie asked, beginning

his manipulation before Scott answered.

“Sure,” said Scott. Vinnie rolled a large track ball built into

the keyboard and the head on the screen slowly stretched in

height and width. The changes didn’t help Scott much he but

asked Vinnie to stop at one point anyway.

“Don’t worry, we can change it later again. How about the eyes?”

“Two,” said Scott seriously.

Vinnie gave Scott an ersatz dirty look. “Everyone does it,” said

Vinnie. “Once.” He grinned at Scott.

“The eye brows, they were bushier,” said Scott.

“Good. Tell me when.” The eyebrows on the face twisted and

turned as Vinnie moved the trackball with his right hand and

clicked at the keyboard with his left.

“That’s close,” Scott said. “Yeah, hold it.” Vinnie froze the

image where Scott indicated and they went on to the hair.

“Longer, wavier, less of a part . . .”

They worked for an hour, Vinnie at the computer controls and

Scott changing every imaginable feature on the face as it evolved

into one with character. Vinnie sat back in his chair and

stretched. “How’s that,” he asked Scott.

Scott hesitated. He felt that he was making too many changes.

Maybe this was as close as it got. “It’s good,” he said without

conviction. There was a slight resemblance.

“That’s what they all say,” Vinnie said. “It’s not even close

yet.” He laughed as Scott looked shocked. “All we’ve done so

far is get the general outline. Now, we work on the details.”

For another two hours Scott commented on the subtle changes

Vinnie made to the face. Nuances that one never thinks of; the

curve of the cheek, the half dozen angles of the chin, the hun-

dreds of ear lobes, eyes of a thousand shapes – they went through

them all and the face took form. Scott saw the face take on the

appearance of the Spook; more and more it became the familiar

face he had spent hours with a few days ago.

As he got caught up in the building and discovery process, Scott

issued commands to Vinnie; thicken the upper lip, just a little.

Higher forehead. He blurted out change after change and Vinnie

executed every one. Actually, Vinnie preferred it this way,

being given the orders. After all, he hadn’t seen the face.

“There! That’s the Spook!” exclaimed Scott suddenly.

“You sure?” asked Vinnie sitting back in the plush computer

chair.

“Yup,” Scott said with assurance. “That’s him.”

“O.K., let’s see what we can do . . .” Vinnie rapidly typed at

the keyboard and the picture of the face disappeared. The screen

went blank for a few seconds until it was replaced with a 3

dimensional color model of a head. The back of the head turned

and the visage of the Spook stared at them both. It was an eerie

feeling and Scott shuddered as the disembodied head stopped

spinning.

“Take a look at this,” Vinnie said as he continued typing. Scott

watched the head, Spook’s head, come alive. The lips were mov-

ing, as though it, he, was trying to speak. “I can give it a

voice if you’d like.”

“Will that help?” Scott asked.

“Nah, not in this case,” Vinnie said,“but it is fun. Let’s make

sure that we got the right guy here. We’ll take a look at him

from every angle.” The head moved to the side for a left pro-

file. “I’ll make a couple of gross adjustments, and you tell me

if it gets any better.”

They went through another hour of fine tuning the 3-D head,

modifying skin tones, texture, hair style and a score of other

subtleties. When they were done Scott remarked that the image

looked more like the Spook than the Spook himself. Incredible.

Scott was truly impressed. This is where taxpayer’s money went.

Vinnie called Tyrone and by the time he arrived, the color photo-

graphs and digital maps of the images were ready.

Scott followed Tyrone down one corridor, then another, through a

common area, and down a couple more hallways. They entered Room

322B. The innocuous appearance of the door did not prepare Scott

for what he saw; a huge computer room, at least a football field

in length. Blue and tan and beige and a few black metal cabi-