Hacker School Trilogy Read online

Hacker School Trilogy

  *stories of dystopian beginnings*

  *prelude to the cyberhug.me series*

  a novel by

  Allan R. Wallace

  Published by Allan Wallace

  copyright 2010, 2011

  https://cyberhug.me

  Formatting by Jesse Gordon

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your enjoyment.

  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it,

  or it was not purchased for your use,

  then please consider purchasing your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction:

  people, places, and events.

  He put his life and freedom on the line for what he believes to be right.

  This novel about hacktivism in a post-dystopian world is dedicated to

  Julian Assange of Wikileaks.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Act I

  The Haven – Jake and Jane

  Chapter 1 – My Name Is Jake

  Chapter 2 – My Name Is Jane

  Chapter 3 – Jake As Scout

  Chapter 4 – Jane's Dilemma

  Chapter 5 – Jake's Discovery

  Chapter 6 – Jane Takes Charge

  Chapter 7 – Jake Finds Hidden Treasures

  Chapter 8 – Something New From Something old

  Act II

  Scavengers - David

  Act III

  Hacker School – Charlene

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  “How do you get to Hacker School?”

  Don't ask.

  If you belong you can find one or found one;

  or Hacker School will find you.

  Act One

  The Haven – Jake and Jane

  Chapter 1

  My Name Is Jake

  The valley is beautiful and assessable, but importantly it offers many routes for escape. The valley itself is to be part of The Seven, an evacuation system. There will be two The Sevens; the true escape routes and a The Seven of fallen cities to be revealed slowly under torture. Perhaps that shielding knowledge will satisfy or at least delay inquisitors.

  For attackers there is no distinguishing the route I've taken into Walking Bear from dozens of others. Perhaps the ruined road looks to have been used less, but only one road entering and leaving our future outpost sees much use. From a distance the ribbon of road I've traveled is revealed by hues of growth emerged through blacktop.

  I muse on how the decaying road is a symbol of our future. Reshaped, the face of nature will no longer reflect prior society's hubris. The slow fire of oxidation is melting iron, wind planted seeds are disassembling monuments. I enjoy the irreverence of grasses, trees, and flowers pushing aside memories. Cultural relics offer little obstacle to determined flora iconoclasts. They use barriers to others of their ilk as opportunity for open access to the sun.

  Turning to look down the other side of a hill I've just climbed I view a larger road. It is better preserved, perhaps from wear. Traveled occasionally by complex human packs and herds the vegetation has had less success at prolonged growth. There is no way to forecast future usage. Wandering tribes of sometimes individuals, sometimes followers are not naturally given to long term planning. They instead flow with the seasons. We will trade with some, must be seen as capable of defending ourselves from others, and will have to flee along hidden paths from the most dangerous.

  There is rubble from a ruined village down by the lake and lots of natural stone. With work that material will become a wall. The wall will not need a gate, just overlapping sections requiring climbing or a change of direction. Three feet should be tall enough, prolonging attackers exposure to defenders behind a log palisade a bit further up the hill. The palisade can be about five feet tall, with irregular vertical logs making it harder to distinguish log from head. The purpose is partially preparedness theater, and the rest is more delay than defense. I've found people may disregard one barrier, but will usually avoid two or more obstacles. A few sharpshooters in hilltop bunkers can act as a rear guard in retreat.

  We will store nothing here that cannot be sacrificed. If we leave this place to a superior force, let them find nothing worth the effort of walking up the hill. If we are surrounded and wiped out; I'll have failed once again, and once again dirtied my soul. My family and other families will live here. There must be ways of escape.

  For reasons of personal aesthetics, I don't want either wall tall enough to block the views from the new village. Those that will chose to live here deserve any pleasures they can find. The other buildings will be less permanent, at least for now.

  Fashioning the stream that in Autumn leisurely puddles past the hill toward the lake will have it's banks reformed into hidden paths. Ease of movement will be the goal. We might become thankful for routes allowing unobserved scurrying. This location will be a valuable resource, but not worth defending against a determined hoard. Assembly point one of seven, Walking Bear, will rise here.

  Behind me, nestled in a valley leading into the mountains, is a reminder of the hazards of rooting in places or things rather than in relationships. It must have been a magnificent resort. It had served as a focal point of escape for knowledgeable folk fleeing violence in once crowded cities. Its lovely setting, natural springs and hot springs, and a wealth of lawns to convert into fields were seen as a God-send; but they didn't ask God. Hunting and foraging in the forests behind them, along with farming the extensive grounds, allowed them to eat well in a time of almost universal lack.

  They even established study centers to rediscover lost knowledge. They were destroyed by hoards of looters demanding they share everything they had with those less fortunate. Poverty for all was soon shared, and a beacon of reason was destroyed. My ancestors were adaptable and left their home too soon – the others found out that once you have to leave, you've waited too long. Most of those that had worked and studied at the now razed resort grounds, those that survived, wound up carrying deep emotional wounds and wandering with the cannibalistic hoards.

  Prior to the die-offs they had many words for those that demanded a stealing from gifted creators and curators for distribution to uninspired consumers. The most colorful I've discovered was actually a phrase – “eating the goose that lays golden eggs.”

  We have other plans. We have our Hidden Valley, but we are outgrowing it and many residents long for a more open life. Our strategy is three fold. Hidden Valley will remain, a small place of seclusion and simple comforts. We will build seven temporary way stations where our most venturesome people can mix with or avoid such societies as have emerged from the calamities. Finally we will exploit technologies we've discovered, seeking to find knowledge that will once again awaken a quest for squandered human rights. We hope to build a technology school, relearning the better parts of civilization. Yet our hope is tempered by the knowledge that all institutions are mortal. We can build for the centuries, but all may be undone in a morning.

  This Walking Bear Village where I now stand will be a model for way stations others will build; I have different duties. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, a group from Hidden Valley should arrive. Today I will do some scouting and hunting, then perhaps design a pattern for the village. I'm surprised at how excited I am to get started.

  I am recording our efforts in this journal, perhaps it is a start of new history. Let this one be told honestly.

  Chapter 2

  My Name Is Jane

&nb
sp; My family is proud of my championships in combat sports. Jake my instructor has been impressed by my progress. I know this training is an important duty, but it's not my love. My love is in The Haven Colony.

  At the first rumors of die-off, this artist colony outside of Hidden Valley closed it's doors and everyone fled the mountains, hoping to help surviving family and friends below. When the Great Chaos destroyed all networked systems everything at The Haven Colony had already been shut down.

  As year round residents of Hidden Valley, we survivors had access to everything left behind in what had been a winter sports resort. After it was determined that the world as a whole had been systematically disrupted; we began the process of scavenging condos, cabins, and hotels for anything that would help sustain us. More people left the valley, and for a while some prior seasonal visitors returned hoping to face brutal nature rather than hoards of starving city dwellers. Then we were alone.

  Journeying to Hidden Valley had been a challenge before the Great Chaos. After the dam failure washed out the roads it was a trip reserved for scouts and outdoorsmen. Protected by our seclusion, we nurtured a society of independent adventurers, resourceful alone but interdependent before a sometimes hostile environment. We helped each other if wolves, two or four legged, invaded. Other calamities met with similar spontaneous voluntarism -- otherwise we kept our own councils. Our single guiding principle: Groups of people shall have no privileges denied to individuals.

  Wanders, tribes and individuals, are still welcomed; but we are slow to reveal our secrets. We could easily pay gold or silver in trade, there are several productive mines in the area, but that inspires greed. We use dried meat and fish, animal furs and leather, harvested nuts, and edible plants for barter with visitors.

  The Haven is isolated and well guarded, That is where our true prosperity lies. The only reason I mention it in this journal is that its stored wealth is already being moved to a new location.

  The Haven Colony was what you might expect of artists; community galleries and individual studios surrounded by nature. What is important to us is that many of the artists had real books in their studio libraries. Besides the beauty of picture books, and support of inspirational collections, they kept an abundance of real research books. These tomes are invaluable – but for me secondary to my love.

  The entire colony was connected by an intranet for sharing, separated from the world's systems. My predecessors of prior generations took great care to maintain that separation and preserve the system, I had but to access it. Access it I did, in every waking moment not dedicated to other duties.

  Art, yes, much art. Writing, graphics, and my special interest – hundreds of programing languages, half finished programs, and indigenous technical support. Software, I love software. In the colony software development, hardware fabrication, and hacking were seen as art forms – they were that civilized. A micro-fab plant is what I think of as the heart of the campus. Here in this special retreat I could explore riches greater than my ability to process. Too much of a wondrous thing is just right.

  I grew up being taught martial arts and self-instructing in software development. Who needs eating and sleeping when there is gratifying work to be done. For what I viewed as a birthday present, on my sixth birthday we used an isolated system to create a satellite uplink. I did not at first reveal myself to outsiders, but now I could track the progress of other techies that had achieved the same goal. It was as we feared, the whole world had collapsed. Yet people are rebuilding, stone by stone -- tech by tech.

  There was much malware on the satellite, but it did not seem to have advanced after the chaos. I had to keep access limited to the separate system to be sure we weren't contaminated, but with Jake's help I sorted through the hackers and crackers as we looked for potential allies in progress. Information demands to be shared, but with whom?

  Somewhat happily we decided most crackers we encounter are inept and not a threat even if they wish to be. There seems little reason to retaliate against emergent malware posers. As Jake said, “Societies can accommodate all sorts of people without having to promote or condone. Give people room to change and mature. We'll occasionally need that room ourselves.”

  Jake started traveling, scouting in areas where we hoped to find technology, while looking for skilled ethical hackers to join us. One satellite hacker in particular had indicated an abandoned, and not too distant city where he and his friends had discovered unharvested technologies. Nothing in his communications display ill intent, this may be a real opportunity to expand our knowledge base. But that is part of a larger story.

  Chapter 3

  Jake As Scout

  Mine is one of the few pairs of binoculars available to The Haven. I carry them carefully and use them constantly; better a danger avoided than overcome.

  I'm lying on the hill so as to not present an outline against the sky when their movement catches my eye. Focusing the lenses on them it's apparent there are no women in the group, so they're either a hunting or raiding party. They do seem to be following a game trail I'd hunted along occasionally, it shows little human wear, certainly it isn't well traveled.

  The troop is in a military formation of perhaps fifty soldiers with scouts, rearguard, and flankers. If their protective arrangement is just caution I'm impressed, if it's due to an actual perceived threat in the area I need to follow them. I leave quick notes for the Haven group explaining my absence, and move along high ground tracking the warriors. I move cautiously, it's better to lose them and have to search them out later than be discovered.

  They are well armed for a low tech group, all have bows, long knives or hatchets, and carry either several light throwing spears or a single heavy thrusting spear. They may have other smaller devices like boomerangs or throwing knives I can't see at this distance. Their packs are small, so they must be living off the land, I'll need to be wary of hunting and provisioning groups that may be wandering out from their trail.

  As they set up their camp for the night I get the first indications their woods craft is not as well developed as their military. They camp in a meadow next to a stream. If it rains their camp might flood if the stream overflows its banks. Close by they have a small hill that would have avoided problems, and could have been easily upgraded as a defense position by rolling some logs and rocks around. I set up a cold and dry camp for myself higher up the valley wall. Rising warm air will supplement my blanket roll while cooler air will settle down to their damp bivouac and chill them.

  Two men on horseback ride in with a deer draped behind a saddle. Looks like dinner is right on time. The deer is skinned and the meat is added to meadow plants foraged during the building of fire rings. Efficient enough as the resulting stew is eaten with hearty appetites, many of the men having several helpings.

  I like these men. There has been no arguing, and there has been no shouting and intimidating by leaders. In fact there seems no appointed leader; they all seem to turn for instructions from people that will share required knowledge. Once I discover their purpose I may approach them and see if we can work together.

  When a new sun just starts to melt the morning fog they arise, almost eagerly, urging each other to hurry. I surmise the goal of their journey must be at hand. Those on horse back make a quick circuit of the camp and move ahead up the trail. My guess is this is no idle wandering searching for game, but a quick scout looking for traps and ambushes. I will need to be wary of possible hidden opposing forces as I follow this troop.

  Chapter 4

  Jane's Dilemma

  There are cyberwars developing through our satellite connection. While everyone is wary, and my knowledge is incomplete, I appear to have the advantage. As contact and conflict sharpen my skills I develop a reputation. I'm left alone to watch others battle, and learn more from their strategies than they do, nascent cyberwarriors seem unable to grow past limitations they've set for themselves. The value and rarity of the resources in the Haven are apparent.

&
nbsp; There are exceptions. I receive a challenge from that hacker I mentioned, one whose skills I respect. He's competent, and has never been an instigator of cyberbattle; although I've watched him end a few. We exchanged public keys, and under encryption exchanged further defenses. I don't believe anyone could have broken our first algorithm, but why take chances when caution is both easy and fun.

  His name is David and he lives in a village of scavengers that are trying to gather and restore precursor technologies. He claims to have even improved some hardware he's found, saying it appears legal controls prior to the dieoff were aimed more at profiting from innovators and then discouraging their innovations than protecting them. David thinks that's part of the reason the great chaos occurred. Without restriction he can mix and match tech, and end up with improvements over the best that our ancestors developed. I've done the same with software, but hadn't realized there was a legal cause for the lack of continuing development. Of course I'm just nine years old and David is already ten, he has a lot more experience than me at some things.

  David let me know his tribe had found a bunch of technology – more than they can process. He wonders if we can help them transport it somewhere safe. I tell Jake, and he agrees to meet the group at the site with a wagon or two, and perhaps work out a storage and development deal. I know what Jake really wants is a technology school, and the idea of having someone like David attending thrills him. Jake also worries about what he calls our limited gene pool, he says our tribe must accept new members.

  Before we proceed, we need to talk to my father, the chief. My father was born into the position of Police Chief of hidden valley. Someday I will be Chief, That's why I'm studying martial arts, strategy, and that sort of stuff. An ancestor was Hidden Valley's police chief when everything went wrong. He exercised emergency powers when everyone else was afraid to break silly rules set by a now vanished nation. He became the chief of the survivors.

  When I reach adulthood I'm expected to be tough enough to lead in battle and smart enough to help us survive. I won't be twelve for several years, but I'm already leading scouting trips. The tribe may choose someone else to lead, but no other twelve year old will be as well prepared. My dad will be available for consultation of course, but any decisions will be mine alone.

  The group I'm leading today was supposed to have met Jake at the site of a proposed new village, Walking Bear. He's not here but the site is marked out, and notes explain his reasoning. There is an additional hastily scribbled note that says he's following a war party and will return once he learns their intentions. We have much work to do, it's time to stop writing and start doing.