Hacker School (Free eBook, tablet, and eReader downloads)

My future found me in Juvenile Detention.

Juvie is not fun. Think of how nicely governments play. Juvie is almost as bad.

What happens when you get kicked out of Juvie? I was trapped next to my room by three girls. They hurt me, I hurt them, and one was probably broken permanently. They started it, 3 on 1, and weren't worried if they maimed or killed me. The bad damage went to the backup carrying a shiv. Happily I wasn't cut bad. Turns out they are part of a gang. Not good.

When I'm released from confinement I walk up to a big, tough girl that doesn't look like me or them, she prepares to fight.

"Not interested." I tell her. "I hurt three that jumped me; I need to know more about them. Maybe we can work together."

"You can't join my gang." she says, still ready to fight. She's no fool; she doesn't drop her guard.

"I'm not going to join any gang, I want allies. I'll jump in to protect your people, you watch my back. If I'm attacked by just two I'll fight my own wars. If more than that I'd like it if you keep the extras off me."

I do that with all the gangs. Most like the idea, tough luck for the others. Since I'm the only one that knows who'll jump in with me, fights don't happen much where I am. Other gangs join me as I get a rep for being tougher than I am. Anybody that survives here is tough.

I occasionally have to fight pairs, but that was my agreement. Everyone knows, so pairs announce the fight so their gang can watch without getting jumped. No surprises is a good thing. I find the tougher girl, go for a quick disable, then pay attention to the other. I get hurt, but so far I've healed.

Complaints go to admin that I'm taking over and can't be controlled. The stooges think I'll start a rebellion. The guards don't want to put me in lock down because they enjoy betting on my fights.

When my parents are contacted they call an ethical hacker my mom knows. He says ethical hacking means working for our government, anybody else is bad. "Yeah, right." All my parents hear is "government job." Without telling me, they just hand the gov. hacker my private tronics to crack.

His team spent a week with my tronics, and then he came to me. They haven't been able to crack my code and never discovered my hidden firmware that sends randomly pulsed rewrites. With the kludgy junk the government makes them use, they never will. I laugh when he admits they had an entire network munged and data was morphing into cartoons when they shut the system down. He blames the mung on my tronics. I tell him to his face "My human rights say my stuff is private, my code proves it."

He shakes his head. Maybe he can't believe what he's hearing "All we got from your stuff was a single message: 'Private - Keep Out." Then he surprises me. He smiles. It's a real smile, not at all threatening.

"I wish I could fake a smile as well as you do."

He laughs. It's an open, genuine laugh like I haven't heard in forever. He's probably showing me how much I have to learn. "I want you to play along with me. Your court documents are being changed. Tomorrow you will leave Juvie under heavy guard and be transferred. Then you will disappear. Your parents have been told you will be at a secret government training camp. You will see them next year when you turn twelve, again at fifteen, and then be free once you get a government job. They're thrilled."

"No doubt." I stare at him, ready to get in one injuring blow before they shackle me. "But that's not what's happening, is it?" I'll get him in a conversation then hit him mid-sentence.

"No, you're going to a new facility some friends of mine are building: The Condor Preservation League's home for wayward children -- Condor for short. If you agree they will teach you how to make a freelance living by hacking for human rights. We're building a hacker school."

I just slump. This has to be noise. "Hunh?"

Hacker School: Jane and Jake
Rough draft,
of the first chapter,
of one of the new Hacker School stories,
included in the 99 cent Hacker School Trilogy.

I'm Jake:

The valley is beautiful and assessable, but most 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 inquisitors.

For attackers there is no distinguishing the route I took into Walking Bear from dozens of others. Perhaps the ruined road looks to have been used less, but only one road entering and leaving this future outpost sees much use. From a distance the ribbon of road I've traveled is distinguished 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 hill I've just ascended 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. 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 determined mobs of anti-scavengers. 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 grounds, 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 around 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 by gross overpopulation. 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 the 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 The Haven, but we are outgrowing it and many residents long for a more open life. Our strategy is three fold. The Haven 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 explore the buried military base I discovered, seeking to find knowledge that will once again awaken a quest for human rights. We hope to build a school there, relearning the better parts of civilization. Yet our hope is tempered by the knowledge that all institutions are mortal.

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 The Haven 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.

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I'm thinking of writing a children's book:
How To Hack
for geeks of all ages

Inside pages would have definitions like: Firmware, its software the computer remembers when you turn it off. This is where you can teach your computer to say; "Good morning Dave," when you turn it on; so you can say "Hello Hal."

There are three types of computer memory:
RAM - (random access memory) where software instructions commute before they go home to their cozy storage.
ROM - (read only memory) where software hides before you find it and get it working.
REM - (rapid eye movement) the way software instructions move when you think they're asleep. Do computers dream?

feel free to share (not):
DRM - (digital rights management) a way to waste money and time while sending paying users to companies that like them.

pop wallace