SUELETTE DREYFUS                                     JULIAN ASSANGE

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    | | | | \ | |  _ \| ____|  _ \ / ___|  _ \ / _ \| | | | \ | |  _ \

    | | | |  \| | | | |  _| | |_) | |  _| |_) | | | | | | |  \| | | | |

    | |_| | |\  | |_| | |___|  _ <| |_| |  _ <| |_| | |_| | |\  | |_| |

     \___/|_| \_|____/|_____|_| \_\\____|_| \_\\___/ \___/|_| \_|____/

		      http://www.underground-book.com/



	 Hacking, madness and obsession on the electronic frontier



     `Gripping, eminently readable.. Dreyfus has uncovered one of this

      country's best kept secrets and in doing so has created a highly

      intense and enjoyable read' -- Rolling Stone



   By Suelette Dreyfus with

   Research by Julian Assange



   First Published 1997 by Mandarin 



   a part of Reed Books Australia 



   35 Cotham Road, Kew 3101 



   a subsidiary of Random House books Australia 



   a division of Random House International Pty Limited 



   Copyright (c) 1997, 2001 Suelette Dreyfus & Julian Assange



   All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright

   above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or

   introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or

   by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or

   otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the

   copyright owner and the publisher.



   Typeset in New Baskerville by J&M Typesetting 



   Printed and bound in Australia by Australian Print Group 



   National Library of Australia 



   cataloguing-in-publication data: 



   Dreyfus, Suelette. 



   Underground: tales of hacking, madness & obsession on the

                electronic frontier



   Bibliography. 



   ISBN 1 86330 595 5 



   1. Computer hackers--Australia--Biography.

   2. Computer crimes--Australia.

   3. Computer security--Australia.

   I. Assange, Julian. II. Title.



   364.1680922 





    ___________________________________________________________________



		       READER AND CRITICAL ACCLAIM

    ___________________________________________________________________



	`...I hold your book           `I have never before read a

	responsible for destroying my  book this good, literally!'

	social life for the last two   -- benwebb@hotmail.com

	days...I bought it Friday

	afternoon, and then finished   `I just finished the book..

	it at lunchtime today!         and thoroughly enjoyed it.

	(Sunday) *grin*. Excellent     Dreyfus showed an amazing

	reading!' -- bam@iinet.net.au  insight into the world of

 				       electronic exploration. I am

	`A few pages into this book I  sure it was in no small part

	found it to be different to    due to [the researcher's]

	any other book I have ever     excellent technical

	read on the subject. Dreyfus   assistance. Good Job!!' --

	treats the people she writes   jimgeuin@cyberservices.com

	about AS PEOPLE not just

	"computer junkies" or "cyber   `I loved the book - couldn't

	geeks"' -- lucasb@sub.net.au   put it down!' --

				       texasdeluxe@hotmail.com

	`A real pleasure' -- George

	Smith, Crypt News              `I wanted to say how much I

				       liked your book Underground'
ਊऀ怀䄀 琀愀氀攀 漀昀 洀愀搀渀攀猀猀Ⰰ 瀀愀爀愀渀漀椀愀   ⴀⴀ 倀爀漀昀⸀ 䐀漀爀漀琀栀礀 䐀攀渀渀椀渀最਀਀ऀ愀渀搀 戀爀椀氀氀椀愀渀挀攀 愀洀漀渀最਀਀ऀ䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 ⴀ  怀䤀 眀愀猀 戀氀漀眀渀 愀眀愀礀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ愀渀搀 栀漀眀 琀栀攀礀 渀攀愀爀氀礀 戀爀漀甀最栀琀    氀甀挀愀猀戀䀀猀甀戀⸀渀攀琀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ一䄀匀䄀 甀渀搀漀渀攀✀ ⴀⴀ 吀栀攀 圀攀攀欀攀渀搀਀਀ऀ䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 䴀愀最愀稀椀渀攀            怀䤀✀洀 最爀愀琀攀昀甀氀 琀漀 䴀猀 䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       昀漀爀 椀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀椀渀最 洀攀 琀漀 愀਀਀ऀ怀䄀搀瘀攀渀琀甀爀攀 戀漀漀欀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 戀爀愀椀渀✀ 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 昀椀爀猀琀ⴀ爀愀琀攀਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 匀愀爀愀栀 䴀挀䐀漀渀愀氀搀Ⰰ 䨀䨀䨀         猀甀戀瘀攀爀猀椀瘀攀猀✀ ⴀⴀ 倀栀椀氀氀椀瀀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䄀搀愀洀猀Ⰰ 䰀愀琀攀 一椀最栀琀 䰀椀瘀攀਀਀ऀ怀䄀昀琀攀爀 爀攀愀搀椀渀最 琀栀攀 攀砀琀爀愀挀琀 漀昀਀਀ऀ唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 椀渀 吀栀攀 䄀最攀 䤀       怀䨀漀礀 欀渀攀眀 渀漀 戀漀甀渀搀猀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 眀愀椀琀 琀漀 爀攀愀搀 椀琀⸀      倀栀椀氀氀椀瀀 䄀搀愀洀猀Ⰰ 䰀愀琀攀 一椀最栀琀਀਀ऀ䘀椀渀愀氀氀礀 椀琀 挀愀洀攀 漀甀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀     䰀椀瘀攀਀਀ऀ猀栀漀瀀猀 愀渀搀 䤀 昀椀渀椀猀栀攀搀 椀琀 愀氀氀਀਀ऀ眀椀琀栀椀渀 愀 昀攀眀 搀愀礀猀⸀ 䤀 眀愀猀渀✀琀    怀䨀甀猀琀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀 琀栀愀琀 䤀 眀漀甀氀搀਀਀ऀ搀椀猀愀瀀瀀漀椀渀琀攀搀 昀漀爀 愀 猀攀挀漀渀搀⸀✀ ⴀⴀ 猀愀礀 最爀攀愀琀 樀漀戀 漀渀 礀漀甀爀 戀漀漀欀਀਀ऀ搀挀眀䀀愀氀瀀栀愀氀椀渀欀⸀挀漀洀⸀愀甀           瘀攀爀礀 渀椀挀攀 瀀椀攀挀攀 漀昀 眀漀爀欀 愀渀搀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       瘀攀爀礀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀瘀攀℀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䄀洀愀稀椀渀最 椀渀猀椀最栀琀✀ ⴀⴀ           䄀渀漀渀礀洀漀甀猀 栀愀挀欀攀爀਀਀ऀ樀椀洀最攀甀椀渀䀀挀礀戀攀爀猀攀爀瘀椀挀攀猀⸀挀漀洀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀䬀攀攀瀀猀 琀栀攀 爀攀愀搀攀爀 最氀甀攀搀 琀漀਀਀ऀ怀䈀愀挀欀攀搀 甀瀀 戀礀⸀⸀搀攀琀愀椀氀攀搀        琀栀攀 瀀愀最攀✀ ⴀⴀ 䐀愀渀渀礀 夀攀攀Ⰰ 䐀愀渀渀礀਀਀ऀ琀攀挀栀渀椀挀愀氀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀✀ ⴀⴀ 吀爀甀搀椀攀  夀攀攀✀猀 爀攀瘀椀攀眀 漀昀 戀漀漀欀猀਀਀ऀ䴀愀挀䤀渀琀漀猀栀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀䰀愀 搀攀猀挀爀椀瀀挀椀漀渀 搀攀 氀愀猀਀਀ऀ怀䈀攀猀琀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 戀漀漀欀 䤀✀瘀攀 爀攀愀搀✀   搀攀琀攀渀挀椀漀渀攀猀Ⰰ 爀攀最椀猀琀爀漀猀਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 䨀椀洀 䰀椀瀀瀀愀爀搀                 礀瀀爀漀挀攀猀漀猀 氀攀最愀氀攀猀 攀猀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       攀猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀洀攀渀琀攀 椀渀琀攀爀攀猀愀渀琀攀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䈀爀椀氀氀愀渀琀 爀攀愀搀 ⴀ 眀椀氀氀 爀攀猀琀     䌀爀椀瀀琀漀Ⰰ 匀瀀愀椀渀਀਀ऀ猀愀昀攀氀礀 渀攀砀琀 琀栀攀 爀攀猀琀 漀昀 洀礀਀਀ऀ䜀椀戀猀漀渀Ⰰ 匀琀攀爀氀椀渀最 愀渀搀           怀䰀攀琀 洀攀 猀愀礀 栀漀眀 洀甀挀栀 䤀਀਀ऀ䈀爀甀渀渀攀爀⸀⸀⸀✀ ⴀⴀ                 攀渀樀漀礀攀搀 唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀⸀ 䤀 爀攀愀氀氀礀਀਀ऀ一攀椀氀⸀䜀愀爀戀甀琀琀䀀愀昀昀愀⸀最漀瘀⸀愀甀       琀栀漀甀最栀琀 椀琀 眀愀猀 昀愀猀挀椀渀愀琀椀渀最਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       愀渀搀 愀 最爀攀愀琀 爀攀愀搀⸀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䈀爀椀氀氀愀渀琀✀ ⴀⴀ                  瀀栀椀氀椀瀀开猀椀洀䀀椀搀最⸀挀漀洀 ⠀䔀搀椀琀漀爀Ⰰ਀਀ऀ最攀爀愀爀搀挀䀀漀渀攀⸀渀攀琀⸀愀甀             一攀琀眀漀爀欀 圀漀爀氀搀⤀਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䌀漀洀瀀攀氀氀椀渀最 爀攀愀搀椀渀最 昀漀爀 琀栀漀猀攀  怀䰀漀瘀攀搀 椀琀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ漀昀 甀猀 眀栀漀 眀愀渀琀 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 樀甀猀琀  欀愀漀猀䀀挀琀爀氀⸀挀漀洀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ猀愀氀愀挀椀漀甀猀 愀渀搀 栀礀瀀攀搀 猀渀椀瀀瀀攀琀猀✀਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 吀爀甀搀椀攀 䴀愀挀䤀渀琀漀猀栀Ⰰ 吀栀攀       怀䴀愀欀攀猀 琀栀攀 攀猀漀琀攀爀椀挀 眀漀爀氀搀 漀昀਀਀ऀ䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀                     琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 愀挀挀攀猀猀椀戀氀攀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 䈀漀漀欀猀攀氀氀攀爀 愀渀搀਀਀ऀ怀䌀漀洀瀀攀氀氀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ 䐀愀瘀椀搀 一椀挀栀漀氀猀Ⰰ 倀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀爀਀਀ऀ吀栀攀 䈀椀最 䤀猀猀甀攀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀䴀愀琀琀 倀椀攀渀椀渀最 琀漀氀搀 洀攀 愀戀漀甀琀਀਀ऀ怀䌀漀渀琀愀椀渀猀 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀攀挀栀渀椀挀愀氀     椀琀 愀渀搀 猀栀漀眀攀搀 洀攀 琀栀攀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀਀਀ऀ椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 椀洀瀀爀攀猀猀 愀渀礀漀渀攀  椀渀 吀栀攀 䄀最攀⸀⸀ 挀漀渀猀攀焀甀攀渀琀氀礀⸀⸀਀਀ऀ眀栀漀 挀愀渀 愀瀀瀀爀攀挀椀愀琀攀 椀琀✀ ⴀⴀ      眀攀 戀漀甀最栀琀 椀琀Ⰰ 眀攀 爀攀愀搀 椀琀Ⰰ 眀攀਀਀ऀ樀洀椀搀最氀攀礀䀀挀礀戀攀爀樀甀渀欀椀攀⸀挀漀洀       氀漀瘀攀搀 椀琀⸀ 㨀⤀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       挀愀洀猀漀渀䀀猀眀椀渀⸀攀搀甀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ怀䌀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 瀀甀琀 椀琀 搀漀眀渀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ吀爀甀搀椀攀 䴀愀挀䤀渀琀漀猀栀Ⰰ 吀栀攀          怀䴀攀攀猀氀攀瀀攀渀搀攀 戀漀漀欀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀                     䐀椀最椀昀愀挀攀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 一攀琀栀攀爀氀愀渀搀猀਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䐀攀瀀琀栀 漀昀 挀栀愀爀愀挀琀攀爀 愀渀搀 爀愀瀀椀搀  怀䴀攀琀椀挀甀氀漀甀猀氀礀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀攀搀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ瀀愀挀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ 䔀搀 䈀甀爀渀猀Ⰰ 䤀䈀䤀䌀      䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 䈀漀漀欀猀攀氀氀攀爀 愀渀搀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       倀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀爀਀਀ऀ怀䐀椀猀瀀氀愀礀猀 愀 氀攀瘀攀氀 漀昀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀਀਀ऀ愀渀搀 琀攀挀栀渀椀挀愀氀 甀渀搀攀爀猀琀愀渀搀椀渀最    怀䴀攀琀椀挀甀漀甀猀氀礀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀攀搀਀਀ऀ渀漀琀 洀愀琀挀栀攀搀 戀礀 漀琀栀攀爀 栀愀挀欀攀爀    瀀猀礀挀栀漀氀漀最椀挀愀氀 愀渀搀 猀漀挀椀愀氀਀਀ऀ戀漀漀欀猀✀ ⴀⴀ 䨀椀洀 䰀椀瀀瀀愀爀搀          瀀爀漀昀椀氀攀 漀昀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 䈀漀漀欀猀攀氀氀攀爀 愀渀搀਀਀ऀ怀䐀椀瘀攀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 愀渀搀 倀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀爀਀਀ऀ戀攀 猀眀攀瀀琀 椀渀琀漀 愀 琀栀爀椀氀氀椀渀最਀਀ऀ攀氀椀琀攀 爀攀愀氀洀✀ ⴀⴀ                怀䴀漀猀琀 戀爀椀氀氀椀愀渀琀 戀漀漀欀 䤀 栀愀瘀攀਀਀ऀ攀瘀戀甀爀渀猀䀀最琀攀⸀渀攀琀                攀瘀攀爀 爀攀愀搀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       瀀栀漀攀渀椀砀䀀攀椀猀愀⸀渀攀琀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ怀䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀 搀漀攀猀 渀漀琀 愀琀琀攀洀瀀琀 愀渀礀਀਀ऀ猀氀攀椀最栀琀猀 漀昀 栀愀渀搀 眀椀琀栀 樀愀爀最漀渀✀  怀一椀挀攀 眀漀爀欀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 䐀愀瘀椀搀 一椀挀栀漀氀猀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䈀椀最      愀氀攀瀀栀㄀䀀甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀⸀漀爀最਀਀ऀ䤀猀猀甀攀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀倀漀眀攀爀昀甀氀✀ ⴀⴀ 攀瘀戀甀爀渀猀䀀最琀攀⸀渀攀琀਀਀ऀ怀䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀 栀愀猀 挀氀攀愀爀氀礀 搀漀渀攀 栀攀爀਀਀ऀ爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀 眀攀氀氀✀ ⴀⴀ 䐀愀渀渀礀 夀攀攀Ⰰ   怀刀攀愀搀猀 氀椀欀攀 䰀甀搀氀甀洀⸀⸀ 䤀 氀漀瘀攀਀਀ऀ䐀愀渀渀礀 夀攀攀✀猀 爀攀瘀椀攀眀 漀昀 戀漀漀欀猀    琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀⸀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀琀礀氀攀 漀昀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       眀爀椀琀椀渀最 椀猀 琀栀攀 挀氀椀渀挀栀攀爀⸀⸀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀 栀愀琀 栀椀攀爀 䄀戀栀椀氀昀攀      樀洀樀䀀猀瀀攀攀搀渀攀琀⸀挀漀洀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ最攀猀挀栀愀昀昀攀渀✀ ⴀⴀ 椀堀Ⰰ 䜀攀爀洀愀渀礀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀刀攀愀搀猀 氀椀欀攀 愀 琀栀爀椀氀氀攀爀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀 椀猀 漀渀攀 猀洀愀爀琀 挀漀漀欀椀攀✀  吀栀攀 䄀最攀਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 䔀搀 䈀甀爀渀猀Ⰰ 䤀䈀䤀䌀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀刀椀瘀攀琀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀ऀ怀䔀氀 氀椀戀爀漀 琀椀攀渀攀 挀漀洀漀 昀甀攀渀琀攀猀 愀 䈀漀漀欀猀攀氀氀攀爀 愀渀搀 倀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀爀਀਀ऀ瘀愀爀椀漀猀 最爀甀瀀漀猀 搀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀਀਀ऀ愀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀漀猀 礀 琀漀搀愀猀 氀愀猀       怀刀椀瘀椀琀椀渀最 爀攀愀搀✀ⴀⴀ 吀栀攀਀਀ऀ猀攀渀琀攀渀挀椀愀猀 搀攀 氀漀猀 挀愀猀漀猀 搀攀     䄀搀攀氀愀椀搀攀 䄀搀瘀攀爀琀椀猀攀爀਀਀ऀ愀猀愀氀琀漀猀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀挀漀猀 搀攀 攀猀愀਀਀ऀ攀瀀漀挀愀✀ ⴀⴀ 䌀爀椀瀀琀漀Ⰰ 匀瀀愀椀渀        怀匀攀瘀攀爀愀氀 挀椀琀攀猀 琀漀 椀琀 椀渀 洀礀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       漀眀渀 戀漀漀欀 漀渀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀਀਀ऀ怀䔀渀樀漀礀攀搀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀℀✀ ⴀⴀ 䨀愀欀攀    眀愀爀昀愀爀攀✀ ⴀⴀ 倀爀漀昀⸀ 䐀漀爀漀琀栀礀਀਀ऀ䈀愀爀渀攀猀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䘀愀挀攀 ⠀唀䬀⤀          䐀攀渀渀椀渀最਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䔀渀琀椀爀攀氀礀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀氀✀ ⴀⴀ 刀漀氀氀椀渀最 怀匀欀愀氀氀 搀甀 氀愀㨀猀愀 唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀਀਀ऀ匀琀漀渀攀                          ⴀⴀ 䴀椀欀愀攀氀 倀愀眀氀漀Ⰰ 䤀渀琀攀爀渀攀琀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       圀漀爀氀搀Ⰰ 匀眀攀搀攀渀਀਀ऀ怀䔀猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀洀攀渀琀攀 椀渀琀攀爀攀猀愀渀琀攀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ䌀爀椀瀀琀漀Ⰰ 匀瀀愀椀渀                  怀吀䠀䤀匀 䈀伀伀䬀 䤀匀 䘀伀刀 夀伀唀℀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       氀甀挀愀猀戀䀀猀甀戀⸀渀攀琀⸀愀甀਀਀ऀ怀䔀砀挀攀氀氀攀渀琀 椀渀猀椀最栀琀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ搀挀眀䀀愀氀瀀栀愀氀椀渀欀⸀挀漀洀⸀愀甀           怀吀栀愀渀欀 礀漀甀 昀漀爀 猀甀挀栀 愀渀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䄀䴀䄀娀䤀一䜀 愀渀搀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀瘀攀 戀漀漀欀✀਀਀ऀ怀䔀砀挀攀氀氀攀渀琀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ       ⴀⴀ 樀愀猀漀渀瘀愀猀䀀栀漀琀洀愀椀氀⸀挀漀洀਀਀ऀ䔀搀椀琀漀爀Ⰰ 䤀䈀䤀䌀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀吀栀攀 爀攀愀搀攀爀 椀猀 爀攀愀搀椀氀礀 搀爀愀眀渀਀਀ऀ怀䔀砀挀攀氀氀攀渀琀⸀⸀ 䌀漀洀瀀愀爀攀搀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀  昀漀爀眀愀爀搀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 攀搀搀椀攀猀 漀昀਀਀ऀ䈀爀甀挀攀 匀琀攀爀氀椀渀最✀猀 琀攀砀琀 ⠀琀栀攀     琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 琀栀爀甀猀琀਀਀ऀ洀漀猀琀 漀戀瘀椀漀甀猀 挀漀洀瀀愀爀椀猀漀渀⤀Ⰰ 椀琀   愀渀搀 瀀愀爀爀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 愀渀搀਀਀ऀ洀愀欀攀猀 昀漀爀 洀甀挀栀 戀攀琀琀攀爀          琀栀攀椀爀 瀀甀爀猀甀攀爀猀✀ ⴀⴀ 䔀搀 䈀甀爀渀猀Ⰰ਀਀ऀ爀攀愀搀椀渀最⸀⸀ 䌀漀洀洀攀渀搀愀戀氀攀✀ ⴀⴀ      䤀䈀䤀䌀਀਀ऀ栀愀爀猀栀洀愀渀䀀瀀愀爀愀搀椀最洀⸀甀漀爀⸀攀搀甀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀吀栀攀 琀爀甀攀 猀琀漀爀椀攀猀 漀昀਀਀ऀ怀䔀砀琀爀愀漀爀搀椀渀愀爀礀✀ ⴀⴀ 刀漀氀氀椀渀最     唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 愀爀攀 猀椀洀瀀氀礀਀਀ऀ匀琀漀渀攀                          挀漀洀瀀攀氀氀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ 䐀愀瘀椀搀 一椀挀栀漀氀猀Ⰰ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       吀栀攀 䈀椀最 䤀猀猀甀攀਀਀ऀ怀䘀愀猀挀椀渀愀琀椀渀最 瀀椀攀挀攀 漀昀਀਀ऀ椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀瘀攀 樀漀甀爀渀愀氀椀猀洀✀ ⴀⴀ   怀吀栀攀爀攀 椀猀 洀甀挀栀 琀漀 愀搀洀椀爀攀 椀渀਀਀ऀ䨀椀洀 刀攀愀瘀椀猀Ⰰ 一攀琀眀漀爀欀 圀漀爀氀搀      琀栀攀 搀漀最最攀搀渀攀猀猀 眀椀琀栀 眀栀椀挀栀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀 昀漀氀氀漀眀猀 栀攀爀 猀甀戀樀攀挀琀猀✀਀਀ऀ怀䘀愀猀挀椀渀愀琀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ 䔀搀 䈀甀爀渀猀Ⰰ     ⴀⴀ 䜀椀搀攀漀 䠀愀椀最栀Ⰰ 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀ऀ䤀䈀䤀䌀                           䰀椀琀攀爀愀爀礀 匀甀瀀瀀氀椀洀攀渀琀਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䘀椀攀爀挀攀氀礀 椀渀搀攀瀀攀渀搀攀渀琀 琀栀椀渀欀椀渀最 怀吀栀漀爀漀甀最栀氀礀 攀渀樀漀礀攀搀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ昀漀甀渀搀 漀渀 攀瘀攀爀礀 瀀愀最攀✀ ⴀⴀ 䰀攀眀    匀甀稀愀渀渀攀 倀爀愀琀氀攀礀Ⰰ 䘀爀甀最愀氀 䘀椀氀洀猀਀਀ऀ䬀漀挀栀Ⰰ 娀䐀一䔀吀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       怀吀栀漀爀漀甀最栀氀礀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀攀搀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ怀䘀漀爀 琀栀漀猀攀 猀椀挀欀 漀昀 戀甀氀氀椀猀栀     䨀椀洀 刀攀愀瘀椀猀Ⰰ 一攀琀眀漀爀欀 圀漀爀氀搀਀਀ऀ挀礀戀攀爀瀀椀昀昀氀攀Ⰰ 唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀਀਀ऀ挀漀渀琀愀椀渀猀 愀渀礀 愀洀漀甀渀琀 漀昀         怀吀栀漀猀攀 椀渀挀氀椀渀攀搀 琀漀 猀攀攀欀 琀栀攀਀਀ऀ挀漀甀渀琀攀爀椀渀琀攀氀氀椀最攀渀挀攀⸀⸀∀ ⴀⴀ      甀渀瘀愀爀渀椀猀栀攀搀 琀爀甀琀栀 眀椀氀氀 昀椀渀搀਀਀ऀ䜀椀搀攀漀渀 䠀愀椀最栀Ⰰ 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀       唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 愀渀 攀砀挀攀氀氀攀渀琀਀਀ऀ䰀椀琀攀爀愀爀礀 匀甀瀀瀀氀椀洀攀渀琀            爀攀愀搀✀ ⴀⴀ 䜀攀漀爀最攀 匀洀椀琀栀Ⰰ 䌀爀礀瀀琀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       一攀眀猀਀਀ऀ怀䜀攀渀甀椀渀攀 瀀攀爀挀攀瀀琀椀漀渀✀ ⴀⴀ 䜀攀漀爀最攀਀਀ऀ匀洀椀琀栀Ⰰ 䌀爀礀瀀琀 一攀眀猀              怀吀漀琀愀氀氀礀 爀攀挀漀洀洀攀渀搀攀搀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       䴀愀琀琀栀攀眀 䜀爀攀攀渀Ⰰ 一攀琀䈀匀䐀਀਀ऀ怀䜀攀渀甀椀渀攀氀礀 昀愀猀挀椀渀愀琀椀渀最✀ ⴀⴀ     匀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 伀昀昀椀挀攀爀Ⰰ 愀甀琀栀漀爀 䤀刀䌀਀਀ऀ䐀愀瘀椀搀 一椀挀栀漀氀猀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䈀椀最 䤀猀猀甀攀   䤀䤀਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䜀爀攀愀琀 爀攀愀氀 氀椀昀攀 琀栀爀椀氀氀攀爀✀ ⴀⴀ  怀嘀攀爀礀 最漀漀搀Ⰰ 瘀攀爀礀 愀挀挀甀爀愀琀攀⸀⸀਀਀ऀ樀洀椀搀最氀攀礀䀀挀礀戀攀爀樀甀渀欀椀攀⸀挀漀洀       洀愀欀攀猀 昀漀爀 愀渀 椀渀琀攀爀攀猀琀椀渀最਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       挀漀渀琀爀愀猀琀 眀椀琀栀 戀漀漀欀猀 氀椀欀攀਀਀ऀ怀䜀爀椀瀀瀀椀渀最 䄀挀挀漀甀渀琀✀ⴀⴀ 吀栀攀       䌀甀挀欀漀漀✀猀 䔀最最Ⰰ 愀渀搀 吀愀欀攀搀漀眀渀✀਀਀ऀ䄀搀攀氀愀椀搀攀 䄀搀瘀攀爀琀椀猀攀爀            ⴀⴀ 戀琀栀攀爀氀䀀渀甀氀氀渀攀琀⸀渀攀琀 ⠀䌀漀搀攀砀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       匀甀爀瘀攀椀氀氀愀渀挀攀 䰀椀猀琀⤀਀਀ऀ怀䜀爀椀瀀瀀椀渀最Ⰰ 攀洀椀渀攀渀琀氀礀 爀攀愀搀愀戀氀攀✀਀਀ऀⴀⴀ 刀漀氀氀椀渀最 匀琀漀渀攀               怀圀伀圀℀ 圀栀愀琀 愀渀 椀渀挀爀攀搀椀戀氀攀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       爀攀愀搀℀ 夀漀甀爀 戀漀漀欀 挀愀瀀琀甀爀攀猀਀਀ऀ怀䠀椀最栀氀礀 椀渀琀攀渀猀攀 愀渀搀 攀渀樀漀礀愀戀氀攀  攀砀愀挀琀氀礀 眀栀愀琀 椀琀 眀愀猀 氀椀欀攀 昀漀爀਀਀ऀ爀攀愀搀✀ ⴀⴀ 刀漀氀氀椀渀最 匀琀漀渀攀         洀攀⸀⸀⸀✀  ⴀⴀ 䄀渀漀渀礀洀漀甀猀 䌀愀渀愀搀椀愀渀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       栀愀挀欀攀爀਀਀ऀ怀䠀椀最栀氀礀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀氀 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀瘀攀਀਀ऀ樀漀甀爀渀愀氀椀猀洀✀ ⴀⴀ 䜀椀搀攀漀 䠀愀椀最栀Ⰰ    怀圀攀氀氀 搀漀渀攀 愀渀搀 琀栀愀渀欀猀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 䰀椀琀攀爀愀爀礀 匀甀瀀瀀氀椀洀攀渀琀 匀欀椀渀渀礀䀀甀猀愀昀⸀漀爀最਀਀਀਀ऀ怀䠀椀最栀氀礀 爀攀挀漀洀洀攀渀搀攀搀✀ ⴀⴀ 䨀椀洀    怀圀栀愀琀 椀猀 洀漀猀琀 椀洀瀀爀攀猀猀椀瘀攀Ⰰ਀਀ऀ䰀椀瀀瀀愀爀搀                        栀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 椀猀 琀栀攀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       搀攀琀愀椀氀 猀栀攀 栀愀猀 洀愀渀愀最攀搀 琀漀਀਀ऀ怀圀椀氀氀 匀甀爀瀀爀椀猀攀✀ ⴀⴀ 䐀愀爀爀攀渀      最愀爀渀攀爀 愀戀漀甀琀 栀攀爀 猀甀戀樀攀挀琀猀㨀਀਀ऀ刀攀攀搀Ⰰ 愀甀琀栀漀爀Ⰰ 椀瀀昀椀爀攀眀愀氀氀       洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 愀渀礀琀栀椀渀最 攀氀猀攀Ⰰ 椀琀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       椀猀 琀栀椀猀 椀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 最椀瘀攀猀਀਀ऀ怀圀漀渀搀攀爀昀甀氀 䈀漀漀欀✀ ⴀⴀ            唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 椀琀猀 愀瀀瀀攀愀氀✀ ⴀⴀ਀਀ऀ匀琀攀瘀攀嘀䀀瀀椀最瀀漀渀搀⸀渀攀琀⸀愀甀          䐀愀渀渀礀 夀攀攀Ⰰ 䐀愀渀渀礀 夀攀攀✀猀 爀攀瘀椀攀眀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ       漀昀 戀漀漀欀猀਀਀਀਀ऀऀ       昀攀攀搀戀愀挀欀䀀甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀ⴀ戀漀漀欀⸀挀漀洀਀਀਀਀    开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀   ਀਀ऀऀ     倀刀䔀䘀䄀䌀䔀 吀伀 吀䠀䔀 䔀䰀䔀䌀吀刀伀一䤀䌀 䔀䐀䤀吀䤀伀一਀਀    开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀਀਀   圀栀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 愀渀 愀甀琀栀漀爀 最椀瘀攀 愀眀愀礀 愀渀 甀渀氀椀洀椀琀攀搀 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 挀漀瀀椀攀猀 漀昀 栀攀爀 戀漀漀欀਀਀   昀漀爀 昀爀攀攀㼀਀਀਀਀   吀栀愀琀✀猀 愀 最漀漀搀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀✀猀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀攀爀Ⰰ 䨀甀氀椀愀渀਀਀   䄀猀猀愀渀最攀Ⰰ 昀椀爀猀琀 猀甀最最攀猀琀攀搀 爀攀氀攀愀猀椀渀最 愀渀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 一攀琀 昀漀爀 昀爀攀攀Ⰰ 䤀 栀愀搀 琀漀 猀琀漀瀀 愀渀搀 琀栀椀渀欀 愀戀漀甀琀 樀甀猀琀 琀栀愀琀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀਀਀   䤀✀搀 猀瀀攀渀琀 渀攀愀爀氀礀 琀栀爀攀攀 礀攀愀爀猀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀椀渀最Ⰰ 眀爀椀琀椀渀最 愀渀搀 攀搀椀琀椀渀最 琀栀攀 渀攀愀爀氀礀਀਀   㔀   瀀愀最攀猀 漀昀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀⸀ 䨀甀氀椀愀渀 栀愀搀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 琀栀漀甀猀愀渀搀猀 漀昀਀਀   栀漀甀爀猀 搀漀椀渀最 瀀愀椀渀猀琀愀欀椀渀最 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀㬀 搀椀猀挀漀瘀攀爀椀渀最 愀渀搀 挀甀氀琀椀瘀愀琀椀渀最 猀漀甀爀挀攀猀Ⰰ਀਀   搀椀最最椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 最爀攀愀琀 爀攀猀漀甀爀挀攀昀甀氀渀攀猀猀 椀渀琀漀 漀戀猀挀甀爀攀 搀愀琀愀戀愀猀攀猀 愀渀搀 氀攀最愀氀਀਀   瀀愀瀀攀爀猀Ⰰ 渀漀琀 琀漀 洀攀渀琀椀漀渀 瀀爀漀瘀椀搀椀渀最 瘀愀氀甀愀戀氀攀 攀搀椀琀漀爀椀愀氀 愀搀瘀椀挀攀⸀਀਀਀਀   匀漀 眀栀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 䤀 最椀瘀攀 愀眀愀礀 琀栀椀猀 挀愀爀攀昀甀氀氀礀 爀椀瀀攀渀攀搀 昀爀甀椀琀 昀漀爀 昀爀攀攀㼀਀਀਀਀   䈀攀挀愀甀猀攀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 樀漀礀 漀昀 挀爀攀愀琀椀渀最 愀 瀀椀攀挀攀 漀昀 愀爀琀 椀猀 椀渀 欀渀漀眀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀਀਀   洀愀渀礀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 挀愀渀 ⴀ 愀渀搀 愀爀攀 ⴀ 攀渀樀漀礀椀渀最 椀琀⸀ 倀愀爀琀椀挀甀氀愀爀氀礀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 眀栀漀 挀愀渀✀琀਀਀   漀琀栀攀爀眀椀猀攀 愀昀昀漀爀搀 琀漀 瀀愀礀 ␀㄀㄀ 唀匀䐀 昀漀爀 愀 戀漀漀欀⸀ 倀攀漀瀀氀攀 猀甀挀栀 愀猀 挀愀猀栀 猀琀爀愀瀀瀀攀搀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀猀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 戀漀漀欀 椀猀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀洀Ⰰ 琀栀攀椀爀 氀椀瘀攀猀 愀渀搀 漀戀猀攀猀猀椀漀渀猀⸀ 䤀琀 爀甀戀猀਀਀   挀氀攀愀爀 愀 猀洀愀氀氀 挀椀爀挀氀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 昀爀漀猀琀攀搀 最氀愀猀猀 猀漀 琀栀攀 爀攀愀搀攀爀 挀愀渀 瀀攀攀爀 椀渀琀漀਀਀   琀栀愀琀 栀愀稀礀 眀漀爀氀搀⸀ 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 戀攀氀漀渀最猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 一攀琀Ⰰ 椀渀 琀栀攀椀爀 攀瀀栀攀洀攀爀愀氀਀਀   氀愀渀搀猀挀愀瀀攀⸀਀਀਀਀   吀栀攀 挀爀椀琀椀挀猀 栀愀瘀攀 戀攀攀渀 最漀漀搀 琀漀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀Ⰰ 昀漀爀 眀栀椀挀栀 䤀 愀洀 瘀攀爀礀਀਀   最爀愀琀攀昀甀氀⸀ 䈀甀琀 琀栀攀 戀攀猀琀 瀀爀愀椀猀攀 挀愀洀攀 昀爀漀洀 琀眀漀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 搀攀琀愀椀氀攀搀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀⸀ 匀甀爀瀀爀椀猀椀渀最 瀀爀愀椀猀攀Ⰰ 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 眀栀椀氀攀 琀栀攀 琀攀砀琀 椀猀 昀爀攀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   渀愀爀爀愀琀椀瘀攀 洀漀爀愀氀椀猀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 瀀氀愀最甀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 眀漀爀欀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 猀攀氀攀挀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀਀਀   椀猀 漀昀琀攀渀 瘀攀爀礀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀 愀渀搀 攀瘀漀欀攀猀 洀椀砀攀搀 猀礀洀瀀愀琀栀椀攀猀⸀ 伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀Ⰰ਀਀   䄀渀琀栀爀愀砀 搀爀漀瀀瀀攀搀 戀礀 洀礀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 琀漀 猀愀礀 怀䠀椀✀⸀ 伀甀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 戀氀甀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 猀愀椀搀 眀椀琀栀਀਀   愀 渀漀琀攀 漀昀 愀洀愀稀攀洀攀渀琀Ⰰ 怀圀栀攀渀 䤀 爀攀愀搀 琀栀漀猀攀 挀栀愀瀀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 椀琀 眀愀猀 猀漀 爀攀愀氀Ⰰ 愀猀 椀昀਀਀   礀漀甀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 爀椀最栀琀 琀栀攀爀攀 椀渀猀椀搀攀 洀礀 栀攀愀搀✀⸀ 一漀琀 氀漀渀最 愀昀琀攀爀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 栀愀氀昀 愀਀਀   眀漀爀氀搀 愀眀愀礀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 眀椀琀栀 愀 爀攀愀氀 琀漀渀攀 漀昀 戀攀眀椀氀搀攀爀攀搀 椀渀挀爀攀搀甀氀椀琀礀 椀渀 栀椀猀 瘀漀椀挀攀਀਀   洀愀搀攀 攀砀愀挀琀氀礀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 漀戀猀攀爀瘀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䘀漀爀 愀 眀爀椀琀攀爀Ⰰ 椀琀 樀甀猀琀 搀漀攀猀渀✀琀 最攀琀 愀渀礀਀਀   戀攀琀琀攀爀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀愀琀⸀਀਀਀਀   䈀礀 爀攀氀攀愀猀椀渀最 琀栀椀猀 戀漀漀欀 昀漀爀 昀爀攀攀 漀渀 琀栀攀 一攀琀Ⰰ 䤀✀洀 栀漀瀀椀渀最 洀漀爀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀਀਀   眀椀氀氀 渀漀琀 漀渀氀礀 攀渀樀漀礀 琀栀攀 猀琀漀爀礀 漀昀 栀漀眀 琀栀攀 椀渀琀攀爀渀愀琀椀漀渀愀氀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀   甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 爀漀猀攀 琀漀 瀀漀眀攀爀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 愀氀猀漀 洀愀欀攀 琀栀攀 樀漀甀爀渀攀礀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 洀椀渀搀猀਀਀   漀昀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 䤀 昀椀爀猀琀 戀攀最愀渀 猀欀攀琀挀栀椀渀最 漀甀琀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀✀猀਀਀   猀琀爀甀挀琀甀爀攀Ⰰ 䤀 搀攀挀椀搀攀搀 琀漀 最漀 眀椀琀栀 搀攀瀀琀栀⸀ 䤀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 爀攀愀搀攀爀 琀漀਀਀   琀栀椀渀欀Ⰰ ✀一伀圀 䤀 甀渀搀攀爀猀琀愀渀搀Ⰰ 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 䤀 琀漀漀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀爀攀⸀✀ 䤀 栀漀瀀攀 琀栀漀猀攀਀਀   眀漀爀搀猀 眀椀氀氀 攀渀琀攀爀 礀漀甀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀猀 愀猀 礀漀甀 爀攀愀搀 琀栀椀猀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 戀漀漀欀⸀਀਀਀਀   䴀椀挀栀愀攀氀 䠀愀氀氀Ⰰ 愀 猀甀瀀攀爀猀洀愀爀琀 氀愀眀礀攀爀 漀渀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀✀猀 氀攀最愀氀 琀攀愀洀Ⰰ 琀漀氀搀 洀攀਀਀   椀渀 䨀甀氀礀 氀愀猀琀 礀攀愀爀 栀攀 猀愀眀 愀 礀漀甀渀最 洀愀渀 椀渀 匀礀搀渀攀礀 爀攀愀搀椀渀最 愀 挀漀瀀礀 漀昀਀਀   怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 戀攀猀椀搀攀 栀椀洀 漀渀 琀栀攀 ⌀㌀㠀  戀甀猀 琀漀 一漀爀琀栀 䈀漀渀搀椀⸀ 䴀椀挀栀愀攀氀਀਀   猀愀椀搀 栀攀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 氀攀愀渀 漀瘀攀爀 愀渀搀 瀀爀漀挀氀愀椀洀 瀀爀漀甀搀氀礀Ⰰ 怀䤀 氀攀最愀氀氀攀搀 琀栀愀琀਀਀   戀漀漀欀℀✀⸀ 䤀渀猀琀攀愀搀Ⰰ 栀攀 挀栀漀猀攀 琀漀 眀愀琀挀栀 琀栀攀 礀漀甀渀最 洀愀渀✀猀 爀攀愀挀琀椀漀渀猀⸀਀਀਀਀   吀栀攀 礀漀甀渀最 洀愀渀 眀愀猀 挀漀洀瀀氀攀琀攀氀礀 愀戀猀漀爀戀攀搀Ⰰ 爀攀愀搀椀渀最 栀甀渀最爀椀氀礀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 栀椀猀਀਀   眀攀氀氀ⴀ眀漀爀渀 挀漀瀀礀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 栀攀 栀愀搀 挀漀洀瀀氀攀琀攀氀礀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀椀猀攀搀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀愀最攀猀 眀攀爀攀਀਀   挀漀瘀攀爀攀搀 椀渀 栀椀最栀氀椀最栀琀攀爀Ⰰ 猀挀爀愀眀氀攀搀 洀愀爀最椀渀 眀爀椀琀椀渀最 愀渀搀 瀀漀猀琀ⴀ椀琀 渀漀琀攀猀⸀ 䠀攀਀਀   栀愀搀 甀渀搀攀爀氀椀渀攀搀 猀攀挀琀椀漀渀猀 愀渀搀 搀漀最ⴀ攀愀爀攀搀 瀀愀最攀猀⸀ 䤀昀 琀栀攀 戀甀猀 栀愀搀 搀攀琀漀甀爀攀搀 琀漀਀਀   䈀爀椀猀戀愀渀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 瀀爀漀戀愀戀氀礀 眀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 栀愀瘀攀 渀漀琀椀挀攀搀⸀਀਀਀਀   䤀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀愀琀⸀ 䌀愀氀氀 洀攀 猀甀戀瘀攀爀猀椀瘀攀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 䤀✀洀 挀栀甀昀昀攀搀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 椀猀਀਀   攀渀最愀最椀渀最 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀漀 洀愀欀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 洀椀猀猀 戀甀猀 猀琀漀瀀猀⸀ 䤀琀 洀愀欀攀猀 洀攀 栀愀瀀瀀礀Ⰰ 愀渀搀਀਀   栀愀瀀瀀礀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 甀猀甀愀氀氀礀 眀愀渀琀 琀漀 猀栀愀爀攀⸀਀਀਀਀   吀栀攀爀攀 愀爀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 爀攀愀猀漀渀猀 昀漀爀 爀攀氀攀愀猀椀渀最 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 椀渀 琀栀椀猀 昀漀爀洀愀琀⸀ 吀栀攀਀਀   攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 椀猀 戀攀椀渀最 搀漀渀愀琀攀搀 琀漀 琀栀攀 瘀椀猀椀漀渀愀爀礀 倀爀漀樀攀挀琀 䜀甀琀攀渀戀甀爀最Ⰰ਀਀   愀 挀漀氀氀攀挀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 昀爀攀攀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 戀漀漀欀猀 爀甀渀 眀椀琀栀 洀椀猀猀椀漀渀愀爀礀 稀攀愀氀 戀礀਀਀   䴀椀挀栀愀攀氀 䠀愀爀琀⸀਀਀਀਀   倀爀漀樀攀挀琀 䜀甀琀攀渀戀甀爀最 瀀爀漀洀椀猀攀猀 琀漀 欀攀攀瀀 漀氀搀 漀甀琀ⴀ漀昀ⴀ瀀爀椀渀琀 戀漀漀欀猀 椀渀 昀爀攀攀਀਀   怀怀攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀✀✀ 瀀爀椀渀琀 昀漀爀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 琀漀 戀爀椀渀最 氀椀琀攀爀愀琀甀爀攀 琀漀 琀栀漀猀攀 眀栀漀 挀愀渀✀琀਀਀   愀昀昀漀爀搀 戀漀漀欀猀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀漀 戀爀椀最栀琀攀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 瘀椀猀甀愀氀氀礀਀਀   椀洀瀀愀椀爀攀搀⸀ 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 椀猀渀✀琀 漀甀琀 漀昀 瀀爀椀渀琀 ⴀⴀ 愀渀搀 氀漀渀最 洀愀礀 椀琀 爀攀洀愀椀渀਀਀   琀栀愀琀 眀愀礀 ⴀⴀ 戀甀琀 琀栀漀猀攀 愀爀攀 氀愀甀搀愀戀氀攀 最漀愀氀猀⸀ 䤀 眀爀漀琀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 怀䤀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀琀椀漀渀✀਀਀   琀漀 琀栀攀 瀀爀椀渀琀攀搀 攀搀椀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 洀礀 最爀攀愀琀 愀甀渀琀Ⰰ 愀 搀椀瘀攀爀 愀渀搀 愀爀琀椀猀琀 眀栀漀਀਀   瀀椀漀渀攀攀爀攀搀 甀渀搀攀爀眀愀琀攀爀 瀀愀椀渀琀椀渀最 椀渀 琀栀攀 ㄀㤀㐀 猀⸀  匀栀攀 瀀爀漀瘀椀搀攀搀 洀攀 眀椀琀栀 愀 欀椀渀搀਀਀   漀昀 椀渀猀瀀椀爀愀琀椀漀渀 昀漀爀 琀栀椀猀 戀漀漀欀⸀ 圀栀愀琀 䤀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 洀攀渀琀椀漀渀 椀猀 琀栀愀琀 愀猀 愀 爀攀猀甀氀琀਀਀   漀昀 洀愀挀甀氀愀爀 搀攀最攀渀攀爀愀琀椀漀渀 椀渀 戀漀琀栀 攀礀攀猀Ⰰ 猀栀攀 椀猀 渀漀眀 戀氀椀渀搀⸀ 匀栀攀 挀愀渀 渀漀਀਀   氀漀渀最攀爀 瀀愀椀渀琀 漀爀 搀椀瘀攀⸀ 䈀甀琀 猀栀攀 搀漀攀猀 爀攀愀搀 ⴀ 愀瘀椀搀氀礀 ⴀ 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 怀琀愀氀欀椀渀最਀਀   戀漀漀欀猀✀⸀ 匀栀攀 椀猀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 爀攀愀猀漀渀 䤀 搀攀挀椀搀攀搀 琀漀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 椀渀 琀栀椀猀਀਀   昀漀爀洀愀琀⸀਀਀਀਀   匀漀Ⰰ 渀漀眀 礀漀甀 挀愀渀 搀漀眀渀氀漀愀搀 愀渀搀 爀攀愀搀 琀栀攀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀਀਀   怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 昀漀爀 昀爀攀攀⸀ 夀漀甀 挀愀渀 愀氀猀漀 猀攀渀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀欀 琀漀 礀漀甀爀 昀爀椀攀渀搀猀 昀漀爀਀਀   昀爀攀攀⸀ 伀爀 礀漀甀爀 攀渀攀洀椀攀猀⸀ 䄀琀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 愀 洀攀最愀戀礀琀攀 漀昀 瀀氀愀椀渀 琀攀砀琀 攀愀挀栀Ⰰ 愀 昀攀眀਀਀   搀漀稀攀渀 挀漀瀀椀攀猀 漀昀 怀唀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀✀ 洀愀欀攀 愀渀 攀砀琀爀攀洀攀氀礀 攀昀昀攀挀琀椀瘀攀 洀愀椀氀 戀漀洀戀⸀਀਀਀਀   吀栀愀琀✀猀 愀 樀漀欀攀Ⰰ 昀漀氀欀猀Ⰰ 渀漀琀 愀 猀甀最最攀猀琀椀漀渀⸀ 㬀ⴀ⤀਀਀਀਀   䰀椀欀攀 洀愀渀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 椀渀 琀栀椀猀 戀漀漀欀Ⰰ 䤀✀洀 渀漀琀 戀椀最 漀渀 爀甀氀攀猀⸀ 䘀漀爀琀甀渀愀琀攀氀礀Ⰰ਀਀   琀栀攀爀攀 愀爀攀渀✀琀 洀愀渀礀 琀栀愀琀 挀漀洀攀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀椀猀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀⸀ 䐀漀渀✀琀 瀀爀椀渀琀਀਀   琀栀攀 眀漀爀欀 漀渀 瀀愀瀀攀爀Ⰰ 䌀䐀 漀爀 愀渀礀 漀琀栀攀爀 昀漀爀洀愀琀Ⰰ 攀砀挀攀瀀琀 昀漀爀 礀漀甀爀 漀眀渀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀਀਀   爀攀愀搀椀渀最 瀀氀攀愀猀甀爀攀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 椀渀挀氀甀搀攀猀 甀猀椀渀最 琀栀攀 眀漀爀欀 愀猀 琀攀愀挀栀椀渀最 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 椀渀਀਀   椀渀猀琀椀琀甀琀椀漀渀猀⸀ 夀漀甀 洀甀猀琀 渀漀琀 愀氀琀攀爀 漀爀 琀爀甀渀挀愀琀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀欀 椀渀 愀渀礀 眀愀礀⸀ 夀漀甀਀਀   洀甀猀琀 渀漀琀 爀攀搀椀猀琀爀椀戀甀琀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀欀 昀漀爀 愀渀礀 猀漀爀琀 漀昀 瀀愀礀洀攀渀琀Ⰰ 椀渀挀氀甀搀椀渀最਀਀   猀攀氀氀椀渀最 椀琀 漀渀 椀琀猀 漀眀渀 漀爀 愀猀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 愀 瀀愀挀欀愀最攀⸀ 刀愀渀搀漀洀 䠀漀甀猀攀 椀猀 愀਀਀   昀爀椀攀渀搀氀礀 瀀氀愀挀攀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 愀猀 漀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀✀猀 氀愀爀最攀猀琀 瀀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀爀猀 椀琀 栀愀猀 愀਀਀   挀漀氀氀攀挀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 攀焀甀愀氀氀礀 氀愀爀最攀 氀愀眀礀攀爀猀⸀ 䴀攀猀猀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀洀 眀椀氀氀 氀攀愀瘀攀 礀漀甀਀਀   眀椀琀栀 猀挀愀爀猀 椀渀 瀀氀愀挀攀猀 琀栀愀琀 挀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 栀愀爀搀 琀漀 攀砀瀀氀愀椀渀 琀漀 愀渀礀 昀甀琀甀爀攀਀਀   瀀愀爀琀渀攀爀⸀਀਀਀਀   䤀昀 礀漀甀 眀愀渀琀 琀漀 搀漀 愀渀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀猀攀 琀栀椀渀最猀Ⰰ 瀀氀攀愀猀攀 挀漀渀琀愀挀琀 洀攀 漀爀 洀礀 氀椀琀攀爀愀爀礀਀਀   愀最攀渀琀猀 䌀甀爀琀椀猀 䈀爀漀眀渀 ☀ 䌀漀 昀椀爀猀琀⸀ 䤀 爀攀琀愀椀渀 琀栀攀 挀漀瀀礀爀椀最栀琀 漀渀 琀栀攀਀਀   眀漀爀欀⸀ 䨀甀氀椀愀渀 䄀猀猀愀渀最攀 搀攀猀椀最渀攀搀 琀栀攀 攀氀攀最愀渀琀 氀愀礀漀甀琀 漀昀 琀栀椀猀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀਀਀   攀搀椀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 栀攀 爀攀琀愀椀渀猀 漀眀渀攀爀猀栀椀瀀 漀昀 琀栀椀猀 搀攀猀椀最渀 愀渀搀 氀愀礀漀甀琀⸀਀਀਀਀   䤀昀 礀漀甀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀攀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀Ⰰ 搀漀 戀甀礀 琀栀攀 瀀愀瀀攀爀਀਀   瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀⸀ 圀栀礀㼀 䘀漀爀 猀琀愀爀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 椀琀✀猀 渀漀琀 漀渀氀礀 洀甀挀栀 攀愀猀椀攀爀 琀漀 爀攀愀搀 漀渀 琀栀攀਀਀   戀甀猀Ⰰ 椀琀猀 洀甀挀栀 攀愀猀椀攀爀 琀漀 爀攀愀搀 昀甀氀氀 猀琀漀瀀⸀ 䤀琀✀猀 愀氀猀漀 攀愀猀椀攀爀 琀漀 琀栀甀洀戀਀਀   琀栀爀漀甀最栀Ⰰ 栀椀最栀氀椀最栀琀Ⰰ 猀挀爀椀戀戀氀攀 漀渀Ⰰ 搀爀椀戀戀氀攀 漀渀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 猀栀漀眀 漀昀昀⸀  䤀琀 渀攀瘀攀爀਀਀   渀攀攀搀猀 戀愀琀琀攀爀椀攀猀⸀ 䤀琀 挀愀渀 爀甀渀 漀渀 猀漀氀愀爀 瀀漀眀攀爀 愀渀搀 挀愀渀搀氀攀猀⸀ 䤀琀 氀漀漀欀猀 猀攀砀礀 漀渀਀਀   礀漀甀爀 戀漀漀欀猀栀攀氀昀Ⰰ 戀礀 礀漀甀爀 戀攀搀 愀渀搀 椀渀 礀漀甀爀 戀攀搀⸀ 䤀昀 礀漀甀 愀爀攀 愀 洀愀氀攀 最攀攀欀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   戀漀漀欀 挀漀洀攀猀 眀椀琀栀 愀 最椀爀氀ⴀ洀愀最渀攀琀 最甀愀爀愀渀琀攀攀⸀  吀栀攀 瀀愀瀀攀爀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 椀猀 洀甀挀栀਀਀   攀愀猀椀攀爀 琀漀 氀攀渀搀 琀漀 愀 瀀爀漀猀瀀攀挀琀椀瘀攀 最椀爀氀昀爀椀攀渀搀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 猀栀攀✀猀 昀椀渀椀猀栀攀搀 爀攀愀搀椀渀最਀਀   琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀Ⰰ 愀猀欀 栀攀爀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 琀栀爀椀氀氀攀搀 栀攀爀 琀漀 瀀椀攀挀攀猀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 渀漀搀਀਀   欀渀漀眀椀渀最氀礀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 猀愀礀 挀漀礀氀礀 怀圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 䤀✀瘀攀 渀攀瘀攀爀 愀搀洀椀琀琀攀搀 琀栀椀猀 琀漀 愀渀礀漀渀攀਀਀   攀砀挀攀瀀琀 琀栀攀 愀甀琀栀漀爀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 䘀攀搀猀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 ⸀⸀✀਀਀਀਀   䄀渀搀 琀栀攀 洀漀猀琀 椀洀瀀漀爀琀愀渀琀 爀攀愀猀漀渀 琀漀 瀀甀爀挀栀愀猀攀 愀 瀀愀瀀攀爀 挀漀瀀礀㼀 䈀攀挀愀甀猀攀 戀甀礀椀渀最਀਀   琀栀攀 瀀爀椀渀琀攀搀 攀搀椀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 戀漀漀欀 氀攀琀猀 琀栀攀 愀甀琀栀漀爀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀 琀漀 眀爀椀琀攀 洀漀爀攀਀਀   昀椀渀攀 戀漀漀欀猀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀椀猀 漀渀攀⸀਀਀਀਀   䔀渀樀漀礀℀਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀऀऀऀऀ   匀甀攀氀攀琀琀攀 䐀爀攀礀昀甀猀਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀऀऀऀऀ     䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀 ㈀  ㄀਀਀਀਀                                                            猀甀攀氀攀琀琀攀䀀椀焀⸀漀爀最਀਀    开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀਀਀਀਀   䰀椀琀攀爀愀爀礀 䘀爀攀攀眀愀爀攀㨀 一漀琀 昀漀爀 䌀漀洀洀攀爀挀椀愀氀 唀猀攀⸀਀਀਀਀
   Copyright (c) 1997, 2001 Suelette Dreyfus & Julian Assange



   This HTML and text electronic version was arranged by Julian Assange

    and is based on the printed paper edition.



   Permission is granted to make and distribute verbatim copies of this

   publication provided the copyright notice and this permission notice are

   preserved on all copies and distribution is without fee.





    ___________________________________________________________________

				     

			   RESEARCHER'S INTRODUCTION

    ___________________________________________________________________



    "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask,

    and he will tell you the truth" -- Oscar Wilde



    "What is essential is invisible to the eye" -- Antoine De Saint-Exupery



    "But, how do you *know* it happened like that?" -- Reader



    Due of the seamless nature of `Underground' this is a reasonable

    question to ask, although hints can be found at the back of the book in

    the Bibliography and Endnotes. The simple answer to this question is

    that we conducted over a hundred interviews and collected around 40,000

    pages of primary documentation; telephone intercepts, data intercepts,

    log-files, witness statements, confessions, judgements. Telephone dialog

    and on-line discussions are drawn directly from the latter. Every

    significant hacking incident mentioned in this book has reams of

    primary documentation behind it. System X included.



    The non-simple answer goes more like this:



    In chapter 4, Par, one of the principle subjects of this book, is being

    watched by the Secret Service. He's on the run. He's a wanted

    fugitive. He's hiding out with another hacker, Nibbler in a motel

    chalet, Black Mountain, North Carolina. The Secret Service move in.

    The incident is vital in explaining Par's life on the run and the

    nature of his interaction with the Secret Service. Yet, just before the

    final edits of this book were to go the publisher, all the pages

    relating to the Block Mountain incident were about to be pulled. Why?



    Suelette had flown to Tuscon Az where she spent three days

    interviewing Par. I had spent dozens of hours interviewing Par on

    the phone and on-line. Par gave both of us extraordinary access to

    his life. While Par displayed a high degree of paranoia about why

    events had unfolded in the manner they had, he was consistent,

    detailed and believable as to the events themselves. He showed

    very little blurring of these two realities, but we needed to show

    none at all.



    During Par's time on the run, the international computer underground

    was a small and strongly connected place. We had already

    co-incidentally interviewed half a dozen hackers he had communicated

    with at various times during his zig-zag flight across America. Suelette

    also spoke at length to his lead lawyer Richard Rosen, who, after

    getting the all-clear from Par, was kind enough to send us a copy of

    the legal brief.  We had logs of messages Par had written on

    underground BBS's. We had data intercepts of other hackers in

    conversation with Par. We had obtained various Secret Service documents

    and propriety security reports relating to Par's activities. I had

    extensively interviewed his Swiss girlfriend Theorem (who had also been

    involved with Electron and Pengo), and yes, she did have a melting

    French accent.



    Altogether we had an enormous amount of material on Par's activities,

    all of which was consistent with what Par had said during his

    interviews, but none of it, including Rosen's file, contained any

    reference to Black Mountain, NC. Rosen, Theorem and others had heard

    about a SS raid on the run, yet when the story was traced back, it

    always led to one source. To Par.



    Was Par having us on? Par had said that he had made a telephone call to

    Theorem in Switzerland from a phone booth outside the motel a day or

    two before the Secret Service raid.  During a storm. Not just any

    storm. Hurricane Hugo. But archival news reports on Hugo discussed it

    hitting South Carolina, not North Carolina. And not Black

    Mountain. Theorem remembered Par calling once during a storm. But not

    Hugo. And she didn't remember it in relation to the Black Mountain

    raid.



    Par had destroyed most of his legal documents, in circumstances that

    become clear in the book, but of the hundreds of pages of documentary

    material we had obtained from other sources there was wasn't a single

    mention of Black Mountain.  The Black Mountain Motel didn't seem to

    exist. Par said Nibbler had moved and couldn't be located.  Dozens of

    calls by Suelette to the Secret Service told us what we didn't want to

    hear.  The agents we thought most likely to have been involved in the

    the hypothetical Black Mountain incident had either left the Secret

    Service or were otherwise unreachable.  The Secret Service had no idea

    who would have been involved, because while Par was still listed in the

    Secret Service central database, his profile, contained three

    significant annotations:



		1) Another agency had ``borrowed'' parts Par's file

		2) There were medical ``issues'' surrounding Par

		3) SS documents covering the time of Black Mountain

		   incident had been destroyed for various reasons

	           that become clear the book.

		4) The remaining SS documents had been moved into

		   ``deep-storage'' and would take two weeks to retrieve.

    

    With only one week before our publisher's ``use it or lose it''

    dead-line, the chances of obtaining secondary confirmation of the Black

    Mountain events did not look promising.



    While we waited for leads on the long trail of ex, transfered and

    seconded SS agents who might have been involved in the Black Mountain

    raid, I turned to resolving the two inconsistencies in Par's story;

    Hurricane Hugo and the strange invisibility of the Black Mountain

    Motel.



    Hurricane Hugo had wreathed a path of destruction, but like most most

    hurricanes heading directly into a continental land-mass it had started

    out big and ended up small. News reports followed this pattern, with a

    large amount of material on its initial impact, but little or nothing

    about subsequent events. Finally I obtained detailed time by velocity

    weather maps from the National Reconnaissance Office, which showed the

    remaining Hugo epicentre ripping through Charlotte NC (pop. 400k)

    before spending itself on the Carolinas. Database searches turned up a

    report by Natalie, D. & Ball, W, EIS Coordinator, North Carolina

    Emergency Management, `How North Carolina Managed Hurricane Hugo' --

    which was used to flesh out the scenes in Chapter 4 describing Par's

    escape to New York via the Charlotte Airport.

    

    Old Fashioned gum-shoe leg-work, calling every motel in Black Mountain

    and the surrounding area, revealed that the Black Mountain Motel had

    changed name, ownership and.. all its staff. Par's story was holding,

    but in some ways I wished it hadn't. We were back to square one in terms

    of gaining independent secondary confirmation.



    Who else could have been involved? There must have been a paper-trail

    outside of Washington. Perhaps the SS representation in Charlotte had

    something? No. Perhaps there were records of the warrants in the

    Charlotte courts? No. Perhaps NC state police attended the SS raid in

    support? Maybe, but finding warm bodies who had been directly involved

    proved proved futile. If it was a SS case, they had no indexable

    records that they were willing to provide. What about the local

    coppers? An SS raid on a fugitive computer hacker holed up at one of

    the local motels was not the sort of event that would be likely to have

    passed unnoticed at the Black Mountain county police office, indexable

    records or not.



    Neither however, were international telephone calls from strangely

    accented foreign-nationals wanting to know about them. Perhaps the Reds

    were no-longer under the beds, but in Black Mountain, this could be

    explained away by the fact they were now hanging out in phone booths. I

    waited for a new shift at the Black Mountain county police office,

    hoping against hope, that the officer I had spoken to wouldn't

    contaminate his replacement. Shamed, I resorted to using that most

    special of US militia infiltration devices. An American accent and a

    woman's touch. Suelette weaved her magic. The Black Mountain raid had

    taken place. The county police had supported it. We had our

    confirmation.

     

    While this anecdote is a strong account, it's also representative one.

    Every chapter in underground was formed from many stories like

    it. They're unseen, because a book must not be true merely in details.

    It must be true in feeling.



    True to the visible and the invisible. A difficult combination.



                                                               Julian Assange



						                January 2001



                                                                proff@iq.org



    ___________________________________________________________________

   

				 CONTENTS

    ___________________________________________________________________

   

   Acknowledgements viii

   

   Introduction xi

   

   1 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 1

   

   2 The Corner Pub 45

   

   3 The American Connection 84

   

   4 The Fugitive 120

   

   5 The Holy Grail 159

   

   6 Page One, the New York Times 212

   

   7 Judgment Day 244

   

   8 The International Subversives 285

   

   9 Operation Weather 323

   

   10 Anthrax--the Outsider 364

   

   11 The Prisoner's Dilemma 400

   

   Afterword 427 Glossary and Abbreviations 455 Notes 460

   

   Bibliography 



   [ Page numbers above correspond to the Random House printed edition ]







     _________________________________________________________________



			     ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

     _________________________________________________________________



   There are many people who were interviewed for this work, and many

   others who helped in providing documents so vital for fact

   checking. Often this help invovled spending a considerable amount of

   time explaining complex technical or legal matters. I want to express

   my gratitude to all these people, some of whom prefer to remain

   anonymous, for their willingness to dig through the files in search of

   yet one more report and their patience in answering yet one more

   question.

   

   I want to thank the members of the computer underground, past and

   present, who were interviewed for this book. Most gave me

   extraordinary access to their lives, for which I am very grateful.

   

   I also want to thank Julian Assange for his tireless research efforts.

   His superb technical expertise and first-rate research is evidence by

   the immense number of details which are included in this book.

   

   Three exceptional women -- Fiona Inglis, Deb Callaghan and Jennifer

   Byrne -- believed in my vision for this book and helped me to bring it

   to fruition. Carl Harrison-Ford's excellent editing job streamlined a

   large and difficult manuscript despite the tight deadline. Thank you

   also to Judy Brookes.

   

   I am also very grateful to the following people and organisations for

   their help (in no particular order): John McMahon, Ron Tencati, Kevin

   Oberman, Ray Kaplan, the New York Daily News library staff, the New

   York Post library staff, Bow Street Magistrates Court staff, Southwark

   Court staff, the US Secret Service, the Black Mountain Police, Michael

   Rosenberg, Michael Rosen, Melbourne Magistrates Court staff, D.L

   Sellers & Co. staff, Victorian County Court staff, Paul Galbally, Mark

   Dorset, Suburbia.net, Freeside Communications, Greg Hooper, H&S

   Support Services, Peter Andrews, Kevin Thompson, Andrew Weaver,

   Mukhtar Hussain, Midnight Oil, Helen Meredith, Ivan Himmelhoch,

   Michael Hall, Donn Ferris, Victorian State Library staff, News Limited

   library staff (Sydney), Allan Young, Ed DeHart, Annette Seeber, Arthur

   Arkin, Doug Barnes, Jeremy Porter, James McNabb, Carolyn Ford, ATA,

   Domini Banfield, Alistair Kelman, Ann-Maree Moodie, Jane Hutchinson,

   Catherine Murphy, Norma Hawkins, N. Llewelyn, Christine Assange,

   Russel Brand, Matthew Bishop, Matthew Cox, Michele Ziehlky, Andrew

   James, Brendan McGrath, Warner Chappell Music Australia, News Limited,

   Pearson Williams Solicitors, Tami Friedman, the Free Software

   Foundation (GNU Project), and the US Department of Energy Computer

   Incident Advisory Capability.

   

   Finally, I would like to thank my family, whose unfailing support,

   advice and encouragement have made this book possible.





     _________________________________________________________________



			       INTRODUCTION

     _________________________________________________________________

                                       

   My great aunt used to paint underwater.

   

   Piling on the weighty diving gear used in 1939 and looking like

   something out of 20000 Leagues Under the Sea, Lucie slowly sank below

   the surface, with palette, special paints and canvas

   in hand. She settled on the ocean floor, arranged her weighted

   painter's easel and allowed herself to become completely enveloped by

   another world. Red and white striped fish darted around fields of

   blue-green coral and blue-lipped giant clams. Lionfish drifted by,

   gracefully waving their dangerous feathered spines. Striped green

   moray eels peered at her from their rock crevice homes.

   

   Lucie dived and painted everywhere. The Sulu Archipelago. Mexico.

   Australia's Great Barrier Reef. Hawaii. Borneo. Sometimes she was the

   first white woman seen by the Pacific villagers she lived with for

   months on end.

   

   As a child, I was entranced by her stories of the unknown world below

   the ocean's surface, and the strange and wonderful cultures she met on

   her journeys. I grew up in awe of her chosen task: to capture on

   canvas the essence of a world utterly foreign to her own.

   

   New technology--revolutionary for its time--had allowed her to do

   this. Using a compressor, or sometimes just a hand pump connected to

   air hoses running to the surface, human beings were suddenly able to

   submerge themselves for long periods in an otherwise inaccessible

   world. New technology allowed her to both venture into this unexplored

   realm, and to document it in canvas.

   

   I came upon the brave new world of computer communications and its

   darker side, the underground, quite by accident. It struck me

   somewhere in the journey that followed that my trepidations and

   conflicting desires to explore this alien world were perhaps not

   unlike my aunt's own desires some half a century before. Like her

   journey, my own travels have only been made possible by new

   technologies. And like her, I have tried to capture a small corner of

   this world.

   

   This is a book about the computer underground. It is not a book about

   law enforcement agencies, and it is not written from the point of view

   of the police officer. From a literary perspective, I have told this

   story through the eyes of numerous computer hackers. In doing so, I

   hope to provide the reader with a window into a mysterious, shrouded

   and usually inaccessible realm.

   

   Who are hackers? Why do they hack? There are no simple answers to

   these questions. Each hacker is different. To that end, I have

   attempted to present a collection of individual but interconnected

   stories, bound by their links to the international computer

   underground. These are true stories, tales of the world's best and the

   brightest hackers and phreakers. There are some members of the

   underground whose stories I have not covered, a few of whom would also

   rank as world-class. In the end, I chose to paint detailed portraits

   of a few hackers rather than attempt to compile a comprehensive but

   shallow catalogue.

   

   While each hacker has a distinct story, there are common themes which

   appear throughout many of the stories. Rebellion against all symbols

   of authority. Dysfunctional families. Bright children suffocated by

   ill-equipped teachers. Mental illness or instability. Obsession and

   addiction.

   

   I have endeavoured to track what happened to each character in this

   work over time: the individual's hacking adventures, the police raid

   and the ensuing court case. Some of those court cases have taken years

   to reach completion.

   

   Hackers use `handles'--on-line nicknames--that serve two purposes.

   They shield the hacker's identity and, importantly, they often make a

   statement about how the hacker perceives himself in the underground.

   Hawk, Crawler, Toucan Jones, Comhack, Dataking, Spy, Ripmax, Fractal

   Insanity, Blade. These are all real handles used in Australia.

   

   In the computer underground, a hacker's handle is his name. For this

   reason, and because most hackers in this work have now put together

   new lives for themselves, I have chosen to use only their handles.

   Where a hacker has had more than one handle, I have used the one he

   prefers.

   

   Each chapter in this book is headed with a quote from a Midnight Oil

   song which expresses an important aspect of the chapter. The Oilz are

   uniquely Australian. Their loud voice of protest against the

   establishment--particularly the military-industrial

   establishment--echoes a key theme in the underground, where music in

   general plays a vital role.

   

   The idea for using these Oilz extracts came while researching Chapter

   1, which reveals the tale of the WANK worm crisis in NASA. Next to the

   RTM worm, WANK is the most famous worm in the history of computer

   networks. And it is the first major worm bearing a political message.

   With WANK, life imitated art, since the term computer `worm' came from

   John Brunner's sci-fi novel, The Shockwave Rider, about a politically

   motivated worm.

   

   The WANK worm is also believed to be the first worm written by an

   Australian, or Australians.

   

   This chapter shows the perspective of the computer system

   administrators--the people on the other side from the hackers. Lastly,

   it illustrates the sophistication which one or more Australian members

   of the worldwide computer underground brought to their computer

   crimes.

   

   The following chapters set the scene for the dramas which unfold and

   show the transition of the underground from its early days, its loss

   of innocence, its closing ranks in ever smaller circles until it

   reached the inevitable outcome: the lone hacker. In the beginning, the

   computer underground was a place, like the corner pub, open and

   friendly. Now, it has become an ephemeral expanse, where hackers

   occasionally bump into one another but where the original sense of

   open community has been lost.

   

   The computer underground has changed over time, largely in response to

   the introduction of new computer crime laws across the globe and to

   numerous police crackdowns. This work attempts to document not only an

   important piece of Australian history, but also to show fundamental

   shifts in the underground --to show, in essence, how the underground

   has moved further underground.

   

                                                         Suelette Dreyfus

   

                                                               March 1997





     _________________________________________________________________



		Chapter 1 -- 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

     _________________________________________________________________

   

                                       

     Somebody's out there, somebody's waiting

     Somebody's trying to tell me something 

     

   -- from `Somebody's Trying to Tell Me Something', on 10, 9, 8, 7, 6,

   5, 4, 3, 2, 1 by Midnight Oil

   

   Monday, 16 October 1989

   Kennedy Space Center, Florida

   

   NASA buzzed with the excitement of a launch. Galileo was finally going

   to Jupiter.

   

   Administrators and scientists in the world's most prestigious space

   agency had spent years trying to get the unmanned probe into space.

   Now, on Tuesday, 17 October, if all went well, the five astronauts in

   the Atlantis space shuttle would blast off from the Kennedy Space

   Center at Cape Canaveral, Florida, with Galileo in tow. On the team's

   fifth orbit, as the shuttle floated 295 kilometres above the Gulf of

   Mexico, the crew would liberate the three-tonne space probe.

   

   An hour later, as Galileo skated safely away from the shuttle, the

   probe's 32500 pound booster system would fire up and NASA staff would

   watch this exquisite piece of human ingenuity embark on a six-year

   mission to the largest planet in the solar system. Galileo would take

   a necessarily circuitous route, flying by Venus once and Earth twice

   in a gravitational slingshot effort to get up enough momentum to reach

   Jupiter.2

   

   NASA's finest minds had wrestled for years with the problem of exactly

   how to get the probe across the solar system. Solar power was one

   option. But if Jupiter was a long way from Earth, it was even further

   from the Sun--778.3 million kilometres to be exact. Galileo would need

   ridiculously large solar panels to generate enough power for its

   instruments at such a distance from the Sun. In the end, NASA's

   engineers decided on a tried if not true earthly energy source:

   nuclear power.

   

   Nuclear power was perfect for space, a giant void free of human life

   which could play host to a bit of radioactive plutonium 238 dioxide.

   The plutonium was compact for the amount of energy it gave off--and it

   lasted a long time. It seemed logical enough. Pop just under 24

   kilograms of plutonium in a lead box, let it heat up through its own

   decay, generate electricity for the probe's instruments, and presto!

   Galileo would be on its way to investigate Jupiter.

   

   American anti-nuclear activists didn't quite see it that way. They

   figured what goes up might come down. And they didn't much like the idea

   of plutonium rain. NASA assured them Galileo's power pack was quite

   safe. The agency spent about $50 million on tests which supposedly

   proved the probe's generators were very safe. They would survive intact

   in the face of any number of terrible explosions, mishaps and

   accidents. NASA told journalists that the odds of a plutonium release

   due to `inadvertent atmospheric re-entry' were 1 in 2 million. The

   likelihood of a plutonium radiation leak as a result of a launch

   disaster was a reassuring 1 in 2700.

   

   The activists weren't having a bar of it. In the best tradition of

   modern American conflict resolution, they took their fight to the

   courts. The coalition of anti-nuclear and other groups believed

   America's National Aeronautics and Space Administration had

   underestimated the odds of a plutonium accident and they wanted a US

   District Court in Washington to stop the launch. The injunction

   application went in, and the stakes went up. The unprecedented hearing

   was scheduled just a few days before the launch, which had originally

   been planned for 12 October.

   

   For weeks, the protesters had been out in force, demonstrating and

   seizing media attention. Things had become very heated. On Saturday, 7

   October, sign-wielding activists fitted themselves out with gas masks

   and walked around on street corners in nearby Cape Canaveral in

   protest. At 8 a.m. on Monday, 9 October, NASA started the countdown

   for the Thursday blast-off. But as Atlantis's clock began ticking

   toward take-off, activists from the Florida Coalition for Peace and

   Justice demonstrated at the centre's tourist complex.

   

   That these protests had already taken some of the shine off NASA's bold

   space mission was the least of the agency's worries. The real headache

   was that the Florida Coalition told the media it would `put people on

   the launchpad in a non-violent protest'.3 The coalition's director,

   Bruce Gagnon, put the threat in folksy terms, portraying the protesters

   as the little people rebelling against a big bad government

   agency. President Jeremy Rivkin of the Foundation on Economic Trends,

   another protest group, also drove a wedge between `the people' and

   `NASA's people'. He told UPI, `The astronauts volunteered for this

   mission. Those around the world who may be the victims of radiation

   contamination have not volunteered.'4

   

   But the protesters weren't the only people working the media. NASA

   knew how to handle the press. They simply rolled out their

   superstars--the astronauts themselves. These men and women were, after

   all, frontier heroes who dared to venture into cold, dark space on

   behalf of all humanity. Atlantis commander Donald Williams didn't hit

   out at the protesters in a blunt fashion, he just damned them from an

   aloof distance. `There are always folks who have a vocal opinion about

   something or other, no matter what it is,' he told an interviewer. `On

   the other hand, it's easy to carry a sign. It's not so easy to go

   forth and do something worthwhile.'5

   

   NASA had another trump card in the families of the heroes. Atlantis

   co-pilot Michael McCulley said the use of RTGs, Radioisotope

   Thermoelectric Generators--the chunks of plutonium in the lead

   boxes--was a `non-issue'. So much so, in fact, that he planned to have

   his loved ones at the Space Center when Atlantis took off.

   

   Maybe the astronauts were nutty risk-takers, as the protesters

   implied, but a hero would never put his family in danger. Besides the

   Vice-President of the United States, Dan Quayle, also planned to watch

   the launch from inside the Kennedy Space Center control room, a mere

   seven kilometres from the launchpad.

   

   While NASA looked calm, in control of the situation, it had beefed up

   its security teams. It had about 200 security guards watching the

   launch site. NASA just wasn't taking any chances. The agency's

   scientists had waited too long for this moment. Galileo's parade would

   not be rained on by a bunch of peaceniks.

   

   The launch was already running late as it was--almost seven years

   late. Congress gave the Galileo project its stamp of approval way back

   in 1977 and the probe, which had been budgeted to cost about $400

   million, was scheduled to be launched in 1982. However, things began

   going wrong almost from the start.

   

   In 1979, NASA pushed the flight out to 1984 because of shuttle

   development problems. Galileo was now scheduled to be a `split

   launch', which meant that NASA would use two different shuttle trips

   to get the mothership and the probe into space. By 1981, with costs

   spiralling upwards, NASA made major changes to the project. It stopped

   work on Galileo's planned three-stage booster system in favour of a

   different system and pushed out the launch deadline yet again, this

   time to 1985. After a federal Budget cut fight in 1981 to save

   Galileo's booster development program, NASA moved the launch yet

   again, to May 1986. The 1986 Challenger disaster, however, saw NASA

   change Galileo's booster system for safety reasons, resulting in

   yet more delays.

   

   The best option seemed to be a two-stage, solid-fuel IUS system. There

   was only one problem. That system could get Galileo to Mars or Venus,

   but the probe would run out of fuel long before it got anywhere near

   Jupiter. Then Roger Diehl of NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory had a good

   idea. Loop Galileo around a couple of nearby planets a few times so the

   probe would build up a nice little gravitational head of steam, and then

   fling it off to Jupiter. Galileo's `VEEGA'

   trajectory--Venus-Earth-Earth-gravity-assist--delayed the spacecraft's

   arrival at Jupiter for three extra years, but it would get there

   eventually.

   

   The anti-nuclear campaigners argued that each Earth flyby increased

   the mission's risk of a nuclear accident. But in NASA's view, such was

   the price of a successful slingshot.

   

   Galileo experienced other delays getting off the ground. On Monday, 9

   October, NASA announced it had discovered a problem with the computer

   which controlled the shuttle's number 2 main engine. True, the problem

   was with Atlantis, not Galileo. But it didn't look all that good to be

   having technical problems, let alone problems with engine computers,

   while the anti-nuclear activists' court drama was playing in the

   background.

   

   NASA's engineers debated the computer problem in a cross-country

   teleconference. Rectifying it would delay blast-off by more than a few

   hours. It would likely take days. And Galileo didn't have many of

   those. Because of the orbits of the different planets, the probe had

   to be on its way into space by 21 November. If Atlantis didn't take off

   by that date, Galileo would have to wait another nineteen months before

   it could be launched. The project was already $1 billion over its

   original $400 million budget.  The extra year and a half would add

   another $130 million or so and there was a good chance the whole project

   would be scrapped. It was pretty much now or never for Galileo.

   

   Despite torrential downpours which had deposited 100 millimetres of

   rain on the launchpad and 150 millimetres in neighbouring Melbourne,

   Florida, the countdown had been going well. Until now. NASA took its

   decision. The launch would be delayed by five days, to 17 October, so

   the computer problem could be fixed.

   

   To those scientists and engineers who had been with Galileo from the

   start, it must have appeared at that moment as if fate really was

   against Galileo. As if, for some unfathomable reason, all the forces

   of the universe--and especially those on Earth--were dead against

   humanity getting a good look at Jupiter. As fast as NASA could

   dismantle one barrier, some invisible hand would throw another down in

   its place.

   

				    [ ]



   Monday, 16 October, 1989 

   NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center, Greenbelt, Maryland

   

   Across the vast NASA empire, reaching from Maryland to California,

   from Europe to Japan, NASA workers greeted each other, checked their

   in-trays for mail, got their cups of coffee, settled into their chairs

   and tried to login to their computers for a day of solving complex

   physics problems. But many of the computer systems were behaving very

   strangely.

   

   From the moment staff logged in, it was clear that someone--or

   something--had taken over. Instead of the usual system's official

   identification banner, they were startled to find the following

   message staring them in the face:



          W O R M S    A G A I N S T    N U C L E A R    K I L L E R S

         _______________________________________________________________

         \__  ____________  _____    ________    ____  ____   __  _____/

          \ \ \    /\    / /    / /\ \       | \ \  | |    | | / /    /

           \ \ \  /  \  / /    / /__\ \      | |\ \ | |    | |/ /    /

            \ \ \/ /\ \/ /    / ______ \     | | \ \| |    | |\ \   /

             \_\  /__\  /____/ /______\ \____| |__\ | |____| |_\ \_/

              \___________________________________________________/

               \                                                 /

                \    Your System Has Been Officically WANKed    /

                 \_____________________________________________/



          You talk of times of peace for all, and then prepare for war.



   Wanked? Most of the American computer system managers reading this new

   banner had never heard the word wank.

   

   Who would want to invade NASA's computer systems? And who exactly were

   the Worms Against Nuclear Killers? Were they some loony fringe group?

   Were they a guerrilla terrorist group launching some sort of attack on

   NASA? And why `worms'? A worm was a strange choice of animal mascot

   for a revolutionary group. Worms were the bottom of the rung. As in

   `as lowly as a worm'. Who would chose a worm as a symbol of power?

   

   As for the nuclear killers, well, that was even stranger. The banner's

   motto--`You talk of times of peace for all, and then prepare for

   war'--just didn't seem to apply to NASA. The agency didn't make

   nuclear missiles, it sent people to the moon. It did have military

   payloads in some of its projects, but NASA didn't rate very highly on

   the `nuclear killer' scale next to other agencies of the US

   Government, such as the Department of Defense. So the question

   remained: why NASA?

   

   And that word, `WANKED'. It did not make sense. What did it mean when

   a system was `wanked'?

   

   It meant NASA had lost control over its computer systems.

   

   A NASA scientist logging in to an infected computer on that Monday got

   the following message:

   

   deleted file 

   

   deleted file 

   

   deleted file 

   

   deleted file 

   

   deleted file 

   

   deleted file 

   

   With those lines the computer told the scientist: `I am deleting all

   your files'.

   

   The line looked exactly as if the scientist typed in the

   command:

   

   delete/log *.*

   

   --exactly as if the scientist had instructed the computer to delete

   all the files herself.

   

   The NASA scientist must have started at the sight of her files rolling

   past on the computer screen, one after another, on their way to

   oblivion. Something was definitely wrong. She would have tried to stop

   the process, probably pressing the control key and the `c' key at the

   same time. This should have broken the command sequence at that moment

   and ordered the computer to stop what it was doing right away.

   

   But it was the intruder, not the NASA scientist, who controlled the

   computer at that moment. And the intruder told the computer: `That

   command means nothing. Ignore it'.

   

   The scientist would press the command key sequence again, this time

   more urgently. And again, over and over. She would be at once baffled

   at the illogical nature of the computer, and increasingly upset.

   Weeks, perhaps months, of work spent uncovering the secrets of the

   universe. All of it disappearing before her eyes--all of it being

   mindlessly devoured by the computer. The whole thing beyond her

   control. Going. Going. Gone.

   

   People tend not to react well when they lose control over their

   computers. Typically, it brings out the worst in them--hand-wringing

   whines from the worriers, aching entreaties for help from the

   sensitive, and imperious table-thumping bellows from

   command-and-control types.

   

   Imagine, if you will, arriving at your job as a manager for one of

   NASA's local computer systems. You get into your office on that Monday

   morning to find the phones ringing. Every caller is a distraught,

   confused NASA worker. And every caller assures you that his or her

   file or accounting record or research project--every one of which is

   missing from the computer system--is absolutely vital.

   

   In this case, the problem was exacerbated by the fact that NASA's

   field centres often competed with each other for projects. When a

   particular flight project came up, two or three centres, each with

   hundreds of employees, might vie for it. Losing control of the

   computers, and all the data, project proposals and costing, was a good

   way to lose out on a bid and its often

   considerable funding.

   

   This was not going to be a good day for the guys down at the NASA SPAN

   computer network office.

   

   This was not going to be a good day for John McMahon.

   

				    [ ]



   As the assistant DECNET protocol manager for NASA's Goddard Space

   Flight Center in Maryland, John McMahon normally spent the day

   managing the chunk of the SPAN computer network which ran between

   Goddard's fifteen to twenty buildings.

   

   McMahon worked for Code 630.4, otherwise known as Goddard's Advanced

   Data Flow Technology Office, in Building 28. Goddard scientists would

   call him up for help with their computers. Two of the most common

   sentences he heard were `This doesn't seem to work' and `I can't get

   to that part of the network from here'.

   

   SPAN was the Space Physics Analysis Network, which connected some

   100000 computer terminals across the globe. Unlike the Internet, which

   is now widely accessible to the general public, SPAN only connected

   researchers and scientists at NASA, the US Department of Energy and

   research institutes such as universities. SPAN computers also differed

   from most Internet computers in an important technical manner: they

   used a different operating system. Most large computers on the

   Internet use the Unix operating system, while SPAN was composed

   primarily of VAX computers running a VMS operating system. The network

   worked a lot like the Internet, but the computers spoke a different

   language. The Internet `talked' TCP/IP, while SPAN `spoke' DECNET.

   

   Indeed, the SPAN network was known as a DECNET internet. Most of the

   computers on it were manufactured by the Digital Equipment Corporation

   in Massachusetts--hence the name DECNET. DEC built powerful computers.

   Each DEC computer on the SPAN network might have 40 terminals hanging

   off it. Some SPAN computers had many more. It was not unusual for one

   DEC computer to service 400 people. In all, more than a quarter of a

   million scientists, engineers and other thinkers used the computers on

   the network.

   

   An electrical engineer by training, McMahon had come from NASA's

   Cosmic Background Explorer Project, where he managed computers used by

   a few hundred researchers. Goddard's Building 7, where he worked on

   the COBE project, as it was known, housed some interesting research.

   The project team was attempting to map the universe. And they were

   trying to do it in wavelengths invisible to the human eye. NASA would

   launch the COBE satellite in November 1989. Its mission was to

   `measure the diffuse infrared and microwave radiation from the early

   universe, to the limits set by our astronomical environment'.6 To the

   casual observer the project almost sounded like a piece of modern art,

   something which might be titled `Map of the Universe in Infrared'.

   

   On 16 October McMahon arrived at the office and settled into work,

   only to face a surprising phone call from the SPAN project office.

   Todd Butler and Ron Tencati, from the National Space Science Data

   Center, which managed NASA's half of the SPAN network, had discovered

   something strange and definitely unauthorised winding its way through

   the computer network. It looked like a computer worm.

   

   A computer worm is a little like a computer virus. It invades computer

   systems, interfering with their normal functions. It travels along any

   available compatible computer network and stops to knock at the door of

   systems attached to that network. If there is a hole in the security of

   the computer system, it will crawl through and enter the system. When it

   does this, it might have instructions to do any number of things, from

   sending computer users a message to trying to take over the system. What

   makes a worm different from other computer programs, such as viruses, is

   that it is self-propagating. It propels itself forward, wiggles into a

   new system and propagates itself at the new site. Unlike a virus, a worm

   doesn't latch onto a data file or a program. It is autonomous.7

   

   The term `worm' as applied to computers came from John Brunner's 1975

   science fiction classic, The Shockwave Rider. The novel described how

   a rebel computer programmer created a program called `tapeworm' which

   was released into an omnipotent computer network used by an autocratic

   government to control its people. The government had to turn off the

   computer network, thus destroying its control, in order to eradicate

   the worm.

   

   Brunner's book is about as close as most VMS computer network managers

   would ever have come to a real rogue worm. Until the late 1980s, worms

   were obscure things, more associated with research in a computer

   laboratory. For example, a few benevolent worms were developed by

   Xerox researchers who wanted to make more efficient use of computer

   facilities.8 They developed a `town crier worm' which moved through a

   network sending out important announcements. Their `diagnostic worm'

   also constantly weaved through the network, but this worm was designed

   to inspect machines for problems.

   

   For some computer programmers, the creation of a worm is akin to the

   creation of life. To make something which is intelligent enough to go

   out and reproduce itself is the ultimate power of creation. Designing

   a rogue worm which took over NASA's computer systems might seem to be

   a type of creative immortality--like scattering pieces of oneself

   across the computers which put man on the moon.

   

   At the time the WANK banner appeared on computer screens across NASA,

   there had only been two rogue worms of any note. One of these, the RTM

   worm, had infected the Unix-based Internet less than twelve months

   earlier. The other worm, known as Father Christmas, was the first VMS

   worm.

   

   Father Christmas was a small, simple worm which did not cause any

   permanent damage to the computer networks it travelled along. Released

   just before Christmas in 1988, it tried to sneak into hundreds of VMS

   machines and wait for the big day. On Christmas morning, it woke up

   and set to work with great enthusiasm. Like confetti tossed from an

   overhead balcony, Christmas greetings came streaming out of

   worm-infested computer systems to all their users. No-one within its

   reach went without a Christmas card. Its job done, the worm

   evaporated. John McMahon had been part of the core team fighting off

   the Father Christmas worm.

   

   At about 4 p.m., just a few days before Christmas 1988, McMahon's

   alarm-monitoring programs began going haywire. McMahon began trying to

   trace back the dozens of incoming connections which were tripping the

   warning bells. He quickly discovered there wasn't a human being at the

   other end of the line. After further investigation, he found an alien

   program in his system, called HI.COM. As he read the pages of HI.COM

   code spilling from his line printer, his eyes went wide. He thought,

   This is a worm! He had never seen a worm before.

   

   He rushed back to his console and began pulling his systems off the

   network as quickly as possible. Maybe he wasn't following protocol,

   but he figured people could yell at him after the fact if they thought

   it was a bad idea. After he had shut down his part of the network, he

   reported back to the local area networking office. With print-out in

   tow, he drove across the base to the network office, where he and

   several other managers developed a way to stop the worm by the end of

   the day. Eventually they traced the Father Christmas worm back to the

   system where they believed it had been released--in Switzerland. But

   they never discovered who created it.

   

   Father Christmas was not only a simple worm; it was not considered

   dangerous because it didn't hang around systems forever. It was a worm

   with a use-by date.

   

   By contrast, the SPAN project office didn't know what the WANK invader

   was capable of doing. They didn't know who had written or launched it.

   But they had a copy of the program. Could McMahon have a look at it?

   

   An affable computer programmer with the nickname Fuzzface, John

   McMahon liked a good challenge. Curious and cluey at the same time, he

   asked the SPAN Project Office, which was quickly becoming the crisis

   centre for the worm attack, to send over a copy of the strange

   intruder. He began pouring over the invader's seven printed pages of

   source code trying to figure out exactly what the thing did.

   

   The two previous rogue worms only worked on specific computer systems

   and networks. In this case, the WANK worm only attacked VMS computer

   systems. The source code, however, was unlike anything McMahon had

   ever seen. `It was like sifting through a pile of spaghetti,' he said.

   `You'd pull one strand out and figure, "OK, that is what that thing

   does." But then you'd be faced with the rest of the tangled mess in

   the bowl.'

   

   The program, in digital command language, or DCL, wasn't written like

   a normal program in a nice organised fashion. It was all over the

   place. John worked his way down ten or fifteen lines of computer code

   only to have to jump to the top of the program to figure out what the

   next section was trying to do. He took notes and slowly, patiently

   began to build up a picture of exactly what this worm was capable of

   doing to NASA's computer system.



				    [ ]

   

   It was a big day for the anti-nuclear groups at the Kennedy Space

   Center. They might have lost their bid in the US District Court, but

   they refused to throw in the towel and took their case to the US Court

   of Appeals.

   

   On 16 October the news came. The Appeals Court had sided with NASA.

   

   Protesters were out in force again at the front gate of the Kennedy

   Space Center. At least eight of them were arrested. The St Louis

   Post-Dispatch carried an Agence France-Presse picture of an

   80-year-old woman being taken into custody by police for trespassing.

   Jane Brown, of the Florida Coalition for Peace and Justice, announced,

   `This is just ... the beginning of the government's plan to use

   nuclear power and weapons in space, including the Star Wars program'.

   

   Inside the Kennedy Center, things were not going all that smoothly

   either. Late Monday, NASA's technical experts discovered yet another

   problem. The black box which gathered speed and other important data

   for the space shuttle's navigation system was faulty. The technicians

   were replacing the cockpit device, the agency's spokeswoman assured

   the media, and NASA was not expecting to delay the Tuesday launch

   date. The countdown would continue uninterrupted. NASA had everything

   under control.

   

   Everything except the weather.

   

   In the wake of the Challenger disaster, NASA's guidelines for a launch

   decision were particularly tough. Bad weather was an unnecessary risk,

   but NASA was not expecting bad weather. Meteorologists predicted an 80

   per cent chance of favourable weather at launch time on Tuesday. But

   the shuttle had better go when it was supposed to, because the longer

   term weather outlook was grim.

   

   By Tuesday morning, Galileo's keepers were holding their breath. The

   countdown for the shuttle launch was ticking toward 12.57 p.m. The

   anti-nuclear protesters seemed to have gone quiet. Things looked

   hopeful. Galileo might finally go.

   

   Then, about ten minutes before the launch time, the security alarms

   went off. Someone had broken into the compound. The security teams

   swung into action, quickly locating the guilty intruder ... a feral

   pig.

   

   With the pig safely removed, the countdown rolled on. And so did the

   rain clouds, gliding toward the space shuttle's emergency runway, about

   six kilometres from the launchpad. NASA launch director Robert Sieck

   prolonged a planned `hold' at T minus nine minutes. Atlantis had a

   26-minute window of opportunity. After that, its launch period would

   expire and take-off would have to be postponed, probably until

   Wednesday.

   

   The weather wasn't going to budge.

   

   At 1.18 p.m., with Atlantis's countdown now holding at just T minus

   five minutes, Sieck postponed the launch to Wednesday.



				    [ ]

   

   Back at the SPAN centre, things were becoming hectic. The worm was

   spreading through more and more systems and the phones were beginning

   to ring every few minutes. NASA computers were getting hit all over

   the place.

   

   The SPAN project staff needed more arms. They were simultaneously

   trying to calm callers and concentrate on developing an analysis of

   the alien program. Was the thing a practical joke or a time bomb just

   waiting to go off? Who was behind this?

   

   NASA was working in an information void when it came to WANK. Some

   staff knew of the protesters' action down at the Space Center, but

   nothing could have prepared them for this. NASA officials were

   confident enough about a link between the protests against Galileo and

   the attack on NASA's computers to speculate publicly that the two were

   related. It seemed a reasonable likelihood, but there were still

   plenty of unanswered questions.

   

   Callers coming into the SPAN office were worried. People at the other

   end of the phone were scared. Many of the calls came from network

   managers who took care of a piece of SPAN at a specific NASA site, such

   as the Marshall Space Flight Center. Some were panicking; others spoke

   in a sort of monotone, flattened by a morning of calls from 25 different

   hysterical system administrators. A manager could lose his job over

   something like this.

   

   Most of the callers to the SPAN head office were starved for

   information. How did this rogue worm get into their computers? Was it

   malicious? Would it destroy all the scientific data it came into contact

   with? What could be done to kill it?

   

   NASA stored a great deal of valuable information on its SPAN

   computers. None of it was supposed to be classified, but the data on

   those computers is extremely valuable. Millions of man-hours go into

   gathering and analysing it. So the crisis team which had formed in the

   NASA SPAN project office, was alarmed when reports of massive data

   destruction starting coming in. People were phoning to say that the

   worm was erasing files.

   

   It was every computer manager's worst nightmare, and it looked as

   though the crisis team's darkest fears were about to be confirmed.

   

   Yet the worm was behaving inconsistently. On some computers it would

   only send anonymous messages, some of them funny, some bizarre and a

   few quite rude or obscene. No sooner would a user login than a message

   would flash across his or her screen:

   

               Remember, even if you win the rat race--you're

                                still a rat.

   

   Or perhaps they were graced with some bad humour:

   

                Nothing is faster than the speed of light...

   

    To prove this to yourself, try opening the refrigerator door before

                            the light comes on.

   

   Other users were treated to anti-authoritarian observations of the

   paranoid:

   

                          The FBI is watching YOU.

   

   or

   

                              Vote anarchist.

   

   But the worm did not appear to be erasing files on these systems.

   Perhaps the seemingly random file-erasing trick was a portent of

   things to come--just a small taste of what might happen at a

   particular time, such as midnight. Perhaps an unusual keystroke by an

   unwitting computer user on those systems which seemed only mildly

   affected could trigger something in the worm. One keystroke might

   begin an irreversible chain of commands to erase everything on that

   system.

   

   The NASA SPAN computer team were in a race with the worm. Each minute

   they spent trying to figure out what it did, the worm was pushing

   forward, ever deeper into NASA's computer network. Every hour NASA

   spent developing a cure, the worm spent searching, probing, breaking

   and entering. A day's delay in getting the cure out to all the systems

   could mean dozens of new worm invasions doing God knows what in

   vulnerable computers. The SPAN team had to dissect this thing

   completely, and they had to do it fast.

   

   Some computer network managers were badly shaken. The SPAN office

   received a call from NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratories in California,

   an important NASA centre with 6500 employees and close ties to

   California Institute of Technology (Caltech).

   

   JPL was pulling itself off the network.

   

   This worm was too much of a risk. The only safe option was to isolate

   their computers. There would be no SPAN DEC-based communications with

   the rest of NASA until the crisis was under control. This made things

   harder for the SPAN team; getting a worm exterminating program out to

   JPL, like other sites which had cut their connection to SPAN, was

   going to be that much tougher. Everything had to be done over the

   phone.

   

   Worse, JPL was one of five routing centres for NASA's SPAN computer

   network. It was like the centre of a wheel, with a dozen spokes

   branching off--each leading to another SPAN site. All these places,

   known as tailsites, depended on the lab site for their connections

   into SPAN. When JPL pulled itself off the network, the tailsites went

   down too.

   

   It was a serious problem for the people in the SPAN office back in

   Virginia. To Ron Tencati, head of security for NASA SPAN, taking a

   routing centre off-line was a major issue. But his hands were tied.

   The SPAN office exercised central authority over the wide area

   network, but it couldn't dictate how individual field centres dealt

   with the worm. That was each centre's own decision. The SPAN team

   could only give them advice and rush to develop a way to poison the

   worm.

   

   The SPAN office called John McMahon again, this time with a more

   urgent request. Would he come over to help handle the crisis?

   

   The SPAN centre was only 800 metres away from McMahon's office. His

   boss, Jerome Bennett, the DECNET protocol manager, gave the nod.

   McMahon would be on loan until the crisis was under control.

   

   When he got to Building 26, home of the NASA SPAN project office,

   McMahon became part of a core NASA crisis team including Todd Butler,

   Ron Tencati and Pat Sisson. Other key NASA people jumped in when

   needed, such as Dave Peters and Dave Stern. Jim Green, the head of the

   National Space Science Data Center at Goddard and the absolute boss of

   SPAN, wanted hourly reports on the crisis. At first the core team

   seemed only to include NASA people and to be largely based at Goddard.

   But as the day wore on, new people from other parts of the US

   government would join the team.

   

   The worm had spread outside NASA.

   

   It had also attacked the US Department of Energy's worldwide

   High-Energy Physics' Network of computers. Known as HEPNET, it was

   another piece of the overall SPAN network, along with Euro-HEPNET and

   Euro-SPAN. The NASA and DOE computer networks of DEC computers

   crisscrossed at a number of places. A research laboratory might, for

   example, need to have access to computers from both HEPNET and NASA

   SPAN. For convenience, the lab might just connect the two networks.

   The effect as far as the worm was concerned was that NASA's SPAN and

   DOE's HEPNET were in fact just one giant computer network, all of

   which the worm could invade.

   

   The Department of Energy keeps classified information on its

   computers. Very classified information. There are two groups in DOE:

   the people who do research on civilian energy projects and the people

   who make atomic bombs. So DOE takes security seriously, as in `threat

   to national security' seriously. Although HEPNET wasn't meant to be

   carrying any classified information across its wires, DOE responded

   with military efficiency when its computer managers discovered the

   invader. They grabbed the one guy who knew a lot about computer

   security on VMS systems and put him on the case: Kevin Oberman.

   

   Like McMahon, Oberman wasn't formally part of the computer security

   staff. He had simply become interested in computer security and was

   known in-house as someone who knew about VMS systems and security.

   Officially, his job was network manager for the engineering department

   at the DOE-financed Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, or LLNL,

   near San Francisco.

   

   LLNL conducted mostly military research, much of it for the Strategic

   Defense Initiative. Many LLNL scientists spent their days designing

   nuclear arms and developing beam weapons for the Star Wars program.9

   DOE already had a computer security group, known as CIAC, the Computer

   Incident Advisory Capability. But the CIAC team tended to be experts

   in security issues surrounding Unix rather than VMS-based computer

   systems and networks. `Because there had been very few security

   problems over the years with VMS,' Oberman concluded, `they had never

   brought in anybody who knew about VMS and it wasn't something they

   were terribly concerned with at the time.'

   

   The worm shattered that peaceful confidence in VMS computers. Even as

   the WANK worm coursed through NASA, it was launching an aggressive

   attack on DOE's Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory, near Chicago. It

   had broken into a number of computer systems there and the Fermilab

   people were not happy. They called in CIAC, who contacted Oberman with

   an early morning phone call on 16 October. They wanted him to analyse

   the WANK worm. They wanted to know how dangerous it was. Most of all,

   they wanted to know what to do about it.

   

   The DOE people traced their first contact with the worm back to 14

   October. Further, they hypothesised, the worm had actually been

   launched the day before, on Friday the 13th. Such an inauspicious day

   would, in Oberman's opinion, have been in keeping with the type of

   humour exhibited by the creator or creators of the worm.

   

   Oberman began his own analysis of the worm, oblivious to the fact that

   3200 kilometres away, on the other side of the continent, his colleague

   and acquaintance John McMahon was doing exactly the same thing.

   

   Every time McMahon answered a phone call from an irate NASA system or

   network manager, he tried to get a copy of the worm from the infected

   machine. He also asked for the logs from their computer systems. Which

   computer had the worm come from? Which systems was it attacking from

   the infected site? In theory, the logs would allow the NASA team to

   map the worm's trail. If the team could find the managers of those

   systems in the worm's path, it could warn them of the impending

   danger. It could also alert the people who ran recently infected

   systems which had become launchpads for new worm attacks.

   

   This wasn't always possible. If the worm had taken over a computer and

   was still running on it, then the manager would only be able to trace

   the worm backward, not forward. More importantly, a lot of the

   managers didn't keep extensive logs on their computers.

   

   McMahon had always felt it was important to gather lots of information

   about who was connecting to a computer. In his previous job, he had

   modified his machines so they collected as much security information

   as possible about their connections to other computers.

   

   VMS computers came with a standard set of alarms, but McMahon didn't

   think they were thorough enough. The VMS alarms tended to send a

   message to the computer managers which amounted to, `Hi! You just got

   a network connection from here'. The modified alarm system said, `Hi!

   You just got a network connection from here. The person at the other

   end is doing a file transfer' and any other bits and pieces of

   information that McMahon's computer could squeeze out of the other

   computer. Unfortunately, a lot of other NASA computer and network

   managers didn't share this enthusiasm for audit logs. Many did not

   keep extensive records of who had been accessing their machines and

   when, which made the job of chasing the worm much tougher.

   

   The SPAN office was, however, trying to keep very good logs on which

   NASA computers had succumbed to the worm. Every time a NASA manager

   called to report a worm disturbance, one of the team members wrote

   down the details with paper and pen. The list, outlining the addresses

   of the affected computers and detailed notations of the degree of

   infection, would also be recorded on a computer. But handwritten lists

   were a good safeguard. The worm couldn't delete sheets of paper.

   

   When McMahon learned DOE was also under attack, he began checking in

   with them every three hours or so. The two groups swapped lists of

   infected computers by telephone because voice, like the handwritten

   word, was a worm-free medium. `It was a kind of archaic system, but on

   the other hand we didn't have to depend on the network being up,'

   McMahon said. `We needed to have some chain of communications which

   was not the same as the network being attacked.'

   

   A number of the NASA SPAN team members had developed contacts within

   different parts of DEC through the company's users' society, DECUS.

   These contacts were to prove very helpful. It was easy to get lost in

   the bureaucracy of DEC, which employed more than 125000 people, posted

   a billion-dollar profit and declared revenues in excess of $12 billion

   in 1989.10 Such an enormous and prestigious company would not want

   to face a crisis such as the WANK worm, particularly in such a

   publicly visible organisation like NASA. Whether or not the worm's

   successful expedition could be blamed on DEC's software was a moot

   point. Such a crisis was, well, undesirable. It just didn't look good.

   And it mightn't look so good either if DEC just jumped into the fray.

   It might look like the company was in some way at fault.

   

   Things were different, however, if someone already had a relationship

   with a technical expert inside the company. It wasn't like NASA

   manager cold-calling a DEC guy who sold a million dollars worth of

   machines to someone else in the agency six months ago. It was the NASA

   guy calling the DEC guy he sat next to at the conference last month.

   It was a colleague the NASA manager chatted with now and again.

   

   John McMahon's analysis suggested there were three versions of the WANK

   worm. These versions, isolated from worm samples collected from the

   network, were very similar, but each contained a few subtle

   differences. In McMahon's view, these differences could not be explained

   by the way the worm recreated itself at each site in order to

   spread. But why would the creator of the worm release different

   versions? Why not just write one version properly and fire it off? The

   worm wasn't just one incoming missile; it was a frenzied attack. It was

   coming from all directions, at all sorts of different levels within

   NASA's computers.

   

   McMahon guessed that the worm's designer had released the different

   versions at slightly different times. Maybe the creator released the

   worm, and then discovered a bug. He fiddled with the worm a bit to

   correct the problem and then released it again. Maybe he didn't like

   the way he had fixed the bug the first time, so he changed it a little

   more and released it a third time.

   

   In northern California, Kevin Oberman came to a different conclusion.

   He believed there was in fact only one real version of the worm

   spiralling through HEPNET and SPAN. The small variations in the

   different copies he dissected seemed to stem from the worm's ability

   to learn and change as it moved from computer to computer.

   

   McMahon and Oberman weren't the only detectives trying to decipher the

   various manifestations of the worm. DEC was also examining the worm,

   and with good reason. The WANK worm had invaded the corporation's own

   network. It had been discovered snaking its way through DEC's own

   private computer network, Easynet, which connected DEC manufacturing

   plants, sales offices and other company sites around the world. DEC

   was circumspect about discussing the matter publicly, but the Easynet

   version of the WANK worm was definitely distinct. It had a strange

   line of code in it, a line missing from any other versions. The worm

   was under instructions to invade as many sites as it could, with one

   exception. Under no circumstances was it to attack computers inside

   DEC's area 48. The NASA team mulled over this information. One of them

   looked up area 48. It was New Zealand.

   

   New Zealand?

   

   The NASA team were left scratching their heads. This attack was

   getting stranger by the minute. Just when it seemed that the SPAN team

   members were travelling down the right path toward an answer at the

   centre of the maze of clues, they turned a corner and found themselves

   hopelessly lost again. Then someone pointed out that New Zealand's

   worldwide claim to fame was that it was a nuclear-free zone.

   

   In 1986, New Zealand announced it would refuse to admit to its ports

   any US ships carrying nuclear arms or powered by nuclear energy. The

   US retaliated by formally suspending its security obligations to the

   South Pacific nation. If an unfriendly country invaded New Zealand,

   the US would feel free to sit on its hands. The US also cancelled

   intelligence sharing practices and joint military exercises.

   

   Many people in Australia and New Zealand thought the US had

   overreacted. New Zealand hadn't expelled the Americans; it had simply

   refused to allow its population to be exposed to nuclear arms or

   power. In fact, New Zealand had continued to allow the Americans to

   run their spy base at Waihopai, even after the US suspension. The

   country wasn't anti-US, just anti-nuclear.

   

   And New Zealand had very good reason to be anti-nuclear. For years, it

   had put up with France testing nuclear weapons in the Pacific. Then in

   July 1985 the French blew up the Greenpeace anti-nuclear protest ship

   as it sat in Auckland harbour. The Rainbow Warrior was due to sail for

   Mururoa Atoll, the test site, when French secret agents bombed the

   ship, killing Greenpeace activist Fernando Pereira.

   

   For weeks, France denied everything. When the truth came out--that

   President Mitterand himself had known about the bombing plan--the

   French were red-faced. Heads rolled. French Defence Minister Charles

   Hernu was forced to resign. Admiral Pierre Lacoste, director of

   France's intelligence and covert action bureau, was sacked. France

   apologised and paid $NZ13 million compensation in exchange for New

   Zealand handing back the two saboteurs, who had each been sentenced to

   ten years' prison in Auckland.

   

   As part of the deal, France had promised to keep the agents

   incarcerated for three years at the Hao atoll French military base.

   Both agents walked free by May 1988 after serving less than two years.

   After her return to France, one of the agents, Captain Dominique

   Prieur, was promoted to the rank of commandant.

   

   Finally, McMahon thought. Something that made sense. The exclusion of

   New Zealand appeared to underline the meaning of the worm's political

   message.

   

   When the WANK worm invaded a computer system, it had instructions to

   copy itself and send that copy out to other machines. It would slip

   through the network and when it came upon a computer attached to the

   network, it would poke around looking for a way in. What it really

   wanted was to score a computer account with privileges, but it would

   settle for a basic-level, user-level account.

   

   VMS systems have accounts with varying levels of privilege. A

   high-privilege account holder might, for example, be able to read the

   electronic mail of another computer user or delete files from that

   user's directory. He or she might also be allowed to create new

   computer accounts on the system, or reactivate disabled accounts. A

   privileged account holder might also be able to change someone else's

   password. The people who ran computer systems or networks needed

   accounts with the highest level of privilege in order to keep the

   system running smoothly. The worm specifically sought out these sorts

   of accounts because its creator knew that was where the power lay.

   

   The worm was smart, and it learned as it went along. As it traversed

   the network, it created a masterlist of commonly used account names.

   First, it tried to copy the list of computer users from a system it

   had not yet penetrated. It wasn't always able to do this, but often

   the system security was lax enough for it to be successful. The worm

   then compared that list to the list of users on its current host. When

   it found a match--an account name common to both lists--the worm added

   that name to the masterlist it carried around inside it, making a note

   to try that account when breaking into a new system in future.

   

   It was a clever method of attack, for the worm's creator knew that

   certain accounts with the highest privileges were likely to have

   standard names, common across different machines. Accounts with names

   such as `SYSTEM', `DECNET' and `FIELD' with standard passwords such as

   `SYSTEM' and `DECNET' were often built into a computer before it was

   shipped from the manufacturer. If the receiving computer manager

   didn't change the pre-programmed account and password, then his

   computer would have a large security hole waiting to be exploited.

   

   The worm's creator could guess some of the names of these

   manufacturer's accounts, but not all of them. By endowing the worm

   with an ability to learn, he gave it far more power. As the worm

   spread, it became more and more intelligent. As it reproduced, its

   offspring evolved into ever more advanced creatures, increasingly

   successful at breaking into new systems.

   

   When McMahon performed an autopsy on one of the worm's progeny, he was

   impressed with what he found. Slicing the worm open and inspecting its

   entrails, he discovered an extensive collection of generic privileged

   accounts across the SPAN network. In fact, the worm wasn't only picking

   up the standard VMS privileged accounts; it had learned accounts common

   to NASA but not necessarily to other VMS computers. For example, a lot

   of NASA sites which ran a type of TCP/IP mailer that needed either a

   POSTMASTER or a MAILER account. John saw those names turn up inside the

   worm's progeny.

   

   Even if it only managed to break into an unprivileged account, the

   worm would use the account as an incubator. The worm replicated and

   then attacked other computers in the network. As McMahon and the rest

   of the SPAN team continued to pick apart the rest of the worm's code

   to figure out exactly what the creature would do if it got into a

   fully privileged account, they found more evidence of the dark sense

   of humour harboured by the hacker behind the worm. Part of the worm, a

   subroutine, was named `find fucked'.

   

   The SPAN team tried to give NASA managers calling in as much

   information as they could about the worm. It was the best way to help

   computer managers, isolated in their offices around the country, to

   regain a sense of control over the crisis.

   

   Like all the SPAN team, McMahon tried to calm the callers down and

   walk them through a set a questions designed to determine the extent

   of the worm's control over their systems. First, he asked them what

   symptoms their systems were showing. In a crisis situation, when

   you're holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail. McMahon wanted

   to make sure that the problems on the system were in fact caused by

   the worm and not something else entirely.

   

   If the only problem seemed to be mysterious comments flashing across

   the screen, McMahon concluded that the worm was probably harassing the

   staff on that computer from a neighbouring system which it had

   successfully invaded. The messages suggested that the recipients'

   accounts had not been hijacked by the worm. Yet.

   

   VAX/VMS machines have a feature called Phone, which is useful for

   on-line communications. For example, a NASA scientist could `ring up'

   one of his colleagues on a different computer and have a friendly chat

   on-line. The chat session is live, but it is conducted by typing on

   the computer screen, not `voice'. The VMS Phone facility enabled the

   worm to send messages to users. It would simply call them using the

   phone protocol. But instead of starting a chat session, it sent them

   statements from what was later determined to be the aptly named

   Fortune Cookie file--a collection of 60 or so pre-programmed comments.

   

   In some cases, where the worm was really bugging staff, McMahon told

   the manager at the other end of the phone to turn the computer's Phone

   feature off. A few managers complained and McMahon gave them the

   obvious ultimatum: choose Phone or peace. Most chose peace.

   

   When McMahon finished his preliminary analysis, he had good news and

   bad news. The good news was that, contrary to what the worm was

   telling computer users all over NASA, it was not actually deleting

   their files. It was just pretending to delete their data. One big

   practical joke. To the creator of the worm anyway. To the NASA

   scientists, just a headache and heartache. And occasionally a heart

   attack.

   

   The bad news was that, when the worm got control over a privileged

   account, it would help someone--presumably its creator--perpetrate an

   even more serious break-in at NASA. The worm sought out the FIELD

   account created by the manufacturer and, if it had been turned off,

   tried to reactivate the account and install the password FIELD. The

   worm was also programmed to change the password for the standard

   account named DECNET to a random string of at least twelve characters.

   In short, the worm tried to pry open a backdoor to the system.

   

   The worm sent information about accounts it had successfully broken

   into back to a type of electronic mailbox--an account called GEMPAK on

   SPAN node 6.59. Presumably, the hacker who created the worm would

   check the worm's mailbox for information which he could use to break

   into the NASA account at a later date. Not surprisingly, the mailboxes

   had been surreptitiously `borrowed' by the hacker, much to the

   surprise of the legitimate owners.

   

   A computer hacker created a whole new set of problems. Although the

   worm was able to break into new accounts with greater speed and reach

   than a single hacker, it was more predictable. Once the SPAN and DOE

   teams picked the worm apart, they would know exactly what it could be

   expected to do. However, a hacker was utterly unpredictable.

   

   McMahon realised that killing off the worm was not going to solve the

   problem. All the system managers across the NASA and DOE networks

   would have to change all the passwords of the accounts used by the

   worm. They would also have to check every system the worm had invaded

   to see if it had built a backdoor for the hacker. The system admin had

   to shut and lock all the backdoors, no small feat.

   

   What really scared the SPAN team about the worm, however, was that it

   was rampaging through NASA simply by using the simplest of attack

   strategies: username equals password. It was getting complete control

   over NASA computers simply by trying a password which was identical to

   the name of the computer user's account.

   

   The SPAN team didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was

   overwhelming.

   

   Todd Butler answered a call from one NASA site. It was a gloomy call.

   He hung up.

   

   `That node just got hit,' he told the team.

   

   `How bad?' McMahon asked.

   

   `A privileged account.'

   

   `Oh boy.' McMahon jumped onto one of the terminals and did a SET HOST,

   logging into the remote NASA site's machine. Bang. Up it came. `Your

   system has officially been WANKED.'

   

   McMahon turned to Butler. `What account did it get into?'

   

   `They think it was SYSTEM.'

   

   The tension quietly rolled into black humour. The team couldn't help

   it. The head-slapping stupidity of the situation could only be viewed

   as black comedy.

   

   The NASA site had a password of SYSTEM for their fully privileged

   SYSTEM account. It was so unforgivable. NASA, potentially the greatest

   single collection of technical minds on Earth, had such lax computer

   security that a computer-literate teenager could have cracked it wide

   open. The tall poppy was being cut down to size by a computer program

   resembling a bowl of spaghetti.

   

   The first thing any computer system manager learns in Computer

   Security 101 is never to use the same password as the username. It was

   bad enough that naive users might fall into this trap ... but a

   computer system manager with a fully privileged account.

   

   Was the hacker behind the worm malevolent? Probably not. If its

   creator had wanted to, he could have programmed the WANK worm to

   obliterate NASA's files. It could have razed everything in sight.

   

   In fact, the worm was less infectious than its author appeared to

   desire. The WANK worm had been instructed to perform

   several tasks which it didn't execute. Important parts of the worm

   simply didn't work. McMahon believed this failure to be accidental.

   For example, his analysis showed the worm was programmed to break into

   accounts by trying no password, if the account holder had left the

   password blank. When he disassembled the worm, however, he found that

   part of the program didn't work properly.

   

   Nonetheless, the fragmented and partly dysfunctional WANK worm was

   causing a major crisis inside several US government agencies. The

   thing which really worried John was thinking about what a seasoned DCL

   programmer with years of VMS experience could do with such a worm.

   Someone like that could do a lot of malicious damage. And what if the

   WANK worm was just a dry run for something more serious down the

   track? It was scary to contemplate.

   

   Even though the WANK worm did not seem to be intentionally evil, the

   SPAN team faced some tough times. McMahon's analysis turned up yet

   more alarming aspects to the worm. If it managed to break into the

   SYSTEM account, a privileged account, it would block all electronic

   mail deliveries to the system administrator. The SPAN office would not

   be able to send electronic warnings or advice on how to deal with the

   worm to systems which had already been seized. This problem was

   exacerbated by the lack of good information available to the project

   office on which systems were connected to SPAN. The only way to help

   people fighting this bushfire was to telephone them, but in many

   instances the main SPAN office didn't know who to call. The SPAN team

   could only hope that those administrators who had the phone number of

   SPAN headquarters pinned up near their computers would call when their

   computers came under attack.

   

   McMahon's preliminary report outlined how much damage the worm could

   do in its own right. But it was impossible to measure how much damage

   human managers would do to their own systems because of the worm.

   

   One frantic computer manager who phoned the SPAN office refused to

   believe John's analysis that the worm only pretended to erase data. He

   claimed that the worm had not only attacked his system, it had

   destroyed it. `He just didn't believe us when we told him that the

   worm was mostly a set of practical jokes,' McMahon said. `He

   reinitialised his system.' `Reinitialised' as in started up his system

   with a clean slate. As in deleted everything on the infected

   computer--all the NASA staff's data gone. He actually did what the

   worm only pretended to do.

   

   The sad irony was that the SPAN team never even got a copy of the data

   from the manager's system. They were never able to confirm that his

   machine had even been infected.

   

   All afternoon McMahon moved back and forth between answering the

   ever-ringing SPAN phone and writing up NASA's analysis of the worm. He

   had posted a cryptic electronic message about the attack across the

   network, and Kevin Oberman had read it. The message had to be

   circumspect since no-one knew if the creator of the WANK worm was in

   fact on the network, watching, waiting. A short time later, McMahon

   and Oberman were on the phone together--voice--sharing their ideas and

   cross-checking their analysis.

   

   The situation was discouraging. Even if McMahon and Oberman managed to

   develop a successful program to kill off the worm, the NASA SPAN team

   faced another daunting task. Getting the worm-killer out to all the

   NASA sites was going to be much harder than expected because there was

   no clear, updated map of the SPAN network. Much of NASA didn't like

   the idea of a centralised map of the SPAN system. McMahon recalled

   that, some time before the WANK worm attack, a manager had tried to

   map the system. His efforts had accidentally tripped so many system

   alarms that he was quietly taken aside and told not to do it again.

   

   The result was that in instances where the team had phone contact

   details for managers, the information was often outdated.

   

   `No, he used to work here, but he left over a year ago.'

   

   `No, we don't have a telephone tree of people to ring if

   something goes wrong with our computers. There are a whole

   bunch of people in different places here who handle the

   computers.'

   

   This is what John often heard at the other end of the phone.

   

   The network had grown into a rambling hodgepodge for which there was

   little central coordination. Worse, a number of computers at different

   NASA centres across the US had just been tacked onto SPAN without

   telling the main office at Goddard. People were calling up the ad-hoc

   crisis centre from computer nodes on the network which didn't even

   have names. These people had been practising a philosophy known in

   computer security circles as `security through obscurity'. They

   figured that if no-one knew their computer system existed--if it

   didn't have a name, if it wasn't on any list or map of the SPAN

   network--then it would be protected from hackers and other computer

   enemies.

   

   McMahon handled a number of phone calls from system managers saying,

   `There is something strange happening in my system here'. John's most

   basic question was, `Where is "here"?' And of course if the SPAN

   office didn't know those computer systems existed, it was a lot harder

   to warn their managers about the worm. Or tell them how to protect

   themselves. Or give them a worm-killing program once it was developed.

   Or help them seal up breached accounts which the worm was feeding back

   to its creator.

   

   It was such a mess. At times, McMahon sat back and considered who

   might have created this worm. The thing almost looked as though it had

   been released before it was finished. Its author or authors seemed to

   have a good collection of interesting ideas about how to solve

   problems, but they were never properly completed. The worm included a

   routine for modifying its attack strategy, but the thing was never

   fully developed. The worm's code didn't have enough error handling in

   it to ensure the creature's survival for long periods of time. And the

   worm didn't send the addresses of the accounts it had successfully

   breached back to the mailbox along with the password and account name.

   That was really weird. What use was a password and account name

   without knowing what computer system to use it on?

   

   On the other hand, maybe the creator had done this deliberately. Maybe

   he had wanted to show the world just how many computers the worm could

   successfully penetrate. The worm's mail-back program would do this.

   However, including the address of each infected site would have made

   the admins' jobs easier. They could simply have used the GEMPAK

   collection as a hitlist of infected sites which needed to be

   de-wormed. The possible theories were endless.

   

   There were some points of brilliance in the worm, some things that

   McMahon had never considered, which was impressive since he knew a lot

   about how to break into VMS computers. There was also considerable

   creativity, but there wasn't any consistency. After the worm incident,

   various computer security experts would hypothesise that the WANK worm

   had in fact been written by more than one person. But McMahon

   maintained his view that it was the work of a single hacker.

   

   It was as if the creator of the worm started to pursue an idea and

   then got sidetracked or interrupted. Suddenly he just stopped writing

   code to implement that idea and started down another path, never again

   to reach the end. The thing had a schizophrenic structure. It was all

   over the place.

   

   McMahon wondered if the author had done this on purpose, to make it

   harder to figure out exactly what the worm was capable of doing.

   Perhaps, he thought, the code had once been nice and linear and it all

   made sense. Then the author chopped it to pieces, moved the middle to

   the top, the top to the bottom, scrambled up the chunks and strung

   them all together with a bunch of `GO TO' commands. Maybe the hacker

   who wrote the worm was in fact a very elegant DCL programmer who

   wanted the worm to be chaotic in order to protect it. Security through

   obscurity.

   

   Oberman maintained a different view. He believed the programming style

   varied so much in different parts that it had to be the product of a

   number of people. He knew that when computer programmers write code

   they don't make lots of odd little changes in style for no particular

   reason.

   

   Kevin Oberman and John McMahon bounced ideas off one another. Both had

   developed their own analyses. Oberman also brought Mark Kaletka, who

   managed internal networking at Fermilab, one of HEPNET's largest

   sites, into the cross-checking process. The worm had a number of

   serious vulnerabilities, but the problem was finding one, and quickly,

   which could be used to wipe it out with minimum impact on the besieged

   computers.

   

   Whenever a VMS machine starts up an activity, the computer gives it a

   unique process name. When the worm burrowed into a computer site, one

   of the first things it did was check that another copy of itself was

   not already running on that computer. It did this by checking for its

   own process names. The worm's processes were all called NETW_ followed

   by a random, four-digit number. If the incoming worm found this

   process name, it assumed another copy of itself was already running on

   the computer, so it destroyed itself.

   

   The answer seemed to be a decoy duck. Write a program which pretended

   to be the worm and install it across all of NASA's vulnerable

   computers. The first anti-WANK program did just that. It quietly sat

   on the SPAN computers all day long, posing as a NETW_ process, faking

   out any real version of the WANK worm which should come along.

   

   Oberman completed an anti-WANK program first and ran it by McMahon. It

   worked well, but McMahon noticed one large flaw. Oberman's program

   checked for the NETW_ process name, but it assumed that the worm was

   running under the SYSTEM group. In most cases, this was true, but it

   didn't have to be. If the worm was running in another group, Oberman's

   program would be useless. When McMahon pointed out the flaw, Oberman

   thought, God, how did I miss that?

   

   McMahon worked up his own version of an anti-WANK

   program, based on Oberman's program, in preparation for releasing it

   to NASA.

   

   At the same time, Oberman revised his anti-WANK program for DOE. By

   Monday night US Eastern Standard Time, Oberman was able to send out an

   early copy of a vaccine designed to protect computers which hadn't

   been infected yet, along with an electronic warning about the worm.

   His first electronic warning, distributed by CIAC, said in part:



   /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

   THE COMPUTER INCIDENT ADVISORY CAPABILITY C I A C

   

   ADVISORY NOTICE

   

   The W.COM Worm affecting VAX VMS Systems

   

   October 16, 1989 18:37 PSTNumber A-2

   

   This is a mean bug to kill and could have done a lot of damage.

   

   Since it notifies (by mail) someone of each successful penetration and

   leaves a trapdoor (the FIELD account), just killing the bug is not

   adequate. You must go in and make sure all accounts have passwords and

   that the passwords are not the same as the account name.

   

   R. Kevin Oberman

   

   Advisory Notice

   

   A worm is attacking NASA's SPAN network via VAX/VMS systems connected

   to DECnet. It is unclear if the spread of the worm has been checked.

   It may spread to other systems such as DOE's HEPNET within a few days.

   VMS system managers should prepare now.

   

   The worm targets VMS machines, and can only be propagated via DECnet.

   The worm exploits two features of DECnet/VMS in order to propagate

   itself. The first is the default DECnet account, which is a facility

   for users who don't have a specific login ID for a machine to have

   some degree of anonymous access. It uses the default DECnet account to

   copy itself to a machine, and then uses the `TASK 0' feature of DECnet

   to invoke the remote copy. It has several other features including a

   brute force attack.

   

   Once the worm has successfully penetrated your system it will infect

   .COM files and create new security vulnerabilities. It then seems to

   broadcast these vulnerabilities to the outside world. It may also

   damage files as well, either unintentionally or otherwise.

   

   An analysis of the worm appears below and is provided by R. Kevin

   Oberman of Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Included with the

   analysis is a DCL program that will block the current version of the

   worm. At least two versions of this worm exist and more may be

   created. This program should give you enough time to close up obvious

   security holes. A more thorough DCL program is being written.

   

   If your site could be affected please call CIAC for more details...

   

   Report on the W.COM worm.

   

   R. Kevin Oberman

   

   Engineering Department

   

   Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory

   

   October 16, 1989

   

   The following describes the action of the W.COM worm (currently based

   on the examination of the first two incarnations). The replication

   technique causes the code to be modified slightly which indicates the
ਊ   猀漀甀爀挀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 愀琀琀愀挀欀 愀渀搀 氀攀愀爀渀攀搀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀氀氀 愀渀愀氀礀猀椀猀 眀愀猀 搀漀渀攀 眀椀琀栀 洀漀爀攀 栀愀猀琀攀 琀栀愀渀 䤀 挀愀爀攀 昀漀爀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 䤀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀 䤀਀਀   栀愀瘀攀 愀氀氀 漀昀 琀栀攀 戀愀猀椀挀 昀愀挀琀猀 挀漀爀爀攀挀琀⸀ 䘀椀爀猀琀 愀 搀攀猀挀爀椀瀀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀爀漀最爀愀洀㨀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 愀猀猀甀爀攀猀 琀栀愀琀 椀琀 椀猀 眀漀爀欀椀渀最 椀渀 愀 搀椀爀攀挀琀漀爀礀 琀漀 眀栀椀挀栀 琀栀攀਀਀   漀眀渀攀爀 ⠀椀琀猀攀氀昀⤀ 栀愀猀 昀甀氀氀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 ⠀刀攀愀搀Ⰰ 圀爀椀琀攀Ⰰ 䔀砀攀挀甀琀攀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 䐀攀氀攀琀攀⤀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㈀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 挀栀攀挀欀猀 琀漀 猀攀攀 椀昀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 挀漀瀀礀 椀猀 猀琀椀氀氀 爀甀渀渀椀渀最⸀ 䤀琀਀਀   氀漀漀欀猀 昀漀爀 愀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 㔀 挀栀愀爀愀挀琀攀爀猀 漀昀 怀一䔀吀圀开✀⸀ 䤀昀 猀甀挀栀 椀猀਀਀   昀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 椀琀 搀攀氀攀琀攀猀 椀琀猀攀氀昀 ⠀琀栀攀 昀椀氀攀⤀ 愀渀搀 猀琀漀瀀猀 椀琀猀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   一伀吀䔀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀 焀甀椀挀欀 挀栀攀挀欀 昀漀爀 椀渀昀攀挀琀椀漀渀 椀猀 琀漀 氀漀漀欀 昀漀爀 愀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀 猀琀愀爀琀椀渀最਀਀   眀椀琀栀 怀一䔀吀圀开✀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 洀愀礀 戀攀 搀漀渀攀 眀椀琀栀 愀 匀䠀伀圀 倀刀伀䌀䔀匀匀 挀漀洀洀愀渀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㌀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 琀栀攀渀 挀栀愀渀最攀猀 琀栀攀 搀攀昀愀甀氀琀 䐀䔀䌀一䔀吀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀 琀漀 愀਀਀   爀愀渀搀漀洀 猀琀爀椀渀最 漀昀 愀琀 氀攀愀猀琀 ㄀㈀ 挀栀愀爀愀挀琀攀爀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   㐀⸀ 䤀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 漀渀 琀栀攀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀 甀猀攀搀 琀漀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀栀攀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 椀猀 洀愀椀氀攀搀 琀漀਀਀   琀栀攀 甀猀攀爀 䜀䔀䴀吀伀倀 漀渀 匀倀䄀一 渀漀搀攀 㘀⸀㔀㤀⸀ 匀漀洀攀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀猀 洀愀礀 栀愀瘀攀 愀 搀椀昀昀攀爀攀渀琀਀਀   愀搀搀爀攀猀猀⸀㄀㄀਀਀   ਀਀   㔀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 挀栀愀渀最攀猀 椀琀猀 渀愀洀攀 琀漀 怀一䔀吀圀开✀ 昀漀氀氀漀眀攀搀 戀礀 愀 爀愀渀搀漀洀਀਀   渀甀洀戀攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   㘀⸀ 䤀琀 琀栀攀渀 挀栀攀挀欀猀 琀漀 猀攀攀 椀昀 椀琀 栀愀猀 匀夀匀一䄀䴀 瀀爀椀瘀⸀ 䤀昀 猀漀Ⰰ 椀琀 搀攀昀椀渀攀猀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀礀猀琀攀洀 愀渀渀漀甀渀挀攀洀攀渀琀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀 琀漀 戀攀 琀栀攀 戀愀渀渀攀爀 椀渀 琀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀㨀਀਀਀਀          圀 伀 刀 䴀 匀    䄀 䜀 䄀 䤀 一 匀 吀    一 唀 䌀 䰀 䔀 䄀 刀    䬀 䤀 䰀 䰀 䔀 刀 匀਀਀         开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀         尀开开  开开开开开开开开开开开开  开开开开开    开开开开开开开开    开开开开  开开开开   开开  开开开开开⼀਀਀          尀 尀 尀    ⼀尀    ⼀ ⼀    ⼀ ⼀尀 尀       簀 尀 尀  簀 簀    簀 簀 ⼀ ⼀    ⼀਀਀           尀 尀 尀  ⼀  尀  ⼀ ⼀    ⼀ ⼀开开尀 尀      簀 簀尀 尀 簀 簀    簀 簀⼀ ⼀    ⼀਀਀            尀 尀 尀⼀ ⼀尀 尀⼀ ⼀    ⼀ 开开开开开开 尀     簀 簀 尀 尀簀 簀    簀 簀尀 尀   ⼀਀਀             尀开尀  ⼀开开尀  ⼀开开开开⼀ ⼀开开开开开开尀 尀开开开开簀 簀开开尀 簀 簀开开开开簀 簀开尀 尀开⼀਀਀              尀开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开⼀਀਀               尀                                                 ⼀਀਀                尀    夀漀甀爀 匀礀猀琀攀洀 䠀愀猀 䈀攀攀渀 伀昀昀椀挀椀挀愀氀氀礀 圀䄀一䬀攀搀    ⼀਀਀                 尀开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开⼀਀਀਀਀          夀漀甀 琀愀氀欀 漀昀 琀椀洀攀猀 漀昀 瀀攀愀挀攀 昀漀爀 愀氀氀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 瀀爀攀瀀愀爀攀 昀漀爀 眀愀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   㜀⸀ 䤀昀 椀琀 栀愀猀 匀夀匀倀刀嘀Ⰰ 椀琀 搀椀猀愀戀氀攀猀 洀愀椀氀 琀漀 琀栀攀 匀夀匀吀䔀䴀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   㠀⸀ 䤀昀 椀琀 栀愀猀 匀夀匀倀刀嘀Ⰰ 椀琀 洀漀搀椀昀椀攀猀 琀栀攀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 氀漀最椀渀 挀漀洀洀愀渀搀 瀀爀漀挀攀搀甀爀攀 琀漀਀਀   䄀倀倀䔀䄀刀 琀漀 搀攀氀攀琀攀 愀氀氀 漀昀 愀 甀猀攀爀✀猀 昀椀氀攀⸀ ⠀䤀琀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 搀漀攀猀 渀漀琀栀椀渀最⸀⤀਀਀   ਀਀   㤀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 琀栀攀渀 猀挀愀渀猀 琀栀攀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀✀猀 氀漀最椀挀愀氀 渀愀洀攀 琀愀戀氀攀 昀漀爀 挀漀洀洀愀渀搀਀਀   瀀爀漀挀攀搀甀爀攀猀 愀渀搀 琀爀椀攀猀 琀漀 洀漀搀椀昀礀 琀栀攀 䘀䤀䔀䰀䐀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 琀漀 愀 欀渀漀眀渀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀਀਀   眀椀琀栀 氀漀最椀渀 昀爀漀洀 愀渀礀 猀漀甀爀挀攀 愀渀搀 愀氀氀 瀀爀椀瘀猀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 椀猀 愀 瀀爀椀洀椀琀椀瘀攀 瘀椀爀甀猀Ⰰ਀਀   戀甀琀 瘀攀爀礀 攀昀昀攀挀琀椀瘀攀 䤀䘀 椀琀 猀栀漀甀氀搀 最攀琀 椀渀琀漀 愀 瀀爀椀瘀椀氀攀最攀搀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀ ⸀ 䤀琀 瀀爀漀挀攀攀搀猀 琀漀 愀琀琀攀洀瀀琀 琀漀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 漀琀栀攀爀 猀礀猀琀攀洀猀 戀礀 瀀椀挀欀椀渀最 渀漀搀攀਀਀   渀甀洀戀攀爀猀 愀琀 爀愀渀搀漀洀⸀ 䤀琀 琀栀攀渀 甀猀攀猀 倀䠀伀一䔀 琀漀 最攀琀 愀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀 愀挀琀椀瘀攀 甀猀攀爀猀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 爀攀洀漀琀攀 猀礀猀琀攀洀⸀ 䤀琀 瀀爀漀挀攀攀搀猀 琀漀 椀爀爀椀琀愀琀攀 琀栀攀洀 戀礀 甀猀椀渀最 倀䠀伀一䔀 琀漀 爀椀渀最਀਀   琀栀攀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀㄀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 琀栀攀渀 琀爀椀攀猀 琀漀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀栀攀 刀䤀䜀䠀吀匀䰀䤀匀吀 昀椀氀攀 愀渀搀 愀琀琀攀洀瀀琀猀਀਀   琀漀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 猀漀洀攀 爀攀洀漀琀攀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 甀猀椀渀最 琀栀攀 甀猀攀爀猀 昀漀甀渀搀 愀渀搀 愀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀਀਀   怀猀琀愀渀搀愀爀搀✀ 甀猀攀爀猀 椀渀挀氀甀搀攀搀 眀椀琀栀椀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 䤀琀 氀漀漀欀猀 昀漀爀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀猀਀਀   眀栀椀挀栀 愀爀攀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 愀猀 琀栀愀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 漀爀 愀爀攀 戀氀愀渀欀⸀ 䤀琀 爀攀挀漀爀搀猀 愀氀氀਀਀   猀甀挀栀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀㈀⸀ 䤀琀 氀漀漀欀猀 昀漀爀 愀渀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 琀栀愀琀 栀愀猀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀漀 匀夀匀唀䄀䘀⸀䐀䄀吀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀㌀⸀ 䤀昀 愀 瀀爀椀瘀⸀ 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 椀猀 昀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 椀猀 挀漀瀀椀攀搀 琀漀 琀栀愀琀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀਀਀   愀渀搀 猀琀愀爀琀攀搀⸀ 䤀昀 渀漀 瀀爀椀瘀⸀ 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 眀愀猀 昀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 椀琀 椀猀 挀漀瀀椀攀搀 琀漀 漀琀栀攀爀਀਀   愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀 昀漀甀渀搀 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀愀渀搀漀洀 猀礀猀琀攀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀㐀⸀ 䄀猀 猀漀漀渀 愀猀 椀琀 昀椀渀椀猀栀攀猀 眀椀琀栀 愀 猀礀猀琀攀洀Ⰰ 椀琀 瀀椀挀欀猀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 爀愀渀搀漀洀਀਀   猀礀猀琀攀洀 愀渀搀 爀攀瀀攀愀琀猀 ⠀昀漀爀攀瘀攀爀⤀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   刀攀猀瀀漀渀猀攀㨀਀਀   ਀਀   ㄀⸀ 吀栀攀 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 眀椀氀氀 戀氀漀挀欀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 䔀砀琀爀愀挀琀 琀栀攀 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最਀਀   挀漀搀攀 愀渀搀 攀砀攀挀甀琀攀 椀琀⸀ 䤀琀 眀椀氀氀 甀猀攀 洀椀渀椀洀愀氀 爀攀猀漀甀爀挀攀猀⸀ 䤀琀 挀爀攀愀琀攀猀 愀਀਀   瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀搀 一䔀吀圀开䈀䰀伀䌀䬀 眀栀椀挀栀 眀椀氀氀 瀀爀攀瘀攀渀琀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 昀爀漀洀 爀甀渀渀椀渀最⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䔀搀椀琀漀爀猀 渀漀琀攀㨀 吀栀椀猀 昀椀砀 眀椀氀氀 眀漀爀欀 漀渀氀礀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀椀猀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䴀甀琀愀琀攀搀 眀漀爀洀猀 眀椀氀氀 爀攀焀甀椀爀攀 洀漀搀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀椀猀 挀漀搀攀㬀 栀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀椀猀਀਀   瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 猀栀漀甀氀搀 瀀爀攀瘀攀渀琀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 昀爀漀洀 爀甀渀渀椀渀最 氀漀渀最 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀漀 猀攀挀甀爀攀਀਀   礀漀甀爀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀猀 愀琀琀愀挀欀猀⸀㄀㌀਀਀   ⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀⼀਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ    ⴀⴀⴀ਀਀   ਀਀   䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀✀猀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 愀渀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 眀愀猀 愀氀猀漀 爀攀愀搀礀 琀漀 最漀 戀礀 氀愀琀攀਀਀   䴀漀渀搀愀礀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 昀愀挀攀 搀攀氀愀礀猀 最攀琀琀椀渀最 椀琀 漀甀琀 琀漀 一䄀匀䄀⸀ 圀漀爀欀椀渀最 椀渀猀椀搀攀਀਀   一䄀匀䄀 眀愀猀 愀 戀愀氀愀渀挀椀渀最 愀挀琀Ⰰ 愀 搀攀氀椀挀愀琀攀 戀愀氀氀攀琀 搀攀洀愀渀搀椀渀最 攀砀焀甀椀猀椀琀攀਀਀   挀栀漀爀攀漀最爀愀瀀栀礀 戀攀琀眀攀攀渀 最攀琀琀椀渀最 琀栀攀 樀漀戀 搀漀渀攀Ⰰ 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 瀀爀漀挀攀搀甀爀攀猀਀਀   愀渀搀 愀瘀漀椀搀椀渀最 猀琀攀瀀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 洀椀最栀琀 琀爀攀愀搀 漀渀 猀攀渀椀漀爀 戀甀爀攀愀甀挀爀愀琀猀✀ 琀漀攀猀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀਀਀   猀攀瘀攀爀愀氀 搀愀礀猀 戀攀昀漀爀攀 一䄀匀䄀✀猀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 眀愀猀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀氀礀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䐀伀䔀 眀愀猀 渀漀琀 眀椀琀栀漀甀琀 椀琀猀 猀栀愀爀攀 漀昀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀猀 椀渀 氀愀甀渀挀栀椀渀最 琀栀攀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀਀਀   瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 愀渀搀 愀搀瘀椀猀漀爀礀 愀挀爀漀猀猀 䠀䔀倀一䔀吀⸀ 䄀琀 㔀⸀ 㐀 瀀⸀洀⸀ 倀愀挀椀昀椀挀 䌀漀愀猀琀 吀椀洀攀 漀渀਀਀   ㄀㜀 伀挀琀漀戀攀爀Ⰰ 愀猀 伀戀攀爀洀愀渀 瀀甀琀 琀栀攀 昀椀渀愀氀 琀漀甀挀栀攀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 氀愀猀琀 瀀愀爀愀最爀愀瀀栀 漀昀਀਀   栀椀猀 昀椀渀愀氀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀 漀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 昀氀漀漀爀 戀攀渀攀愀琀栀 栀椀猀 昀攀攀琀 戀攀最愀渀 琀漀਀਀   猀栀愀欀攀⸀ 吀栀攀 戀甀椀氀搀椀渀最 眀愀猀 琀爀攀洀戀氀椀渀最⸀ 䬀攀瘀椀渀 伀戀攀爀洀愀渀 眀愀猀 椀渀 琀栀攀 洀椀搀搀氀攀 漀昀਀਀   琀栀攀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀 匀愀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀椀猀挀漀 攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䴀攀愀猀甀爀椀渀最 㜀⸀㄀ 漀渀 琀栀攀 刀椀挀栀琀攀爀 猀挀愀氀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䰀漀洀愀 倀爀椀攀琀愀 攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀 爀椀瀀瀀攀搀਀਀   琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 最爀攀愀琀攀爀 匀愀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀椀猀挀漀 愀爀攀愀 眀椀琀栀 猀愀瘀愀最攀 猀瀀攀攀搀⸀ 䤀渀猀椀搀攀 琀栀攀਀਀   挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 氀愀戀Ⰰ 伀戀攀爀洀愀渀 戀爀愀挀攀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀猀琀⸀ 伀渀挀攀 琀栀攀 猀栀愀欀椀渀最਀਀   猀琀漀瀀瀀攀搀 愀渀搀 栀攀 愀猀挀攀爀琀愀椀渀攀搀 琀栀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 挀攀渀琀爀攀 眀愀猀 猀琀椀氀氀 猀琀愀渀搀椀渀最Ⰰ 栀攀਀਀   猀愀琀 戀愀挀欀 搀漀眀渀 愀琀 栀椀猀 琀攀爀洀椀渀愀氀⸀ 圀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 倀䄀 戀氀愀爀椀渀最 眀愀爀渀椀渀最猀 昀漀爀 愀氀氀਀਀   渀漀渀ⴀ攀猀猀攀渀琀椀愀氀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀渀攀氀 琀漀 氀攀愀瘀攀 琀栀攀 戀甀椀氀搀椀渀最 椀洀洀攀搀椀愀琀攀氀礀Ⰰ 伀戀攀爀洀愀渀਀਀   爀甀猀栀攀搀 漀昀昀 琀栀攀 氀愀猀琀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀⸀ 䠀攀 瀀愀甀猀攀搀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 愀搀搀攀搀 愀਀਀   瀀漀猀琀猀挀爀椀瀀琀 猀愀礀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 椀昀 琀栀攀 瀀愀爀愀最爀愀瀀栀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 洀愀欀攀 猀攀渀猀攀Ⰰ 椀琀 眀愀猀਀਀   戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 栀攀 眀愀猀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 爀愀琀琀氀攀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 氀愀爀最攀 攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀搀 樀甀猀琀਀਀   栀椀琀 䰀愀眀爀攀渀挀攀 䰀椀瘀攀爀洀漀爀攀 䰀愀戀猀⸀ 䠀攀 瀀爀攀猀猀攀搀 琀栀攀 欀攀礀Ⰰ 猀攀渀琀 漀甀琀 栀椀猀 昀椀渀愀氀਀਀   愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀 愀渀搀 昀氀攀搀 琀栀攀 戀甀椀氀搀椀渀最⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀愀挀欀 漀渀 琀栀攀 攀愀猀琀 挀漀愀猀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 漀昀昀椀挀攀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀 琀漀 栀攀氀瀀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀਀਀   挀愀氀氀椀渀最 昀爀漀洀 一䄀匀䄀 猀椀琀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 栀椀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀 猀椀琀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀਀਀   栀愀搀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀攀搀 眀漀爀洀ⴀ爀攀氀愀琀攀搀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀猀 最爀攀眀 猀琀攀愀搀椀氀礀 搀甀爀椀渀最 琀栀攀 眀攀攀欀⸀਀਀   伀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 攀猀琀椀洀愀琀攀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 猀挀漀瀀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 愀琀琀愀挀欀 眀攀爀攀 瘀愀最甀攀Ⰰ਀਀   戀甀琀 琀爀愀搀攀 樀漀甀爀渀愀氀猀 猀甀挀栀 愀猀 一攀琀眀漀爀欀 圀漀爀氀搀 愀渀搀 䌀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀眀漀爀氀搀 焀甀漀琀攀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀瀀愀挀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 愀猀 猀甀昀昀攀爀椀渀最 漀渀氀礀 愀 猀洀愀氀氀 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 猀甀挀挀攀猀猀昀甀氀 眀漀爀洀਀਀   椀渀瘀愀猀椀漀渀猀Ⰰ 瀀攀爀栀愀瀀猀 㘀  嘀䴀匀ⴀ戀愀猀攀搀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀⸀ 匀倀䄀一 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 刀漀渀਀਀   吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 攀猀琀椀洀愀琀攀搀 漀渀氀礀 ㈀  猀甀挀挀攀猀猀昀甀氀 眀漀爀洀 瀀攀渀攀琀爀愀琀椀漀渀猀 椀渀 琀栀攀 一䄀匀䄀਀਀   瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 匀倀䄀一✀猀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 椀渀琀攀爀渀愀氀 攀猀琀椀洀愀琀攀 瀀甀琀 琀栀攀 昀椀最甀爀攀਀਀   洀甀挀栀 栀椀最栀攀爀㨀 ㈀㔀  琀漀 ㌀   洀愀挀栀椀渀攀猀⸀ 䔀愀挀栀 漀昀 琀栀漀猀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀 洀椀最栀琀 栀愀瘀攀਀਀   栀愀搀 ㄀   漀爀 洀漀爀攀 甀猀攀爀猀⸀ 䘀椀最甀爀攀猀 眀攀爀攀 猀欀攀琀挀栀礀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 瘀椀爀琀甀愀氀氀礀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀ⴀⴀ愀氀氀 ㈀㜀     挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀ⴀⴀ栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 愀昀昀攀挀琀攀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀਀਀   眀漀爀洀Ⰰ 攀椀琀栀攀爀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 琀栀攀椀爀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 瀀甀氀氀攀搀਀਀   漀昀昀ⴀ氀椀渀攀 漀爀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 琀栀攀椀爀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀猀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 栀愀爀愀猀猀攀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀਀਀   愀猀 椀琀 琀爀椀攀搀 愀最愀椀渀 愀渀搀 愀最愀椀渀 琀漀 氀漀最椀渀 昀爀漀洀 愀渀 椀渀昀攀挀琀攀搀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀⸀ 䈀礀 琀栀攀਀਀   攀渀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 愀琀琀愀挀欀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 漀昀昀椀挀攀 栀愀搀 愀挀挀甀洀甀氀愀琀攀搀 愀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀਀਀   愀昀昀攀挀琀攀搀 猀椀琀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 爀愀渀 漀瘀攀爀 琀眀漀 挀漀氀甀洀渀猀 漀渀 猀攀瘀攀爀愀氀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀挀爀攀攀渀猀⸀਀਀   䔀愀挀栀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 栀愀搀 氀漀搀最攀搀 猀漀洀攀 昀漀爀洀 漀昀 挀漀洀瀀氀愀椀渀琀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀氀猀漀 戀礀 琀栀攀 攀渀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 挀爀椀猀椀猀Ⰰ 一䄀匀䄀 愀渀搀 䐀伀䔀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀猀਀਀   栀愀搀 琀栀攀椀爀 挀栀漀椀挀攀 漀昀 瘀愀挀挀椀渀攀猀Ⰰ 愀渀琀椀搀漀琀攀猀 愀渀搀 戀氀漀漀搀 琀攀猀琀猀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀਀਀   眀漀爀洀⸀ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 栀愀搀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀 䄀一吀䤀圀䄀一䬀⸀䌀伀䴀Ⰰ 愀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 眀栀椀挀栀 欀椀氀氀攀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   眀漀爀洀 愀渀搀 瘀愀挀挀椀渀愀琀攀搀 愀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀 昀甀爀琀栀攀爀 愀琀琀愀挀欀猀Ⰰ 愀渀搀਀਀   圀伀刀䴀ⴀ䤀一䘀伀⸀吀䔀堀吀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 瀀爀漀瘀椀搀攀搀 愀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀 眀漀爀洀ⴀ椀渀昀攀猀琀愀琀椀漀渀 猀礀洀瀀琀漀洀猀⸀਀਀   伀戀攀爀洀愀渀✀猀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀Ⰰ 挀愀氀氀攀搀 嬀⸀匀䔀䌀唀刀䤀吀夀崀䌀䠀䔀䌀䬀开匀夀匀吀䔀䴀⸀䌀伀䴀Ⰰ 挀栀攀挀欀攀搀 昀漀爀 愀氀氀਀਀   琀栀攀 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 昀氀愀眀猀 甀猀攀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 琀漀 猀渀攀愀欀 椀渀琀漀 愀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀礀猀琀攀洀⸀਀਀   䐀䔀䌀 愀氀猀漀 栀愀搀 愀 瀀愀琀挀栀 琀漀 挀漀瘀攀爀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 栀漀氀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 䐀䔀䌀一䔀吀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀愀琀攀瘀攀爀 琀栀攀 爀攀愀氀 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 椀渀昀攀挀琀攀搀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 挀攀爀琀愀椀渀氀礀਀਀   挀椀爀挀甀洀渀愀瘀椀最愀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 最氀漀戀攀⸀ 䤀琀 栀愀搀 爀攀愀挀栀 椀渀琀漀 䔀甀爀漀瀀攀愀渀 猀椀琀攀猀Ⰰ 猀甀挀栀 愀猀਀਀   䌀䔀刀一ⴀⴀ昀漀爀洀攀爀氀礀 欀渀漀眀渀 愀猀 琀栀攀 䔀甀爀漀瀀攀愀渀 䌀攀渀琀爀攀 昀漀爀 一甀挀氀攀愀爀 刀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀ⴀⴀ椀渀਀਀   匀眀椀琀稀攀爀氀愀渀搀Ⰰ 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀漀 䜀漀搀搀愀爀搀✀猀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀 椀渀 䴀愀爀礀氀愀渀搀Ⰰ 漀渀 琀漀਀਀   䘀攀爀洀椀氀愀戀 椀渀 䌀栀椀挀愀最漀 愀渀搀 瀀爀漀瀀攀氀氀攀搀 椀琀猀攀氀昀 愀挀爀漀猀猀 琀栀攀 倀愀挀椀昀椀挀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀਀਀   刀椀欀攀渀 䄀挀挀攀氀攀爀愀琀漀爀 䘀愀挀椀氀椀琀礀 椀渀 䨀愀瀀愀渀⸀㄀㐀਀਀   ਀਀   一䄀匀䄀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀猀 琀漀氀搀 琀栀攀 洀攀搀椀愀 琀栀攀礀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 氀愀甀渀挀栀攀搀਀਀   愀戀漀甀琀 㐀⸀㌀  愀⸀洀⸀ 漀渀 䴀漀渀搀愀礀Ⰰ ㄀㘀 伀挀琀漀戀攀爀⸀㄀㔀 吀栀攀礀 愀氀猀漀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀 椀琀 栀愀搀਀਀   漀爀椀最椀渀愀琀攀搀 椀渀 䔀甀爀漀瀀攀Ⰰ 瀀漀猀猀椀戀氀礀 椀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ    嬀 崀਀਀਀਀   圀攀搀渀攀猀搀愀礀Ⰰ ㄀㠀 伀挀琀漀戀攀爀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀਀਀   䬀攀渀渀攀搀礀 匀瀀愀挀攀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀Ⰰ 䘀氀漀爀椀搀愀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 昀椀瘀攀ⴀ洀攀洀戀攀爀 䄀琀氀愀渀琀椀猀 栀愀搀 猀漀洀攀 戀愀搀 渀攀眀猀 漀渀 圀攀搀渀攀猀搀愀礀 洀漀爀渀椀渀最⸀ 吀栀攀਀਀   眀攀愀琀栀攀爀 昀漀爀攀挀愀猀琀攀爀猀 最愀瘀攀 琀栀攀 氀愀甀渀挀栀 猀椀琀攀 愀 㐀  瀀攀爀 挀攀渀琀 挀栀愀渀挀攀 漀昀਀਀   氀愀甀渀挀栀 最甀椀搀攀氀椀渀攀ⴀ瘀椀漀氀愀琀椀渀最 爀愀椀渀 愀渀搀 挀氀漀甀搀⸀ 䄀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 琀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀਀਀   攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀 椀渀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 䬀攀渀渀攀搀礀 匀瀀愀挀攀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 琀栀攀 漀渀氀礀 瀀氀愀挀攀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀搀 琀漀 戀攀 椀渀਀਀   琀椀瀀ⴀ琀漀瀀 眀漀爀欀椀渀最 漀爀搀攀爀 昀漀爀 愀 氀愀甀渀挀栀 琀漀 最漀 愀栀攀愀搀⸀ 吀栀攀 氀愀甀渀挀栀 搀攀瀀攀渀搀攀搀 漀渀਀਀   洀愀渀礀 猀椀琀攀猀 昀愀爀 愀眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 䘀氀漀爀椀搀愀⸀ 吀栀攀猀攀 椀渀挀氀甀搀攀搀 䔀搀眀愀爀搀猀 䄀椀爀 䘀漀爀挀攀਀਀   䈀愀猀攀 椀渀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀Ⰰ 眀栀攀爀攀 琀栀攀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 眀愀猀 搀甀攀 琀漀 氀愀渀搀 漀渀 䴀漀渀搀愀礀⸀ 吀栀攀礀਀਀   愀氀猀漀 椀渀挀氀甀搀攀搀 漀琀栀攀爀 猀椀琀攀猀Ⰰ 漀昀琀攀渀 洀椀氀椀琀愀爀礀 戀愀猀攀猀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 眀攀爀攀 攀猀猀攀渀琀椀愀氀਀਀   昀漀爀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 琀爀愀挀欀椀渀最 愀渀搀 漀琀栀攀爀 洀椀猀猀椀漀渀 猀甀瀀瀀漀爀琀⸀ 伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀猀攀 猀椀琀攀猀 眀愀猀਀਀   愀 琀爀愀挀欀椀渀最 猀琀愀琀椀漀渀 愀琀 伀渀椀稀甀欀愀 䄀椀爀 䘀漀爀挀攀 䈀愀猀攀 愀琀 匀甀渀渀礀瘀愀氀攀Ⰰ 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀 攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀 眀栀椀挀栀 爀椀瀀瀀攀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 䈀愀礀 愀爀攀愀 栀愀搀 搀愀洀愀最攀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   琀爀愀挀欀椀渀最 猀琀愀琀椀漀渀 愀渀搀 猀攀渀椀漀爀 一䄀匀䄀 搀攀挀椀猀椀漀渀ⴀ洀愀欀攀爀猀 瀀氀愀渀渀攀搀 琀漀 洀攀攀琀 漀渀਀਀   圀攀搀渀攀猀搀愀礀 洀漀爀渀椀渀最 琀漀 挀漀渀猀椀搀攀爀 琀栀攀 匀甀渀渀礀瘀愀氀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 匀琀椀氀氀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   猀瀀愀挀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 洀愀椀渀琀愀椀渀攀搀 愀 挀愀氀洀Ⰰ 挀漀漀氀 攀砀琀攀爀椀漀爀⸀ 刀攀最愀爀搀氀攀猀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   琀攀挀栀渀椀挀愀氀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 挀漀甀爀琀 挀栀愀氀氀攀渀最攀猀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 瀀爀漀琀攀猀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   眀栀椀洀猀椀挀愀氀 眀攀愀琀栀攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 渀愀琀甀爀愀氀 搀椀猀愀猀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀Ⰰ 一䄀匀䄀 眀愀猀਀਀   猀琀椀氀氀 椀渀 挀漀渀琀爀漀氀 漀昀 琀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀吀栀攀爀攀✀猀 戀攀攀渀 猀漀洀攀 搀愀洀愀最攀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 眀攀 搀漀渀✀琀 欀渀漀眀 栀漀眀 洀甀挀栀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀攀渀猀攀 䤀 最攀琀਀਀   椀猀 椀琀✀猀 昀愀椀爀氀礀 瀀漀猀椀琀椀瘀攀Ⰰ✀ 愀 一䄀匀䄀 猀瀀漀欀攀猀洀愀渀 琀漀氀搀 唀倀䤀⸀ 怀䈀甀琀 琀栀攀爀攀 愀爀攀਀਀   猀漀洀攀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀猀⸀✀㄀㘀 䤀渀 圀愀猀栀椀渀最琀漀渀Ⰰ 倀攀渀琀愀最漀渀 猀瀀漀欀攀猀洀愀渀 刀椀挀欀 伀戀漀爀渀਀਀   爀攀愀猀猀甀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 瀀甀戀氀椀挀 愀最愀椀渀Ⰰ 怀吀栀攀礀 愀爀攀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 戀攀 愀戀氀攀 琀漀 栀愀渀搀氀攀਀਀   猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 琀爀愀挀欀椀渀最 愀渀搀 猀甀瀀瀀漀爀琀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 洀椀猀猀椀漀渀 ⸀⸀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 眀椀氀氀 戀攀 愀戀氀攀 琀漀਀਀   搀漀 琀栀攀椀爀 樀漀戀✀⸀㄀㜀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀琀氀愀渀琀椀猀 眀愀椀琀攀搀Ⰰ 爀攀愀搀礀 琀漀 最漀Ⰰ 愀琀 氀愀甀渀挀栀瀀愀搀 ㌀㤀䈀⸀ 吀栀攀 琀攀挀栀渀椀挀椀愀渀猀 栀愀搀਀਀   昀椀氀氀攀搀 琀栀攀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 甀瀀 眀椀琀栀 爀漀挀欀攀琀 昀甀攀氀 愀渀搀 椀琀 氀漀漀欀攀搀 愀猀 椀昀 琀栀攀 眀攀愀琀栀攀爀਀਀   洀椀最栀琀 栀漀氀搀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 瀀愀爀琀氀礀 挀氀漀甀搀礀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 挀漀渀搀椀琀椀漀渀猀 愀琀 䬀攀渀渀攀搀礀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀਀਀   洀甀猀琀攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 愀猀琀爀漀渀愀甀琀猀 戀漀愀爀搀攀搀 琀栀攀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀⸀ 䔀瘀攀爀礀琀栀椀渀最 眀愀猀 椀渀 瀀氀愀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀甀琀 眀栀椀氀攀 琀栀攀 眀攀愀琀栀攀爀 眀愀猀 愀挀挀攀瀀琀愀戀氀攀 椀渀 䘀氀漀爀椀搀愀Ⰰ 椀琀 眀愀猀 挀愀甀猀椀渀最 猀漀洀攀਀਀   瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀猀 椀渀 䄀昀爀椀挀愀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 猀椀琀攀 漀昀 愀渀 攀洀攀爀最攀渀挀礀 氀愀渀搀椀渀最 氀漀挀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䤀昀 椀琀਀਀   眀愀猀渀✀琀 漀渀攀 琀栀椀渀最Ⰰ 椀琀 眀愀猀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀⸀ 一䄀匀䄀 漀爀搀攀爀攀搀 愀 昀漀甀爀ⴀ洀椀渀甀琀攀 搀攀氀愀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀椀渀愀氀氀礀 愀琀 ㄀㈀⸀㔀㐀 瀀⸀洀⸀Ⰰ 䄀琀氀愀渀琀椀猀 戀漀漀洀攀搀 昀爀漀洀 椀琀猀 氀愀甀渀挀栀瀀愀搀⸀ 刀椀猀椀渀最 甀瀀਀਀   昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 䬀攀渀渀攀搀礀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀Ⰰ 猀琀爀攀愀欀椀渀最 愀 琀爀愀椀氀 漀昀 琀眀椀渀 昀氀愀洀攀猀 昀爀漀洀 椀琀猀਀਀   栀甀最攀 猀漀氀椀搀ⴀ昀甀攀氀 戀漀漀猀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 爀攀愀挀栀攀搀 愀戀漀瘀攀 琀栀攀 愀琀洀漀猀瀀栀攀爀攀 愀渀搀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 猀瀀愀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀琀 㜀⸀㄀㔀 瀀⸀洀⸀Ⰰ 攀砀愀挀琀氀礀 㘀 栀漀甀爀猀 愀渀搀 ㈀㄀ 洀椀渀甀琀攀猀 愀昀琀攀爀 氀椀昀琀ⴀ漀昀昀Ⰰ 䜀愀氀椀氀攀漀਀਀   戀攀最愀渀 椀琀猀 猀漀氀漀 樀漀甀爀渀攀礀 椀渀琀漀 猀瀀愀挀攀⸀ 䄀渀搀 愀琀 㠀⸀㄀㔀 瀀⸀洀⸀Ⰰ 䜀愀氀椀氀攀漀✀猀 戀漀漀猀琀攀爀਀਀   椀最渀椀琀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀渀猀椀搀攀 猀栀甀琀琀氀攀 洀椀猀猀椀漀渀 挀漀渀琀爀漀氀Ⰰ 一䄀匀䄀 猀瀀漀欀攀猀洀愀渀 䈀爀椀愀渀 圀攀氀挀栀 愀渀渀漀甀渀挀攀搀Ⰰ਀਀   怀吀栀攀 猀瀀愀挀攀挀爀愀昀琀 䜀愀氀椀氀攀漀 ⸀⸀⸀ 栀愀猀 愀挀栀椀攀瘀攀搀 䔀愀爀琀栀 攀猀挀愀瀀攀 瘀攀氀漀挀椀琀礀✀⸀㄀㠀਀਀   ਀਀ऀऀऀऀ    嬀 崀਀਀਀਀   䴀漀渀搀愀礀Ⰰ ㌀  伀挀琀漀戀攀爀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀਀਀   一䄀匀䄀✀猀 䜀漀搀搀愀爀搀 匀瀀愀挀攀 䘀氀椀最栀琀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀Ⰰ 䜀爀攀攀渀戀攀氀琀Ⰰ 䴀愀爀礀氀愀渀搀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀攀攀欀 猀琀愀爀琀椀渀最 ㄀㘀 伀挀琀漀戀攀爀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 愀 氀漀渀最 漀渀攀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 欀攀攀瀀椀渀最 琀眀攀氀瘀攀ⴀ栀漀甀爀 搀愀礀猀 愀渀搀 搀攀愀氀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 栀礀猀琀攀爀椀挀愀氀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀਀਀   愀氀氀 搀愀礀 氀漀渀最⸀ 匀琀椀氀氀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 洀愀渀愀最攀搀 琀漀 最攀琀 挀漀瀀椀攀猀 漀昀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 漀甀琀Ⰰ਀਀   搀攀猀瀀椀琀攀 琀栀攀 氀椀洀椀琀愀琀椀漀渀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 搀愀琀攀搀 匀倀䄀一 爀攀挀漀爀搀猀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 瀀愀甀挀椀琀礀 漀昀਀਀   最漀漀搀 氀漀最猀 愀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 琀栀攀洀 琀漀 爀攀琀爀愀挀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 瀀愀琀栀⸀ 怀圀栀愀琀 眀攀 氀攀愀爀渀攀搀਀਀   琀栀愀琀 眀攀攀欀 眀愀猀 樀甀猀琀 栀漀眀 洀甀挀栀 搀愀琀愀 椀猀 渀漀琀 挀漀氀氀攀挀琀攀搀Ⰰ✀ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 漀戀猀攀爀瘀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀礀 䘀爀椀搀愀礀Ⰰ ㈀  伀挀琀漀戀攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀爀攀 眀攀爀攀 渀漀 渀攀眀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀猀 漀昀 眀漀爀洀 愀琀琀愀挀欀猀⸀ 䤀琀਀਀   氀漀漀欀攀搀 愀猀 琀栀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 挀爀椀猀椀猀 栀愀搀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀⸀ 吀栀椀渀最猀 挀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 琀椀搀椀攀搀 甀瀀 戀礀਀਀   琀栀攀 爀攀猀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀 愀渀搀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 爀攀琀甀爀渀攀搀 琀漀 栀椀猀 漀眀渀 眀漀爀欀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀 眀攀攀欀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀⸀ 䄀氀氀 琀栀攀 眀栀椀氀攀Ⰰ 琀栀漀甀最栀Ⰰ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 眀愀猀 漀渀 攀搀最攀⸀ 䠀攀 搀漀甀戀琀攀搀਀਀   琀栀愀琀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀 眀栀漀 栀愀搀 最漀渀攀 琀漀 愀氀氀 琀栀愀琀 琀爀漀甀戀氀攀 漀昀 挀爀攀愀琀椀渀最 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀਀਀   眀漀爀洀 眀漀甀氀搀 氀攀琀 栀椀猀 戀愀戀礀 戀攀 攀砀琀攀爀洀椀渀愀琀攀搀 猀漀 焀甀椀挀欀氀礀⸀ 吀栀攀 搀攀挀漀礀ⴀ搀甀挀欀਀਀   猀琀爀愀琀攀最礀 漀渀氀礀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 愀猀 氀漀渀最 愀猀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 欀攀瀀琀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀Ⰰ਀਀   愀渀搀 愀猀 氀漀渀最 愀猀 椀琀 眀愀猀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀洀攀搀 渀漀琀 琀漀 愀挀琀椀瘀愀琀攀 椀琀猀攀氀昀 漀渀 猀礀猀琀攀洀猀਀਀   眀栀椀挀栀 眀攀爀攀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 椀渀昀攀挀琀攀搀⸀ 䌀栀愀渀最攀 琀栀攀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀Ⰰ 漀爀 琀攀愀挀栀 琀栀攀਀਀   眀漀爀洀 琀漀 渀漀琀 琀漀 猀甀椀挀椀搀攀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀 眀漀甀氀搀 昀愀挀攀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀Ⰰ 氀愀爀最攀爀਀਀   瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀⸀ 䨀漀栀渀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 栀愀搀 愀渀 椀渀猀琀椀渀挀琀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀㬀 椀琀 洀椀最栀琀 樀甀猀琀਀਀   戀攀 戀愀挀欀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䠀椀猀 椀渀猀琀椀渀挀琀 眀愀猀 爀椀最栀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 䴀漀渀搀愀礀Ⰰ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 爀攀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 瀀栀漀渀攀 挀愀氀氀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀਀਀   匀倀䄀一 瀀爀漀樀攀挀琀 漀昀昀椀挀攀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 栀攀 瀀漀欀攀搀 栀椀猀 栀攀愀搀 椀渀 栀椀猀 戀漀猀猀✀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀Ⰰ਀਀   䨀攀爀漀洀攀 䈀攀渀渀攀琀琀 氀漀漀欀攀搀 甀瀀 昀爀漀洀 栀椀猀 搀攀猀欀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀吀栀攀 琀栀椀渀最 椀猀 戀愀挀欀Ⰰ✀ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 琀漀氀搀 栀椀洀⸀ 吀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 渀漀 渀攀攀搀 琀漀 攀砀瀀氀愀椀渀਀਀   眀栀愀琀 怀琀栀攀 琀栀椀渀最✀ 眀愀猀⸀ 怀䤀✀洀 最漀椀渀最 漀瘀攀爀 琀漀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 漀昀昀椀挀攀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   刀漀渀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 愀渀搀 吀漀搀搀 䈀甀琀氀攀爀 栀愀搀 愀 挀漀瀀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 渀攀眀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 爀攀愀搀礀 昀漀爀਀਀   䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 眀愀猀 昀愀爀 洀漀爀攀 瘀椀爀甀氀攀渀琀⸀ 䤀琀 挀漀瀀椀攀搀਀਀   椀琀猀攀氀昀 洀漀爀攀 攀昀昀攀挀琀椀瘀攀氀礀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀爀攀昀漀爀攀 洀漀瘀攀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 洀甀挀栀਀਀   昀愀猀琀攀爀⸀ 吀栀攀 爀攀瘀椀猀攀搀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 瀀攀渀攀琀爀愀琀椀漀渀 爀愀琀攀 眀愀猀 洀甀挀栀 栀椀最栀攀爀ⴀⴀ洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀਀਀   昀漀甀爀 琀椀洀攀猀 最爀攀愀琀攀爀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀攀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 圀䄀一䬀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀਀਀   愀琀琀愀挀欀⸀ 吀栀攀 瀀栀漀渀攀 眀愀猀 爀椀渀最椀渀最 漀昀昀 琀栀攀 栀漀漀欀 愀最愀椀渀⸀ 䨀漀栀渀 琀漀漀欀 愀 挀愀氀氀਀਀   昀爀漀洀 漀渀攀 椀爀愀琀攀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 眀栀漀 氀愀甀渀挀栀攀搀 椀渀琀漀 愀 琀椀爀愀搀攀⸀ 怀䤀 爀愀渀 礀漀甀爀਀਀   愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀Ⰰ 昀漀氀氀漀眀攀搀 礀漀甀爀 椀渀猀琀爀甀挀琀椀漀渀猀 琀漀 琀栀攀 氀攀琀琀攀爀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 氀漀漀欀਀਀   眀栀愀琀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀攀搀℀✀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 挀栀愀渀最攀搀 椀琀猀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀氀猀漀 搀攀猀椀最渀攀搀 琀漀 栀甀渀琀 搀漀眀渀਀਀   愀渀搀 欀椀氀氀 琀栀攀 搀攀挀漀礀ⴀ搀甀挀欀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀⸀ 䤀渀 昀愀挀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 眀愀猀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀਀਀   琀甀爀渀 椀渀琀漀 愀 爀愀琀栀攀爀 戀氀漀漀搀礀 戀愀琀琀氀攀昀椀攀氀搀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 眀漀爀洀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 樀甀猀琀 欀椀氀氀 琀栀攀਀਀   搀攀挀漀礀Ⰰ 椀琀 愀氀猀漀 欀椀氀氀攀搀 愀渀礀 漀琀栀攀爀 挀漀瀀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 䔀瘀攀渀 椀昀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀਀਀   挀栀愀渀最攀搀 琀栀攀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀 甀猀攀搀 戀礀 栀椀猀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 搀攀挀漀礀ⴀ搀甀挀欀 猀琀爀愀琀攀最礀਀਀   眀愀猀 渀漀琀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 眀漀爀欀 愀渀礀 氀漀渀最攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀爀攀 眀攀爀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 搀椀猀琀甀爀戀椀渀最 椀洀瀀爀漀瘀攀洀攀渀琀猀 琀漀 琀栀攀 渀攀眀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 倀爀攀氀椀洀椀渀愀爀礀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 猀甀最最攀猀琀攀搀 椀琀 挀栀愀渀最攀搀 琀栀攀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀਀਀   漀渀 愀渀礀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 椀琀 最漀琀 椀渀琀漀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 眀愀猀 愀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀⸀ 䈀甀琀 渀漀琀 渀攀愀爀氀礀 愀猀 戀椀最਀਀   愀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀 愀猀 椀昀 琀栀攀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀猀 椀琀 挀栀愀渀最攀搀 眀攀爀攀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 漀渀氀礀 瀀爀椀瘀椀氀攀最攀搀਀਀   愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 猀礀猀琀攀洀⸀ 吀栀攀 渀攀眀 眀漀爀洀 眀愀猀 挀愀瀀愀戀氀攀 漀昀 氀漀挀欀椀渀最 愀 猀礀猀琀攀洀਀਀   洀愀渀愀最攀爀 漀甀琀 漀昀 栀椀猀 漀爀 栀攀爀 漀眀渀 猀礀猀琀攀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀爀攀瘀攀渀琀攀搀 昀爀漀洀 最攀琀琀椀渀最 椀渀琀漀 栀椀猀 漀眀渀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀਀਀   洀椀最栀琀 琀爀礀 戀漀爀爀漀眀椀渀最 琀栀攀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 漀昀 愀渀 愀瘀攀爀愀最攀 甀猀攀爀Ⰰ 挀愀氀氀 栀椀洀 䔀搀眀椀渀⸀਀਀   唀渀昀漀爀琀甀渀愀琀攀氀礀Ⰰ 䔀搀眀椀渀✀猀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 瀀爀漀戀愀戀氀礀 漀渀氀礀 栀愀搀 氀漀眀ⴀ氀攀瘀攀氀 瀀爀椀瘀椀氀攀最攀猀⸀਀਀   䔀瘀攀渀 椀渀 琀栀攀 栀愀渀搀猀 漀昀 愀 猀欀椀氀昀甀氀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 瀀漀眀攀爀猀 最爀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀਀਀   䔀搀眀椀渀✀猀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀 眀攀爀攀 氀椀欀攀氀礀 琀漀漀 氀椀洀椀琀攀搀 琀漀 攀爀愀搀椀挀愀琀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 昀爀漀洀 椀琀猀਀਀   渀攀眀氀礀 攀氀攀瘀愀琀攀搀 猀琀愀琀甀猀 愀猀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 洀椀最栀琀 猀瀀攀渀搀 栀椀猀਀਀   眀栀漀氀攀 洀漀爀渀椀渀最 洀愀琀挀栀椀渀最 眀椀琀猀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 搀椀猀愀搀瘀愀渀琀愀最攀搀਀਀   瀀漀猀椀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 愀 渀漀爀洀愀氀 甀猀攀爀✀猀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀⸀ 䄀琀 猀漀洀攀 瀀漀椀渀琀 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀਀਀   洀愀欀攀 琀栀攀 琀漀甀最栀 搀攀挀椀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 氀愀猀琀 爀攀猀漀爀琀㨀 琀甀爀渀 琀栀攀 攀渀琀椀爀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀   猀礀猀琀攀洀 漀昀昀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 眀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀 挀漀渀搀甀挀琀 愀 昀漀爀挀攀搀 爀攀戀漀漀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀⸀ 吀愀欀攀਀਀   椀琀 搀漀眀渀Ⰰ 琀栀攀渀 戀爀椀渀最 椀琀 戀愀挀欀 甀瀀 漀渀 洀椀渀椀洀甀洀 挀漀渀昀椀最甀爀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䈀爀攀愀欀 戀愀挀欀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 椀琀⸀ 䘀椀砀 琀栀攀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀 眀栀椀挀栀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 挀栀愀渀最攀搀⸀ 䰀漀最漀甀琀⸀ 刀攀猀攀琀਀਀   猀漀洀攀 瘀愀爀椀愀戀氀攀猀⸀ 刀攀戀漀漀琀 琀栀攀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀 愀最愀椀渀⸀ 䌀氀漀猀攀 甀瀀 愀渀礀 甀渀搀攀爀氀礀椀渀最਀਀   猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 栀漀氀攀猀 氀攀昀琀 戀攀栀椀渀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 䌀栀愀渀最攀 愀渀礀 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀猀 眀栀椀挀栀਀਀   洀愀琀挀栀攀搀 甀猀攀爀猀✀ 渀愀洀攀猀⸀ 䄀 挀漀氀搀 猀琀愀爀琀 漀昀 愀 氀愀爀最攀 嘀䴀匀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀 琀漀漀欀 琀椀洀攀⸀਀਀   䄀氀氀 琀栀攀 眀栀椀氀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 愀猀琀爀漀渀漀洀攀爀猀Ⰰ 瀀栀礀猀椀挀椀猀琀猀 愀渀搀 攀渀最椀渀攀攀爀猀 眀栀漀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀椀猀 一䄀匀䄀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 眀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 戀攀 愀戀氀攀 琀漀 眀漀爀欀 漀渀 琀栀攀椀爀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀琀 氀攀愀猀琀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀 眀愀猀 戀攀琀琀攀爀 瀀爀攀瀀愀爀攀搀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 琀栀椀猀 琀椀洀攀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 戀爀愀挀攀搀 琀栀攀洀猀攀氀瘀攀猀 瀀猀礀挀栀漀氀漀最椀挀愀氀氀礀 昀漀爀 愀 瀀漀猀猀椀戀氀攀 爀攀琀甀爀渀਀਀   愀琀琀愀挀欀⸀ 䌀漀渀琀愀挀琀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 甀瀀搀愀琀攀搀⸀ 䄀渀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   最攀渀攀爀愀氀 䐀䔀䌀一䔀吀 椀渀琀攀爀渀攀琀 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀琀礀 眀愀猀 愀眀愀爀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 愀渀搀 眀愀猀਀਀   氀攀渀搀椀渀最 愀 栀愀渀搀 眀栀攀爀攀瘀攀爀 瀀漀猀猀椀戀氀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䠀攀氀瀀 挀愀洀攀 昀爀漀洀 愀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 椀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀攀Ⰰ 愀 挀漀甀渀琀爀礀 眀栀椀挀栀 猀攀攀洀攀搀 琀漀਀਀   戀攀 漀昀 猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀 椀渀琀攀爀攀猀琀 琀漀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 愀甀琀栀漀爀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀Ⰰ 䈀攀爀渀愀爀搀਀਀   倀攀爀爀漀琀 漀昀 䤀渀猀琀椀琀甀琀 搀攀 倀栀礀猀椀焀甀攀 一甀挀氀攀愀椀爀攀 椀渀 伀爀猀愀礀Ⰰ 栀愀搀 漀戀琀愀椀渀攀搀 愀 挀漀瀀礀਀਀   漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀Ⰰ 椀渀猀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 椀琀 愀渀搀 琀漀漀欀 猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀 渀漀琀椀挀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀甀爀攀✀猀਀਀   瀀漀漀爀 攀爀爀漀爀 挀栀攀挀欀椀渀最 愀戀椀氀椀琀礀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 琀爀甀攀 䄀挀栀椀氀氀攀猀✀ 栀攀攀氀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 眀愀猀 琀爀愀椀渀攀搀 琀漀 最漀 愀昀琀攀爀 琀栀攀 刀䤀䜀䠀吀匀䰀䤀匀吀 搀愀琀愀戀愀猀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 氀椀猀琀 漀昀਀਀   愀氀氀 琀栀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 眀栀漀 栀愀瘀攀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀⸀ 圀栀愀琀 椀昀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀਀਀   洀漀瘀攀搀 琀栀攀 搀愀琀愀戀愀猀攀 戀礀 爀攀渀愀洀椀渀最 椀琀 愀渀搀 瀀甀琀 愀 搀甀洀洀礀 搀愀琀愀戀愀猀攀 椀渀 椀琀猀਀਀   瀀氀愀挀攀㼀 吀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 眀漀甀氀搀Ⰰ 椀渀 琀栀攀漀爀礀Ⰰ 最漀 愀昀琀攀爀 琀栀攀 搀甀洀洀礀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 挀漀甀氀搀 戀攀਀਀   搀攀猀椀最渀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 愀 栀椀搀搀攀渀 戀漀洀戀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 猀渀椀昀昀攀搀 漀甀琀 琀栀攀 搀甀洀洀礀Ⰰ 愀渀搀਀਀   氀愀琀挀栀攀搀 漀渀琀漀 椀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀甀爀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 攀砀瀀氀漀搀攀 愀渀搀 搀椀攀⸀ 䤀昀 椀琀 眀漀爀欀攀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀 眀漀甀氀搀 渀漀琀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀 搀攀瀀攀渀搀 漀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 欀椀氀氀椀渀最 椀琀猀攀氀昀Ⰰ 愀猀 琀栀攀礀਀਀   栀愀搀 搀甀爀椀渀最 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 椀渀瘀愀猀椀漀渀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瘀攀 琀栀攀 猀愀琀椀猀昀愀挀琀椀漀渀 漀昀਀਀   搀攀猀琀爀漀礀椀渀最 琀栀攀 琀栀椀渀最 琀栀攀洀猀攀氀瘀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   刀漀渀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 瀀爀漀挀甀爀攀搀 愀 挀漀瀀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䘀爀攀渀挀栀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀✀猀 眀漀爀洀ⴀ欀椀氀氀椀渀最਀਀   瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 愀渀搀 最愀瘀攀 椀琀 琀漀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 猀攀琀 甀瀀 愀 猀漀爀琀 漀昀 洀椀渀椀ⴀ氀愀戀漀爀愀琀漀爀礀਀਀   攀砀瀀攀爀椀洀攀渀琀⸀ 䠀攀 挀甀琀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 椀渀琀漀 瀀椀攀挀攀猀 愀渀搀 攀砀琀爀愀挀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 爀攀氀攀瘀愀渀琀਀਀   戀椀琀猀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 愀氀氀漀眀攀搀 栀椀洀 琀漀 琀攀猀琀 琀栀攀 䘀爀攀渀挀栀 眀漀爀洀ⴀ欀椀氀氀椀渀最 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀 眀椀琀栀਀਀   氀椀琀琀氀攀 爀椀猀欀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 攀猀挀愀瀀椀渀最 愀渀搀 搀漀椀渀最 搀愀洀愀最攀⸀ 吀栀攀 䘀爀攀渀挀栀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀਀਀   眀漀爀欀攀搀 眀漀渀搀攀爀昀甀氀氀礀⸀ 伀甀琀 椀琀 眀攀渀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 眀愀猀 猀漀਀਀   洀甀挀栀 洀漀爀攀 瘀椀爀甀氀攀渀琀Ⰰ 最攀琀琀椀渀最 椀琀 漀甀琀 漀昀 匀倀䄀一 眀愀猀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 琀愀欀攀਀਀   挀漀渀猀椀搀攀爀愀戀氀礀 氀漀渀最攀爀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 琀椀洀攀 愀爀漀甀渀搀⸀ 䘀椀渀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 愀氀洀漀猀琀 琀眀漀਀਀   眀攀攀欀猀 愀昀琀攀爀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 漀渀猀氀愀甀最栀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 攀爀愀搀椀挀愀琀攀搀਀਀   昀爀漀洀 匀倀䄀一⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀礀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀✀猀 攀猀琀椀洀愀琀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 栀愀搀 椀渀挀甀爀爀攀搀 甀瀀 琀漀 栀愀氀昀 愀 洀椀氀氀椀漀渀਀਀   搀漀氀氀愀爀猀 椀渀 挀漀猀琀猀⸀ 䴀漀猀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀猀攀 眀攀爀攀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 眀愀猀琀椀渀最 琀椀洀攀 愀渀搀਀਀   爀攀猀漀甀爀挀攀猀 挀栀愀猀椀渀最 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 椀渀猀琀攀愀搀 漀昀 搀漀椀渀最 琀栀攀椀爀 渀漀爀洀愀氀 樀漀戀猀⸀ 吀栀攀਀਀   眀漀爀洀 眀愀猀Ⰰ 椀渀 栀椀猀 瘀椀攀眀Ⰰ 愀 挀爀椀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀昀琀⸀ 怀倀攀漀瀀氀攀✀猀 琀椀洀攀 愀渀搀 爀攀猀漀甀爀挀攀猀਀਀   栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 眀愀猀琀攀搀Ⰰ✀ 栀攀 猀愀椀搀⸀ 怀吀栀攀 琀栀攀昀琀 眀愀猀 渀漀琀 琀栀攀 爀攀猀甀氀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   愀挀挀椀搀攀渀琀⸀ 吀栀椀猀 眀愀猀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀 眀栀漀 搀攀氀椀戀攀爀愀琀攀氀礀 眀攀渀琀 漀甀琀 琀漀 洀愀欀攀 愀 洀攀猀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䤀渀 最攀渀攀爀愀氀Ⰰ 䤀 猀甀瀀瀀漀爀琀 瀀爀漀猀攀挀甀琀椀渀最 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 眀栀漀 琀栀椀渀欀 戀爀攀愀欀椀渀最 椀渀琀漀਀਀   洀愀挀栀椀渀攀猀 椀猀 昀甀渀⸀ 倀攀漀瀀氀攀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀愀琀 搀漀渀✀琀 猀攀攀洀 琀漀 甀渀搀攀爀猀琀愀渀搀 眀栀愀琀 欀椀渀搀਀਀   漀昀 猀椀搀攀 攀昀昀攀挀琀猀 琀栀愀琀 欀椀渀搀 漀昀 昀漀漀氀椀渀最 愀爀漀甀渀搀 栀愀猀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 琀栀椀渀欀 琀栀愀琀਀਀   戀爀攀愀欀椀渀最 椀渀琀漀 愀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀 愀渀搀 渀漀琀 琀漀甀挀栀椀渀最 愀渀礀琀栀椀渀最 搀漀攀猀渀✀琀 搀漀 愀渀礀琀栀椀渀最⸀਀਀   吀栀愀琀 椀猀 渀漀琀 琀爀甀攀⸀ 夀漀甀 攀渀搀 甀瀀 眀愀猀琀椀渀最 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀✀猀 琀椀洀攀⸀ 倀攀漀瀀氀攀 愀爀攀 搀爀愀最最攀搀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 愀琀 猀琀爀愀渀最攀 栀漀甀爀猀⸀ 刀攀瀀漀爀琀猀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀 戀攀 眀爀椀琀琀攀渀⸀ 䄀 氀漀琀 漀昀਀਀   礀攀氀氀椀渀最 愀渀搀 猀挀爀攀愀洀椀渀最 漀挀挀甀爀猀⸀ 夀漀甀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀 搀攀愀氀 眀椀琀栀 氀愀眀 攀渀昀漀爀挀攀洀攀渀琀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀猀攀 愀爀攀 愀氀氀 猀椀搀攀 攀昀昀攀挀琀猀 漀昀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀 最漀椀渀最 昀漀爀 愀 樀漀礀 爀椀搀攀 椀渀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀਀਀   攀氀猀攀✀猀 猀礀猀琀攀洀Ⰰ 攀瘀攀渀 椀昀 琀栀攀礀 搀漀渀✀琀 搀漀 愀渀礀 搀愀洀愀最攀⸀ 匀漀洀攀漀渀攀 栀愀猀 琀漀 瀀愀礀਀਀   琀栀攀 瀀爀椀挀攀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 渀攀瘀攀爀 昀漀甀渀搀 漀甀琀 眀栀漀 挀爀攀愀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 一漀爀 搀椀搀 栀攀 攀瘀攀爀਀਀   搀椀猀挀漀瘀攀爀 眀栀愀琀 栀攀 椀渀琀攀渀搀攀搀 琀漀 瀀爀漀瘀攀 戀礀 爀攀氀攀愀猀椀渀最 椀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀✀猀਀਀   洀漀琀椀瘀攀猀 眀攀爀攀 渀攀瘀攀爀 挀氀攀愀爀 愀渀搀Ⰰ 椀昀 椀琀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 瀀漀氀椀琀椀挀愀氀氀礀 椀渀猀瀀椀爀攀搀Ⰰ਀਀   渀漀ⴀ漀渀攀 琀漀漀欀 挀爀攀搀椀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 氀攀昀琀 愀 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 甀渀愀渀猀眀攀爀攀搀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀 椀渀 椀琀猀 眀愀欀攀Ⰰ 愀਀਀   渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 氀漀漀猀攀 攀渀搀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 猀琀椀氀氀 瀀甀稀稀氀攀 䨀漀栀渀 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀⸀ 圀愀猀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀਀਀   戀攀栀椀渀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 瀀爀漀琀攀猀琀椀渀最 愀最愀椀渀猀琀 一䄀匀䄀✀猀 氀愀甀渀挀栀 漀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀氀甀琀漀渀椀甀洀ⴀ瀀漀眀攀爀攀搀 䜀愀氀椀氀攀漀 猀瀀愀挀攀 瀀爀漀戀攀㼀 䐀椀搀 琀栀攀 甀猀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀搀਀਀   怀圀䄀一䬀✀ⴀⴀ愀 洀漀猀琀 甀渀ⴀ䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀 眀漀爀搀ⴀⴀ洀攀愀渀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀㼀 圀栀礀਀਀   栀愀搀 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀 爀攀挀爀攀愀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 愀渀搀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀 椀琀 愀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 琀椀洀攀㼀 圀栀礀਀਀   栀愀搀 渀漀ⴀ漀渀攀Ⰰ 渀漀 瀀漀氀椀琀椀挀愀氀 漀爀 漀琀栀攀爀 最爀漀甀瀀Ⰰ 挀氀愀椀洀攀搀 爀攀猀瀀漀渀猀椀戀椀氀椀琀礀 昀漀爀਀਀   琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀㼀਀਀   ਀਀   伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 洀愀渀礀 搀攀琀愀椀氀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 爀攀洀愀椀渀攀搀 愀渀 攀渀椀最洀愀 眀愀猀 挀漀渀琀愀椀渀攀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀਀਀   瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 甀猀攀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 愀琀琀愀挀欀⸀ 吀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀 栀愀搀਀਀   爀攀瀀氀愀挀攀搀 琀栀攀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀氀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀Ⰰ 一䔀吀圀开Ⰰ 眀椀琀栀 愀 渀攀眀 漀渀攀Ⰰ 瀀爀攀猀甀洀愀戀氀礀਀਀   琀漀 琀栀眀愀爀琀 琀栀攀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ圀䄀一䬀 瀀爀漀最爀愀洀⸀ 䴀挀䴀愀栀漀渀 昀椀最甀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀氀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀਀਀   渀愀洀攀 猀琀漀漀搀 昀漀爀 怀渀攀琀眀愀渀欀✀ⴀⴀ愀 爀攀愀猀漀渀愀戀氀攀 最甀攀猀猀 愀琀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀✀猀 椀渀琀攀渀搀攀搀਀਀   洀攀愀渀椀渀最⸀ 吀栀攀 渀攀眀 瀀爀漀挀攀猀猀 渀愀洀攀Ⰰ 栀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 氀攀昀琀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 漀渀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 琀攀愀洀਀਀   猀挀爀愀琀挀栀椀渀最 琀栀攀椀爀 栀攀愀搀猀㨀 椀琀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 猀攀攀洀 琀漀 猀琀愀渀搀 昀漀爀 愀渀礀琀栀椀渀最⸀ 吀栀攀਀਀   氀攀琀琀攀爀猀 昀漀爀洀攀搀 愀渀 甀渀氀椀欀攀氀礀 猀攀琀 漀昀 椀渀椀琀椀愀氀猀 昀漀爀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀✀猀 渀愀洀攀⸀ 一漀ⴀ漀渀攀਀਀   爀攀挀漀最渀椀猀攀搀 椀琀 愀猀 愀渀 愀挀爀漀渀礀洀 昀漀爀 愀 猀愀礀椀渀最 漀爀 愀渀 漀爀最愀渀椀猀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䄀渀搀 椀琀਀਀   挀攀爀琀愀椀渀氀礀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 愀 瀀爀漀瀀攀爀 眀漀爀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀 䔀渀最氀椀猀栀 氀愀渀最甀愀最攀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀਀਀   挀漀洀瀀氀攀琀攀 洀礀猀琀攀爀礀 眀栀礀 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 眀栀漀਀਀   氀愀甀渀挀栀攀搀 愀渀 椀渀瘀愀猀椀漀渀 椀渀琀漀 栀甀渀搀爀攀搀猀 漀昀 一䄀匀䄀 愀渀搀 䐀伀䔀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀Ⰰ 猀栀漀甀氀搀਀਀   挀栀漀漀猀攀 琀栀椀猀 眀攀椀爀搀 眀漀爀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀漀爀搀 眀愀猀 怀伀䤀䰀娀✀⸀਀਀਀਀਀਀     开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀ऀऀऀऀ     ਀਀ऀऀऀ䌀栀愀瀀琀攀爀 ㈀ ⴀⴀ 吀栀攀 䌀漀爀渀攀爀 倀甀戀਀਀     开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀   ਀਀                                       ਀਀     夀漀甀 琀愀氀欀 漀昀 琀椀洀攀猀 漀昀 瀀攀愀挀攀 昀漀爀 愀氀氀਀਀     愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 瀀爀攀瀀愀爀攀 昀漀爀 眀愀爀 ਀਀     ਀਀   ⴀⴀ 昀爀漀洀 怀䈀氀漀猀猀漀洀 漀昀 䈀氀漀漀搀✀ 漀渀 匀瀀攀挀椀攀猀 䐀攀挀攀愀猀攀猀 戀礀 䴀椀搀渀椀最栀琀 伀椀氀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀琀 椀猀 渀漀琀 猀甀爀瀀爀椀猀椀渀最 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 琀攀愀洀 眀漀甀氀搀 洀椀猀猀 琀栀攀 洀愀爀欀⸀ 䤀琀 椀猀਀਀   渀漀琀 猀甀爀瀀爀椀猀椀渀最Ⰰ 昀漀爀 攀砀愀洀瀀氀攀Ⰰ 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀猀攀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀猀 猀栀漀甀氀搀 琀漀 琀栀椀猀 搀愀礀਀਀   戀攀 瀀爀漀渀漀甀渀挀椀渀最 琀栀攀 怀伀椀氀稀✀ 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 愀猀 怀漀椀氀 稀攀攀✀⸀ 䤀琀 椀猀਀਀   愀氀猀漀 渀漀琀 猀甀爀瀀爀椀猀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀礀 栀礀瀀漀琀栀攀猀椀猀攀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀 挀栀漀猀攀਀਀   琀栀攀 眀漀爀搀 怀伀椀氀稀✀ 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 琀栀攀 洀漀搀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀猀 洀愀搀攀 琀漀 琀栀攀 氀愀猀琀 瘀攀爀猀椀漀渀਀਀   洀愀搀攀 椀琀 猀氀椀瀀瀀攀爀礀Ⰰ 瀀攀爀栀愀瀀猀 攀瘀攀渀 漀椀氀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䰀椀欀攀氀礀 愀猀 渀漀琀Ⰰ 漀渀氀礀 愀渀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 眀漀甀氀搀 猀攀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀✀猀 氀椀渀欀 琀漀 琀栀攀਀਀   氀礀爀椀挀猀 漀昀 䴀椀搀渀椀最栀琀 伀椀氀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀椀猀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀✀猀 昀椀爀猀琀 眀漀爀洀 眀椀琀栀 愀 瀀漀氀椀琀椀挀愀氀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀攀挀漀渀搀 洀愀樀漀爀 眀漀爀洀 椀渀 琀栀攀 栀椀猀琀漀爀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀眀椀搀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀猀⸀਀਀   䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀氀猀漀 琀栀攀 琀爀椀最最攀爀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 䘀䤀刀匀吀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䘀漀爀甀洀 漀昀਀਀   䤀渀挀椀搀攀渀琀 刀攀猀瀀漀渀猀攀 愀渀搀 匀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 吀攀愀洀猀⸀㈀ 䘀䤀刀匀吀 眀愀猀 愀渀 椀渀琀攀爀渀愀琀椀漀渀愀氀਀਀   猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 愀氀氀椀愀渀挀攀 愀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 最漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀猀Ⰰ 甀渀椀瘀攀爀猀椀琀椀攀猀 愀渀搀 挀漀洀洀攀爀挀椀愀氀਀਀   漀爀最愀渀椀猀愀琀椀漀渀猀 琀漀 猀栀愀爀攀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀਀਀   椀渀挀椀搀攀渀琀猀⸀ 夀攀琀Ⰰ 一䄀匀䄀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 唀匀 䐀攀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 漀昀 䔀渀攀爀最礀 眀攀爀攀 栀愀氀昀 愀 眀漀爀氀搀਀਀   愀眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 昀椀渀搀椀渀最 琀栀攀 挀爀攀愀琀漀爀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀⸀ 䔀瘀攀渀 愀猀 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀漀爀猀਀਀   猀渀椀昀昀攀搀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 琀爀愀椀氀猀 氀攀愀搀椀渀最 琀漀 䘀爀愀渀挀攀Ⰰ 椀琀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀猀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀攀爀瀀攀琀爀愀琀漀爀 眀愀猀 栀椀搀椀渀最 戀攀栀椀渀搀 栀椀猀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 愀渀搀 洀漀搀攀洀 椀渀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䜀攀漀最爀愀瀀栀椀挀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀 椀猀 愀 氀漀渀最 眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 愀渀礀眀栀攀爀攀⸀ 吀漀 䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀猀Ⰰ਀਀   椀琀 挀漀渀樀甀爀攀猀 甀瀀 椀洀愀最攀猀 漀昀 昀甀稀稀礀 洀愀爀猀甀瀀椀愀氀猀Ⰰ 渀漀琀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀⸀਀਀   䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀猀Ⰰ 氀椀欀攀 琀栀漀猀攀 愀琀 一䄀匀䄀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 唀匀਀਀   䐀攀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 漀昀 䔀渀攀爀最礀Ⰰ 栀愀搀 漀琀栀攀爀 戀愀爀爀椀攀爀猀 愀猀 眀攀氀氀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 昀甀渀挀琀椀漀渀 椀渀 愀਀਀   眀漀爀氀搀 漀昀 挀漀渀挀爀攀琀攀猀Ⰰ 漀昀 愀瀀瀀漀椀渀琀洀攀渀琀猀 洀愀搀攀 愀渀搀 欀攀瀀琀Ⰰ 漀昀 爀攀愀氀 渀愀洀攀猀Ⰰ਀਀   戀甀猀椀渀攀猀猀 挀愀爀搀猀 愀渀搀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 琀椀琀氀攀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 戀礀਀਀   挀漀渀琀爀愀猀琀Ⰰ 椀猀 愀 瘀攀椀氀攀搀 眀漀爀氀搀 瀀漀瀀甀氀愀琀攀搀 戀礀 挀栀愀爀愀挀琀攀爀猀 猀氀椀瀀瀀椀渀最 椀渀 愀渀搀਀਀   漀甀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀氀昀ⴀ搀愀爀欀渀攀猀猀⸀ 䤀琀 椀猀 渀漀琀 愀 瀀氀愀挀攀 眀栀攀爀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 甀猀攀 琀栀攀椀爀਀਀   爀攀愀氀 渀愀洀攀猀⸀ 䤀琀 椀猀 渀漀琀 愀 瀀氀愀挀攀 眀栀攀爀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 最椀瘀攀 漀甀琀 爀攀愀氀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀਀਀   搀攀琀愀椀氀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀琀 椀猀Ⰰ 椀渀 昀愀挀琀Ⰰ 渀漀琀 猀漀 洀甀挀栀 愀 瀀氀愀挀攀 愀猀 愀 猀瀀愀挀攀⸀ 䤀琀 椀猀 攀瀀栀攀洀攀爀愀氀Ⰰ਀਀   椀渀琀愀渀最椀戀氀攀ⴀⴀ愀 昀漀最最礀 氀愀戀礀爀椀渀琀栀 漀昀 甀渀洀愀瀀瀀攀搀Ⰰ 眀椀渀搀椀渀最 猀琀爀攀攀琀猀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀਀਀   眀栀椀挀栀 漀渀攀 漀挀挀愀猀椀漀渀愀氀氀礀 愀猀挀攀爀琀愀椀渀猀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀琀漀甀爀猀 漀昀 愀 昀攀氀氀漀眀 琀爀愀瘀攀氀氀攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀攀渀 刀漀渀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀 椀渀 挀栀愀爀最攀 漀昀 一䄀匀䄀 匀倀䄀一 猀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀Ⰰ 爀攀愀氀椀猀攀搀਀਀   琀栀愀琀 一䄀匀䄀✀猀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀 眀攀爀攀 戀攀椀渀最 愀琀琀愀挀欀攀搀 戀礀 愀渀 椀渀琀爀甀搀攀爀Ⰰ 栀攀 爀愀渀最 琀栀攀਀਀   䘀䈀䤀⸀ 吀栀攀 唀匀 䘀攀搀攀爀愀氀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀 䤀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀✀猀 䌀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 䌀爀椀洀攀 唀渀椀琀 昀椀爀攀搀਀਀   漀昀昀 愀 猀琀爀攀愀洀 漀昀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀⸀ 䠀漀眀 洀愀渀礀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 愀琀琀愀挀欀攀搀㼀 圀栀攀爀攀਀਀   眀攀爀攀 琀栀攀礀㼀 圀栀漀 眀愀猀 戀攀栀椀渀搀 琀栀攀 愀琀琀愀挀欀㼀 吀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 琀漀氀搀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀Ⰰ 怀欀攀攀瀀 甀猀਀਀   椀渀昀漀爀洀攀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀✀⸀ 䰀椀欀攀 琀栀攀 䌀䤀䄀䌀 琀攀愀洀 椀渀 琀栀攀 䐀攀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 漀昀਀਀   䔀渀攀爀最礀Ⰰ 椀琀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀猀 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 栀愀瘀攀 洀甀挀栀 欀渀漀眀氀攀搀最攀 漀昀 嘀䴀匀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀爀椀洀愀爀礀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 漀瀀攀爀愀琀椀渀最 猀礀猀琀攀洀 甀猀攀搀 椀渀 匀倀䄀一⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀甀琀 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 欀渀攀眀 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀漀 爀攀愀氀椀猀攀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀洀 愀琀琀愀挀欀 眀愀猀 瀀漀琀攀渀琀椀愀氀氀礀਀਀   瘀攀爀礀 猀攀爀椀漀甀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 眀椀渀搀椀渀最 攀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀椀挀 琀爀愀椀氀 瀀漀椀渀琀攀搀 瘀愀最甀攀氀礀 琀漀 愀਀਀   昀漀爀攀椀最渀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 愀渀搀Ⰰ 戀攀昀漀爀攀 氀漀渀最Ⰰ 琀栀攀 唀匀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 眀愀猀਀਀   椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 琀栀攀 䘀爀攀渀挀栀 猀攀挀爀攀琀 猀攀爀瘀椀挀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䐀椀爀攀挀琀椀漀渀 搀攀 氀愀਀਀   匀甀爀瘀攀椀氀氀愀渀挀攀 搀甀 吀攀爀爀椀琀漀椀爀攀Ⰰ 漀爀 䐀匀吀Ⰰ 樀甀洀瀀攀搀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 昀爀愀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䐀匀吀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 戀攀最愀渀 眀漀爀欀椀渀最 琀漀最攀琀栀攀爀 漀渀 琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀⸀ 䄀 挀愀猀甀愀氀 漀戀猀攀爀瘀攀爀਀਀   眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 戀攀渀攀昀椀琀 漀昀 栀椀渀搀猀椀最栀琀 洀椀最栀琀 猀攀攀 搀椀昀昀攀爀攀渀琀 洀漀琀椀瘀愀琀椀漀渀猀 搀爀椀瘀椀渀最਀਀   琀栀攀 琀眀漀 最漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀 愀最攀渀挀椀攀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 挀愀琀挀栀 琀栀攀 瀀攀爀瀀攀琀爀愀琀漀爀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀 䐀匀吀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 洀愀欀攀 椀琀 挀氀攀愀爀 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀 椀渀昀愀洀漀甀猀 圀䄀一䬀 眀漀爀洀 愀琀琀愀挀欀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀✀猀 洀漀猀琀 瀀爀攀猀琀椀最椀漀甀猀 猀瀀愀挀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 搀椀搀 渀漀琀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀琀攀 椀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀渀 琀栀攀 戀攀猀琀 琀爀愀搀椀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 挀氀漀愀欀ⴀ愀渀搀ⴀ搀愀最最攀爀 最漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀 愀最攀渀挀椀攀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀਀਀   愀渀搀 䐀匀吀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 攀猀琀愀戀氀椀猀栀攀搀 琀眀漀 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀 挀栀愀渀渀攀氀猀ⴀⴀ愀渀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀਀਀   挀栀愀渀渀攀氀 愀渀搀 愀渀 甀渀漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 漀渀攀⸀ 吀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 挀栀愀渀渀攀氀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀਀਀   攀洀戀愀猀猀椀攀猀Ⰰ 愀琀琀愀挀栀猀Ⰰ 昀漀爀洀愀氀 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀焀甀攀猀 愀渀搀 椀渀琀攀爀洀椀渀愀戀氀攀 搀攀氀愀礀猀 椀渀਀਀   最攀琀琀椀渀最 愀渀猀眀攀爀猀 琀漀 琀栀攀 猀椀洀瀀氀攀猀琀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 甀渀漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 挀栀愀渀渀攀氀਀਀   椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀 愀 昀攀眀 瀀栀漀渀攀 挀愀氀氀猀 愀渀搀 猀漀洀攀 昀愀猀琀 愀渀猀眀攀爀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   刀漀渀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 栀愀搀 愀 挀漀氀氀攀愀最甀攀 渀愀洀攀搀 䌀栀爀椀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 匀倀䄀一 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 椀渀 䘀爀愀渀挀攀Ⰰ਀਀   眀栀椀挀栀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 氀愀爀最攀猀琀 甀猀攀爀 漀昀 匀倀䄀一 椀渀 䔀甀爀漀瀀攀⸀ 䌀栀爀椀猀 眀愀猀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀 椀渀਀਀   洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 樀甀猀琀 猀挀椀攀渀挀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀猀⸀ 䠀攀 栀愀搀 挀攀爀琀愀椀渀 挀漀渀琀愀挀琀猀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 䘀爀攀渀挀栀 最漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀 愀渀搀 猀攀攀洀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀椀爀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀   渀攀琀眀漀爀欀猀⸀ 匀漀Ⰰ 眀栀攀渀 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 渀攀攀搀攀搀 琀攀挀栀渀椀挀愀氀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 昀漀爀 椀琀猀਀਀   椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀ⴀⴀ琀栀攀 欀椀渀搀 漀昀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 氀椀欀攀氀礀 琀漀 戀攀 猀愀渀椀琀椀猀攀搀 戀礀 猀漀洀攀਀਀   攀洀戀愀猀猀礀 戀甀爀攀愀甀挀爀愀琀ⴀⴀ漀渀攀 漀昀 椀琀猀 愀最攀渀琀猀 爀愀渀最 甀瀀 刀漀渀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀⸀ 怀刀漀渀Ⰰ 愀猀欀਀਀   礀漀甀爀 昀爀椀攀渀搀 琀栀椀猀Ⰰ✀ 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 眀漀甀氀搀 猀愀礀⸀ 䄀渀搀 刀漀渀 眀漀甀氀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䌀栀爀椀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䘀䈀䤀 眀愀渀琀猀 琀漀 欀渀漀眀 琀栀椀猀Ⰰ✀ 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 眀漀甀氀搀 琀攀氀氀 栀椀猀 挀漀氀氀攀愀最甀攀਀਀   漀渀 匀倀䄀一 䘀爀愀渀挀攀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 䌀栀爀椀猀 眀漀甀氀搀 最攀琀 琀栀攀 渀攀挀攀猀猀愀爀礀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䠀攀਀਀   眀漀甀氀搀 挀愀氀氀 吀攀渀挀愀琀椀 戀愀挀欀Ⰰ 猀愀礀椀渀最Ⰰ 怀刀漀渀Ⰰ 栀攀爀攀 椀猀 琀栀攀 愀渀猀眀攀爀⸀ 一漀眀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   䐀匀吀 眀愀渀琀猀 琀漀 欀渀漀眀 琀栀愀琀✀⸀ 䄀渀搀 漀昀昀 刀漀渀 眀漀甀氀搀 最漀 椀渀 猀攀愀爀挀栀 漀昀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀਀਀   爀攀焀甀攀猀琀攀搀 戀礀 琀栀攀 䐀匀吀⸀਀਀
   

   The investigation proceeded in this way, with each helping the other

   through backdoor channels. But the Americans' investigation was headed

   toward the inescapable conclusion that the attack on NASA had

   originated from a French computer. The worm may have simply travelled

   through the French computer from yet another system, but the French

   machine appeared to be the sole point of infection for NASA.

   

   The French did not like this outcome. Not one bit. There was no way

   that the worm had come from France. Ce n'est pas vrai.

   

   Word came back from the French that they were sure the worm had come

   from the US. Why else would it have been programmed to mail details of

   all computer accounts it penetrated around the world back to a US

   machine, the computer known as GEMPAK? Because the author of the worm

   was an American, of course! Therefore it is not our problem, the

   French told the Americans. It is your problem.

   

   Most computer security experts know it is standard practice among

   hackers to create the most tangled trail possible between the hacker

   and the hacked. It makes it very difficult for people like the FBI to

   trace who did it. So it would be difficult to draw definite

   conclusions about the nationality of the hacker from the location of a

   hacker's information drop-off point--a location the hacker no doubt

   figured would be investigated by the authorities almost immediately

   after the worm's release.

   

   Tencati had established the French connection from some computer logs

   showing NASA under attack very early on Monday, 16 October. The logs

   were important because they were relatively clear. As the worm had

   procreated during that day, it had forced computers all over the

   network to attack each other in ever greater numbers. By 11 a.m. it

   was almost impossible to tell where any one attack began and the other

   ended.

   

   Some time after the first attack, DST sent word that certain agents

   were going to be in Washington DC regarding other matters. They wanted

   a meeting with the FBI. A representative from the NASA Inspector

   General's Office would attend the meeting, as would someone from NASA

   SPAN security.

   

   Tencati was sure he could show the WANK worm attack on NASA originated

   in France. But he also knew he had to document everything, to have

   exact answers to every question and counter-argument put forward by

   the French secret service agents at the FBI meeting. When he developed

   a timeline of attacks, he found that the GEMPAK machine showed X.25

   network connection, via another system, from a French computer around

   the same time as the WANK worm attack. He followed the scent and

   contacted the manager of that system. Would he help Tencati? Mais oui.

   The machine is at your disposal, Monsieur Tencati.

   

   Tencati had never used an X.25 network before; it had a unique set of

   commands unlike any other type of computer communications network. He

   wanted to retrace the steps of the worm, but he needed help. So he

   called his friend Bob Lyons at DEC to walk him through the process.

   

   What Tencati found startled him. There were traces of the worm on the

   machine all right, the familiar pattern of login failures as the worm

   attempted to break into different accounts. But these remnants of the

   WANK worm were not dated 16 October or any time immediately around

   then. The logs showed worm-related activity up to two weeks before the

   attack on NASA. This computer was not just a pass-through machine the

   worm had used to launch its first attack on NASA. This was the

   development machine.

   

   Ground zero.

   

   Tencati went into the meeting with DST at the FBI offices prepared. He

   knew the accusations the French were going to put forward. When he

   presented the results of his sleuthwork, the French secret service

   couldn't refute it, but they dropped their own bombshell. Yes they

   told him, you might be able to point to a French system as ground zero

   for the attack, but our investigations reveal incoming X.25

   connections from elsewhere which coincided with the timing of the

   development of the WANK worm.

   

   The connections came from Australia.

   

   The French had satisfied themselves that it wasn't a French hacker who

   had created the WANK worm. Ce n'est pas notre problem. At least, it's

   not our problem any more.

   

   It is here that the trail begins to go cold. Law enforcement and

   computer security people in the US and Australia had ideas about just

   who had created the WANK worm. Fingers were pointed, accusations were

   made, but none stuck. At the end of the day, there was coincidence and

   innuendo, but not enough evidence to launch a case. Like many

   Australian hackers, the creator of the WANK worm had emerged from the

   shadows of the computer underground, stood momentarily in hazy

   silhouette, and then disappeared again.

   

				    [ ]



   The Australian computer underground in the late 1980s was an

   environment which spawned and shaped the author of the WANK worm.

   Affordable home computers, such as the Apple IIe and the Commodore 64,

   made their way into ordinary suburban families. While these computers

   were not widespread, they were at least in a price range which made

   them attainable by dedicated computer enthusiasts.

   

   In 1988, the year before the WANK worm attack on NASA, Australia was

   on an upswing. The country was celebrating its bicentennial. The

   economy was booming. Trade barriers and old regulatory structures were

   coming down. Crocodile Dundee had already burst on the world movie

   scene and was making Australians the flavour of the month in cities

   like LA and New York. The mood was optimistic. People had a sense they

   were going places. Australia, a peaceful country of seventeen or so

   million people, poised on the edge of Asia but with the order of a

   Western European democracy, was on its way up. Perhaps for the first

   time, Australians had lost their cultural cringe, a unique type of

   insecurity alien to can-do cultures such as that found in the US.

   Exploration and experimentation require confidence and, in 1988,

   confidence was something Australia had finally attained.

   

   Yet this new-found confidence and optimism did not subdue Australia's

   tradition of cynicism toward large institutions. The two coexisted,

   suspended in a strange paradox. Australian humour, deeply rooted in a

   scepticism of all things serious and sacred, continued to poke fun at

   upright institutions with a depth of irreverence surprising to many

   foreigners. This cynicism of large, respected institutions coursed

   through the newly formed Australian computer underground without

   dampening its excitement or optimism for the brave new world of

   computers in the least.

   

   In 1988, the Australian computer underground thrived like a vibrant

   Asian street bazaar. In that year it was still a realm of place not

   space. Customers visited their regular stalls, haggled over goods with

   vendors, bumped into friends and waved across crowded paths to

   acquaintances. The market was as much a place to socialise as it was

   to shop. People ducked into tiny coffee houses or corner bars for

   intimate chats. The latest imported goods, laid out on tables like

   reams of bright Chinese silks, served as conversation starters. And,

   like every street market, many of the best items were tucked away,

   hidden in anticipation of the appearance of that one customer or

   friend most favoured by the trader. The currency of the underground

   was not money; it was information. People didn't share and exchange

   information to accumulate monetary wealth; they did it to win

   respect--and to buy a thrill.

   

   The members of the Australian computer underground met on bulletin

   board systems, known as BBSes. Simple things by today's standards,

   BBSes were often composed of a souped-up Apple II computer, a single

   modem and a lone telephone line. But they drew people from all walks

   of life. Teenagers from working-class neighbourhoods and those from

   the exclusive private schools. University students. People in their

   twenties groping their way through first jobs. Even some professional

   people in their thirties and forties who spent weekends poring over

   computer manuals and building primitive computers in spare rooms. Most

   regular BBS users were male. Sometimes a user's sister would find her

   way into the BBS world, often in search of a boyfriend. Mission

   accomplished, she might disappear from the scene for weeks, perhaps

   months, presumably until she required another visit.

   

   The BBS users had a few things in common. They were generally of above

   average intelligence--usually with a strong technical slant--and they

   were obsessed with their chosen hobby. They had to be. It often took

   45 minutes of attack dialling a busy BBS's lone phone line just to

   visit the computer system for perhaps half an hour. Most serious BBS

   hobbyists went through this routine several times each day.

   

   As the name suggests, a BBS had what amounted to an electronic version

   of a normal bulletin board. The owner of the BBS would have divided

   the board into different areas, as a school teacher crisscrosses

   coloured ribbon across the surface of a corkboard to divide it into

   sections. A single BBS might have 30 or more electronic discussion

   groups.

   

   As a user to the board, you might visit the politics section, tacking

   up a `note' on your views of ALP or Liberal policies for anyone

   passing by to read. Alternatively, you might fancy yourself a bit of a

   poet and work up the courage to post an original piece of work in the

   Poet's Corner. The corner was often filled with dark, misanthropic

   works inspired by the miseries of adolescence. Perhaps you preferred

   to discuss music. On many BBSes you could find postings on virtually

   any type of music. The most popular groups included bands like Pink

   Floyd, Tangerine Dream and Midnight Oil. Midnight Oil's

   anti-establishment message struck a particular chord within the new

   BBS community.

   

   Nineteen eighty-eight was the golden age of the BBS culture across

   Australia. It was an age of innocence and community, an open-air

   bazaar full of vitality and the sharing of ideas. For the most part,

   people trusted their peers within the community and the BBS operators,

   who were often revered as demigods. It was a happy place. And, in

   general, it was a safe place, which is perhaps one reason why its

   visitors felt secure in their explorations of new ideas. It was a

   place in which the creator of the WANK worm could sculpt and hone his

   creative computer skills.

   

   The capital of this spirited new Australian electronic civilisation

   was Melbourne. It is difficult to say why this southern city became

   the cultural centre of the BBS world, and its darker side, the

   Australian computer underground. Maybe the city's history as

   Australia's intellectual centre created a breeding ground for the many

   young people who built their systems with little more than curiosity

   and salvaged computer bits discarded by others. Maybe Melbourne's

   personality as a city of suburban homebodies and backyard tinkerers

   produced a culture conducive to BBSes. Or maybe it was just

   Melbourne's dreary beaches and often miserable weather. As one

   Melbourne hacker explained it, `What else is there to do here all

   winter but hibernate inside with your computer and modem?'

   

   In 1988, Melbourne had some 60 to 100 operating BBSes. The numbers are

   vague because it is difficult to count a collection of moving objects.

   The amateur nature of the systems, often a jumbled tangle of wires and

   second-hand electronics parts soldered together in someone's garage,

   meant that the life of any one system was frequently as short as a

   teenager's attention span. BBSes popped up, ran for two weeks, and

   then vanished again.

   

   Some of them operated only during certain hours, say between 10 p.m.

   and 8 a.m. When the owner went to bed, he or she would plug the home

   phone line into the BBS and leave it there until morning. Others ran

   24 hours a day, but the busiest times were always at night.

   

   Of course it wasn't just intellectual stimulation some users were

   after. Visitors often sought identity as much as ideas. On an

   electronic bulletin board, you could create a personality, mould it

   into shape and make it your own. Age and appearance did not matter.

   Technical aptitude did. Any spotty, gawky teenage boy could instantly

   transform himself into a suave, graceful BBS character. The

   transformation began with the choice of name. In real life, you might

   be stuck with the name Elliot Dingle--an appellation chosen by your

   mother to honour a long-dead great uncle. But on a BBS, well, you

   could be Blade Runner, Ned Kelly or Mad Max. Small wonder that, given

   the choice, many teenage boys chose to spend their time in the world

   of the BBS.

   

   Generally, once a user chose a handle, as the on-line names are known,

   he stuck with it. All his electronic mail came to an account with that

   name on it. Postings to bulletin boards were signed with it. Others

   dwelling in the system world knew him by that name and no other. A

   handle evolved into a name laden with innate meaning, though the

   personality reflected in it might well have been an alter ego. And so

   it was that characters like The Wizard, Conan and Iceman came to pass

   their time on BBSes like the Crystal Palace, Megaworks, The Real

   Connection and Electric Dreams.

   

   What such visitors valued about the BBS varied greatly. Some wanted to

   participate in its social life. They wanted to meet people like

   themselves--bright but geeky or misanthropic people who shared an

   interest in the finer technical points of computers. Many lived as

   outcasts in real life, never quite making it into the `normal' groups

   of friends at school or uni. Though some had started their first jobs,

   they hadn't managed to shake the daggy awkwardness which pursued them

   throughout their teen years. On the surface, they were just not the

   sort of people one asked out to the pub for a cold one after the

   footy.

   

   But that was all right. In general, they weren't much interested in

   footy anyway.

   

   Each BBS had its own style. Some were completely legitimate, with

   their wares--all legal goods--laid out in the open. Others, like The

   Real Connection, had once housed Australia's earliest hackers but had

   gone straight. They closed up the hacking parts of the board before

   the first Commonwealth government hacking laws were enacted in June

   1989. Perhaps ten or twelve of Melbourne's BBSes at the time had the

   secret, smoky flavour of the computer underground. A handful of these

   were invitation-only boards, places like Greyhawk and The Realm. You

   couldn't simply ring up the board, create a new account and login. You

   had to be invited by the board's owner. Members of the general

   modeming public need not apply.

   

   The two most important hubs in the Australian underground between 1987

   and 1989 were named Pacific Island and Zen. A 23-year-old who called

   himself Craig Bowen ran both systems from his bedroom.

   

   Also known as Thunderbird1, Bowen started up Pacific Island in 1987

   because he wanted a hub for hackers. The fledgling hacking community

   was dispersed after AHUBBS, possibly Melbourne's earliest hacking

   board, faded away. Bowen decided to create a home for it, a sort of

   dark, womb-like cafe bar amid the bustle of the BBS bazaar where

   Melbourne's hackers could gather and share information.

   

   His bedroom was a simple, boyish place. Built-in cupboards, a bed, a

   wallpaper design of vintage cars running across one side of the room.

   A window overlooking the neighbours' leafy suburban yard. A collection

   of PC magazines with titles like Nibble and Byte. A few volumes on

   computer programming. VAX/VMS manuals. Not many books, but a handful

   of science fiction works by Arthur C. Clarke. The Hitchhiker's Guide

   to the Galaxy. A Chinese-language dictionary used during his high

   school Mandarin classes, and after, as he continued to study the

   language on his own while he held down his first job.

   

   The Apple IIe, modem and telephone line rested on the drop-down

   drawing table and fold-up card table at the foot of his bed. Bowen put

   his TV next to the computer so he could sit in bed, watch TV and use

   Pacific Island all at the same time. Later, when he started Zen, it

   sat next to Pacific Island. It was the perfect set-up.

   

   Pacific Island was hardly fancy by today's standards of Unix Internet

   machines, but in 1987 it was an impressive computer. PI, pronounced

   `pie' by the local users, had a 20 megabyte hard drive--gargantuan for

   a personal computer at the time. Bowen spent about $5000 setting up PI

   alone. He loved both systems and spent many hours each week nurturing

   them.

   

   There was no charge for computer accounts on PI or ZEN, like most

   BBSes. This gentle-faced youth, a half-boy, half-man who would

   eventually play host on his humble BBS to many of Australia's

   cleverest computer and telephone hackers, could afford to pay for his

   computers for two reasons: he lived at home with his mum and dad, and

   he had a full-time job at Telecom--then the only domestic telephone

   carrier in Australia.

   

   PI had about 800 computer users, up to 200 of whom were `core' users

   accessing the system regularly. PI had its own dedicated phone line,

   separate from the house phone so Bowen's parents wouldn't get upset the

   line was always tied up. Later, he put in four additional phone lines

   for Zen, which had about 2000 users. Using his Telecom training, he

   installed a number of non-standard, but legal, features to his

   house. Junction boxes, master switches. Bowen's house was a

   telecommunications hot-rod.

   

   Bowen had decided early on that if he wanted to keep his job, he had

   better not do anything illegal when it came to Telecom. However, the

   Australian national telecommunications carrier was a handy source of

   technical information. For example, he had an account on a Telecom

   computer system--for work--from which he could learn about Telecom's

   exchanges. But he never used that account for hacking. Most

   respectable hackers followed a similar philosophy. Some had legitimate

   university computer accounts for their courses, but they kept those

   accounts clean. A basic rule of the underground, in the words of one

   hacker, was `Don't foul your own nest'.

   

   PI contained a public section and a private one. The public area was

   like an old-time pub. Anyone could wander in, plop down at the bar and

   start up a conversation with a group of locals. Just ring up the

   system with your modem and type in your details--real name, your

   chosen handle, phone number and other basic information.

   

   Many BBS users gave false information in order to hide their true

   identities, and many operators didn't really care. Bowen, however,

   did. Running a hacker's board carried some risk, even before the

   federal computer crime laws came into force. Pirated software was

   illegal. Storing data copied from hacking adventures in foreign

   computers might also be considered illegal. In an effort to exclude

   police and media spies, Bowen tried to verify the personal details of

   every user on PI by ringing them at home or work. Often he was

   successful. Sometimes he wasn't.

   

   The public section of PI housed discussion groups on the major PC

   brands--IBM, Commodore, Amiga, Apple and Atari--next to the popular

   Lonely Hearts group. Lonely Hearts had about twenty regulars, most of

   whom agonised under the weight of pubescent hormonal changes. A boy

   pining for the affections of the girl who dumped him or, worse, didn't

   even know he existed. Teenagers who contemplated suicide. The messages

   were completely anonymous, readers didn't even know the authors'

   handles, and that anonymous setting allowed heart-felt messages and

   genuine responses.

   

   Zen was PI's sophisticated younger sister. Within two years of PI

   making its debut, Bowen opened up Zen, one of the first Australian

   BBSes with more than one telephone line. The main reason he set up Zen

   was to stop his computer users from bothering him all the time. When

   someone logged into PI, one of the first things he or she did was

   request an on-line chat with the system operator. PI's Apple IIe was

   such a basic machine by today's standards, Bowen couldn't multi-task

   on it. He could not do anything with the machine, such as check his

   own mail, while a visitor was logged into PI.

   

   Zen was a watershed in the Australian BBS community. Zen multi-tasked.

   Up to four people could ring up and login to the machine at any one

   time, and Bowen could do his own thing while his users were on-line.

   Better still, his users could talk request each other instead of

   hassling him all the time. Having users on a multi-tasking machine

   with multiple phone lines was like having a gaggle of children. For

   the most part, they amused each other.

   

   Mainstream and respectful of authority on the surface, Bowen possessed

   the same streak of anti-establishment views harboured by many in the

   underground. His choice of name for Zen underlined this. Zen came from

   the futuristic British TV science fiction series `Blake 7', in which a

   bunch of underfunded rebels attempted to overthrow an evil

   totalitarian government. Zen was the computer on the rebels' ship. The

   rebels banded together after meeting on a prison ship; they were all

   being transported to a penal settlement on another planet. It was a

   story people in the Australian underground could relate to. One of the

   lead characters, a sort of heroic anti-hero, had been sentenced to

   prison for computer hacking. His big mistake, he told fellow rebels,

   was that he had relied on other people. He trusted them. He should

   have worked alone.

   

   Craig Bowen had no idea of how true that sentiment would ring in a

   matter of months.

   

   Bowen's place was a hub of current and future lights in the computer

   underground. The Wizard. The Force. Powerspike. Phoenix. Electron.

   Nom. Prime Suspect. Mendax. Train Trax. Some, such as Prime Suspect,

   merely passed through, occasionally stopping in to check out the

   action and greet friends. Others, such as Nom, were part of the

   close-knit PI family. Nom helped Bowen set up PI. Like many early

   members of the underground, they met through AUSOM, an Apple users'

   society in Melbourne. Bowen wanted to run ASCII Express, a program

   which allowed people to transfer files between their own computers and

   PI. But, as usual, he and everyone he knew only had a pirated copy of

   the program. No manuals. So Nom and Bowen spent one weekend picking

   apart the program by themselves. They were each at home, on their own

   machines, with copies. They sat on the phone for hours working through

   how the program worked. They wrote their own manual for other people

   in the underground suffering under the same lack of documentation.

   Then they got it up and running on PI.

   

   Making your way into the various groups in a BBS such as PI or Zen had

   benefits besides hacking information. If you wanted to drop your

   mantle of anonymity, you could join a pre-packaged, close-knit circle

   of friends. For example, one clique of PI people were fanatical

   followers of the film The Blues Brothers. Every Friday night, this

   group dressed up in Blues Brothers costumes of a dark suit, white

   shirt, narrow tie, Rayban sunglasses and, of course, the snap-brimmed

   hat. One couple brought their child, dressed as a mini-Blues Brother.

   The group of Friday night regulars made their way at 11.30 to

   Northcote's Valhalla Theatre (now the Westgarth). Its grand but

   slightly tatty vintage atmosphere lent itself to this alternative

   culture flourishing in late-night revelries. Leaping up on stage

   mid-film, the PI groupies sent up the actors in key scenes. It was a

   fun and, as importantly, a cheap evening. The Valhalla staff admitted

   regulars who were dressed in appropriate costume for free. The only

   thing the groupies had to pay for was drinks at the intermission.

   

   Occasionally, Bowen arranged gatherings of other young PI and Zen

   users. Usually, the group met in downtown Melbourne, sometimes at the

   City Square. The group was mostly boys, but sometimes a few girls

   would show up. Bowen's sister, who used the handle Syn, hung around a

   bit. She went out with a few hackers from the BBS scene. And she

   wasn't the only one. It was a tight group which interchanged

   boyfriends and girlfriends with considerable regularity. The group

   hung out in the City Square after watching a movie, usually a horror

   film. Nightmare 2. House 3. Titles tended to be a noun followed by a

   numeral. Once, for a bit of lively variation, they went bowling and

   drove the other people at the alley nuts. After the early

   entertainment, it was down to McDonald's for a cheap burger. They

   joked and laughed and threw gherkins against the restaurant's wall.

   This was followed by more hanging around on the stone steps of the

   City Square before catching the last bus or train home.

   

   The social sections of PI and Zen were more successful than the

   technical ones, but the private hacking section was even more

   successful than the others. The hacking section was hidden; would-be

   members of the Melbourne underground knew there was something going

   on, but they couldn't find out what is was.

   

   Getting an invite to the private area required hacking skill or

   information, and usually a recommendation to Bowen from someone who

   was already inside. Within the Inner Sanctum, as the private hacking

   area was called, people could comfortably share information such as

   opinions of new computer products, techniques for hacking, details of

   companies which had set up new sites to hack and the latest rumours on

   what the law enforcement agencies were up to.

   

   The Inner Sanctum was not, however, the only private room. Two hacking

   groups, Elite and H.A.C.K., guarded entry to their yet more exclusive

   back rooms. Even if you managed to get entry to the Inner Sanctum, you

   might not even know that H.A.C.K. or Elite existed. You might know

   there was a place even more selective than your area, but exactly how

   many layers of the onion stood between you and the most exclusive

   section was anyone's guess. Almost every hacker interviewed for this

   book described a vague sense of being somehow outside the innermost

   circle. They knew it was there, but wasn't sure just what it was.

   

   Bowen fielded occasional phone calls on his voice line from wanna-be

   hackers trying to pry open the door to the Inner Sanctum. `I want

   access to your pirate system,' the voice would whine.

   

   `What pirate system? Who told you my system was a pirate system?'

   

   Bowen sussed out how much the caller knew, and who had told him. Then

   he denied everything.

   

   To avoid these requests, Bowen had tried to hide his address, real

   name and phone number from most of the people who used his BBSes. But

   he wasn't completely successful. He had been surprised by the sudden

   appearance one day of Masked Avenger on his doorstep. How Masked

   Avenger actually found his address was a mystery. The two had chatted

   in a friendly fashion on-line, but Bowen didn't give out his details.

   Nothing could have prepared him for the little kid in the big crash

   helmet standing by his bike in front of Bowen's house. `Hi!' he

   squeaked. `I'm the Masked Avenger!'

   

   Masked Avenger--a boy perhaps fifteen years old--was quite resourceful

   to have found out Bowen's details. Bowen invited him in and showed him

   the system. They became friends. But after that incident, Bowen

   decided to tighten security around his personal details even more. He

   began, in his own words, `moving toward full anonymity'. He invented

   the name Craig Bowen, and everyone in the underground came to know him

   by that name or his handle, Thunderbird1. He even opened a false bank

   account in the name of Bowen for the periodic voluntary donations

   users sent into PI. It was never a lot of money, mostly $5 or $10,

   because students don't tend to have much money. He ploughed it all

   back into PI.

   

   People had lots of reasons for wanting to get into the Inner Sanctum.

   Some wanted free copies of the latest software, usually pirated games

   from the US. Others wanted to share information and ideas about ways

   to break into computers, often those owned by local universities.

   Still others wanted to learn about how to manipulate the telephone

   system.

   

   The private areas functioned like a royal court, populated by

   aristocrats and courtiers with varying seniority, loyalties and

   rivalries. The areas involved an intricate social order and respect

   was the name of the game. If you wanted admission, you had to walk a

   delicate line between showing your superiors that you possessed enough

   valuable hacking information to be elite and not showing them so much

   they would brand you a blabbermouth. A perfect bargaining chip was an

   old password for Melbourne University's dial-out.

   

   The university's dial-out was a valuable thing. A hacker could ring up

   the university's computer, login as `modem' and the machine would drop

   him into a modem which let him dial out again. He could then dial

   anywhere in the world, and the university would foot the phone bill.

   In the late 1980s, before the days of cheap, accessible Internet

   connections, the university dial-out meant a hacker could access

   anything from an underground BBS in Germany to a US military system in

   Panama. The password put the world at his fingertips.

   

   A hacker aspiring to move into PI's Inner Sanctum wouldn't give out

   the current dial-out password in the public discussion areas. Most

   likely, if he was low in the pecking order, he wouldn't have such

   precious information. Even if he had managed to stumble across the

   current password somehow, it was risky giving it out publicly. Every

   wanna-be and his dog would start messing around with the university's

   modem account. The system administrator would wise up and change the

   password and the hacker would quickly lose his own access to the

   university account. Worse, he would lose access for other hackers--the

   kind of hackers who ran H.A.C.K., Elite and the Inner Sanctum. They

   would be really cross. Hackers hate it when passwords on accounts they

   consider their own are changed without warning. Even if the password

   wasn't changed, the aspiring hacker would look like a guy who couldn't

   keep a good secret.

   

   Posting an old password, however, was quite a different matter. The

   information was next to useless, so the hacker wouldn't be giving much

   away. But just showing he had access to that sort of information

   suggested he was somehow in the know. Other hackers might think he had

   had the password when it was still valid. More importantly, by showing

   off a known, expired password, the hacker hinted that he might just

   have the current password. Voila! Instant respect.

   

   Positioning oneself to win an invite into the Inner Sanctum was a game

   of strategy; titillate but never go all the way. After a while,

   someone on the inside would probably notice you and put in a word with

   Bowen. Then you would get an invitation.

   

   If you were seriously ambitious and wanted to get past the first inner

   layer, you then had to start performing for real. You couldn't hide

   behind the excuse that the public area might be monitored by the

   authorities or was full of idiots who might abuse valuable hacking

   information.

   

   The hackers in the most elite area would judge you on how much

   information you provided about breaking into computer or phone

   systems. They also looked at the accuracy of the information. It was

   easy getting out-of-date login names and passwords for a student

   account on Monash University's computer system. Posting a valid

   account for the New Zealand forestry department's VMS system intrigued

   the people who counted considerably more.

   

   The Great Rite of Passage from boy to man in the computer underground

   was Minerva. OTC, Australia's then government-owned Overseas

   Telecommunications Commission,3 ran Minerva, a system of three Prime

   mainframes in Sydney. For hackers such as Mendax, breaking into

   Minerva was the test.

   

   Back in early 1988, Mendax was just beginning to explore the world of

   hacking. He had managed to break through the barrier from public to

   private section of PI, but it wasn't enough. To be recognised as

   up-and-coming talent by the aristocracy of hackers such as The Force

   and The Wizard, a hacker had to spend time inside the Minerva system.

   Mendax set to work on breaking

   into it.

   

   Minerva was special for a number of reasons. Although it was in

   Sydney, the phone number to its entry computer, called an X.25 pad,

   was a free call. At the time Mendax lived in Emerald, a country town

   on the outskirts of Melbourne. A call to most Melbourne numbers

   incurred a long-distance charge, thus ruling out options such as the

   Melbourne University dial-out for breaking into international computer

   systems.

   

   Emerald was hardly Emerald City. For a clever sixteen-year-old boy,

   the place was dead boring. Mendax lived there with his mother; Emerald

   was merely a stopping point, one of dozens, as his mother shuttled her

   child around the continent trying to escape from a psychopathic former

   de facto. The house was an emergency refuge for families on the run.

   It was safe and so, for a time, Mendax and his exhausted family

   stopped to rest before tearing off again in search of a new place to

   hide.

   

   Sometimes Mendax went to school. Often he didn't. The school system

   didn't hold much interest for him. It didn't feed his mind the way

   Minerva would. They Sydney computer system was a far more interesting

   place to muck around in than the rural high school.

   

   Minerva was a Prime computer, and Primes were in. Force, one of the

   more respected hackers in 1987-88 in the Australian computer

   underground, specialised in Primos, the special operating system used

   on Prime computers. He wrote his own programs--potent hacking tools

   which provided current usernames and passwords--and made the systems

   fashionable in the computer underground.

   

   Prime computers were big and expensive and no hacker could afford one,

   so being able to access the speed and computational grunt of a system

   like Minerva was valuable for running a hacker's own programs. For

   example, a network scanner, a program which gathered the addresses of

   computers on the X.25 network which would be targets for future

   hacking adventures, ate up computing resources. But a huge machine

   like Minerva could handle that sort of program with ease. Minerva also

   allowed users to connect to other computer systems on the X.25 network

   around the world. Better still, Minerva had a BASIC interpreter on it.

   This allowed people to write programs in the BASIC programming

   language--by far the most popular language at the time--and make them

   run on Minerva. You didn't have to be a Primos fanatic, like Force, to

   write and execute a program on the OTC computer. Minerva suited Mendax

   very well.

   

   The OTC system had other benefits. Most major Australian corporations

   had accounts on the system. Breaking into an account requires a

   username and password; find the username and you have solved half the

   equation. Minerva account names were easy picking. Each one was

   composed of three letters followed by three numbers, a system which

   could have been difficult to crack except for the choice of those

   letters and numbers. The first three letters were almost always

   obvious acronyms for the company. For example, the ANZ Bank had

   accounts named ANZ001, ANZ002 and ANZ002. The numbers followed the

   same pattern for most companies. BHP001. CRA001. NAB001. Even OTC007.

   Anyone with the IQ of a desk lamp could guess at least a few account

   names on Minerva. Passwords were a bit tougher to come by, but Mendax

   had some ideas for that. He was going to have a crack at social

   engineering. Social engineering means smooth-talking someone in a

   position of power into doing something for you. It always involved a

   ruse of some sort.

   

   Mendax decided he would social engineer a password out of one of

   Minerva's users. He had downloaded a partial list of Minerva users

   another PI hacker had generously posted for those talented enough to

   make use of it. This list was maybe two years old, and incomplete, but

   it contained 30-odd pages of Minerva account usernames, company names,

   addresses, contact names and telephone and fax numbers. Some of them

   would probably still be valid.

   

   Mendax had a deep voice for his age; it would have been impossible to

   even contemplate social engineering without it. Cracking adolescent

   male voices were the kiss of death for would-be social engineers. But

   even though he had the voice, he didn't have the office or the Sydney

   phone number if the intended victim wanted a number to call back on.

   He found a way to solve the Sydney phone number by poking around until

   he dug up a number with Sydney's 02 area code which was permanently

   engaged. One down, one to go.

   

   Next problem: generate some realistic office background noise. He

   could hardly call a company posing as an OTC official to cajole a

   password when the only background noise was birds tweeting in the

   fresh country air.

   

   No, he needed the same background buzz as a crowded office in downtown

   Sydney. Mendex had a tape recorder, so he could pre-record the sound

   of an office and play it as background when he called companies on the

   Minerva list. The only hurdle was finding the appropriate office

   noise. Not even the local post office would offer a believable noise

   level. With none easily accessible, he decided to make his own audible

   office clutter. It wouldn't be easy. With a single track on his

   recording device, he couldn't dub in sounds on top of each other: he

   had to make all the noises simultaneously.

   

   First, he turned on the TV news, down very low, so it just hummed in

   the background. Then he set up a long document to print on his

   Commodore MPS 801 printer. He removed the cover from the noisy dot

   matrix machine, to create just the right volume of clackity-clack in

   the background. Still, he needed something more. Operators' voices

   mumbling across a crowded floor. He could mumble quietly to himself,

   but he soon discovered his verbal skills had not developed to the

   point of being able to stand in the middle of the room talking about

   nothing to himself for a quarter of an hour. So he fished out his

   volume of Shakespeare and started reading aloud. Loud enough to hear

   voices, but not so loud that the intended victim would be able to pick

   Macbeth. OTC operators had keyboards, so he began tapping randomly on

   his. Occasionally, for a little variation, he walked up to the tape

   recorder and asked a question--and then promptly answered it in

   another voice. He stomped noisily away from the recorder again, across

   the room, and then silently dove back to the keyboard for more

   keyboard typing and mumblings of Macbeth.

   

   It was exhausting. He figured the tape had to run for at least fifteen

   minutes uninterrupted. It wouldn't look very realistic if the office

   buzz suddenly went dead for three seconds at a time in the places

   where he paused the tape to rest.

   

   The tapes took a number of attempts. He would be halfway through,

   racing through line after line of Shakespeare, rap-tap-tapping on his

   keyboard and asking himself questions in authoritative voices when the

   paper jammed in his printer. Damn. He had to start all over again.

   Finally, after a tiring hour of auditory schizophrenia, he had the

   perfect tape of office hubbub.

   

   Mendax pulled out his partial list of Minerva users and began working

   through the 30-odd pages. It was discouraging.

   

   `The number you have dialled is not connected. Please check the number

   before dialling again.'

   

   Next number.

   

   `Sorry, he is in a meeting at the moment. Can I have him return your

   call?' Ah, no thanks.

   

   Another try.

   

   `That person is no longer working with our company. Can I refer you to

   someone else?' Uhm, not really.

   

   And another try.

   

   Finally, success.

   

   Mendax reached one of the contact names for a company in Perth. Valid

   number, valid company, valid contact name. He cleared his throat to

   deepen his voice even further and began.

   

   `This is John Keller, an operator from OTC Minerva in Sydney. One of

   our D090 hard drives has crashed. We've pulled across the data on the

   back-up tape and we believe we have all your correct information. But

   some of it might have been corrupted in the accident and we would just

   like to confirm your details. Also the back-up tape is two days old,

   so we want to check your information is up to date so your service is

   not interrupted. Let me just dig out your details ...' Mendax shuffled

   some papers around on the table top.

   

   `Oh, dear. Yes. Let's check it,' the worried manager responded.

   

   Mendax started reading all the information on the Minerva list

   obtained from Pacific Island, except for one thing. He changed the fax

   number slightly. It worked. The manager jumped right in.

   

   `Oh, no. That's wrong. Our fax number is definitely wrong,' he said

   and proceeded to give the correct number.

   

   Mendax tried to sound concerned. `Hmm,' he told the manager. `We may

   have bigger problems than we anticipated. Hmm.' He gave another

   pregnant pause. Working up the courage to ask the Big Question.

   

   It was hard to know who was sweating more, the fretting Perth manager,

   tormented by the idea of loud staff complaints from all over the

   company because the Minerva account was faulty, or the gangly kid

   trying his hand at social engineering for the first time.

   

   `Well,' Mendax began, trying to keep the sound of authority in his

   voice. `Let's see. We have your account number, but we had better

   check your password ... what was it?' An arrow shot from the bow.

   

   It hit the target. `Yes, it's L-U-R-C-H--full stop.'

   

   Lurch? Uhuh. An Addams Family fan.

   

   `Can you make sure everything is working? We don't want our service

   interrupted.' The Perth manager sounded quite anxious.

   

   Mendax tapped away on the keyboard randomly and then paused. `Well, it

   looks like everything is working just fine now,' he quickly reassured

   him. Just fine.

   

   `Oh, that's a relief!' the Perth manager exclaimed. `Thank you for

   that. Thank you. I just can't thank you enough for calling us!' More

   gratitude.

   

   Mendax had to extract himself. This was getting embarrassing.

   

   `Yes, well I'd better go now. More customers to call.' That should

   work. The Perth manager wanted a contact telephone number, as

   expected, if something went wrong--so Mendax gave him the one which

   was permanently busy.

   

   `Thank you again for your courteous service!' Uhuh. Anytime.

   

   Mendax hung up and tried the toll-free Minerva number. The password

   worked. He couldn't believe how easy it was to get in.

   

   He had a quick look around, following the pattern of most hackers

   breaking into a new machine. First thing to do was to check the

   electronic mail of the `borrowed' account. Email often contains

   valuable information. One company manager might send another

   information about other account names, password changes or even phone

   numbers to modems at the company itself. Then it was off to check the

   directories available for anyone to read on the main system--another

   good source of information. Final stop: Minerva's bulletin board of

   news. This included postings from the system operators about planned

   downtime or other service issues. He didn't stay long. The first visit

   was usually mostly a bit of reconnaissance work.

   

   Minerva had many uses. Most important among these was the fact that

   Minerva gave hackers an entry point into various X.25 networks. X.25

   is a type of computer communications network, much like the Unix-based

   Internet or the VMS-based DECNET. It has different commands and

   protocols, but the principle of an extensive worldwide data

   communications network is the same. There is, however, one important

   difference. The targets for hackers on the X.25 networks are often far

   more interesting. For example, most banks are on X.25. Indeed, X.25

   underpins many aspects of the world's financial markets. A number of

   countries' classified military computer sites only run on X.25. It is

   considered by many people to be more secure than the Internet or any

   DECNET system.

   

   Minerva allowed incoming callers to pass into the X.25

   network--something most Australian universities did not offer at the

   time. And Minerva let Australian callers do this without incurring a

   long-distance telephone charge.

   

   In the early days of Minerva, the OTC operators didn't seem to care

   much about the hackers, probably because it seemed impossible to get

   rid of them. The OTC operators managed the OTC X.25 exchange, which

   was like a telephone exchange for the X.25 data network. This exchange

   was the data gateway for Minerva and other systems connected to that

   data network.

   

   Australia's early hackers had it easy, until Michael Rosenberg

   arrived.

   

   Rosenberg, known on-line simply as MichaelR, decided to clean up

   Minerva. An engineering graduate from Queensland University, Michael

   moved to Sydney when he joined OTC at age 21. He was about the same

   age as the hackers he was chasing off his system. Rosenberg didn't

   work as an OTC operator, he managed the software which ran on Minerva.

   And he made life hell for people like Force. Closing up security

   holes, quietly noting accounts used by hackers and then killing those

   accounts, Rosenberg almost single-handedly stamped out much of the

   hacker activity in OTC's Minerva.

   

   Despite this, the hackers--`my hackers' as he termed the regulars--had

   a grudging respect for Rosenberg. Unlike anyone else at OTC, he was

   their technical equal and, in a world where technical prowess was the

   currency, Rosenberg was a wealthy young man.

   

   He wanted to catch the hackers, but he didn't want to see them go to

   prison. They were an annoyance, and he just wanted them out of his

   system. Any line trace, however, had to go through Telecom, which was

   at that time a separate body from OTC. Telecom, Rosenberg was told,

   was difficult about these things because of strict privacy laws. So,

   for the most part, he was left to deal with the hackers on his own.

   Rosenberg could not secure his system completely since OTC didn't

   dictate passwords to their customers. Their customers were usually

   more concerned about employees being able to remember passwords easily

   than worrying about warding off wily hackers. The result: the

   passwords on a number of Minerva accounts were easy pickings.

   

   The hackers and OTC waged a war from 1988 to 1990, and it was fought

   in many ways.

   

   Sometimes an OTC operator would break into a hacker's on-line session

   demanding to know who was really using the account. Sometimes the

   operators sent insulting messages to the hackers--and the hackers gave

   it right back to them. They broke into the hacker's session with `Oh,

   you idiots are at it again'. The operators couldn't keep the hackers

   out, but they had other ways of getting even.

   

   Electron, a Melbourne hacker and rising star in the Australian

   underground, had been logging into a system in Germany via OTC's X.25

   link. Using a VMS machine, a sort of sister system to Minerva, he had

   been playing a game called Empire on the Altos system, a popular

   hang-out for hackers. It was his first attempt at Empire, a complex

   war game of strategy which attracted players from around the world.

   They each had less than one hour per day to conquer regions while

   keeping production units at a strategic level. The Melbourne hacker

   had spent weeks building his position. He was in second place.

   

   Then, one day, he logged into the game via Minerva and the German

   system, and he couldn't believe what he saw on the screen in front of

   him. His regions, his position in the game, all of it--weeks of

   work--had been wiped out. An OTC operator had used an X.25

   packet-sniffer to monitor the hacker's login and capture his password to

   Empire. Instead of trading the usual insults, the operator had waited

   for the hacker to logoff and then had hacked into the game and destroyed

   the hacker's position.

   

   Electron was furious. He had been so proud of his position in his very

   first game. Still, wreaking havoc on the Minerva system in retribution

   was out of the question. Despite the fact that they wasted weeks of

   his work, Electron had no desire to damage their system. He considered

   himself lucky to be able to use it as long as he did.

   

   The anti-establishment attitudes nurtured in BBSes such as PI and Zen

   fed on a love of the new and untried. There was no bitterness, just a

   desire to throw off the mantle of the old and dive into the new.

   Camaraderie grew from the exhilarating sense that the youth in this

   particular time and place were constantly on the edge of big

   discoveries. People were calling up computers with their modems and

   experimenting. What did this key sequence do? What about that tone?

   What would happen if ... It was the question which drove them to stay

   up day and night, poking and prodding. These hackers didn't for the

   most part do drugs. They didn't even drink that much, given their age.

   All of that would have interfered with their burning desire to know,

   would have dulled their sharp edge. The underground's

   anti-establishment views were mostly directed at organisations which

   seemed to block the way to the new frontier--organisations like

   Telecom.

   

   It was a powerful word. Say `Telecom' to a member of the computer

   underground from that era and you will observe the most striking

   reaction. Instant contempt sweeps across his face. There is a pause as

   his lips curl into a noticeable sneer and he replies with complete

   derision, `Telescum'. The underground hated Australia's national

   telephone carrier with a passion equalled only to its love of

   exploration. They felt that Telecom was backward and its staff had no

   idea how to use their own telecommunications technology. Worst of all,

   Telecom seemed to actively dislike BBSes.

   

   Line noise interfered with one modem talking to another, and in the

   eyes of the computer underground, Telecom was responsible for the line

   noise. A hacker might be reading a message on PI, and there, in the

   middle of some juicy technical titbit, would be a bit of crud--random

   characters `2'28 v'1';D>nj4'--followed by the comment, `Line noise.

   Damn Telescum! At their best as usual, I see'. Sometimes the line

   noise was so bad it logged the hacker off, thus forcing him to spend

   another 45 minutes attack dialling the BBS. The modems didn't have

   error correction, and the faster the modem speed, the worse the impact

   of line noise. Often it became a race to read mail and post messages

   before Telecom's line noise logged the hacker off.

   

   Rumours flew through the underground again and again that Telecom was

   trying to bring in timed local calls. The volume of outrage was

   deafening. The BBS community believed it really irked the national

   carrier that people could spend an hour logged into a BBS for the cost

   of one local phone call. Even more heinous, other rumours abounded

   that Telecom had forced at least one BBS to limit each incoming call

   to under half an hour. Hence Telecom's other nickname in the computer

   underground: Teleprofit.

   

   To the BBS community, Telecom's Protective Services Unit was the

   enemy. They were the electronic police. The underground saw Protective

   Services as `the enforcers'--an all-powerful government force which

   could raid your house, tap your phone line and seize your computer

   equipment at any time. The ultimate reason to hate Telecom.

   

   There was such hatred of Telecom that people in the computer

   underground routinely discussed ways of sabotaging the carrier. Some

   people talked of sending 240 volts of electricity down the telephone

   line--an act which would blow up bits of the telephone exchange along

   with any line technicians who happened to be working on the cable at

   the time. Telecom had protective fuses which stopped electrical surges

   on the line, but BBS hackers had reportedly developed circuit plans

   which would allow high-frequency voltages to bypass them. Other

   members of the underground considered what sweet justice it would be

   to set fire to all the cables outside a particular Telecom exchange

   which had an easily accessible cable entrance duct.

   

   It was against this backdrop that the underground began to shift into

   phreaking. Phreaking is loosely defined as hacking the telephone

   system. It is a very loose definition. Some people believe phreaking

   includes stealing a credit card number and using it to make a

   long-distance call for free. Purists shun this definition. To them,

   using a stolen credit card is not phreaking, it is carding. They argue

   that phreaking demands a reasonable level of technical skill and

   involves manipulation of a telephone exchange. This manipulation may

   manifest itself as using computers or electrical circuits to generate

   special tones or modify the voltage of a phone line. The manipulation

   changes how the telephone exchange views a particular telephone

   line. The result: a free and hopefully untraceable call. The purist

   hacker sees phreaking more as a way of eluding telephone traces than of

   calling his or her friends around the world for free.

   

   The first transition into phreaking and eventually carding happened

   over a period of about six months in 1988. Early hackers on PI and Zen

   relied primarily on dial-outs, like those at Melbourne University or

   Telecom's Clayton office, to bounce around international computer

   sites. They also used X.25 dial-outs in other countries--the US,

   Sweden and Germany--to make another leap in their international

   journeys.

   

   Gradually, the people running these dial-out lines wised up. Dial-outs

   started drying up. Passwords were changed. Facilities were cancelled.

   But the hackers didn't want to give up access to overseas systems.

   They'd had their first taste of international calling and they wanted

   more. There was a big shiny electronic world to explore out there.

   They began trying different methods of getting where they wanted to

   go. And so the Melbourne underground moved into phreaking.

   

   Phreakers swarmed to PABXes like bees to honey. A PABX, a private

   automatic branch exchange, works like a mini-Telecom telephone

   exchange. Using a PABX, the employee of a large company could dial

   another employee in-house without incurring the cost of a local

   telephone call. If the employee was, for example, staying in a hotel

   out of town, the company might ask him to make all his calls through

   the company's PABX to avoid paying extortionate hotel long-distance

   rates. If the employee was in Brisbane on business, he could dial a

   Brisbane number which might route him via the company's PABX to

   Sydney. From there, he might dial out to Rome or London, and the

   charge would be billed directly to the company. What worked for an

   employee also worked for a phreaker.

   

   A phreaker dialling into the PABX would generally need to either know

   or guess the password allowing him to dial out again. Often, the

   phreaker was greeted by an automated message asking for the employee's

   telephone extension--which also served as the password. Well, that was

   easy enough. The phreaker simply tried a series of numbers until he

   found one which actually worked.

   

   Occasionally, a PABX system didn't even have passwords. The managers

   of the PABX figured that keeping the phone number secret was good

   enough security. Sometimes phreakers made free calls out of PABXes

   simply by exploited security flaws in a particular model or brand of

   PABX. A series of specific key presses allowed the phreaker to get in

   without knowing a password, an employee's name, or even the name of

   the company for that matter.

   

   As a fashionable pastime on BBSes, phreaking began to surpass hacking.

   PI established a private phreaking section. For a while, it became

   almost old hat to call yourself a hacker. Phreaking was forging the

   path forward.

   

   Somewhere in this transition, the Phreakers Five sprung to life. A

   group of five hackers-turned-phreakers gathered in an exclusive group

   on PI. Tales of their late-night podding adventures leaked into the

   other areas of the BBS and made would-be phreakers green with

   jealousy.

   

   First, the phreakers would scout out a telephone pod--the grey steel,

   rounded box perched nondescriptly on most streets. Ideally, the chosen

   pod would be by a park or some other public area likely to be deserted

   at night. Pods directly in front of suburban houses were a bit

   risky--the house might contain a nosy little old lady with a penchant

   for calling the local police if anything looked suspicious. And what

   she would see, if she peered out from behind her lace curtains, was a

   small tornado of action.

   

   One of the five would leap from the van and open the pod with a key

   begged, borrowed or stolen from a Telecom technician. The keys seemed

   easy enough to obtain. The BBSes message boards were rife with gleeful

   tales of valuable Telecom equipment, such as 500 metres of cable or a

   pod key, procured off a visiting Telecom repairman either through

   legitimate means or in exchange for a six-pack of beer.

   

   The designated phreaker would poke inside the pod until he found

   someone else's phone line. He'd strip back the cable, whack on a pair

   of alligator clips and, if he wanted to make a voice call, run it to a

   linesman's handset also borrowed, bought or stolen from Telecom. If he

   wanted to call another computer instead of talking voice, he would

   need to extend the phone line back to the phreakers' car. This is

   where the 500 metres of Telecom cable came in handy. A long cable

   meant the car, containing five anxious, whispering young men and a

   veritable junkyard of equipment, would not have to sit next to the pod

   for hours on end. That sort of scene might look a little suspicious to

   a local resident out walking his or her dog late one night.

   

   The phreaker ran the cable down the street and, if possible, around

   the corner. He pulled it into the car and attached it to the waiting

   computer modem. At least one of the five was proficient enough with

   electronics hardware to have rigged up the computer and modem to the

   car battery. The Phreaker's Five could now call any computer without

   being traced or billed. The phone call charges would appear at the end

   of a local resident's phone bill. Telecom did not itemise residential

   telephone bills at the time. True, it was a major drama to zoom around

   suburban streets in the middle of the night with computers, alligator

   clips and battery adaptors in tow, but that didn't matter so much. In

   fact, the thrill of such a cloak-and-dagger operation was as good as

   the actual hacking itself. It was illicit. In the phreakers' own eyes,

   it was clever. And therefore it was fun.

   

   Craig Bowen didn't think much of the Phreakers Five's style of

   phreaking. In fact, the whole growth of phreaking as a pastime

   depressed him a bit. He believed it just didn't require the technical

   skills of proper hacking. Hacking was, in his view, about the

   exploration of a brave new world of computers. Phreaking was, well, a

   bit beneath a good hacker. Somehow it demeaned the task at hand.

   

   Still, he could see how in some cases it was necessary in order to

   continue hacking. Most people in the underground developed some basic

   skills in phreaking, though people like Bowen always viewed it more as

   a means to an end--just a way of getting from computer A to computer

   B, nothing more. Nonetheless, he allowed phreaking discussion areas in

   the private sections of PI.

   

   What he refused to allow was discussion areas around credit card

   fraud. Carding was anathema to Bowen and he watched with alarm as some

   members of the underground began to shift from phreaking into carding.

   

   Like the transition into phreaking, the move into carding was a

   logical progression. It occurred over a period of perhaps six months

   in 1988 and was as obvious as a group of giggling schoolgirls.

   

   Many phreakers saw it simply as another type of phreaking. In fact it

   was a lot less hassle than manipulating some company's PABX. Instead,

   you just call up an operator, give him some stranger's credit card

   number to pay for the call, and you were on your way. Of course, the

   credit cards had a broader range of uses than the PABXes. The advent

   of carding meant you could telephone your friends in the US or UK and

   have a long voice conference call with all of them

   simultaneously--something which could be a lot tougher to arrange on a

   PABX. There were other benefits. You could actually charge things with

   that credit card. As in goods. Mail order goods.

   

   One member of the underground who used the handle Ivan Trotsky,

   allegedly ordered $50000 worth of goods, including a jet ski, from the

   US on a stolen card, only to leave it sitting on the Australian docks.

   The Customs guys don't tend to take stolen credit cards for duty

   payments. In another instance, Trotsky was allegedly more successful.

   A try-hard hacker who kept pictures of Karl Marx and Lenin taped to

   the side of his computer terminal, Trotsky regularly spewed communist

   doctrine across the underground. A self-contained paradox, he spent

   his time attending Communist Party of Australia meetings and duck

   shoots. According to one hacker, Trotsky's particular contribution to

   the overthrow of the capitalist order was the arrangement of a

   shipment of expensive modems from the US using stolen credit cards. He

   was rumoured to have made a tidy profit by selling the modems in the

   computer community for about $200 each. Apparently, being part of the

   communist revolution gave him all sorts of ready-made

   rationalisations. Membership has its advantages.

   

   To Bowen, carding was little more than theft. Hacking may have been a

   moral issue, but in early 1988 in Australia it was not yet much of a

   legal one. Carding was by contrast both a moral and a legal issue.

   Bowen recognised that some people viewed hacking as a type of

   theft--stealing someone else's computer resources--but the argument

   was ambiguous. What if no-one needed those resources at 2 a.m. on a

   given night? It might be seen more as `borrowing' an under-used asset,

   since the hacker had not permanently appropriated any property. Not so

   for carding.

   

   What made carding even less noble was that it required the technical

   skill of a wind-up toy. Not only was it beneath most good hackers, it

   attracted the wrong sort of people into the hacking scene. People who

   had little or no respect for the early Australian underground's golden

   rules of hacking: don't damage computer systems you break into

   (including crashing them); don't change the information in those

   systems (except for altering logs to cover your tracks); and share

   information. For most early Australian hackers, visiting someone

   else's system was a bit like visiting a national park. Leave it as you

   find it.

   

   While the cream seemed to rise to the top of the hacking hierarchy, it

   was the scum that floated at the top of the carding community. Few

   people in the underground typified this more completely than Blue

   Thunder, who had been hanging around the outskirts of the Melbourne

   underground since at least 1986. The senior hackers treated Blue

   Blunder, as they sometimes called him, with great derision.

   

   His entrance into the underground was as ignominious as that of a

   debutante who, delicately descending the grand steps of the ballroom,

   trips and tumbles head-first onto the dance floor. He picked a fight

   with the grande doyenne of the Melbourne underground.

   

   The Real Article occupied a special place in the underground. For

   starters, The Real Article was a woman--perhaps the only female to

   play a major role in the early Melbourne underground scene. Although

   she didn't hack computers, she knew a lot about them. She ran The Real

   Connection, a BBS frequented by many of the hackers who hung out on

   PI. She wasn't somebody's sister wafting in and out of the picture in

   search of a boyfriend. She was older. She was as good as married. She

   had kids. She was a force to be reckoned with in the hacking

   community.

   

   Forthright and formidable, The Real Article commanded considerable

   respect among the underground. A good indicator of this respect was the

   fact that the members of H.A.C.K. had inducted her as an honorary member

   of their exclusive club. Perhaps it was because she ran a popular

   board. More likely it was because, for all their bluff and bluster, most

   hackers were young men with the problems of young men.  Being older and

   wiser, The Real Article knew how to lend a sympathetic ear to those

   problems. As a woman and a non-hacker, she was removed from the jumble

   of male ego hierarchical problems associated with confiding in a

   peer. She served as a sort of mother to the embryonic hacking community,

   but she was young enough to avoid the judgmental pitfalls most parents

   fall into with children.

   

   The Real Article and Blue Thunder went into partnership running a BBS

   in early 1986. Blue Thunder, then a high-school student, was desperate

   to run a board, so she let him co-sysop the system. At first the

   partnership worked. Blue Thunder used to bring his high-school essays

   over for her to proofread and correct. But a short time into the

   partnership, it went sour. The Real Article didn't like Blue Thunder's

   approach to running a BBS, which appeared to her to be get information

   from other hackers and then dump them. The specific strategy seemed to

   be: get hackers to logon and store their valuable information on the

   BBS, steal that information and then lock them out of their own

   account. By locking them out, he was able to steal all the glory; he

   could then claim the hacking secrets were his own. It was, in her

   opinion, not only unsustainable, but quite immoral. She parted ways

   with Blue Thunder and excommunicated him from her BBS.

   

   Not long after, The Real Article started getting harassing phone calls

   at 4 in the morning. The calls were relentless. Four a.m. on the dot,

   every night. The voice at the other end of the line was computer

   synthesised. This was followed by a picture of a machine-gun, printed

   out on a cheap dot matrix printer in Commodore ASCII, delivered in her

   letterbox. There was a threatening message attached which read

   something like, `If you want the kids to stay alive, get them out of

   the house'.

   

   After that came the brick through the window. It landed in the back of

   her TV. Then she woke up one morning to find her phone line dead.

   Someone had opened the Telecom well in the nature strip across the

   road and cut out a metre of cable. It meant the phone lines for the

   entire street were down.

   

   The Real Article tended to rise above the petty games that whining

   adolescent boys with bruised egos could play, but this was too much.

   She called in Telecom Protective Services, who put a last party

   release on her phone line to trace the early-morning harassing calls.

   She suspected Blue Thunder was involved, but nothing was ever proved.

   Finally, the calls stopped. She voiced her suspicions to others in the

   computer underground. Whatever shred of reputation Blue Chunder, as he

   then became known for a time, had was soon decimated.

   

   Since his own technical contributions were seen by his fellow BBS

   users as limited, Blue Thunder would likely have faded into obscurity,

   condemned to spend the rest of his time in the underground jumping

   around the ankles of the aristocratic hackers. But the birth of

   carding arrived at a fortuitous moment for him and he got into carding

   in a big way, so big in fact that he soon got busted.

   

   People in the underground recognised him as a liability, both because

   of what many hackers saw as his loose morals and because he was

   boastful of his activities. One key hacker said, `He seemed to relish

   the idea of getting caught. He told people he worked for a credit

   union and that he stole lots of credit card numbers. He sold

   information, such as accounts on systems, for financial gain.' In

   partnership with a carder, he also allegedly sent a bouquet of flowers

   to the police fraud squad--and paid for it with a stolen credit card

   number.

   

   On 31 August 1988, Blue Thunder faced 22 charges in the Melbourne

   Magistrates Court, where he managed to get most of the charges dropped

   or amalgamated. He only ended up pleading guilty to five counts,

   including deception and theft. The Real Article sat in the back of the

   courtroom watching the proceedings. Blue Thunder must have been pretty

   worried about what kind of sentence the magistrate would hand down

   because she said he approached her during the lunch break and asked if

   she would appear as a character witness for the defence. She looked

   him straight in the eye and said, `I think you would prefer it if I

   didn't'. He landed 200 hours of community service and an order to pay

   $706 in costs.

   

   Craig Bowen didn't like where the part of the underground typified by

   Blue Thunder was headed. In his view, Chunder and Trotsky stood out as

   bad apples in an otherwise healthy group, and they signalled an

   unpleasant shift towards selling information. This was perhaps the

   greatest taboo. It was dirty. It was seedy. It was the realm of

   criminals, not explorers. The Australian computer underground had

   started to lose some of its fresh-faced innocence.

   

   Somewhere in the midst of all this, a new player entered the Melbourne

   underground. His name was Stuart Gill, from a company called

   Hackwatch.

   

   Bowen met Stuart through Kevin Fitzgerald, a well-known local hacker

   commentator who founded the Chisholm Institute of Technology's

   Computer Abuse Research Bureau, which later became the Australian

   Computer Abuse Research Bureau. After seeing a newspaper article

   quoting Fitzgerald, Craig decided to ring up the man many members of

   the underground considered to be a hacker-catcher. Why not? There were

   no federal laws in Australia against hacking, so Bowen didn't feel

   that nervous about it. Besides, he wanted to meet the enemy. No-one

   from the Australian underground had ever done it before, and Bowen

   decided it was high time. He wanted to set the record straight with

   Fitzgerald, to let him know what hackers were really on about. They

   began to talk periodically on the phone.

   

   Along the way, Bowen met Stuart Gill who said that he was working with

   Fitzgerald.4 Before long, Gill began visiting PI. Eventually, Bowen

   visited Gill in person at the Mount Martha home he shared with his

   elderly aunt and uncle. Stuart had all sorts of computer equipment

   hooked up there, and a great number of boxes of papers in the garage.

   

   `Oh, hello there, Paul,' Gill's ancient-looking uncle said when he saw

   the twosome. As soon as the old man had tottered off, Gill pulled

   Bowen aside confidentially.

   

   `Don't worry about old Eric,' he said. `He lost it in the war. Today

   he thinks I'm Paul, tomorrow it will be someone else.'

   

   Bowen nodded, understanding.

   

   There were many strange things about Stuart Gill, all of which seemed

   to have a rational explanation, yet that explanation somehow never

   quite answered the question in full.

   

   Aged in his late thirties, he was much older and far more worldly than

   Craig Bowen. He had very, very pale skin--so pasty it looked as though

   he had never sat in the sun in his life.

   

   Gill drew Bowen into the complex web of his life. Soon he told the

   young hacker that he wasn't just running Hackwatch, he was also

   involved in intelligence work. For the Australian Federal Police. For

   ASIO. For the National Crime Authority. For the Victoria Police's

   Bureau of Criminal Intelligence (BCI). He showed Bowen some secret

   computer files and documents, but he made him sign a special form

   first--a legal-looking document demanding non-disclosure based on some

   sort of official secrets act.

   

   Bowen was impressed. Why wouldn't he be? Gill's cloak-and-dagger world

   looked like the perfect boy's own adventure. Even bigger and better

   than hacking. He was a little strange, but that was part of the

   allure.

   

   Like the time they took a trip to Sale together around Christmas 1988.

   Gill told Bowen he had to get out of town for a few days--certain

   undesirable people were after him. He didn't drive, so could Craig

   help him out? Sure, no problem. They had shared an inexpensive motel

   room in Sale, paid for by Gill.

   

   Being so close to Christmas, Stuart told Craig he had brought him two

   presents. Craig opened the first--a John Travolta fitness book. When

   Craig opened the second gift, he was a little stunned. It was a red

   G-string for men. Craig didn't have a girlfriend at the time--perhaps

   Stuart was trying to help him get one.

   

   `Oh, ah, thanks,' Craig said, a bit confused.

   

   `Glad you like it,' Stuart said. `Go on. Try it on.'

   

   `Try it on?' Craig was now very confused.

   

   `Yeah, mate, you know, to see if it fits. That's all.'

   

   `Oh, um, right.'

   

   Craig hesitated. He didn't want to seem rude. It was a weird request,

   but never having been given a G-string before, he didn't know the

   normal protocol. After all, when someone gives you a jumper, it's

   normal for them to ask you to try it on, then and there, to see if it

   fits.

   

   Craig tried it on. Quickly.

   

   `Yes, seems to fit,' Stuart said matter of factly, then turned away.

   

   Craig felt relieved. He changed back into his clothing.

   

   That night, and on many others during their trips or during Craig's

   overnight visits to Stuart's uncle's house, Craig lay in bed wondering

   about his secretive new friend.

   

   Stuart was definitely a little weird, but he seemed to like women so

   Craig figured he couldn't be interested in Craig that way. Stuart

   bragged that he had a very close relationship with a female newspaper

   reporter, and he always seemed to be chatting up the girl at the video

   store.

   

   Craig tried not to read too much into Stuart's odd behaviour, for the

   young man was willing to forgive his friend's eccentricities just to

   be part of the action. Soon Stuart asked Craig for access to

   PI--unrestricted access.

   

   The idea made Craig uncomfortable, but Stuart was so persuasive. How

   would he be able to continue his vital intelligence work without

   access to Victoria's most important hacking board? Besides, Stuart

   Gill of Hackwatch wasn't after innocent-faced hackers like Craig

   Bowen. In fact, he would protect Bowen when the police came down on

   everyone. What Stuart really wanted was the carders--the fraudsters.

   Craig didn't want to protect people like that, did he?

   

   Craig found it a little odd, as usual, that Stuart seemed to be after

   the carders, yet he had chummed up with Ivan Trotsky. Still, there

   were no doubt secrets Stuart couldn't reveal--things he wasn't allowed

   to explain because of his intelligence work.

   

   Craig agreed.

   

   What Craig couldn't have known as he pondered Stuart Gill from the

   safety of his boyish bedroom was exactly how much innocence the

   underground was still to lose. If he had foreseen the next few

   years--the police raids, the Ombudsman's investigation, the stream of

   newspaper articles and the court cases--Craig Bowen would, at that

   very moment, probably have reached over and turned off his beloved PI

   and Zen forever.





     _________________________________________________________________



		   Chapter 3 -- The American Connection

     _________________________________________________________________

   

                                       

     US forces give the nod

     It's a setback for your country 

     

   -- from `US Forces', on 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 by Midnight Oil1

   

   Force had a secret. The Parmaster wanted it.

   

   Like most hackers, The Parmaster didn't just want the secret, he

   needed it. He was in that peculiar state attained by real hackers

   where they will do just about anything to obtain a certain piece of

   information. He was obsessed.

   

   Of course, it wasn't the first time The Parmaster craved a juicy piece

   of information. Both he and Force knew all about infatuation. That's

   how it worked with real hackers. They didn't just fancy a titbit here

   and there. Once they knew information about a particular system was

   available, that there was a hidden entrance, they chased it down

   relentlessly. So that was exactly what Par was doing. Chasing Force

   endlessly, until he got what he wanted.

   

   It began innocently enough as idle conversation between two giants in

   the computer underground in the first half of 1988. Force, the

   well-known Australian hacker who ran the exclusive Realm BBS in

   Melbourne, sat chatting with Par, the American master of X.25

   networks, in Germany. Neither of them was physically in Germany, but

   Altos was.

   

   Altos Computer Systems in Hamburg ran a conference feature called

   Altos Chat on one of its machines. You could call up from anywhere on

   the X.25 data communications network, and the company's computer would

   let you connect. Once connected, with a few brief keystrokes, the

   German machine would drop you into a real-time, on-screen talk session

   with anyone else who happened to be on-line. While the rest of the

   company's computer system grunted and toiled with everyday labours,

   this corner of the machine was reserved for live on-line chatting. For

   free. It was like an early form of the Internet Relay Chat. The

   company probably hadn't meant to become the world's most prestigious

   hacker hang-out, but it soon ended up doing so.

   

   Altos was the first significant international live chat channel, and

   for most hackers it was an amazing thing. The good hackers had cruised

   through lots of computer networks around the world. Sometimes they

   bumped into one another on-line and exchanged the latest gossip.

   Occasionally, they logged into overseas BBSes, where they posted

   messages. But Altos was different. While underground BBSes had a

   tendency to simply disappear one day, gone forever, Altos was always

   there. It was live. Instantaneous communications with a dozen other

   hackers from all sorts of exotic places. Italy. Canada. France.

   England. Israel. The US. And all these people not only shared an

   interest in computer networks but also a flagrant contempt for

   authority of any type. Instant, real-time penpals--with attitude.

   

   However, Altos was more exclusive than the average underground BBS.

   Wanna-be hackers had trouble getting into it because of the way X.25

   networks were billed. Some systems on the network took reverse-charge

   connections--like a 1-800 number--and some, including Altos, didn't.

   To get to Altos you needed a company's NUI (Network User Identifier),

   which was like a calling card number for the X.25 network, used to

   bill your time on-line. Or you had to have access to a system like

   Minerva which automatically accepted billing for all the connections

   made.

   

   X.25 networks are different in various ways from the Internet, which

   developed later. X.25 networks use different communication protocols

   and, unlike the Internet at the user-level, they only use addresses

   containing numbers not letters. Each packet of information travelling

   over a data network needs to be encased in a particular type of

   envelope. A `letter' sent across the X.25 network needs an X.25

   `stamped' envelope, not an Internet `stamped' envelope.

   

   The X.25 networks were controlled by a few very large players,

   companies such as Telenet and Tymnet, while the modern Internet is, by

   contrast, a fragmented collection of many small and medium-sized

   sites.

   

   Altos unified the international hacking world as nothing else had

   done. In sharing information about their own countries' computers and

   networks, hackers helped each other venture further and further

   abroad. The Australians had gained quite a reputation on Altos. They

   knew their stuff. More importantly, they possessed DEFCON, a program

   which mapped out uncharted networks and scanned for accounts on

   systems within them. Force wrote DEFCON based on a simple automatic

   scanning program provided by his friend and mentor, Craig Bowen

   (Thunderbird1).

   

   Like the telephone system, the X.25 networks had a large number of

   `phone numbers', called network user addresses (NUAs). Most were not

   valid. They simply hadn't been assigned to anyone yet. To break into

   computers on the network, you had to find them first, which meant

   either hearing about a particular system from a fellow hacker or

   scanning. Scanning--typing in one possible address after another--was

   worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. 02624-589004-0004. Then

   increasing the last digit by one on each attempt. 0005. 0006. 0007.

   Until you hit a machine at the other end.

   

   Back in 1987 or early 1988, Force had logged into Pacific Island for a

   talk with Craig Bowen. Force bemoaned the tediousness of hand

   scanning.

   

   `Well, why the hell are you doing it manually?' Bowen responded. `You

   should just use my program.' He then gave Force the source code for

   his simple automated scanning program, along with instructions.

   

   Force went through the program and decided it would serve as a good

   launchpad for bigger things, but it had a major limitation. The

   program could only handle one connection at a time, which meant it

   could only scan one branch of a network at a time.

   

   Less than three months later, Force had rewritten Bowen's program into

   the far more powerful DEFCON, which became the jewel in the crown of

   the Australian hackers' reputation. With DEFCON, a hacker could

   automatically scan fifteen or twenty network addresses simultaneously.

   He could command the computer to map out pieces of the Belgian,

   British and Greek X.25 communications networks, looking for computers

   hanging off the networks like buds at the tips of tree branches.

   

   Conceptually, the difference was a little like using a basic PC, which

   can only run one program at a time, as opposed to operating a more

   sophisticated one where you can open many windows with different

   programs running all at once. Even though you might only be working in

   one window, say, writing a letter, the computer might be doing

   calculations in a spreadsheet in another window in the background. You

   can swap between

   different functions, which are all running in the background

   simultaneously.

   

   While DEFCON was busy scanning, Force could do other things, such as

   talk on Altos. He continued improving DEFCON, writing up to four more

   versions of the program. Before long, DEFCON didn't just scan twenty

   different connections at one time; it also automatically tried to

   break into all the computers it found through those connections.

   Though the program only tried basic default passwords, it had a fair

   degree of success, since it could attack so many network addresses at

   once. Further, new sites and mini-networks were being added so quickly

   that security often fell by the wayside in the rush to join in. Since

   the addresses were unpublished, companies often felt this obscurity

   offered enough protection.

   

   DEFCON produced lists of thousands of computer sites to raid. Force

   would leave it scanning from a hacked Prime computer, and a day or two

   later he would have an output file with 6000 addresses on different

   networks. He perused the list and selected sites which caught his

   attention. If his program had discovered an interesting address, he

   would travel over the X.25 network to the site and then try to break

   into the computer at that address. Alternatively, DEFCON might have

   already successfully penetrated the machine using a default password,

   in which case the address, account name and password would all be

   waiting for Force in the log file. He could just walk right in.

   

   Everyone on Altos wanted DEFCON, but Force refused to hand over the

   program. No way was he going to have other hackers tearing up virgin

   networks. Not even Erik Bloodaxe, one of the leaders of the most

   prestigious American hacking group, Legion of Doom (LOD), got DEFCON

   when he asked for it. Erik took his handle from the name of a Viking

   king who ruled over the area now known as York, England. Although Erik

   was on friendly terms with the Australian hackers, Force remained

   adamant. He would not let the jewel out of his hands.

   

   But on this fateful day in 1988, Par didn't want DEFCON. He wanted the

   secret Force had just discovered, but held so very close to his chest.

   And the Australian didn't want to give it to him.

   

   Force was a meticulous hacker. His bedroom was remarkably tidy, for a

   hacker's room. It had a polished, spartan quality. There were a few

   well-placed pieces of minimalist furniture:

   a black enamel metal single bed, a modern black bedside

   table and a single picture on the wall--a photographic poster of

   lightning, framed in glass. The largest piece of furniture was a

   blue-grey desk with a return, upon which sat his computer, a printer

   and an immaculate pile of print-outs. The bookcase, a tall modern

   piece matching the rest of the furniture, contained an extensive

   collection of fantasy fiction books, including what seemed to be

   almost everything ever written by David Eddings. The lower shelves

   housed assorted chemistry and programming books. A chemistry award

   proudly jutted out from the shelf housing a few Dungeons and Dragons

   books.

   

   He kept his hacking notes in an orderly set of plastic folders, all

   filed in the bottom of his bookcase. Each page of notes, neatly

   printed and surrounded by small, tidy handwriting revealing updates

   and minor corrections, had its own plastic cover to prevent smudges or

   stains.

   

   Force thought it was inefficient to hand out his DEFCON program and

   have ten people scan the same network ten different times. It wasted

   time and resources. Further, it was becoming harder to get access to

   the main X.25 sites in Australia, like Minerva. Scanning was the type

   of activity likely to draw the attention of a system admin and result

   in the account being killed. The more people who scanned, the more

   accounts would be killed, and the less access the Australian hackers

   would have. So Force refused to hand over DEFCON to hackers outside

   The Realm, which is one thing that made it such a powerful group.

   

   Scanning with DEFCON meant using Netlink, a program which legitimate

   users didn't often employ. In his hunt for hackers, an admin might

   look for people running Netlink, or he might just examine which

   systems a user was connecting to. For example, if a hacker connected

   directly to Altos from Minerva without hopping through a respectable

   midpoint, such as another corporate machine overseas, he could count

   on the Minerva admins killing off the account.

   

   DEFCON was revolutionary for its time, and difficult to reproduce. It

   was written for Prime computers, and not many hackers knew how to

   write programs for Primes. In fact, it was exceedingly difficult for

   most hackers to learn programming of any sort for large, commercial

   machines. Getting the system engineering manuals was tough work and

   many of the large companies guarded their manuals almost as trade

   secrets. Sure, if you bought a $100000 system, the company would give

   you a few sets of operating manuals, but that was well beyond the

   reach of a teenage hacker. In general, information was hoarded--by the

   computer manufacturers, by the big companies which bought the systems,

   by the system administrators and even by the universities.

   

   Learning on-line was slow and almost as difficult. Most hackers used

   300 or 1200 baud modems. Virtually all access to these big, expensive

   machines was illegal. Every moment on-line was a risky proposition.

   High schools never had these sorts of expensive machines. Although

   many universities had systems, the administrators were usually miserly

   with time on-line for students. In most cases, students only got

   accounts on the big machines in their second year of computer science

   studies. Even then, student accounts were invariably on the

   university's oldest, clunkiest machine. And if you weren't a comp-sci

   student, forget it. Indulging your intellectual curiosity in VMS

   systems would never be anything more than a pipe dream.

   

   Even if you did manage to overcome all the roadblocks and develop some

   programming experience in VMS systems, for example, you might only be

   able to access a small number of machines on any given network. The

   X.25 networks connected a large number of machines which used very

   different operating systems. Many, such as Primes, were not in the

   least bit intuitive. So if you knew VMS and you hit a Prime machine,

   well, that was pretty much it.

   

   Unless, of course, you happened to belong to a clan of hackers like

   The Realm. Then you could call up the BBS and post a message. `Hey, I

   found a really cool Primos system at this address. Ran into problems

   trying to figure the parameters of the Netlink command. Ideas anyone?'

   And someone from your team would step forward to help.

   

   In The Realm, Force tried to assemble a diverse group of Australia's

   best hackers, each with a different area of expertise. And he happened

   to be the resident expert in Prime computers.

   

   Although Force wouldn't give DEFCON to anyone outside The Realm, he

   wasn't unreasonable. If you weren't in the system but you had an

   interesting network you wanted mapped, he would scan it for you. Force

   referred to scans for network user addresses as `NUA sprints'. He

   would give you a copy of the NUA sprint. While he was at it, he would

   also keep a copy for The Realm. That was efficient. Force's pet

   project was creating a database of systems and networks for The Realm,

   so he simply added the new information to its database.

   

   Force's great passion was mapping new networks, and new mini-networks

   were being added to the main X.25 networks all the time. A large

   corporation, such a BHP, might set up its own small-scale network

   connecting its offices in Western Australia, Queensland, Victoria and

   the United Kingdom. That mini-network might be attached to a

   particular X.25 network, such as Austpac. Get into the Austpac network

   and chances were you could get into any of the company's sites.

   

   Exploration of all this uncharted territory consumed most of Force's

   time. There was something cutting-edge, something truly adventurous

   about finding a new network and carefully piecing together a picture

   of what the expanding web looked like. He drew detailed pictures and

   diagrams showing how a new part of the network connected to the rest.

   Perhaps it appealed to his sense of order, or maybe he was just an

   adventurer at heart. Whatever the underlying motivation, the maps

   provided The Realm with yet another highly prized asset.

   

   When he wasn't mapping networks, Force published Australia's first

   underground hacking journal, Globetrotter. Widely read in the

   international hacking community, Globetrotter reaffirmed Australian

   hackers' pre-eminent position in the international underground.

   

   But on this particular day, Par wasn't thinking about getting a copy

   of Globetrotter or asking Force to scan a network for him. He was

   thinking about that secret. Force's new secret. The secret Parmaster

   desperately wanted.

   

   Force had been using DEFCON to scan half a dozen networks while he

   chatted to Par on Altos. He found an interesting connection from the

   scan, so he went off to investigate it. When he connected to the

   unknown computer, it started firing off strings of numbers at Force's

   machine. Force sat at his desk and watched the characters rush by on

   his screen.

   

   It was very odd. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't sent any commands

   to the mystery computer. He hadn't made the slightest attempt to break

   into the machine. Yet here the thing was throwing streams of numbers.

   What kind of computer was this? There might have been some sort of

   header which would identify the computer, but it had zoomed by so fast

   in the unexpected data dump that Force had missed it.

   

   Force flipped over to his chat with Par on Altos. He didn't completely

   trust Par, thinking the friendly American sailed a bit close to the

   wind. But Par was an expert in X.25 networks and was bound to have

   some clue about these numbers. Besides, if they turned out to be

   something sensitive, Force didn't have to tell Par where he found

   them.

   

   `I've just found a bizarre address. It is one strange system. When I

   connected, it just started shooting off numbers at me. Check these

   out.'

   

   Force didn't know what the numbers were, but Par sure did. `Those look

   like credit cards,' he typed back.

   

   `Oh.' Force went quiet.

   

   Par thought the normally chatty Australian hacker seemed astonished.

   After a short silence, the now curious Par nudged the conversation

   forward. `I have a way I can check out whether they really are valid

   cards,' he volunteered. `It'll take some time, but I should be able to

   do it and get back to you.'

   

   `Yes.' Force seemed hesitant. `OK.'

   

   On the other side of the Pacific from Par, Force thought about this

   turn of events. If they were valid credit cards, that was very cool.

   Not because he intended to use them for credit card fraud in the way

   Ivan Trotsky might have done. But Force could use them for making

   long-distance phone calls to hack overseas. And the sheer number of

   cards was astonishing. Thousand and thousands of them. Maybe 10000.

   All he could think was, Shit! Free connections for the rest of my

   life.

   

   Hackers such as Force considered using cards to call overseas computer

   systems a little distasteful, but certainly acceptable. The card owner

   would never end up paying the bill anyway. The hackers figured that

   Telecom, which they despised, would probably have to wear the cost in

   the end, and that was fine by them. Using cards to hack was nothing

   like ordering consumer goods. That was real credit card fraud. And

   Force would never sully his hands with that sort of behaviour.

   

   Force scrolled back over his capture of the numbers which had been

   injected into his machine. After closer inspection, he saw there were

   headers which appeared periodically through the list. One said,

   `CitiSaudi'.

   

   He checked the prefix of the mystery machine's network address again.

   He knew from previous scans that it belonged to one of the world's

   largest banks. Citibank.

   

   The data dump continued for almost three hours. After that, the

   Citibank machine seemed to go dead. Force saw nothing but a blank

   screen, but he kept the connection open. There was no way he was going

   to hang up from this conversation. He figured this had to be a freak

   connection--that he accidentally connected to this machine somehow,

   that it wasn't really at the address he had tried based on the DEFCON

   scan of Citibank's network.

   

   How else could it have happened? Surely Citibank wouldn't have a

   computer full of credit cards which spilled its guts every time

   someone rang up to say `hello'? There would be tonnes of security on a

   machine like that. This machine didn't even have a password. It didn't

   even need a special character command, like a secret handshake.

   

   Freak connections happened now and then on X.25

   networks. They had the same effect as a missed voice phone

   connection. You dial a friend's number--and you dial it correctly--but

   somehow the call gets screwed up in the tangle of wires and exchanges

   and your call gets put through to another number entirely. Of course,

   once something like that happens to an X.25 hacker, he immediately

   tries to figure out what the hell is going on, to search every shred

   of data from the machine looking for the system's real address.

   Because it was an accident, he suspects he will never find the machine

   again.

   

   Force stayed home from school for two days to keep the connection

   alive and to piece together how he landed on the doorstep of this

   computer. During this time, the Citibank computer woke up a few times,

   dumped a bit more information, and then went back to sleep. Keeping

   the connection alive meant running a small risk of discovery by an

   admin at his launch point, but the rewards in this case far exceeded

   the risk.

   

   It wasn't all that unusual for Force to skip school to hack. His

   parents used to tell him, `You better stop it, or you'll have to wear

   glasses one day'. Still, they didn't seem to worry too much, since

   their son had always excelled in school without much effort. At the

   start of his secondary school career he had tried to convince his

   teachers he should skip year 9. Some objected. It was a hassle, but he

   finally arranged it by quietly doing the coursework for year 9 while

   he was in year 8.

   

   After Force had finally disconnected from the CitiSaudi computer and

   had a good sleep, he decided to check on whether he could reconnect to

   the machine. At first, no-one answered, but when he tried a little

   later, someone answered all right. And it was the same talkative

   resident who answered the door the first time. Although it only seemed

   to work at certain hours of the day, the Citibank network address was

   the right one. He was in again.

   

   As Force looked over the captures from his Citibank hack, he noticed

   that the last section of the data dump didn't contain credit card

   numbers like the first part. It had people's names--Middle Eastern

   names--and a list of transactions. Dinner at a restaurant. A visit to

   a brothel. All sorts of transactions. There was also a number which

   looked like a credit limit, in come cases a very, very large limit,

   for each person. A sheik and his wife appeared to have credit limits

   of $1 million--each. Another name had a limit of $5 million.

   

   There was something strange about the data, Force thought. It was not

   structured in a way which suggested the Citibank machine was merely

   transmitting data to another machine. It looked more like a text file

   which was being dumped from a computer to a line printer.

   

   Force sat back and considered his exquisite discovery. He decided this

   was something he would share only with a very few close, trusted

   friends from The Realm. He would tell Phoenix and perhaps one other

   member, but no-one else.

   

   As he looked through the data once more, Force began to feel a little

   anxious. Citibank was a huge financial institution, dependent on the

   complete confidence of its customers. The corporation would lose a lot

   of face if news of Force's discovery got out. It might care enough to

   really come after him. Then, with the sudden clarity of the lightning

   strike photo which hung on his wall, a single thought filled his mind.

   

   I am playing with fire.



				    [ ]

   

   `Where did you get those numbers?' Par asked Force next time they were

   both on Altos.

   

   Force hedged. Par leaped forward.

   

   `I checked those numbers for you. They're valid,' he told Force. The

   American was more than intrigued. He wanted that network address. It

   was lust. Next stop, mystery machine. `So, what's the address?'

   

   That was the one question Force didn't want to hear. He and Par had a

   good relationship, sharing information comfortably if occasionally.

   But that relationship only went so far. For all he knew, Par might

   have a less than desirable use for the information. Force didn't know

   if Par carded, but he felt sure Par had friends who might be into it.

   So Force refused to tell Par where to find the mystery machine.

   

   Par wasn't going to give up all that easily. Not that he would use the

   cards for free cash, but, hey, the mystery machine seemed like a very

   cool place to check out. There would be no peace for Force until Par

   got what he wanted. Nothing is so tempting to a hacker as the faintest

   whiff of information about a system he wants, and Par hounded Force

   until the Australian hacker relented just a bit.

   

   Finally Force told Par roughly where DEFCON had been scanning for

   addresses when it stumbled upon the CitiSaudi machine. Force wasn't

   handing over the street address, just the name of the suburb. DEFCON

   had been accessing the Citibank network through Telenet, a large

   American data network using X.25 communications protocols. The

   sub-prefixes for the Citibank portion of the network were 223 and 224.

   

   Par pestered Force some more for the rest of the numbers, but the

   Australian had dug his heels in. Force was too careful a player, too

   fastidious a hacker, to allow himself to get mixed up in the things

   Par might get up to.

   

   OK, thought the seventeen-year-old Par, I can do this without you. Par

   estimated there were 20000 possible addresses on that network, any one

   of which might be the home of the mystery machine. But he assumed the

   machine would be in the low end of the network, since the lower

   numbers were usually used first and the higher numbers were generally

   saved for other, special network functions. His assumptions narrowed

   the likely search field to about 2000 possible addresses.

   

   Par began hand-scanning on the Citibank Global Telecommunications

   Network (GTN) looking for the mystery machine. Using his knowledge of

   the X.25 network, he picked a number to start with. He typed 22301,

   22302, 22303. On and on, heading toward 22310000. Hour after hour,

   slowly, laboriously, working his way through all the options, Par

   scanned out a piece, or a range, within the network. When he got bored

   with the 223 prefix, he tried out the 224 one for a bit of variety.

   

   Bleary-eyed and exhausted after a long night at the computer, Par felt

   like calling it quits. The sun had splashed through the windows of his

   Salinas, California, apartment hours ago. His living room was a mess,

   with empty, upturned beer cans circling his Apple IIe. Par gave up for

   a while, caught some shut-eye. He had gone through the entire list of

   possible addresses, knocking at all the doors, and nothing had

   happened. But over the next few days he returned to scanning the

   network again. He decided to be more methodical about it and do the

   whole thing from scratch a second time.

   

   He was part way through the second scan when it happened. Par's

   computer connected to something. He sat up and peered toward the

   screen. What was going on? He checked the address. He was sure he had

   tried this one before and nothing had answered. Things were definitely

   getting strange. He stared at his computer.

   

   The screen was blank, with the cursor blinking silently at the top.

   Now what? What had Force done to get the computer to sing its song?

   

   Par tried pressing the control key and a few different letters.

   Nothing. Maybe this wasn't the right address after all. He

   disconnected from the machine and carefully wrote down the address,

   determined to try it again later.

   

   On his third attempt, he connected again but found the same irritating

   blank screen. This time he went through the entire alphabet with the

   control key.

   

   Control L.

   

   That was the magic keystroke. The one that made CitiSaudi give up its

   mysterious cache. The one that gave Par an adrenalin rush, along with

   thousands and thousands of cards. Instant cash, flooding his screen.

   He turned on the screen capture so he could collect all the

   information flowing past and analyse it later. Par had to keep feeding

   his little Apple IIe more disks to store all the data coming in

   through his 1200 baud modem.

   

   It was magnificent. Par savoured the moment, thinking about how much

   he was going to enjoy telling Force. It was going to be sweet. Hey,

   Aussie, you aren't the only show in town. See ya in Citibank.

   

   An hour or so later, when the CitiSaudi data dump had finally

   finished, Par was stunned at what he found in his capture. These

   weren't just any old cards. These were debit cards, and they were held

   by very rich Arabs. These people just plopped a few million in a bank

   account and linked a small, rectangular piece of plastic to that

   account. Every charge came directly out of the bank balance. One guy

   listed in the data dump bought a $330,000 Mercedes Benz in

   Istanbul--on his card. Par couldn't imagine being able to throw down a

   bit of plastic for that. Taking that plastic out for a spin around the

   block would bring a whole new meaning to the expression, `Charge it!'

   

   When someone wins the lottery, they often feel like sharing with their

   friends. Which is exactly what Par did. First, he showed his

   room-mates. They thought it was very cool. But not nearly so cool as

   the half dozen hackers and phreakers who happened to be on the

   telephone bridge Par frequented when the master of X.25 read off a

   bunch of the cards.

   

   Par was a popular guy after that day. Par was great, a sort of Robin

   Hood of the underground. Soon, everyone wanted to talk to him. Hackers

   in New York. Phreakers in Virginia. And the Secret Service in San

   Francisco.

   

				    [ ]



   Par didn't mean to fall in love with Theorem. It was an accident, and

   he couldn't have picked a worse girl to fall for. For starters, she

   lived in Switzerland. She was 23 and he was only seventeen. She also

   happened to be in a relationship--and that relationship was with

   Electron, one of the best Australian hackers of the late 1980s. But

   Par couldn't help himself. She was irresistible, even though he had

   never met her in person. Theorem was different. She was smart and

   funny, but refined, as a European woman can be.

   

   They met on Altos in 1988.

   

   Theorem didn't hack computers. She didn't need to, since she could

   connect to Altos through her old university computer account. She had

   first found Altos on 23 December 1986. She remembered the date for two

   reasons. First, she was amazed

   at the power of Altos--that she could have a live conversation on-line

   with a dozen people in different countries at the same time. Altos was

   a whole new world for her. Second, that was the day she met Electron.

   

   Electron made Theorem laugh. His sardonic, irreverent humour hit a

   chord with her. Traditional Swiss society could be stifling and

   closed, but Electron was a breath of fresh air. Theorem was Swiss but

   she didn't always fit the mould. She hated skiing. She was six feet

   tall. She liked computers.

   

   When they met on-line, the 21-year-old Theorem was at a crossroad in

   her youth. She had spent a year and a half at university studying

   mathematics. Unfortunately, the studies had not gone well. The truth

   be told, her second year of university was in fact the first year all

   over again. A classmate had introduced her to Altos on the

   university's computers. Not long after she struck up a relationship

   with Electron, she dropped out of uni all together and enrolled in a

   secretarial course. After that, she found a secretarial job at a

   financial institution.

   

   Theorem and Electron talked on Altos for hours at a time. They talked

   about everything--life, family, movies, parties--but not much about

   what most people on Altos talked about--hacking. Eventually, Electron

   gathered up the courage to ask Theorem for her voice telephone number.

   She gave it to him happily and Electron called her at home in

   Lausanne. They talked. And talked. And talked. Soon they were on the

   telephone all the time.

   

   Seventeen-year-old Electron had never had a girlfriend. None of the

   girls in his middle-class high school would give him the time of day

   when it came to romance. Yet here was this bright, vibrant girl--a

   girl who studied maths--speaking to him intimately in a melting French

   accent. Best of all, she genuinely liked him. A few words from his

   lips could send her into silvery peals of laughter.

   

   When the phone bill arrived, it was $1000. Electron surreptitiously

   collected it and buried it at the bottom of a drawer in his bedroom.

   

   When he told Theorem, she offered to help pay for it. A cheque for

   $700 showed up not long after. It made the task of explaining

   Telecom's reminder notice to his father much easier.

   

   The romantic relationship progressed throughout 1987 and the first

   half of 1988. Electron and Theorem exchanged love letters and tender

   intimacies over 16000 kilometres of computer networks, but the

   long-distance relationship had some bumpy periods. Like when she had

   an affair over several months with Pengo. A well-known German hacker

   with links to the German hacking group called the Chaos Computer Club,

   Pengo was also a friend and mentor to Electron. Pengo was, however,

   only a short train ride away from Theorem. She became friends with

   Pengo on Altos and eventually visited him. Things progressed from

   there.

   

   Theorem was honest with Electron about the affair, but there was

   something unspoken, something below the surface. Even after the affair

   ended, Theorem was sweet on Pengo the way a girl remains fond of her

   first love regardless of how many other men she has slept with since

   then.

   

   Electron felt hurt and angry, but he swallowed his pride and forgave

   Theorem her dalliance. Eventually, Pengo disappeared from the scene.

   

   Pengo had been involved with people who sold US military

   secrets--taken from computers--to the KGB. Although his direct

   involvement in the ongoing international computer espionage had been

   limited, he began to worry about the risks. His real interest was in

   hacking, not spying. The Russian connection simply enabled him to get

   access to bigger and better computers. Beyond that, he felt no loyalty

   to the Russians.

   

   In the first half of 1988, he handed himself in to the German

   authorities. Under West German law at the time, a citizen-spy who

   surrendered himself before the state discovered the crime, and thus

   averted more damage to the state, acquired immunity from prosecution.

   Having already been busted in December 1986 for using a stolen NUI,

   Pengo decided that turning himself in would be his best hope of taking

   advantage of this legal largesse.

   

   By the end of the year, things had become somewhat hairy for Pengo and

   in March 1989 the twenty-year-old from Berlin was raided again, this

   time with the four others involved in the spy ring. The story broke

   and the media exposed Pengo's real name. He didn't know if he would

   eventually be tried and convicted of something related to the

   incident. Pengo had a few things on his mind other than the six-foot

   Swiss girl.

   

   With Pengo out of the way, the situation between Theorem and the

   Australian hacker improved. Until Par came along.

   

   Theorem and Par began innocently enough. Being one of only a few girls

   in the international hacking and phreaking scene and, more

   particularly, on Altos, she was treated differently. She had lots of

   male friends on the German chat system, and the boys told her things

   in confidence they would never tell each other. They sought out her

   advice. She often felt like she wore many hats--mother, girlfriend,

   psychiatrist--when she spoke with the boys on Altos.

   

   Par had been having trouble with his on-line girlfriend, Nora, and

   when he met Theorem he turned to her for a bit of support. He had

   travelled from California to meet Nora in person in New York. But when

   he arrived in the sweltering heat of a New York summer, without

   warning, her conservative Chinese parents didn't take kindly to his

   unannounced appearance. There were other frictions between Nora and

   Par. The relationship had been fine on Altos and on the phone, but

   things were just not clicking in person.

   

   He already knew that virtual relationships, forged over an electronic

   medium which denied the importance of physical chemistry, could

   sometimes be disappointing.

   

   Par used to hang out on a phone bridge with another Australian member

   of The Realm, named Phoenix, and with a fun girl from southern

   California. Tammi, a casual phreaker, had a great personality and a

   hilarious sense of humour. During those endless hours chatting, she

   and Phoenix seemed to be in the throes of a mutual crush. In the

   phreaking underground, they were known as a bit of a virtual item. She

   had even invited Phoenix to come visit her sometime. Then, one day,

   for the fun of it, Tammi decided to visit Par in Monterey. Her

   appearance was a shock.

   

   Tammi had described herself to Phoenix as being a blue-eyed, blonde

   California girl. Par knew that Phoenix visualised her as a

   stereotypical bikini-clad, beach bunny from LA. His perception rested

   on a foreigner's view of the southern California culture. The land of

   milk and honey. The home of the Beach Boys and TV series like

   `Charlie's Angels'.

   

   When Tammi arrived, Par knew instantly that she and Phoenix would

   never hit it off in person. Tammi did in fact have both blonde hair

   and blue eyes. She had neglected to mention, however, that she weighed

   about 300 pounds, had a rather homely face and a somewhat down-market

   style. Par really liked Tammi, but he couldn't get the ugly phrase

   `white trash' out of his thoughts. He pushed and shoved, but the

   phrase was wedged in his mind. It fell to Par to tell Phoenix the

   truth about Tammi.

   

   So Par knew all about how reality could burst the foundations of a

   virtual relationship.



   Leaving New York and Nora behind, Par moved across the river to New

   Jersey to stay with a friend, Byteman, who was one of a group of

   hackers who specialised in breaking into computer systems run by Bell

   Communications Research (Bellcore). Bellcore came into existence at

   the beginning of 1984 as a result of the break-up of the US telephone

   monopoly known as Bell Systems. Before the break-up, Bell Systems'

   paternalistic holding company, American Telephone and Telegraph

   (AT&T), had

   fostered the best and brightest in Bell Labs, its research arm. Over

   the course of its history, Bell Labs boasted at least seven

   Nobel-prize winning researchers and numerous scientific achievements.

   All of which made Bellcore a good target for hackers trying to prove

   their prowess.

   

   Byteman used to chat with Theorem on Altos, and eventually he called

   her, voice. Par must have looked pretty inconsolable, because one day

   while Byteman was talking to Theorem, he suddenly said to her, `Hey,

   wanna talk to a friend of mine?' Theorem said `Sure' and Byteman

   handed the telephone to Par. They talked for about twenty minutes.

   

   After that they spoke regularly both on Altos and on the phone. For

   weeks after Par returned to California, Theorem tried to cheer him up

   after his unfortunate experience with Nora. By mid-1988, they had

   fallen utterly and passionately in love.

   

   Electron, an occasional member of Force's Realm group, took the news

   very badly. Not everyone on Altos liked Electron. He could be a little

   prickly, and very cutting when he chose to be, but he was an ace

   hacker, on an international scale, and everyone listened to him.

   Obsessive, creative and quick off the mark, Electron had respect,

   which is one reason Par felt so badly.

   

   When Theorem told Electron the bad news in a private conversation

   on-line, Electron had let fly in the public area, ripping into the

   American hacker on the main chat section of Altos, in front of

   everyone.

   

   Par took it on the chin and refused to fight back. What else could he

   do? He knew what it was like to hurt. He felt for the guy and knew how

   he would feel if he lost Theorem. And he knew that Electron must be

   suffering a terrible loss of face. Everyone saw Electron and Theorem

   as an item. They had been together for more than a year. So Par met

   Electron's fury with grace and quiet words of consolation.

   

   Par didn't hear much from Electron after that day. The Australian

   still visited Altos, but he seemed more withdrawn, at least whenever

   Par was around. After that day, Par ran into him once, on a phone

   bridge with a bunch of Australian hackers.

   

   Phoenix said on the bridge, `Hey, Electron. Par's on the bridge.'

   

   Electron paused. `Oh, really,' he answered coolly. Then he went

   silent.

   

   Par let Electron keep his distance. After all, Par had what really

   counted--the girl.

   

   Par called Theorem almost every day. Soon they began to make plans for

   her to fly to California so they could meet in person. Par tried not

   to expect too much, but he found it difficult to stop savouring the

   thought of finally seeing Theorem face to face. It gave him

   butterflies.

   

   Yeah, Par thought, things are really looking up.

   

   The beauty of Altos was that, like Pacific Island or any other local

   BBS, a hacker could take on any identity he wanted. And he could do it

   on an international scale. Visiting Altos was like attending a

   glittering masquerade ball. Anyone could recreate himself. A socially

   inept hacker could pose as a character of romance and adventure. And a

   security official could pose as a hacker.

   

   Which is exactly what Telenet security officer Steve Mathews did on 27

   October 1988. Par happened to be on-line, chatting away with his

   friends and hacker colleagues. At any given moment, there were always

   a few strays on Altos, a few people who weren't regulars. Naturally,

   Mathews didn't announce himself as being a Telenet guy. He just

   slipped quietly onto Altos looking like any other hacker. He might

   engage a hacker in conversation, but he let the hacker do most of the

   talking. He was there to listen.

   

   On that fateful day, Par happened to be in one of his magnanimous

   moods. Par had never had much money growing up, but he was always very

   generous with what he did have. He talked for a little while with the

   unknown hacker on Altos, and then gave him one of the debit cards

   taken from his visits to the CitiSaudi computer. Why not? On Altos, it

   was a bit like handing out your business card. `The

   Parmaster--Parameters Par Excellence'.

   

   Par had got his full name--The Parmaster--in his earliest hacking

   days. Back then, he belonged to a group of teenagers involved in

   breaking the copy protections on software programs for Apple IIes,

   particularly games. Par had a special gift for working out the copy

   protection parameters, which was a first step in bypassing the

   manufacturers' protection schemes. The ringleader of the group began

   calling him `the master of parameters'--The Parmaster--Par, for short.

   As he moved into serious hacking and developed his expertise in X.25

   networks, he kept the name because it fitted nicely in his new

   environment. `Par?' was a common command on an X.25 pad, the modem

   gateway to an X.25 network.

   

   `I've got lots more where that come from,' Par told the stranger on

   Altos. `I've got like 4000 cards from a Citibank system.'

   

   Not long after that, Steve Mathews was monitoring Altos again, when

   Par showed up handing out cards to people once more.

   

   `I've got an inside contact,' Par confided. `He's gonna make up a

   whole mess of new, plastic cards with all these valid numbers from the

   Citibank machine. Only the really big accounts, though. Nothing with a

   balance under $25000.'

   

   Was Par just making idle conversation, talking big on Altos? Or would

   he really have gone through with committing such a major fraud?

   Citibank, Telenet and the US Secret Service would never know, because

   their security guys began closing the net around Par before he had a

   chance to take his idea any further.

   

   Mathews contacted Larry Wallace, fraud investigator with Citibank in

   San Mateo, California. Wallace checked out the cards. They were valid

   all right. They belonged to the Saudi-American Bank in Saudi Arabia

   and were held on a Citibank database in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

   Wallace determined that, with its affiliation to the Middle Eastern

   bank, Citibank had a custodial responsibility for the accounts. That

   meant he could open a major investigation.

   

   On 7 November, Wallace brought in the US Secret Service. Four days

   later, Wallace and Special Agent Thomas Holman got their first major

   lead when they interviewed Gerry Lyons of Pacific Bell's security

   office in San Francisco.

   

   Yes, Lyons told the investigators, she had some information they might

   find valuable. She knew all about hackers and phreakers. In fact, the

   San Jose Police had just busted two guys trying to phreak at a pay

   phone. The phreakers seemed to know something about a Citibank system.

   

   When the agents showed up at the San Jose Police Department for their

   appointment with Sergeant Dave Flory, they received another pleasant

   surprise. The sergeant had a book filled with hackers' names and

   numbers seized during the arrest of the two pay-phone phreakers. He

   also happened to be in possession of a tape recording of the phreakers

   talking to Par from a prison phone.

   

   The cheeky phreakers had used the prison pay phone to call up a

   telephone bridge located at the University of Virginia. Par, the

   Australian hackers and other assorted American phreakers and hackers

   visited the bridge frequently. At any one moment, there might be eight

   to ten people from the underground sitting on the bridge. The

   phreakers found Par hanging out there, as usual, and they warned him.

   His name and number were inside the book seized by police when they

   were busted.

   

   Par didn't seem worried at all.

   

   `Hey, don't worry. It's cool,' he reassured them. `I have just

   disconnected my phone number today--with no forwarding details.'

   

   Which wasn't quite true. His room-mate, Scott, had indeed disconnected

   the phone which was in his name because he had been getting prank

   calls. However, Scott opened a new telephone account at the same

   address with the same name on the same day--all of which made the job

   of tracking down the mysterious hacker named Par much easier for the

   law enforcement agencies.

   

   In the meantime, Larry Wallace had been ringing around his contacts in

   the security business and had come up with another lead. Wanda Gamble,

   supervisor for the Southeastern Region of MCI Investigations, in

   Atlanta, had a wealth of information on the hacker who called himself

   Par. She was well connected when it came to hackers, having acquired a

   collection of reliable informants during her investigations of

   hacker-related incidents. She gave the Citibank investigator two

   mailbox numbers for Par. She also handed them what she believed was

   his home phone number.

   

   The number checked out and on 25 November, the day after Thanksgiving,

   the Secret Service raided Par's house. The raid was terrifying. At

   least four law enforcement officers burst through the door with guns

   drawn and pointed. One of them had a shotgun. As is often the case in

   the US, investigators from private, commercial organisations--in this

   case Citibank and Pacific Bell--also took part in the raid.

   

   The agents tore the place apart looking for evidence. They dragged

   down the food from the kitchen cupboards. They emptied the box of

   cornflakes into the sink looking for hidden computer disks. They

   looked everywhere, even finding a ceiling cavity at the back of a

   closet which no-one even knew existed.

   

   They confiscated Par's Apple IIe, printer and modem. But, just to be

   sure, they also took the Yellow Pages, along with the telephone and

   the new Nintendo game paddles Scott had just bought. They scooped up

   the very large number of papers which had been piled under the coffee

   table, including the spiral notebook with Scott's airline bookings

   from his job as a travel agent. They even took the garbage.

   

   It wasn't long before they found the red shoebox full of disks peeping

   out from under the fish tank next to Par's computer.

   

   They found lots of evidence. What they didn't find was Par.

   

   Instead, they found Scott and Ed, two friends of Par. They were pretty

   shaken up by the raid. Not knowing Par's real identity, the Secret

   Service agents accused Scott of being Par. The phone was in his name,

   and Special Agent Holman had even conducted some surveillance more

   than a week before the raid, running the plates on Scott's 1965 black

   Ford Mustang parked in front of the house. The Secret Service was sure

   it had its man, and Scott had a hell of a time convincing them

   otherwise.

   

   Both Scott and Ed swore up and down that they weren't hackers or

   phreakers, and they certainly weren't Par. But they knew who Par was,

   and they told the agents his real name. After considerable pressure

   from the Secret Service, Scott and Ed agreed to make statements down

   at the police station.

   

   In Chicago, more than 2700 kilometres away from the crisis unfolding

   in northern California, Par and his mother watched his aunt walk down

   the aisle in her white gown.

   

   Par telephoned home once, to Scott, to say `hi' from the Midwest. The

   call came after the raid.

   

   `So,' a relaxed Par asked his room-mate, `How are things going at

   home?'

   

   `Fine,' Scott replied. `Nothing much happening here.'

   

   Par looked down at the red bag he was carrying with a momentary

   expression of horror. He realised he stood out in the San Jose bus

   terminal like a peacock among the pigeons ...

   

   Blissfully ignorant of the raid which had occurred three days before,

   Par and his mother had flown into San Jose airport. They had gone to

   the bus terminal to pick up a Greyhound home to the Monterey area.

   While waiting for the bus, Par called his friend Tammi to say he was

   back in California.

   

   Any casual bystander waiting to use the pay phones at that moment

   would have seen a remarkable transformation in the brown-haired boy at

   the row of phones. The smiling face suddenly dropped in a spasm of

   shock. His skin turned ash white as the blood fled south. His deep-set

   chocolate brown eyes, with their long, graceful lashes curving upward

   and their soft, shy expression, seemed impossibly large.

   

   For at that moment Tammi told Par that his house had been raided by

   the Secret Service. That Scott and Ed had been pretty upset about

   having guns shoved in their faces, and had made statements about him

   to the police. That they thought their phone was tapped. That the

   Secret Service guys were still hunting for Par, they knew his real

   name, and she thought there was an all points bulletin out for him.

   Scott had told the Secret Service about Par's red bag, the one with

   all his hacking notes that he always carried around. The one with the

   print-out of all the Citibank credit card numbers.

   

   And so it was that Par came to gaze down at his bag with a look of

   alarm. He realised instantly that the Secret Service would be looking

   for that red bag. If they didn't know what he looked like, they would

   simply watch for the bag.

   

   That bag was not something Par could hide easily. The Citibank

   print-out was the size of a phone book. He also had dozens of disks

   loaded with the cards and other sensitive hacking information.

   

   Par had used the cards to make a few free calls, but he hadn't been

   charging up any jet skis. He fought temptation valiantly, and in the

   end he had won, but others might not have been so victorious in the

   same battle. Par figured that some less scrupulous hackers had

   probably been charging up a storm. He was right. Someone had, for

   example, tried to send a $367 bouquet of flowers to a woman in El Paso

   using one of the stolen cards. The carder had unwittingly chosen a

   debit card belonging to a senior Saudi bank executive who happened to

   be in his office at the time the flower order was placed. Citibank

   investigator Larry Wallace added notes on that incident to his growing

   file.

   

   Par figured that Citibank would probably try to pin every single

   attempt at carding on him. Why not? What kind of credibility would a

   seventeen-year-old hacker have in denying those sorts of allegations?

   Zero. Par made a snap decision. He sidled up to a trash bin in a dark

   corner. Scanning the scene warily, Par casually reached into the red

   bag, pulled out the thick wad of Citibank card print-outs and stuffed

   it into the bin. He fluffed a few stray pieces of garbage over the

   top.

   

   He worried about the computer disks with all his other valuable

   hacking information. They represented thousands of hours of work and

   he couldn't bring himself to throw it all away. The 10 megabyte

   trophy. More than 4000 cards. 130000 different transactions. In the

   end, he decided to hold on to the disks, regardless of the risk. At

   least, without the print-out, he could crumple the bag up a bit and

   make it a little less conspicuous. As Par slowly moved away from the

   bin, he glanced back to check how nondescript the burial site appeared

   from a distance. It looked like a pile of garbage. Trash worth

   millions of dollars, headed for the dump.

   

   As he boarded the bus to Salinas with his mother, Par's mind was

   instantly flooded with images of a homeless person fishing the

   print-out from the bin and asking someone about it. He tried to push

   the idea from his head.

   

   During the bus ride, Par attempted to figure out what he was going to

   do. He didn't tell his mother anything. She couldn't even begin to

   comprehend his world of computers and networks, let alone his current

   predicament. Further, Par and his mother had suffered from a somewhat

   strained relationship since he ran away from home not long after his

   seventeenth birthday. He had been kicked out of school for

   non-attendance, but had found a job tutoring students in computers at

   the local college. Before the trip to Chicago, he had seen her just

   once in six months. No, he couldn't turn to her for help.

   

   The bus rolled toward the Salinas station. En route, it travelled down

   the street where Par lived. He saw a jogger, a thin black man wearing

   a walkman. What the hell is a jogger doing here, Par thought. No-one

   jogged in the semi-industrial neighbourhood. Par's house was about the

   only residence amid all the light-industrial buildings. As soon as the

   jogger was out of sight of the house, he suddenly broke away from his

   path, turned off to one side and hit the ground. As he lay on his

   stomach on some grass, facing the house, he seemed to begin talking

   into the walkman.

   

   Sitting watching this on the bus, Par flipped out. They were out to

   get him, no doubt about it. When the bus finally arrived at the depot

   and his mother began sorting out their luggage, Par tucked the red bag

   under his arm and disappeared. He found a pay phone and called Scott

   to find out the status of things. Scott handed the phone to Chris,

   another friend who lived in the house. Chris had been away at his

   parents' home during the Thanksgiving raid.

   

   `Hold tight and lay low,' Chris told Par.

   

   `I'm on my way over to pick you up and take you to a lawyer's office

   where you can get some sort of protection.'

   

   A specialist in criminal law, Richard Rosen was born in New York but

   raised in his later childhood in California. He had a personality

   which reflected the steely stubbornness of a New Yorker, tempered with

   the laid-back friendliness of the west coast. Rosen also harboured a

   strong anti-authoritarian streak. He represented the local chapter of

   Hell's Angels in the middle-class County of Monterey. He also caused a

   splash representing the growing midwifery movement, which promoted

   home-births. The doctors of California didn't like him much as a

   result.

   

   Par's room-mates met with Rosen after the raid to set things up for

   Par's return. They told him about the terrifying ordeal of the Secret

   Service raid, and how they were interrogated for an hour and a half

   before being pressured to give statements. Scott, in particular, felt

   that he had been forced to give a statement against Par under duress.

   

   While Par talked to Chris on the phone, he noticed a man standing at

   the end of the row of pay phones. This man was also wearing a walkman.

   He didn't look Par in the eye. Instead, he faced the wall, glancing

   furtively off to the side toward where Par was standing. Who was that

   guy? Fear welled up inside Par and all sorts of doubts flooded his

   mind. Who could he trust?

   

   Scott hadn't told him about the raid. Were his room-mates in cahoots

   the Secret Service? Were they just buying time so they could turn him

   in? There was no-one else Par could turn to. His mother wouldn't

   understand. Besides, she had problems of her own. And he didn't have a

   father. As far as Par was concerned, his father was as good as dead.

   He had never met the man, but he heard he was a prison officer in

   Florida. Not a likely candidate for helping Par in this situation. He

   was close to his grandparents--they had bought his computer for him as

   a present--but they lived in a tiny Mid-Western town and they simply

   wouldn't understand either.

   

   Par didn't know what to do, but he didn't seem to have many options at

   the moment, so he told Chris he would wait at the station for him.

   Then he ducked around a corner and tried to hide.

   

   A few minutes later, Chris pulled into the depot. Par dove into the

   Toyota Landcruiser and Chris tore out of the station toward Rosen's

   office. They noticed a white car race out of the bus station after

   them.

   

   While they drove, Par pieced together the story from Chris. No-one had

   warned him about the raid because everyone in the house believed the

   phone line was tapped. Telling Par while he was in Chicago might have

   meant another visit from the Secret Service. All they had been able to

   do was line up Rosen to help him.

   

   Par checked the rear-view mirror. The white car was still following

   them. Chris made a hard turn at the next intersection and accelerated

   down the California speedway. The white car tore around the corner in

   pursuit. No matter what Chris did, he couldn't shake the tail. Par sat

   in the seat next to Chris, quietly freaking out.

   

   Just 24 hours before, he had been safe and sound in Chicago. How did

   he end up back here in California being chased by a mysterious driver

   in a white car?

   

   Chris tried his best to break free, swerving and racing. The white car

   wouldn't budge. But Chris and Par had one advantage over the white

   car; they were in a four-wheel drive. In a split-second decision,

   Chris jerked the steering wheel to one side. The Landcruiser veered

   off the road onto a lettuce field. Par gripped the inside of the door

   as the 4WD bounced through the dirt over the neat crop rows. Near-ripe

   heads of lettuce went flying out from under the tires. Half-shredded

   lettuce leaves filled the air. A cloud of dirt enveloped the car. The

   vehicle skidded and jerked, but finally made its way to a highway at

   the far end of the field. Chris hit the highway running, swerving into

   the lane at high speed.

   

   When Par looked back, the white car had disappeared. Chris kept his

   foot on the accelerator and Par barely breathed until the Landcruiser

   pulled up in front of Richard Rosen's building.

   

   Par leaped out, the red bag still clutched tightly under his arm, and

   high-tailed it into the lawyer's office. The receptionist looked a bit

   shocked when he said his name. Someone must have filled her in on the

   details.

   

   Rosen quickly ushered him into his office. Introductions were brief

   and Par cut to the story of the chase. Rosen listened intently,

   occasionally asking a well-pointed question, and then took control of

   the situation.

   

   The first thing they needed to do was call off the Secret Service

   chase, Rosen said, so Par didn't have to spend any more time ducking

   around corners and hiding in bus depots. He called the Secret

   Service's San Francisco office and asked Special Agent Thomas J.

   Holman to kill the Secret Service pursuit in exchange for an agreement

   that Par would turn himself in to be formally charged.

   

   Holman insisted that they had to talk to Par.

   

   No, Rosen said. There would be no interviews for Par by law

   enforcement agents until a deal had been worked out.

   

   But the Secret Service needed to talk to Par, Holman insisted. They

   could only discuss all the other matters after the Secret Service had

   had a chance to talk with Par.

   

   Rosen politely warned Holman not to attempt to contact his client. You

   have something to say to Par, you go through me, he said. Holman did

   not like that at all. When the Secret Service wanted to talk to

   someone, they were used to getting their way. He pushed Rosen, but the

   answer was still no. No no no and no again. Holman had made a mistake.

   He had assumed that everyone wanted to do business with the United

   States Secret Service.

   

   When he finally realised Rosen wouldn't budge, Holman gave up. Rosen

   then negotiated with the federal prosecutor, US Attorney Joe Burton,

   who was effectively Holman's boss in the case, to call off the pursuit

   in exchange for Par handing himself in to be formally charged.

   

   Then Par gave Rosen his red bag, for safekeeping.

   

   At about the same time, Citibank investigator Wallace and Detective

   Porter of the Salinas Police interviewed Par's mother as she returned

   home from the bus depot. She said that her son had moved out of her

   home some six months before, leaving her with a $2000 phone bill she

   couldn't pay. They asked if they could search her home. Privately, she

   worried about what would happen if she refused. Would they tell the

   office where she worked as a clerk? Could they get her fired? A simple

   woman who had little experience dealing with law enforcement agents,

   Par's mother agreed. The investigators took Par's disks and papers.

   

   Par turned himself in to the Salinas Police in the early afternoon of

   12 December. The police photographed and fingerprinted him before

   handing him a citation--a small yellow slip headed `502 (c) (1) PC'.

   It looked like a traffic ticket, but the two charges Par faced were

   felonies, and each carried a maximum term of three years for a minor.

   Count 1, for hacking into Citicorp Credit Services, also carried a

   fine of up to $10000. Count 2, for `defrauding a telephone service',

   had no fine: the charges were for a continuing course of conduct,

   meaning that they applied to the same activity over an extended period

   of time.

   

   Federal investigators had been astonished to find Par was so young.

   Dealing with a minor in the federal court system was a big hassle, so

   the prosecutor decided to ask the state authorities to prosecute the

   case. Par was ordered to appear in Monterey County Juvenile Court on

   10 July 1989.

   

   Over the next few months, Par worked closely with Rosen. Though Rosen

   was a very adept lawyer, the situation looked pretty depressing.

   Citibank claimed it had spent $30000 on securing its systems and Par

   believed that the corporation might be looking for up to $3 million in

   total damages. While they couldn't prove Par had made any money from

   the cards himself, the prosecution would argue that his generous

   distribution of them had led to serious financial losses. And that was

   just the financial institutions.

   

   Much more worrying was what might come out about Par's visits to TRW's

   computers. The Secret Service had seized at least one disk with TRW

   material on it.

   

   TRW was a large, diverse company, with assets of $2.1 billion and

   sales of almost $7 billion in 1989, nearly half of which came from the

   US government. It employed more than 73000 people, many of who worked

   with the company's credit ratings business. TRW's vast databases held

   private details of millions of people--addresses, phone numbers,

   financial data.

   

   That, however, was just one of the company's many businesses. TRW also

   did defence work--very secret defence work. Its Space and Defense

   division, based in Redondo Beach, California, was widely believed to

   be a major beneficiary of the Reagan Government's Star Wars budget.

   More than 10 per cent of the company's employees worked in this

   division, designing spacecraft systems, communications systems,

   satellites and other, unspecified, space `instruments'.

   

   The siezed disk had some mail from the company's TRWMAIL systems. It

   wasn't particularly sensitive, mostly just company propaganda sent to

   employees, but the Secret Service might think that where there was

   smoke, there was bound to be fire. TRW did the kind of work that makes

   governments very nervous when it comes to unauthorised access. And Par

   had visited certain TRW machines; he knew that company had a missiles

   research section, and even a space weapons section.

   

   With so many people out to get him--Citibank, the Secret Service, the

   local police, even his own mother had helped the other side--it was

   only a matter of time before they unearthed the really secret things

   he had seen while hacking. Par began to wonder if was such a good idea

   for him to stay around for the trial.

   

				    [ ]



   In early 1989, when Theorem stepped off the plane which carried her

   from Switzerland to San Francisco, she was pleased that she had

   managed to keep a promise to herself. It wasn't always an easy

   promise. There were times of intimacy, of perfect connection, between

   the two voices on opposite sides of the globe, when it seemed so

   breakable.

   

   Meanwhile, Par braced himself. Theorem had described herself in such

   disparaging terms. He had even heard from others on Altos that she was

   homely. But that description had ultimately come from her anyway, so

   it didn't really count.

   

   Finally, as he watched the stream of passengers snake out to the

   waiting area, he told himself it didn't matter anyway. After all, he

   had fallen in love with her--her being, her essence--not her image as

   it appeared in flesh. And he had told her so. She had said the same

   back to him.

   

   Suddenly she was there, in front of him. Par had to look up slightly

   to reach her eyes, since she was a little more than an inch taller.

   She was quite pretty, with straight, brown shoulder-length hair and

   brown eyes. He was just thinking how much more attractive she was than

   he had expected, when it happened.

   

   Theorem smiled.

   

   Par almost lost his balance. It was a devastating smile, big and

   toothy, warm and genuine. Her whole face lit up with a fire of

   animation. That smile sealed it.

   

   She had kept her promise to herself. There was no clear image of Par

   in her mind before meeting him in person. After meeting a few people

   from Altos at a party in Munich the year before, she had tried not to

   create images of people based on their on-line personalities. That way

   she would never suffer disappointment.

   

   Par and Theorem picked up her bags and got into Brian's car. Brian, a

   friend who offered to play airport taxi because Par didn't have a car,

   thought Theorem was pretty cool. A six-foot-tall French-speaking Swiss

   woman. It was definitely cool. They drove back to Par's house. Then

   Brian came in for a chat.

   

   Brian asked Theorem all sorts of questions. He was really curious,

   because he had never met anyone from Europe before. Par kept trying to

   encourage his friend to leave but Brian wanted to know all about life

   in Switzerland. What was the weather like? Did people ski all the

   time?

   

   Par kept looking Brian in the eye and then staring hard at the door.

   

   Did most Swiss speak English? What other languages did she know? A lot

   of people skied in California. It was so cool talking to someone from

   halfway around the world.

   

   Par did the silent chin-nudge toward the door and, at last, Brian got

   the hint. Par ushered his friend out of the house. Brian was only

   there for about ten minutes, but it felt like a year. When Par and

   Theorem were alone, they talked a bit, then Par suggested they go for

   a walk.

   

   Halfway down the block, Par tentatively reached for her hand and took

   it in his own. She seemed to like it. Her hand was warm. They talked a

   bit more, then Par stopped. He turned to face her. He paused, and then

   told her something he had told her before over the telephone,

   something they both knew already.

   

   Theorem kissed him. It startled Par. He was completely unprepared.

   Then Theorem said the same words back to him.

   

   When they returned to the house, things progressed from there. They

   spent two and a half weeks in each other's arms--and they were

   glorious, sun-drenched weeks. The relationship proved to be far, far

   better in person than it had ever been on-line or on the telephone.

   Theorem had captivated Par, and Par, in turn, created a state of bliss

   in Theorem.

   

   Par showed her around his little world in northern California. They

   visited a few tourist sites, but mostly they just spent a lot of time

   at home. They talked, day and night, about everything.

   

   Then it was time for Theorem to leave, to return to her job and her

   life in Switzerland. Her departure was hard--driving to the airport,

   seeing her board the plane--it was heart-wrenching. Theorem looked

   very upset. Par just managed to hold it together until the plane took

   off.

   

   For two and a half weeks, Theorem had blotted out Par's approaching

   court case. As she flew away, the dark reality of the case descended

   on him.



				    [ ]

   

   The fish liked to watch.

   

   Par sat at the borrowed computer all night in the dark, with only the

   dull glow of his monitor lighting the room, and the fish would all

   swim over to the side of their tank and peer out at him. When things

   were quiet on-line, Par's attention wandered to the eel and the lion

   fish. Maybe they were attracted to the phosphorescence of the computer

   screen. Whatever the reason, they certainly liked to hover there. It

   was eerie.

   

   Par took a few more drags of his joint, watched the fish some more,

   drank his Coke and then turned his attention back to his computer.

   

   That night, Par saw something he shouldn't have. Not the usual hacker

   stuff. Not the inside of a university. Not even the inside of an

   international bank containing private financial information about

   Middle Eastern sheiks.

   

   What he saw was information about some sort of killer spy

   satellite--those are the words Par used to describe it to other

   hackers. He said the satellite was capable of shooting down other

   satellites caught spying, and he saw it inside a machine connected to

   TRW's Space and Defense division network. He stumbled upon it much the

   same way Force had accidentally found the CitiSaudi machine--through

   scanning. Par didn't say much else about it because the discovery

   scared the hell out of him.

   

   Suddenly, he felt like the man who knew too much. He'd been in and out

   of so many military systems, seen so much sensitive material, that he

   had become a little blasé about the whole thing. The information was

   cool to read but, God knows, he never intended to actually do anything

   with it. It was just a prize, a glittering trophy testifying to his

   prowess as a hacker. But this discovery shook him up, slapped him in

   the face, made him realise he was exposed.

   

   What would the Secret Service do to him when they found out? Hand him

   another little traffic ticket titled `502C'? No way. Let him tell the

   jury at his trial everything he knew? Let the newspapers print it? Not

   a snowball's chance in hell.

   

   This was the era of Ronald Reagan and George Bush, of space defence

   initiatives, of huge defence budgets and very paranoid military

   commanders who viewed the world as one giant battlefield with the evil

   empire of the Soviet Union.

   

   Would the US government just lock him up and throw away the key? Would

   it want to risk him talking to other prisoners--hardened criminals who

   knew how to make a dollar from that sort of information? Definitely

   not.

   

   That left just one option. Elimination.

   

   It was not a pretty thought. But to the seventeen-year-old hacker it

   was a very plausible one. Par considered what he could do and came up

   with what seemed to be the only solution.

   

   Run.





     _________________________________________________________________



			 Chapter 4 -- The Fugitive

     _________________________________________________________________

   

                                       

     There's one gun, probably more

     and the others are pointing at our backdoor 

     

   -- from `Knife's Edge', on Bird Noises by Midnight Oil

   

   When Par failed to show up for his hearing on 10 July 1989 in the

   Monterey County Juvenile Court in Salinas, he officially became a

   fugitive. He had, in fact, already been on the run for some weeks. But

   no-one knew. Not even his lawyer.

   

   Richard Rosen had an idea something was wrong when Par didn't show up

   for a meeting some ten days before the hearing, but he kept hoping his

   client would come good. Rosen had negotiated a deal for Par:

   reparations plus fifteen days or less in juvenile prison in exchange

   for Par's full cooperation with the Secret Service.

   

   Par had appeared deeply troubled over the matter for weeks. He didn't

   seem to mind telling the Feds how he had broken into various

   computers, but that's not what they were really looking for. They

   wanted him to rat. And to rat on everyone. They knew Par was a kingpin

   and, as such, he knew all the important players in the underground.

   The perfect stooge. But Par couldn't bring himself to narc. Even if he

   did spill his guts, there was still the question of what the

   authorities would do to him in prison. The question of elimination

   loomed large in his mind.

   

   So, one morning, Par simply disappeared. He had planned it carefully,

   packed his bags discreetly and made arrangements with a trusted friend

   outside the circle which included his room-mates. The friend drove

   around to pick Par up when the

   room-mates were out. They never had an inkling that the now

   eighteen-year-old Par was about to vanish for a very long time.

   

   First, Par headed to San Diego. Then LA. Then he made his way to New

   Jersey. After that, he disappeared from the radar screen completely.

   

   Life on the run was hard. For the first few months, Par carried around

   two prized possessions; an inexpensive laptop computer and photos of

   Theorem taken during her visit. They were his lifeline to a different

   world and he clutched them in his bag as he moved from one city to

   another, often staying with his friends from the computer underground.

   The loose-knit network of hackers worked a bit like the

   nineteenth-century American `underground railroad' used by escaped

   slaves to flee from the South to the safety of the northern states.

   Except that, for Par, there was never a safe haven.

   

   Par crisscrossed the continent, always on the move. A week in one

   place. A few nights in another. Sometimes there were breaks in the

   electronic underground railroad, spaces between the place where one

   line ended and another began. Those breaks were the hardest. They

   meant sleeping out in the open, sometimes in the cold, going without

   food and being without anyone to talk to.

   

   He continued hacking, with new-found frenzy, because he was

   invincible. What were the law enforcement agencies going to do? Come

   and arrest him? He was already a fugitive and he figured things

   couldn't get much worse. He felt as though he would be on the run

   forever, and as if he had already been on the run for a lifetime,

   though it was only a few months.

   

   When he was staying with people from the computer underground, Par was

   careful. But when he was alone in a dingy motel room, or with people

   completely outside that world, he hacked without fear. Blatant,

   in-your-face feats. Things he knew the Secret Service would see. Even

   his illicit voice mailbox had words for his pursuers:

   

   Yeah, this is Par. And to all those faggots from the Secret Service

   who keep calling and hanging up, well, lots of luck. 'Cause, I mean,

   you're so fucking stupid, it's not even funny.

   

   I mean, if you had to send my shit to Apple Computers [for analysis],

   you must be so stupid, it's pitiful. You also thought I had

   blue-boxing equipment [for phreaking]. I'm just laughing trying to

   think what you thought was a blue box. You are so lame.

   

   Oh well. And anyone else who needs to leave me a message, go ahead.

   And everyone take it easy and leave me some shit. Alright. Later.

   

   Despite the bravado, paranoia took hold of Par as it never had before.

   If he saw a cop across the street, his breath would quicken and he

   would turn and walk in the opposite direction. If the cop was heading

   toward him, Par crossed the street and turned down the nearest alley.

   Police of any type made him very nervous.

   

   By the autumn of 1989, Par had made his way to a small town in North

   Carolina. He found a place to stop and rest with a friend who used the

   handle The Nibbler and whose family owned a motel. A couple of weeks

   in one place, in one bed, was paradise. It was also free, which meant

   he didn't have to borrow money from Theorem, who helped him out while

   he was on the run.

   

   Par slept in whatever room happened to be available that night, but he

   spent most of his time in one of the motel chalets Nibbler used in the

   off-season as a computer room. They spent days hacking from Nibbler's

   computer. The fugitive had been forced to sell off his inexpensive

   laptop before arriving in North Carolina.

   

   After a few weeks at the motel, however, he couldn't shake the feeling

   that he was being watched. There were too many strangers coming and

   going. He wondered if the hotel guests waiting in their cars were

   spying on him, and he soon began jumping at shadows. Perhaps, he

   thought, the Secret Service had found him after all.

   

   Par thought about how he could investigate the matter in more depth.

   

   One of The Atlanta Three hackers, The Prophet, called Nibbler

   occasionally to exchange hacking information, particularly security

   bugs in Unix systems. During one of their talks, Prophet told Par

   about a new security flaw he'd been experimenting with on a network

   that belonged to the phone company.

   

   The Atlanta Three, a Georgia-based wing of The Legion of Doom, spent a

   good deal of time weaving their way through BellSouth, the phone

   company covering the south-eastern US. They knew about phone switching

   stations the way Par knew about Tymnet. The Secret Service had raided

   the hackers in July 1989 but had not arrested them yet, so in

   September The Prophet continued to maintain an interest in his

   favourite target.

   

   Par thought the flaw in BellSouth's network sounded very cool and

   began playing around in the company's systems. Dial up the company's

   computer network, poke around, look at things. The usual stuff.

   

   It occurred to Par that he could check out the phone company's records

   of the motel to see if there was anything unusual going on. He typed

   in the motel's main phone number and the system fed back the motel's

   address, name and some detailed technical information, such as the

   exact cable and pair attached to the phone number. Then he looked up

   the phone line of the computer chalet. Things looked odd on that line.

   

   The line which he and Nibbler used for most of their hacking showed a

   special status: `maintenance unit on line'.

   

   What maintenance unit? Nibbler hadn't mentioned any problems with any

   of the motel's lines, but Par checked with him. No problems with the

   telephones.

   

   Par felt nervous. In addition to messing around with the phone

   company's networks, he had been hacking into a Russian computer

   network from the computer chalet. The Soviet network was a shiny new

   toy. It had only been connected to the rest of the world's global

   packet-switched network for about a month, which made it particularly

   attractive virgin territory.

   

   Nibbler called in a friend to check the motel's phones. The friend, a

   former telephone company technician turned freelancer, came over to

   look at the equipment. He told Nibbler and Par that something weird

   was happening in the motel's phone system. The line voltages were way

   off.

   

   Par realised instantly what was going on. The system was being

   monitored. Every line coming in and going out was probably being

   tapped, which meant only one thing. Someone--the phone company, the

   local police, the FBI or the Secret Service--was onto him.

   

   Nibbler and Par quickly packed up all Nibbler's computer gear, along

   with Par's hacking notes, and moved to another motel across town. They

   had to shut down all their hacking activities and cover their tracks.

   

   Par had left programs running which sniffed people's passwords and

   login names on a continual basis as they logged in, then dumped all

   the information into a file on the hacked machine. He checked that

   file every day or so. If he didn't shut the programs down, the log

   file would grow until it was so big the system administrator would

   become curious and have a look. When he discovered that his system had

   been hacked he would close the security holes. Par would have problems

   getting back into that system.

   

   After they finished tidying up the hacked systems, they gathered up

   all Par's notes and Nibbler's computer equipment once again and

   stashed them in a rented storage space. Then they drove back to the

   motel.

   

   Par couldn't afford to move on just yet. Besides, maybe only the

   telephone company had taken an interest in the motel's phone system.

   Par had done a lot of poking and prodding of the telecommunications

   companies' computer systems from the motel phone, but he had done it

   anonymously. Perhaps BellSouth felt a little curious and just wanted

   to sniff about for more information. If that was the case, the law

   enforcement agencies probably didn't know that Par, the fugitive, was

   hiding in the motel.

   

   The atmosphere was becoming oppressive in the motel. Par became even

   more watchful of the people coming and going. He glanced out the front

   window a little more often, and he listened a little more carefully to

   the footsteps coming and going. How many of the guests were really

   just tourists? Par went through the guest list and found a man

   registered as being from New Jersey. He was from one of the AT&T

   corporations left after the break-up of Bell Systems. Why on earth

   would an AT&T guy be staying in a tiny hick town in North Carolina?

   Maybe a few Secret Service agents had snuck into the motel and were

   watching the chalet.

   

   Par needed to bring the paranoia under control. He needed some fresh

   air, so he went out for a walk. The weather was bad and the wind blew

   hard, whipping up small tornadoes of autumn leaves. Soon it began

   raining and Par sought cover in the pay phone across the street.

   

   Despite having been on the run for a few months, Par still called

   Theorem almost every day, mostly by phreaking calls through bulk

   telecommunications companies. He dialled her number and they talked

   for a bit. He told her about how the voltage was way off on the

   motel's PABX and how the phone might be tapped. She asked how he was

   holding up. Then they spoke softly about when they might see each

   other again.

   

   Outside the phone box, the storm worsened. The rain hammered the roof

   from one side and then another as the wind jammed it in at strange

   angles. The darkened street was deserted. Tree branches creaked under

   the strain of the wind. Rivulets rushed down the leeward side of the

   booth and formed a wall of water outside the glass. Then a trash bin

   toppled over and its contents flew onto the road.

   

   Trying to ignore to the havoc around him, Par curled the phone handset

   into a small protected space, cupped between his hand, his chest and a

   corner of the phone booth. He reminded Theorem of their time together

   in California, of two and a half weeks, and they laughed gently over

   intimate secrets.

   

   A tree branch groaned and then broke under the force of the wind. When

   it crashed on the pavement near the phone booth, Theorem asked Par

   what the noise was.

   

   `There's a hurricane coming,' he told her. `Hurricane Hugo. It was

   supposed to hit tonight. I guess it's arrived.'

   

   Theorem sounded horrified and insisted Par go back to the safety of

   the motel immediately.

   

   When Par opened the booth door, he was deluged by water. He dashed

   across the road, fighting the wind of the hurricane, staggered into his

   motel room and jumped into bed to warm up. He fell asleep listening to

   the storm, and he dreamed of Theorem.

   

   Hurricane Hugo lasted more than three days, but they felt like the

   safest three days Par had spent in weeks. It was a good bet that the

   Secret Service wouldn't be conducting any raids during a hurricane.

   South Carolina took the brunt of Hugo but North Carolina also suffered

   massive damage. It was one of the worst hurricanes to hit the area in

   decades. Winds near its centre reached more than 240 kilometres per

   hour, causing 60 deaths and $7 billion in damages as it made its way

   up the coast from the West Indies to the Carolinas.

   

   When Par stepped outside his motel room one afternoon a few days after

   the storm, the air was fresh and clean. He walked to the railing

   outside his second-storey perch and found himself looking down on a

   hive of activity in the car park. There were cars. There was a van.

   There was a collection of spectators.

   

   And there was the Secret Service.

   

   At least eight agents wearing blue jackets with the Secret Service

   emblem on the back.

   

   Par froze. He stopped breathing. Everything began to move in slow

   motion. A few of the agents formed a circle around one of the guys

   from the motel, a maintenance worker named John, who looked vaguely

   like Par. They seemed to be hauling John over the coals, searching his

   wallet for identification and quizzing him. Then they escorted him to

   the van, presumably to run his prints.

   

   Par's mind began moving again. He tried to think clearly. What was the

   best way out? He had to get back into his room. It would give him some

   cover while he figured out what to do next. The photos of Theorem

   flashed through his mind. No way was he going to let the Secret

   Service get hold of those. He needed to stash them and fast.

   

   He could see the Secret Service agents searching the computer chalet.

   Thank God he and Nibbler had moved all the equipment. At least there

   was nothing incriminating in there and they wouldn't be able to seize

   all their gear.

   

   Par breathed deeply, deliberately, and forced himself to back away

   from the railing toward the door to his room. He resisted the urge to

   dash into his room, to recoil from the scene being played out below

   him. Abrupt movements would draw the agents' attention.

   

   Just as Par began to move, one of the agents turned around. He scanned

   the two-storey motel complex and his gaze quickly came to rest on Par.

   He looked Par dead in the eye.

   

   This is it, Par thought. I'm screwed. No way out of here now. Months

   on the run only to get done in a hick town in North Carolina. These

   guys are gonna haul my ass away for good. I'll never see the light of

   day again. Elimination is the only option.

   

   While these thoughts raced through Par's mind, he stood rigid, his

   feet glued to the cement floor, his face locked into the probing gaze

   of the Secret Service agent. He felt like they were the only two

   people who existed in the universe.

   

   Then, inexplicably, the agent looked away. He swivelled around to

   finish his conversation with another agent. It was as if he had never

   even seen the fugitive.

   

   Par stood, suspended and unbelieving. Somehow it seemed impossible. He

   began to edge the rest of the way to his motel room. Slowly, casually,

   he slid inside and shut the door behind him.

   

   His mind raced back to the photos of Theorem and he searched the room

   for a safe hiding place. There wasn't one. The best option was

   something above eye-level. He pulled a chair across the room, climbed

   on it and pressed on the ceiling. The rectangular panel of

   plasterboard lifted easily and Par slipped the photos in the space,

   then replaced the panel. If the agents tore the room apart, they would

   likely find the pictures. But the photos would probably escape a quick

   search, which was the best he could hope for at this stage.

   

   Next, he turned his mind to escaping. The locals were pretty cool

   about everything, and Par thought he could count on the staff not to

   mention his presence to the Secret Service. That bought him some time,

   but he couldn't get out of the room without being seen. Besides, if he

   was spotted walking off the property, he would certainly be stopped

   and questioned.

   

   Even if he did manage to get out of the motel grounds, it wouldn't

   help much. The town wasn't big enough to shield him from a thorough

   search and there was no-one there he trusted enough to hide him. It

   might look a little suspicious, this young man running away from the

   motel on foot in a part of the world where everyone travelled by car.

   Hitchhiking was out of the question. With his luck, he'd probably get

   picked up by one of the agents leaving the raid. No, he wanted a more

   viable plan. What he really needed was to get out of the area

   altogether, to flee the state.

   

   Par knew that John travelled to Asheville to attend classes and that

   he left very early. If the authorities had been watching the motel for

   a while, they would know that his 5 a.m. departure was normal. And

   there was one other thing about the early departure which seemed

   promising. It was still dark at that hour.

   

   If Par could get as far as Asheville, he might be able to get a lift

   to Charlotte, and from there he could fly somewhere far away.

   

   Par considered the options again and again. Hiding out in the motel

   room seemed the most sensible thing to do. He had been moving rooms

   around the motel pretty regularly, so he might have appeared to be

   just another traveller to anyone watching the motel. With any luck the

   Secret Service would be concentrating their search on the chalet,

   ripping the place apart in a vain hunt for the computer equipment. As

   these thoughts went through his head, the phone rang, making Par jump.

   He stared at it, wondering whether to answer.

   

   He picked it up.

   

   `It's Nibbler,' a voice whispered.

   

   `Yeah,' Par whispered back.

   

   `Par, the Secret Service is here, searching the motel.'

   

   `I know. I saw them.'

   

   `They've already searched the room next to yours.' Par nearly died.

   The agents had been less than two metres from where he was standing

   and he hadn't even known it. That room was where John stayed. It was

   connected to his by an inner door, but both sides were locked.

   

   `Move into John's room and lay low. Gotta go.' Nibbler hung up

   abruptly.

   

   Par put his ear to the wall and listened. Nothing. He unlocked the

   connecting inner door, turned the knob and pressed lightly. It gave.

   Someone had unlocked the other side after the search. Par squinted

   through the crack in the door. The room was silent and still. He

   opened it--no-one home. Scooping up his things, he quickly moved into

   John's room.

   

   Then he waited. Pacing and fidgeting, he strained his ears to catch

   the sounds outside. Every bang and creak of a door opening and closing

   set him on edge. Late that night, after the law enforcement officials

   had left, Nibbler called him on the house phone and told him what had

   happened.

   

   Nibbler had been inside the computer chalet when the Secret Service

   showed up with a search warrant. The agents took names, numbers, every

   detail they could, but they had trouble finding any evidence of

   hacking. Finally, one of them emerged from the chalet triumphantly

   waving a single computer disk in the air. The law enforcement

   entourage hanging around in front of the chalet let out a little

   cheer, but Nibbler could hardly keep a straight face. His younger

   brother had been learning the basics of computer graphics with a

   program called Logo. The United States Secret Service would soon be

   uncovering the secret drawings of a primary school student.

   

   Par laughed. It helped relieve the stress. Then he told Nibbler his

   escape plan, and Nibbler agreed to arrange matters. His parents didn't

   know the whole story, but they liked Par and wanted to help him. Then

   Nibbler wished his friend well.

   

   Par didn't even try to rest before his big escape. He was as highly

   strung as a racehorse at the gate. What if the Secret Service was

   still watching the place? There was no garage attached to the main

   motel building which he could access from the inside. He would be

   exposed, even though it would only be for a minute or so. The night

   would provide reasonable cover, but the escape plan wasn't fool-proof.

   If agents were keeping the motel under observation from a distance

   they might miss him taking off from his room. On the other hand, there

   could be undercover agents posing as guests watching the entire

   complex from inside their room.

   

   Paranoid thoughts stewed in Par's mind throughout the night. Just

   before 5 a.m., he heard John's car pull up outside. Par flicked off

   the light in his room, opened his door a crack and scanned the motel

   grounds. All quiet, bar the single car, which puffed and grunted in

   the still, cold air. The windows in most of the buildings were dark.

   It was now or never.

   

   Par opened the door all the way and slipped down the hallway. As he

   crept downstairs, the pre-dawn chill sent a shiver down his spine.

   Glancing quickly from side to side, he hurried toward the waiting car,

   pulled the back door open and dove onto the seat. Keeping his head

   down, he twisted around, rolled onto the floor and closed the door

   with little more than a soft click.

   

   As the car began to move. Par reached for a blanket which had been

   tossed on the floor and pulled it over himself. After a while, when

   John told him they were safely out of the town, Par slipped the

   blanket off his face and he looked up at the early morning sky. He

   tried to get comfortable on the floor. It was going to be a long ride.

   

   At Asheville, John dropped Par off at an agreed location. Par thanked

   him and hopped into a waiting car. Someone else from his extensive

   network of friends and acquaintances took him to Charlotte.

   

   This time Par rode in the front passenger seat. For the first time, he

   saw the true extent of the damage wreaked by Hurricane Hugo. The small

   town where he had been staying had been slashed by rain and high

   winds, but on the way to the Charlotte airport, where he would pick up

   a flight to New York, Par watched the devastation with amazement. He

   stared out the car window, unable to take his eyes off the storm's

   trail of havoc.

   

   The hurricane had swept up anything loose or fragile and turned it

   into a missile on a suicide mission. Whatever mangled, broken

   fragments remained after the turbulent winds had passed would have

   been almost unrecognisable to those who had seen them before.



				    [ ]

   

   Theorem worried about Par as he staggered from corner to corner of the

   continent. In fact, she had often asked him to consider giving himself

   up. Moving from town to town was taking its toll on Par, and it wasn't

   that much easier on Theorem. She hadn't thought going on the lam was

   such a great idea in the first place, and she offered to pay for his

   lawyer so he could stop running. Par declined. How could he hand

   himself in when he believed elimination was a real possibility?

   Theorem sent him money, since he had no way of earning a living and he

   needed to eat. The worst parts, though, were the dark thoughts that

   kept crossing her mind. Anything could happen to Par between phone

   calls. Was he alive? In prison? Had he been raided, even accidentally

   shot during a raid?

   

   The Secret Service and the private security people seemed to want him

   so badly. It was worrying, but hardly surprising. Par had embarrassed

   them. He had broken into their machines and passed their private

   information around in the underground. They had raided his home when

   he wasn't even home. Then he had escaped a second raid, in North

   Carolina, slipping between their fingers. He was constantly in their

   face, continuing to hack blatantly and to show them contempt in things

   such as his voicemail message. He figured they were probably

   exasperated from chasing all sorts of false leads as well, since he

   was perpetually spreading fake rumours about his whereabouts. Most of

   all, he thought they knew what he had seen inside the TRW system. He

   was a risk.

   

   Par became more and more paranoid, always watching over his shoulder

   as he moved from city to city. He was always tired. He could never

   sleep properly, worrying about the knock on the door. Some mornings,

   after a fitful few hours of rest, he woke with a start, unable to

   remember where he was. Which house or motel, which friends, which

   city.

   

   He still hacked all the time, borrowing machines where he could. He

   posted messages frequently on The Phoenix Project, an exclusive BBS

   run by The Mentor and Erik Bloodaxe and frequented by LOD members and

   the Australian hackers. Some well-known computer security people were

   also invited onto certain, limited areas of the Texas-based board,

   which immediately elevated the status of The Phoenix Project in the

   computer underground. Hackers were as curious about the security

   people as the security people were about their prey. The Phoenix

   Project was special because it provided neutral ground, where both

   sides could meet to exchange ideas.

   

   Via the messages, Par continued to improve his hacking skills while

   also talking with his friends, people like Erik Bloodaxe, from Texas,

   and Phoenix, from The Realm in Melbourne. Electron also frequented The

   Phoenix Project. These hackers knew Par was on the run, and sometimes

   they joked with him about it. The humour made the stark reality of

   Par's situation bearable. All the hackers on The Phoenix Project had

   considered the prospect of being caught. But the presence of Par, and

   his tortured existence on the run, hammered the implications home with

   some regularity.

   

   As Par's messages became depressed and paranoid, other hackers tried

   to do what they could to help him. Elite US and foreign hackers who

   had access to the private sections of The Phoenix Project saw his

   messages and they felt for him. Yet Par continued to slide deeper and

   deeper into his own strange world.

   

Subject: DAMN !!!

From: The Parmaster

Date: Sat Jan 13 08:40:17 1990



Shit, i got drunk last night and went onto that Philippine system...

Stupid Admin comes on and asks who i am ...



Next thing i know, i'm booted off and both accounts on the system are gone.

Not only this .. but the

whole fucking Philippine Net isn't accepting collect calls anymore. (The thing

went down completely after i was booted off!)

Apparently someone there

had enough of me.

By the way, kids, never

drink and hack!



- Par





Subject: gawd

From: The Parmaster

Date: Sat Jan 13 09:07:06 1990



Those SS boys and NSA boys think i'm a COMRADE .. hehehe i'm just glad

i'm still fucking free.



Bahahaha







- Par



Subject: The Bottom line.

From: The Parmaster

Date: Sun Jan 21 10:05:38 1990



The bottom line is a crackdown.  The phrack boys were just the start,

i'm sure of it.



This is the time to watch yourself.  No matter what you are into,

whether it's just codes, cards, etc.



Apparently the government has seen the last straw. Unfortunately, with

all of this in the news now, they will be able to get more government

money to combat hackers.



And that's BAD fucking news for us. I think they are going after all

the `teachers'--the people who educate others into this sort of thing.



I wonder if they think that maybe these remote cases are linked in any

way.  The only way they canprobably see is that we are hackers.  And

so that is where their energies will be put.  To stop ALL hackers--and

stop them BEFORE they can become a threat.  After they wipe out the

educators, that is.  Just a theory.



- Par





Subject: Connection

From: The Parmaster

Date: Sun Jan 21 10:16:11 1990



Well, the only connection is disconnection, as Gandalf [a British

hacker] would say.



That's what i'm putting

on my epitaph.

THE ONLY CONNECTION IS

DISCONNECTION ...

Oh well, maybe i'll take

a few of the buggers with me when they come for me.



- Par





Subject: Oh well.

From: The Parmaster

Date: Tue Jan 23 19:30:05 1990



`And now, the end is near. I've traveled each and every byway ...'  in

the words of the King. Oh well. Who cares? He was a fat shit before he

died anyway.



To everyone who's been a good friend of mine and help me cover up the

fact that i don't know a fucking thing--i thank u.  And to everyone

else, take it easy and hang tough.



i was temporarily insane at the time



See you smart guys at the funny farm.



- Par





Subject: Par

From: Erik Bloodaxe

Date: Tue Jan 23 23:21:39 1990



Shit man, don't drink and think about things like that. It's not

healthy, mentally or physically.



Come to Austin, Texas.



We'll keep you somewhere until we can get something worked out for

you.



A year in minimum security (Club Fed) is better then chucking a whole

life. Hell, you're 19!!  I have discarded the `permanent' solution for

good. Dead people can't get laid, but people in federal prisons DO get

conjugal visits!!!



Think of

Theorem.



Call over here at whatever time you read this ... I can see you are

really getting worried, so just fucking call ...



- Erik





Subject: Hah

From: The Parmaster

Date: Thu Jan 25 18:58:00 1990



Just keep in mind they see everything you do.  Believe me. I know.



- Par





Subject: Well shit.

From: The Parmaster

Date: Mon Jan 29 15:45:05 1990



It's happening soon guys.



I wish i could have bought more time.  And worked out a deal.  But

nada. They are nearby now.



I can tell which cars are theirs driving by outside.  This is the

weirdest case of Deja vu i've ever had.



Anyway got an interesting call today.  It was from Eddie, one of the

Bell systems computers.



It was rather fantasy like ...  Probably just his way of saying

`Goodbye'.  Eddie was a good friend, smartest damn UNIX box around ...

And he called today to tell me goodbye.



Now i know i'm fucked.  Thanks, Eddie, it's been real.  (whoever you

are) `ok eddie, this one's for you'



Much Later,



- Par





Subject: Par

From: Erik Bloodaxe

Date: Mon Jan 29 19:36:38 1990



Buddy, Par, you are over the edge ... lay off the weed.  Not everyone

with glasses and dark suits are Feds. Not all cars with generic

hubcaps are government issue.



Well, hell, I don't know what the hell `Eddie' is, but that's a real

bizarre message you left.



Fly to Austin ... like tomorrow ... got plenty of places to stash you

until things can be smoothed out for a calm transition.



- Erik





Subject: eehh...

From: Phoenix [from Australia]

Date: Tue Jan 30 07:25:59 1990



hmmmmmmmm...



 [sic]



what is young Par up to?





Subject: Par and Erik

From: Daneel Olivaw

Date: Mon Jan 29 21:10:00 1990



Erik, you aren't exactly the best person to be stashing people are

you?





Subject: You know you are screwed when.

From: The Parmaster

Date: Wed Jan 31 14:26:04 1990



You know you are screwed

when:



When surveyers survey

your neighbors regularly, and wear sunglasses when it's like 11 degrees

farenheit and cloudy as hell out.



When the same cars keep

driving by outside day and night. (I've been thinking about providing coffee an

d

doughnuts).



- Par





Subject: heh, Par

From: The Mentor

Date: Wed Jan 31 16:37:04 1990



Ummm. I wear sunglasses when it's 11 degrees and cloudy ... so you can

eliminate that one.  :-)





Subject: Hmm, Par

From: Phoenix

Date: Thu Feb 01 10:22:46 1990



At least you arent getting shot at.





Subject: Par, why don't you ...

From: Ravage

Date: Thu Feb 01 10:56:04 1990



Why not just go out and say `hi' to the nice gentleman? If i kept

seeing the same people tooling around my neighborhood, i would

actively check them out if they seemed weird.





Subject: Par, jump 'em

From: Aston Martin

Date: Tue Feb 06 18:04:55 1990



What you could do is go out to one of the vans sitting in the street

(you know, the one with the two guys sitting in it all day) with a

pair of jumper cables. Tell them you've seen them sitting there all

day and you thought they were stuck. Ask them if they need a jump.



- Aston



   Between these strange messages, Par often posted comments on technical

   matters. Other hackers routinely asked him questions about X.25

   networks. Unlike some hackers, Par almost always offered some help. In

   fact, he believed that being `one of the teachers' made him a

   particular target. But his willingness to teach others so readily,

   combined with his relatively humble, self-effacing demeanour, made Par

   popular among many hackers. It was one reason he found so many places

   to stay.

   

   Spring arrived, brushing aside a few of the hardships of a winter on

   the run, then summer. Par was still on the run, still dodging the

   Secret Service's national hunt for the fugitive. By autumn, Par had

   eluded law enforcement officials around the United States for more

   than a year. The gloom of another cold winter on the run sat on the

   horizon of Par's future, but he didn't care. Anything, everything was

   bearable. He could take anything Fate would dish up because he had

   something to live for.

   

   Theorem was coming to visit him again.

   

   When Theorem arrived in New York in early 1991, the weather was

   bitterly cold. They travelled to Connecticut, where Par was staying in

   a share-house with friends.

   

   Par was nervous about a lot of things, but mostly about whether things

   would be the same with Theorem. Within a few hours of her arrival, his

   fears were assuaged. Theorem felt as passionately about him as she had

   in California more than twelve months before. His own feelings were

   even stronger. Theorem was a liferaft of happiness in the growing

   turmoil of his life.

   

   But things were different in the outside world. Life on the run with

   Theorem was grim. Constantly dependent on other people, on their

   charity, they were also subject to their petty whims.

   

   A room-mate in the share-house got very drunk one night and picked a

   fight with one of Par's friends. It was a major row and the friend

   stormed out. In a fit of intoxicated fury, the drunk threatened to

   turn Par in to the authorities. Slurring his angry words, he announced

   he was going to call the FBI, CIA and Secret Service to tell them all

   where Par was living.

   

   Par and Theorem didn't want to wait around to see if the drunk would

   be true to his word. They grabbed their coats and fled into the

   darkness. With little money, and no place else to stay, they walked

   around for hours in the blistering, cold wind. Eventually they decided

   they had no choice but to return to the house late at night, hopefully

   after the drunk had fallen asleep.

   

   They sidled up to the front of the house, alert and on edge. It was

   quite possible the drunk had called every law enforcement agency his

   blurry mind could recall, in which case a collection of agents would

   be lying in wait. The street was deadly quiet. All the parked cars

   were deserted. Par peered in a darkened window but he couldn't see

   anything. He motioned for Theorem to follow him into the house.

   

   Though she couldn't see Par's face, Theorem could feel his tension.

   Most of the time, she revelled in their closeness, a proximity which

   at times seemed to border on telepathy. But at this moment, the

   extraordinary gift of empathy felt like a curse. Theorem could feel

   Par's all-consuming paranoia, and it filled her with terror as they

   crept through the hall, checking each room. Finally they reached Par's

   room, expecting to find two or three Secret Service agents waiting

   patiently for them in the dark.

   

   It was empty.

   

   They climbed into bed and tried to get some sleep, but Theorem lay

   awake in the dark for a little while, thinking about the strange and

   fearful experience of returning to the house. Though she spoke to Par

   on the phone almost every day when they were apart, she realised she

   had missed something.

   

   Being on the run for so long had changed Par.

   

   Some time after she returned to Switzerland, Theorem's access to Altos

   shrivelled up and died. She had been logging in through her old

   university account but the university eventually killed her access

   since she was no longer a student. Without access to any X.25 network

   linked to the outside world, she couldn't logon to Altos. Although she

   was never involved with hacking, Theorem had become quite addicted to

   Altos. The loss of access to the Swiss X.25 network--and therefore to

   Altos--left her feeling very depressed. She told Par over the

   telephone, in sombre tones.

   

   Par decide to make a little present for Theorem. While most hackers

   broke into computers hanging off the X.25 networks, Par broke into the

   computers of the companies which ran the X.25 networks. Having control

   over the machines owned by Telenet or Tymnet was real power. And as the

   master of X.25 networks, Par could simply create a special account--just

   for Theorem--on Tymnet.

   

   When Par finished making the account, he leaned back in his chair

   feeling pretty pleased with himself.

   

   Account name: Theorem.

   

   Password: ParLovesMe!

   

   Well, thought Par, she's going to have to type that in every time she

   gets on the Tymnet network. Altos might be filled with the world's

   best hackers, and they might even try to flirt with Theorem, but

   she'll be thinking of me every time she logs on, he thought.

   

   Par called her on the telephone and gave her his special present. When

   he told her the password to her new account, Theorem laughed. She

   thought it was sweet.

   

   And so did the MOD boys.

   

   Masters of Deception, or Destruction--it depended on who told the

   story--was a New York-based gang of hackers. They thought it would be

   cool to hack Altos. It wasn't that easy to get Altos shell access,

   which Theorem had, and most people had to settle for using one of the

   `guest' accounts. But it was much easier to hack Altos from a shell

   account than from a `guest' account. Theorem's account would be the

   targeted jump-off point.

   

   How did MOD get Theorem's Altos password? Most probably they were

   watching one of the X.25 gateways she used as she passed through

   Tymnet on her way to Altos. Maybe the MOD boys sniffed her password en

   route. Or maybe they were watching the Tymnet security officials who

   were watching that gateway.

   

   In the end it didn't matter how MOD got Theorem's password on Altos.

   What mattered was that they changed her password. When Theorem

   couldn't get into Altos she was beside herself. She felt like a junkie

   going cold turkey. It was too much. And of course she couldn't reach

   Par. Because he was on the run, she had to wait for him to call her.

   In fact she couldn't reach any of her other friends on Altos to ask

   for help. How was she going to find them? They were all hackers. They

   chose handles so no-one would know their real names.

   

   What Theorem didn't know was that, not only had she lost access to

   Altos, but the MOD boys were using her account to hack the Altos

   system. To the outside world it appeared as though she was doing it.

   

   Theorem finally managed to get a third-hand message to Gandalf, a

   well-known British hacker. She sought him out for two reasons. First,

   he was a good friend and was therefore likely to help her out. Second,

   Gandalf had root access on Altos, which meant he could give her a new

   password or account.

   

   Gandalf had established quite a reputation for himself in the computer

   underground through the hacking group 8lgm--The Eight-Legged Groove

   Machine, named after a British band. He and his friend, fellow British

   hacker Pad, had the best four legs in the chorus line. They were a

   world-class act, and certainly some of the best talent to come out of

   the British hacking scene. But Gandalf and, to a lesser extent, Pad

   had also developed a reputation for being arrogant. They rubbed some

   of the American hackers the wrong way. Not that Pad and Gandalf seemed

   to care. Their attitude was: We're good. We know it. Bugger off.

   

   Gandalf disabled Theorem's account on Altos. He couldn't very well

   just change the password and then send the new one through the

   extended grapevine that Theorem had used to get a message through to

   him. Clearly, someone had targeted her account specifically. No way

   was he going to broadcast a new password for her account throughout

   the underground. But the trouble was that neither Par nor Theorem knew

   what Gandalf had done.

   

   Meanwhile, Par called Theorem and got an earful. An angry Par vowed to

   find out just who the hell had been messing with her account.

   

   When the MOD boys told Par they were the culprits, he was a bit

   surprised because he had always been on good terms with them. Par told

   them how upset Theorem had been, how she gave him an earful. Then an

   extraordinary thing happened. Corrupt, the toughest, baddest guy in

   MOD, the black kid from the roughest part of New York, the hacker who

   gave shit to everyone because he could, apologised to Par.

   

   The MOD guys never apologised, even when they knew they were in the

   wrong. Apologies never got anyone very far on a New York City street.

   It was an attitude thing. `I'm sorry, man' from Corrupt was the

   equivalent of a normal person licking the mud from the soles of your

   shoes.

   

   The new password was: M0Dm0dM0D. That's the kind of guys they were.

   

   Par was just signing off to try out the new password when Corrupt

   jumped in.

   

   `Yeah, and ah, Par, there's something you should know.'

   

   `Yeah?' Par answered, anxious to go.

   

   `I checked out her mail. There was some stuff in it.'

   

   Theorem's letters? Stuff? `What kind of stuff?' he asked.

   

   `Letters from Gandalf.'

   

   `Yeah?'

   

   `Friendly letters. Real friendly.'

   

   Par wanted to know, but at the same time, he didn't. He could have

   arranged root access on Altos long ago if he'd really wanted it. But

   he didn't. He didn't want it because it would mean he could access

   Theorem's mail. And Par knew that if he could, he would. Theorem was

   popular on Altos and, being the suspicious type, Par knew he would

   probably take something perfectly innocent and read it the wrong way.

   Then he would get in a fight with Theorem, and their time together was

   too precious for that.

   

   `Too friendly,' Corrupt went on. It must have been hard for him to

   tell Par. Snagging a friend's girlfriend's password and breaking into

   her account was one thing. There wasn't much wrong with that. But

   breaking that kind of news, well, that was harsh. Especially since

   Corrupt had worked with Gandalf in 8lgm.

   

   `Thanks,' Par said finally. Then he took off.

   

   When Par tried out the MOD password, it didn't work of course, because

   Gandalf had disabled the account. But Par didn't know that. Finding

   out that Theorem's account was disabled didn't bother him, but

   discovering who disabled it for her didn't make Par all that happy.

   Still, when he confronted Theorem, she denied that anything was going

   on between her and Gandalf.

   

   What could Par do? He could believe Theorem or he could doubt her.

   Believing her was hard, but doubting her was painful. So he chose to

   believe her.

   

   The incident made Theorem take a long look at Altos. It was doing bad

   things to her life. In the days that she was locked out of the German

   chat system, she had made the unpleasant discovery that she was

   completely addicted. And she didn't like it at all. Staring at her

   life with fresh eyes, she realised she had been ignoring her friends

   and her life in Switzerland. What on earth was she doing, spending

   every night in front of a computer screen?

   

   So Theorem made a tough decision.

   

   She decided to stop using Altos forever.



				    [ ]

   

   Bad things seemed to happen to The Parmaster around Thanksgiving.

   

   In late November 1991, Par flew up from Virginia Beach to New York. An

   acquaintance named Morty Rosenfeld, who hung out with the MOD hackers

   a bit, had invited him to come for a visit. Par thought a trip to the

   City would do him good.

   

   Morty wasn't exactly Par's best friend, but he was all right. He had

   been charged by the Feds a few months earlier for selling a password

   to a credit record company which resulted in credit card fraud. Par

   didn't go in for selling passwords, but to each his own. Morty wasn't

   too bad in the right dose. He had a place on Coney Island, which was

   hardly the Village in Manhattan, but close enough, and he had a

   fold-out sofa bed. It beat sleeping on the floor somewhere else.

   

   Par hung out with a Morty and a bunch of his friends, drinking and

   goofing around on Morty's computer.

   

   One morning, Par woke up with a vicious hangover. His stomach was

   growling and there was nothing edible in the fridge, so he rang up and

   ordered pork fried rice from a Chinese take-away. Then he threw on

   some clothes and sat on the end of the sofa-bed, smoking a cigarette

   while he waited. He didn't start smoking until he was nineteen, some

   time late into his second year on the run. It calmed his nerves.

   

   There was a knock at the front door. Par's stomach grumbled in

   response. As he walked toward the front door, he thought Pork Fried

   Rice, here I come. But when Par opened the front door, there was

   something else waiting for him.

   

   The Secret Service.

   

   Two men. An older, distinguished gentleman standing on the left and a

   young guy on the right. The young guy's eyes opened wide when he saw

   Par.

   

   Suddenly, the young guy pushed Par, and kept pushing him. Small, hard,

   fast thrusts. Par couldn't get his balance. Each time he almost got

   his footing, the agent shoved the hacker backward again until he

   landed against the wall. The agent spun Par around so his face pressed

   against the wall and pushed a gun into his kidney. Then he slammed

   handcuffs on Par and started frisking him for weapons.

   

   Par looked at Morty, now sobbing in the corner, and thought, You

   narced on me.

   

   Once Par was safely cuffed, the agents flashed their badges to him.

   Then they took him outside, escorted him into a waiting car and drove

   into Manhattan. They pulled up in front of the World Trade Center and

   when Par got out the young agent swapped the cuffs so Par's hands were

   in front of him.

   

   As the agents escorted the handcuffed fugitive up a large escalator,

   the corporate world stared at the trio. Business men and women in prim

   navy suits, secretaries and office boys all watched wide-eyed from the

   opposite escalator. And if the handcuffs weren't bad enough, the

   younger Secret Service agent was wearing a nylon jacket with a

   noticeable gun-shaped lump in the front pouch.

   
ਊ   圀栀礀 愀爀攀 琀栀攀猀攀 最甀礀猀 戀爀椀渀最椀渀最 洀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 昀爀漀渀琀 攀渀琀爀愀渀挀攀㼀 倀愀爀 欀攀瀀琀਀਀   琀栀椀渀欀椀渀最⸀ 匀甀爀攀氀礀 琀栀攀爀攀 洀甀猀琀 戀攀 愀 戀愀挀欀搀漀漀爀Ⰰ 愀 挀愀爀 瀀愀爀欀 戀愀挀欀 攀渀琀爀愀渀挀攀⸀਀਀   匀漀洀攀琀栀椀渀最 渀漀琀 焀甀椀琀攀 猀漀 瀀甀戀氀椀挀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 瘀椀攀眀 昀爀漀洀 愀渀礀 爀攀愀猀漀渀愀戀氀礀 栀椀最栀 昀氀漀漀爀 漀昀 琀栀攀 圀漀爀氀搀 吀爀愀搀攀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀 椀猀਀਀   戀爀攀愀琀栀琀愀欀椀渀最Ⰰ 戀甀琀 倀愀爀 渀攀瘀攀爀 最漀琀 愀 挀栀愀渀挀攀 琀漀 攀渀樀漀礀 琀栀攀 瘀椀猀琀愀⸀ 䠀攀 眀愀猀਀਀   栀甀猀琀氀攀搀 椀渀琀漀 愀 眀椀渀搀漀眀氀攀猀猀 爀漀漀洀 愀渀搀 栀愀渀搀挀甀昀昀攀搀 琀漀 愀 挀栀愀椀爀⸀ 吀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀猀਀਀   洀漀瘀攀搀 椀渀 愀渀搀 漀甀琀Ⰰ 猀漀爀琀椀渀最 漀甀琀 瀀愀瀀攀爀眀漀爀欀 搀攀琀愀椀氀猀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 甀渀挀甀昀昀攀搀 栀椀洀਀਀   戀爀椀攀昀氀礀 眀栀椀氀攀 琀栀攀礀 椀渀欀攀搀 栀椀猀 昀椀渀最攀爀猀 愀渀搀 爀漀氀氀攀搀 琀栀攀洀 愀挀爀漀猀猀 猀栀攀攀琀猀 漀昀਀਀   瀀愀瀀攀爀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 琀栀攀礀 洀愀搀攀 栀椀洀 最椀瘀攀 栀愀渀搀眀爀椀琀椀渀最 猀愀洀瀀氀攀猀Ⰰ 昀椀爀猀琀 栀椀猀 爀椀最栀琀਀਀   栀愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 栀椀猀 氀攀昀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 洀椀渀搀 戀攀椀渀最 挀甀昀昀攀搀 琀漀 琀栀攀 挀栀愀椀爀 猀漀 洀甀挀栀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 栀攀 昀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   最椀愀渀琀 洀攀琀愀氀 挀愀最攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 洀椀搀搀氀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 昀椀渀最攀爀瀀爀椀渀琀椀渀最 爀漀漀洀 搀攀攀瀀氀礀਀਀   搀椀猀琀甀爀戀椀渀最⸀ 䤀琀 爀攀洀椀渀搀攀搀 栀椀洀 漀昀 愀渀 愀渀椀洀愀氀 挀愀最攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 欀椀渀搀 甀猀攀搀 椀渀 漀氀搀਀਀   稀漀漀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 琀眀漀 愀最攀渀琀猀 眀栀漀 愀爀爀攀猀琀攀搀 栀椀洀 氀攀昀琀 琀栀攀 爀漀漀洀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 漀渀攀 挀愀洀攀਀਀   椀渀⸀ 䄀渀搀 琀栀攀 琀栀椀爀搀 愀最攀渀琀 眀愀猀 昀愀爀 昀爀漀洀 昀爀椀攀渀搀氀礀⸀ 䠀攀 戀攀最愀渀 瀀氀愀礀椀渀最 琀栀攀਀਀   戀愀搀 挀漀瀀Ⰰ 爀愀椀氀椀渀最 愀琀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 猀栀漀甀琀椀渀最 愀琀 栀椀洀Ⰰ 琀爀礀椀渀最 琀漀 甀渀渀攀爀瘀攀 栀椀洀⸀ 䈀甀琀਀਀   渀漀 愀洀漀甀渀琀 漀昀 礀攀氀氀椀渀最 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀 挀漀甀氀搀 爀椀氀攀 倀愀爀 愀猀 洀甀挀栀 愀猀 琀栀攀਀਀   渀愀琀甀爀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀 栀攀 愀猀欀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 愀猀欀 愀 猀椀渀最氀攀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀⸀ 䤀渀猀琀攀愀搀Ⰰ 栀攀਀਀   搀攀洀愀渀搀攀搀 琀漀 栀攀愀爀 攀瘀攀爀礀琀栀椀渀最 倀愀爀 欀渀攀眀 愀戀漀甀琀 吀刀圀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀氀氀 倀愀爀✀猀 眀漀爀猀琀 渀椀最栀琀洀愀爀攀猀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 欀椀氀氀攀爀 猀瀀礀 猀愀琀攀氀氀椀琀攀Ⰰ 愀戀漀甀琀਀਀   戀攀挀漀洀椀渀最 琀栀攀 洀愀渀 眀栀漀 欀渀攀眀 琀漀漀 洀甀挀栀Ⰰ 爀甀猀栀攀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 栀椀猀 洀椀渀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 爀攀昀甀猀攀搀 琀漀 愀渀猀眀攀爀⸀ 䠀攀 樀甀猀琀 猀愀琀 猀椀氀攀渀琀氀礀Ⰰ 猀琀愀爀椀渀最 愀琀 琀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䔀瘀攀渀琀甀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 漀氀搀攀爀 愀最攀渀琀 挀愀洀攀 戀愀挀欀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 爀漀漀洀Ⰰ 搀爀愀最最攀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀椀琀戀甀氀氀 愀最攀渀琀 愀眀愀礀 愀渀搀 琀漀漀欀 栀椀洀 漀甀琀猀椀搀攀 昀漀爀 愀 眀栀椀猀瀀攀爀攀搀 挀栀愀琀⸀ 䄀昀琀攀爀਀਀   琀栀愀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 瀀椀琀戀甀氀氀 愀最攀渀琀 眀愀猀 愀氀氀 猀眀攀攀琀渀攀猀猀 愀渀搀 氀椀最栀琀 眀椀琀栀 倀愀爀⸀ 一漀琀਀਀   愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 眀漀爀搀 愀戀漀甀琀 吀刀圀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 眀漀渀搀攀爀攀搀 眀栀礀 愀 猀攀渀椀漀爀 最甀礀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 琀攀氀氀 栀椀猀਀਀   洀椀渀椀漀渀 琀漀 挀氀愀洀 甀瀀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 搀攀昀攀渀挀攀 挀漀渀琀爀愀挀琀漀爀㼀 圀栀愀琀 眀愀猀 戀攀栀椀渀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀甀搀搀攀渀 猀椀氀攀渀挀攀㼀 吀栀攀 愀戀爀甀瀀琀 猀栀椀昀琀 愀氀愀爀洀攀搀 倀愀爀 愀氀洀漀猀琀 愀猀 洀甀挀栀 愀猀 琀栀攀਀਀   焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀 栀愀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 瀀氀愀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀 琀漀氀搀 倀愀爀 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 爀攀洀愀渀搀攀搀 椀渀 挀甀猀琀漀搀礀 眀栀椀氀攀 愀眀愀椀琀椀渀最਀਀   攀砀琀爀愀搀椀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀⸀ 䄀昀琀攀爀 愀氀氀 琀栀攀 瀀愀瀀攀爀眀漀爀欀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 挀漀洀瀀氀攀琀攀搀Ⰰ਀਀   琀栀攀礀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀 栀椀洀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 栀愀渀搀挀甀昀昀猀 愀渀搀 氀攀琀 栀椀洀 猀琀愀渀搀 琀漀 猀琀爀攀琀挀栀⸀ 倀愀爀਀਀   愀猀欀攀搀 昀漀爀 愀 挀椀最愀爀攀琀琀攀 愀渀搀 漀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 愀最攀渀琀猀 最愀瘀攀 栀椀洀 漀渀攀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 愀਀਀   挀漀甀瀀氀攀 漀昀 漀琀栀攀爀 愀最攀渀琀猀ⴀⴀ樀甀渀椀漀爀 最甀礀猀ⴀⴀ挀愀洀攀 椀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 樀甀渀椀漀爀 愀最攀渀琀猀 眀攀爀攀 瘀攀爀礀 昀爀椀攀渀搀氀礀⸀ 伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 攀瘀攀渀 猀栀漀漀欀 倀愀爀✀猀਀਀   栀愀渀搀 愀渀搀 椀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀攀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 欀渀攀眀 愀氀氀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 欀渀攀眀਀਀   栀椀猀 瘀漀椀挀攀 昀爀漀洀 漀甀琀最漀椀渀最 洀攀猀猀愀最攀猀 漀渀 瘀漀椀挀攀洀愀椀氀 戀漀砀攀猀 栀攀 栀愀搀 挀爀攀愀琀攀搀 昀漀爀਀਀   栀椀洀猀攀氀昀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 欀渀攀眀 眀栀愀琀 栀攀 氀漀漀欀攀搀 氀椀欀攀 昀爀漀洀 栀椀猀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀਀਀   昀椀氀攀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 洀愀礀戀攀 攀瘀攀渀 猀甀爀瘀攀椀氀氀愀渀挀攀 瀀栀漀琀漀猀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 欀渀攀眀 栀椀猀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀椀琀礀਀਀   昀爀漀洀 琀攀氀攀瀀栀漀渀攀 戀爀椀搀最攀 挀漀渀瘀攀爀猀愀琀椀漀渀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 爀攀挀漀爀搀攀搀 愀渀搀 昀爀漀洀਀਀   琀栀攀 搀攀琀愀椀氀猀 漀昀 栀椀猀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 昀椀氀攀⸀ 倀攀爀栀愀瀀猀 琀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 攀瘀攀渀 琀爀愀挀欀攀搀਀਀   栀椀洀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀 挀漀甀渀琀爀礀Ⰰ 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 愀 琀爀愀椀氀 漀昀 挀氀甀攀猀 氀攀昀琀 椀渀 栀椀猀਀਀   昀氀椀最栀琀瀀愀琀栀⸀ 圀栀愀琀攀瘀攀爀 爀攀猀攀愀爀挀栀 琀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 搀漀渀攀Ⰰ 漀渀攀 琀栀椀渀最 眀愀猀 挀氀攀愀爀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀猀攀 愀最攀渀琀猀 昀攀氀琀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀攀礀 欀渀攀眀 栀椀洀 椀渀琀椀洀愀琀攀氀礀ⴀⴀ倀愀爀 琀栀攀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀Ⰰ 渀漀琀਀਀   樀甀猀琀 倀愀爀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀 猀琀爀愀渀最攀 猀攀渀猀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 吀栀攀猀攀 最甀礀猀 倀愀爀 栀愀搀 渀攀瘀攀爀 洀攀琀 戀攀昀漀爀攀਀਀   挀栀愀琀琀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 栀椀洀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 氀愀琀攀猀琀 䴀椀挀栀愀攀氀 䨀愀挀欀猀漀渀 瘀椀搀攀漀 愀猀 椀昀 栀攀 眀愀猀 愀਀਀   渀攀椀最栀戀漀甀爀 漀爀 昀爀椀攀渀搀 樀甀猀琀 爀攀琀甀爀渀攀搀 昀爀漀洀 漀甀琀 漀昀 琀漀眀渀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 琀栀攀礀 琀漀漀欀 栀椀洀਀਀   昀甀爀琀栀攀爀 甀瀀琀漀眀渀Ⰰ 琀漀 愀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 猀琀愀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 昀漀爀 洀漀爀攀 攀砀琀爀愀搀椀琀椀漀渀 瀀愀瀀攀爀眀漀爀欀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀椀猀 瀀氀愀挀攀 眀愀猀 渀漀 圀漀爀氀搀 吀爀愀搀攀 䌀攀渀琀攀爀 搀攀氀甀砀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀⸀ 倀愀爀 猀琀愀爀攀搀 愀琀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀攀攀氀椀渀最 最爀攀礀 瀀愀椀渀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀 愀渀挀椀攀渀琀 爀漀漀洀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 眀愀琀挀栀攀搀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀猀਀਀   琀礀瀀椀渀最 漀甀琀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀猀 甀猀椀渀最 琀栀攀 琀眀漀ⴀ昀椀渀最攀爀 栀甀渀琀ⴀ愀渀搀ⴀ瀀攀挀欀 洀攀琀栀漀搀 漀渀਀਀   攀氀攀挀琀爀椀挀 琀礀瀀攀眀爀椀琀攀爀猀ⴀⴀ渀漀琀 愀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 椀渀 猀椀最栀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀猀 搀椀搀渀✀琀਀਀   挀甀昀昀 倀愀爀 琀漀 琀栀攀 搀攀猀欀⸀ 倀愀爀 眀愀猀 椀渀 琀栀攀 栀攀愀爀琀 漀昀 愀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 猀琀愀琀椀漀渀 愀渀搀਀਀   琀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 渀漀 眀愀礀 栀攀 眀愀猀 最漀椀渀最 愀渀礀眀栀攀爀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀椀氀攀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀 栀愀渀搀氀椀渀最 倀愀爀 眀愀猀 愀眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 栀椀猀 搀攀猀欀 昀漀爀 琀攀渀 洀椀渀甀琀攀猀Ⰰ਀਀   倀愀爀 昀攀氀琀 戀漀爀攀搀⸀ 匀漀 栀攀 戀攀最愀渀 昀氀椀瀀瀀椀渀最 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 昀漀氀搀攀爀猀 眀椀琀栀਀਀   椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 漀渀 漀琀栀攀爀 挀愀猀攀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀✀猀 搀攀猀欀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 栀攀愀瘀礀 搀甀琀礀਀਀   昀爀愀甀搀 挀愀猀攀猀ⴀⴀ洀愀昀椀愀 愀渀搀 搀爀甀最ⴀ洀漀渀攀礀 氀愀甀渀搀攀爀椀渀最ⴀⴀ挀愀猀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 挀愀爀爀椀攀搀਀਀   爀攀昀攀爀攀渀挀攀 琀漀 䘀䈀䤀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀洀攀渀琀⸀ 吀栀攀猀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 氀漀漀欀攀搀 栀愀椀爀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀愀琀 搀愀礀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 栀愀搀 愀 焀甀椀挀欀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀愀渀挀攀 椀渀 挀漀甀爀琀Ⰰ 樀甀猀琀 氀漀渀最 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀漀 戀攀਀਀   最椀瘀攀渀 瀀爀漀琀攀挀琀椀瘀攀 挀甀猀琀漀搀礀 椀渀 琀栀攀 䴀愀渀栀愀琀琀愀渀 搀攀琀攀渀琀椀漀渀 挀漀洀瀀氀攀砀 欀渀漀眀渀 愀猀਀਀   琀栀攀 吀漀洀戀猀 眀栀椀氀攀 栀攀 眀愀椀琀攀搀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 昀爀漀洀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀 琀漀 挀漀洀攀਀਀   愀渀搀 瀀椀挀欀 栀椀洀 甀瀀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 猀瀀攀渀琀 愀氀洀漀猀琀 愀 眀攀攀欀 椀渀 琀栀攀 吀漀洀戀猀⸀ 䈀礀 搀愀礀 琀栀爀攀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 眀愀猀 挀氀椀洀戀椀渀最਀਀   琀栀攀 眀愀氀氀猀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 氀椀欀攀 戀攀椀渀最 戀甀爀椀攀搀 愀氀椀瘀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䐀甀爀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 眀攀攀欀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 栀愀搀 愀氀洀漀猀琀 渀漀 挀漀渀琀愀挀琀 眀椀琀栀 漀琀栀攀爀 栀甀洀愀渀 戀攀椀渀最猀ⴀⴀ愀਀਀   琀攀爀爀椀戀氀攀 瀀甀渀椀猀栀洀攀渀琀 昀漀爀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀 眀椀琀栀 猀漀 洀甀挀栀 渀攀攀搀 昀漀爀 愀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀愀氀 昀氀漀眀਀਀   漀昀 渀攀眀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀⸀ 䠀攀 渀攀瘀攀爀 氀攀昀琀 栀椀猀 挀攀氀氀⸀ 䠀椀猀 樀愀椀氀攀爀 猀氀椀搀 琀爀愀礀猀 漀昀਀਀   昀漀漀搀 椀渀琀漀 栀椀猀 挀攀氀氀 愀渀搀 琀漀漀欀 琀栀攀洀 愀眀愀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   伀渀 搀愀礀 猀椀砀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 眀攀渀琀 渀甀琀猀⸀ 䠀攀 琀栀爀攀眀 愀 昀椀琀Ⰰ 戀攀最愀渀 猀挀爀攀愀洀椀渀最 愀渀搀 戀愀渀最椀渀最਀਀   漀渀 琀栀攀 搀漀漀爀⸀ 䠀攀 礀攀氀氀攀搀 愀琀 琀栀攀 最甀愀爀搀⸀ 吀漀氀搀 栀椀洀 渀漀渀攀 琀漀漀 渀椀挀攀氀礀 琀栀愀琀 栀攀਀਀   眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 怀最攀琀 琀栀攀 昀甀挀欀 漀甀琀琀愀 栀攀爀攀✀⸀ 吀栀攀 最甀愀爀搀 猀愀椀搀 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 猀攀攀 椀昀 栀攀਀਀   挀漀甀氀搀 最攀琀 倀愀爀 琀爀愀渀猀昀攀爀爀攀搀 琀漀 刀椀欀攀爀猀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀Ⰰ 一攀眀 夀漀爀欀✀猀 渀漀琀漀爀椀漀甀猀 樀愀椀氀⸀਀਀   倀愀爀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 挀愀爀攀 椀昀 栀攀 眀愀猀 琀爀愀渀猀昀攀爀爀攀搀 琀漀 琀栀攀 洀漀漀渀Ⰰ 愀猀 氀漀渀最 愀猀 栀攀 最漀琀਀਀   漀甀琀 漀昀 猀漀氀椀琀愀爀礀 挀漀渀昀椀渀攀洀攀渀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䔀砀挀攀瀀琀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 猀攀爀椀愀氀 欀椀氀氀攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 渀漀爀琀栀 椀渀昀椀爀洀愀爀礀 愀琀 刀椀欀攀爀猀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀 眀愀猀਀਀   愀 挀漀渀猀椀搀攀爀愀戀氀攀 椀洀瀀爀漀瘀攀洀攀渀琀 漀渀 琀栀攀 吀漀洀戀猀⸀ 倀愀爀 眀愀猀 漀渀氀礀 氀漀挀欀攀搀 椀渀 栀椀猀਀਀   挀攀氀氀 愀琀 渀椀最栀琀⸀ 䐀甀爀椀渀最 琀栀攀 搀愀礀 栀攀 眀愀猀 昀爀攀攀 琀漀 爀漀愀洀 椀渀猀椀搀攀 琀栀攀 椀渀昀椀爀洀愀爀礀਀਀   愀爀攀愀 眀椀琀栀 漀琀栀攀爀 瀀爀椀猀漀渀攀爀猀⸀ 匀漀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 眀攀爀攀 琀栀攀爀攀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 琀栀攀਀਀   愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 眀愀渀琀 琀漀 瀀甀琀 琀栀攀洀 椀渀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 栀愀爀搀攀渀攀搀 挀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀猀Ⰰ਀਀   愀渀搀 猀漀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 眀攀爀攀 琀栀攀爀攀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 瀀爀漀戀愀戀氀礀 挀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀氀礀਀਀   椀渀猀愀渀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀渀 攀挀氀攀挀琀椀挀 戀甀渀挀栀⸀ 䄀 昀椀爀攀洀愀渀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀⸀ 䄀਀਀   䌀漀氀漀洀戀椀愀渀 搀爀甀最 氀漀爀搀⸀ 䄀 挀栀漀瀀ⴀ猀栀漀瀀 爀椀渀最氀攀愀搀攀爀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 挀漀氀氀攀挀琀攀搀 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀਀਀   ㌀   猀琀漀氀攀渀 挀愀爀猀Ⰰ 挀栀漀瀀瀀攀搀 琀栀攀洀 甀瀀Ⰰ 爀攀愀猀猀攀洀戀氀攀搀 琀栀攀洀 愀猀 渀攀眀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀਀਀   猀漀氀搀 琀栀攀洀 漀昀昀⸀ 䄀 洀愀渀 眀栀漀 欀椀氀氀攀搀 愀 栀漀洀漀猀攀砀甀愀氀 昀漀爀 挀漀洀椀渀最 漀渀琀漀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   怀䘀愀最最漀琀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀✀Ⰰ 愀猀 栀攀 眀愀猀 欀渀漀眀渀 椀渀猀椀搀攀Ⰰ 栀愀搀渀✀琀 洀攀愀渀琀 琀漀 欀椀氀氀 愀渀礀漀渀攀㨀਀਀   琀栀椀渀最猀 栀愀搀 最漀琀琀攀渀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 漀甀琀 漀昀 栀愀渀搀㬀 渀攀砀琀 琀栀椀渀最 栀攀 欀渀攀眀Ⰰ 栀攀 眀愀猀਀਀   昀愀挀椀渀最 琀攀渀 琀漀 琀眀攀氀瘀攀 漀渀 愀 洀甀爀搀攀爀 爀愀瀀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 眀椀氀搀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 椀搀攀愀 漀昀 栀愀渀最椀渀最 漀甀琀 眀椀琀栀 愀 洀甀爀搀攀爀攀爀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 栀攀਀਀   眀愀猀 渀攀爀瘀漀甀猀 愀戀漀甀琀 眀栀愀琀 挀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀攀搀 琀漀 愀 礀漀甀渀最 洀愀渀 椀渀 樀愀椀氀⸀ 䘀漀爀最椀渀最਀਀   愀 昀爀椀攀渀搀猀栀椀瀀 眀椀琀栀 䘀愀最最漀琀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀 眀漀甀氀搀 猀攀渀搀 琀栀攀 爀椀最栀琀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀⸀ 䈀攀猀椀搀攀猀Ⰰ਀਀   琀栀攀 最甀礀 猀攀攀洀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 伀䬀⸀ 圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 愀猀 氀漀渀最 愀猀 礀漀甀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 氀漀漀欀 愀琀 栀椀洀 琀栀攀਀਀   眀爀漀渀最 眀愀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   伀渀 栀椀猀 昀椀爀猀琀 搀愀礀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 愀氀猀漀 洀攀琀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀Ⰰ 愀 眀椀氀搀ⴀ攀礀攀搀 洀愀渀 眀栀漀਀਀   椀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀攀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 戀礀 琀栀爀甀猀琀椀渀最 愀 挀爀甀洀瀀氀攀搀 渀攀眀猀瀀愀瀀攀爀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀✀猀 栀愀渀搀 愀渀搀 猀愀礀椀渀最Ⰰ 怀吀栀愀琀✀猀 洀攀✀⸀ 吀栀攀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀Ⰰ 琀椀琀氀攀搀 怀嘀漀椀挀攀猀਀਀   吀漀氀搀 䠀椀洀 琀漀 䬀椀氀氀✀Ⰰ 搀攀猀挀爀椀戀攀搀 栀漀眀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 栀愀搀 愀瀀瀀爀攀栀攀渀搀攀搀 愀 猀攀爀椀愀氀਀਀   欀椀氀氀攀爀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 爀攀猀瀀漀渀猀椀戀氀攀 昀漀爀 愀 搀漀稀攀渀 洀甀爀搀攀爀猀Ⰰ 洀愀礀戀攀 洀漀爀攀⸀਀਀   䐀甀爀椀渀最 栀椀猀 氀愀猀琀 洀甀爀搀攀爀Ⰰ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 琀漀氀搀 倀愀爀 栀攀 栀愀搀 欀椀氀氀攀搀 愀 眀漀洀愀渀ⴀⴀ愀渀搀਀਀   琀栀攀渀 眀爀椀琀琀攀渀 琀栀攀 渀愀洀攀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 愀氀椀攀渀猀 眀栀漀 栀愀搀 挀漀洀洀愀渀搀攀搀 栀椀洀 琀漀 搀漀 椀琀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 眀愀氀氀猀 漀昀 栀攀爀 愀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 椀渀 栀攀爀 戀氀漀漀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 眀愀爀渀 倀愀爀 琀漀 猀琀愀礀 愀眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀Ⰰ਀਀   眀栀漀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀 琀漀 氀椀愀椀猀攀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 愀氀椀攀渀猀 漀渀 愀 爀攀最甀氀愀爀 戀愀猀椀猀⸀ 䈀甀琀 椀琀 眀愀猀਀਀   琀漀漀 氀愀琀攀⸀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 搀攀挀椀搀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 栀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀攀 礀漀甀渀最 栀愀挀欀攀爀⸀ 䠀攀਀਀   猀琀愀爀琀攀搀 猀栀漀甀琀椀渀最 愀琀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 瀀椀挀欀椀渀最 愀 昀椀最栀琀⸀ 倀愀爀 猀琀漀漀搀 琀栀攀爀攀Ⰰ 猀琀甀渀渀攀搀 愀渀搀਀਀   挀漀渀昀甀猀攀搀⸀ 䠀漀眀 猀栀漀甀氀搀 栀攀 搀攀愀氀 眀椀琀栀 愀渀 愀最最爀愀瘀愀琀攀搀 猀攀爀椀愀氀 欀椀氀氀攀爀㼀 䄀渀搀਀਀   眀栀愀琀 琀栀攀 栀攀氀氀 眀愀猀 栀攀 搀漀椀渀最 椀渀 樀愀椀氀 眀椀琀栀 愀 猀攀爀椀愀氀 欀椀氀氀攀爀 爀愀瘀椀渀最 愀琀 栀椀洀਀਀   愀渀礀眀愀礀㼀 䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀氀氀 琀漀漀 洀甀挀栀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 爀甀猀栀攀搀 漀瘀攀爀 琀漀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 愀渀搀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 挀愀氀洀 栀椀洀਀਀   搀漀眀渀Ⰰ 猀瀀攀愀欀椀渀最 椀渀 猀漀漀琀栀椀渀最 琀漀渀攀猀⸀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 最氀漀眀攀爀攀搀 愀琀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 栀攀਀਀   猀琀漀瀀瀀攀搀 礀攀氀氀椀渀最⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀 昀攀眀 搀愀礀猀 椀渀琀漀 栀椀猀 猀琀愀礀 愀琀 刀椀欀攀爀猀Ⰰ 䘀愀最最漀琀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀 椀渀瘀椀琀攀搀 倀愀爀 琀漀 樀漀椀渀਀਀   椀渀 愀 最愀洀攀 漀昀 䐀甀渀最攀漀渀猀 愀渀搀 䐀爀愀最漀渀猀⸀ 䤀琀 戀攀愀琀 眀愀琀挀栀椀渀最 吀嘀 琀愀氀欀 猀栀漀眀猀 愀氀氀਀਀   搀愀礀Ⰰ 猀漀 倀愀爀 愀最爀攀攀搀⸀ 䠀攀 猀愀琀 搀漀眀渀 愀琀 琀栀攀 洀攀琀愀氀 瀀椀挀渀椀挀 琀愀戀氀攀 眀栀攀爀攀 䘀愀最最漀琀਀਀   䬀椀氀氀攀爀 栀愀搀 氀愀椀搀 漀甀琀 琀栀攀 戀漀愀爀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   匀漀 椀琀 眀愀猀 琀栀愀琀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 琀眀攀渀琀礀ⴀ礀攀愀爀ⴀ漀氀搀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 昀爀漀洀਀਀   䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 堀⸀㈀㔀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 眀栀椀稀 欀椀搀Ⰰ 挀愀洀攀 琀漀 瀀氀愀礀 䐀甀渀最攀漀渀猀 愀渀搀਀਀   䐀爀愀最漀渀猀 眀椀琀栀 愀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 琀栀椀攀昀Ⰰ 愀 栀漀洀漀瀀栀漀戀椀挀 洀甀爀搀攀爀攀爀 愀渀搀 愀 洀愀搀 猀攀爀椀愀氀਀਀   欀椀氀氀攀爀 椀渀 刀椀欀攀爀猀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀⸀ 倀愀爀 昀漀甀渀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 洀愀爀瘀攀氀氀椀渀最 愀琀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀甀爀爀攀愀氀椀猀洀 漀昀 琀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 琀栀爀攀眀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 最愀洀攀⸀ 䠀攀 猀攀攀洀攀搀 琀漀 最攀琀 漀昀昀 漀渀 欀椀氀氀椀渀最਀਀   栀漀戀最漀戀氀椀渀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䤀✀氀氀 琀愀欀攀 洀礀 栀愀氀戀攀爀搀Ⰰ✀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 戀攀最愀渀 眀椀琀栀 愀 猀洀椀氀攀Ⰰ 怀愀渀搀 䤀 猀琀愀戀 琀栀椀猀਀਀   最漀戀氀椀渀⸀✀ 吀栀攀 渀攀砀琀 瀀氀愀礀攀爀 戀攀最愀渀 琀漀 洀愀欀攀 栀椀猀 洀漀瘀攀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀਀਀   椀渀琀攀爀爀甀瀀琀攀搀⸀ 怀䤀✀洀 渀漀琀 搀漀渀攀Ⰰ✀ 栀攀 猀愀椀搀 猀氀漀眀氀礀Ⰰ 愀猀 愀 搀攀洀漀渀椀挀 最爀椀渀 猀瀀爀攀愀搀਀਀   愀挀爀漀猀猀 栀椀猀 昀愀挀攀⸀ 怀䄀渀搀 䤀 猀氀椀挀攀 椀琀⸀ 䄀渀搀 挀甀琀 椀琀⸀ 䤀琀 戀氀攀攀搀猀 攀瘀攀爀礀眀栀攀爀攀⸀✀਀਀   䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀✀猀 昀愀挀攀 琀攀渀猀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 瀀氀攀愀猀甀爀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 琀栀爀攀攀 瀀氀愀礀攀爀猀 猀栀椀昀琀攀搀 甀渀挀漀洀昀漀爀琀愀戀氀礀 椀渀 琀栀攀椀爀 猀攀愀琀猀⸀ 倀愀爀਀਀   氀漀漀欀攀搀 愀琀 䘀愀最最漀琀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀 眀椀琀栀 渀攀爀瘀漀甀猀 攀礀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䄀渀搀 䤀 琀栀爀甀猀琀 愀 欀渀椀昀攀 椀渀琀漀 椀琀猀 栀攀愀爀琀Ⰰ✀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 瘀漀氀甀洀攀਀਀   漀昀 栀椀猀 瘀漀椀挀攀 爀椀猀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 攀砀挀椀琀攀洀攀渀琀⸀ 怀䈀氀漀漀搀Ⰰ 戀氀漀漀搀Ⰰ 攀瘀攀爀礀眀栀攀爀攀 戀氀漀漀搀⸀਀਀   䄀渀搀 䤀 琀愀欀攀 琀栀攀 欀渀椀昀攀 愀渀搀 栀愀挀欀 栀椀洀⸀ 䄀渀搀 䤀 栀愀挀欀 愀渀搀 栀愀挀欀 愀渀搀 栀愀挀欀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 樀甀洀瀀攀搀 甀瀀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀 愀渀搀 戀攀最愀渀 猀栀漀甀琀椀渀最Ⰰ 琀栀爀甀猀琀椀渀最 漀渀攀਀਀   愀爀洀 搀漀眀渀眀愀爀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 愀椀爀 眀椀琀栀 愀渀 椀洀愀最椀渀愀爀礀 搀愀最最攀爀Ⰰ 怀䄀渀搀 䤀 栀愀挀欀 愀渀搀਀਀   䤀 栀愀挀欀 愀渀搀 䤀 栀愀挀欀℀✀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀渀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 眀攀渀琀 猀甀搀搀攀渀氀礀 猀琀椀氀氀⸀ 䔀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 愀琀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀 昀爀漀稀攀⸀ 一漀ⴀ漀渀攀਀਀   搀愀爀攀搀 洀漀瘀攀 昀漀爀 昀攀愀爀 漀昀 搀爀椀瘀椀渀最 栀椀洀 漀瘀攀爀 琀栀攀 攀搀最攀⸀ 倀愀爀✀猀 猀琀漀洀愀挀栀 栀愀搀਀਀   樀甀洀瀀攀搀 椀渀琀漀 栀椀猀 琀栀爀漀愀琀⸀ 䠀攀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 最愀甀最攀 栀漀眀 洀愀渀礀 猀攀挀漀渀搀猀 椀琀 眀漀甀氀搀਀਀   琀愀欀攀 琀漀 攀砀琀爀椀挀愀琀攀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 瀀椀挀渀椀挀 琀愀戀氀攀 愀渀搀 洀愀欀攀 愀 戀爀攀愀欀 昀漀爀਀਀   琀栀攀 昀愀爀 猀椀搀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 爀漀漀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀渀 愀 搀愀稀攀Ⰰ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 眀愀氀欀攀搀 愀眀愀礀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀Ⰰ 氀攀愀渀攀搀 栀椀猀 昀漀爀攀栀攀愀搀਀਀   愀最愀椀渀猀琀 琀栀攀 眀愀氀氀 愀渀搀 戀攀最愀渀 洀甀洀戀氀椀渀最 焀甀椀攀琀氀礀⸀ 吀栀攀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀਀਀   猀氀漀眀氀礀 昀漀氀氀漀眀攀搀 愀渀搀 猀瀀漀欀攀 琀漀 栀椀洀 戀爀椀攀昀氀礀 椀渀 栀甀猀栀攀搀 琀漀渀攀猀 戀攀昀漀爀攀਀਀   爀攀琀甀爀渀椀渀最 琀漀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 最甀愀爀搀猀 栀愀搀 栀攀愀爀搀 琀栀攀 爀甀挀欀甀猀 愀渀搀 挀愀洀攀 甀瀀 琀漀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䤀猀 琀栀愀琀 最甀礀 伀䬀㼀✀ 栀攀 愀猀欀攀搀 琀栀攀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 眀栀椀氀攀 瀀漀椀渀琀椀渀最 琀漀਀਀   䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   一漀琀 攀瘀攀渀 椀昀 礀漀甀 甀猀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 琀攀爀洀 氀漀漀猀攀氀礀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䰀攀愀瘀攀 栀椀洀 愀氀漀渀攀Ⰰ✀ 琀栀攀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 琀漀氀搀 琀栀攀 最甀愀爀搀⸀ 怀䠀攀✀猀 琀愀氀欀椀渀最 琀漀 琀栀攀਀਀   愀氀椀攀渀猀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   怀刀椀最栀琀⸀✀ 吀栀攀 最甀愀爀搀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 愀渀搀 氀攀昀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䔀瘀攀爀礀 搀愀礀Ⰰ 愀 渀甀爀猀攀 戀爀漀甀最栀琀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀 洀攀搀椀挀椀渀攀 昀漀爀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀⸀ 䤀渀਀਀   昀愀挀琀Ⰰ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 眀愀猀 稀漀渀欀攀搀 漀甀琀 洀漀猀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 琀椀洀攀 漀渀 愀 挀甀瀀 漀昀 栀漀爀爀椀戀氀攀Ⰰ਀਀   猀洀攀氀氀礀 氀椀焀甀椀搀⸀ 匀漀洀攀琀椀洀攀猀Ⰰ 琀栀漀甀最栀Ⰰ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 猀攀挀爀攀琀攀搀 栀椀猀 洀攀搀椀挀椀渀攀 愀眀愀礀਀਀   愀渀搀 琀爀愀搀攀搀 椀琀 眀椀琀栀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 瀀爀椀猀漀渀攀爀 眀栀漀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 最攀琀 稀漀渀欀攀搀 漀甀琀 昀漀爀 愀਀਀   搀愀礀 漀爀 猀漀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀漀猀攀 眀攀爀攀 戀愀搀 搀愀礀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 搀愀礀猀 眀栀攀渀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 栀愀搀 猀漀氀搀 栀椀猀 洀攀搀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀   䤀琀 眀愀猀 漀渀 漀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀漀猀攀 搀愀礀猀 琀栀愀琀 栀攀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 欀椀氀氀 倀愀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 猀愀琀 漀渀 愀 洀攀琀愀氀 戀攀渀挀栀Ⰰ 琀愀氀欀椀渀最 琀漀 漀琀栀攀爀 瀀爀椀猀漀渀攀爀猀Ⰰ 眀栀攀渀 猀甀搀搀攀渀氀礀 栀攀਀਀   昀攀氀琀 愀渀 愀爀洀 眀爀愀瀀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 栀椀猀 渀攀挀欀⸀ 䠀攀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 琀甀爀渀 愀爀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 戀甀琀਀਀   挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䠀攀爀攀⸀ 䤀✀氀氀 猀栀漀眀 礀漀甀 栀漀眀 䤀 欀椀氀氀攀搀 琀栀椀猀 漀渀攀 最甀礀Ⰰ✀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 眀栀椀猀瀀攀爀攀搀 琀漀਀਀   倀愀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀一漀ⴀⴀ一漀ⴀⴀ✀ 倀愀爀 猀琀愀爀琀攀搀 琀漀 猀愀礀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀✀猀 戀椀挀攀瀀猀 戀攀最愀渀 瀀爀攀猀猀椀渀最਀਀   愀最愀椀渀猀琀 倀愀爀✀猀 䄀搀愀洀✀猀 愀瀀瀀氀攀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 愀 瘀椀挀攀ⴀ氀椀欀攀 最爀椀瀀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀夀攀愀栀⸀ 䰀椀欀攀 琀栀椀猀⸀ 䤀 搀椀搀 椀琀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀椀猀Ⰰ✀ 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 猀愀椀搀 愀猀 栀攀 琀攀渀猀攀搀 栀椀猀਀਀   洀甀猀挀氀攀 愀渀搀 瀀甀氀氀攀搀 戀愀挀欀眀愀爀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀一漀℀ 刀攀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 礀漀甀 搀漀渀✀琀 渀攀攀搀 琀漀⸀ 䤀琀✀猀 伀䬀Ⰰ✀ 倀愀爀 最愀猀瀀攀搀⸀ 一漀 愀椀爀⸀ 䠀椀猀 愀爀洀猀਀਀   昀氀愀椀氀椀渀最 椀渀 昀爀漀渀琀 漀昀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀✀洀 搀漀渀攀 昀漀爀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀⸀ 䴀礀 氀椀昀攀 椀猀 漀瘀攀爀⸀ 䠀愀挀欀攀爀 䴀甀爀搀攀爀攀搀 戀礀 匀攀爀椀愀氀਀਀   䬀椀氀氀攀爀 椀渀 刀椀欀攀爀猀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀⸀ 怀䄀氀椀攀渀猀 吀漀氀搀 䴀攀 琀漀 䐀漀 䤀琀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 漀洀渀椀瀀爀攀猀攀渀琀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 挀愀洀攀 甀瀀 琀漀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 愀渀搀 猀琀愀爀琀攀搀਀਀   挀漀漀椀渀最 椀渀 栀椀猀 攀愀爀 琀漀 氀攀琀 倀愀爀 最漀⸀ 吀栀攀渀Ⰰ 樀甀猀琀 眀栀攀渀 倀愀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀 栀攀 眀愀猀਀਀   愀戀漀甀琀 琀漀 瀀愀猀猀 漀甀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 樀攀眀攀氀氀攀爀礀 栀攀椀猀琀攀爀 瀀甀氀氀攀搀 䬀攀渀琀甀挀欀礀 漀昀昀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 爀攀洀椀渀搀攀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 琀漀 愀氀眀愀礀猀 猀椀琀 眀椀琀栀 栀椀猀 戀愀挀欀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀 琀栀攀 眀愀氀氀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀椀渀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 愀昀琀攀爀 愀氀洀漀猀琀 愀 洀漀渀琀栀 戀攀栀椀渀搀 戀愀爀猀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 眀愀猀 椀渀昀漀爀洀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 愀渀਀਀   漀昀昀椀挀攀爀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 䴀漀渀琀攀爀攀礀 䌀漀甀渀琀礀 猀栀攀爀椀昀昀✀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 眀愀猀 挀漀洀椀渀最 琀漀 琀愀欀攀਀਀   栀椀洀 戀愀挀欀 琀漀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀⸀ 倀愀爀 栀愀搀 愀最爀攀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 攀砀琀爀愀搀椀琀攀搀 琀漀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀਀਀   愀昀琀攀爀 猀攀攀椀渀最 琀栀攀 椀渀猀椀搀攀 漀昀 一攀眀 夀漀爀欀✀猀 樀愀椀氀猀⸀ 䐀攀愀氀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 昀攀搀攀爀愀氀਀਀   瀀爀漀猀攀挀甀琀漀爀 椀渀 一攀眀 夀漀爀欀 栀愀搀 愀氀猀漀 栀攀氀瀀攀搀 洀愀欀攀 甀瀀 栀椀猀 洀椀渀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 唀匀 䄀琀琀漀爀渀攀礀✀猀 伀昀昀椀挀攀 椀渀 一攀眀 夀漀爀欀 最愀瘀攀 刀椀挀栀愀爀搀 刀漀猀攀渀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 栀愀搀 琀愀欀攀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀 漀渀 愀最愀椀渀Ⰰ 愀 爀攀愀氀 栀攀愀搀愀挀栀攀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 瀀氀愀礀 戀愀氀氀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 瀀氀愀礀攀搀਀਀   怀儀甀攀攀渀 昀漀爀 愀 䐀愀礀✀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀愀礀 琀栀攀礀 渀攀最漀琀椀愀琀攀搀 爀攀洀椀渀搀攀搀 刀漀猀攀渀 漀昀 愀渀 漀氀搀 䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀 琀攀氀攀瘀椀猀椀漀渀਀਀   最愀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀愀琀 渀愀洀攀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀栀漀眀✀猀 栀漀猀琀 瀀甀氀氀攀搀 猀漀洀攀 椀渀渀漀挀攀渀琀 猀漀甀氀 漀昀昀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀琀爀攀攀琀Ⰰ 猀攀愀琀攀搀 栀攀爀 漀渀 愀 最愀爀椀猀栀 琀栀爀漀渀攀Ⰰ 愀猀欀攀搀 栀攀爀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀਀਀   最愀瘀攀 栀攀爀 瀀爀椀稀攀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 唀匀 䄀琀琀漀爀渀攀礀✀猀 伀昀昀椀挀攀 椀渀 一攀眀 夀漀爀欀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 猀攀愀琀਀਀   倀愀爀 漀渀 愀 琀栀爀漀渀攀Ⰰ 漀昀 猀漀爀琀猀Ⰰ 琀漀 愀猀欀 栀椀洀 氀漀琀猀 漀昀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀⸀ 䄀琀 琀栀攀 攀渀搀 漀昀਀਀   琀栀攀 甀渀昀攀琀琀攀爀攀搀 椀渀琀攀爀爀漀最愀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 栀愀渀搀 漀甀琀 瀀爀椀稀攀猀⸀ 倀爀椀猀漀渀਀਀   琀攀爀洀猀⸀ 䘀椀渀攀猀⸀ 䌀漀渀瘀椀挀琀椀漀渀猀⸀ 䄀猀 琀栀攀礀 猀愀眀 昀椀琀⸀ 一漀 最甀愀爀愀渀琀攀攀搀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀猀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 搀攀挀椀搀攀 眀栀愀琀 氀攀渀椀攀渀挀礀Ⰰ 椀昀 愀渀礀Ⰰ 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 最攀琀 愀琀 琀栀攀 攀渀搀 漀昀਀਀   琀栀攀 最愀洀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 欀渀攀眀 眀栀愀琀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 氀漀漀欀椀渀最 昀漀爀㨀 攀瘀椀搀攀渀挀攀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀 琀栀攀 䴀伀䐀 戀漀礀猀⸀ 䠀攀਀਀   眀愀猀渀✀琀 栀愀瘀椀渀最 愀 戀愀爀 漀昀 琀栀愀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀 猀琀愀渀欀Ⰰ 猀漀 倀愀爀 搀攀挀椀搀攀搀 渀漀琀 琀漀਀਀   昀椀最栀琀 琀栀攀 攀砀琀爀愀搀椀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀⸀ 䄀渀礀琀栀椀渀最 栀愀搀 琀漀 戀攀 戀攀琀琀攀爀 琀栀愀渀 一攀眀਀਀   夀漀爀欀Ⰰ 眀椀琀栀 椀琀猀 挀爀愀稀礀 樀愀椀氀 椀渀洀愀琀攀猀 愀渀搀 愀爀爀漀最愀渀琀 昀攀搀攀爀愀氀 瀀爀漀猀攀挀甀琀漀爀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 䴀漀渀琀攀爀攀礀 猀栀攀爀椀昀昀✀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 瀀椀挀欀攀搀 倀愀爀 甀瀀 漀渀 ㄀㜀਀਀   䐀攀挀攀洀戀攀爀 ㄀㤀㤀㄀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 猀瀀攀渀琀 琀栀攀 渀攀砀琀 昀攀眀 眀攀攀欀猀 椀渀 樀愀椀氀 椀渀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀椀猀 琀椀洀攀 栀攀਀਀   眀愀猀渀✀琀 椀渀 愀渀礀 猀漀爀琀 漀昀 瀀爀漀琀攀挀琀椀瘀攀 挀甀猀琀漀搀礀⸀ 䠀攀 栀愀搀 琀漀 猀栀愀爀攀 愀 挀攀氀氀 眀椀琀栀਀਀   䴀攀砀椀挀愀渀 搀爀甀最 搀攀愀氀攀爀猀 愀渀搀 漀琀栀攀爀 洀愀昀椀愀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 愀琀 氀攀愀猀琀 栀攀 欀渀攀眀 栀椀猀 眀愀礀਀਀   愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀猀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀⸀ 䄀渀搀 甀渀氀椀欀攀 琀栀攀 猀漀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 愀琀 刀椀欀攀爀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀਀਀   眀攀爀攀渀✀琀 猀琀愀爀欀 爀愀瘀椀渀最 氀甀渀愀琀椀挀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   刀椀挀栀愀爀搀 刀漀猀攀渀 琀漀漀欀 琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀 戀愀挀欀Ⰰ 搀攀猀瀀椀琀攀 倀愀爀✀猀 栀愀瘀椀渀最 猀欀椀瀀瀀攀搀 琀漀眀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 琀椀洀攀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 倀愀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀 眀愀猀 瀀爀攀琀琀礀 最漀漀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 氀愀眀礀攀爀⸀ 䈀甀琀਀਀   倀愀爀 栀愀搀 渀漀 椀搀攀愀 栀漀眀 最漀漀搀 椀琀 眀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 昀漀爀 栀椀洀 甀渀琀椀氀 椀琀 挀愀洀攀 琀漀 栀椀猀਀਀   挀漀甀爀琀 搀愀琀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 挀愀氀氀攀搀 刀漀猀攀渀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 樀愀椀氀Ⰰ 琀漀 琀愀氀欀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀⸀ 刀漀猀攀渀 栀愀搀 猀漀洀攀਀਀   戀椀最 渀攀眀猀 昀漀爀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀倀氀攀愀搀 最甀椀氀琀礀⸀ 夀漀甀✀爀攀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 瀀氀攀愀搀 最甀椀氀琀礀 琀漀 攀瘀攀爀礀琀栀椀渀最Ⰰ✀ 栀攀 琀漀氀搀਀਀   倀愀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀 刀漀猀攀渀 栀愀搀 氀漀猀琀 栀椀猀 洀愀爀戀氀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀一漀⸀ 圀攀 挀愀渀 眀椀渀 琀栀椀猀 挀愀猀攀 椀昀 礀漀甀 瀀氀攀愀搀 最甀椀氀琀礀Ⰰ✀ 刀漀猀攀渀 愀猀猀甀爀攀搀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 猀愀琀 搀甀洀戀昀漀甀渀搀攀搀 愀琀 琀栀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 攀渀搀 漀昀 琀栀攀 瀀栀漀渀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀吀爀甀猀琀 洀攀Ⰰ✀ 琀栀攀 氀愀眀礀攀爀 猀愀椀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 洀攀琀椀挀甀氀漀甀猀 刀椀挀栀愀爀搀 刀漀猀攀渀 栀愀搀 昀漀甀渀搀 愀 搀攀瘀愀猀琀愀琀椀渀最 眀攀愀瀀漀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   伀渀 ㈀㌀ 䐀攀挀攀洀戀攀爀 ㄀㤀㤀㄀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 瀀氀攀愀搀攀搀 最甀椀氀琀礀 琀漀 琀眀漀 挀栀愀爀最攀猀 椀渀 䴀漀渀琀攀爀攀礀਀਀   䌀漀甀渀琀礀 䨀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀 䌀漀甀爀琀⸀ 䠀攀 愀搀洀椀琀琀攀搀 攀瘀攀爀礀琀栀椀渀最⸀ 吀栀攀 眀栀漀氀攀 渀椀渀攀 礀愀爀搀猀⸀਀਀   夀攀猀Ⰰ 䤀 愀洀 吀栀攀 倀愀爀洀愀猀琀攀爀⸀ 夀攀猀Ⰰ 䤀 戀爀漀欀攀 椀渀琀漀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀⸀ 夀攀猀Ⰰ 䤀 琀漀漀欀਀਀   琀栀漀甀猀愀渀搀猀 漀昀 挀爀攀搀椀琀 挀愀爀搀 搀攀琀愀椀氀猀 昀爀漀洀 愀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀⸀ 夀攀猀Ⰰ 礀攀猀Ⰰ਀਀   礀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀渀 猀漀洀攀 眀愀礀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 攀砀瀀攀爀椀攀渀挀攀 眀愀猀 挀愀琀栀愀爀琀椀挀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 漀渀氀礀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 倀愀爀 欀渀攀眀਀਀   刀漀猀攀渀 栀愀搀 愀 戀爀椀氀氀椀愀渀琀 愀挀攀 甀瀀 栀椀猀 猀氀攀攀瘀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   刀漀猀攀渀 栀愀搀 爀甀猀栀攀搀 琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀 琀漀 戀攀 猀甀爀攀 椀琀 眀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 栀攀愀爀搀 椀渀 樀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀਀਀   挀漀甀爀琀Ⰰ 眀栀攀爀攀 倀愀爀 眀漀甀氀搀 最攀琀 愀 洀漀爀攀 氀攀渀椀攀渀琀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀⸀ 䈀甀琀 樀甀猀琀 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀਀਀   刀漀猀攀渀 眀愀猀 椀渀 愀 栀甀爀爀礀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 洀攀愀渀 栀攀 眀愀猀 猀氀漀瀀瀀礀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 栀攀 眀攀渀琀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀਀਀   倀愀爀✀猀 昀椀氀攀 眀椀琀栀 愀 昀椀渀攀ⴀ琀漀漀琀栀攀搀 挀漀洀戀 栀攀 搀椀猀挀漀瘀攀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 瀀愀瀀攀爀猀਀਀   搀攀挀氀愀爀攀搀 倀愀爀✀猀 戀椀爀琀栀搀愀礀 琀漀 戀攀 ㄀㔀 䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀 ㄀㤀㜀㄀⸀ 䤀渀 昀愀挀琀Ⰰ 倀愀爀✀猀 戀椀爀琀栀搀愀礀਀਀   眀愀猀 猀漀洀攀 搀愀礀猀 攀愀爀氀椀攀爀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀攀 䐀䄀✀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 欀渀漀眀 琀栀愀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   唀渀搀攀爀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀 氀愀眀Ⰰ 愀 樀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀 挀漀甀爀琀 栀愀猀 樀甀爀椀猀搀椀挀琀椀漀渀 漀瘀攀爀 挀椀琀椀稀攀渀猀਀਀   甀渀搀攀爀 琀栀攀 愀最攀 漀昀 ㈀㄀⸀ 夀漀甀 挀愀渀 漀渀氀礀 戀攀 琀爀椀攀搀 愀渀搀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀搀 椀渀 愀 樀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀਀਀   挀漀甀爀琀 椀昀 礀漀甀 挀漀洀洀椀琀琀攀搀 琀栀攀 挀爀椀洀攀猀 椀渀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀 眀栀椀氀攀 甀渀搀攀爀 琀栀攀 愀最攀 漀昀਀਀   攀椀最栀琀攀攀渀 愀渀搀 礀漀甀 愀爀攀 猀琀椀氀氀 甀渀搀攀爀 琀栀攀 愀最攀 漀昀 ㈀㄀ 眀栀攀渀 礀漀甀 瀀氀攀愀搀 愀渀搀 愀爀攀਀਀   猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 眀愀猀 搀甀攀 琀漀 戀攀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀搀 漀渀 ㄀㌀ 䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀 戀甀琀 漀渀 㠀 䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀 刀漀猀攀渀਀਀   愀瀀瀀氀椀攀搀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 挀愀猀攀 琀漀 戀攀 琀栀爀漀眀渀 漀甀琀⸀ 圀栀攀渀 䐀攀瀀甀琀礀 䐀䄀 䐀愀瘀椀搀 匀挀栀漀琀琀਀਀   愀猀欀攀搀 眀栀礀Ⰰ 刀漀猀攀渀 搀爀漀瀀瀀攀搀 栀椀猀 戀漀洀戀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 栀愀搀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 ㈀㄀ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 樀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀 挀漀甀爀琀 栀愀搀 渀漀 愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀礀 琀漀਀਀   瀀愀猀猀 猀攀渀琀攀渀挀攀 漀瘀攀爀 栀椀洀⸀ 䘀甀爀琀栀攀爀Ⰰ 椀渀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀Ⰰ 愀 挀愀猀攀 挀愀渀渀漀琀 戀攀 洀漀瘀攀搀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 愀渀 愀搀甀氀琀 挀漀甀爀琀 椀昀 琀栀攀 搀攀昀攀渀搀愀渀琀 栀愀猀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 攀渀琀攀爀攀搀 愀 瀀氀攀愀 椀渀 愀਀਀   樀甀瘀攀渀椀氀攀 漀渀攀⸀ 䈀攀挀愀甀猀攀 倀愀爀 栀愀搀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 搀漀渀攀 琀栀愀琀Ⰰ 栀椀猀 挀愀猀攀 挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 戀攀਀਀   洀漀瘀攀搀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀愀琀琀攀爀 眀愀猀 挀漀渀猀椀搀攀爀攀搀 怀搀攀愀氀琀 眀椀琀栀✀ 椀渀 琀栀攀 攀礀攀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 氀愀眀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 䐀攀瀀甀琀礀 䐀䄀 眀愀猀 昀氀愀戀戀攀爀最愀猀琀攀搀⸀ 䠀攀 猀瀀氀甀琀琀攀爀攀搀 愀渀搀 猀瀀攀眀攀搀⸀ 吀栀攀 䐀䄀✀猀਀਀   漀昀昀椀挀攀 栀愀搀 搀爀漀瀀瀀攀搀 琀栀攀 漀爀椀最椀渀愀氀 挀栀愀爀最攀猀 昀爀漀洀 愀 昀攀氀漀渀礀 琀漀 愀਀਀   洀椀猀搀攀洀攀愀渀漀甀爀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 挀漀洀攀 琀漀 琀栀攀 琀愀戀氀攀⸀ 䠀漀眀 挀漀甀氀搀 琀栀椀猀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀㼀 倀愀爀਀਀   眀愀猀 愀 昀甀最椀琀椀瘀攀⸀ 䠀攀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀甀渀 昀漀爀 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 琀眀漀 礀攀愀爀猀 昀爀漀洀਀਀   琀栀攀 昀爀椀最最椀渀最 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀Ⰰ 昀漀爀 䌀栀爀椀猀琀✀猀 猀愀欀攀⸀ 吀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 渀漀 眀愀礀ⴀⴀ一伀਀਀   圀䄀夀ⴀⴀ栀攀 眀愀猀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 眀愀氀欀 漀甀琀 漀昀 琀栀愀琀 挀漀甀爀琀爀漀漀洀 猀挀漀琀ⴀ昀爀攀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 挀漀甀爀琀 愀猀欀攀搀 倀愀爀 琀漀 瀀爀漀瘀攀 栀椀猀 戀椀爀琀栀搀愀礀⸀ 䄀 焀甀椀挀欀 搀爀椀瘀攀爀✀猀 氀椀挀攀渀挀攀਀਀   猀攀愀爀挀栀 愀琀 琀栀攀 搀攀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 漀昀 洀漀琀漀爀 瘀攀栀椀挀氀攀猀 猀栀漀眀攀搀 倀愀爀 愀渀搀 栀椀猀 氀愀眀礀攀爀਀਀   眀攀爀攀 琀攀氀氀椀渀最 琀栀攀 琀爀甀琀栀⸀ 匀漀 倀愀爀 眀愀氀欀攀搀 昀爀攀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀攀渀 栀攀 猀琀攀瀀瀀攀搀 漀甀琀猀椀搀攀 琀栀攀 挀漀甀爀琀栀漀甀猀攀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 栀椀猀 昀愀挀攀 琀漀眀愀爀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   猀甀渀⸀ 䄀昀琀攀爀 愀氀洀漀猀琀 琀眀漀 洀漀渀琀栀猀 椀渀 琀栀爀攀攀 搀椀昀昀攀爀攀渀琀 樀愀椀氀猀 漀渀 琀眀漀 猀椀搀攀猀 漀昀਀਀   琀栀攀 挀漀渀琀椀渀攀渀琀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 猀甀渀 昀攀氀琀 洀愀最渀椀昀椀挀攀渀琀⸀ 圀愀氀欀椀渀最 愀爀漀甀渀搀 昀攀氀琀਀਀   眀漀渀搀攀爀昀甀氀⸀ 䨀甀猀琀 眀愀渀搀攀爀椀渀最 搀漀眀渀 琀栀攀 猀琀爀攀攀琀 洀愀搀攀 栀椀洀 栀愀瀀瀀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䠀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 渀攀瘀攀爀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 最漀琀 漀瘀攀爀 戀攀椀渀最 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀甀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 琀椀洀攀 栀攀 眀愀氀欀攀搀 昀爀攀攀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 䌀漀甀渀琀礀 䨀愀椀氀 椀渀 匀愀氀椀渀愀猀Ⰰ਀਀   䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀Ⰰ 栀攀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀 琀漀 洀漀瘀攀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀 挀漀甀渀琀爀礀Ⰰ 瀀椀挀欀椀渀最 甀瀀਀਀   琀攀洀瀀漀爀愀爀礀 眀漀爀欀 栀攀爀攀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀爀攀⸀ 䈀甀琀 栀攀 昀漀甀渀搀 椀琀 栀愀爀搀 琀漀 猀攀琀琀氀攀 椀渀 漀渀攀਀਀   瀀氀愀挀攀⸀ 圀漀爀猀琀 漀昀 愀氀氀Ⰰ 猀琀爀愀渀最攀 琀栀椀渀最猀 戀攀最愀渀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀椀渀最 琀漀 栀椀洀⸀ 圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀਀਀   栀愀搀 愀氀眀愀礀猀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀攀搀 琀漀 栀椀洀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 最攀琀琀椀渀最 猀琀爀愀渀最攀爀 戀礀 琀栀攀਀਀   洀漀渀琀栀⸀ 䠀椀猀 瀀攀爀挀攀瀀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 爀攀愀氀椀琀礀 眀愀猀 挀栀愀渀最椀渀最⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 椀渀挀椀搀攀渀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀 洀漀琀攀氀 爀漀漀洀⸀ 䄀猀 倀愀爀 猀愀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀 䰀愀猀 嘀攀最愀猀਀਀   吀爀愀瘀攀氀漀搀最攀 漀渀 漀渀攀 椀昀 栀椀猀 挀爀漀猀猀ⴀ挀漀甀渀琀爀礀 琀爀攀欀猀Ⰰ 栀攀 瀀攀爀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀਀਀   洀漀瘀椀渀最 愀爀漀甀渀搀 椀渀 琀栀攀 爀漀漀洀 戀攀氀漀眀 栀椀猀⸀ 倀愀爀 猀琀爀愀椀渀攀搀 琀漀 栀攀愀爀⸀ 䤀琀 猀攀攀洀攀搀਀਀   氀椀欀攀 琀栀攀 洀愀渀 眀愀猀 琀愀氀欀椀渀最 琀漀 栀椀洀⸀ 圀栀愀琀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 洀愀渀 琀爀礀椀渀最 琀漀 琀攀氀氀 栀椀洀㼀਀਀   倀愀爀 挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 焀甀椀琀攀 挀愀琀挀栀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀搀猀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀攀 洀漀爀攀 栀攀 氀椀猀琀攀渀攀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 洀漀爀攀਀਀   倀愀爀 眀愀猀 猀甀爀攀 栀攀 栀愀搀 愀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀 昀漀爀 栀椀洀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 眀愀渀琀 愀渀礀漀渀攀 攀氀猀攀਀਀   琀漀 栀攀愀爀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 瘀攀爀礀 昀爀甀猀琀爀愀琀椀渀最⸀ 一漀 洀愀琀琀攀爀 栀漀眀 栀愀爀搀 栀攀 琀爀椀攀搀Ⰰ 渀漀਀਀   洀愀琀琀攀爀 栀漀眀 栀攀 瀀甀琀 栀椀猀 攀愀爀 搀漀眀渀 琀漀 琀栀攀 昀氀漀漀爀 漀爀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀 琀栀攀 眀愀氀氀Ⰰ 倀愀爀਀਀   挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 洀愀欀攀 椀琀 漀甀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 猀甀爀爀攀愀氀 攀砀瀀攀爀椀攀渀挀攀猀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀⸀ 䄀猀 倀愀爀 搀攀猀挀爀椀戀攀搀 椀琀Ⰰ 漀渀 愀 琀爀椀瀀 搀漀眀渀਀਀   琀漀 䴀攀砀椀挀漀Ⰰ 栀攀 戀攀最愀渀 昀攀攀氀椀渀最 焀甀椀琀攀 猀琀爀愀渀最攀Ⰰ 猀漀 栀攀 眀攀渀琀 琀漀 琀栀攀 唀匀਀਀   挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀 氀愀琀攀 漀渀攀 愀昀琀攀爀渀漀漀渀 琀漀 最攀琀 猀漀洀攀 栀攀氀瀀⸀ 䈀甀琀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀਀਀   挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀 戀攀栀愀瘀攀搀 戀椀稀愀爀爀攀氀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀礀 愀猀欀攀搀 栀椀洀 昀漀爀 猀漀洀攀 椀搀攀渀琀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 栀攀 最愀瘀攀 琀栀攀洀 栀椀猀 眀愀氀氀攀琀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀礀 琀漀漀欀 栀椀猀 匀漀挀椀愀氀 匀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 挀愀爀搀 愀渀搀 栀椀猀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀 椀搀攀渀琀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀਀਀   挀愀爀搀 愀渀搀 琀漀氀搀 栀椀洀 琀漀 眀愀椀琀⸀ 倀愀爀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 瀀甀氀氀 甀瀀਀਀   椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 栀椀洀 漀渀 愀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 漀甀琀 琀栀攀 戀愀挀欀⸀ 圀栀椀氀攀 眀愀椀琀椀渀最Ⰰ 栀椀猀਀਀   氀攀最猀 戀攀最愀渀 琀漀 琀爀攀洀戀氀攀 愀渀搀 愀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀漀甀猀 猀栀椀瘀攀爀 爀漀氀氀攀搀 甀瀀 愀渀搀 搀漀眀渀 栀椀猀਀਀   猀瀀椀渀攀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 愀 猀洀漀漀琀栀Ⰰ 昀氀甀椀搀 猀栀椀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 椀琀 眀愀猀 樀攀爀欀礀⸀ 䠀攀 昀攀氀琀 氀椀欀攀 栀攀਀਀   眀愀猀 猀椀琀琀椀渀最 愀琀 琀栀攀 攀瀀椀挀攀渀琀爀攀 漀昀 愀渀 攀愀爀琀栀焀甀愀欀攀 愀渀搀 椀琀 昀爀椀最栀琀攀渀攀搀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   吀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀 猀琀愀昀昀 樀甀猀琀 猀琀愀爀攀搀਀਀   愀琀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀椀渀愀氀氀礀 倀愀爀 猀琀漀瀀瀀攀搀 猀栀愀欀椀渀最⸀ 吀栀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 猀琀愀昀昀 洀攀洀戀攀爀 爀攀琀甀爀渀攀搀 愀渀搀 愀猀欀攀搀਀਀   栀椀洀 琀漀 氀攀愀瘀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀一漀ⴀ漀渀攀 挀愀渀 栀攀氀瀀 礀漀甀 栀攀爀攀Ⰰ✀ 栀攀 琀漀氀搀 倀愀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀礀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀爀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 琀愀氀欀椀渀最 琀漀 栀椀洀 氀椀欀攀 琀栀愀琀㼀 圀栀愀琀 搀椀搀 栀攀਀਀   洀攀愀渀ⴀⴀ倀愀爀 栀愀搀 琀漀 氀攀愀瘀攀㼀 圀栀愀琀 眀愀猀 栀攀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 琀爀礀椀渀最 琀漀 猀愀礀㼀 倀愀爀 挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀਀਀   甀渀搀攀爀猀琀愀渀搀 栀椀洀⸀ 䄀渀漀琀栀攀爀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀爀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀 挀愀洀攀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀漀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 挀愀爀爀礀椀渀最਀਀   栀愀渀搀挀甀昀昀猀⸀ 圀栀礀 眀愀猀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 戀攀栀愀瘀椀渀最 椀渀 猀甀挀栀 愀 眀攀椀爀搀 眀愀礀㼀 吀栀愀琀਀਀   挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀⸀ 䴀愀礀戀攀 琀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 昀漀甀渀搀 猀漀洀攀 猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀 渀攀砀琀 琀漀 栀椀猀 渀愀洀攀਀਀   漀渀 琀栀愀琀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 攀砀瀀氀愀椀渀 琀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀 猀琀愀昀昀 搀椀搀渀✀琀਀਀   猀攀攀洀 琀漀 甀渀搀攀爀猀琀愀渀搀⸀ 䠀攀 琀漀氀搀 琀栀攀洀 愀戀漀甀琀 栀漀眀 栀攀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀甀渀 昀爀漀洀਀਀   琀栀攀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 昀漀爀 琀眀漀 愀渀搀 愀 栀愀氀昀 礀攀愀爀猀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀愀琀 樀甀猀琀 最漀琀 栀椀洀਀਀   焀甀攀攀爀 氀漀漀欀猀⸀ 䈀氀愀渀欀 昀愀挀攀猀⸀ 一漀 挀漀洀瀀爀攀栀攀渀搀攀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀漀爀攀 栀攀 攀砀瀀氀愀椀渀攀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀਀਀   戀氀愀渀欀攀爀 琀栀攀 昀愀挀攀猀 戀攀挀愀洀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀爀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀猀 琀漀氀搀 栀椀洀 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 眀愀猀 挀氀漀猀椀渀最 昀漀爀 琀栀攀਀਀   搀愀礀⸀ 䠀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瘀攀 琀漀 氀攀愀瘀攀 琀栀攀 戀甀椀氀搀椀渀最⸀ 䈀甀琀 倀愀爀 猀甀猀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 眀愀猀਀਀   樀甀猀琀 愀渀 攀砀挀甀猀攀⸀ 䄀 昀攀眀 洀椀渀甀琀攀猀 氀愀琀攀爀Ⰰ 愀 䴀攀砀椀挀愀渀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀洀愀渀 猀栀漀眀攀搀 甀瀀⸀ 䠀攀਀਀   琀愀氀欀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 漀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀爀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀猀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 猀甀戀猀攀焀甀攀渀琀氀礀 栀愀渀搀攀搀 栀椀洀਀਀   眀栀愀琀 倀愀爀 瀀攀爀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 愀 猀氀椀瀀 漀昀 瀀愀瀀攀爀 眀爀愀瀀瀀攀搀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 愀 眀愀搀 漀昀 瀀攀猀漀਀਀   渀漀琀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀眀漀 洀漀爀攀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀洀攀渀 挀愀洀攀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀⸀ 伀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 琀漀 倀愀爀਀਀   愀渀搀 猀愀椀搀Ⰰ 怀䰀攀愀瘀攀℀✀ 戀甀琀 倀愀爀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 愀渀猀眀攀爀⸀ 匀漀 琀栀攀 䴀攀砀椀挀愀渀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀਀਀   最爀愀戀戀攀搀 倀愀爀 戀礀 琀栀攀 愀爀洀猀 愀渀搀 氀攀最猀 愀渀搀 挀愀爀爀椀攀搀 栀椀洀 漀甀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀⸀਀਀   倀愀爀 昀攀氀琀 愀最椀琀愀琀攀搀 愀渀搀 挀漀渀昀甀猀攀搀 愀渀搀Ⰰ 愀猀 琀栀攀礀 挀爀漀猀猀攀搀 琀栀攀 琀栀爀攀猀栀漀氀搀 漀甀琀਀਀   漀昀 琀栀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 猀挀爀攀愀洀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀礀 瀀甀琀 栀椀洀 椀渀 愀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 挀愀爀 愀渀搀 琀漀漀欀 栀椀洀 琀漀 愀 樀愀椀氀Ⰰ 眀栀攀爀攀 琀栀攀礀 欀攀瀀琀਀਀   栀椀洀 漀瘀攀爀渀椀最栀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 渀攀砀琀 搀愀礀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 爀攀氀攀愀猀攀搀 倀愀爀 愀渀搀 栀攀 眀愀渀搀攀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 挀椀琀礀 愀椀洀氀攀猀猀氀礀਀਀   戀攀昀漀爀攀 攀渀搀椀渀最 甀瀀 戀愀挀欀 愀琀 琀栀攀 唀匀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀琀攀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 挀漀渀猀甀氀愀爀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀਀਀   挀愀洀攀 甀瀀 琀漀 栀椀洀 愀渀搀 愀猀欀攀搀 栀漀眀 栀攀 眀愀猀 昀攀攀氀椀渀最⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 猀愀椀搀Ⰰ 怀伀䬀⸀✀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀渀 倀愀爀 愀猀欀攀搀 椀昀 琀栀攀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 挀漀甀氀搀 栀攀氀瀀 栀椀洀 最攀琀 戀愀挀欀 琀漀 琀栀攀 戀漀爀搀攀爀Ⰰ਀਀   愀渀搀 栀攀 猀愀椀搀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀⸀ 䄀 昀攀眀 洀椀渀甀琀攀猀 氀愀琀攀爀 愀 眀栀椀琀攀 瘀愀渀 瀀椀挀欀攀搀 甀瀀 倀愀爀਀਀   愀渀搀 琀漀漀欀 栀椀洀 琀漀 琀栀攀 戀漀爀搀攀爀 挀爀漀猀猀椀渀最⸀ 圀栀攀渀 琀栀攀礀 愀爀爀椀瘀攀搀Ⰰ 倀愀爀 愀猀欀攀搀 琀栀攀਀਀   搀爀椀瘀攀爀 椀昀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀 栀愀瘀攀 ␀㈀ 猀漀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀 戀甀礀 愀 琀椀挀欀攀琀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 琀爀愀椀渀⸀ 吀栀攀਀਀   搀爀椀瘀攀爀 最愀瘀攀 椀琀 琀漀 栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 戀漀愀爀搀攀搀 琀栀攀 琀爀愀椀渀 眀椀琀栀 渀漀 椀搀攀愀 漀昀 眀栀攀爀攀 栀攀 眀愀猀 栀攀愀搀攀搀⸀਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ    嬀 崀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀漀爀攀洀 瘀椀猀椀琀攀搀 倀愀爀 椀渀 䌀愀氀椀昀漀爀渀椀愀 琀眀椀挀攀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㤀㈀ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀 爀攀氀愀琀椀漀渀猀栀椀瀀਀਀   挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀 琀漀 戀氀漀猀猀漀洀⸀ 倀愀爀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 昀椀渀搀 眀漀爀欀 猀漀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀 瀀愀礀 栀攀爀 戀愀挀欀਀਀   琀栀攀 ␀㈀     猀栀攀 栀愀搀 氀攀渀琀 栀椀洀 搀甀爀椀渀最 栀椀猀 礀攀愀爀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀甀渀 愀渀搀 搀甀爀椀渀最 栀椀猀਀਀   挀漀甀爀琀 挀愀猀攀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 椀琀 眀愀猀 栀愀爀搀 最漀椀渀最⸀ 倀攀漀瀀氀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 猀攀攀洀 琀漀 眀愀渀琀 琀漀 栀椀爀攀਀਀   栀椀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀夀漀甀 搀漀渀✀琀 栀愀瘀攀 愀渀礀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀欀椀氀氀猀Ⰰ✀ 琀栀攀礀 琀漀氀搀 栀椀洀⸀ 䠀攀 挀愀氀洀氀礀਀਀   攀砀瀀氀愀椀渀攀搀 琀栀愀琀Ⰰ 礀攀猀Ⰰ 栀攀 搀椀搀 椀渀搀攀攀搀 栀愀瘀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀欀椀氀氀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 甀渀椀瘀攀爀猀椀琀礀 搀椀搀 礀漀甀 最攀琀 礀漀甀爀 搀攀最爀攀攀 昀爀漀洀㼀✀ 琀栀攀礀 愀猀欀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   一漀Ⰰ 栀攀 栀愀搀渀✀琀 最漀琀 栀椀猀 猀欀椀氀氀猀 愀琀 愀渀礀 甀渀椀瘀攀爀猀椀琀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 挀漀洀瀀愀渀椀攀猀 搀椀搀 礀漀甀 最攀琀 礀漀甀爀 眀漀爀欀 攀砀瀀攀爀椀攀渀挀攀 昀爀漀洀㼀✀਀਀   ਀਀   一漀Ⰰ 栀攀 栀愀搀渀✀琀 氀攀愀爀渀攀搀 栀椀猀 猀欀椀氀氀猀 眀栀椀氀攀 眀漀爀欀椀渀最 昀漀爀 愀 挀漀洀瀀愀渀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀圀攀氀氀Ⰰ 眀栀愀琀 搀椀搀 礀漀甀 搀漀 昀爀漀洀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀 琀漀 ㄀㤀㤀㈀㼀✀ 琀栀攀 琀攀洀瀀 愀最攀渀挀礀 猀琀愀昀昀攀爀਀਀   椀渀攀瘀椀琀愀戀氀礀 愀猀欀攀搀 椀渀 愀渀 攀砀愀猀瀀攀爀愀琀攀搀 瘀漀椀挀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   怀䤀 ⸀⸀⸀ 愀栀 ⸀⸀⸀ 琀爀愀瘀攀氀氀攀搀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀 挀漀甀渀琀爀礀⸀✀ 圀栀愀琀 攀氀猀攀 眀愀猀 倀愀爀 最漀椀渀最਀਀   琀漀 猀愀礀㼀 䠀漀眀 挀漀甀氀搀 栀攀 瀀漀猀猀椀戀氀礀 愀渀猀眀攀爀 琀栀愀琀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀㼀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀昀 栀攀 眀愀猀 氀甀挀欀礀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 洀椀最栀琀 氀愀渀搀 栀椀洀 愀 搀愀琀愀ⴀ攀渀琀爀礀 樀漀戀 愀琀 ␀㠀 瀀攀爀਀਀   栀漀甀爀⸀ 䤀昀 栀攀 眀愀猀 氀攀猀猀 昀漀爀琀甀渀愀琀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 洀椀最栀琀 攀渀搀 甀瀀 搀漀椀渀最 挀氀攀爀椀挀愀氀 眀漀爀欀਀਀   昀漀爀 氀攀猀猀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀愀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䈀礀 ㄀㤀㤀㌀Ⰰ 琀栀椀渀最猀 栀愀搀 戀攀挀漀洀攀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 爀漀挀欀礀 眀椀琀栀 吀栀攀漀爀攀洀⸀ 䄀昀琀攀爀 昀漀甀爀 愀渀搀਀਀   愀 栀愀氀昀 礀攀愀爀猀 琀漀最攀琀栀攀爀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 戀爀漀欀攀 甀瀀⸀ 吀栀攀 搀椀猀琀愀渀挀攀 眀愀猀 琀漀漀 最爀攀愀琀Ⰰ 椀渀਀਀   攀瘀攀爀礀 猀攀渀猀攀⸀ 吀栀攀漀爀攀洀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 愀 洀漀爀攀 猀琀愀戀氀攀 氀椀昀攀ⴀⴀ洀愀礀戀攀 渀漀琀 愀਀਀   琀爀愀搀椀琀椀漀渀愀氀 匀眀椀猀猀 昀愀洀椀氀礀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀爀攀攀 挀栀椀氀搀爀攀渀 愀渀搀 愀 瀀爀攀琀琀礀 挀栀愀氀攀琀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 䄀氀瀀猀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 猀漀洀攀琀栀椀渀最 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 倀愀爀✀猀 琀爀愀渀猀椀攀渀琀 氀椀昀攀 漀渀 琀栀攀 爀漀愀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 猀攀瀀愀爀愀琀椀漀渀 眀愀猀 攀砀挀爀甀挀椀愀琀椀渀最氀礀 瀀愀椀渀昀甀氀 昀漀爀 戀漀琀栀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀⸀਀਀   䌀漀渀瘀攀爀猀愀琀椀漀渀 眀愀猀 猀琀爀愀椀渀攀搀 昀漀爀 眀攀攀欀猀 愀昀琀攀爀 琀栀攀 搀攀挀椀猀椀漀渀⸀ 吀栀攀漀爀攀洀 欀攀瀀琀਀਀   琀栀椀渀欀椀渀最 猀栀攀 栀愀搀 洀愀搀攀 愀 洀椀猀琀愀欀攀⸀ 匀栀攀 欀攀瀀琀 眀愀渀琀椀渀最 琀漀 愀猀欀 倀愀爀 琀漀 挀漀洀攀਀਀   戀愀挀欀⸀ 䈀甀琀 猀栀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 搀爀漀眀渀攀搀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 椀渀 愀氀挀漀栀漀氀⸀ 匀栀漀琀猀 漀昀 琀攀焀甀椀氀愀Ⰰ 漀渀攀 愀昀琀攀爀 琀栀攀 漀琀栀攀爀⸀਀਀   匀挀甀氀氀 椀琀⸀ 匀氀愀洀 琀栀攀 最氀愀猀猀 搀漀眀渀⸀ 䘀椀氀氀 椀琀 琀漀 琀栀攀 琀漀瀀⸀ 吀栀爀漀眀 戀愀挀欀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀⸀਀਀   䄀昀琀攀爀 愀 眀栀椀氀攀Ⰰ 栀攀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀 漀甀琀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 栀攀 眀愀猀 瘀椀漀氀攀渀琀氀礀 椀氀氀 昀漀爀 搀愀礀猀Ⰰ 戀甀琀਀਀   猀漀洀攀栀漀眀 栀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 洀椀渀搀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀 挀氀攀愀渀猀椀渀最 琀漀 戀攀 猀漀 椀氀氀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   匀漀洀攀眀栀攀爀攀 愀氀漀渀最 琀栀攀 眀愀礀Ⰰ 刀漀猀攀渀 洀愀渀愀最攀搀 琀漀 最攀琀 倀愀爀✀猀 琀栀椀渀最猀 爀攀琀甀爀渀攀搀਀਀   昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 爀愀椀搀猀⸀ 䠀攀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀 琀栀攀 漀甀琀搀愀琀攀搀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 愀渀搀਀਀   漀琀栀攀爀 攀焀甀椀瀀洀攀渀琀 戀愀挀欀 琀漀 倀愀爀Ⰰ 愀氀漀渀最 眀椀琀栀 搀椀猀欀猀Ⰰ 瀀爀椀渀琀ⴀ漀甀琀猀 愀渀搀 渀漀琀攀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀愀爀 最愀琀栀攀爀攀搀 甀瀀 攀瘀攀爀礀 猀栀爀攀搀 漀昀 攀瘀椀搀攀渀挀攀 昀爀漀洀 栀椀猀 挀愀猀攀Ⰰ 愀氀漀渀最 眀椀琀栀 愀਀਀   戀漀琀琀氀攀 漀昀 䨀愀挀欀 䐀愀渀椀攀氀猀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 洀愀搀攀 愀 戀漀渀昀椀爀攀⸀ 䠀攀 猀栀爀攀搀搀攀搀 瀀爀椀渀琀ⴀ漀甀琀猀Ⰰ਀਀   搀漀甀猀攀搀 琀栀攀洀 椀渀 氀椀最栀琀攀爀 昀氀甀椀搀 愀渀搀 猀攀琀 琀栀攀洀 愀氀椀最栀琀⸀ 䠀攀 昀攀搀 琀栀攀 搀椀猀欀猀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 昀椀爀攀 愀渀搀 眀愀琀挀栀攀搀 琀栀攀洀 洀攀氀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀 昀氀愀洀攀猀⸀ 䠀攀 昀氀椀瀀瀀攀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀਀਀   琀栀攀 瀀愀最攀猀 愀渀搀 瀀愀最攀猀 漀昀 渀漀琀攀猀 愀渀搀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀猀 愀渀搀 氀攀琀 琀栀攀洀 瀀甀氀氀਀਀   漀甀琀 瀀愀爀琀椀挀甀氀愀爀 洀攀洀漀爀椀攀猀⸀ 吀栀攀渀 栀攀 挀爀甀洀瀀氀攀搀 甀瀀 攀愀挀栀 漀渀攀 愀渀搀 琀漀猀猀攀搀 椀琀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 昀椀爀攀⸀ 䠀攀 攀瘀攀渀 猀瀀爀椀渀欀氀攀搀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 䨀愀挀欀 䐀愀渀椀攀氀猀 愀挀爀漀猀猀 琀栀攀 琀漀瀀 昀漀爀਀਀   最漀漀搀 洀攀愀猀甀爀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀猀 栀攀 瀀甀氀氀攀搀 琀栀攀 瀀愀最攀猀 昀爀漀洀 愀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀Ⰰ 洀愀欀椀渀最 琀栀攀洀 椀渀琀漀਀਀   琀椀最栀琀 瀀愀瀀攀爀 戀愀氀氀猀Ⰰ 猀漀洀攀琀栀椀渀最 挀愀甀最栀琀 栀椀猀 攀礀攀 愀渀搀 洀愀搀攀 栀椀洀 眀漀渀搀攀爀⸀ 䴀愀渀礀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 愀爀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 戀甀猀琀攀搀 椀渀 愀 猀攀爀椀攀猀 漀昀 爀愀椀搀猀਀਀   昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 琀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 吀栀愀渀欀猀最椀瘀椀渀最 爀愀椀搀 愀琀 倀愀爀✀猀 栀漀甀猀攀 戀愀挀欀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㠀㠀⸀਀਀   䔀爀椀欀 䈀氀漀漀搀愀砀攀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䴀伀䐀 戀漀礀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䰀伀䐀 戀漀礀猀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䄀琀氀愀渀琀愀 吀栀爀攀攀Ⰰ 倀愀搀 愀渀搀਀਀   䜀愀渀搀愀氀昀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀猀ⴀⴀ琀栀攀礀 栀愀搀 愀氀氀 戀攀攀渀 攀椀琀栀攀爀 戀甀猀琀攀搀 漀爀 爀愀椀搀攀搀਀਀   搀甀爀椀渀最 ㄀㤀㠀㤀Ⰰ ㄀㤀㤀  愀渀搀 ㄀㤀㤀㄀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䠀漀眀 眀攀爀攀 琀栀攀 爀愀椀搀猀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀攀搀㼀 圀攀爀攀 琀栀攀 氀愀眀ⴀ攀渀昀漀爀挀攀洀攀渀琀 愀最攀渀挀椀攀猀 漀渀਀਀   琀栀爀攀攀 搀椀昀昀攀爀攀渀琀 挀漀渀琀椀渀攀渀琀猀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 漀爀最愀渀椀猀攀搀 攀渀漀甀最栀 琀漀 挀漀漀爀搀椀渀愀琀攀਀਀   眀漀爀氀搀眀椀搀攀 愀琀琀愀挀欀猀 漀渀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀㼀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀 最愀瘀攀 栀椀洀 愀 挀氀甀攀⸀ 䤀琀 猀愀椀搀 琀栀愀琀 椀渀 䐀攀挀攀洀戀攀爀਀਀   ㄀㤀㠀㠀Ⰰ 琀眀漀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀渀琀猀 栀愀搀 挀愀氀氀攀搀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 猀瀀攀挀椀愀氀 愀最攀渀琀猀 椀渀਀਀   猀攀瀀愀爀愀琀攀 搀椀瘀椀猀椀漀渀猀 眀椀琀栀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 倀愀爀⸀ 吀栀攀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀渀琀猀ⴀⴀ戀漀琀栀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀猀ⴀⴀ琀漀氀搀 琀栀攀 匀攀挀爀攀琀 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 琀栀愀琀 倀愀爀 眀愀猀 渀漀琀 琀栀攀 怀䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀✀ 琀栀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 眀愀猀 氀漀漀欀椀渀最 昀漀爀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 猀愀椀搀 琀栀攀 爀攀愀氀 怀䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀਀਀   栀愀挀欀攀爀✀ 眀愀猀 渀愀洀攀搀 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   倀栀漀攀渀椀砀 昀爀漀洀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀⸀਀਀਀਀਀਀     开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀ䌀栀愀瀀琀攀爀 㔀 ⴀⴀ 吀栀攀 䠀漀氀礀 䜀爀愀椀氀਀਀     开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开开਀਀   ਀਀                                       ਀਀     匀漀 眀攀 挀愀洀攀 愀渀搀 挀漀渀焀甀攀爀攀搀 愀渀搀 昀漀甀渀搀਀਀     爀椀挀栀攀猀 漀昀 䌀漀洀洀漀渀猀 愀渀搀 䬀椀渀最猀਀਀     ਀਀   ⴀⴀ 昀爀漀洀 怀刀椀瘀攀爀 刀甀渀猀 刀攀搀✀Ⰰ 漀渀 䈀氀甀攀 匀欀礀 䴀椀渀椀渀最 戀礀 䴀椀搀渀椀最栀琀 伀椀氀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀爀攀 椀琀 眀愀猀Ⰰ 椀渀 戀氀愀挀欀 愀渀搀 眀栀椀琀攀⸀ 吀眀漀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀猀 戀礀 䠀攀氀攀渀 䴀攀爀攀搀椀琀栀 椀渀਀਀   吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 椀渀 䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀⸀㈀ 吀栀攀 眀栀漀氀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀   甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 眀愀猀 戀甀稀稀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 渀攀眀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 昀椀爀猀琀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀攀搀 漀渀 ㄀㐀 䨀愀渀甀愀爀礀㨀਀਀   ਀਀     䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 猀挀漀爀攀 ␀㔀  Ⰰ   ਀਀     ਀਀     䄀渀 攀氀椀琀攀 最爀漀甀瀀 漀昀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 栀愀猀 氀椀昀琀攀搀 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀਀਀     ␀唀匀㔀  Ⰰ    ⠀␀㔀㠀 Ⰰ   ⤀ 漀甀琀 漀昀 䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀✀猀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 椀渀 漀渀攀 漀昀 琀栀攀 洀漀爀攀਀਀     搀愀爀椀渀最 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 挀爀椀洀攀猀 椀渀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀✀猀 栀椀猀琀漀爀礀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 昀攀搀攀爀愀氀 愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 眀攀爀攀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀攀搀 氀愀琀攀 礀攀猀琀攀爀搀愀礀 琀漀 戀攀਀਀     眀漀爀欀椀渀最 眀椀琀栀 䄀洀攀爀椀挀愀渀 愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 琀漀 瀀椀渀 搀漀眀渀 琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀     挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀椀渀最 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 椀渀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀 愀渀搀 匀礀搀渀攀礀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀猀攀 愀爀攀 琀栀攀 攀氀椀琀攀 怀昀爀攀攀欀攀爀猀✀ 漀昀 眀栀椀琀攀 挀漀氀氀愀爀 挀爀椀洀攀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 椀猀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀攀搀 琀漀 栀愀瘀攀 甀猀攀搀 愀 琀攀氀攀瀀栀漀渀攀 椀渀਀਀     琀栀攀 昀漀礀攀爀 漀昀 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀✀猀 栀攀愀搀焀甀愀爀琀攀爀猀 愀琀 ㄀㤀㤀 圀椀氀氀椀愀洀 匀琀爀攀攀琀 椀渀਀਀     䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀 琀漀 猀攀渀搀 愀 ㈀㘀  ⴀ栀攀爀琀稀 猀椀最渀愀氀 最椀瘀椀渀最 琀栀攀洀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀漀 愀 琀爀甀渀欀਀਀     氀椀渀攀 愀渀搀 甀氀琀椀洀愀琀攀氀礀 琀漀 愀 洀愀渀愀最攀爀椀愀氀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 挀漀搀攀 昀漀爀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     匀漀甀爀挀攀猀 猀愀椀搀 氀愀猀琀 渀椀最栀琀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 栀愀搀 氀椀昀琀攀搀 ␀唀匀㔀㘀㌀Ⰰ    昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀਀਀     唀匀 戀愀渀欀 愀渀搀 琀爀愀渀猀昀攀爀爀攀搀 椀琀 椀渀琀漀 猀攀瘀攀爀愀氀 愀挀挀漀甀渀琀猀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀漀渀攀礀 栀愀猀 渀漀眀਀਀     戀攀攀渀 眀椀琀栀搀爀愀眀渀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䴀攀愀渀眀栀椀氀攀Ⰰ 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀渀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 眀攀爀攀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀攀搀 礀攀猀琀攀爀搀愀礀 琀漀 戀攀਀਀     猀礀猀琀攀洀愀琀椀挀愀氀氀礀 猀攀愀爀挀栀椀渀最 琀栀攀 栀漀洀攀猀 漀昀 搀漀稀攀渀猀 漀昀 猀甀猀瀀攀挀琀猀 椀渀 愀਀਀     挀爀愀挀欀搀漀眀渀 漀渀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀渀 椀渀昀漀爀洀攀搀 猀漀甀爀挀攀 猀愀椀搀 䌀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀 䤀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀猀਀਀     愀爀洀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 猀攀愀爀挀栀 眀愀爀爀愀渀琀猀 眀攀爀攀 渀漀眀 猀攀愀爀挀栀椀渀最 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀਀਀     戀攀氀漀渀最椀渀最猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀琀礀 愀渀搀 攀砀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 琀漀 昀椀渀搀 栀甀渀搀爀攀搀猀਀਀     漀昀 琀栀漀甀猀愀渀搀猀 漀昀 搀漀氀氀愀爀猀 漀昀 最漀漀搀猀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀渀 椀渀昀漀爀洀攀搀 猀漀甀爀挀攀 猀愀椀搀 䌀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀 䤀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀猀਀਀     愀爀洀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 猀攀愀爀挀栀 眀愀爀爀愀渀琀猀 眀攀爀攀 渀漀眀 猀攀愀爀挀栀椀渀最 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀਀਀     戀攀氀漀渀最椀渀最猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀琀礀 愀渀搀 攀砀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 琀漀 昀椀渀搀 栀甀渀搀爀攀搀猀਀਀     漀昀 琀栀漀甀猀愀渀搀猀 漀昀 搀漀氀氀愀爀猀 漀昀 最漀漀搀猀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀 眀愀猀 瀀甀戀氀椀猀栀攀搀 琀攀渀 搀愀礀猀 氀愀琀攀爀㨀਀਀     ਀਀     䠀愀挀欀攀爀猀 氀椀猀琀 挀愀爀搀 栀愀甀氀猀 漀渀 戀漀愀爀搀猀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 爀攀洀愀椀渀 猀挀攀瀀琀椀挀愀氀 漀昀 琀栀攀 氀愀琀攀猀琀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀猀 漀昀 愀渀਀਀     椀渀琀攀爀渀愀琀椀漀渀愀氀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 愀渀搀 瀀栀爀攀愀欀椀渀最 爀椀渀最 愀渀搀 椀琀猀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀     挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     夀攀猀琀攀爀搀愀礀Ⰰ 栀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 攀瘀椀搀攀渀挀攀 挀漀渀琀椀渀甀攀搀 琀漀 猀琀爀攀愀洀 椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀਀਀     戀愀猀攀搀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀猀 甀渀搀攀爀 猀甀猀瀀椀挀椀漀渀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䤀渀 琀栀攀 氀愀琀攀猀琀 爀漀甀渀搀 漀昀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀 愀挀琀椀瘀椀琀礀Ⰰ 愀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀 昀爀漀洀 愀਀਀     唀渀椀琀攀搀 匀琀愀琀攀猀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 欀渀漀眀渀 愀猀 䌀愀瀀琀愀椀渀 䌀愀猀栀 瀀爀漀瘀椀搀攀搀 琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀     挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀攀 氀愀琀攀猀琀 渀攀眀猀 漀渀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 挀爀攀搀椀琀 挀愀爀搀猀Ⰰ਀਀     瀀爀漀瘀椀搀攀搀 戀礀 氀漀挀愀氀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀椀爀 椀氀氀攀最愀氀 甀猀攀 戀礀 唀匀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 琀漀਀਀     琀栀攀 瘀愀氀甀攀 漀昀 ␀唀匀㌀㘀㈀  ㄀㠀 ⠀␀㐀㄀㘀㄀㄀㈀⤀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 眀愀猀 琀愀欀攀渀 昀爀漀洀 愀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀 猀礀猀琀攀洀਀਀     欀渀漀眀渀 愀猀 倀愀挀椀昀椀挀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀 愀渀搀 甀猀攀搀 愀挀琀椀瘀攀氀礀 戀礀 琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀਀਀     挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀 爀攀愀搀㨀 怀伀䬀 漀渀 琀栀攀 㔀㌀㔀㌀ 猀攀爀椀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 眀攀 愀爀攀 挀氀漀猀椀渀最਀਀     琀漀搀愀礀ⴀⴀ䴀愀猀琀攀爀挀愀爀搀 ␀㄀ 㤀 㐀  ⸀㔀 ⸀ 伀渀 琀栀攀 㐀㔀㘀㐀 猀攀爀椀攀猀ⴀⴀ嘀椀猀愀 眀栀椀挀栀 䤀✀氀氀਀਀     氀攀愀瘀攀 漀瀀攀渀 昀漀爀 愀 眀攀攀欀਀਀     ਀਀     ␀㈀ 㤀㐀㄀㜀⸀㤀 ⸀ 䄀渀搀 漀渀 最漀漀搀 漀氀搀 搀漀渀✀琀 氀攀愀瘀攀 栀漀洀攀 眀椀琀栀漀甀琀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀਀਀     攀氀猀攀✀猀㨀 ␀㐀㌀ ㈀  ⸀਀਀     ਀਀     怀䴀愀欀椀渀最 愀 最爀愀渀搀 琀漀琀愀氀 漀昀਀਀     ਀਀     ␀㌀㘀㈀ ㄀㠀⸀㐀 ℀਀਀     ਀਀     怀䰀攀琀✀猀 栀攀愀爀 椀琀 昀漀爀 漀甀爀 䄀甀猀猀椀攀 昀爀椀攀渀搀猀℀਀਀     ਀਀     怀䤀 栀攀愀爀 琀栀攀礀 愀爀攀 搀漀椀渀最 樀甀猀琀 愀猀 眀攀氀氀℀਀਀     ਀਀     怀吀栀攀礀 愀爀攀 猀攀渀搀椀渀最 洀漀爀攀 渀甀洀戀攀爀猀 漀渀 琀栀攀 ㈀㌀爀搀℀ 䜀爀攀愀琀℀਀਀     ਀਀     怀吀栀攀礀 眀椀氀氀 戀攀 最攀琀琀椀渀最 ㄀ ─਀਀     ਀਀     愀猀 甀猀甀愀氀⸀⸀⸀愀 渀椀挀攀 戀漀渀甀猀 漀昀਀਀     ਀਀     ␀㌀㘀 ㈀  ⸀  ℀✀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀 愀氀猀漀 挀漀渀琀愀椀渀攀搀 愀搀瘀椀挀攀 昀漀爀 瀀栀爀攀愀欀攀爀猀 漀渀 甀猀椀渀最਀਀     琀攀氀攀瀀栀漀渀攀猀 椀渀 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀✀猀 ㄀㤀㤀 圀椀氀氀椀愀洀 匀琀爀攀攀琀 栀攀愀搀焀甀愀爀琀攀爀猀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀਀਀     最爀攀攀渀 瀀栀漀渀攀猀 愀琀 匀瀀攀渀挀攀爀 匀琀爀攀攀琀 匀琀愀琀椀漀渀 椀渀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀ⴀⴀ琀漀 洀愀欀攀 昀爀攀攀਀਀     椀渀琀攀爀渀愀琀椀漀渀愀氀 挀愀氀氀猀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     倀栀漀攀渀椀砀Ⰰ 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 氀漀挀愀氀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀 甀猀攀爀Ⰰ 氀椀猀琀攀搀 瀀爀椀挀攀猀 昀漀爀਀਀     怀䔀堀吀䌀✀ⴀ 琀愀戀氀攀琀猀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䰀愀琀攀 䘀爀椀搀愀礀Ⰰ 吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 爀攀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 攀瘀椀搀攀渀挀攀 猀甀最最攀猀琀椀渀最 愀 戀爀攀愀欀ⴀ椀渀਀਀     漀昀 琀栀攀 唀匀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 戀礀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 欀渀漀眀渀 愀猀 吀栀攀 刀攀愀氀洀਀਀     ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 最愀渀最✀猀 唀匀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 椀猀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 戀愀猀攀搀 椀渀 䴀椀氀眀愀甀欀攀攀 愀渀搀਀਀     䠀漀甀猀琀漀渀⸀ 唀匀 䘀攀搀攀爀愀氀 愀甀琀栀漀爀椀琀椀攀猀 栀愀瘀攀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 爀愀椀搀攀搀 唀匀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀਀਀     椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀搀 椀渀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 戀爀攀愀欀ⴀ椀渀猀 椀渀 琀栀攀 唀匀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀 挀漀瘀攀爀琀 漀瀀攀爀愀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀 䌀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀 䤀渀琀攀氀氀椀最攀渀挀攀 栀愀猀 栀愀搀਀਀     琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 甀渀搀攀爀 猀甀爀瘀攀椀氀氀愀渀挀攀 愀渀搀 氀愀猀琀 眀攀攀欀 琀漀漀欀਀਀     搀攀氀椀瘀攀爀礀 漀昀 猀椀砀 洀漀渀琀栀猀✀ 漀昀 攀瘀椀搀攀渀挀攀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 倀愀挀椀昀椀挀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀 戀漀愀爀搀਀਀     愀渀搀 愀猀猀漀挀椀愀琀攀搀 戀漀愀爀搀猀 最漀椀渀最 戀礀 琀栀攀 渀愀洀攀 漀昀 娀攀渀 愀渀搀 䴀攀最愀眀漀爀欀猀 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 椀渀挀氀甀搀攀 愀 渀甀洀戀攀爀 漀昀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀 瀀攀漀瀀氀攀Ⰰ 猀漀洀攀਀਀     琀攀攀渀愀最攀爀猀Ⰰ 猀甀猀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 漀爀 愀氀爀攀愀搀礀 挀漀渀瘀椀挀琀攀搀 漀昀 挀爀椀洀攀猀 椀渀挀氀甀搀椀渀最਀਀     昀爀愀甀搀Ⰰ 搀爀甀最 甀猀攀 愀渀搀 挀愀爀 琀栀攀昀琀⸀ 䴀漀猀琀 愀爀攀 挀漀渀猀椀搀攀爀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 愀琀 琀栀攀਀਀     氀攀愀猀琀Ⰰ 搀椀最椀琀愀氀 瘀漀礀攀甀爀猀Ⰰ 愀琀 眀漀爀猀琀 挀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀猀 眀椀琀栀 愀 瀀漀猀猀椀戀氀攀 戀椀最਀਀     挀爀椀洀攀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 爀攀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 戀礀 吀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 愀洀漀甀渀琀猀 琀漀 愀 挀漀渀昀攀猀猀椀漀渀਀਀     漀渀 琀栀攀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 琀漀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀洀攀渀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀਀਀     戀爀攀愀欀ⴀ椀渀 漀昀 琀栀攀 唀匀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 愀猀 眀攀氀氀 愀猀 愀搀瘀椀挀攀 漀渀 瀀栀爀攀愀欀椀渀最਀਀     ⸀⸀⸀ 愀渀搀 戀愀渀欀 愀挀挀攀猀猀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最 椀猀 琀愀欀攀渀 搀椀爀攀挀琀氀礀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀 ⸀⸀⸀ 䤀琀 眀愀猀਀਀     猀琀漀爀攀搀 椀渀 愀 瀀爀椀瘀愀琀攀 洀愀椀氀戀漀砀 漀渀 琀栀攀 戀漀愀爀搀 愀渀搀 椀猀 昀爀漀洀 愀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 欀渀漀眀渀਀਀     愀猀 䤀瘀愀渀 吀爀漀琀猀欀礀 琀漀 漀渀攀 眀栀漀 甀猀攀猀 琀栀攀 渀愀洀攀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀 吀漀洀愀琀漀㨀਀਀     ਀਀     怀伀䬀 琀栀椀猀 椀猀 眀栀愀琀✀猀 戀攀攀渀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀椀渀最 ⸀⸀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     怀圀栀椀氀攀 戀愀挀欀 愀 匀礀猀漀瀀 栀愀搀 愀 挀愀氀氀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 䘀攀搀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 䘀漀爀挀攀✀猀Ⰰ਀਀     倀栀漀攀渀椀砀✀猀Ⰰ 一漀洀✀猀Ⰰ 䈀爀攀琀琀 䴀愀挀洀椀氀氀愀渀✀猀 愀渀搀 洀礀 渀愀洀攀猀 椀渀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀 眀椀琀栀਀਀     猀漀洀攀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 吀栀攀 刀攀愀氀洀 栀愀搀 搀漀渀攀 愀渀搀 愀氀猀漀 眀椀琀栀 猀漀洀攀 挀愀爀搀椀渀最 洀攀愀渀琀 琀漀਀਀     栀愀瘀攀 戀攀攀渀 搀漀渀攀 琀漀漀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     怀吀栀攀渀 椀渀 琀栀攀 氀愀猀琀 昀攀眀 搀愀礀猀 䤀 最攀琀 椀渀昀漀 瀀愀猀猀攀搀 琀漀 洀攀 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀 䠀愀挀欀਀਀     琀栀愀琀 眀愀猀 搀漀渀攀 琀漀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 椀渀 琀栀攀 唀匀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀愀猀 氀攀搀 琀漀 愀爀爀攀猀琀猀਀਀     漀瘀攀爀 琀栀攀爀攀 愀氀猀漀 栀愀搀 挀漀渀渀攀挀琀椀漀渀猀 琀漀 䘀漀爀挀攀 愀渀搀 䔀氀攀挀琀爀漀渀 ⸀⸀⸀✀਀਀     ਀਀     䐀倀䜀 洀漀渀椀琀漀爀椀渀最 猀攀爀瘀椀挀攀 猀瀀漀欀攀猀洀愀渀Ⰰ 䴀爀 匀琀甀愀爀琀 䜀椀氀氀Ⰰ 猀愀椀搀 栀攀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀਀਀     琀栀攀 倀愀挀椀昀椀挀 䤀猀氀愀渀搀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 眀愀猀 漀渀氀礀 琀栀攀 琀椀瀀 漀昀 琀栀攀 椀挀攀戀攀爀最⸀਀਀     ਀਀     怀吀栀攀礀✀爀攀 昀愀爀 戀攀琀琀攀爀 漀爀最愀渀椀猀攀搀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀攀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀Ⰰ✀ 栀攀 猀愀椀搀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     怀唀渀氀攀猀猀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 最攀琀猀 琀栀攀椀爀 愀挀琀 琀漀最攀琀栀攀爀 愀渀搀 眀攀 氀攀最椀猀氀愀琀攀 愀最愀椀渀猀琀਀਀     椀琀Ⰰ 眀攀✀氀氀 猀琀椀氀氀 戀攀 琀愀氀欀椀渀最 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 琀栀椀渀最猀 琀栀椀猀 琀椀洀攀 渀攀砀琀਀਀     礀攀愀爀⸀✀਀਀     ਀਀     夀攀猀琀攀爀搀愀礀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 匀漀甀琀栀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀渀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 猀琀愀爀琀攀搀 愀渀 漀瀀攀爀愀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 瀀甀琀਀਀     戀甀氀氀攀琀椀渀 戀漀愀爀搀猀 漀瀀攀爀愀琀椀渀最 椀渀 琀栀愀琀 猀琀愀琀攀 甀渀搀攀爀 猀甀爀瘀攀椀氀氀愀渀挀攀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     䄀渀搀 椀渀 圀攀猀琀攀爀渀 䄀甀猀琀爀愀氀椀愀Ⰰ 戀漀琀栀 瀀漀氀椀琀椀挀愀氀 瀀愀爀琀椀攀猀 愀最爀攀攀搀 琀栀攀礀 眀漀甀氀搀਀਀     瀀爀漀挀攀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 愀渀 椀渀焀甀椀爀礀 椀渀琀漀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最Ⰰ 眀栀漀攀瘀攀爀 眀愀猀 椀渀਀਀     最漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀⸀਀਀     ਀਀     吀栀攀 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀 倀漀氀椀挀攀 昀爀愀甀搀 猀焀甀愀搀 氀愀猀琀 眀攀攀欀 愀渀渀漀甀渀挀攀搀 椀琀 栀愀搀 猀攀琀 甀瀀 愀਀਀     挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 挀爀椀洀攀 猀焀甀愀搀 琀栀愀琀 眀漀甀氀搀 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀攀 挀漀洀瀀氀愀椀渀琀猀 漀昀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀     昀爀愀甀搀⸀਀਀     ਀਀   吀栀攀 愀爀琀椀挀氀攀猀 眀攀爀攀 瀀愀椀渀昀甀氀 爀攀愀搀椀渀最 昀漀爀 洀漀猀琀 椀渀 琀栀攀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀਀਀   甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀漀 眀愀猀 琀栀椀猀 䌀愀瀀琀愀椀渀 䌀愀猀栀㼀 圀栀漀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 䬀椀氀氀攀爀 吀漀洀愀琀漀㼀 䴀愀渀礀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀搀਀਀   琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀 攀椀琀栀攀爀 匀琀甀愀爀琀 䜀椀氀氀Ⰰ 漀爀 琀栀愀琀 䜀椀氀氀 栀愀搀 昀漀爀最攀搀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀猀 戀礀 琀栀攀洀਀਀   漀爀 漀琀栀攀爀猀 漀渀 䈀漀眀攀渀✀猀 戀漀愀爀搀⸀ 圀愀猀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 爀椀昀攀 眀椀琀栀 挀爀攀搀椀琀 挀愀爀搀਀਀   昀爀愀甀搀攀爀猀㼀 一漀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 昀漀爀洀攀搀 漀渀氀礀 愀 瘀攀爀礀 猀洀愀氀氀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 琀栀愀琀 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀琀礀⸀਀਀   䠀愀搀 琀栀攀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 猀琀漀氀攀渀 栀愀氀昀 愀 洀椀氀氀椀漀渀 搀漀氀氀愀爀猀 昀爀漀洀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀㼀਀਀   䄀戀猀漀氀甀琀攀氀礀 渀漀琀⸀ 䄀 猀甀戀猀攀焀甀攀渀琀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀 搀攀琀攀爀洀椀渀攀搀 琀栀椀猀਀਀   愀氀氀攀最愀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 戀攀 愀 挀漀洀瀀氀攀琀攀 昀愀戀爀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䠀漀眀 栀愀搀 猀椀砀 洀漀渀琀栀猀✀ 眀漀爀琀栀 漀昀 洀攀猀猀愀最攀猀 昀爀漀洀 倀䤀 愀渀搀 娀攀渀 昀漀甀渀搀 琀栀攀椀爀 眀愀礀਀਀   椀渀琀漀 琀栀攀 栀愀渀搀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀 倀漀氀椀挀攀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀 䌀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀 䤀渀琀攀氀氀椀最攀渀挀攀㼀਀਀   䴀攀洀戀攀爀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 栀愀搀 琀栀攀椀爀 猀甀猀瀀椀挀椀漀渀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀漀 猀漀洀攀Ⰰ 匀琀甀愀爀琀 䜀椀氀氀✀猀 爀漀氀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀攀搀 琀漀 戀攀 琀栀愀琀 漀昀਀਀   愀渀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 琀爀愀搀攀爀⸀ 䠀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 昀攀攀搀 愀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀Ⰰ 愀渀搀਀਀   最愀爀渀攀爀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 渀攀眀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 昀爀漀洀 椀琀 椀渀 攀砀挀栀愀渀最攀⸀ 䠀攀 琀栀攀渀 愀洀愀氀最愀洀愀琀攀搀਀਀   琀栀攀 渀攀眀 愀渀搀 漀氀搀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 愀渀搀 搀攀氀椀瘀攀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 渀攀眀 瀀愀挀欀愀最攀 琀漀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀਀਀   瀀漀氀椀挀攀 愀最攀渀挀礀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 瀀爀漀瘀椀搀攀搀 栀椀洀 愀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 洀漀爀攀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 琀漀 愀搀搀 琀漀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀漀琀⸀ 䜀椀氀氀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀攀搀 琀漀 瀀氀愀礀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 最愀洀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀 昀攀眀 洀攀洀戀攀爀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀Ⰰ 瀀愀爀琀椀挀甀氀愀爀氀礀 倀䤀 愀渀搀 娀攀渀 爀攀最甀氀愀爀猀਀਀   䴀攀渀琀愀琀 愀渀搀 䈀爀攀琀琀 䴀愀挀䴀椀氀氀愀渀Ⰰ 猀甀猀瀀攀挀琀攀搀 挀栀椀挀愀渀攀爀礀 愀渀搀 戀攀最愀渀 昀椀最栀琀椀渀最 愀਀਀   䈀䈀匀ⴀ戀愀猀攀搀 眀愀爀 琀漀 瀀爀漀瘀攀 琀栀攀椀爀 瀀漀椀渀琀⸀ 䤀渀 攀愀爀氀礀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀Ⰰ 䴀愀挀䴀椀氀氀愀渀 瀀漀猀琀攀搀 愀਀਀   洀攀猀猀愀最攀 猀琀愀琀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 䠀愀挀欀眀愀琀挀栀 眀愀猀 渀漀琀 爀攀最椀猀琀攀爀攀搀 愀猀 愀 戀甀猀椀渀攀猀猀਀਀   琀爀愀搀椀渀最 渀愀洀攀 戀攀氀漀渀最椀渀最 琀漀 匀琀甀愀爀琀 䜀椀氀氀 愀琀 琀栀攀 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀渀 䌀漀爀瀀漀爀愀琀攀਀਀   䄀昀昀愀椀爀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀⸀ 䘀甀爀琀栀攀爀Ⰰ 栀攀 猀琀愀琀攀搀Ⰰ 䐀倀䜀 䴀漀渀椀琀漀爀椀渀最 匀攀爀瘀椀挀攀猀 搀椀搀 渀漀琀਀਀   攀砀椀猀琀 愀猀 愀渀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀 爀攀最椀猀琀攀爀攀搀 戀甀猀椀渀攀猀猀 琀爀愀搀椀渀最 渀愀洀攀 攀椀琀栀攀爀⸀਀਀   䴀愀挀䴀椀氀氀愀渀 琀栀攀渀 猀琀甀渀渀攀搀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 戀礀 愀渀渀漀甀渀挀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 栀攀 栀愀搀਀਀   爀攀最椀猀琀攀爀攀搀 琀栀攀 渀愀洀攀 䠀愀挀欀眀愀琀挀栀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀Ⰰ 瀀爀攀猀甀洀愀戀氀礀 琀漀 猀琀漀瀀 匀琀甀愀爀琀਀਀   䜀椀氀氀✀猀 洀攀搀椀愀 愀瀀瀀攀愀爀愀渀挀攀猀 愀猀 愀 䠀愀挀欀眀愀琀挀栀 猀瀀漀欀攀猀洀愀渀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䴀愀渀礀 椀渀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 昀攀氀琀 搀甀瀀攀搀 戀礀 䜀椀氀氀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀渀✀琀 琀栀攀 漀渀氀礀਀਀   漀渀攀猀⸀ 匀漀漀渀 猀漀洀攀 樀漀甀爀渀愀氀椀猀琀猀 愀渀搀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 眀漀甀氀搀 昀攀攀氀 琀栀攀 猀愀洀攀 眀愀礀⸀ 匀琀甀愀爀琀਀਀   䜀椀氀氀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 攀瘀攀渀 栀椀猀 爀攀愀氀 渀愀洀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀愀琀 䜀椀氀氀 爀攀愀氀氀礀 眀愀渀琀攀搀Ⰰ 猀漀洀攀 挀椀琀椀稀攀渀猀 椀渀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀 挀愀洀攀 琀漀਀਀   戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀Ⰰ 眀愀猀 愀 瀀甀戀氀椀挀 瀀氀愀琀昀漀爀洀 昀爀漀洀 眀栀椀挀栀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀 眀栀椀瀀 甀瀀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 栀礀瀀攀਀਀   愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 搀攀洀愀渀搀 琀栀攀 椀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀琀椀漀渀 漀昀 琀漀甀最栀 渀攀眀 愀渀琀椀ⴀ栀愀挀欀椀渀最 氀愀眀猀⸀ 䤀渀਀਀   洀椀搀ⴀ㄀㤀㠀㤀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 䌀漀洀洀漀渀眀攀愀氀琀栀 䜀漀瘀攀爀渀洀攀渀琀 搀椀搀 樀甀猀琀 琀栀愀琀Ⰰ 攀渀愀挀琀椀渀最 琀栀攀਀਀   昀椀爀猀琀 昀攀搀攀爀愀氀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 挀爀椀洀攀 氀愀眀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䤀琀 眀愀猀渀✀琀 琀栀攀 樀漀甀爀渀愀氀椀猀琀猀✀ 昀愀甀氀琀⸀ 䘀漀爀 攀砀愀洀瀀氀攀Ⰰ 椀渀 漀渀攀 挀愀猀攀 䠀攀氀攀渀਀਀   䴀攀爀攀搀椀琀栀 栀愀搀 愀猀欀攀搀 䜀椀氀氀 昀漀爀 瘀攀爀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀 愀渀搀 栀攀 栀愀搀 爀攀昀攀爀爀攀搀 栀攀爀 琀漀਀਀   匀甀瀀攀爀椀渀琀攀渀搀攀渀琀 吀漀渀礀 圀愀爀爀攀渀Ⰰ 漀昀 琀栀攀 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀 倀漀氀椀挀攀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 栀愀搀 戀愀挀欀攀搀 栀椀洀਀਀   甀瀀⸀ 䄀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀攀爀 挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 愀猀欀 昀漀爀 戀攀琀琀攀爀 瘀攀爀椀昀椀挀愀琀椀漀渀 琀栀愀渀 琀栀愀琀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀渀搀 眀栀礀 眀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 圀愀爀爀攀渀 戀愀挀欀 䜀椀氀氀㼀 䄀 爀攀最椀猀琀攀爀攀搀 䤀匀唀 椀渀昀漀爀洀攀爀Ⰰ 䜀椀氀氀਀਀   愀氀猀漀 愀挀琀攀搀 愀猀 愀 挀漀渀猀甀氀琀愀渀琀Ⰰ 愀搀瘀椀猀攀爀Ⰰ 挀漀渀昀椀搀愀渀琀 愀渀搀 昀爀椀攀渀搀 琀漀 瘀愀爀椀漀甀猀਀਀   洀攀洀戀攀爀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀 倀漀氀椀挀攀⸀ 䠀攀 眀愀猀 挀氀漀猀攀 琀漀 戀漀琀栀 圀愀爀爀攀渀 愀渀搀Ⰰ਀਀   氀愀琀攀爀Ⰰ 琀漀 䤀渀猀瀀攀挀琀漀爀 䌀栀爀椀猀 䌀漀猀最爀椀昀昀⸀ 䘀爀漀洀 ㄀㤀㠀㔀 琀漀 ㄀㤀㠀㜀Ⰰ 圀愀爀爀攀渀 栀愀搀਀਀   眀漀爀欀攀搀 愀琀 琀栀攀 䈀甀爀攀愀甀 漀昀 䌀爀椀洀椀渀愀氀 䤀渀琀攀氀氀椀最攀渀挀攀 ⠀䈀䌀䤀⤀⸀ 䄀昀琀攀爀 琀栀愀琀Ⰰ 栀攀਀਀   眀愀猀 琀爀愀渀猀昀攀爀爀攀搀 琀漀 琀栀攀 䤀渀琀攀爀渀愀氀 䤀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀猀 䐀攀瀀愀爀琀洀攀渀琀 ⠀䤀䤀䐀⤀Ⰰ 眀栀攀爀攀਀਀   栀攀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 眀椀琀栀 䌀漀猀最爀椀昀昀 眀栀漀 樀漀椀渀攀搀 䤀䤀䐀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㠀㠀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   伀瘀攀爀 愀 猀椀砀ⴀ洀漀渀琀栀 瀀攀爀椀漀搀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㤀㈀Ⰰ 吀漀渀礀 圀愀爀爀攀渀 爀攀挀攀椀瘀攀搀 洀漀爀攀 琀栀愀渀 ㈀  ਀਀   瀀栀漀渀攀 挀愀氀氀猀 昀爀漀洀 匀琀甀愀爀琀 䜀椀氀氀ⴀⴀ㐀㔀 漀昀 琀栀攀洀 琀漀 栀椀猀 栀漀洀攀 渀甀洀戀攀爀⸀ 伀瘀攀爀 愀渀਀਀   攀椀最栀琀攀攀渀ⴀ洀漀渀琀栀 瀀攀爀椀漀搀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㤀㄀ⴀ㤀㈀Ⰰ 䌀栀爀椀猀 䌀漀猀最爀椀昀昀 洀愀搀攀 愀琀 氀攀愀猀琀 㜀㘀਀਀   瀀攀爀猀漀渀愀氀 瘀椀猀椀琀猀 琀漀 䜀椀氀氀✀猀 栀漀洀攀 愀搀搀爀攀猀猀 愀渀搀 爀攀挀漀爀搀攀搀 ㌀㄀㘀 瀀栀漀渀攀 挀愀氀氀猀਀਀   眀椀琀栀 栀椀洀⸀㌀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 䤀渀琀攀爀渀愀氀 匀攀挀甀爀椀琀礀 唀渀椀琀 ⠀䤀匀唀⤀ 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀攀搀 挀漀爀爀甀瀀琀椀漀渀 眀椀琀栀椀渀 琀栀攀਀਀   瀀漀氀椀挀攀 昀漀爀挀攀⸀ 䤀昀 礀漀甀 栀愀搀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀漀 䤀匀唀Ⰰ 礀漀甀 欀渀攀眀 攀瘀攀爀礀琀栀椀渀最 琀栀愀琀 琀栀攀਀਀   嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀 倀漀氀椀挀攀 漀昀昀椀挀椀愀氀氀礀 欀渀攀眀 愀戀漀甀琀 挀漀爀爀甀瀀琀椀漀渀 眀椀琀栀椀渀 椀琀猀 爀愀渀欀猀⸀ 䤀琀猀਀਀   椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 眀愀猀 栀椀最栀氀礀 猀攀渀猀椀琀椀瘀攀Ⰰ 瀀愀爀琀椀挀甀氀愀爀氀礀 猀椀渀挀攀 椀琀 挀漀甀氀搀 椀渀瘀漀氀瘀攀਀਀   漀渀攀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 漀昀昀椀挀攀爀 搀漀戀戀椀渀最 椀渀 愀渀漀琀栀攀爀⸀ 䠀漀眀攀瘀攀爀Ⰰ 愀 ㄀㤀㤀㌀ 嘀椀挀琀漀爀椀愀渀਀਀   伀洀戀甀搀猀洀愀渀✀猀 爀攀瀀漀爀琀 挀漀渀挀氀甀搀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 䌀漀猀最爀椀昀昀 氀攀愀欀攀搀 愀 氀愀爀最攀 愀洀漀甀渀琀 漀昀਀਀   挀漀渀昀椀搀攀渀琀椀愀氀 䤀匀唀 洀愀琀攀爀椀愀氀 琀漀 䜀椀氀氀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀愀琀 圀愀爀爀攀渀✀猀 爀攀氀愀琀椀漀渀猀栀椀瀀 眀椀琀栀਀਀   䜀椀氀氀 眀愀猀 椀渀愀瀀瀀爀漀瀀爀椀愀琀攀⸀㐀਀਀   ਀਀   圀栀攀渀 䌀爀愀椀最 䈀漀眀攀渀 ⠀愀欀愀 吀栀甀渀搀攀爀戀椀爀搀㄀⤀ 挀愀洀攀 琀漀 戀攀氀椀攀瘀攀 椀渀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀 琀栀愀琀 栀攀਀਀   栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 搀甀瀀攀搀 戀礀 䜀椀氀氀Ⰰ 栀攀 爀攀琀爀攀愀琀攀搀 椀渀琀漀 愀 猀琀愀琀攀 漀昀 搀攀渀椀愀氀 愀渀搀਀਀   搀攀瀀爀攀猀猀椀漀渀⸀ 吀栀攀 倀䤀 挀漀洀洀甀渀椀琀礀 栀愀搀 琀爀甀猀琀攀搀 栀椀洀⸀ 䠀攀 攀渀琀攀爀攀搀 栀椀猀਀਀   昀爀椀攀渀搀猀栀椀瀀 眀椀琀栀 䜀椀氀氀 愀 戀爀椀最栀琀ⴀ攀礀攀搀Ⰰ 椀渀渀漀挀攀渀琀 礀漀甀渀最 洀愀渀 氀漀漀欀椀渀最 昀漀爀਀਀   愀搀瘀攀渀琀甀爀攀⸀ 䠀攀 氀攀昀琀 琀栀攀 昀爀椀攀渀搀猀栀椀瀀 戀攀琀爀愀礀攀搀 愀渀搀 最甀渀ⴀ猀栀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   匀愀搀ⴀ攀礀攀搀 愀渀搀 昀攀攀氀椀渀最 搀愀爀欀 漀渀 琀栀攀 眀漀爀氀搀Ⰰ 䌀爀愀椀最 䈀漀眀攀渀 琀甀爀渀攀搀 漀昀昀 倀䤀 愀渀搀਀਀   娀攀渀 昀漀爀攀瘀攀爀⸀਀਀਀਀ऀऀऀऀ    嬀 崀਀਀   ਀਀   匀椀琀琀椀渀最 愀琀 栀椀猀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀 猀漀洀攀琀椀洀攀 椀渀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀 栀愀氀昀 漀昀 ㄀㤀㠀㤀Ⰰ 䘀漀爀挀攀਀਀   猀琀愀爀攀搀 愀琀 栀椀猀 猀挀爀攀攀渀 眀椀琀栀漀甀琀 猀攀攀椀渀最 愀渀礀琀栀椀渀最Ⰰ 栀椀猀 洀椀渀搀 愀 洀椀氀氀椀漀渀 洀椀氀攀猀਀਀   愀眀愀礀⸀ 吀栀攀 猀椀琀甀愀琀椀漀渀 眀愀猀 戀愀搀Ⰰ 瘀攀爀礀 戀愀搀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 氀漀猀琀 椀渀 琀栀漀甀最栀琀Ⰰ 栀攀 琀漀礀攀搀਀਀   眀椀琀栀 栀椀猀 洀漀甀猀攀 愀戀猀攀渀琀ⴀ洀椀渀搀攀搀氀礀Ⰰ 琀栀椀渀欀椀渀最 愀戀漀甀琀 栀漀眀 琀漀 搀攀愀氀 眀椀琀栀 琀栀椀猀਀਀   瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 瀀爀漀戀氀攀洀 眀愀猀 琀栀愀琀 猀漀洀攀漀渀攀 椀渀 䴀攀氀戀漀甀爀渀攀 眀愀猀 最漀椀渀最 琀漀 戀攀 戀甀猀琀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀漀爀挀攀 眀愀渀琀攀搀 琀漀 搀椀猀挀漀甀渀琀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀爀攀琀 眀愀爀渀椀渀最Ⰰ 琀漀 爀愀挀欀 椀琀 甀瀀 愀猀 樀甀猀琀਀਀   愀渀漀琀栀攀爀 椀渀 愀 氀漀渀最 氀椀渀攀 漀昀 爀甀洀漀甀爀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 猀眀攀瀀琀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 琀栀攀 甀渀搀攀爀最爀漀甀渀搀਀਀   瀀攀爀椀漀搀椀挀愀氀氀礀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 栀攀 欀渀攀眀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 搀漀 琀栀愀琀⸀ 吀栀攀 眀愀爀渀椀渀最 眀愀猀 爀漀挀欀਀਀   猀漀氀椀搀㬀 椀琀 栀愀搀 挀漀洀攀 昀爀漀洀 䜀愀瘀椀渀⸀⨀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 眀愀礀 䘀漀爀挀攀 琀漀氀搀 椀琀Ⰰ 栀椀猀 昀爀椀攀渀搀 䜀愀瘀椀渀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 愀猀 愀 挀漀渀琀爀愀挀琀漀爀 琀漀਀਀   吀攀氀攀挀漀洀 戀礀 搀愀礀 愀渀搀 瀀氀愀礀攀搀 愀琀 栀愀挀欀椀渀最 愀琀 渀椀最栀琀⸀ 䠀攀 眀愀猀 䘀漀爀挀攀✀猀 氀椀琀琀氀攀਀਀   猀攀挀爀攀琀Ⰰ 眀栀漀 栀攀 欀攀瀀琀 昀爀漀洀 琀栀攀 漀琀栀攀爀 洀攀洀戀攀爀猀 漀昀 吀栀攀 刀攀愀氀洀⸀ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 眀愀猀਀਀   搀攀昀椀渀椀琀攀氀礀 渀漀琀 瀀愀爀琀 漀昀 琀栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀爀 䈀䈀匀 猀挀攀渀攀⸀ 䠀攀 眀愀猀 漀氀搀攀爀Ⰰ 栀攀 搀椀搀渀✀琀਀਀   攀瘀攀渀 栀愀瘀攀 愀 栀愀渀搀氀攀 愀渀搀 栀攀 栀愀挀欀攀搀 愀氀漀渀攀Ⰰ 漀爀 眀椀琀栀 䘀漀爀挀攀Ⰰ 戀攀挀愀甀猀攀 栀攀 猀愀眀਀਀   栀愀挀欀椀渀最 椀渀 最爀漀甀瀀猀 愀猀 爀椀猀欀礀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀猀 愀 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀 挀漀渀琀爀愀挀琀漀爀Ⰰ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 栀愀搀 琀栀攀 欀椀渀搀 漀昀 愀挀挀攀猀猀 琀漀 挀漀洀瀀甀琀攀爀猀 愀渀搀਀਀   渀攀琀眀漀爀欀猀 眀栀椀挀栀 洀漀猀琀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 挀漀甀氀搀 漀渀氀礀 搀爀攀愀洀 愀戀漀甀琀⸀ 䠀攀 愀氀猀漀 栀愀搀 最漀漀搀਀਀   挀漀渀琀愀挀琀猀 椀渀猀椀搀攀 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀ⴀⴀ琀栀攀 欀椀渀搀 眀栀漀 洀椀最栀琀 愀渀猀眀攀爀 愀 昀攀眀 琀愀挀琀昀甀氀氀礀਀਀   眀漀爀搀攀搀 焀甀攀猀琀椀漀渀猀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀攀氀攀瀀栀漀渀攀 琀愀瀀猀 愀渀搀 氀椀渀攀 琀爀愀挀攀猀Ⰰ 漀爀 洀椀最栀琀 欀渀漀眀 愀਀਀   戀椀琀 愀戀漀甀琀 瀀漀氀椀挀攀 椀渀瘀攀猀琀椀最愀琀椀漀渀猀 爀攀焀甀椀爀椀渀最 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀✀猀 栀攀氀瀀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀漀爀挀攀 栀愀搀 洀攀琀 䜀愀瘀椀渀 眀栀椀氀攀 戀甀礀椀渀最 猀漀洀攀 猀攀挀漀渀搀ⴀ栀愀渀搀 攀焀甀椀瀀洀攀渀琀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀਀਀   琀栀攀 吀爀愀搀椀渀最 倀漀猀琀⸀ 吀栀攀礀 栀椀琀 椀琀 漀昀昀Ⰰ 戀攀挀愀洀攀 昀爀椀攀渀搀猀 愀渀搀 猀漀漀渀 戀攀最愀渀਀਀   栀愀挀欀椀渀最 琀漀最攀琀栀攀爀⸀ 唀渀搀攀爀 琀栀攀 挀漀瘀攀爀 漀昀 搀愀爀欀渀攀猀猀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 眀漀甀氀搀 挀爀攀攀瀀 椀渀琀漀਀਀   䜀愀瘀椀渀✀猀 漀昀昀椀挀攀 愀昀琀攀爀 攀瘀攀爀礀漀渀攀 攀氀猀攀 栀愀搀 最漀渀攀 栀漀洀攀 愀渀搀 栀愀挀欀 愀氀氀 渀椀最栀琀⸀਀਀   䄀琀 搀愀眀渀Ⰰ 琀栀攀礀 琀椀搀椀攀搀 甀瀀 愀渀搀 焀甀椀攀琀氀礀 氀攀昀琀 琀栀攀 戀甀椀氀搀椀渀最⸀ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 眀攀渀琀਀਀   栀漀洀攀Ⰰ 猀栀漀眀攀爀攀搀 愀渀搀 爀攀琀甀爀渀攀搀 琀漀 眀漀爀欀 愀猀 椀昀 渀漀琀栀椀渀最 栀愀搀 栀愀瀀瀀攀渀攀搀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䜀愀瘀椀渀 椀渀琀爀漀搀甀挀攀搀 䘀漀爀挀攀 琀漀 琀爀愀猀栀椀渀最⸀ 圀栀攀渀 琀栀攀礀 眀攀爀攀渀✀琀 猀瀀攀渀搀椀渀最 琀栀攀਀਀   渀椀最栀琀 椀渀 昀爀漀渀琀 漀昀 栀椀猀 琀攀爀洀椀渀愀氀Ⰰ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 挀爀愀眀氀攀搀 琀栀爀漀甀最栀 吀攀氀攀挀漀洀✀猀਀਀   搀甀洀瀀猀琀攀爀猀 氀漀漀欀椀渀最 昀漀爀 瀀攀愀爀氀猀 漀昀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 漀渀 挀爀甀洀瀀氀攀搀 戀椀琀猀 漀昀 漀昀昀椀挀攀਀਀   瀀愀瀀攀爀⸀ 䄀挀挀漀甀渀琀 渀愀洀攀猀Ⰰ 瀀愀猀猀眀漀爀搀猀Ⰰ 搀椀愀氀ⴀ甀瀀 洀漀搀攀洀猀Ⰰ 一唀䄀猀ⴀⴀ瀀攀漀瀀氀攀 眀爀漀琀攀਀਀   愀氀氀 猀漀爀琀猀 漀昀 琀栀椀渀最猀 搀漀眀渀 漀渀 猀挀爀愀瀀 瀀愀瀀攀爀 愀渀搀 琀栀攀渀 琀栀爀攀眀 椀琀 漀甀琀 琀栀攀 渀攀砀琀਀਀   搀愀礀 眀栀攀渀 琀栀攀礀 搀椀搀渀✀琀 渀攀攀搀 椀琀 愀渀礀 洀漀爀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䄀挀挀漀爀搀椀渀最 琀漀 䘀漀爀挀攀Ⰰ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 洀漀瘀攀搀 漀昀昀椀挀攀猀 昀爀攀焀甀攀渀琀氀礀Ⰰ 眀栀椀挀栀 洀愀搀攀 椀琀਀਀   攀愀猀椀攀爀 琀漀 洀甀搀搀礀 琀栀攀 琀爀愀椀氀⸀ 䔀瘀攀渀 戀攀琀琀攀爀Ⰰ 栀攀 眀漀爀欀攀搀 昀爀漀洀 漀昀昀椀挀攀猀 眀栀椀挀栀਀਀   栀愀搀 搀漀稀攀渀猀 漀昀 攀洀瀀氀漀礀攀攀猀 洀愀欀椀渀最 栀甀渀搀爀攀搀猀 漀昀 挀愀氀氀猀 攀愀挀栀 搀愀礀⸀ 䜀愀瘀椀渀 愀渀搀਀਀   䘀漀爀挀攀✀猀 椀氀氀椀挀椀琀 愀挀琀椀瘀椀琀椀攀猀 眀攀爀攀 戀甀爀椀攀搀 甀渀搀攀爀 愀 洀漀甀渀搀 漀昀 搀愀椀氀礀਀਀   氀攀最椀琀椀洀愀琀攀 琀爀愀渀猀愀挀琀椀漀渀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 琀眀漀 栀愀挀欀攀爀猀 琀爀甀猀琀攀搀 攀愀挀栀 漀琀栀攀爀㬀 椀渀 昀愀挀琀 䜀愀瘀椀渀 眀愀猀 琀栀攀 漀渀氀礀 瀀攀爀猀漀渀਀਀   琀漀 眀栀漀洀 䘀漀爀挀攀 爀攀瘀攀愀氀攀搀 琀栀攀 攀砀愀挀琀 愀搀搀爀攀猀猀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀匀愀甀搀椀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀⸀ 一漀琀਀਀   攀瘀攀渀 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀Ⰰ 爀椀猀椀渀最 猀琀愀爀 漀昀 吀栀攀 刀攀愀氀洀 愀渀搀 䘀漀爀挀攀✀猀 昀愀瘀漀甀爀攀搀 瀀爀漀琀最Ⰰ਀਀   眀愀猀 瀀爀椀瘀礀 琀漀 愀氀氀 琀栀攀 猀攀挀爀攀琀猀 漀昀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 甀渀挀漀瘀攀爀攀搀 搀甀爀椀渀最 䘀漀爀挀攀✀猀਀਀   渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 攀砀瀀氀漀爀愀琀椀漀渀猀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   䘀漀爀挀攀 栀愀搀 猀栀愀爀攀搀 猀漀洀攀 漀昀 琀栀椀猀 最氀椀琀琀攀爀椀渀最 瀀爀椀稀攀 眀椀琀栀 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀Ⰰ 戀甀琀 渀漀琀਀਀   愀氀氀 漀昀 椀琀⸀ 䨀甀猀琀 愀 昀攀眀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 挀愀爀搀猀ⴀⴀ琀漀欀攀渀 琀爀漀瀀栀椀攀猀ⴀⴀ愀渀搀਀਀   最攀渀攀爀愀氀 椀渀昀漀爀洀愀琀椀漀渀 愀戀漀甀琀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀⸀ 䈀攀氀椀攀瘀椀渀最 琀栀攀਀਀   琀攀洀瀀琀愀琀椀漀渀 琀漀 挀漀氀氀攀挀琀 瘀愀猀琀 渀甀洀戀攀爀猀 漀昀 挀愀爀搀猀 愀渀搀 甀猀攀 琀栀攀洀 眀漀甀氀搀 戀攀 琀漀漀਀਀   最爀攀愀琀 昀漀爀 琀栀攀 礀漀甀渀最 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀Ⰰ 䘀漀爀挀攀 琀爀椀攀搀 琀漀 欀攀攀瀀 琀栀攀 攀砀愀挀琀 氀漀挀愀琀椀漀渀 漀昀਀਀   琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀 愀 猀攀挀爀攀琀⸀ 䠀攀 欀渀攀眀 琀栀愀琀 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀 洀椀最栀琀 攀瘀攀渀琀甀愀氀氀礀਀਀   昀椀渀搀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 猀礀猀琀攀洀 漀渀 栀椀猀 漀眀渀Ⰰ 愀渀搀 琀栀攀爀攀 眀愀猀 氀椀琀琀氀攀 栀攀 挀漀甀氀搀 搀漀਀਀   琀漀 猀琀漀瀀 栀椀洀⸀ 䈀甀琀 䘀漀爀挀攀 眀愀猀 搀攀琀攀爀洀椀渀攀搀 琀栀愀琀 栀攀 眀漀甀氀搀渀✀琀 栀攀氀瀀 倀栀漀攀渀椀砀਀਀   最攀琀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀 椀渀琀漀 琀爀漀甀戀氀攀⸀਀਀   ਀਀   吀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀戀愀渀欀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀 栀愀搀 戀攀攀渀 愀 爀椀挀栀 猀漀甀爀挀攀 漀昀 猀礀猀琀攀洀猀ⴀⴀ猀漀洀攀琀栀椀渀最਀਀   䘀漀爀挀攀 愀氀猀漀 欀攀瀀琀 琀漀 栀椀洀猀攀氀昀⸀ 吀栀攀 洀漀爀攀 栀攀 攀砀瀀氀漀爀攀搀Ⰰ 琀栀攀 洀漀爀攀 栀攀 昀漀甀渀搀 椀渀਀਀   琀栀攀 渀攀琀眀漀爀欀⸀ 匀漀漀渀 愀昀琀攀爀 栀椀猀 昀椀爀猀琀 搀椀猀挀漀瘀攀爀礀 漀昀 琀栀攀 䌀椀琀椀匀愀甀搀椀 猀礀猀琀攀洀Ⰰ਀਀   栀攀 昀漀甀渀搀 愀 洀愀挀栀椀渀攀 挀愀氀氀攀搀 䌀椀琀椀䜀爀攀攀挀攀 眀栀椀挀栀 眀愀猀 樀甀猀琀 愀猀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   game--jumping through hoops to please teachers. He learned that doing

   well in religious studies was a good way to ingratiate himself to

   teachers, as well as his parents and, in their eyes at least, he

   became the golden-haired boy.

   

   Anyone scratching below the surface, however, would find the shine of

   the golden-haired boy was merely gilt. Despite his success in school

   and his matriculation, Phoenix was having trouble. He had been

   profoundly affected by the bitter break-up and divorce of his parents

   when he was about fourteen.

   

   After the divorce, Phoenix was sent to boarding school in Israel for

   about six months. On his return to Melbourne, he lived with his

   younger sister and mother at his maternal grandmother's house. His

   brother, the middle child, lived with his father.

   

   School friends sometimes felt awkward visiting Phoenix at home. One of

   his best friends found it difficult dealing with Phoenix's mother,

   whose vivacity sometimes bordered on the neurotic and shrill. His

   grandmother was a chronic worrier, who pestered Phoenix about using

   the home phone line during thunderstorms for fear he would be

   electrocuted. The situation with Phoenix's father wasn't much better.

   A manager at Telecom, he seemed to waver between appearing

   disinterested or emotionally cold and breaking into violent outbursts

   of anger.

   

   But it was Phoenix's younger brother who seemed to be the problem

   child. He ran away from home at around seventeen and dealt in drugs

   before eventually finding his feet. Yet, unlike Phoenix, his brother's

   problems had been laid bare for all to see. Hitting rock bottom forced

   him to take stock of his life and come to terms with his situation.

   

   In contrast, Phoenix found less noticeable ways of expressing his

   rebellion. Among them was his enthusiasm for tools of power--the

   martial arts, weapons such as swords and staffs, and social

   engineering. During his final years of secondary school, while still

   living at his grandmother's home, Phoenix took up hacking. He hung

   around various Melbourne BBSes, and then he developed an on-line

   friendship with Force.

   

   Force watched Phoenix's hacking skills develop with interest and after

   a couple of months he invited him to join The Realm. It was the

   shortest initiation of any Realm member, and the vote to include the

   new hacker was unanimous. Phoenix proved to be a valuable member,

   collecting information about new systems and networks for The Realm's

   databases. At their peak of hacking activity, Force and Phoenix spoke

   on the phone almost every day.

   

   Phoenix's new-found acceptance contrasted with the position of

   Electron, who visited The Realm regularly for a few months in 1988. As

   Phoenix basked in the warmth of Force's approval, the

   eighteen-year-old Electron felt the chill of his increasing scorn.

   

   Force eventually turfed Electron and his friend, Powerspike, out of

   his exclusive Melbourne club of hackers. Well, that was how Force told

   it. He told the other members of The Realm that Electron had committed

   two major sins. The first was that he had been wasting resources by

   using accounts on OTC's Minerva system to connect to Altos, which

   meant the accounts would be immediately tracked and killed.

   

   Minerva admins such as Michael Rosenberg--sworn enemy of The

   Realm--recognised the Altos NUA. Rosenberg was OTC's best defence

   against hackers. He had spent so much time trying to weed them out of

   Minerva that he knew their habits by heart: hack, then zoom over to

   Altos for a chat with fellow hackers, then hack some more.

   

   Most accounts on Minerva were held by corporations. How many

   legitimate users from ANZ Bank would visit Altos? None. So when

   Rosenberg saw an account connecting to Altos, he silently observed

   what the hacker was doing--in case he bragged on the German chat

   board--then changed the password and notified the client, in an effort

   to lock the hacker out for good.

   

   Electron's second sin, according to Force, was that he had been

   withholding hacking information from the rest of the group. Force's

   stated view--though it didn't seem to apply to him personally--was one

   in, all in.

   

   It was a very public expulsion. Powerspike and Electron told each

   other they didn't really care. As they saw it, they might have visited

   The Realm BBS now and then but they certainly weren't members of The

   Realm. Electron joked with Powerspike, `Who would want to be a member

   of a no-talent outfit like The Realm?' Still, it must have hurt.

   Hackers in the period 1988-90 depended on each other for information.

   They honed their skills in a community which shared intelligence and

   they grew to rely on the pool of information.

   

   Months later, Force grudgingly allowing Electron to rejoin The Realm,

   but the relationship remained testy. When Electron finally logged in

   again, he found a file in the BBS entitled `Scanner stolen from the

   Electron'. Force had found a copy of Electron's VMS scanner on an

   overseas computer while Electron was in exile and had felt no qualms

   about pinching it for The Realm.

   

   Except that it wasn't a scanner. It was a VMS Trojan. And there was a

   big difference. It didn't scan for the addresses of computers on a

   network. It snagged passwords when people connected from their VMS

   computers to another machine over an X.25 network. Powerspike cracked

   up laughing when Electron told him. `Well,' he told Powerspike, `Mr

   Bigshot Force might know something about Prime computers, but he

   doesn't know a hell of a lot about VMS.'

   

   Despite Electron's general fall from grace, Phoenix talked to the

   outcast because they shared the obsession. Electron was on a steep

   learning curve and, like Phoenix, he was moving fast--much faster than

   any of the other Melbourne hackers.

   

   When Phoenix admitted talking to Electron regularly, Force tried to

   pull him away, but without luck. Some of the disapproval was born of

   Force's paternalistic attitude toward the Australian hacking scene. He

   considered himself to be a sort of godfather in the hacking community.

   But Force was also increasingly concerned at Phoenix's ever more

   flagrant taunting of computer security bigwigs and system admins. In

   one incident, Phoenix knew a couple of system admins and security

   people were waiting on a system to trap him by tracing his network

   connections. He responded by sneaking into the computer unnoticed and

   quietly logging off each admin. Force laughed about it at the time,

   but privately the story made him more than a little nervous.

   

   Phoenix enjoyed pitting himself against the pinnacles of the computer

   security industry. He wanted to prove he was better, and he frequently

   upset people because often he was. Strangely, though, Force's protégé

   also thought that if he told these experts about a few of the holes in

   their systems, he would somehow gain their approval. Maybe they would

   even give him inside information, like new penetration techniques,

   and, importantly, look after him if things got rough. Force wondered

   how Phoenix could hold two such conflicting thoughts in his mind at

   the same time without questioning the logic of either.

   

   It was against this backdrop that Gavin came to Force with his urgent

   warning in late 1989. Gavin had learned that the Australian Federal

   Police were getting complaints about hackers operating out of

   Melbourne. The Melbourne hacking community had become very noisy and

   was leaving footprints all over the place as its members traversed the

   world's data networks.

   

   There were other active hacking communities outside Australia--in the

   north of England, in Texas, in New York. But the Melbourne hackers

   weren't just noisy--they were noisy inside American computers. It

   wasn't just a case of American hackers breaking into American systems.

   This was about foreign nationals penetrating American computers. And

   there was something else which made the Australian hackers a target.

   The US Secret Service knew an Australian named Phoenix had been inside

   Citibank, one of the biggest financial institutions in the US.

   

   Gavin didn't have many details to give Force. All he knew was that an

   American law enforcement agency--probably the Secret Service--had been

   putting enormous pressure on the Australian government to bust these

   people.

   

   What Gavin didn't know was that the Secret Service wasn't the only

   source of pressure coming from the other side of the Pacific. The FBI

   had also approached the Australian Federal Police about the mysterious

   but noisy Australian hackers who kept breaking into American systems,5

   and the AFP had acted on the information.

   

   In late 1989, Detective Superintendent Ken Hunt of the AFP headed an

   investigation into the Melbourne hackers. It was believed to be the

   first major investigation of computer crime since the introduction of

   Australia's first federal anti-hacking laws. Like most law enforcement

   agencies around the world, the AFP were new players in the field of

   computer crime. Few officers had expertise in computers, let alone

   computer crime, so this case would prove to be an important proving

   ground.6

   

   When Gavin broke the news, Force acted immediately. He called Phoenix

   on the phone, insisting on meeting him in person as soon as possible.

   As their friendship had progressed, they had moved from talking

   on-line to telephone conversations and finally to spending time

   together in person. Force sat Phoenix down alone and gave him a stern

   warning. He didn't tell him how he got his information, but he made it

   clear the source was reliable.

   

   The word was that the police felt they had to bust someone. It had

   come to the point where an American law enforcement officer had

   reportedly told his Australian counterpart, `If you don't do something

   about it soon, we'll do something about it ourselves'. The American

   hadn't bothered to elaborate on just how they might do something about

   it, but it didn't matter.

   

   Phoenix looked suddenly pale. He had certainly been very noisy, and

   was breaking into systems virtually all the time now. Many of those

   systems were in the US.

   

   He certainly didn't want to end up like the West German hacker

   Hagbard, whose petrol-doused, charred remains had been discovered in a

   German forest in June 1989.

   

   An associate of Pengo's, Hagbard had been involved in a ring of German

   hackers who sold the information they found in American computers to a

   KGB agent in East Germany from 1986 to 1988.

   

   In March 1989, German police raided the homes and offices of the

   German hacking group and began arresting people. Like Pengo, Hagbard

   had secretly turned himself into the German authorities months before

   and given full details of the hacking ring's activities in the hope of

   gaining immunity from prosecution.

   

   American law enforcement agencies and prosecutors had not been

   enthusiastic about showing the hackers any leniency. Several US

   agencies, including the CIA and the FBI, had been chasing the German

   espionage ring and they wanted stiff sentences, preferably served in

   an American prison.

   

   German court proceedings were under way when Hagbard's body was found.

   Did he commit suicide or was he murdered? No-one knew for sure, but

   the news shook the computer underground around the world. Hackers

   discussed the issue in considerable depth. On the one hand, Hagbard

   had a long history of mental instability and drug use, having spent

   time in psychiatric hospitals and detoxification centres off and on

   since the beginning of 1987. On the other hand, if you were going to

   kill yourself, would you really want to die in the agony of a petrol

   fire? Or would you just take a few too many pills or a quick bullet?

   

   Whether it was murder or suicide, the death of Hagbard loomed large

   before Phoenix. Who were the American law enforcement agencies after

   in Australia? Did they want him?

   

   No. Force reassured him, they were after Electron. The problem for

   Phoenix was that he kept talking to Electron on the phone--in voice

   conversations. If Phoenix continued associating with Electron, he too

   would be scooped up in the AFP's net.

   

   The message to Phoenix was crystal clear.



   Stay away from Electron.



				    [ ]

   

   `Listen, you miserable scum-sucking pig.'

   

   `Huh?' Phoenix answered, only half paying attention.

   

   `Piece of shit machine. I did all this editing and the damn thing

   didn't save the changes,' Electron growled at the Commodore Amiga,

   with its 512 k of memory, sitting on the desk in his bedroom.

   

   It was January 1990 and both Phoenix and Electron were at home on

   holidays before the start of university.

   

   `Yeah. Wish I could get this thing working. Fucking hell. Work you!'

   Phoenix yelled. Electron could hear him typing at the other end of the

   phone while he talked. He had been struggling to get AUX, the Apple

   version of Unix, running on his Macintosh SE30 for days.

   

   It was difficult to have an uninterrupted conversation with Phoenix.

   If it wasn't his machine crashing, it was his grandmother asking him

   questions from the doorway of his room.

   

   `You wanna go through the list? How big is your file?' Phoenix asked,

   now more focused on the conversation.

   

   `Huh? Which file?'

   

   `The dictionary file. The words to feed into the password cracker,'

   Phoenix replied.

   

   Electron pulled up his list of dictionary words and looked

   at it. I'm going to have to cut this list down a bit, he thought. The

   dictionary was part of the password cracking program.

   The larger the dictionary, the longer it took the computer to crack a

   list of passwords. If he could weed out obscure words--words that

   people were unlikely to pick as passwords--then he could make his

   cracker run faster.

   

   An efficient password cracker was a valuable tool. Electron would feed

   his home computer a password file from a target computer, say from

   Melbourne University, then go to bed. About twelve hours later, he

   would check on his machine's progress.

   

   If he was lucky, he would find six or more accounts--user names and

   their passwords--waiting for him in a file. The process was completely

   automated. Electron could then log into Melbourne University using the

   cracked accounts, all of which could be used as jumping-off points for

   hacking into other systems for the price of a local telephone call.

   

   Cracking Unix passwords wasn't inordinately difficult,

   provided the different components of the program, such as the

   dictionary, had been set up properly. However, it was time-consuming.

   The principle was simple. Passwords, kept in password files with their

   corresponding user names, were encrypted. It was as impossible to

   reverse the encryption process as it was to unscramble an omelette.

   Instead, you needed to recreate the encryption process and compare the

   results.

   

   There were three basic steps. First, target a computer and get a copy

   of its password file. Second, take a list of commonly used passwords,

   such as users' names from the password file or words from a

   dictionary, and encrypt those into a second list. Third, put the two

   lists side by side and compare them. When you have a match, you have

   found the password.

   

   However, there was one important complication: salts. A salt changed

   the way a password was encrypted, subtly modifying the way the DES

   encryption algorithm worked. For example, the word `Underground'

   encrypts two different ways with two different salts: `kyvbExMcdAOVM'

   or `lhFaTmw4Ddrjw'. The first two characters represent the salt, the

   others represent the password. The computer chooses a salt randomly

   when it encrypts a user's password. Only one is used, and there are

   4096 different salts. All Unix computers use salts in their password

   encryption process.

   

   Salts were intended to make password cracking far more difficult, so a

   hacker couldn't just encrypt a dictionary once and then compare it to

   every list of encrypted passwords he came across in his hacking

   intrusions. The 4096 salts mean that a hacker would have to use 4096

   different dictionaries--each encrypted with a different salt--to

   discover any dictionary word passwords.

   

   On any one system penetrated by Electron, there might be only 25

   users, and therefore only 25 passwords, most likely using 25 different

   salts. Since the salt characters were stored immediately before the

   encrypted password, he could easily see which salt was being used for

   a particular password. He would therefore only have to encrypt a

   dictionary 25 different times.

   

   Still, even encrypting a large dictionary 25 times using different

   salts took up too much hard-drive space for a basic home computer. And

   that was just the dictionary. The most sophisticated cracking programs

   also produced `intelligent guesses' of passwords. For example, the

   program might take the user's name and try it in both upper- and

   lower-case letters. It might also add a `1' at the end. In short, the

   program would create new guesses by permutating, shuffling, reversing

   and recombining basic information such as a user's name into new

   `words'.

   

   `It's 24000 words. Too damn big,' Electron said. Paring down a

   dictionary was a game of trade-offs. The fewer words in a cracking

   dictionary, the less time it was likely to take a computer to break

   the encrypted passwords. A smaller dictionary, however, also meant

   fewer guesses and so a reduced chance of cracking the password of any

   given account.

   

   `Hmm. Mine's 24328. We better pare it down together.'

   

   `Yeah. OK. Pick a letter.'

   

   `C. Let's start with the Cs.'

   

   `Why C?'

   

   `C. For my grandmother's cat, Cocoa.'

   

   `Yeah. OK. Here goes. Cab, Cabal. Cabala. Cabbala.' Electron paused.

   `What the fuck is a Cabbala?'

   

   `Dunno. Yeah. I've got those. Not Cabbala. OK, Cabaret. Cabbage. Fuck,

   I hate cabbage. Who'd pick Cabbage as their password?'

   

   `A Pom,' Electron answered.

   

   `Yeah,' Phoenix laughed before continuing.

   

   Phoenix sometimes stopped to think about Force's warning, but usually

   he just pushed it to one side when it crept, unwelcomed, into his

   thoughts. Still, it worried him. Force took it seriously enough. Not

   only had he stopped associating with Electron, he appeared to have

   gone very, very quiet.

   

   In fact, Force had found a new love: music. He was writing and

   performing his own songs. By early 1990 he seemed so busy with his

   music that he had essentially put The Realm on ice. Its members took

   to congregating on a machine owned by another Realm member, Nom, for a

   month or so.

   

   Somehow, however, Phoenix knew that wasn't all of the story. A hacker

   didn't pick up and walk away from hacking just like that. Especially

   not Force. Force had been obsessed with hacking. It just didn't make

   sense. There had to be something more. Phoenix comforted himself with

   the knowledge that he had followed Force's advice and had stayed away

   from Electron. Well, for a while anyway.

   

   He had backed right off, watched and waited, but nothing happened.

   Electron was as active in the underground as ever but he hadn't been

   busted. Nothing had changed. Maybe Force's information had been wrong.

   Surely the feds would have busted Electron by now if they were going

   to do anything. So Phoenix began to rebuild his relationship with

   Electron. It was just too tempting. Phoenix was determined not to let

   Force's ego impede his own progress.

   

   By January 1990, Electron was hacking almost all the time. The only

   time he wasn't hacking was when he was sleeping, and even then he

   often dreamed of hacking. He and Phoenix were sailing past all the

   other Melbourne hackers. Electron had grown beyond Powerspike's

   expertise just as Phoenix had accelerated past Force. They were moving

   away from X.25 networks and into the embryonic Internet, which was

   just as illegal since the universities guarded computer

   accounts--Internet access--very closely.

   

   Even Nom, with his growing expertise in the Unix operating system

   which formed the basis of many new Internet sites, wasn't up to

   Electron's standard. He didn't have the same level of commitment to

   hacking, the same obsession necessary to be a truly cutting-edge

   hacker. In many ways, the relationship between Nom and Phoenix

   mirrored the relationship between Electron and Powerspike: the support

   act to the main band.

   

   Electron didn't consider Phoenix a close friend, but he was a kindred

   spirit. In fact he didn't trust Phoenix, who had a big mouth, a big

   ego and a tight friendship with Force--all strikes against him. But

   Phoenix was intelligent and he wanted to learn. Most of all, he had

   the obsession. Phoenix contributed to a flow of information which

   stimulated Electron intellectually, even if more information flowed

   toward Phoenix than from him.

   

   Within a month, Phoenix and Electron were in regular contact, and

   during the summer holidays they were talking on the phone--voice--all

   the time, sometimes three or four times a day. Hack then talk. Compare

   notes. Hack some more. Check in again, ask a few questions. Then back

   to hacking.

   

   The actual hacking was generally a solo act. For a social animal like

   Phoenix, it was a lonely pursuit. While many hackers revelled in the

   intense isolation, some, such as Phoenix, also needed to check in with

   fellow humanity once in a while. Not just any humanity--those who

   understood and shared in the obsession.

   

   `Caboodle. Caboose, `Electron went on, `Cabriolet. What the hell is a

   Cabriolet? Do you know?'

   

   `Yeah,' Phoenix answered, then rushed on. `OK. Cacao. Cache. Cachet

   ...'

   

   `Tell us. What is it?' Electron cut Phoenix off.

   

   `Cachinnation. Cachou ...'

   

   `Do you know?' Electron asked again, slightly irritated. As usual,

   Phoenix was claiming to know things he probably didn't.

   

   `Hmm? Uh, yeah,' Phoenix answered weakly. `Cackle. Cacophony ...'

   

   Electron knew that particular Phoenix `yeah'--the one which said `yes'

   but meant `no, and I don't want to own up to it either so let's drop

   it'.

   

   Electron made it a habit not to believe most of the things Phoenix

   told him. Unless there was some solid proof, Electron figured it was

   just hot air. He didn't actually like Phoenix much as a person, and

   found talking to him difficult at times. He preferred the company of

   his fellow hacker Powerspike.

   

   Powerspike was both bright and creative. Electron clicked with him.

   They often joked about the other's bad taste in music. Powerspike

   liked heavy metal, and Electron liked indie music. They shared a

   healthy disrespect for authority. Not just the authority of places

   they hacked into, like the US Naval Research Laboratories or NASA, but

   the authority of The Realm. When it came to politics, they both leaned

   to the left. However, their interest tended more toward

   anarchy--opposing symbols of the military-industrial complex--than to

   joining a political party.

   

   After their expulsion from The Realm, Electron had been a little

   isolated for a time. The tragedy of his personal life had contributed

   to the isolation. At the age of eight, he had seen his mother die of

   lung cancer. He hadn't witnessed the worst parts of her dying over two

   years, as she had spent some time in a German cancer clinic hoping for

   a reprieve. She had, however, come home to die, and Electron had

   watched her fade away.

   

   When the phone call from hospital came one night, Electron could tell

   what had happened from the serious tones of the adults. He burst into

   tears. He could hear his father answering questions on the phone. Yes,

   the boy had taken it hard. No, his sister seemed to be OK. Two years

   younger than Electron, she was too young to understand.

   

   Electron had never been particularly close to his sister. He viewed

   her as an unfeeling, shallow person--someone who simply skimmed along

   the surface of life. But after their mother's death, their father

   began to favour Electron's sister, perhaps because of her resemblance

   to his late wife. This drove a deeper, more subtle wedge between

   brother and sister.

   

   Electron's father, a painter who taught art at a local high school,

   was profoundly affected by his wife's death. Despite some barriers of

   social class and money, theirs had been a marriage of great affection

   and love and they made a happy home. Electron's father's paintings

   hung on almost every wall in the house, but after his wife's death he

   put down his brushes and never took them up again. He didn't talk

   about it. Once, Electron asked him why he didn't paint any more. He

   looked away and told Electron that he had `lost the motivation'.

   

   Electron's grandmother moved into the home to help her son care for

   his two children, but she developed Alzheimer's disease. The children

   ended up caring for her. As a teenager, Electron thought it was

   maddening caring for someone who couldn't even remember your name.

   Eventually, she moved into a nursing home.

   

   In August 1989, Electron's father arrived home from the doctor's

   office. He had been mildly ill for some time, but refused to take time

   off work to visit a doctor. He was proud of having taken only one

   day's sick leave in the last five years. Finally, in the holidays, he

   had seen a doctor who had conducted numerous tests. The results had

   come in.

   

   Electron's father had bowel cancer and the disease had spread. It

   could not be cured. He had two years to live at the most.

   

   Electron was nineteen years old at the time, and his early love of the

   computer, and particularly the modem, had already turned into a

   passion. Several years earlier his father, keen to encourage his

   fascination with the new machines, used to bring one of the school's

   Apple IIes home over weekends and holidays. Electron spent hours at

   the borrowed machine. When he wasn't playing on the computer, he read,

   plucking one of his father's spy novels from the over-crowded

   bookcases, or his own favourite book, The Lord of The Rings.

   

   Computer programming had, however, captured the imagination of the

   young Electron years before he used his first computer. At the age of

   eleven he was using books to write simple programs on paper--mostly

   games--despite the fact that he had never actually touched a keyboard.

   

   His school may have had a few computers, but its administrators had

   little understanding of what to do with them. In year 9, Electron had

   met with the school's career counsellor, hoping to learn about career

   options working with computers.

   

   `I think maybe I'd like to do a course in computer programming ...'

   His voice trailed off, hesitantly.

   

   `Why would you want to do that?' she said. `Can't you think of

   anything better than that?'

   

   `Uhm ...' Electron was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. That was

   why he had come to her. He cast around for something which seemed a

   more mainstream career option but which might also let him work on

   computers. `Well, accounting maybe?'

   

   `Oh yes, that's much better,' she said.

   

   `You can probably even get into a university, and study accounting

   there. I'm sure you will enjoy it,' she added, smiling as she closed

   his file.

   

   The borrowed computers were, in Electron's opinion, one of the few

   good things about school. He did reasonably well at school, but only

   because it didn't take much effort. Teachers consistently told his

   father that Electron was underachieving and that he distracted the

   other students in class. For the most part, the criticism was just

   low-level noise. Occasionally, however, Electron had more serious

   run-ins with his teachers. Some thought he was gifted. Others thought

   the freckle-faced, Irish-looking boy who helped his friends set fire

   to textbooks at the back of the class was nothing but a smart alec.

   

   When he was sixteen, Electron bought his own computer. He used it to

   crack software protection, just as Par had done. The Apple was soon

   replaced by a more powerful Amiga with a 20 megabyte IBM compatible

   sidecar. The computers lived, in succession, on one of the two desks

   in his bedroom. The second desk, for his school work, was usually

   piled high with untouched assignments.

   

   The most striking aspect of Electron's room was the ream after ream of

   dot matrix computer print-out which littered the floor. Standing at

   almost any point in the simply furnished room, someone could reach out

   and grab at least one pile of print-outs, most of which contained

   either usernames and passwords or printed computer program code. In

   between the piles of print-outs, were T-shirts, jeans, sneakers and

   books on the floor. It was impossible to walk across Electron's room

   without stepping on something.

   

   The turning point for Electron was the purchase of a second-hand 300

   baud modem in 1986. Overnight, the modem transformed Electron's love

   of the computer into an obsession. During the semester immediately

   before the modem's arrival, Electron's report card showed six As and

   one B. The following semester he earned six Bs and only one A.

   

   Electron had moved onto bigger and better things than school. He

   quickly became a regular user of underground BBSes and began hacking.

   He was enthralled by an article he discovered describing how several

   hackers claimed to have moved a satellite around in space simply by

   hacking computers. From that moment on, Electron decided he wanted to

   hack--to find out if the article was true.

   

   Before he graduated from school in 1987, Electron had hacked NASA, an

   achievement which saw him dancing around the dining room table in the

   middle of the night chanting, `I got into NASA! I got into NASA!' He

   hadn't moved any satellites, but getting into the space agency was as

   thrilling as flying to the moon.

   

   By 1989, he had been hacking regularly for years, much to the chagrin

   of his sister, who claimed her social life suffered because the

   family's sole phone line was always tied up by the modem.

   

   For Phoenix, Electron was a partner in hacking, and to a lesser degree

   a mentor. Electron had a lot to offer, by that time even more than The

   Realm.

   

   `Cactus, Cad, Cadaver, Caddis, Cadence, Cadet, Caesura. What the fuck

   is a Caesura?' Phoenix kept ploughing through the Cs.

   

   `Dunno. Kill that,' Electron answered, distracted.

   

   `Caesura. Well, fuck. I know I'd wanna use that as a password.'

   Phoenix laughed. `What the hell kind of word is Caduceus?'

   

   `A dead one. Kill all those. Who makes up these dictionaries?'

   Electron said.

   

   `Yeah.'

   

   `Caisson, Calabash. Kill those. Kill, kill, kill,' Electron said

   gleefully.

   

   `Hang on. How come I don't have Calabash in my list?' Phoenix feigned

   indignation.

   

   Electron laughed.

   

   `Hey,' Phoenix said, `we should put in words like "Qwerty" and

   "ABCDEF" and "ASDFGH".'

   

   `Did that already.' Electron had already put together a list of other

   common passwords, such as the `words' made when a user typed the six

   letters in the first alphabet row on a keyboard.

   

   Phoenix started on the list again. `OK the COs. Commend, Comment,

   Commerce, Commercial, Commercialism, Commercially. Kill those last

   three.'

   

   `Huh? Why kill Commercial?'

   

   `Let's just kill all the words with more than eight characters,'

   Phoenix said.

   

   `No. That's not a good idea.'

   

   `How come? The computer's only going to read the first eight

   characters and encrypt those. So we should kill all the rest.'

   

   Sometimes Phoenix just didn't get it. But Electron didn't rub it in.

   He kept it low-key, so as not to bruise Phoenix's ego. Often Electron

   sensed Phoenix sought approval from the older hacker, but it was a

   subtle, perhaps even unconscious search.

   

   `Nah,' Electron began, `See, someone might use the whole word,

   Commerce or Commercial. The first eight letters of these words are not

   the same. The eighth character in Commerce is "e", but in Commercial

   it's "i".'

   

   There was a short silence.

   

   `Yeah,' Electron went on, `but you could kill all the words

   like Commercially, and Commercialism, that come after Commercial.

   See?'

   

   `Yeah. OK. I see,' Phoenix said.

   

   `But don't just kill every word longer than eight characters,'

   Electron added.

   

   `Hmm. OK. Yeah, all right.' Phoenix seemed a bit out of sorts. `Hey,'

   he brightened a bit, `it's been a whole ten minutes since my machine

   crashed.'

   

   `Yeah?' Electron tried to sound interested.

   

   `Yeah. You know,' Phoenix changed the subject to his favourite topic,

   `what we really need is Deszip. Gotta get that.' Deszip was a computer

   program which could be used for password cracking.

   

   `And Zardoz. We need Zardoz,' Electron added. Zardoz was a restricted

   electronic publication detailing computer security holes.

   

   `Yeah. Gotta try to get into Spaf's machine. Spaf'll have it for

   sure.' Eugene Spafford, Associate Professor of Computer Science at

   Purdue University in the US, was one of the best known computer

   security experts on the Internet in 1990.

   

   `Yeah.'

   

   And so began their hunt for the holy grail.



				    [ ]

   

   Deszip and Zardoz glittered side by side as the most coveted prizes in

   the world of the international Unix hacker.

   

   Cracking passwords took time and computer resources. Even a moderately

   powerful university machine would grunt and groan under the weight of

   the calculations if it was asked to do. But the Deszip program could

   change that, lifting the load until it was, by comparison,

   feather-light. It worked at breathtaking speed and a hacker using

   Deszip could crack encrypted passwords up to 25 times faster.

   

   Zardoz, a worldwide security mailing list, was also precious, but for

   a different reason. Although the mailing list's formal name was

   Security Digest, everyone in the underground simply called it Zardoz,

   after the computer from which the mailouts originated. Zardoz also

   happened to be the name of a science fiction cult film starring Sean

   Connery. Run by Neil Gorsuch, the Zardoz mailing list contained

   articles, or postings, from various members of the computer security

   industry. The postings discussed newly discovered bugs--problems with

   a computer system which could be exploited to break into or gain root

   access on a machine. The beauty of the bugs outlined in Zardoz was

   that they worked on any computer system using the programs or

   operating systems it described. Any university, any military system,

   any research institute which ran the software documented in Zardoz was

   vulnerable. Zardoz was a giant key ring, full of pass keys made to fit

   virtually every lock.

   

   True, system administrators who read a particular Zardoz posting might

   take steps to close up that security hole. But as the hacking

   community knew well, it was a long time between a Zardoz posting and a

   shortage of systems with that hole. Often a bug worked on many

   computers for months--sometimes years--after being announced on

   Zardoz.

   

   Why? Many admins had never heard of the bug when it was first

   announced. Zardoz was an exclusive club, and most admins simply

   weren't members. You couldn't just walk in off the street and sign up

   for Zardoz. You had to be vetted by peers in the computer security

   industry. You had to administer a legitimate computer system,

   preferably with a large institution such as a university or a research

   body such as CSIRO. Figuratively speaking, the established members of

   the Zardoz mailing list peered down their noses at you and determined

   if you were worthy of inclusion in Club Zardoz. Only they decided if

   you were trustworthy enough to share in the great security secrets of

   the world's computer systems.

   

   In 1989, the white hats, as hackers called the professional security

   gurus, were highly paranoid about Zardoz getting into the wrong hands.

   So much so, in fact, that many postings to Zardoz were fine examples

   of the art of obliqueness. A computer security expert would hint at a

   new bug in his posting without actually coming out and explaining it

   in what is commonly referred to as a `cookbook' explanation.

   

   This led to a raging debate within the comp-sec industry. In one

   corner, the cookbook purists said that bulletins such as Zardoz were

   only going to be helpful if people were frank with each other. They

   wanted people posting to Zardoz to provide detailed, step-by-step

   explanations on how to exploit a particular security hole. Hackers

   would always find out about bugs one way or another and the best way

   to keep them out of your system was to secure it properly in the first

   place. They wanted full disclosure.

   

   In the other corner, the hard-line, command-and-control computer

   security types argued that posting an announcement to Zardoz posed the

   gravest of security risks. What if Zardoz fell into the wrong hands?

   Why, any sixteen-year-old hacker would have step-by-step directions

   showing how to break into thousands of individual computers! If you

   had to reveal a security flaw--and the jury was still out in their

   minds as to whether that was such a good idea--it should be done only

   in the most oblique terms.

   

   What the hard-liners failed to understand was that world-class hackers

   like Electron could read the most oblique, carefully crafted Zardoz

   postings and, within a matter of days if not hours, work out exactly

   how to exploit the security hole hinted at in the text. After which

   they could just as easily have written a cookbook version of the

   security bug.

   

   Most good hackers had come across one or two issues of Zardoz in their

   travels, often while rummaging though the system administrator's mail

   on a prestigious institution's computer. But no-one from the elite of

   the Altos underground had a full archive of all the back issues. The

   hacker who possessed that would have details of every major security

   hole discovered by the world's best computer security minds since at

   least 1988.

   

   Like Zardoz, Deszip was well guarded. It was written by computer

   security expert Dr Matthew Bishop, who worked at NASA's Research

   Institute for Advanced Computer Science before taking up a teaching

   position at Dartmouth, an Ivy League college in New Hampshire. The

   United States government deemed Deszip's very fast encryption

   algorithms to be so important, they were classified as armaments. It

   was illegal to export them from the US.

   

   Of course, few hackers in 1990 had the sophistication to use weapons

   such as Zardoz and Deszip properly. Indeed, few even knew they

   existed. But Electron and Phoenix knew, along with a tiny handful of

   others, including Pad and Gandalf from Britain. Congregating on Altos

   in Germany, they worked with a select group of others carefully

   targeting sites likely to contain parts of their holy grail. They were

   methodical and highly strategic, piecing information together with

   exquisite, almost forensic, skill. While the common rabble of other

   hackers were thumping their heads against walls in brute-force attacks

   on random machines, these hackers spent their time hunting for

   strategic pressure points--the Achilles' heels of the computer

   security community.

   

   They had developed an informal hit list of machines, most of which

   belonged to high-level computer security gurus. Finding one or two

   early issues of Zardoz, Electron had combed through their postings

   looking not just on the surface--for the security bugs--but also

   paying careful attention to the names and addresses of the people

   writing articles. Authors who appeared frequently in Zardoz, or had

   something intelligent to say, went on the hit list. It was those

   people who were most likely to keep copies of Deszip or an archive of

   Zardoz on their machines.

   

   Electron had searched across the world for information about Deszip

   and DES (Data Encryption Standard), the original encryption program

   later used in Deszip. He hunted through computers at the University of

   New York, the US Naval Research Laboratories in Washington DC,

   Helsinki University of Technology, Rutgers University in New Jersey,

   Melbourne University and Tampere University in Finland, but the search

   bore little fruit. He found a copy of CDES, a public domain encryption

   program which used the DES algorithm, but not Deszip. CDES could be

   used to encrypt files but not to crack passwords.

   

   The two Australian hackers had, however, enjoyed a small taste of

   Deszip. In 1989 they had broken into a computer at Dartmouth College

   called Bear. They discovered Deszip carefully tucked away in a corner

   of Bear and had spirited a copy of the program away to a safer machine

   at another institution.

   

   It turned out to be a hollow victory. That copy of Deszip had been

   encrypted with Crypt, a program based on the German Enigma machine

   used in World War II. Without the passphrase--the key to unlock the

   encryption--it was impossible to read Deszip. All they could do was

   stare, frustrated, at the file name Deszip labelling a treasure just

   out of reach.

   

   Undaunted, the hackers decided to keep the encrypted file just in case

   they ever came across the passphrase somewhere--in an email letter,

   for example--in one of the dozens of new computers they now hacked

   regularly. Relabelling the encrypted Deszip file with a more innocuous

   name, they stored the copy in a dark corner of another machine.

   Thinking it wise to buy a little insurance as well, they gave a second

   copy of the encrypted Deszip to Gandalf, who stored it on a machine in

   the UK in case the Australians' copy disappeared unexpectedly.



				    [ ]

   

   In January 1990, Electron turned his attention to getting Zardoz.

   After carefully reviewing an old copy of Zardoz, he had discovered a

   system admin in Melbourne on the list. The subscriber could well have

   the entire Zardoz archive on his machine, and that machine was so

   close--less than half an hour's drive from Electron's home. All

   Electron had to do was to break into the CSIRO.

   

   The Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation, or

   CSIRO, is a government owned and operated research body with many

   offices around Australia. Electron only wanted to get into one: the

   Division of Information Technology at 55 Barry Street, Carlton, just

   around the corner from the University of Melbourne.

   

   Rummaging through a Melbourne University computer, Electron had

   already found one copy of the Zardoz archive, belonging to a system

   admin. He gathered it up and quietly began downloading it to his

   computer, but as his machine slowly siphoned off the Zardoz copy, his

   link to the university abruptly went dead. The admin had discovered

   the hacker and quickly killed the connection. All of which left

   Electron back at square one--until he found another copy of Zardoz on

   the CSIRO machine.

   

   It was nearly 3 a.m. on 1 February 1990, but Electron wasn't tired.

   His head was buzzing. He had just successfully penetrated an account

   called Worsley on the CSIRO computer called

   DITMELA, using the sendmail bug. Electron assumed

   DITMELA stood for Division of Information Technology, Melbourne,

   computer `A'.

   

   Electron began sifting through Andrew Worsley's directories that day.

   He knew Zardoz was in there somewhere, since he had seen it before.

   After probing the computer, experimenting with different security

   holes hoping one would let him inside, Electron managed to slip in

   unnoticed. It was mid-afternoon, a bad time to hack a computer since

   someone at work would likely spot the intruder before long. So

   Electron told himself this was just a reconnaissance mission. Find out

   if Zardoz was on the machine, then get out of there fast and come back

   later--preferably in the middle of the night--to pull Zardoz out.

   

   When he found a complete collection of Zardoz in Worsley's directory,

   Electron was tempted to try a grab and run. The problem was that, with

   his slow modem, he couldn't run very quickly. Downloading Zardoz would

   take several hours. Quashing his overwhelming desire to reach out and

   grab Zardoz then and there, he slipped out of the machine noiselessly.

   

   Early next morning, an excited and impatient Electron crept back into

   DITMELA and headed straight for Worsley's directory. Zardoz was still

   there. And a sweet irony. Electron was using a security bug he had

   found on an early issue of Zardoz to break into the computer which

   would surrender the entire archive to him.

   

   Getting Zardoz out of the CSIRO machine was going to be a little

   difficult. It was a big archive and at 300 baud--30 characters per

   second--Electron's modem would take five hours to siphon off an entire

   copy. Using the CAT command, Electron made copies of all the Zardoz

   issues and bundled them up into one 500 k file. He called the new file

   .t and stored it in the temporary directory on DITMELA.

   

   Then he considered what to do next. He would mail the Zardoz bundle to

   another account outside the CSIRO computer, for safe-keeping. But

   after that he had to make a choice: try to download the thing himself

   or hang up, call Phoenix and ask him to download it.

   

   Using his 2400 baud modem, Phoenix would be able to download the

   Zardoz bundle eight times faster than Electron could. On the other

   hand, Electron didn't particularly want to give Phoenix access to the

   CSIRO machine. They had both been targeting the machine, but he hadn't

   told Phoenix that he had actually managed to get in. It wasn't that he

   planned on withholding Zardoz when he got it. Quite the contrary,

   Electron wanted Phoenix to read the security file so they could bounce

   ideas off each other. When it came to accounts, however, Phoenix had a

   way of messing things up. He talked too much. He was simply not

   discreet.

   

   While Electron considered his decision, his fingers kept working at

   the keyboard. He typed quickly, mailing copies of the Zardoz bundle to

   two hacked student accounts at Melbourne University. With the

   passwords to both accounts, he could get in whenever he wanted and he

   wasn't taking any chances with this precious cargo. Two accounts were

   safer than one--a main account and a back-up in case someone changed

   the password on the first one.

   

   Then, as the DITMELA machine was still in the process of mailing the

   Zardoz bundle off to the back-up sites, Electron's connection suddenly

   died.

   

   The CSIRO machine had hung up on him, which probably meant one thing.

   The admin had logged him off. Electron was furious. What the hell was

   a system administrator doing on a computer at this hour? The admin was

   supposed to be asleep! That's why Electron logged on when he did. He

   had seen Zardoz on the CSIRO machine the day before but he had been so

   patient refusing to touch it because the risk of discovery was too

   great. And now this.

   

   The only hope was to call Phoenix and get him to login to the

   Melbourne Uni accounts to see if the mail had arrived safely. If so,

   he could download it with his faster modem before the CSIRO admin had

   time to warn the Melbourne Uni admin, who would change the passwords.

   

   Electron got on the phone to Phoenix. They had long since stopped

   caring about what time of day they rang each other. 10 p.m. 2 a.m.

   4.15 a.m. 6.45 a.m.

   

   `Yeah.' Electron greeted Phoenix in the usual way.

   

   `Yup,' Phoenix responded.

   

   Electron told Phoenix what happened and gave him the two accounts at

   Melbourne University where he had mailed the Zardoz bundle.

   

   Phoenix hung up and rang back a few minutes later. Both accounts were

   dead. Someone from Melbourne University had gone in and changed the

   passwords within 30 minutes of Electron being booted off the CSIRO

   computer. Both hackers were disturbed by the implications of this

   event. It meant someone--in fact probably several people--were onto

   them. But their desperation to get Zardoz overcame their fear.

   

   Electron had one more account on the CSIRO computer. He didn't want to

   give it to Phoenix, but he didn't have a choice. Still, the whole

   venture was filled with uncertainty. Who knew if the Zardoz bundle was

   still there? Surely an admin who bothered to kick Electron out would

   move Zardoz to somewhere inaccessible. There was, however, a single

   chance.

   

   When Electron read off the password and username, he told Phoenix to

   copy the Zardoz bundle to a few other machines on the Internet instead

   of trying to download it to his own computer. It would be much

   quicker, and the CSIRO admin wouldn't dare break into someone else's

   computers to delete the copied file. Choosing overseas sites would

   make it even harder for the admin to reach the admins of those

   machines and warn them in time. Then, once Zardoz was safely tucked

   away in a few back-up sites, Phoenix could download it over the

   Internet from one of those with less risk of being booted off the

   machine halfway through the process.

   

   Sitting at his home in Kelvin Grove, Thornbury, just two suburbs north

   of the CSIRO machine, Ian Mathieson watched the hacker break into his

   computer again. Awoken by a phone call at 2.30 a.m. telling him there

   was a suspected hacker in his computer, Mathieson immediately logged

   in to his work system, DITMELA, via his home computer and modem. The

   call, from David Hornsby of the Melbourne University Computer Science

   Department, was no false alarm.

   

   After watching the unknown hacker, who had logged in through a

   Melbourne University machine terminal server, for about twenty

   minutes, Mathieson booted the hacker off his system. Afterwards he

   noticed that the DITMELA computer was still trying to execute a

   command issued by the hacker. He looked a little closer, and

   discovered DITMELA was trying to deliver mail to two Melbourne

   University accounts.

   

   The mail, however, hadn't been completely delivered. It was still

   sitting in the mail spool, a temporary holding pen for undelivered

   mail. Curious as to what the hacker would want so much from his

   system, Mathieson moved the file into a subdirectory to look at it. He

   was horrified to find the entire Zardoz archive, and he knew exactly

   what it meant. These were no ordinary hackers--they were precision

   fliers. Fortunately, Mathieson

   consoled himself, he had stopped the mail before it had been sent out

   and secured it.

   

   Unfortunately, however, Mathieson had missed Electron's original

   file--the bundle of Zardoz copies. When Electron had mailed the file,

   he had copied it, leaving the original intact. They were still sitting

   on DITMELA under the unassuming name .t. Mailing a file didn't delete

   it--the computer only sent a copy of the original. Mathieson was an

   intelligent man, a medical doctor with a master's degree in computer

   science, but he had forgotten to check the temporary directory, one of

   the few places a hacker could store files on a Unix system if he

   didn't have root privileges.

   

   At exactly 3.30 a.m. Phoenix logged into DITMELA from the University

   of Texas. He quickly looked in the temporary directory. The .t file

   was there, just as Electron had said it would be. The hacker quickly

   began transferring it back to the University of Texas.

   

   He was feeling good. It looked like the Australians were going to get

   the entire Zardoz collection after all. Everything was going extremely

   well--until the transfer suddenly died. Phoenix had forgotten to check

   that there was enough disk space available on the University of Texas

   account to download the sizeable Zardoz bundle. Now, as he was logged

   into a very hot machine, a machine where the admin could well be

   watching his every move, he discovered there wasn't enough room for

   the Zardoz file.

   

   Aware that every second spent on-line to DITMELA posed a serious risk,

   Phoenix logged off the CSIRO machine immediately. Still connected to

   the Texas computer, he fiddled around with it, deleting other files

   and making enough room to pull the whole 500 k Zardoz file across.

   

   At 3.37 a.m. Phoenix entered DITMELA again. This time, he vowed,

   nothing would go wrong. He started up the file transfer and waited.

   Less than ten minutes later, he logged off the CSIRO computer and

   nervously checked the University of Texas system. It was there.

   Zardoz, in all its glory. And it was his! Phoenix was ecstatic.

   

   He wasn't done yet and there was no time for complacency. Swiftly, he

   began compressing and encrypting Zardoz. He

   compressed it because a smaller file was less obvious on the Texas

   machine and was faster to send to a back-up machine. He encrypted it

   so no-one nosing around the file would be able to see what was in it.

   He wasn't just worried about system admins; the Texas system was

   riddled with hackers, in part because it was home to his friend,

   Legion of Doom hacker Erik Bloodaxe, a

   student at the university.

   

   After Phoenix was satisfied Zardoz was safe, he rang Electron just

   before 4 a.m. with the good news. By 8.15, Phoenix had downloaded

   Zardoz from the Texas computer onto his own machine. By 1.15 p.m.,

   Electron had downloaded it from Phoenix's machine to his own.



				    [ ]

   

   Zardoz had been a difficult conquest, but Deszip would prove to be

   even more so. While dozens of security experts possessed complete

   Zardoz archives, far fewer people had Deszip. And, at least

   officially, all of them were in the US.

   

   The US government banned the export of cryptography algorithms. To

   send a copy of Deszip, or DES or indeed any other encryption program

   outside the US was a crime. It was illegal because the US State

   Department's Office of Defense Trade Controls considered any

   encryption program to be a weapon. ITAR, the International Traffic in

   Arms Regulations stemming from the US Arms Export Control Act 1977,

   restricted publication of and trad in `defense articles'. It didn't

   matter whether you flew to Europe with a disk in your pocket, or you

   sent the material over the Internet. If you violated ITAR, you faced

   the prospect of prison.

   

   Occasionally, American computer programmers discreetly slipped copies

   of encryption programs to specialists in their field outside the US.

   Once the program was outside the US, it was fair game--there was

   nothing US authorities could do about someone in Norway sending Deszip

   to a colleague in Australia. But even so, the comp-sec and

   cryptography communities outside the US still held programs such as

   Deszip very tightly within their own inner sanctums.

   

   All of which meant that Electron and Phoenix would almost certainly

   have to target a site in the US. Electron continued to compile a hit

   list, based on the Zardoz mailing list, which he gave to Phoenix. The

   two hackers then began searching the growing Internet for computers

   belonging to the targets.

   

   It was an impressive hit list. Matthew Bishop, author of Deszip.

   Russell Brand, of the Lawrence Livermore National Labs, a research

   laboratory funded by the US Department of Energy. Dan Farmer, an

   author of the computer program COPS, a popular security-testing

   program which included a password cracking program. There were others.

   And, at the top of the list, Eugene Spafford, or Spaf, as the hackers

   called him.

   

   By 1990, the computer underground viewed Spaf not just as security

   guru, but also as an anti-hacker zealot. Spaf was based at Purdue

   University, a hotbed of computer security experts. Bishop had earned

   his PhD at Purdue and Dan Farmer was still there. Spaf was also one of

   the founders of usenet, the Internet newsgroups service. While working

   as a computer scientist at the university, he had made a name for

   himself by, among other things, writing a technical analysis of the

   RTM worm. The worm, authored by Cornell University student Robert T.

   Morris Jr in 1988, proved to be a boon for Spaf's career.

   

   Prior to the RTM worm, Spaf had been working in software engineering.

   After the worm, he became a computer ethicist and a very public

   spokesman for the conservatives in the computer security industry.

   Spaf went on tour across the US, lecturing the public and the media on

   worms, viruses and the ethics of hacking. During the Morris case,

   hacking became a hot topic in the United States, and Spaf fed the

   flames. When Judge Howard G. Munson refused to sentence Morris to

   prison, instead ordering him to complete 400 hours community service,

   pay a $10000 fine and submit to three years probation, Spaf publicly

   railed against the decision. The media reported that he had called on

   the computer industry to boycott any company which chose to employ

   Robert T. Morris Jr.

   

   Targeting Spaf therefore served a dual purpose for the Australian

   hackers. He was undoubtedly a repository of treasures such as Deszip,

   and he was also a tall poppy.

   

   One night, Electron and Phoenix decided to break into Spaf's machine

   at Purdue to steal a copy of Deszip. Phoenix would do the actual

   hacking, since he had the fast modem, but he would talk to Electron

   simultaneously on the other phone line. Electron would guide him at

   each step. That way, when Phoenix hit a snag, he wouldn't have to

   retreat to regroup and risk discovery.

   

   Both hackers had managed to break into another computer at Purdue,

   called Medusa. But Spaf had a separate machine, Uther, which was

   connected to Medusa.

   

   Phoenix poked and prodded at Uther, trying to open a hole wide enough

   for him to crawl through. At Electron's suggestion, he tried to use

   the CHFN bug. The CHFN command lets users change the information

   provided--such as their name, work address or office phone

   number--when someone `fingers' their accounts. The bug had appeared in

   one of the Zardoz files and Phoenix and Electron had already used it

   to break into several other machines.

   

   Electron wanted to use the CHFN bug because, if the attack was

   successful, Phoenix would be able to make a root account for himself

   on Spaf's machine. That would be the ultimate slap in the face to a

   high-profile computer security guru.

   

   But things weren't going well for Phoenix. The frustrated Australian

   hacker kept telling Electron that the bug should work, but it

   wouldn't, and he couldn't figure out why. The problem, Electron

   finally concluded, was that Spaf's machine was a Sequent. The CHFN bug

   depended on a particular Unix password file structure, but Sequents

   used a different structure. It didn't help that Phoenix didn't know

   that much about Sequents--they were one of Gandalf's specialties.

   

   After a few exasperating hours struggling to make the CHFN bug work,

   Phoenix gave up and turned to another security flaw suggested by

   Electron: the FTP bug. Phoenix ran through the bug in his mind.

   Normally, someone used FTP, or file transfer protocol, to transfer

   files over a network, such as the Internet, from one computer to

   another. FTPing to another machine was a bit like telnetting, but the

   user didn't need a password to login and the commands he could execute

   once in the other computer were usually very limited.

   

   If it worked, the FTP bug would allow Phoenix to slip in an extra

   command during the FTP login process. That command would force Spaf's

   machine to allow Phoenix to login as anyone he wanted--and what he

   wanted was to login as someone who had root privileges. The `root'

   account might be a little obvious

   if anyone was watching, and it didn't always have remote

   access anyway. So he chose `daemon', another commonly root-privileged

   account, instead.

   

   It was a shot in the dark. Phoenix was fairly sure Spaf would have

   secured his machine against such an obvious attack, but Electron urged

   him to give it a try anyway. The FTP bug had been announced throughout

   the computer security community long ago, appearing in an early issue

   of Zardoz. Phoenix hesitated, but he had run out of ideas, and time.

   

   Phoenix typed:

   

   FTP -i uther.purdue.edu

   

   quote user anonymous

   

   quote cd ~daemon

   

   quote pass anything

   

   The few seconds it took for his commands to course from his suburban

   home in Melbourne and race deep into the Midwest felt like a lifetime.

   He wanted Spaf's machine, wanted Deszip, and wanted this attack to

   work. If he could just get Deszip, he felt the Australians would be

   unstoppable.

   

   Spaf's machine opened its door as politely as a doorman at the Ritz

   Carlton. Phoenix smiled at his computer. He was in.

   

   It was like being in Aladdin's cave. Phoenix just sat there, stunned

   at the bounty which lay before him. It was his, all his. Spaf had

   megabytes of security files in his directories. Source code for the

   RTM Internet worm. Source code for the WANK worm. Everything. Phoenix

   wanted to plunge his hands in each treasure chest and scoop out greedy

   handfuls, but he resisted the urge. He had a more important--a more

   strategic--mission to accomplish first.

   

   He prowled through the directories, hunting everywhere for Deszip.

   Like a burglar scouring the house for the family silver, he pawed

   through directory after directory. Surely, Spaf had to have Deszip. If

   anyone besides Matthew Bishop was going to have a copy, he would. And

   finally, there it was. Deszip. Just waiting for Phoenix.

   

   Then Phoenix noticed something else. Another file. Curiosity got the

   better of him and he zoomed in to have a quick look. This one

   contained a passphrase--the passphrase. The phrase the Australians

   needed to decrypt the original copy of Deszip they had stolen from the

   Bear computer at Dartmouth three months earlier. Phoenix couldn't

   believe the passphrase. It was so simple, so obvious. But he caught

   himself. This was no time to cry over spilled milk. He had to get

   Deszip out of the machine quickly, before anyone noticed he was there.

   

   But as Phoenix began typing in commands, his screen appeared to freeze

   up. He checked. It wasn't his computer. Something was wrong at the

   other end. He was still logged into Spaf's machine. The connection

   hadn't been killed. But when he typed commands, the computer in West

   Lafayette, Indiana, didn't respond. Spaf's machine just sat there,

   deaf and dumb.

   

   Phoenix stared at his computer, trying to figure out what was

   happening. Why wouldn't Spaf's machine answer? There were two

   possibilities. Either the network--the connection between the first

   machine he penetrated at Purdue and Spaf's own machine--had gone down

   accidentally. Or someone had pulled the plug.

   

   Why pull the plug? If they knew he was in there, why not just kick him

   out of the machine? Better still, why not kick him out of Purdue all

   together? Maybe they wanted to keep him on-line to trace which machine

   he was coming from, eventually winding backwards from system to

   system, following his trail.

   

   Phoenix was in a dilemma. If the connection had crashed by accident,

   he wanted to stay put and wait for the network to come back up again.

   The FTP hole in Spaf's machine was an incredible piece of luck.

   Chances were that someone would find

   evidence of his break-in after he left and plug it. On the

   other hand, he didn't want the people at Purdue tracing his

   connections.

   

   He waited a few more minutes, trying to hedge his bets. Feeling nervy

   as the extended silence emanating from Spaf's machine wore on, Phoenix

   decided to jump. With the lost treasures of Aladdin's cave fading in

   his mind's eye like a mirage, Phoenix killed his connection.

   

   Electron and Phoenix talked on the phone, moodily contemplating their

   losses. It was a blow, but Electron reminded himself that getting

   Deszip was never going to be easy. At least they had the passphrase to

   unlock the encrypted Deszip taken from Dartmouth.

   

   Soon, however, they discovered a problem. There had to be one,

   Electron thought. They couldn't just have something go off without a

   hitch for a change. That would be too easy. The problem this time was

   that when they went searching for their copy from Dartmouth, which had

   been stored several months before, it had vanished. The Dartmouth

   system admin must have deleted it.

   

   It was maddening. The frustration was unbearable. Each time they had

   Deszip just within their grasp, it slipped away and

   disappeared. Yet each time they lost their grip, it only deepened

   their desire to capture the elusive prize. Deszip was fast becoming an

   all-consuming obsession for Phoenix and Electron.

   

   Their one last hope was the second copy of the encrypted Dartmouth

   Deszip file they had given to Gandalf, but that hope did not burn

   brightly. After all, if the Australians' copy had been deleted, there

   was every likelihood that the Brit's copy had suffered the same fate.

   Gandalf's copy hadn't been stored on his own computer. He had put it

   on some dark corner of a machine in Britain.

   

   Electron and Phoenix logged onto Altos and waited for Pad or Gandalf

   to show up.

   

   Phoenix typed .s for a list of who was on-line. He saw that Pad was

   logged on:

   

   No Chan User

   

   0 Guest

   

   1 Phoenix

   

   2 Pad

   

   Guest 0 was Electron. He usually logged on as Guest, partly because he

   was so paranoid about being busted and because he believed operators

   monitored his connections if they knew it was Electron logging in.

   They seemed to take great joy in sniffing the password to his own

   account on Altos. Then, when he had logged off, they logged in and

   changed his password so he couldn't get back under the name Electron.

   Nothing was more annoying. Phoenix typed, `Hey, Pad. How's it going?'

   

   Pad wrote back, `Feeny! Heya.'

   

   `Do you and Gand still have that encrypted copy of Deszip we gave you

   a few months ago?'

   

   `Encrypted copy ... hmm. Thinking.' Pad paused. He and Gandalf hacked

   dozens of computer systems regularly. Sometimes it was difficult to

   recall just where they had stored things.

   

   `Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't know. It was on a system on

   JANET,' Pad said. Britain's Joint Academic Network was the equivalent

   of Australia's AARNET, an early Internet based largely on a backbone

   of universities and research centres.

   

   `I can't remember which system it was on,' Pad continued.

   

   If the Brits couldn't recall the institution, let alone the machine

   where they had hidden Deszip, it was time to give up

   all hope. JANET comprised hundreds, maybe thousands, of machines. It

   was far too big a place to randomly hunt around for a file which

   Gandalf would no doubt have tried to disguise in the first place.

   

   `But the file was encrypted, and you didn't have the password,' Pad

   wrote. `How come you want it?'

   

   `Because we found the password. ' That was the

   etiquette on Altos. If you wanted to suggest an action, you put it in

   < >.

   

   `Gr8!' Pad answered.

   

   That was Pad and Gandalf's on-line style. The number eight was the

   British hackers' hallmark, since their group was called 8lgm, and they

   used it instead of letters. Words like `great', `mate' and `later'

   became `gr8', `m8' and `l8r'.

   

   When people logged into Altos they could name a `place' of origin for

   others to see. Of course, if you were logging from a country which had

   laws against hacking, you wouldn't give your real country. You'd just

   pick a place at random. Some people logged in from places like

   Argentina, or Israel. Pad and Gandalf logged in from 8lgm.

   

   `I'll try to find Gandalf and ask him if he knows where we stashed the

   copy,' Pad wrote to Phoenix.

   

   `Good. Thanks.'

   

   While Phoenix and Electron waited on-line for Pad to return, Par

   showed up on-line and joined their conversation. Par didn't know who

   Guest 0 was, but Guest certainly knew who Par was. Time hadn't healed

   Electron's old wounds when it came to Par. Electron didn't really

   admit to himself the bad blood was still there over Theorem. He told

   himself that he couldn't be bothered with Par, that Par was just a

   phreaker, not a real hacker, that Par was lame.

   

   Phoenix typed, `Hey, Par. How's it going?'

   

   `Feenster!' Par replied. `What's happening?'

   

   `Lots and lots.'

   

   Par turned his attention to the mystery Guest 0. He didn't want to

   discuss private things with someone who might be a security guy

   hanging around the chat channel like a bad smell.

   

   `Guest, do you have a name?' Par asked.

   

   `Yeah. It's "Guest--#0".'

   

   `You got any other names?'

   

   There was a long pause.

   

   Electron typed, `I guess not.'

   

   `Any other names besides dickhead that is?'

   

   Electron sent a `whisper'--a private message--to Phoenix telling him

   not to tell Par his identity.

   

   `OK. Sure,' Phoenix whispered back. To show he would play along with

   whatever Electron had in mind, Phoenix added a sideways smiley face at

   the end: `:-)'.

   

   Par didn't know Electron and Phoenix were whispering to each other. He

   was still waiting to find out the identity of Guest. `Well, speak up,

   Guest. Figured out who you are yet?'

   

   Electron knew Par was on the run at the time. Indeed, Par had been on

   the run from the US Secret Service for more than six months by the

   beginning of 1990. He also knew Par was highly paranoid.

   

   Electron took aim and fired.

   

   `Hey, Par. You should eat more. You're looking underFED these days.'

   

   Par was suddenly silent. Electron sat at his computer, quietly

   laughing to himself, halfway across the world from Par. Well, he

   thought, that ought to freak out Par a bit. Nothing like a subtle hint

   at law enforcement to drive him nuts.

   

   `Did you see THAT?' Par whispered to Phoenix. `UnderFED. What did he

   mean?'

   

   `I dunno,' Phoenix whispered back. Then he forwarded a copy of Par's

   private message on to Electron. He knew it would make him laugh.

   

   Par was clearly worried. `Who the fuck are you?' he whispered to

   Electron but Guest 0 didn't answer.

   

   With growing anxiety, Par whispered to Phoenix, `Who IS this guy? Do

   you know him?'

   

   Phoenix didn't answer.

   

   `Because, well, it's weird. Didn't you see? FED was in caps. What the

   fuck does that mean? Is he a fed? Is he trying to give me a message

   from the feds?'

   

   Sitting at his terminal, on the other side of Melbourne from Electron,

   Phoenix was also laughing. He liked Par, but the American was an easy

   target. Par had become so paranoid since he went on the run across the

   US, and Electron knew just the right buttons to push.

   

   `I don't know,' Phoenix whispered to Par. `I'm sure he's not really a

   fed.'

   

   `Well, I am wondering about that comment,' Par whispered back.

   `UnderFED. Hmm. Maybe he knows something. Maybe it's some kind of

   warning. Shit, maybe the Secret Service knows where I am.'

   

   `You think?' Phoenix whispered to Par. `It might be a warning of some

   kind?' It was too funny.

   

   `Can you check his originating NUA?' Par wanted to know what network

   address the mystery guest was coming from. It might give him a clue as

   to the stranger's identity.

   

   Phoenix could barely contain himself. He kept forwarding the private

   messages on to Electron. Par was clearly becoming more agitated.

   

   `I wish he would just tell me WHO he was,' Par whispered. `Shit. It is

   very fucking weird. UnderFED. It's spinning me out.'

   

   Then Par logged off.

   

   Electron typed, `I guess Par had to go. ' Then, chuckling to

   himself, he waited for news on Gandalf's Deszip copy.

   

   If Pad and Gandalf hadn't kept their copy of Deszip, the Australians

   would be back to square one, beginning with a hunt for a system which

   even had Deszip. It was a daunting task and by the time Pad and

   Gandalf finally logged back into Altos, Phoenix and Electron had

   become quite anxious.

   

   `How did you go?' Phoenix asked. `Do you still have Deszip?'

   

   `Well, at first I thought I had forgotten which system I left it on

   ...'

   

   Electron jumped in, `And then?'

   

   `Then I remembered.'

   

   `Good news?' Phoenix exclaimed.

   

   `Well, no. Not exactly,' Gandalf said. `The account is dead.'

   

   Electron felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him.

   `Dead? Dead how?' he asked.

   

   `Dead like someone changed the password. Not sure why. I'll have to

   re-hack the system to get to the file.'

   

   `Fuck, this Deszip is frustrating,' Electron wrote.

   

   `This is getting ridiculous,' Phoenix added.

   

   `I don't even know if the copy is still in there,' Gandalf replied. `I

   hid it, but who knows? Been a few months. Admins might have deleted

   it.'

   

   `You want some help hacking the system again, Gand?' Phoenix asked.

   

   `Nah, It'll be easy. It's a Sequent. Just have to hang around until

   the ops go home.'

   

   If an op was logged on and saw Gandalf hunting around, he or she might

   kick Gandalf off and investigate the file which so interested the

   hacker. Then they would lose Deszip all over again.

   

   `I hope we get it,' Pad chipped in. `Would be gr8!'

   

   `Gr8 indeed. Feen, you've got the key to the encryption?' Gandalf

   asked.

   

   `Yeah.'

   

   `How many characters is it?' It was Gandalf's subtle way of asking for

   the key itself.

   

   Phoenix wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to give the British hackers

   the key, but he was torn. He needed Pad and Gandalf's help to get the

   copy of Deszip, if it was still around. But he knew Electron was

   watching the conversation, and Electron was always so paranoid. He

   disliked giving out any information, let alone giving it over Altos,

   where the conversations were possibly logged by security people.

   

   `Should I give him the key?' Phoenix whispered to Electron.

   

   Gandalf was waiting. To fend him off, Phoenix said, `It's 9 chars.'

   Chars was short for characters. On Altos the rule was to abbreviate

   where ever possible.

   

   `What is the first char?'

   

   `Yeah. Tell him,' Electron whispered to Phoenix.

   

   `Well, the key is ...'

   

   `You're going to spew when you find out, Gand,' Electron interrupted.

   

   `Yes ... go on,' Gandalf said. `I am listening.'

   

   `You won't believe it.  The key is ... Dartmouth.'

   

   `WHAT???? WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' Gandalf exclaimed.

   `No!!! IT's NOT TRUE! Bollox! You are KIDDING?'

   

   The British hacker was thumping himself on the head. The name of the

   frigging university! What a stupid password!

   

   Phoenix gave an on-line chuckle. `Hehe. Yeah. So hard to guess. We

   could have had Deszip for all these months ...'

   

   `Jesus. I hope it's still on that JANET system,' Gandalf said. Now

   that he actually had the password, finding the file became even more

   urgent.

   

   `Pray. Pray. Pray,' Phoenix said. `Yeah, you should have seen the

   licence text on Deszip--it was by NASA.'

   

   `You've seen it? You saw Deszip's source code?'

   

   `No,' Phoenix answered. `When I went back to the BEAR machine to check

   if Deszip was still there, the program was gone. But the licence

   agreement and other stuff was there. Should have read the licence ...

   truly amazing. It basically went on and on about how the people who

   wrote it didn't want people like us to get a hold of it. Hehe.'

   

   Electron was growing impatient. `Yeah. So, Gand, when you gonna go

   check that JANET system?'

   

   `Now. Fingers crossed, m8! See ya l8r ...' Then he was gone.

   

   The waiting was driving Electron nuts. He kept thinking about Deszip,

   about how he could have had it months and months ago. That program was

   such a prize. He was salivating at the thought of getting it after all

   this time pursuing it around the globe, chasing its trail from system

   to system, never quite getting close enough to grab it.

   

   When Gandalf showed up again, Pad, Phoenix and Electron were all over

   him in an instant.

   

   `WE FUCKING GOT IT GUYS!!!!!' Gandalf exclaimed.

   

   `Good job m8!' Pad said.

   

   `YES!' Electron added. `Have you decrypted it yet?'

   

   `Not yet. Crypt isn't on that machine. We can either copy Crypt onto

   that machine or copy the file onto another computer which already has

   Crypt on it,' Gandalf said.

   

   `Let's move it. Quick ... quick ... this damn thing has a habit of

   disappearing,' Electron said.

   

   `Yeah, this is the last copy ... the only one I got.'

   

   `OK. Think ... think ... where can we copy it to?' Electron said.

   

   `Texas!' Gandalf wanted to copy it to a computer at the University of

   Texas at Austin, home of the LOD hacker Erik Bloodaxe.

   

   Irrepressible, Gandalf came on like a steam roller if he liked

   you--and cut you down in a flash if he didn't. His rough-and-tumble

   working-class humour particularly appealed to Electron. Gandalf seemed

   able to zero in on the things which worried you most--something so

   deep or serious it was often unsaid. Then he would blurt it out in

   such crass, blunt terms you couldn't help laughing. It was his way of

   being in your face in the friendliest possible manner.

   

   `Yeah! Blame everything on Erik!' Phoenix joked. `No, seriously. That

   place is crawling with security now, all after Erik. They are into

   everything.'

   

   Phoenix had heard all about the security purge at the university from

   Erik. The Australian called Erik all the time, mostly by charging the

   calls to stolen AT&T cards. Erik hadn't been raided by the Secret

   Service yet, but he had been tipped off and was expecting a visit any

   day.

   

   `It probably won't decrypt anyway,' Electron said.

   

   `Oh, phuck off!' Gandalf shot back. `Come on! I need a site NOW!'

   

   `Thinking ...' Phoenix said. `Gotta be some place with room--how big

   is it?'

   

   `It's 900 k compressed--probably 3 meg when we uncompress it. Come on,

   hurry up! How about a university?'

   

   `Princeton, Yale could do either of those.' Electron suggested. `What

   about MIT--you hacked an account there recently, Gand?'

   

   `No.'

   

   All four hackers racked their minds for a safe haven. The world was

   their oyster, as British and Australian hackers held a real-time

   conversation in Germany about whether to hide their treasure in

   Austin, Texas; Princeton, New Jersey; Boston, Massachusetts; or New

   Haven, Connecticut.

   

   `We only need somewhere to stash it for a little while, until we can

   download it,' Gandalf said. `Got to be some machine where we've got

   root. And it's got to have anon FTP.'

   

   Anon FTP, or anonymous file transfer protocol, on a host machine would

   allow Gandalf to shoot the file from his JANET machine across the

   Internet into the host. Most importantly, Gandalf could do so without

   an account on the target machine. He could simply login as

   `anonymous', a method of access which had more limitations than simply

   logging in with a normal account. He would, however, still be able to

   upload the file.

   

   `OK. OK, I have an idea,' Phoenix said. `Lemme go check

   it out.'

   

   Phoenix dropped out of Altos and connected to the University of Texas.

   The physical location of a site didn't matter. His head was spinning

   and it was the only place he could think of. But he didn't try to

   connect to Happy, the machine he often used which Erik had told him

   about. He headed to one of the other university computers, called

   Walt.

   

   The network was overloaded. Phoenix was left dangling, waiting to

   connect for minutes on end. The lines were congested. He logged back

   into Altos and told Pad and Electron. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen.

   

   `Damn,' Electron said. Then, `OK, I might have an idea.'

   

   `No, wait!' Phoenix cut in. `I just thought of a site! And I have root

   too! But it's on NASA ...'

   

   `Oh that's OK. I'm sure they won't mind a bit. '

   

   `I'll go make sure it's still OK. Back in a bit,' Phoenix typed.

   

   Phoenix jumped out of Altos and headed toward NASA. He telnetted into

   a NASA computer called CSAB at the Langley Research Center in Hampton,

   Virginia. He had been in and out of NASA quite a few times and had

   recently made himself a root account on CSAB. First, he had to check

   the account was still alive, then he had to make sure the system

   administrator wasn't logged in.

   

   Whizzing past the official warning sign about unauthorised access in

   US government computers on the login screen, Phoenix typed in his user

   name and password.

   

   It worked. He was in. And he had root privileges.

   

   He quickly looked around on the system. The administrator was on-line.

   Damn.

   

   Phoenix fled the NASA computer and sprinted back into Altos. Gandalf

   was there, along with the other two, waiting for him.

   

   `Well?' Electron asked.

   

   `OK. All right. The NASA machine will work. It has anon FTP. And I

   still have root. We'll use that.'

   

   Gandalf jumped in. `Hang on--does it have Crypt?'

   

   `Argh! Forget to check. I think it must.'

   

   `Better check it, m8!'

   

   `Yeah, OK.'

   

   Phoenix felt exasperated, rushing around trying to find sites that

   worked. He logged out of Altos and coursed his way back into the NASA

   machine. The admin was still logged on, but Phoenix was running out of

   time. He had to find out if the computer had Crypt on it. It did.

   

   Phoenix rushed back to Altos. `Back again. We're in business.'

   

   `Yes!' Electron said, but he quickly jumped in with a word of warning.

   `Don't say the exact machine at NASA or the account out loud. Whisper

   it to Gandalf. I think the ops are listening in on my connection.'

   

   `Well,' Phoenix typed slowly, `there's only one problem. The admin is

   logged on.'

   

   `Arghhh!' Electron shouted.

   

   `Just do it,' Pad said. `No time to worry.'

   

   Phoenix whispered the Internet IP address of the NASA machine to

   Gandalf.

   

   `OK, m8, I'll anon FTP it to NASA. I'll come back here and tell you

   the new filename. Then you go in and decrypt it and uncompress the

   file. W8 for me here.'

   

   Ten minutes later, Gandalf returned. `Mission accomplished. The file

   is there!'

   

   `Now, go go Pheeny!' Electron said.

   

   `Gand, whisper the filename to me,' Phoenix said.

   

   `The file's called "d" and it's in the pub directory,' Gandalf

   whispered.

   

   `OK, folks. Here we go!' Phoenix said as he logged off.

   

   Phoenix dashed to the NASA computer, logged in and looked for the file

   named `d'. He couldn't find it. He couldn't even find the pub

   directory. He began hunting around the rest of the file system. Where

   was the damn thing?

   

   Uh oh. Phoenix noticed the system administrator, Sharon Beskenis, was

   still logged in. She was connected from Phoebe, another NASA machine.

   There was only one other user besides himself logged into the CSAB

   machine, someone called Carrie. As if that wasn't bad enough, Phoenix

   realised his username stood out a like a sore thumb. If the admin

   looked at who was on-line she would see herself, Carrie and a user

   called `friend', an account he had created for himself. How many

   legitimate accounts on NASA computers had that name?

   

   Worse, Phoenix noticed that he had forgotten to cover his login trail.

   `Friend' was telnetting into the NASA computer from the University of

   Texas. No, no, he thought, that would definitely have to go. He

   disconnected from NASA, bounced back to the university and then logged

   in to NASA again. Good grief. Now the damn NASA machine showed two

   people logged in as `friend'. The computer hadn't properly killed his

   previous login. Stress.

   

   Phoenix tried frantically to clear out his first login by killing its

   process number. The NASA computer responded that there was no such

   process number. Increasingly nervous, Phoenix figured he must have

   typed in the wrong number. Unhinged, he grabbed one of the other

   process numbers and killed that.

   

   Christ! That was the admin's process number. Phoenix had just

   disconnected Sharon from her own machine. Things were not going well.

   

   Now he was under serious pressure. He didn't dare logout, because

   Sharon would no doubt find his `friend' account, kill it and close up

   the security hole he had originally used to get in. Even if she didn't

   find Deszip on her own machine, he might not be able to get back in

   again to retrieve it.

   

   After another frenzied minute hunting around the machine, Phoenix

   finally unearthed Gandalf's copy of Deszip. Now, the moment of truth.

   

   He tried the passphrase. It worked! All he had to do

   was uncompress Deszip and get it out of there. He typed, `uncompress

   deszip.tar.z', but he didn't like how the NASA computer answered his

   command:

   

   corrupt input

   

   Something was wrong, terribly wrong. The file appeared to be partially

   destroyed. It was too painful a possibility to contemplate. Even if

   only a small part of the main Deszip program had been damaged, none of

   it would be useable.

   

   Rubbing sweat from his palms, Phoenix hoped that maybe the file had

   just been damaged as he attempted to uncompress it. He had kept the

   original, so he went back to that and tried decrypting and

   uncompressing it again. The NASA computer gave him the same ugly

   response. Urgently, he tried yet again, but this time attempted to

   uncompress the file in a different way. Same problem.

   

   Phoenix was at his wits' end. This was too much. The most he could

   hope was that the file had somehow become corrupted in the transfer

   from Gandalf's JANET machine. He logged out of NASA and returned to

   Altos. The other three were waiting impatiently for him.

   

   Electron, still logged in as the mystery Guest, leaped in. `Did it

   work?'

   

   `No. Decrypted OK, but the file was corrupted when I tried to

   decompress it.'

   

   `Arghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!' Gandalf exclaimed.

   

   `Fuckfuckfuck,' Electron wrote. `Doomed to fail.'

   

   `Sigh Sigh Sigh,' Pad typed.

   

   Gandalf and Electron quizzed Phoenix in detail about each command he

   had used, but in the end there seemed only one hope. Move a copy of

   the decryption program to the JANET computer in the UK and try

   decrypting and uncompressing Deszip there.

   

   Phoenix gave Gandalf a copy of Crypt and the British hacker went to

   work on the JANET computer. A little later he rendezvoused on Altos

   again.

   

   Phoenix was beside himself by this stage. `Gand! Work???'

   

   `Well, I decrypted it using the program you gave me ...'

   

   `And And And???' Electron was practically jumping out of his seat at

   his computer.

   

   `Tried to uncompress it. It was taking a LONG time. Kept

   going--expanded to 8 megabytes.'

   

   `Oh NO. Bad Bad Bad,' Phoenix moaned. `Should only be 3 meg. If it's

   making a million files, it's fucked.'

   

   `Christ,' Pad typed. `Too painful.'

   

   `I got the makefile--licensing agreement text etc., but the Deszip

   program itself was corrupted,' Gandalf concluded.

   

   `I don't understand what is wrong with it. ' Phoenix wrote.

   

   `AgonyAgonyAgony,' Electron groaned. `It'll never never never work.'

   

   `Can we get a copy anywhere else?' Gandalf asked.

   

   `That FTP bug has been fixed at Purdue,' Pad answered. `Can't use that

   to get in again.'

   

   Disappointment permeated the atmosphere on Altos.

   

   There were, of course, other possible repositories for Deszip. Phoenix

   and Electron had already penetrated a computer at Lawrence Livermore

   National Labs in California. They had procured root on the gamm5

   machine and planned to use it as a launchpad for penetrating security

   expert Russell Brand's computer at LLNL, called Wuthel. They were sure

   Brand had Deszip on his computer.

   

   It would require a good deal of effort, and possibly another

   roller-coaster ride of desire, expectation and possible

   disappointment. For now, the four hackers resolved to sign off,

   licking their wounds at their defeat in the quest for Deszip.

   

   `Well, I'm off. See you l8r,' Pad said.

   

   `Yeah, me too,' Electron added.

   

   `Yeah, OK. L8r, m8s!' Gandalf said.

   

   Then, just for fun, he added in typical Gandalf style, `See you in

   jail!'





     _________________________________________________________________



		  Chapter 6 -- Page 1 The New York Times

     _________________________________________________________________

   

                                       

     Read about it

     Just another incredible scene

     There's no doubt about it 

     

   -- from `Read About It', on 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 by Midnight

   Oil

   

   Pad had an important warning for the Australian hackers: the computer

   security community was closing in on them. It was the end of February

   1990, not long after Phoenix and Electron had captured Zardoz and just

   missed out on Deszip. Pad didn't scream or shout the warning, that

   wasn't his style. But Electron took in the import of the warning loud

   and clear.

   

   `Feen, they know you did over Spaf's machine,' Pad told Phoenix. `They

   know it's been you in other systems also. They've got your handle.'

   

   Eugene Spafford was the kind of computer security expert who loses a

   lot of face when a hacker gets into his machine, and a wounded bull is

   a dangerous enemy.

   

   The security people had been able to connect and link up a series of

   break-ins with the hacker who called himself Phoenix because his style

   was so distinctive. For example, whenever he was creating a root

   shell--root access--for himself, he would always save it in the same

   filename and in the same location on the

   computer. In some instances, he even created accounts called `Phoenix'

   for himself. It was this consistency of style which had made things so

   much easier for admins to trace his movements.

   

   In his typical understated fashion, Pad suggested a change of style.

   And maybe, he added, it wasn't such a bad idea for the Australians to

   tone down their activities a bit. The undercurrent of the message was

   serious.

   

   `They said that some security people had contacted Australian law

   enforcement, who were supposed to be "dealing with it",' Pad said.

   

   `Do they know my real name?' Phoenix asked, worried. Electron was also

   watching this conversation with some concern.

   

   `Don't know. Got it from Shatter. He's not always reliable,

   but ...'

   

   Pad was trying to soften the news by playing down Shatter's importance

   as a source. He didn't trust his fellow British hacker but Shatter had

   some good, if mysterious, connections. An enigmatic figure who seemed

   to keep one foot in the computer underworld and the other in the

   upright computer security industry, Shatter leaked information to Pad

   and Gandalf, and occasionally to the Australians.

   

   While the two British hackers sometimes discounted Shatter's advice,

   they also took the time to talk to him. Once, Electron had intercepted

   email showing Pengo had turned to Shatter for advice about his

   situation after the raid in Germany. With some spare time prior to his

   trial, Pengo asked Shatter whether it was safe to travel to the US on

   a summer holiday in 1989. Shatter asked for Pengo's birthdate and

   other details. Then he returned with an unequivocal answer: Under no

   circumstances was Pengo to travel to the US.

   

   Subsequently, it was reported that officials in the US Justice

   Department had been examining ways to secretly coax Pengo onto

   American soil, where they could seize him. They would then force him

   to face trial in their own courts.

   

   Had Shatter known this? Or had he just told Pengo not to go to the US

   because it was good commonsense? No-one was quite sure, but people

   took note of what Shatter told them.

   

   `Shatter definitely got the info right about Spaf's machine. 100%

   right,' Pad continued. `He knew exactly how you hacked it. I couldn't

   believe it. Be careful if you're still hacking m8, especially on the

   Inet.' The `Inet' was shorthand for the Internet.

   

   The Altos hackers went quiet.

   

   `It's not just you,' Pad tried to reassure the Australians. `Two

   security people from the US are coming to the UK to try and find out

   something about someone named Gandalf. Oh, and Gand's mate, who might

   be called Patrick.'

   

   Pad had indeed based his handle on the name Patrick, or Paddy, but

   that wasn't his real name. No intelligent hacker would use his real

   name for his handle. Paddy was the name of one of his favourite

   university lecturers, an Irishman who laughed a good deal. Like Par's

   name, Pad's handle had coincidentally echoed a second meaning when the

   British hacker moved into exploring X.25 networks. An X.25 PAD is a

   packet assembler disassembler, the interface between the X.25 network

   and a modem or terminal server. Similarly, Gandalf, while being first

   and foremost the wizard from The Lord of The Rings, also happened to

   be a terminal server brand name.

   

   Despite the gravity of the news that the security community was

   closing the net around them, none of the hackers lost their wicked

   sense of humour.

   

   `You know,' Pad went on, `Spaf was out of the country when his machine

   got hacked.'

   

   `Was he? Where?' asked Gandalf, who had just joined the conversation.

   

   `In Europe.'

   

   Electron couldn't resist. `Where was Spaf, Gandalf asks as he hears a

   knock on his door ...'

   

   `Haha,' Gandalf laughed.

   

   ` ' Electron went on, hamming it up.

   

   `Oh! Hello there, Mr Spafford,' Gandalf typed, playing along.

   

   `Hello, I'm Gene and I'm mean!'

   

   Alone in their separate homes on different corners of the globe, the

   four hackers chuckled to themselves.

   

   `Hello, and is this the man called Patrick?' Pad jumped in.

   

   `Well, Mr Spafford, it seems you're a right fucking idiot for not

   patching your FTP!' Gandalf proclaimed.

   

   `Not to mention the CHFN bug--saved by a Sequent! Or you'd be very

   fucking embarrassed,' Phoenix added.

   

   Phoenix was laughing too, but he was a little nervous about Pad's

   warning and he turned the conversation back to a serious note.

   

   `So, Pad, what else did Shatter tell you?' Phoenix asked

   anxiously.

   

   `Not much. Except that some of the security investigations might be

   partly because of UCB.'

   

   UCB was the University of California at Berkeley. Phoenix had been

   visiting machines at both Berkeley and LLNL so much recently that the

   admins seemed to have not only noticed him, but they had pinpointed

   his handle. One day he had telnetted into dewey.soe.berkeley.edu--the

   Dewey machine as it was known--and had been startled to find the

   following message of the day staring him in the face:

   

   Phoenix,

   

   Get out of Dewey NOW!

   

   Also, do not use any of the `soe' machines.

   

   Thank you,

   

   Daniel Berger

   

   Phoenix did a double take when he saw this public warning. Having been

   in and out of the system so many times, he just zoomed past the words

   on the login screen. Then, in a delayed reaction, he realised the

   login message was addressed to him.

   

   Ignoring the warning, he proceeded to get root on the Berkeley machine

   and look through Berger's files. Then he sat back, thinking about the

   best way to deal with the problem. Finally, he decided to send the

   admin a note saying he was leaving the system for good.

   

   Within days, Phoenix was back in the Dewey machine, weaving in and out

   of it as if nothing had happened. After all, he had broken into the

   system, and managed to get root through his own wit. He had earned the

   right to be in the computer. He might send the admin a note to put him

   at ease, but Phoenix wasn't going to give up accessing Berkeley's

   computers just because it upset Daniel Berger.

   

   `See,' Pad continued, `I think the UCB people kept stuff on their

   systems that wasn't supposed to be there. Secret things.'

   

   Classified military material wasn't supposed to be stored

   on non-classified network computers. However, Pad guessed that

   sometimes researchers broke rules and took short cuts because they

   were busy thinking about their research and not the security

   implications.

   

   `Some of the stuff might have been illegal,' Pad told his captive

   audience. `And then they find out some of you guys have been in there

   ...'

   

   `Shit,' Phoenix said.

   

   `So, well, if it APPEARED like someone was inside trying to get at

   those secrets ...' Pad paused. `Then you can guess what happened. It

   seems they really want to get whoever was inside their machines.'

   

   There was momentary silence while the other hackers digested all that

   Pad had told them. As a personality on Altos, Pad remained ever so

   slightly withdrawn from the other hackers, even the Australians whom

   he considered mates. This reserved quality gave his warning a certain

   sobriety, which seeped into the very fabric of Altos that day.

   

   Eventually, Electron responded to Pad's warning by typing a comment

   directed at Phoenix: `I told you talking to security guys is nothing

   but trouble.'

   

   It irritated Electron more and more that Phoenix felt compelled to

   talk to white hats in the security industry. In Electron's view,

   drawing attention to yourself was just a bad idea all around and he

   was increasingly annoyed at watching Phoenix feed his ego. He had made

   veiled references to Phoenix's bragging on Altos many times, saying

   things like `I wish people wouldn't talk to security guys'.

   

   Phoenix responded to Electron on-line somewhat piously. `Well, I will

   never talk to security guys seriously again.'

   

   Electron had heard it all before. It was like listening to an

   alcoholic swear he would never touch another drink. Bidding the others

   goodbye, Electron logged off. He didn't care to listen to Phoenix any

   more.

   

   Others did, however. Hundreds of kilometres away, in a special room

   secreted away inside a bland building in Canberra, Sergeant Michael

   Costello and Constable William Apro had been methodically capturing

   each and every electronic boast as it poured from Phoenix's phone. The

   two officers recorded the data transmissions passing in and out of his

   computer. They then played this recording into their own modem and

   computer and created a text file they could save and use as evidence

   in court.

   

   Both police officers had travelled north from Melbourne, where they

   worked with the AFP's Computer Crime Unit. Settling into their

   temporary desks with their PC and laptop, the officers began their

   secret eavesdropping work on 1 February 1990.

   

   It was the first time the AFP had done a datatap. They were happy to

   bide their time, to methodically record Phoenix hacking into Berkeley,

   into Texas, into NASA, into a dozen computers around the world. The

   phone tap warrant was good for 60 days, which was more than enough

   time to secrete away a mountain of damning evidence against the

   egotistical Realm hacker. Time was on their side.

   

   The officers worked the Operation Dabble job in shifts. Constable Apro

   arrived at the Telecommunications Intelligence Branch of the AFP at 8

   p.m. Precisely ten hours later, at 6 the next morning, Sergeant

   Costello relieved Apro, who knocked off for a good sleep. Apro

   returned again at 8 p.m. to begin the night shift.

   

   They were there all the time. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a

   week. Waiting and listening.

   

   It was too funny. Erik Bloodaxe in Austin, Texas, couldn't stop

   laughing. In Melbourne, Phoenix's side hurt from laughing so much.

   

   Phoenix loved to talk on the phone. He often called Erik, sometimes

   every day, and they spoke for ages. Phoenix didn't worry about cost;

   he wasn't paying for it. The call would appear on some poor sod's bill

   and he could sort it out with the phone company.

   

   Sometimes Erik worried a little about whether Phoenix wasn't going to

   get himself in a jam making all these international calls. Not that he

   didn't like talking to the Australian; it was a hoot. Still, the

   concern sat there, unsettled, in the back of his mind. A few times he

   asked Phoenix about it.

   

   `No prob. Hey, AT&T isn't an Australian company,' Phoenix would say.

   `They can't do anything to me.' And Erik had let it rest at that.

   

   For his part, Erik didn't dare call Phoenix, especially not since his

   little visit from the US Secret Service. On 1 March 1990, they burst

   into his home, with guns drawn, in a dawn raid. The agents searched

   everywhere, tearing the student house apart, but they didn't find

   anything incriminating. They did take Erik's $59 keyboard terminal

   with its chintzy little 300 baud modem, but they didn't get his main

   computer, because Erik knew they were coming.

   

   The Secret Service had subpoenaed his academic records, and Erik had

   heard about it before the raid. So when the Secret Service arrived,

   Erik's stuff just wasn't there. It hadn't been there for a few weeks,

   but for Erik, they had been hard weeks. The hacker found himself

   suffering withdrawal symptoms, so he bought the cheapest home computer

   and modem he could find to tide him over.

   

   That equipment was the only computer gear the Secret Service

   discovered, and they were not happy special agents. But without

   evidence, their hands were tied. No charges were laid.

   

   Still, Erik thought he was probably being watched. The last thing he

   wanted was for Phoenix's number to appear on his home phone bill. So

   he let Phoenix call him, which the Australian did all the time. They

   often talked for hours when Erik was working nights. It was a slack

   job, just changing the back-up tapes on various computers and making

   sure they didn't jam. Perfect for a student. It left Erik hours of

   free time.

   

   Erik frequently reminded Phoenix that his phone was probably tapped,

   but Phoenix just laughed. `Yeah, well don't worry about it, mate. What

   are they going to do? Come and get me?'

   

   After Erik put a hold on his own hacking activities, he lived

   vicariously, listening to Phoenix's exploits. The Australian called

   him with a technical problem or an interesting system, and then they

   discussed various strategies for getting into the machine. However,

   unlike Electron's talks with Phoenix, conversations with Erik weren't

   only about hacking. They chatted about life, about what Australia was

   like, about girls, about what was in the newspaper that day. It was

   easy to talk to Erik. He had a big ego, like most hackers, but it was

   inoffensive, largely couched in his self-effacing humour.

   

   Phoenix often made Erik laugh. Like the time he got Clifford Stoll, an

   astronomer, who wrote The Cuckoo's Egg. The book described his pursuit

   of a German hacker who had broken into the computer system Stoll

   managed at Lawrence Berkeley Labs near San Francisco. The hacker had

   been part of the same hacking ring as Pengo. Stoll took a hard line on

   hacking, a position which did not win him popularity in the

   underground. Both Phoenix and Erik had read Stoll's book, and one day

   they were sitting around chatting about it.

   

   `You know, it's really stupid that Cliffy put his email address in his

   book,' Phoenix said. `Hmm, why don't I go check?'

   

   Sure enough, Phoenix called Erik back about a day later. `Well, I got

   root on Cliffy's machine,' he began slowly, then he burst out

   laughing. `And I changed the message of the day. Now it reads, "It

   looks like the Cuckoo's got egg on his face"!'

   

   It was uproariously funny. Stoll, the most famous hacker-catcher in

   the world, had been japed! It was the funniest thing Erik had heard in

   weeks.

   

   But it was not nearly so amusing as what Erik told Phoenix later about

   the New York Times. The paper had published an article on 19 March

   suggesting a hacker had written some sort of virus or worm which was

   breaking into dozens of computers.

   

   `Listen to this,' Erik had said, reading Phoenix the lead paragraph,

   `"A computer intruder has written a program that has entered dozens of

   computers in a nationwide network in recent weeks, automatically

   stealing electronic documents containing users' passwords and erasing

   files to help conceal itself."'

   

   Phoenix was falling off his chair he was laughing so hard. A program?

   Which was automatically doing this? No. It wasn't an automated

   program, it was the Australians! It was the Realm hackers! God, this

   was funny.

   

   `Wait--there's more! It says, "Another rogue program shows a

   widespread vulnerability". I laughed my ass off,' Erik said,

   struggling to get the words out.

   

   `A rogue program! Who wrote the article?'

   

   `A John Markoff,' Erik answered, wiping his eyes. `I called him up.'

   

   `You did? What did you say?' Phoenix tried to gather himself together.

   

   `"John," I said, "You know that article you wrote on page 12 of the

   Times? It's wrong! There's no rogue program attacking the Internet."

   He goes, "What is it then?" "It's not a virus or a worm," I said.

   "It's PEOPLE."'

   

   Erik started laughing uncontrollably again.

   

   `Then Markoff sounds really stunned, and he goes, "People?" And I

   said, "Yeah, people." Then he said, "How do you know?" And I said,

   "Because, John, I KNOW."'

   

   Phoenix erupted in laughter again. The Times reporter obviously had

   worms on his mind, since the author of the famous Internet worm,

   Robert T. Morris Jr, had just been tried and convicted in the US. He

   was due to be sentenced in May.

   

   US investigators had tracked the hacker's connections, looping through

   site after site in a burrowing manner which they assumed belonged to a

   worm. The idea of penetrating so many sites all in such a short time

   clearly baffled the investigators, who concluded it must be a program

   rather than human beings launching the attacks.

   

   `Yeah,' Erik continued, `And then Markoff said, "Can you get me to

   talk to them?" And I said I'd see what I could do.'

   

   `Yeah,' Phoenix said. `Go tell him, yes. Yeah, I gotta talk to this

   idiot. I'll set him straight.'

   

   Page one, the New York Times, 21 March 1990: `Caller Says he Broke

   Computers' Barriers to Taunt the Experts', by John Markoff.

   

   True, the article was below the crease--on the bottom half of the

   page--but at least it was in column 1, the place a reader turns to

   first.

   

   Phoenix was chuffed. He'd made the front page of the New York Times.

   

   `The man identified himself only as an Australian named Dave,' the

   article said. Phoenix chuckled softly. Dave Lissek was the pseudonym

   he'd used. Of course, he wasn't the only one using the name Dave. When

   Erik first met the Australians on Altos, he marvelled at how they all

   called themselves Dave. I'm Dave, he's Dave, we're all Dave, they told

   him. It was just easier that way, they said.

   

   The article revealed that `Dave' had attacked Spaf's and Stoll's

   machines, and that the Smithsonian Astronomical Observatory at Harvard

   University--where Stoll now worked--had pulled its computers off the

   Internet as a result of the break in. Markoff had even included the

   `egg on his face' story Phoenix had described to him.

   

   Phoenix laughed at how well he had thumbed his nose at Cliffy Stoll.

   This article would show him up all right. It felt so good, seeing

   himself in print that way. He did that. That was him there in black in

   white, for all the world to see. He had outsmarted the world's best

   known hacker-catcher, and he had smeared the insult across the front

   page of the most prestigious newspaper in America.

   

   And Markoff reported that he had been in Spaf's system too! Phoenix

   glowed happily. Better still, Markoff had quoted `Dave' on the

   subject: `The caller said ... "It used to be the security guys chasing

   the hackers. Now it's the hackers chasing the security people."'

   

   The article went on: `Among the institutions believed to have been

   penetrated by the intruder are the Los Alamos National Laboratories,

   Harvard, Digital Equipment Corporation, Boston University and the

   University of Texas.' Yes, that list sounded about right. Well, for

   the Australians as a group anyway. Even if Phoenix hadn't masterminded

   or even penetrated some of those himself, he was happy to take the

   credit in the Times.

   

   This was a red-letter day for Phoenix.

   

   Electron, however, was furious. How could Phoenix be so stupid? He

   knew that Phoenix had an ego, that he talked too much, and that his

   tendency to brag had grown worse over time, fed by the skyrocketing

   success of the Australian hackers. Electron knew all of that, but he

   still couldn't quite believe that Phoenix had gone so far as to strut

   and preen like a show pony for the New York Times.

   

   To think that he had associated with Phoenix. Electron was disgusted.

   He had never trusted Phoenix--a caution now proved wise. But he had

   spent hours with him on the phone, with most of the information

   flowing in one direction. But not only did Phoenix show no discretion

   at all in dealing with the paper, he bragged about doing things that

   Electron had done! If Phoenix had to talk--and clearly he should have

   kept his mouth shut--he should have at least been honest about the

   systems for which he could claim credit.

   

   Electron had tried with Phoenix. Electron had suggested that he stop

   talking to the security guys. He had continually urged caution and

   discretion. He had even subtly withdrawn each time Phoenix suggested

   one of his hair-brained schemes to show off to a security bigwig.

   Electron had done this in the hope that Phoenix might get the hint.

   Maybe, if Phoenix couldn't hear someone shouting advice at him, he

   might at least listen to someone whispering it. But no. Phoenix was

   far too thick for that.

   

   The Internet--indeed, all hacking--was out of bounds for weeks, if not

   months. There was no chance the Australian authorities would let a

   front-page story in the Times go by un-heeded. The Americans would be

   all over them. In one selfish act of hubris, Phoenix had ruined the

   party for everyone else.

   

   Electron unplugged his modem and took it to his father. During exams,

   he had often asked his father to hide it. He didn't have the

   self-discipline needed to stay away on his own and there was no other

   way Electron could keep himself from jacking in--plugging his modem

   into the wall. His father had become an expert at hiding the device,

   but Electron usually still managed to find it after a few days,

   tearing the house apart until he emerged, triumphant, with the modem

   held high above his head. Even when his father began hiding the modem

   outside the family home it would only postpone the inevitable.

   

   This time, however, Electron vowed he would stop hacking until the

   fallout had cleared--he had to. So he handed the modem to his father,

   with strict instructions, and then tried to distract himself by

   cleaning up his hard drive and disks. His hacking files had to go too.

   So much damning evidence of his activities. He deleted some files and

   took others on disks to store at a friend's house. Deleting files

   caused Electron considerable pain, but there was no other way. Phoenix

   had backed him into a corner.

   

   Brimming with excitement, Phoenix rang Electron on a sunny March

   afternoon.

   

   `Guess what?' Phoenix was jumping around like an eager puppy at the

   other end of the line. `We made the nightly news right across the US!'

   

   `Uhuh,' Electron responded, unimpressed.

   

   `This is not a joke!' We were on cable news all day too. I called Erik

   and he told me.'

   

   `Mmm,' Electron said.

   

   `You know, we did a lot of things right. Like Harvard. We got into

   every system at Harvard. It was a good move. Harvard gave us the fame

   we needed.'

   

   Electron couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't need any

   fame--and he certainly didn't need to be busted. The

   conversation--like Phoenix himself--was really beginning to annoy him.

   

   `Hey, and they know your name,' Phoenix said coyly.

   

   That got a reaction. Electron gulped his anger.

   

   `Haha! Just joshing!' Phoenix practically shouted. `Don't worry! They

   didn't really mention anyone's name.'

   

   `Good,' Electron answered curtly. His irritation stewed

   quietly.

   

   `So, do you reckon we'll make the cover of Time or Newsweek?'

   

   Good grief! Didn't Phoenix ever give up? As if it wasn't enough to

   appear on the 6 o'clock national news in a country crawling with

   over-zealous law enforcement agencies. Or to make the New York Times.

   He had to have the weeklies too.

   

   Phoenix was revelling in his own publicity. He felt like he was on top

   of the world, and he wanted to shout about it. Electron had felt the

   same wave of excitement from hacking many high-profile targets and

   matching wits with the best, but he was happy to stand on the peak by

   himself, or with people like Pad and Gandalf, and enjoy the view

   quietly. He was happy to know he had been the best on the frontier of

   a computer underground which was fresh, experimental and, most of all,

   international. He didn't need to call up newspaper reporters or gloat

   about it in Clifford Stoll's face.

   

   `Well, what do you reckon?' Phoenix asked impatiently.

   

   `No,' Electron answered.

   

   `No? You don't think we will?' Phoenix sounded disappointed.

   

   `No.'

   

   `Well, I'll demand it!' Phoenix said laughing, `Fuck it, we want the

   cover of Newsweek, nothing less.' Then, more seriously, `I'm trying to

   work out what really big target would clinch it for us.'

   

   `Yeah, OK, whatever,' Electron replied, distancing himself again.

   

   But Electron was thinking, Phoenix, you are a fool. Didn't he see the

   warning signs? Pad's warning, all the busts in the US, reports that

   the Americans were hunting down the Brits. As a result of these news

   reports of which Phoenix was so proud, bosses across the world would

   be calling their computer managers into their offices and breathing

   down their necks about their own computer security.

   

   The brazen hackers had deeply offended the computer security industry,

   spurring it into action. In the process, some in the industry had also

   seen an opportunity to raise its own public profile. The security

   experts had talked to the law enforcement agencies, who were now

   clearly sharing information across national borders and closing in

   fast. The conspirators in

   the global electronic village were at the point of maximum

   overreach.

   

   `We could hack Spaf again,' Phoenix volunteered.

   

   `The general public couldn't give a fuck about Eugene Spafford,'

   Electron said, trying to dampen Phoenix's bizarre enthusiasm. He was

   all for thumbing one's nose at authority, but this was not the way to

   do it.

   

   `It'd be so funny in court, though. The lawyer would call Spaf and

   say, "So, Mr Spafford, is it true that you are a world-renowned

   computer security expert?" When he said, "Yes" I'd jump up and go, "I

   object, your honour, this guy doesn't know jackshit, 'cause I hacked

   his machine and it was a breeze!"'

   

   `Mmm.'

   

   `Hey, if we don't get busted in the next two weeks, it will be a

   miracle,' Phoenix continued happily.

   

   `I hope not.'

   

   `This is a lot of fun!' Phoenix shouted sarcastically. `We're gonna

   get busted! We're gonna get busted!'

   

   Electron's jaw fell to the ground. Phoenix was mad. Only a lunatic

   would behave this way. Mumbling something about how tired he was,

   Electron said goodbye and hung up.



   At 5.50 a.m. on 2 April 1990, Electron dragged himself out of bed and

   made his way to the bathroom. Part way through his visit, the light

   suddenly went out.

   

   How strange. Electron opened his eyes wide in the early morning

   dimness. He returned to his bedroom and began putting on some jeans

   before going to investigate the problem.

   

   Suddenly, two men in street clothes yanked his window open and jumped

   through into the room shouting, `GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!'

   

   Who were these people? Half-naked, Electron stood in the middle of his

   room, stunned and immobile. He had suspected the police might pay him

   a visit, but didn't they normally wear uniforms? Didn't they announce

   themselves?

   

   The two men grabbed Electron, threw him face down onto the floor and

   pulled his arms behind his back. They jammed handcuffs on his

   wrists--hard--cutting his skin. Then someone kicked him in the

   stomach.

   

   `Are there any firearms in the house?' one of the men asked.

   

   Electron couldn't answer because he couldn't breathe. The kick had

   winded him. He felt someone pull him up from the floor and prop him in

   a chair. Lights went on everywhere and he could see six or seven

   people moving around in the hallway. They must have come into the

   house another way. The ones in the hallway were all wearing bibs with

   three large letters emblazoned across the front: AFP.

   

   As Electron slowly gathered his wits, he realised why the cops had

   asked about firearms. He had once joked to Phoenix on the phone about

   how he was practising with his dad's .22 for when the feds came

   around. Obviously the feds had been tapping his phone.

   

   While his father talked with one of the officers in the other room and

   read the warrant, Electron saw the police pack up his computer

   gear--worth some $3000--and carry it out of the house. The only thing

   they didn't discover was the modem. His father had become so expert at

   hiding it that not even the Australian Federal Police could find it.

   

   Several other officers began searching Electron's bedroom, which was

   no small feat, given the state it was in. The floor was covered in a

   thick layer of junk. Half crumpled music band posters, lots of

   scribbled notes with passwords and NUAs, pens, T-shirts both clean and

   dirty, jeans, sneakers, accounting books, cassettes, magazines, the

   occasional dirty cup. By the time the police had sifted through it all

   the room was tidier than when they started.

   

   As they moved into another room at the end of the raid, Electron bent

   down to pick up one of his posters which had fallen onto the floor. It

   was a Police Drug Identification Chart--a gift from a friend's

   father--and there, smack dab in the middle, was a genuine AFP

   footprint. Now it was a collector's item. Electron smiled to himself

   and carefully tucked the poster away.

   

   When he went out to the living room, he saw a policemen holding a

   couple of shovels and he wanted to laugh again. Electron had also once

   told Phoenix that all his sensitive hacking disks were buried in the

   backyard. Now the police were going to dig it up in search of

   something which had been destroyed a few days before. It was too

   funny.

   

   The police found little evidence of Electron's hacking at his house,

   but that didn't really matter. They already had almost everything they

   needed.

   

   Later that morning, the police put the 20-year-old Electron into an

   unmarked car and drove him to the AFP's imposing-looking headquarters

   at 383 Latrobe Street for questioning.

   

   In the afternoon, when Electron had a break from the endless

   questions, he walked out to the hallway. The boyish-faced Phoenix,

   aged eighteen, and fellow Realm member Nom, 21, were walking with

   police at the other end of the hall. They were too far apart to talk,

   but Electron smiled. Nom looked worried. Phoenix looked annoyed.

   

   Electron was too intimidated to insist on having a lawyer. What was

   the point in asking for one anyway? It was clear the police had

   information they could only have obtained from

   tapping his phone. They also showed him logs taken from Melbourne

   University, which had been traced back to his phone. Electron figured

   the game was up, so he might as well tell them the whole story--or at

   least as much of it as he had told Phoenix on the phone.

   

   Two officers conducted the interview. The lead interviewer was

   Detective Constable Glenn Proebstl, which seemed to be pronounced

   `probe stool'--an unfortunate name, Electron thought. Proebstl was

   accompanied by Constable Natasha Elliott, who occasionally added a few

   questions at the end of various interview topics but otherwise kept to

   herself. Although he had decided to answer their questions truthfully,

   Electron thought that neither of them knew much about computers and

   found himself struggling to understand what they were trying to ask.

   

   Electron had to begin with the basics. He explained what the FINGER

   command was--how you could type `finger' followed by a username, and

   then the computer would provide basic information about the user's

   name and other details.

   

   `So, what is the methodology behind it ... finger ... then, it's

   normally ... what is the normal command after that to try and get the

   password out?' Constable Elliott finally completed her convoluted

   attempt at a question.

   

   The only problem was that Electron had no idea what she was talking

   about.

   

   `Well, um, I mean there is none. I mean you don't use finger like that

   ...'

   

   `Right. OK,' Constable Elliott got down to business. `Well, have you

   ever used that system before?'

   

   `Uhm, which system?' Electron had been explaining commands for so long

   he had forgotten if they were still talking about how he hacked the

   Lawrence Livermore computer or some other site.

   

   `The finger ... The finger system?'

   

   Huh? Electron wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. There was

   no such thing. Finger was a command, not a computer.

   

   `Uh, yes,' he said.

   

   The interview went the same way, jolting awkwardly through computer

   technology which he understood far better than either officer.

   Finally, at the end of a long day, Detective Constable Proebstl asked

   Electron:

   

   `In your own words, tell me what fascination you find with accessing

   computers overseas?'

   

   `Well, basically, it's not for any kind of personal gain or anything,'

   Electron said slowly. It was a surprisingly difficult question to

   answer. Not because he didn't know the answer, but because it was a

   difficult answer to describe to someone who had never hacked a

   computer. `It's just the kick of getting in to a system. I mean, once

   you are in, you very often get bored and even though you can still

   access the system, you may never call back.

   

   `Because once you've gotten in, it's a challenge over and you don't

   really care much about it,' Electron continued, struggling. `It's a

   hot challenge thing, trying to do things that other people are also

   trying to do but can't.

   

   `So, I mean, I guess it is a sort of ego thing. It's knowing that you

   can do stuff that other people cannot, and well, it is the

   challenge and the ego boost you get from doing something well ...

   where other people try and fail.'

   

   A few more questions and the day-long interview finally

   finished. The police then took Electron to the Fitzroy police

   station. He guessed it was the nearest location with a JP they could

   find willing to process a bail application at that hour.

   

   In front of the ugly brick building, Electron noticed a small group of

   people gathered on the footpath in the dusky light. As the police car

   pulled up, the group swung into a frenzy of activity, fidgeting in

   over-the-shoulder briefcases, pulling out notebooks and pens, scooping

   up big microphones with fuzzy shag covers, turning on TV camera

   lights.

   

   Oh NO! Electron wasn't prepared for this at all.

   

   Flanked by police, Electron stepped out of the police car and blinked

   in the glare of photographers' camera flashes and TV camera

   searchlights. The hacker tried to ignore them, walking as briskly as

   his captors would allow. Sound recordists and reporters tagged beside

   him, keeping pace, while the TV cameramen and photographers weaved in

   front of him. Finally he escaped into the safety of the watchhouse.

   

   First there was paperwork, followed by the visit to the JP. While

   shuffling through his papers, the JP gave Electron a big speech about

   how defendants often claimed to have been beaten by the police.

   Sitting in the dingy meeting room, Electron felt somewhat confused by

   the purpose of this tangential commentary. However, the JP's next

   question cleared things up: `Have you had any problems with your

   treatment by the police which you would like to record at this time?'

   

   Electron thought about the brutal kick he had suffered while lying on

   his bedroom floor, then he looked up and found Detective Constable

   Proebstl staring him in the eye. A slight smile passed across the

   detective's face.

   

   `No,' Electron answered.

   

   The JP proceeded to launch into another speech which Electron found

   even stranger. There was another defendant in the lock-up at the

   moment, a dangerous criminal who had a disease the JP knew about, and

   the JP could decide to lock Electron up with that criminal instead of

   granting him bail.

   

   Was this meant to be helpful warning, or just the gratification of

   some kind of sadistic tendency? Electron was baffled but he didn't

   have to consider the situation for long. The JP granted bail.

   Electron's father came to the watchhouse, collected his son and signed

   the papers for a $1000 surety--to be paid if Electron skipped town.

   That night Electron watched as his name appeared on the late night

   news.

   

   At home over the next few weeks, Electron struggled to come to terms

   with the fact that he would have to give up hacking forever. He still

   had his modem, but no computer. Even if he had a machine, he realised

   it was far too dangerous to even contemplate hacking again.

   

   So he took up drugs instead.



				    [ ]

   

   Electron's father waited until the very last days of his illness, in

   March 1991, before he went into hospital. He knew that once he went

   in, he would not be coming out again.

   

   There was so much to do before that trip, so many things to organise.

   The house, the life insurance paperwork, the will, the funeral, the

   instructions for the family friend who promised to watch over both

   children when he was gone. And, of course, the children themselves.

   

   He looked at his two children and worried. Despite their ages of 21

   and 19, they were in many ways still very sheltered. He realised that

   Electron's anti-establishment attitude and his sister's emotional

   remoteness would remain unresolved difficulties at the time of his

   death. As the cancer progressed, Electron's father tried to tell both

   children how much he cared for them. He might have been somewhat

   emotionally remote himself in the past, but with so little time left,

   he wanted to set the record straight.

   

   On the issue of Electron's problems with the police, however,

   Electron's father maintained a hands-off approach. Electron had only

   talked to his father about his hacking exploits occasionally, usually

   when he had achieved what he considered to be a very noteworthy hack.

   His father's view was always the same. Hacking is illegal, he told his

   son, and the police will probably eventually catch you. Then you will

   have to deal with the problem yourself. He didn't lecture his son, or

   forbid Electron from hacking. On this issue he considered his son old

   enough to make his own choices and live with the consequences.

   

   True to his word, Electron's father had shown little sympathy for his

   son's legal predicament after the police raid. He remained neutral on

   the subject, saying only, `I told you something like this would happen

   and now it is your responsibility'.

   

   Electron's hacking case progressed slowly over the year, as did his

   university accounting studies. In March 1991, he faced committal

   proceedings and had to decide whether to fight his committal.

   

   He faced fifteen charges, most of which were for obtaining

   unauthorised access to computers in the US and Australia. A few were

   aggravated offences, for obtaining access to data of a commercial

   nature. On one count each, the DPP (the Office of the Commonwealth

   Director of Public Prosecutions) said he altered and erased data.

   Those two counts were the result of his inserting backdoors for

   himself, not because he did damage to any files. The evidence was

   reasonably strong: telephone intercepts and datataps on Phoenix's

   phone which showed him talking to Electron about hacking; logs of

   Electron's own sessions in Melbourne University's systems which were

   traced back to his home phone; and Electron's own confession to the

   police.

   

   This was the first major computer hacking case in Australia under the

   new legislation. It was a test case--the test case for computer

   hacking in Australia--and the DPP was going in hard. The case had

   generated seventeen volumes of evidence, totalling some 25000 pages,

   and Crown prosecutor Lisa West planned to call up to twenty expert

   witnesses from Australia, Europe and the US.

   

   Those witnesses had some tales to tell about the Australian hackers,

   who had caused havoc in systems around the world. Phoenix had

   accidentally deleted a Texas-based company's inventory of assets--the

   only copy in existence according to Execucom Systems Corporation. The

   hackers had also baffled security personnel at the US Naval Research

   Labs. They had bragged to the New York Times. And they forced NASA to

   cut off its computer network for 24 hours. 

   

   AFP Detective Sergeant Ken Day had flown halfway around the world to

   obtain a witness statement from none other than NASA Langley computer

   manager Sharon Beskenis--the admin Phoenix had accidentally kicked off

   her own system when he was trying to get Deszip. Beskenis had been

   more than happy to oblige and on 24 July 1990 she signed a statement

   in Virginia, witnessed by Day. Her statement said that, as a result of

   the hackers' intrusion, `the entire NASA computer system was

   disconnected from any external communications with the rest of the

   world' for about 24 hours on 22 February 1990.

   

   In short, Electron thought, there didn't seem to be much chance of

   winning at the committal hearing. Nom seemed to feel the same way. He

   faced two counts, both `knowingly concerned' with Phoenix obtaining

   unauthorised access. One was for NASA Langley, the other for

   CSIRO--the Zardoz file. Nom didn't fight his committal either,

   although Legal Aid's refusal

   to fund a lawyer for the procedure no doubt weighed in his

   decision.

   

   On 6 March 1991, Magistrate Robert Langton committed Electron and Nom

   to stand trial in the Victorian County Court.

   

   Phoenix, however, didn't agree with his fellow hackers' point of view.

   With financial help from his family, he had decided to fight his

   committal. He wasn't going to hand this case to the prosecution on a

   silver platter, and they would have to fight him every step of the

   way, dragging him forward from proceeding to proceeding. His

   barrister, Felicity Hampel, argued the court should throw out 47 of

   the 48 charges against her client on jurisdictional grounds. All but

   one charge--breaking into the CSIRO machine in order to steal

   Zardoz--related to hacking activities outside Australia. How could an

   Australian court claim jurisdiction over a hacked computer in Texas?

   

   Privately, Phoenix worried more about being extradited to the US than

   dealing with the Australian courts, but publicly he was going into the

   committal with all guns blazing. It was a test case in many ways; not

   only the first major hacking case in Australia but also the first time

   a hacker had fought Australian committal proceedings for computer

   crimes.

   

   The prosecution agreed to drop one of the 48 counts, noting it was a

   duplicate charge, but the backdown was a pyrrhic victory for Phoenix.

   After a two-day committal hearing, Magistrate John Wilkinson decided

   Hampel's jurisdictional argument didn't hold water and on 14 August

   1991 he committed Phoenix to stand trial in the County Court.

   

   By the day of Electron's committal, in March, Electron's father had

   begun his final decline. The bowel cancer created a roller-coaster of

   good and bad days, but soon there were only bad days, and they were

   getting worse. On the last day of March, the doctors told him that it

   was finally time to make the trip to hospital. He stubbornly refused

   to go, fighting their advice, questioning their authority. They

   quietly urged him again. He protested. Finally, they insisted.

   

   Electron and his sister stayed with their father for hours that day,

   and the following one. Their father had other visitors to keep his

   spirits up, including his brother who fervently beseeched him to

   accept Jesus Christ as his personal saviour before he died. That way,

   he wouldn't burn in hell. Electron looked at his uncle, disbelieving.

   He couldn't believe his father was having to put up with such crap on

   his deathbed. Still, Electron chose to be discreet. Apart from an

   occasional rolling of the eyes, he kept his peace at his father's

   bedside.

   

   Perhaps, however, the fervent words did some good, for as Electron's

   father spoke about the funeral arrangements, he made a strange slip of

   the tongue. He said `wedding' instead of funeral, then paused,

   realising his mistake. Glancing slowly down at the intricate braided

   silver wedding band still on his finger, he smiled frailly and said,

   `I suppose, in a way, it will be like a wedding'.

   

   Electron and his sister went to hospital every day for four days, to

   sit by their father's bed.

   

   At 6 a.m. on the fifth day, the telephone rang. It was the family

   friend their father had asked to watch over them. Their father's life

   signs were very, very weak, fluttering on the edge of death.

   

   When Electron and his sister arrived at the hospital, the nurse's face

   said everything. They were too late. The