Bruce Sterling - GURPS' LABOUR LOST

Some months ago, I wrote an article about the raid on Steve Jackson Games, which appeared in my "Comment" column in the British science fiction monthly, INTERZONE (#44, Feb 1991). This updated version, specially re-written for dissemination by EFF, reflects the somewhat greater knowledge I've gained to date, in the course of research on an upcoming nonfiction book, THE HACKER CRACKDOWN: Law and Disorder on the Electronic Frontier.

The bizarre events suffered by Mr. Jackson and his co-workers, in my own home town of Austin, Texas, were directly responsible for my decision to put science fiction aside and to tackle the purportedly real world of computer crime and electronic free-expression.

The national crackdown on computer hackers in 1990 was the largest and best-coordinated attack on computer mischief in American history. There was Arizona's "Operation Sundevil," the sweeping May 8 nationwide raid against outlaw bulletin boards. The BellSouth E911 case (of which the Jackson raid was a small and particularly egregious part) was coordinated out of Chicago. The New York State Police were also very active in 1990.

All this vigorous law enforcement activity meant very little to the narrow and intensely clannish world of science fiction. All we knew -- and this misperception persisted, uncorrected, for months -- was that Mr. Jackson had been raided because of his intention to publish a gaming book about "cyberpunk" science fiction. The Jackson raid received extensive coverage in science fiction news magazines (yes, we have these) and became notorious in the world of SF as "the Cyberpunk Bust." My INTERZONE article attempted to make the Jackson case intelligible to the British SF audience.

What possible reason could lead an American federal law enforcement agency to raid the headquarters of a science-fiction gaming company? Why did armed teams of city police, corporate security men, and federal agents roust two Texan computer-hackers from their beds at dawn, and then deliberately confiscate thousands of dollars' worth of computer equipment, including the hackers' common household telephones? Why was an unpublished book called G.U.R.P.S. Cyberpunk seized by the US Secret Service and declared "a manual for computer crime?" These weird events were not parodies or fantasies; no, this was real.

The first order of business in untangling this bizarre drama is to understand the players -- who come in entire teams.

Dramatis Personae

PLAYER ONE: The Law Enforcement Agencies.

America's defense against the threat of computer crime is a confusing hodgepodge of state, municipal, and federal agencies. Ranked first, by size and power, are the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), the National Security Agency (NSA), and the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), large, potent and secretive organizations who, luckily, play almost no role in the Jackson story.

The second rank of such agencies include the Internal Revenue Service (IRS), the National Aeronatics and Space Administration (NASA), the Justice Department, the Department of Labor, and various branches of the defense establishment, especially the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI). Premier among these groups, however, is the highly-motivated US Secret Service (USSS), best-known to Britons as the suited, mirrorshades-toting, heavily-armed bodyguards of the President of the United States.

Guarding high-ranking federal officials and foreign dignitaries is a hazardous, challenging and eminently necessary task, which has won USSS a high public profile. But Abraham Lincoln created this oldest of federal law enforcement agencies in order to foil counterfeiting. Due to the historical tribulations of the Treasury Department (of which USSS is a part), the Secret Service also guards historical documents, analyzes forgeries, combats wire fraud, and battles "computer fraud and abuse." These may seem unrelated assignments, but the Secret Service is fiercely aware of its duties. It is also jealous of its bureaucratic turf, especially in computer-crime, where it formally shares jurisdiction with its traditional rival, the johnny-come-lately FBI.

As the use of plastic money has spread, and their long-established role as protectors of the currency has faded in importance, the Secret Service has moved aggressively into the realm of electronic crime. Unlike the lordly NSA, CIA, and FBI, which generally can't be bothered with domestic computer mischief, the Secret Service is noted for its street-level enthusiasm.

The third-rank of law enforcement are the local "dedicated computer crime units." There are very few such groups, pitifully undermanned. They struggle hard for their funding and the vital light of publicity. It's difficult to make white-collar computer crimes seem pressing, to an American public that lives in terror of armed and violent street-crime.

These local groups are small -- often, one or two officers, computer hobbyists, who have drifted into electronic crimebusting because they alone are game to devote time and effort to bringing law to the electronic frontier. California's Silicon Valley has three computer-crime units. There are others in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, Maryland, Texas, Colorado, and a formerly very active one in Arizona -- all told, though, perhaps only fifty people nationwide.

The locals do have one great advantage, though. They all know one another. Though scattered across the country, they are linked by both public-sector and private-sector professional societies, and have a commendable subcultural esprit-de-corps. And in the well-manned Secret Service, they have willing national-level assistance.

PLAYER TWO: The Telephone Companies.

In the early 80s, after years of bitter federal court battle, America's telephone monopoly was pulverized. "Ma Bell," the national phone company, became AT&T, AT&T Industries, and the regional "Baby Bells," all purportedly independent companies, who compete with new communications companies and other long-distance providers. As a class, however, they are all sorely harassed by fraudsters, phone phreaks, and computer hackers, and they all maintain computer-security experts. In a lot of cases these "corporate security divisions" consist of just one or two guys, who drifted into the work from backgrounds in traditional security or law enforcement. But, linked by specialized security trade journals and private sector trade groups, they all know one another.

PLAYER THREE: The Computer Hackers.

The American "hacker" elite consists of about a hundred people, who all know one another. These are the people who know enough about computer intrusion to baffle corporate security and alarm police (and who, furthermore, are willing to put their intrusion skills into actual practice). The somewhat older subculture of "phone-phreaking," once native only to the phone system, has blended into hackerdom as phones have become digital and computers have been netted-together by telephones. "Phone phreaks," always tarred with the stigma of rip-off artists, are nowadays increasingly hacking PBX systems and cellular phones. These practices, unlike computer-intrusion, offer direct and easy profit to fraudsters.

There are legions of minor "hackers," such as the "kodez kidz," who purloin telephone access codes to make free (i.e., stolen) phone calls. Code theft can be done with home computers, and almost looks like real "hacking," though "kodez kidz" are regarded with lordly contempt by the elite. "Warez d00dz," who copy and pirate computer games and software, are a thriving subspecies of "hacker," but they played no real role in the crackdown of 1990 or the Jackson case. As for the dire minority who create computer viruses, the less said the better.

The princes of hackerdom skate the phone-lines, and computer networks, as a lifestyle. They hang out in loose, modem-connected gangs like the "Legion of Doom" and the "Masters of Destruction." The craft of hacking is taught through "bulletin board systems," personal computers that carry electronic mail and can be accessed by phone. Hacker bulletin boards generally sport grim, scary, sci-fi heavy metal names like BLACK ICE -- PRIVATE or SPEED DEMON ELITE. Hackers themselves often adopt romantic and highly suspicious tough-guy monickers like "Necron 99," "Prime Suspect," "Erik Bloodaxe," "Malefactor" and "Phase Jitter." This can be seen as a kind of cyberpunk folk-poetry -- after all, baseball players also have colorful nicknames. But so do the Mafia and the Medellin Cartel.