From: Bubba Rom Dos <bubba@dev.null>
Date: Tue, 18 Mar 1997 23:25:13 -0800 (PST)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: WebWorld 1-2
Message-ID: <332F94CF.4646@dev.null>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/html

Title: The True Story of the InterNet







The True Story of the InterNet

Part II 


WebWorld & the Mythical 'Circle
of Eunuchs'


by Arnold


Copyright 1995, 1996, 1997 Pearl
Publishing


Arnold


My name is Arnold, and I'm as sane as you are, probably
saner. But I'm sitting here listening to Jesus #1 argue with Jesus
#2, and you're not, so I'll resist the urge to try to convince
you that I don't belong in Nuthouse Number Nine, Looney Level
'Leven.

It's officially designated as the "Money Market
Psychiatric Auditing Facility". That's what the 'Keyholders'
call it. They are the people who get to go home at night. Half
of them are nuttier than Jesus #1, but they're towing the line,
preaching the party platform, so they have 'Level Two' classification
and they get special privileges. Like lording it over levels Three
through Eleven.

The Keyholders get crapped on by the rest of the
Fund'ers on the outside and when they come in for work they crap
on us-with interest. They're allowed DDC's, eCa$h Direct Debit
Cards, which they flash around on the inside every chance they
get, acting like they're god-almighty, but on the outside they
crawl around like worms, trying their best to act like 'Ca$hmen',
but getting their comeuppance when it comes time to pay and they
have to show their DDC.
Schultz used to be the biggest asshole among the current staff
of Keyholders, but I got him busted to Level Three last week,
so I'm finally gaining a bit of acceptance from the rest of the
inmates. It's taken a long time.

It's bad enough being sent for treatment in a facility
run by your own government (where you have at least a modicum
of social standing based on the Level you were downgraded from),
but I'm not a citizen of the Money Market Channel, so I don't
have any kind of peerage here.

I'm a Net'er, a citizen of the InterNet Global Village,
so on the outside I'm not subject to the laws of any of the 500
Channel Governments. 
At the end of Channel War III we got Armistice Agreements from
all 500 Channel Governments recognizing us as an independent Government,
with a one-time right to confer citizenship on the members of
our underground movement. In return, we restored control of the
transmission satellites back to their respective governments and
agreed not to proselytize among the other Channel Governments'
citizens. 
We also got free-roaming rights to all Transmission stations,
including the Nuclear Laser Moon Unit, in return dismantling our
Hackers Division and putting an article in the InterNet Bill Of
Rights banning computer hacking in any way, shape or form.

I can see you rolling your eyes, smiling smugly at
me. Another guy in Nuthouse Number Nine, claiming sanity, but
ranting and raving about an imaginary war that never really happened.
"Next," you're telling yourself, "he'll be telling
us old-wives tales about the 'Circle of Eunuchs' and claiming
he was actually a member."

I know Channel War III happened. I signed the Armistice
Agreement.

I was the Head Hacker.


Jonathan


The room started to spin, and Jonathan put his hand on the edge
of his desk, to steady himself. He realized that he had stopped
breathing, and he inhaled mightily, causing the room to spin even
more. After a few moments, the room stopped spinning, but Jonathan's
mind continued to remain enmeshed in a conflicting whirl of old
memories and new fears-all engendered by the receipt of a simple
CyberPost.

A CyberPost from the past. A hundred years in the past.

A CyberPost which had shown up on his personal GraphiCube this
morning, a century after being sent via an antiquated communications
mode which the Masters of Antiquity called email. A CyberPost
addressed to an anarchist organization that had been outlawed
for over a hundred years-the CypherPunks.

Jonathan had immediately, instinctively, hit the illegal kill-switch
on his ground-connection and booted his Telsa Snarf Barrier.
He had needed time to stop the room-and his mind-from spinning.
But how long had he been sitting here, motionless? GlobeNet Security
would be re-establishing his ground-connection in a matter of
minutes and he would have to have an answer ready for his cutting
of the ground-link to Headquarters.
Jonathan hastily saved the CyberPost to a disposable HydroCube
that he could swallow, if need be. He pulled an Insta-Log chip
of his own making out from under his seat and placed it online,
booting down the Telsa Snarf Barrier at the same time, just as
the GraphiCube launched an overlay of the Day Monitor, Rabin.

Rabin did not look happy.
"Third time this week, Jonathan, what's going on?",
Rabin's frown twitched with impatience. "If I have to put
you on report, I can guarantee that you can kiss your HomeWork
Privileges goodbye."

"I'm still working on that InfoWar Scrambler Mechanism for
GS-7, Rabin." Jonathan thought quickly, knowing that he was
skirting the edge of disaster. "Those damn wanna-be programmers
that you assholes keep hiring to keep your relatives happy don't
know the difference between a Test-Boot and a Transmit-Boot."

Jonathan paused, then added, "I don't need my head on a chopping
block because Headquarters thinks that I'm launching my own Channel
Revolution."

"Then file for Offline Work Authorization." Rabin snapped.

"Every goddamn time I work on this crap they feed me?"
Jonathan snapped right back at him. "I'm not supposed to
need to work off-line on this project. It's supposed to
arrive at my station in Test mode, Rabin, not in Nuke
Headquarters mode. Do you want me to run this shit from your
HomeStation, instead?"

Rabin laughed, for the first time, and glanced down at Jonathan's
Log File once again, confirming that he had killed a transmission
from the InfoWar Scrambler Mechanism.
"OK, Jonathan, I'll kill the report, but try to work on that
stuff during someone else's shift, pal. The brass is running us
ragged on one of their interminable pet projects and we've got
to account for every millisecond of CPU use. They've got a full-court
press on this one, and we're having trouble keeping our GelMem
from overheating."

Jonathan paused for a second, his mind working swiftly, and then
made a giant leap forward toward a destination that was only now
beginning to take shape in his subconscious mind.
"I could get you some spare cycles, Rabin, if you're really
that desperate."

Rabin began to speak, then stopped, obviously wondering what this
generosity on Jonathan's part was going to 'cost' him, in the
long run.

"Look, Rabin," Jonathan continued, filling in the empty
space, "I don't want to lose my HomeWork Privileges, and
I know that you can't keep burying my ground-connection kills,
so I might as well shut down for the day and spend some time at
Headquarters getting this shit straight. That will free up eighteen
GelMem units at GS-7 for you, and you can steal my HomeWork cycles
until the end of your shift."

Rabin looked thoughtfully at Jonathan, decided that Jonathan was
working in his own self-interest and thus would not expect to
extract future concessions for this gratuitous offering, and nodded
agreement.
"Done." said Jonathan as he shut down his Headquarters
programs.
"Besides," he said with a wink, "I need to restock
my liquor cabinet and the Headquarters commissary is a damn-sight
cheaper than what these local-yokels are gouging for a good bottle
of booze around here."


Toad.com


Rabin's face faded from the screen, as Jonathan kicked in Privacy
Mode and fell back into his chair with relief. He realized that
he was shaking slightly, and his thoughts returned to the CyberPost
which was now sitting in the HydroCube at the back of his desk.

CypherPunks.

Mere mention of the name in public came with a gold-plated guarantee
of a visit from GlobeNet Security. Even when speaking of them
in private conversation, it was advisable to do so only in historically
proper context, referring to them as the villainous instigators
of Channel War II.

Jonathan avoided discussing the CypherPunks, even privately, because
of the mixed emotions of fear, shame, and curiosity that the name
aroused in him.
His grandfather had been a CypherPunk, and had been executed at
the close of Channel War II.

Jonathan had vague memories of late-night visits by strangers
whose spirited discussions were so curiously enlivening that he
would often creep into his grandfather's study to listen, though
he was far too young to understand exactly what it was that they
were discussing.
Then came the sound of jackboots on the door, and his grandfather
handing him down to his father and mother in the cellar. The muffled
shots that rang out as he was carried to the waiting RoboShuttle.
The wetness of his mother's tears falling from her cheeks to his
as she clutched him closely in their flight to obscurity. The
graveled roughness of his father's voice as he prepared his family
for the harsh changes ahead in a life where their heritage and
their history must be hidden from one and all. 

The CypherPunks had ruined Jonathan's life.
Now, it looked like they might be about to do it again. Somehow,
his past had caught up to him. Someone, somewhere, had targeted
him for exposure as being genetically linked to one of the historical
monsters of Channel War II.

Jonathan threw the HydroCube on the InstaScanner and read the
beginnings of the message header, once again.

From - Sat Feb 01 7:09:00 1997
Return-Path: <owner-cypherpunks@toad.com>
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Date: Sun, 19 Jan 1997 08:40:04-800
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
>From "Timothy C. May<tcmay@got.net>
Subject: To Whom It 'May' Concern
Reply-To: "Timothy C. May"<tcmay@got.net>
Sender: owner-cypherpunks@toad.com

"We have met the enemy, and he is us."

--Tim May

Just say "No" to "Big Brother Inside"

We got computers, we're tapping phone lines, I know that ain't
allowed.
---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:

Timothy C. May | Crypto Anarchy: encryption, digital money
tcmay@got.net | anonymous networks, digital pseudonyms, zero
W.A.S.T.E.: Corralitos, CA | knowledge, reputations, information
markets
Higher Power: 2^1398269 | black markets, collapse of governments.

"National borders aren't even speed bumps on the information
superhighway.
---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:



The 'Mark of the Toad'.
That's what the Channel Government's news releases had called
his grandfather's tattoo when they had displayed it in 3D color
on GraphiCubes around the world. Jonathan's grandfather had the
tattoo done in an era when there was little danger associated
with being a member of the loosely-knit crypto-anarchists group
known as the CypherPunks.

Even after the beginning stages of InfoWar stirred its ugly head,
Jonathan's grandfather refused to have his tattoo removed, as
did most of the original CypherPunks list members. He considered
it a badge of honor. For Jonathan, however, the Mark of the Toad
had remained a mark of disgrace, forcing his family to flee for
their lives and change their identities.
Jonathan had managed to rise above all of this and put it behind
him, becoming a normal, accepted member of the society around
him. Now, however, his life of normality was being threatened.

Toad.com.
The original home of the CypherPunks mailing list.

Jonathan had recognized the format of the message header immediately,
having seen many like it in his grandfather's study as a child.
Normally, only the Masters of Antiquity would be capable of discerning
this header to be from a bygone era when InterNet transmissions
were still carried largely over land-lines, but even they would
probably not recognize the significance of the date, which was
burned into Jonathan's mind from the countless hours he had spent
poring over CypherPunks messages that he had purloined from his
grandfather's hidden files.

January 19, 1997.
The beginning date of the 'moderation experiment' on the legendary
CypherPunks mailing list. The beginning probe in preparation for
the launching of InfoWar-an experiment which had failed miserably
and had caused a delay in the plans of the Evil One. A delay caused
by the damnable insolence of the terminal misfits among the CypherPunks.
An insolence that was rumored to be fueled by the Circle of Eunuchs,
fanning the 'flames' of dissent among the CypherPunks, helping
them to resist the herding of their list members into the group-mindset
desired by the Evil One.

Jonathan sat frozen in his seat, once again, his brain locked
from the major dichotomies being produced as a result of his present-in
which the CypherPunks were a villainous band of rogues who had
instigated the launching of Channel War II-and his past, in which
his grandfather had been exposed both as one of the major players
in both the launching of Channel War II, and as traitorous scum
who had sabotaged the goals of the CypherPunks in that same historical
battle.
Jonathan's grandfather wasn't just a CypherPunk. He was the Fool.

Jonathan reached for a bottle of Jim Beam and, in doing so, realized
that he had subconsciously come to a decision. He would seek out
Bubba Rom Dos.

He would seek out the Circle of Eunuchs.


Chapter 1 - Arnold / Chapter 2 - Jonathan