As the new millennium approaches, cults, sects, and crackpot prophets flood the worldwide media with warnings of catastrophe. But computer-virus hunter Michael Arcangelo has more mundane concerns: how to debug the highly sophisticated Goodknight system, a computer designed to play chess against the world's grandmasters. But soon Goodknight's virus appears in systems throughout the world, showing alarming signs of growth, intelligence, and self-awareness. Michael suspects it is the work of mysterious programming genius Roger Dworkin, who designed it to create a computerized role-playing game so real it can kill. Michael and his team of techno-wizards must descend into Dworkin's twisted game, tracking him through a harrowing and convoluted world of reality and fantasy.

WYRM

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By Mark Fabi

Spectra

Copyright © 1997 Mark Fabi
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780553378719

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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 goodies the Hackers from Hell had given me.  As expected, most of it was old junk, but there was enough new stuff to make it interesting.  I would have to set aside some time to take a more thorough look.

Then I went to Tower.  I could have stayed home and accessed their mainframe via modem, but I wanted to talk to Leon Griffin too, so I schlepped on over there.

I took a seat at the terminal that had been temporarily designated for my use and loaded a program that would search for the probe I'd inserted the day before.  While it was running, I went looking for Leon Griffin.

I found him in front of another terminal, sipping coffee from a paper cup, and staring at a monitor screen that displayed some kind of diagram that looked the way a game of "cat's cradle" would look if it was played by some alien creature with about eighty fingers.  He glanced up as I approached.  "Morning.  If you have a strong stomach, the coffee is over there."  He nodded toward an ancient drip coffeemaker occupying a table in one corner of the room.

"I'll pass, thanks.  How's it going?"

"Piece of cake, man.  Like nailing jelly to a tree."

"What's this?" I gestured at the monitor.

"It's one of the most important tools in CASE--computer-aided software engineering.  This program analyzes the resident software and displays a schematic showing how different parts of the program are connected.  Very helpful when you have to figure out how to change something without screwing up anything else in the process."

I nodded.  "I use a similar utility to look for interrupt vectors when I'm virus hunting.  This"--I pointed to the monitor screen--"looks pretty complicated."

"Actually, it's not too bad.  In fact, the weird thing is it's a whole lot simpler than it should be; I worked on a slightly different version of the same software, and it was a rat's nest compared to this."

"And it's working all right?"

"Doing everything it's supposed to."

"Leon, do you think it would be possible for someone to take an old program like this, analyze it, then make wholesale changes in it in such a way that it still acts exactly like the original program, and do it all without anyone here knowing what's going on?"

"Why the hell would anyone want to do something like that?"

"Yeah, good question.  But aside from that, could it be done?"

He thought about it, then shook his head.  "It would be incredibly difficult. I don't know anyone who could do it.  Maybe Roger Dworkin."

I nodded.  "That's about what I thought."


Roger Dworkin was a legend among hackers.  He first achieved a certain notoriety back in the early eighties, when he cracked a national-defense computer system.  By 1980 people were beginning to be aware of the danger posed by hackers gaining unauthorized access, and the government's defense and intelligence computer systems, in particular, already had some highly sophisticated security measures in place.

At first glance this may not sound like such a big deal; after all, the Defense Department reports about 250,000 attempts a year to hack into its computers, and at least half of those are successful.  Still, there are different degrees of success.  It's one thing to get in the front door, another to crack the inner sanctum.  Dworkin was reputed to have gotten so far inside that he could tell you the underwear sizes of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  He managed to do this with an Apple II and a three-hundred-baud modem, which is like saying that somebody broke into Fort Knox using a rusty penknife and a can of WD-40.  Oh, and by the way, he accomplished this feat when he was all of nine years old. Because Roger hadn't done any real damage, claimed he hadn't actually read any classified files and, after all, was just a kid, he got off with a slap on the wrist.  At least nobody could prove he'd read any classified files. Rumors to the contrary have never stopped floating around the hacker community.

As Roger matured, he was able to harness his talent in more socially acceptable ways.  He became a programmer's programmer, whose work was considered by cognoscenti to exhibit both innovative genius and unparalleled elegance.  He also made a lot of money, on top of which he was awarded one of those Prince Foundation "brilliancy fellowships" for about a million dollars.

Which is all by way of saying that when Leon Griffin said that maybe Roger Dworkin could do what we were talking about, he was not suggesting that there was the remotest chance that anything of the kind had actually occurred.  It was as if you had asked, "Who could have thrown the brick through our window from all the way down there?" and somebody said, "Well, maybe Nolan Ryan."

I hung around for a while longer, looking over Leon's shoulder and giving my program a chance to run.  When I figured it had had enough time, I wandered back over to the terminal to see what I had.

Which was nothing.

Zero, zilch, nada.  The null set.  The probe I'd planted in Tower's software the day before was gone without a trace, not even an identifiable fragment. Not only had it failed to reproduce itself, but the original copy was missing too.  I went back to see Leon Griffin again and let him know the outcome.  When he saw me coming, he asked, "How goes the fishing?"

"It took the bait, the line, and the boat.  I suppose I should be glad I'm still here."

"Meaning your probe..."

"Disappeared without a ripple.  If you learn anything about this system that would be relevant to its having antiviral capabilities, I'd be very interested to hear about it."

So add another item to the list.  Whoever changed the program not only streamlined it, simplified it, preserved all the original functions, and did all this without interrupting the normal activities of the system to the extent that anyone would notice, he, she, or it also added a damn good immune system.

I stopped by Harry Ainsworth's office and told him that his software was not current

Continues...

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Excerpted from WYRM by Mark Fabi Copyright © 1997 by Mark Fabi. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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In 1999 Michael Arcangelo, a computer-virus hunter, is called in by an old friend to debug a computer designed to learn chess and defeat human grandmasters. He finds a "worm" that exhibits all the signs of intelligence and sentience and that invades the Internet. Interweaving mythology, virtual reality, role-playing games, chess strategy, and artificial intelligence with a theory of a Group Overmind Daemon susceptible to religious symbolism, first-timer Fabi pits a group of computer programmers and hackers against a formidable opponent who may fulfill end-of-the-world prophesies as the millennium approaches. Although the narrative flow is often broken by explanations of technical terminology and concepts, this work is imaginative and solidly conceived. Recommended for sf collections. Copyright 1997 Cahners Business Information.