Technocracy of War, Epilogue

So as he sat in his chair some years later, Mantis reflected on how quickly his ad hoc academy had gone from a two story WW2 barracks building with barely 200 machines to where it was today. He was Chief Instructional Officer in a building rivaling any corporate skyscraper for floor space and thousands of systems. Almost all of them were running Bread and Butter, or Toast and Jam.
He missed Thad. His old friend had generously poured his life into the mission when they first got back together down in that old wooden fire hazard of a building. The poor man was relentless in cranking out the instructional materials and teaching the first few cycles himself. He seemed to have an instinctive grasp of what his students did and didn’t already know, and his lessons seldom missed the real need. Thad had found the one thing for which he was born, and he didn’t care how much it took from him.
He literally worked himself to death, collapsing at his desk. Even Brandon Breeze was wet-eyed at the funeral; Jennifer Runston and Peter Jimmerson showed up, too.
Who would have thought this crackpot OS would have become the ultimate answer to crackers and such? No, not invulnerable, just awfully hard to break, while easy to use, and easy to manage. Few knew the massive verbal and political battles behind the scenes to prevent turning it into another wide-open mass of patchwork ideas for the sake of everyone’s convenience. When no government employee could install his favorite games, and when watching videos was simply not possible with the underlying OS, systems were far more secure. Mantis, Peter and Brandon all fought furiously against the corrupt lobbies.
Mantis was at the peak of his professional track, but he wasn’t really happy at what it cost to be in that position. The freedom to turn aside that sort of political pressure meant the kind of police state in which the death of partisan politics was also the death of anything even hinting of accountability to anyone, much less the people he was pretending to protect. Even now, things were unraveling, as there were other military battles they had lost for other reasons, reasons eventually leading back to that same lack of accountability, that same power to ignore politics, because it meant the psychopaths could ignore everyone and forge ahead with plans benefiting very few, indeed.
He dreamed of disappearing, perhaps to the kind of country that nest of crackers came from…

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History of History and Failure

History is as much an art as a science.
We dig through the available artifacts and try to make sense of them. It helps so many previous people bothered to tell what they believed was the story of certain events. Of course they got things wrong, as we do today and surely will into the future, as we continue trying to rewrite history over and over again.
It’s the writing which makes it so very human. The very act of recording is itself biasing, because it is per force necessary to answer the questions of the contemporary world of the historian, some of which we recognize as matters of language and culture. What we are less likely to recognize is the fundamental bias which teaches us to assume everyone in the past must have been looking at the world through the same lens as we. We may give lip service to the intellectual frame of reference being different, but Western historians are uniquely poor at actually thinking through the implications of this different worldview.
In every age, the majority of those thinking and writing somehow assume their intellectual approach is universal. This is why we reasonably question historians past, and seldom succeed in questioning our own, except within the narrow differences of political and philosophical agenda which loom so large to us. Each generation creates their own idols, particularly idols of thought.
The problem is history today serves one particular agenda which unites and lies under all the others. We refer to asking and answering the question: “How did we get here?” This is asked in the broadest sense of what brought us to this situation. Devising a means of getting from here to where we would like to be requires knowing how we got here, no? Yet, in ancient histories, this is often not the real issue. A particular wealthy and/or powerful figure might well commission a history writing project for that very reason, but a whole host of history writing came from another purpose. Particularly in the East, a great many histories came from something more akin to the priestly scholars, whose whole orientation was more at pointing out human foibles for whatever they considered a redemptive purpose.
This is not the same as a merely mechanical approach, but specifically translates into something like teaching humility. The provision of information might well serve the purpose of knowing what we should do next, but was not the primary intent. It was to make the person have a perspective. When people with power get involved in the process, they always aim to shape the process to their own ends. Consciously or not, they want folks to arrive at certain selected conclusions. Thus, the inputs are whittled down pragmatically to include only what the power wants folks to know. It’s propaganda, not history per se.
The scholar-priestly approach is more aimed at broadening the horizon, making you see the entire vastness of things not obvious to your initial experience of life. They are frankly willing to let people decide for themselves what to make of it all, or at least aiming at that ideal. We give much lip service to that in Western Classical Education, but it seldom works out that way. Doing all that work of researching and writing requires paying some talented soul to do stuff which doesn’t put food on the table right away. It’s not as if religions are any more altruistic than secular governments. Organizing humans for any kind of specialization and efficiency inevitably ends in someone having power, and with it the inevitable lure of abusing it. We’ve had a few good rulers, and a slightly higher proportion of good priests, as it were, but the problem remains getting that talented guy or gal to work on something we all want, but no one can easily afford without some corruption getting involved.
So maybe we thought democratizing of wealth and power would help? Not at all; it’s actually worse under the rise of the middle class (AKA merchant class). If there is any group less altruistic than the greedy middle class, they have yet to appear in human history. The middling sorts are generally decent, but more prone to enforcing utter uniformity than any other level of human society. It matters not what their relative wealth might be at any point, it’s that drive to gain more control over the circumstances of life which corrupts any hope of humility.
Western Civilization as we know it is primarily a creature of the middle classes. As it lies dying face down in the muck of human passage on this plane, already we see later generations sneering and snickering at the unspeakably foul pretense to greatness of their predecessors. We have a history replete with hypocrisy, saying we don’t want elitism even while we build one more corrupt than ever. It’s coming apart so hideously precisely because it’s so utterly fake, finding itself sliding right back down into the same pattern of human social structure so utterly instinctive and necessary for life. Only, without the grand legacy of noblesse oblige, we have been so horribly bad at it. We pass the job of doing art to those with the least measure of talent because we fear anything which cannot be controlled. Everything is a product, wholly artificially shaped at every step of the way, down to the smallest molecule. We are so sure we have worked out cause and effect on the sub-atomic level, if we could just pile up a little more data from research. Our “proud legacy” is dragging the whole of humanity down into a childhood fantasy of what cannot be, seeking to banish fears, not by growing up and facing them, but blocking out anything we cannot shape to our deeply flawed expectations and petulant demands.
I know beyond all doubt I am not the only one to notice every civilization and culture pays lip service to things they cannot do. But am I the only one to notice what the West pays lip service to is not the least bit ennobling and great as the things of past civilizations?
Bad as all the alternatives have been, what we have now could hardly be any worse.

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Technocracy of War, Part 10

Early that next morning, Thad was clawing up from a deep and troubled sleep to realize his phone was ringing. Struggling to be alert enough to respond intelligently to whatever it was so important to wake him just after dawn.
His eyes refused to focus on the caller ID, so he just picked up the receiver.
“Tech Sergeant Thaddeus Eyrie?”
“I haven’t heard that in a while.”
“Get used to it, sergeant. This is Captain Thiel from the Base Adjutant’s Office. You’ve been reactivated.”
Thad knew there were various caveats and clauses in military contracts which allowed for this. Once you raise your right hand, the only permanent escape was death. “What do I do now?”
“Just so you’ll know this isn’t a hoax, I’ll let you look up the Air Terminal’s number here on the base. You’ll find it in the Blue Pages of your local phone directory, page six. Call them, give them your name, rank and last four, with this order number… Prepared to copy?”
Thad wrote the long string of letters and digits on a pad he kept by his phone. Orders to fly to DC area and report to the NSA. No uniform, no change in appearance, just show up ready to work. That had to be connected to what kept Mantis so busy he couldn’t respond.
Thad hoped he could finish his Bread and Toast tutorials before he got there, because he was sure he would need them.
While waiting for Thad to arrive, Mantis finally learned his surveillance target that day was a known criminal hacker, and was found in the company of three others. None of them were US citizens. They readily admitted to the work they had been doing, because they had finished and received the final payments. Where these men came from, going to prison for life, or even execution, was not so bad if you left a fat sum in the bank back home for your family.
His briefing was short on details, and he knew better than to ask questions — it was always “need to know.” He had already known of the planned military adventure somewhere on the other side of the planet, and that it was the first time such activity took place under CIA command and control, versus simply with their cooperation as in the past. He also knew now it had gone badly. They had not gotten to the nest of crackers in time, and something had ripped through the military networks and left everything in utter chaos. SIPRNet had been compromised, and most networks were simply taken offline to avoid exacerbating the problem. But precious few personnel even had a clue how to do war the old fashioned ways. Imagine computing artillery fire with paper, pencil, protractors, slide rules and topographical maps, not to mention the huge amount of time lost in having to actually speak the jargon over radios. Drone flights were simply impossible.
Plenty of stateside networking was a mess, too. Manny’s mission now was to get his new training site up and running ASAP, because a lot of mission critical stuff was being moved to the Bread and Toast operating system. This was something previously considered, but now moving full speed ahead. The first three class cycles would be trainers themselves from all branches of the government.
Mantis was told to pin on his CW4, and that his newly reactivated training specialist NCO was promoted to E-7 immediately upon arrival. Thad was now a Master Sergeant. Mantis chuckled to himself at how cheap that was compared to a civilian contract. Even as the briefing was concluded, there were plans to convert one of the larger buildings to a Bread and Toast training center for the entire government. No, it was not possible to simply forget all the other operating systems, but for once there was a very decisive and concerted effort to force a change as thorough as possible, in as short a time as possible, and politics be damned.
Brandon Breeze had been hoping to sell just enough support licenses to break even in five years. Today he was looking at a billion dollar initial start up award, and an otherwise open contract.

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2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

Madison Square Garden can seat 20,000 people for a concert. This blog was viewed about 64,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Madison Square Garden, it would take about 3 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

I almost decided against showing this, thinking it over for a while. I’m not interested in tooting my own horn, but it occurred to me someone else might actually be interested. Please bear in mind the majority of my traffic is from Linux and other computer enthusiasts. Sadly, the stuff I consider much more important draws a much smaller crowd.

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Technocracy of War, Part 9

Thad had never moved that far from his last military assignment. The base was just a few minutes up the interstate highway. While he had been careful to avoid buying a home in the standard flight pattern, he was easily able to notice when runway traffic was heavy.
It was the today, peaking over the past few days. It was also the first time it had been so busy when nothing in the news media, nor even from his old Zoomie pals, indicated what sort of operations were behind it. If anything, there was less noise about it than normal.
It didn’t require a lot of intelligence, either native or military, to guess this was not a mere exercise. It was the same pattern as invasion support somewhere in the world, so that much was obvious. And Mantis had not responded to any attempts to get hold of him.
That day, on his walk along the newly paved section, he stopped at the wrought iron fence as usual and petted the old female dog. But this time he knelt down and stroked her longer than usual. She was hardly disturbed by the extra show of affection, and laid her back against the base of the bars, inviting him to stroke her belly. As he did so, he spoke to her. “So, old girl, with all the time in the world to think sagely of human events, do you suppose we have finally come to the place our troops go to war and nobody talks about it? What do you think about all that noisy air traffic?”
He stayed much longer than normal, but as he walked away, he didn’t throw the ball this time. His mind was far, far away. It was the last time she saw him.
Peter was wishing he could at least have gotten his body far away. It was the first time in his life he could remember not wanting to be near any computers. Here was a team from the NSA all over the servers and relentlessly debriefing him about the Bread Project and every detail he could remember about these cracker attacks from several years before. Well, at least somebody was taking this stuff seriously, for once.
They took all four of his servers and copied logs from the DNS and domain controllers. They had already been familiar with the Bread Project, but seemed particularly interested in how Pete got involved, and all the various motivations and thoughts he had about it. He knew they were making sure there was no reason to think he was somehow involved in all this virus research. Only a fool would ignore how it looks to host creating a virus which attacks very OS but the one your company makes. In the end, it was pretty obvious he was in the clear, and none too glad to see them leaving.
Mantis knew it was routine for him to be isolated immediately from the case once he turned over all the details he had. He was glad of it, because it gave him time to work on setting up his own expanded Bread and Toast lab. It wasn’t hard to get permission to use older hardware from storage and set it up in some empty buildings on the backside of the installation. It was entirely within the mission of his position to prepare and test alternative operating systems, only the scale was a little unusual.
His most unusual requisition was Thad.

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Please Lie to Me

I would rather you be able to tell me a lie, than for someone else to take upon themselves the authority to decide for me you can’t.
As much of a bumbling idiot as I may be, I doubt there’s anyone smart enough to decide such things for me. Specialized expertise only goes so far. Consider the obscure martial art called “Chi Gung” (AKA Qigong) — go ahead and look it up. I’ll wait.
What sort of effort does it take to absorb deadly blows without harm? Given my limited experience with martial arts of various sorts, I have no doubt people can develop such abilities, but at what cost? The investment of every hour, drawn from however many you have, displaces something else you might have been doing. It’s all well and good when you are utterly certain it’s your calling in life. That’s not the point. What cost is this expertise in terms of what other things you didn’t experience?
The master of Chi Gung isn’t going to share much with me. He may not have the slightest interest in what matters to me, and rightly so. I don’t have much need for getting a hard swung baseball bat to bounce off my stomach without injury. In some 55 years of living, nothing like that has happened to me, yet. He does, I suppose. His world is one place, and mine another. I don’t begrudge, nor belittle, his choice. Does he belittle mine?
It’s not possible for anyone to come to the place they honestly believe they can choose better for me without also coming to place they are ignorant, or even hostile, to what I believe about the world. Then it is no longer specialization and following that calling voice. Then it becomes hatred, which does no one any good. Yes, I propose to be an expert in such things.
I propose to be expert enough I won’t let you do that to me. My response options may be limited by things beyond my control, but somewhere, somehow, I’m going to assert that ineffable insistence I get to decide certain things. If I’m deluded about that, there is really nothing you can do.
You should be free to cower at the feet of anyone you choose. You should be free to believe the world is such a place this is in your best interest. You are not free to decide that for me. I’m pretty sure what I’ve done with my life up to now is the equivalent of that Chi Gung master in his own art. I’ve learned enough to let lies bounce off me in the sense they won’t ruin my day. If I believe something which turns out false, I’m still on the right track. Even if my belief ends up killing me, it’s that freedom to choose which I insist on claiming.
So go ahead and tell me whatever you want me to believe. I might believe it; pretty often it simply won’t make any difference in my world either way. I’d rather take my chances with your veracity than with someone else trying to actively interfere.

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Technocracy of War, Part 8

Once the pattern was established and compared against the Tor perimeter traffic, it really wasn’t that hard. Mantis and his assistant detected a lot of similar traffic and found there were a half-dozen systems traipsing all over Washington DC and suburbs, using Internet cafes and any unsecured wifi node they could find. Naturally, most wifi routers were poorly secured, if at all, particularly in the places most closely associated with political power and money.
Best of all, he had a pretty good idea what those devices looked like, since they were all Macs.
For now, he had nothing which would justify bringing it to anyone’s attention. Since his office was just a short drive from DC, Mantis decided to make a few forays in some of the areas where they seemed to operate most. He put his assistant to live monitoring for any appearance of the signature they had established, and keeping an encrypted voice link with GPS tracking via cellphone.
The first couple of days he kept finding himself too far away to walk or ride any public transportation to what the approximate location. Driving and hoping to park would have been insane. Finally he scheduled a long afternoon out of the office and was determined to at least get close to one of crackers.
Only in movies would it have been very dramatic. Within fifteen minutes, his sergeant told him he was almost on top of one. The IP address, were it not being spoofed, should have been just a half-block away. But the wifi router was probably somewhere above street level in an office tower. Still, it couldn’t hurt to see if the user might be in a cafe or park bench somewhere. He was shocked it turned out to be so easy, though.
At one of the outdoor tables in front of an Asian restaurant, there sat a figure hunched over a MacBook Air. By checking with his assistant, the person’s activity almost perfectly matched what was visible on Tor node, with long pauses for whatever was happening on the other end. This was too easy, Mantis thought, so he sauntered closer, daring to take a glimpse at the screen from fairly close. While chatting on his cellphone, he turned it slightly and videotaped what he saw. Sure enough, the display showed a Terminal window with an SSH session to some distant server, and it was compiling software.
Mantis walked on, then turned and sat down at another empty table. While chatting on the phone, he took several still shots. The face was Asian, but the features, hair and manner of dress were ambiguous enough Mantis couldn’t guess the gender. He ordered coffee when the waiter came, using his phone as an excuse to avoid chatting. He paid when the coffee arrived. If his target noticed, there was no indication, so deeply buried in the activity on the screen. With matching notice from his assistant, Mantis watched the figure end the session, close the MacBook and walk away.
He decided against trying to follow. A few minutes later he regretted it. His sergeant told him there was an urgent call from Jimmerson, then patched him through. When Peter was finished, Mantis shivered — a multi-platform virus tailored to military networks. And the timing could not have been worse.
He sat there just long enough to upload the video, pictures and a brief outline of events to his NSA superior.

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Oklahoma: Oppression Is Relative

Oklahoma is easily as corrupt as any other state, but there are other limits which make it a sane place to live.
We are one of the few states which has encoded the basic right to ignore a policeman who is plainly wrong. It may be tough to prove in court later, but there is a presumption some people out there do know things the police do not, and that some policemen can be suffering at least temporarily from a lack of reason. More than once, during our all-too-often natural disasters, police have demanded I do something, or refrain from something, based on utterly fallacious information. One tried to tell me there were no houses where I was living, and I had just left the house. But overall, I’ve found them mostly reasonable during encounters, pointedly refusing to enforce the full letter of the law when it simply missed the point.
This reflects a powerful cultural assumption here which surprises most people. Our politicians are as slimy as they come, but voters still mean something here. They get what they want by corrupting the voting process itself, and I would never trust it. But it takes only a small amount of public notice from obscure sources to get them sweating bullets. You can bet some of our LEOs would love to push the same crap going around other states, particularly in regards to fusion centers and tracking “possible terrorists” but the power and money here won’t dare buy into it, because they’ll lose the power and the money.
We still have serious troubles with cover-ups of crime, such as the murder of Terry Yeaky to shut him up about how the Murrah Bombing was an inside job. We now have several native-born federales who resigned the positions and came home to take up powerful positions here and make sure the cover story stays in place. There are plenty of other federal cover stories unraveling all the time. I can find any number of people who remember their own incredulity about the Medical Examiner losing all credibility when he changed his official report to match the impossible lie told by the feds about Jesse Trentedue’s death in his cell at the federal detention center out at the airport. Near as anyone can tell, the feds mistook Trentadue for the John Doe with Tim McVeigh.
There is no place on this earth where you can hope to escape all of this crap, but there are a few places where the evil can’t quite grab full control.

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Technocracy of War, Part 7

The message Thad got was essentially an offer of more active involvement and some measure of support if he could help Peter get in touch with someone in the military who handled Tor servers. It was common knowledge the US Navy had been involved, and still operated several Tor nodes.
While Thad enjoyed the humor, the standard bundled user guides for Bread were too dry and complicated for the average user. He had been outlining a set of tutorials in his own style, which had proven quite popular in the past on similar projects. So when Peter Jimmerson made his offer, Thad jumped on it with both feet. Not only did he put them in touch with each other, but promised to play go-between for the convenience of both parties, because he could make his own schedule, when neither of the others could.
After reviewing Peter’s log excerpts, Mantis turned to his ranking NCO. Having served in the enlisted ranks himself, Mantis knew the best equipped sergeant was not so much a matter of what he know, but whom. Mantis had sent this man to all the schools he could arrange for that very reason. His back channel access to the technicians handling the Tor servers for the Navy didn’t work miracles, but they did agree to let the sergeant “find” some information which would allow him to test some ideas.
Between him and Mantis, they established a pattern of activity which would constitute an identifying signature of the cracker in question. Then they began testing this signature against traffic coming out of the Tor entrance and exit nodes to see if anything interesting would come up.
Meanwhile, Peter added an extra networking interface to each of his machines. The Toast computers became log servers, silently pulling out an active copy of everything. Then he set up some parsing scripts, and an alarm to notify him when the cracker hit either of his bait boxes. He didn’t have long to wait. Using the secondary networking connection, he managed to capture the entire episode, including the commands which edited the logs.
Not only was he able to identify the flaws which allowed the cracker to gain root access on both bait servers, he had a copy of the code the cracker had been building on both machines. They were essentially the same commands, but with slight variations for the difference in architecture. It quite some time to parse the code because it seemed intentionally obfuscated, and Peter was simply not the best at working with assembler. It was what they had in common which shocked Peter the most.
When he realized the purpose, he sat frozen for a long time. It slowly dawned in his mind this had never been about him at all. This was a highly efficient worm, being built in at least to attack these two operating systems. Each one made reference to what Pete felt sure was military jargon, especially the term “SIPRNet” and similar acronyms.

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CentOS 6: Broken Dictionary

On CentOS 6, the GNOME Dictionary is broken.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who has noticed this. Unfortunately, I’ve not seen where anyone posted a proper fix. It worked fine in both RHEL 6 and SL 6 on this same machine.
On the other hand, I never did like it that well. The good news is the best fix is to ignore GNOME Dictionary and replace it. That replacement would be Artha. You can get the SRPM here. Just scan down for it in alphabetical order, or use the “Find” function in your browser.
When building the RPM, you’ll need to add a couple of tools not likely already installed on your system, but they are all available from the standard Yum repositories for CentOS.
Once built, on the initial start, you’ll be informed of the default keyboard shortcut. Then it will simply load and run in your notification area. Double-click any word in any application, hit the shortcut (defaults to CTRL-ALT-W) and the dictionary window opens with the appropriate information. It takes very little of your computer resources, so I recommend leaving it running.
This is a great tool, and is what GNOME Dictionary should have been.

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