Terminal Compromise by Winn Schwartau (my reading book .txt) 📖

voice during his passionate monologue.

“Now we can use computers in our cars or boats and use cellular

phone links to create absolute networkability. In essence we

have a new life form to deal with, the world wide information

Network.”

“Here’s where we definitely diverge,” objected Scott, hands in

the air. “Arriving at the conclusion that a computer network is

a life form, requires a giant leap of faith that I have trouble

with.”

“Not faith, just understanding,” the Spook said with sustained

vigor. “We can compare networks to the veins and blood vessels

in our bodies. The heart pumps the blood, the lungs replenish

it, the other organs feed off of it. The veins serve as the

thoroughfares for blood just as networks serve as highways for

information. However, the Network is not static, where a fixed

road map describes its operation. The Network is in a constant

state of flux, in all likelihood never to repeat the same pattern

of connections again.

“So you admit,” accused Scott, “that a network is just a conduit,

one made of copper and silicon just as the vein in a conduit?”

“Yes, a smart conduit,” the Spook insisted. “Some conduits are

much smarter than others. The Network itself is a set of rules

by which information is transmitted over a conductive material.

You can’t touch a network. Sure, you can touch the computer, the

network wire, you can touch the bits and pieces that make up the

Network, but you cannot touch the Network. The Network exists as

a synergistic byproduct of many dissimilar and physically isolat-

ed devices.”

“I must admit Spook . . .”

“That’s Mister Spook to you earth man,” joked the Spook. “Sorry,

continue.”

“I could probably nickel and dime you into death by boredom on

several points, but I will concede that they are arguable and

better relegated for a long evening of total disagreement. For

the sake of world peace I will not press the issue now.”

“How very kind,” mocked the Spook. “Let’s get out of here, take

a walk, and I’ll continue your education.”

If anyone else spoke to Scott so derogatorily, there would be

instant conflict. The Spook, though, didn’t raise the defense

mechanism in Scott. Spook was actually a likable fellow, if

somewhat arrogant.

They walked back down Nieuwezuds Voorburgwal and Beursplein very

slowly. The Spook lit up another joint.

“What’s this,” said Scott appreciatively, “an endless supply?”

“When in Rome!” replied Spook. The brightly lit grand boulevard

was a sample of the energy that permeates the Amsterdam night

life. The train station was still a hub of activity in the

winter darkness of early evening.

“So look at the Network. You can cut off its tentacles, that’s

better than legs and feet in this case, and they will reappear,

reconnect somewhere else. Alternate routing bypasses trouble

spots, self diagnostics help the Network doctors, priority and

preferences are handled according to a clear set of rules.”

Spook waved his hands to reinforce his case.

“That’s, ah, quite, ah, a theory. What do the experts say about

this?” Scott was teetering on the edge of partial acceptance.

“Experts? We’re the experts. That’s why we hack, don’t you

see?” The answer was so obvious it didn’t deserve a question.

“Now, I can only speak for myself, but I find that the Network

organism itself is what’s interesting. The network, the sponta-

neously grown information organism that covers most of the planet

Earth. I believe that is why all hackers start hacking. Innate

curiosity about the way things work. Then, before our eyes, and

behind the back of the world, the planet gets connected, totally

connected to each other, and we haven’t examined the ramifica-

tions of that closeness, computer-wise that is. That’s what we

do.” The Spook sounded satisfied with his explanation.

Scott thought about it as they crossed Kerksplein and over canals

to the Oude Zijds Voorbugwal. Was the Spook spouting off a lot

of rationalized bullshit or were he and the likes of him actually

performing valuable services, acting as technological sociolo-

gists to five billion clients? If a network was alive, thought

Scott, it was alive in the sense that a town or village is alive,

as the sum of its parts. As a society is alive. If the computer

terminal and its operator are members of a global village, as are

thousands of other computer users, might that not be considered a

society? Communications are indeed different, but Scott remem-

bered that Flatland was considered a valid society with a unique

perspective on the universe. Is it any different than the tele-

phone, which connects everyone on the planet? Shit, Spook made

some sense.

They paused on a bridge by the Voorsbugwal, and a few blocks down

the canal Scott saw a concentration of bright lights. “What’s

that?” He asked.

“Poontang,” the Spook said lasciviously.

“Say wha?” Scott asked

“This is Horny Heaven, Ode to Orgasm, Pick a Perversion.” The

Spook proudly held his arms out.

“Aha, the Red Light District,” Scott added dryly.

“Don’t take the romance out of it, this is sleaze at it’s best.

Believe me I know.” Somehow Scott had no doubts. With the way

Spook was passionately describing the specific acts and services

available within the 10 square block hotbed of sex, Scott knew

that the Spook was no novice. They grabbed a couple of Heinekens

from a bar and slowly strolled down one side of the carnal canal.

“I was going to go to the Yab Yub tonight, but since you’ve never

been here before, I figured I owed you a tour.”

“Yab Yub? Am I supposed to know . . .”

“The biggest bestest baddest whorehouse in Amsterdam,” said Spook

exuberantly.

“O.K., fine, and this is . . .”

“The slums.”

“Thanks a lot,” Scott said sarcastically.

“No, this is for middle class tourist sex. Yab Yub is first

class but this’ll do me just fine. How about you? Ready for some

serious debauching?” The Spook queried.

“Huh?” Scott laughed anxiously. “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never

been terribly fond of hookers.”

“First time when I was 13. My uncle took me to a whorehouse for

my birthday. Shit,” the Spook fondly grinned at the memory.

“I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when he told her.

She lectured him for a week. Christ,” he paused. “It’s so funny,

you know. My uncle’s gay.”

Scott was enjoying the conversation and the company of the Spook.

Americans meeting up with kindred Americans in a foreign land is

a breath of fresh air and the Spook provided that.

Scott window shopped as they walked, sidestepping the very few

venturesome cars which attempted to penetrate the horny humanity

on the crowded cobblestone streets. The variety of sexual mate-

rials was beyond comprehension. Spook seemed to be avidly fluent

in their description and application. In one window, a spiked

dildo of emmense girth and length dominated the display. Scott

grimaced at the weapon while the Spook commented on it’s possible

uses at an adult sit’n’spin party.

“Here’s the live sex show,” the Spook said invitingly. “Pretty

wild. Look at the pictures.” Scott leaned over to view a set of

graphic photographs that would have caused the Meese Commission

on Pornography to double dose on its Geritol.

“Damn, they show this stuff on the street, huh?” Asked the sur-

prised Scott. He wasn’t naive, it was just quite a shock to see

such graphic sexuality in such a concentration and in such an

open manner. On Sundays when the Red Light District is closed

until 6 P.M., many Dutch families use the window dressings as the

textbook for their children’s’ sex education. “No, let’s keep

going,” Scott said unconvinced he would partake of the pleasures.

“Isn’t this great?” The Spook blurted out as Scott was looking

in the window of one of the hundred plus sex shops. “I just love

it. Remember I was telling you about freedom in Amsterdam? It’s

kind of like the hacker’s ethic.”

Spook was going to equate sex and hacking? “Is that ‘cause all

hacker’s are hard up?” Scott laughed.

“No, dig it.” The Spook suddenly stopped to face Scott. “Free-

dom, total freedom implies and requires responsibility. Without

that, the system would collapse into chaotic anarchy. Hacking is

a manifestation of freedom. Once we have cracked a system, and

are in it, we have the freedom to do anything we want. But that

freedom brings responsibility too, and, just like with sex so

freely available, legally, it must be handled with care.” Spook

was sermonizing again, but was making more sense. His parallels

were concise and poignant.

They walked further into the heart of the District and the Spook

was constantly distracted by the quantity of red lights over the

basement and first floor windows. He wanted to closely examine

the contents of every one. In each window was a girl, sometimes

two, clad in either a dental floss bathing suit or a see through

penoire. Scott enjoyed the views, but thought that the Spook was

acting somewhat obsessively. The calm, professional, knowledge-

able hacker had reverted into a base creature, driven by hormonal

compulsion. Or then again, maybe they were just stoned.

“I gotta pick the right one, just the right one,” the Spook said.

“Let’s see what