Items related to WYRM (Bantam Spectra Book)
As the new millennium approaches, cults, sects, and crackpot prophets flood the worldwide media. But for Michael Arcangelo none of their catastrophe theories are more frightening than the Goodknight virus. Michael suspects it is the work of a mysterious programming genius, who designed it to create a computer role-playing game so real it can kill. Now Michael and his team of techno-wizards must descend into a harrowing and convoluted world of reality and fantasy. But what they discover is even worse than they could have ever imagined. For the so-called game is already out of hand, the virus has taken over the Internet, harnessing the power of the millennial frenzy already sweeping the world. And if they don't find and defeat the twisted mastermind responsible, humanity will wake from its worst nightmare to find the end of the world is truly here.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
From the Publisher:
"Impossible to put down."
--The Press, Philadelphia
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
--The Press, Philadelphia
"Wyrm is a hugely enjoyable book. All hackers should have this book; so should anyone interested in artificial intelligence, the Internet, computer viruses, role-playing games, mythology, science fiction, Lewis Carroll, or Monty Python. Anyone not in this group has my sympathies."
--Charles Sheffield, author of Tomorrow and Tomorrow
"A plot so wicked and intricate it should be illegal...Very, very cool."
--Sci-Fi Universe
"The real thing, [a] straight-bracing science fiction of ideas...[that] has the feel and delivers the jolt of a good fantasy quest."
--The Orlando Sentinel
I called Harry Ainsworth. To say he was happy to hear from me would be an understatement. To say that Tower Bank had trouble with its software would also be an understatement, and beasties were just a small part of it.
Tower had one of those systems that accepted and stored years only as two-digit numbers. You may think that this does not show much foresight on the part of the programmers, and you may be right, but, then, somebody writing a program in the seventies or early eighties probably didn't really expect that it would still be in use at the turn of the century.
The turn of the century. That phrase is enough to strike terror into the hearts of businessmen everywhere, and not because every tabloid horoscope, television psychic, tea-leaf reader, vegetarian, and generic wacko is predicting the end of the world. Rather, it's because when the millennial hourglass turns over, thousands of businesses with software like Tower's are going to be in a heap o' trouble. Let's suppose the bank's computer wants to calculate the interest on a CD (certificate of deposit, not compact disk) you bought this year, 1999, for a one-year term. Instead of figuring it owes you a year of interest, it subtracts ninety-nine from zero and gets minus ninety-nine--and either registers an error, or charges you for almost a century's worth of interest. Or you're trying to buy some life insurance, and the insurance company's actuarial software can't figure out what premium to charge you because it thinks you haven't been born yet.
So big deal. Just change the program, right? And if that doesn't work, buy new software.
Not so fast. We're talking BIG programs here, like maybe a million lines of code. Suppose you're lucky enough to have the guy who originally programmed it, because he hasn't retired, gone into another line of work, joined a cult, or been kidnapped by aliens. Or died. You sit him down in front of this dinosaur of a program he wrote twenty years ago and say, okay, this is what we want you to change.
He hasn't got a clue.
This is where reverse engineering comes in. Before you can change the program, you have to figure out how it does what it does, and how to change what you want to change without throwing everything else out of whack. Fortunately, programmers and software engineers now have a few tricks up their sleeves, consisting of computer programs that help them figure out what another program is doing--computer-assisted software engineering tools, they call them. Still, it takes a lot of expertise and man-hours. Need I say that this gets very expensive? And that's if you're lucky enough to find someone with the necessary skills to come and work for you; there are damn few of them around.
So tab over to option two and order me that brand-new software that accepts year inputs in five digits, just in case we're still using it eight thousand years from now, and has all the latest bells, whistles, windows, garage doors, and whatever. Now all we have to do is transfer all your files to this new system, which, needless to say, is entirely incompatible with your old system, so it'll all have to be done by hand. Oh, and did I mention that you'll need completely new hardware to run this software?
Now multiply the above dilemma by as many banks, S and L's, insurance companies, brokerage firms, and other financial outfits you can think of. Add in huge government bureaucracies like the Social Security Administration, and the motor vehicle bureaus in all fifty states. It's been estimated that billions have already been spent on the problem, and it's nowhere near being solved.
Nit-pickers are fond of pointing out that the new millennium doesn't "really" begin until the year 2001; the year 2000 is in fact the last year of the current millennium. This is mathematically accurate, but irrelevant, because on this point computer software and the popular imagination are in complete agreement: The new millennium starts on January 1, 2000. The people at Tower Bank hadn't quite waited until the last possible second before trying to do something about their software problems. On the other hand, they weren't going to be kicked out of the procrastinators' club either. In fairness, their delay in dealing with this particular problem resulted largely from having to deal with a host of more pressing problems with their computer system. Still, they had finally gotten around to hiring a consultant to try to massage their old software in time for the big day, and said consultant had smelled a rat. Or maybe a virus.
Harold Ainsworth was a middle-aged man with an expensive suit and a bad comb-over. He welcomed me with a handshake and waved me into his office. "Michael Arcangelo, I'd like you to meet Leon Griffin."
The guy who rose to shake my hand looked to be about my age, and about half again my weight, most of it muscle. His hair was a mane of dreadlocks that made a pleasant contrast with his conservative business suit.
Harry waved us to seats. "Leon is consulting for us on how to modify our existing software so that we don't have to go out of business at the end of the year." He looked apologetically at me. "Michael, I know you recommended getting a new system, and I agreed with you at the time, but the directors thought this approach would be more fiscally sound."
I smiled. "Meaning cheaper."
"Right, but I want you to know that this is costing us a pretty penny. Fortunately, Leon has the expertise to do the job for us; he's already worked on a similar system at Southeastern Trust, and they're very happy with the results. In fact, there were a few dozen other institutions bidding for his services after that job. We were lucky to get him."
I glanced at Leon, who seemed to be trying hard not to blush, if blushing is possible for someone with skin darker than the charcoal gray of his suit. I hoped he was charging a lot for his services. After all, he was going to have to find a new line of work come January. "How's it going?" I asked.
"Swimmingly, man. Like kicking dead whales down the beach."
Harry said, "Leon has run into some unexpected difficulties with our software, though, and we thought you might be able to lend some assistance. But I'd better let him explain."
Leon gestured to a stack of several large binders on Harry's desk as he answered in a mellifluous Caribbean accent: "Fortunately, Tower has taken good care of their documentation. We've even been able to get a hard copy of the original code from the software publisher. Unfortunately, whatever is running now doesn't match up with the documentation.
"That, in itself, is not unusual. When these programs were written, it was common to continue modifying the program after the documentation was printed. It's common now too, but, as you know, the manufacturer usually puts in a 'read me' text file that summarizes any changes. That's not the way it was done back in the dark ages, when this program was written.
"The problem is, there have been some really major changes made in this software, much bigger than I've ever seen before. The front end looks the same, but if you examine the program structure--branch points and so on--it doesn't look like the same thing at all."
I said, "And you think a software parasite is the cause?"
He shrugged. "I don't see how it could be. But I don't have any better ideas. I asked Mr. Ainsworth for a list of everyone who's worked on their system. Nothing major has been done, certainly nothing that would explain the kind of restructuring I'm seeing. I noticed that you'd been called in a few times to deal with software viruses."
"Well, I've never seen anything like it, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. The things a parasite can do are limited only by the imagination and ability of its programmer. Still, to do what you're talking about would require tremendous in-depth knowledge of this software."
Harry asked, "Who would have that kind of knowledge?"
I shook my head. "Twenty years ago, the guy who wrote the program. Maybe. Now? Nobody."
I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out the bank's software. Not surprisingly, I didn't find anything. On second thought, maybe it was surprising; when I thought about it, I realized that every time I'd worked on this system before, it had been practically infested with beasties. One time I took out seven different viruses. It had now been several months since I'd last cleaned house--plenty of time for a new bunch of varmints to move in and set up housekeeping.
On a hunch I got Harry Ainsworth's permission to infect Tower's software with a modified version of the probe that I'd written for Goodknight. If Harry had been more computer literate, he might have balked at the idea, but he trusted me to do what was best. Unlike Goodknight, this system was well-known to me, especially in terms of its behavior when infected, so I was sure my program wouldn't cause a problem. I also told Leon Griffin what I was planning to do. He raised his eyebrows, but when I explained what was going on, he just nodded and said, "Sounds like a good idea."
Before going back to Tower the next morning, I checked to see what kind of goo...
Tower had one of those systems that accepted and stored years only as two-digit numbers. You may think that this does not show much foresight on the part of the programmers, and you may be right, but, then, somebody writing a program in the seventies or early eighties probably didn't really expect that it would still be in use at the turn of the century.
The turn of the century. That phrase is enough to strike terror into the hearts of businessmen everywhere, and not because every tabloid horoscope, television psychic, tea-leaf reader, vegetarian, and generic wacko is predicting the end of the world. Rather, it's because when the millennial hourglass turns over, thousands of businesses with software like Tower's are going to be in a heap o' trouble. Let's suppose the bank's computer wants to calculate the interest on a CD (certificate of deposit, not compact disk) you bought this year, 1999, for a one-year term. Instead of figuring it owes you a year of interest, it subtracts ninety-nine from zero and gets minus ninety-nine--and either registers an error, or charges you for almost a century's worth of interest. Or you're trying to buy some life insurance, and the insurance company's actuarial software can't figure out what premium to charge you because it thinks you haven't been born yet.
So big deal. Just change the program, right? And if that doesn't work, buy new software.
Not so fast. We're talking BIG programs here, like maybe a million lines of code. Suppose you're lucky enough to have the guy who originally programmed it, because he hasn't retired, gone into another line of work, joined a cult, or been kidnapped by aliens. Or died. You sit him down in front of this dinosaur of a program he wrote twenty years ago and say, okay, this is what we want you to change.
He hasn't got a clue.
This is where reverse engineering comes in. Before you can change the program, you have to figure out how it does what it does, and how to change what you want to change without throwing everything else out of whack. Fortunately, programmers and software engineers now have a few tricks up their sleeves, consisting of computer programs that help them figure out what another program is doing--computer-assisted software engineering tools, they call them. Still, it takes a lot of expertise and man-hours. Need I say that this gets very expensive? And that's if you're lucky enough to find someone with the necessary skills to come and work for you; there are damn few of them around.
So tab over to option two and order me that brand-new software that accepts year inputs in five digits, just in case we're still using it eight thousand years from now, and has all the latest bells, whistles, windows, garage doors, and whatever. Now all we have to do is transfer all your files to this new system, which, needless to say, is entirely incompatible with your old system, so it'll all have to be done by hand. Oh, and did I mention that you'll need completely new hardware to run this software?
Now multiply the above dilemma by as many banks, S and L's, insurance companies, brokerage firms, and other financial outfits you can think of. Add in huge government bureaucracies like the Social Security Administration, and the motor vehicle bureaus in all fifty states. It's been estimated that billions have already been spent on the problem, and it's nowhere near being solved.
Nit-pickers are fond of pointing out that the new millennium doesn't "really" begin until the year 2001; the year 2000 is in fact the last year of the current millennium. This is mathematically accurate, but irrelevant, because on this point computer software and the popular imagination are in complete agreement: The new millennium starts on January 1, 2000. The people at Tower Bank hadn't quite waited until the last possible second before trying to do something about their software problems. On the other hand, they weren't going to be kicked out of the procrastinators' club either. In fairness, their delay in dealing with this particular problem resulted largely from having to deal with a host of more pressing problems with their computer system. Still, they had finally gotten around to hiring a consultant to try to massage their old software in time for the big day, and said consultant had smelled a rat. Or maybe a virus.
Harold Ainsworth was a middle-aged man with an expensive suit and a bad comb-over. He welcomed me with a handshake and waved me into his office. "Michael Arcangelo, I'd like you to meet Leon Griffin."
The guy who rose to shake my hand looked to be about my age, and about half again my weight, most of it muscle. His hair was a mane of dreadlocks that made a pleasant contrast with his conservative business suit.
Harry waved us to seats. "Leon is consulting for us on how to modify our existing software so that we don't have to go out of business at the end of the year." He looked apologetically at me. "Michael, I know you recommended getting a new system, and I agreed with you at the time, but the directors thought this approach would be more fiscally sound."
I smiled. "Meaning cheaper."
"Right, but I want you to know that this is costing us a pretty penny. Fortunately, Leon has the expertise to do the job for us; he's already worked on a similar system at Southeastern Trust, and they're very happy with the results. In fact, there were a few dozen other institutions bidding for his services after that job. We were lucky to get him."
I glanced at Leon, who seemed to be trying hard not to blush, if blushing is possible for someone with skin darker than the charcoal gray of his suit. I hoped he was charging a lot for his services. After all, he was going to have to find a new line of work come January. "How's it going?" I asked.
"Swimmingly, man. Like kicking dead whales down the beach."
Harry said, "Leon has run into some unexpected difficulties with our software, though, and we thought you might be able to lend some assistance. But I'd better let him explain."
Leon gestured to a stack of several large binders on Harry's desk as he answered in a mellifluous Caribbean accent: "Fortunately, Tower has taken good care of their documentation. We've even been able to get a hard copy of the original code from the software publisher. Unfortunately, whatever is running now doesn't match up with the documentation.
"That, in itself, is not unusual. When these programs were written, it was common to continue modifying the program after the documentation was printed. It's common now too, but, as you know, the manufacturer usually puts in a 'read me' text file that summarizes any changes. That's not the way it was done back in the dark ages, when this program was written.
"The problem is, there have been some really major changes made in this software, much bigger than I've ever seen before. The front end looks the same, but if you examine the program structure--branch points and so on--it doesn't look like the same thing at all."
I said, "And you think a software parasite is the cause?"
He shrugged. "I don't see how it could be. But I don't have any better ideas. I asked Mr. Ainsworth for a list of everyone who's worked on their system. Nothing major has been done, certainly nothing that would explain the kind of restructuring I'm seeing. I noticed that you'd been called in a few times to deal with software viruses."
"Well, I've never seen anything like it, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. The things a parasite can do are limited only by the imagination and ability of its programmer. Still, to do what you're talking about would require tremendous in-depth knowledge of this software."
Harry asked, "Who would have that kind of knowledge?"
I shook my head. "Twenty years ago, the guy who wrote the program. Maybe. Now? Nobody."
I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out the bank's software. Not surprisingly, I didn't find anything. On second thought, maybe it was surprising; when I thought about it, I realized that every time I'd worked on this system before, it had been practically infested with beasties. One time I took out seven different viruses. It had now been several months since I'd last cleaned house--plenty of time for a new bunch of varmints to move in and set up housekeeping.
On a hunch I got Harry Ainsworth's permission to infect Tower's software with a modified version of the probe that I'd written for Goodknight. If Harry had been more computer literate, he might have balked at the idea, but he trusted me to do what was best. Unlike Goodknight, this system was well-known to me, especially in terms of its behavior when infected, so I was sure my program wouldn't cause a problem. I also told Leon Griffin what I was planning to do. He raised his eyebrows, but when I explained what was going on, he just nodded and said, "Sounds like a good idea."
Before going back to Tower the next morning, I checked to see what kind of goo...
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherSpectra
- Publication date1997
- ISBN 10 0553378716
- ISBN 13 9780553378719
- BindingPaperback
- Edition number1
- Number of pages512
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