I checked the letter head. Why the Campus Security office threatened me with expulsion, I had no idea. But there it was, my name at the top left of the official looking letter.
I sighed and pushed the door open to a small office decorated like 1972 rather than the current 1992. I felt like I was plunging into yellow-brown, plasterboard version of Hades.
Two empty chairs stood with their yellow-brown fabric against the wall facing an unoccupied receptionist desk. To the right of the desk a potted tree-bush leaned against a narrow window that was like an arrowslit running from the floor to the ceiling. Wide enough to take aim, too narrow for someone to pass through.
The window sat deep in bevelled concrete like an embrasure. “Brutalist,” a friend once told me the name for the architectural style, but to me it just felt Orwellian.
Just then a blond mustachioed guy wearing the dark blue uniform of the campus police came up to the desk from the cubicle bullpen down a short hallway to the left of the desk. He looked up with a sneer. “Yeah?”
I handed him the letter.
The officer glanced at it and set the letter down. "We'll be with you in a minute." He continued scanning down a list on a clipboard with his forefinger. "Take a seat."
So I sat and looked around the little room. Two doorways stood closed to the left of the desk running down the hallway toward the bullpen. Each had a gray, two-inch-by-two-inch square label in the center at eye level. The door closest to me contained the number “1”, so I assumed the other door was number “2”, though I couldn’t make it out from this distance. I thought of the game show cliche', Will it be Door Number One, or Door Number Two?
After a few minutes, the campus cop turned and disappeared into the door down the hall.
Door Number Two it is, I thought in announcer voice.
My stomach growled. I had come straight from class hoping this wouldn't take long. Now, sitting here in the Campus Security office, I regretted not grabbing something at Carlita’s, or maybe even Taco Bell, before heading over. I might have been late by five minutes or so, but five minutes late-but-full, beats ten minutes early-but-hungry.
Finally, after about what seemed like half-an-hour, Door Number Two squeaked open and the campus cop appeared. "Right this way," he said.
As I entered the room I noticed two others already seated at a long fold-out table. The cop walked around the long end and gestured toward a chair on my side near the door. I shed my backpack and coat, and sat down in the tin chair.
With a sniff, the campus cop opened a file folder and flipped through a few pages while everyone sat in uneasy silence. I tried to get a look at the file, but couldn't make anything out. The guy to the right of the cop coughed. I thought I recognized him, but couldn't place where.
But the one on the left was a complete mystery. He sat back with his leg crossed so his ankle rested on his opposite leg. The knee of the crossed leg pushed over the top of the table like a ham in jeans. I noticed there was a stain on the faded knee of the pant leg. I looked up and saw him staring at me with a curled, menacing expression.
After one last page flip, the cop clicked a tape recorder turning on a red LED. He then spoke in a terse, clipped tone stating the date and identifying himself as Officer David Jones of Campus Security. He did this with practiced effect, as if we were all acting out a deposition scene on Starsky & Hutch. Campus Cop Dave then asked me to state my full name "for the record."
"What is this about?" I asked in a shaky voice.
"First state your name please," Campus Cop Dave said, exuding irritation.
"Um, William Morris Armitage?" The formality of it all made me feel silly and self-conscious.
"And are you a student here?" He said without a pause. I nodded, but he leaned in. "Please answer verbally."
"Um, yes," I said clearing my throat.
"And do you use the computer lab?"
Blink. The lab?
I suddenly recognized the guy to the right of Campus Cop Dave. He avoided my gaze, but I knew him as one of the university’s computer lab techs. This meeting must be because of the Printer Incident.
Just a few days prior I had helped this dimwit fix a print queue problem in the lab. As I entered the lab that day I saw a half-dozen students standing around the printer with the lab tech scratching his head at his terminal in a near state of panic.
"Hey, I can help with that", I called out, feeling sorry for the guy.
"Man, if you can get these jobs to print, I'll owe you big time!" the weenie said like a junkie bumming a cigarette. The huddled students looked hopeful but continued to fidget. "I can see the jobs in the queue, but nothing's happening here at the printer."
Of course, I knew exactly what to do. Another lab tech and I had been through the same issue the night before. It had taken us a while to figure it out, but I had noted everything he had done and it was all still fresh in my mind.
I sat down at a VAX terminal, typed a few commands, and, with an electronic whine, print jobs started spitting out.
"Woo hoo!" the tech hollered. "Dude, how'd you do that?"
Getting caught up in the elation, I showed him the screen.
"Oh." said the tech. "Are you from I.T.?"
"No," I said, my smile fading.
"Hmm. I thought only admins had access to that screen?"
Oh crap. I’d screwed up big time letting him see that I had access to the admin system.
My access had come from a backdoor that my roommate, John Merka, and I had discovered in the university administration program. Turns out, if you ran one of the three-dozen executables that makes up the admin application and fed it a username as an argument, you could bypass the login screen. If that user happened to be currently logged in, you gained their level of access until you closed the session even after the owner logged out. Since most faculty kept themselves logged in all the time you pretty much had full access whenever you felt the need to poke around through the system. And, of course, to make things really easy, the usernames of all faculty members and administrators were published on every email list, syllabus, and memo throughout campus. In this case, I had only to enter the username of the previous night’s lab tech, then fire up the admin tool. Sensing that I had screwed up, I quickly cleared the screen, made some excuse to leave, and hoped that would be the end of it.
Now with the tin chair hurting my butt in the interrogation room, I figured no good deed goes unpunished. I narrowed my gaze at the lab tech. He avoided my eyes and just stared down at his own checkered Vans under the table.
You’re welcome, you son of a bitch.
Still looking at the weenie I said to the cop, "Yes, I use the computer lab."
Campus Cop Dave must have caught the snarkiness in my tone because he glanced up from his notes. "And did you use the computer lab two days ago on February 12th?"
"Yes," I said. I started to put together the scenario. The third guy must be from I.T. and they'd traced my access somehow. Their method must have been hidden well, because in our explorations, John and I had never found any kind of intrusion detection program.
Campus Cop Dave flipped to the back of the dossier and pulled out a three-and-a-half-inch floppy diskette. He set it on the table with a click and slowly slid it toward me.
At first I didn’t recognize it, but when I made out the label I gasped and rolled my eyes. The cop removed his hand with the tiniest jerk and sat back folding his arms. When I looked up at him, feeling busted, the corner of his mustache twitched upward before he composed his expression.
How did they get that? Cold panic flooded the calm I’d worked so hard to maintain. In my haste to leave the lab a few days ago I must have left the disk in the drive. They retrieved the disk, saw the label, and then numbnuts over there must have come forward with the printer story. Or maybe the other way around. Either way, I thought, I'm screwed.
"I'm going to ask you if this is your property," Campus Cop Dave said breaking into my panicked thoughts. He continued slowly. "But before I do, I'm going to remind you that we are recording this conversation and you are obligated to answer truthfully. We have also inspected the contents of this disk and found your name on some of the files." He paused until he caught my eye again, then held up the diskette and asked, "Have you seen this floppy disk, labeled 'Hacker Tools' before this meeting?"
"Yes." What else could I say? It had been just a whim, but John had chided me for writing that stupid label on the disk. He was going to get such a kick out of this.
". . . before now?" I had just caught the end of what Campus Cop Dave had said.
“What?” I stammered.
“I said, have you ever had this disk in your possession before now?"
"Yess." I ran through the contents in my mind. Not much there. And apparently not much in my mind, either.
"Is this disk your personal property?"
Hang on, I thought. My name on some of the files? Why would my name be on any files? Nothing on there but a few utilities … and … the WordPerfect document containing my English paper -- and then I saw in my mind’s eye the half-written rough draft: "’How to Hack’, by William Armitage, 2nd Semester, Dr. Mike Walford." Heh. I relaxed a little and leaned forward in the chair. If that’s all they had, I might be able to argue my way out. "Yeah. That's my English paper." I reached for the diskette, but Campus Cop Dave just held it up with a slight wiggle.
"Sorry. We won't be able to return this evidence," he said as he slipped the diskette back into the file folder. What a prick. "You're looking at expulsion at least just for possession of this disk." He tapped the folder with his index finger. "For writing an English paper?" I said. Then I composed myself. I didn’t know what else to say, so I waited for him to make the next move.
The cop looked at the guy to his left and nodded.
Suspected IT Admin cleared his throat but left the soiled knee up against the table. He gestured to include the lab tech. "We know you gained access that you shouldn't have."
The soft high pitch of his voice surprised me. It seemed incongruous with his sneering demeanor.
He then looked over at the lab tech weenie. "Cody, can you tell us for the record what transpired Tuesday the 12th in the lab?"
Transpired? I thought. This guy must think he’s in a spy movie or something.
"Well," Lab Tech Cody started. He looked at me, then back to the table. "I was troubleshooting a print problem and he used the Sysutils screen to clear the queue. He shouldn't have access to that function. I don't even have access or I could have fixed the problem myself." Yeah, but you didn't, you little weenie. You didn't even know to look there. "Dickweed," I mumbled under my breath.
"What was that?" Campus Cop Dave sat up.
"Huh?," I said feigning innocence to buy time. I hadn’t meant anyone to hear that.
"Do you have something to add to Cody's story?"
I glared at the weenie. The guy wore an unbuttoned, short-sleeve dress-shirt over a black AC/DC tee. Really. I glared a half-second longer, then turned to the cop. “No. Nothing to add.”
"How'd you get access to Sysutils?" Suspected IT Admin spat out.
"I didn't," I replied without looking over. I sensed his hostile glare and felt a little heat rise inside.
"Well that's the only way to clear the queue," he said, trying to make his soft voice gruff. It came out comical.
"Is it?” I said without thinking.
"Well, yes," Suspected IT Admin said. "It's the only way in our system to do anything with the print queue."
"Okay." I shrugged.
"Are you telling us you hacked a way around it?"
I shook my head. I wanted to tell him how wrong he was. I wanted to say, "Your lame 'Sysutils' tool is just a menu wrapper for a system command; which itself is just an executable wrapper around the stupid system library function. Either of which can be run independently. And then there's the print queue file in the system subdirectory. Did you ever think of that? Hell, anyone can view the history and restart individual print jobs going back who knows how far. How many papers and assignments are just sitting out there for anyone to rip-off? But none of that is accessible from your Sysutils menu. So I guess none of it really exists, does it?" I wanted to say. But instead I just said, "No."
"No? How did you clear the queue then?" Suspected IT Admin asked.
"I didn't," I said, trying to sound bored. “The lab tech must have fixed it with his troubleshooting.”
"That's not true," Lab Tech Cody whined. "I was troubleshooting and he came in and said he could fix it."
I shook my head again and played obtuse. "I was just working on my English paper." I smiled, though I felt like punching the guy in his pimply face.
Lab Tech Cody shook his head causing his wiry, brown hair to thrash around his ears. "No! You said--"
Campus Cop Dave held up his hand, "Okay. That’s enough." He paused for a minute looking me in the eye.
I stole a glance around the table and willed myself to stay calm. These guys were starting to get under my skin. I wanted to lay into them. Tell him what a crappy, vulnerable system they ran--”
"William," Campus Cop Dave said pausing until I looked up at him. "We know you have been hacking around our system. You need to tell us exactly what you've gained access to and how you've done it." He tapped his forefinger on the table to emphasize the last few syllables. I wanted to reach out and rip that blond 'stache off his condescending face. But then he leaned in and said, "I don't need to remind you that we already have all the evidence we need to get you thrown in jail. If you come clean with the rest, and names of anyone else involved, we will hold it at just getting you expelled. Or,” he pressed the dossier with the palm of his hand. ”We file formal charges with the State Attorney General."
My eyes went wide, and I could tell Campus Cop Dave noticed.
"Yup. Criminal charges." he sneered.
The "You're Wrong" rant boiled up again in my mind, but I shoved it back. I felt like they were trying to push me into saying something -- either confessing or getting pissed off. And that thought, the idea that they wanted me to lose my cool and incriminate myself really pissed me off. I felt my face flush.
But I remembered some advice my dad had given me a few years back. I had been riding with him when a cop pulled us over. My dad tried to be cordial. He asked the cop how his evening was going, and mentioned, as required by law, that he had his carry permit. My dad then explained that he’d have to expose his weapon to get to his wallet, then waited until the cop said, “Ok, sir.” But when he pulled back his vest, the cop saw the grip of his Glock 19 and yelled at him. “Sir! It’s against the law to flash a concealed weapon!” With a sigh, my dad handed over his license.
"Dad, he's wrong, “ I had said after the cop had gone back to run the registration. I was mad at the condescending way the cop had treated him. “Open carry rules apply once he acknowledges, right?"
"Yes, you’re right," my dad smiled and sighed again. "Maybe in a court I could get a judge to see it that way, but William, never argue with a police officer in the line of duty."
"But he's wrong, dad. He’s treating you like you're an idiot."
"Yes, but arguing will only make it worse. Listen, getting into it with a cop can only lead one direction and it's not the way you want things to go." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometimes I think they try to goad you into confrontation, and believe me, they can complicate your life a lot more than you can theirs."
My dad paused, then looked over, "You have to understand, they can ask you anything they want, and they can say anything they want to try and get a confession. Heh, they can even lie and bluff because in the end it’s your word against theirs." He looked at me and shook his head. "But you are only legally obligated to identify yourself.” He waved his hand in dismissal. "But look, if they can get even a hint of confession it solves their problem of having to prove anything, whether you're innocent or not.
"So I'll tell you this, when the police stop you, be polite and keep your attitude, umm, helpful. But, you don't have to volunteer anything."
The old memory flashed through my mind as my stomach growled and I stared across the table at my trio of accusers. I suppressed the urge to lash out. Took a deep, slow breath, and smiled. "I'd like to help further,” I said, ”but I really don’t see what more I can do." Campus Cop Dave straightened and smiled as if he'd been waiting for this moment. He opened the folder, took a piece of paper off the top, and flipped it around so I could see it. He then pushed it toward me. "This says you're being expelled for breaking the code of ethics for unauthorized access to a university computer system."
I grimaced. "And you’re basing this all on my English paper?"
Suspected IT Admin sat up and threw his arms forward. "We know you've hacked into the system. We know you accessed the print queue illegally." He scooted his chair jabbing a pudgy forefinger at me. I caught a whiff of nerd B.O. "We have proof and a witness, and we're going to nail your ass to the wall."
Really?” I said. “You’re going to nail my ass?”
Dave held up his hand, again taking control. "Look, this is about saving you from a criminal hearing. You sign," he tapped the form, "and this can all end right here. I'm giving you a chance to get out of this without jail time or a criminal record." He let the words hang in the stale air.
I stared at the badge on the other side of the table. The nametag with the letters “Jones” rose and fell with the cop’s breath. I set my jaw and pushed the form a few inches away from me. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Hell yes--" Suspected IT Admin exploded, eyes bulging. Campus Cop Dave gave him a look to shut him up, then turned to me. "You know what you've done. If you want to go to jail, be my guest. Otherwise, this is your last chance."
I sat in silence. Nothing to say.
After a tense few seconds, the cop started in again, "William, this is your last best option. With a criminal record you’d be lucky even to get into a trade school. But, if you sign, I can make sure this doesn’t go into the system. We can keep it an internal matter. You can get a fresh start at another institution--"
At that point I shook my head and gave the paper another shove. His face flushed. “No? Fine. Have it your way.” With that, Campus Cop Dave stood with a screech of his chair and replaced the form atop the stack of papers in the dossier. He slapped the folder closed and clicked the tape recorder off.
"Am I free to go?" I glared up at him.
He nodded waving his hand in dismissal.
I grabbed my coat, lifted my backpack, and headed for the door.
As I pulled the door open, Campus Cop Dave tried one last time. "William,“ he said, almost pleading, ”you won't get this deal in the future. When we meet again it will be to the fullest extent of the law."
The weight of it passed through me and I felt myself waver. Just sign it and be done with the hassle. I could go to a different school. I would figure out something.
But I thought again about my dad’s lesson. Did I really believe this cop would stop here if I gave him what amounted to a signed confession? No way!
At any rate, the expulsion would at least go on my transcript. I’d have to throw away the last year-and-a-half of hard work and excellent GPA. Not to mention my scholarship! And for what? Helped out a tech weenie in a tight spot? As far as I was concerned I’d done nothing wrong. Well, nothing criminal. Sure, I’d gained privileged access and poked around where I didn’t technically belong, but I considered that nothing worse than spelunking through the maintenance corridors of the shopping mall with my high school buddies. Trespassing, at most.
Without another word, I turned from the faces of my accusers and stepped out into the abyss of a cold, gray Friday afternoon. I thought I heard someone gasp as the door shut behind me with a heavy thud.
* * * *
After a belated lunch, I crashed through my dorm room door, dropped my jacket and backpack to the floor, and fell face forward onto my bed.
My roommate, John Sinclair Merka III, sat on his bed reading a thick, ugly book. “Hey,” he said. “How’d the thing go with the security office?”
I just grunted and looked over at him. “What the heck are you reading?” I mumbled.
He snapped the book shut and stood up stretching, then headed for the bathroom. “The C++ Primer. Trying to wrap my head around multiple inheritance in object-oriented design.”
“Wha? Is that some kind of Zoroastrian incantation?”
“Might as well be,” he said as he shut the door to the can.
After a minute I heard the muffled flush.
“So?” he said kicking my feet that hung off the side of the bed.
“So, what?” I said with a bit more irritation that I meant. I knew what he was getting at, but didn’t really want to talk about it. Or maybe I just wanted to give back some of the pain the world had just served me, even if that pain fell unfairly on my roommate and friend.
“The meeting with Campus Security, numbnuts,” John said with a laugh. He walked over to his desk and shoved papers around into a loose pile.
“Total crap, man. Total, complete crap,” I said, still face down on the bed perpendicular-wise. I pulled my pillow from the head of the bed, sunk my face into it, and groaned.
“Why? What happened?” he asked with amusement. “Oh hey, this came for you today.“ He pulled an envelope from the pile of papers and flicked it at me. The letter landed by the side of my head. “Looks like it’s from the Dean’s Office. What’s going on?”
I didn’t feel like talking, but I could tell he wasn’t going to drop it, so I sat up. “They interrogated me.“ I opened the letter and scratched at an itch on my knee while I looked it over. ”Cops, tape recorder, the whole thing. They tried to get me to sign an expulsion form.” I read the letter, then let it drop to the floor.
“Dude, talk to me,” John said, still amused.
Flopping back on the bunk, I said, “The letter says it’s a summons for some kind of informal hearing with the dean to ‘inquire about possible violation of the Student Conduct Code.’”
John stopped where he stood, stunned. “Wait, what?” His amusement faded. “I thought they were just ticked off at you for missing a student fee … or streaking through the quad ... or something--”
“That wasn’t me, man.”
John paused. “Somebody streaked through ‘Red Square’?”
“Huh? Yeah,” I said. “Last week. I thought everybody knew about it.”
“No, really?” He grinned and sat down at his desk. The old task chair complained with a series of squeaks.
I draped my forearm across my eyes and sighed. “They found my disk.”
“Ha!’ John laughed, amused again. “Hacker Tools,” he mocked. “I told you not to write that on the label.”
“It’s worse than that.” I sat up again on the edge of my bed.
“Worse? How could it be worse?”
“They want to file criminal charges because of when I helped that jerk fix the print queue that one time.”
“Wait, wait,” John said. “Slow down. What jerk?”
I was pretty sure I’d told him about the Printer Incident already, so I looked over to see if he was punking me. “The guy, the guy, “ I said, waving my hand around. “You know, the jerk in the computer lab? Remember the print queue I fixed using the admin program trick?”
“What?” A bit of panic entered his voice. “What the hell are you talking about?! You didn’t get caught rooting around admin ...”
I shrugged stupidly.
“What do they know?!” His voice strained up half an octave.
I told him about saving the day in the lab, and how the lab tech had seen me in the SysAdmin tool.
Then I walked him through the interrogation bit by bit. The lost disk, my dad’s lesson in the car, and how the three accusers seemed to be trying to get me to incriminate myself. I felt myself start to get hot again.
“Okay, okay, “ John said calming down. He sat back again with another squeak of the chair and looked up at the ceiling. “And that’s all they said?”
“That’s pretty much it.”
John seethed, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and continued to stare at the ceiling. After a minute he said, “Tell me again what the cop said when he tried to make you sign the paper. I mean, what the hell, dude? Are we both screwed?”
I looked over at him and shrugged. “I dunno. He didn’t really say anything. Just, sign this or we squeeze your nuts, comrade,” I said in my best Boris Badenov impression, which was bad enough.
John waved his hand, “No, before that. Something about telling them who else was involved.” He slid so far down in the chair that his head rested on the back of it. He gazed at the ceiling and twisted the chair back and forth on its pivot. “If the I.T. staff and security people are involved, then we really are screwed, huh?”
“Well now hang on ...” I stood and snatched the letter from the floor. I had an idea, and that got me pacing. “The cop said I needed to tell him how I gained access and who else was involved.”
“Yeah, so? Sounds like they pretty much know everything then.”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “Just the opposite. Listen, you haven’t been summoned ...”
“Not yet. So?”
“Sooo. Don’t you think they’d want to pit us against each other? They would have a lot more leverage, you know?”
“No,” John said slowly. “You’re not making sense again. Why would they--”
“Look,” I said, still pacing. “If they knew about you, they would definitely be using that knowledge against us. You know, try to play us against each other? Right now they’re just fishing.”
“How can you be sure?”
“For one, they never mentioned you.” I stopped pacing and looked over at John. “I think the disk freaked them out and they’re fishing for something more.”
“Could be that they smell blood and think busting us will boost their careers,” John said.
“Or it could be that they’re scared for their jobs,” I said.
“Or both.”
“Wait,” I said waving the dean’s letter at John. “Know what this is?”
He shrugged.
I grinned. “This is a summons to a hearing at the Dean’s Office.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“So, look at the date. This letter was drafted two days ago, the day before the one from Security.” I grabbed my backpack and dug around inside, but the cop had kept the other letter and I hadn’t thought to make a copy. But I still had the envelope. I looked it over. “That’s weird. No postmark.” I compared it to the Dean’s letter. “See here?” I said, showing the envelope to John. ”This was sent through campus mail and has a postmark, but the one from Security is just a typed envelope. They must have delivered it to our box by hand. The security guys wanted to make sure I got their letter before the dean’s. Those pricks thought they had a slam dunk -- wanted to get a confession from me and be heros,” I grumbled.
“Hey , what if--” John began, then stopped. ”No, that’s stupid.”
“What?” I asked. I hated when he stopped mid-thought like that.
“What if the Dean’s Office doesn’t even know about the interrogation.”
“Exactly.” I said. “That’s where I was heading. They worked hard to get a crack at me first. But since I didn’t play ball and sign their confession form, all they have is the disk with my term paper on it--”
“And that guy who saw you in the admin screen … you dumbass,” John said with a smirk to take away some of the sting.
I stopped my pacing and looked at John. “I was never in the Admin screen.”
“What do you mean?” John looked confused. “Just a minute ago you said the lab tech saw you in the screen.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said with a sly smile trying to get John to follow.
“But you just said …”
I put a up a hand to assuage John’s mounting frustration. “What I mean is, it doesn’t matter what the lab guy says the thinks he saw. It’s just hearsay. ‘I was just in the lab working on my paper. I don’t have access to any Admin Program’” I quoted to John as if on the stand. “Right?”
“Okay, okay.” John shook his head. “I’m not sure it’ll hold up, but I hope for both our sakes you’re right about this.”
I was suddenly elated, energized. “Don’t worry. I’m right, okay? But I have some work to do this weekend. I need a plan. What time does the library close?” A glance at my watch told me it was already too late. I frowned and looked around the room unable to bear the thought of sitting here all evening without taking action.
”Tell you what,” I said. “What do you say we buy a couple tickets to Wayne’s World? It opens tonight.”
“Wayne’s World?” John asked with a sardonic grin. “Since when do you --”
“Yeah, I know.” I nodded. “But I could use a brainless distraction right now. Besides, it should be just crowded enough to try out some social engineering ideas I’ve worked up.”
“Again?” John asked. He stood and reached for his leather jacket. “I don’t get why you sneak in when you always buy the ticket anyway.”
“Well what’s the fun of walking in like the rest of the sheeple?” I shrugged.
“So, why buy the ticket at all? Why not just sneak in?”
“Because, man” I said with a smile. “That’d be wrong.”
* * * *
I got to the hearing a few minutes early, but the others were already positioned around a lacquered table that filled the the conference room. Square wooden chairs covered with yellow and brown fabric surrounded the table. Similar chairs ringed the room with their backs against the light brown, rough corduroy that covered the walls.
I felt tired and anxious, but relieved at the same time that the weekend was finally over. A single weekend wasn’t much time to prepare for a crucial meeting that might affect the rest of one’s life. All the same, though, there had been plenty of time to stew about it.
I took my place on the far side of the table facing the door. Directly in front of me sat the triumvirate of accusers: Campus Cop Dave, Lab Tech Cody, and Suspected IT Admin. The dean occupied the seat at the head of the table. Behind the dean in one of the seats that ringed the perimeter sat a man in a suit. He held a slick, brown briefcase upon which a yellow notepad rested. The dean introduced the suit as James so-and-so, the university’s legal counsel.
“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” the dean said looking around the table and nodding.
“First, I should mention that this is an informal hearing and not a legal proceeding. We are here to get to the truth of the allegations of breach of the University’s code of ethics.” He paused and made eye contact with everyone again.
“Before we get started, does anyone have any questions, or need clarification?”
It irked me that they had a lawyer for this “informal hearing,” so I said so.
The dean smiled. “Jim is only here as a matter of university policy.”
“Well, things seem a little stacked against me -- ” I let the sentence trail off.
“I can see how you might feel that way,” said the dean. “But we have found that bringing everyone together in a less formal setting is the best way to get to the bottom of an issue with the least hassle.”
Least hassle for whom? I thought. It’s my butt on the line.
“We want everyone to be able to share openly,” the dean continued. He paused and looked around the room. “Anything else? Is everyone good?” Silence.
“Okay, good,” said the dean. He then nodded to the cop. “Dave, why don’t you get us started?”
And with that, we were off to a great start.
Campus Cop Dave cleared his throat. “We have evidence and a witness that this student has broken the code of ethics and has engaged in computer hacking--”
“Alleged,” I said barely more than a mumble. It just slipped out, and again, betrayed my attitude about this whole thing.
Sorry, what was that?” asked the dean.
I cleared my throat to buy a little time. “Alleged … ‘computer hacking,’” I said with a blank expression. I might have made air quotes, but it’s not really the sort of thing I do.
The dean shifted in his chair. With a forced smile, he said, “Well, as stated before, these are not legal proceedings. You will get your chance to speak.” He motioned for Campus Cop Dave to continue.
“We found this disk left behind in the lab last week.” He handed the diskette kit-corner across the table to the dean.
The disk again! These guys thought they’d found the smoking gun, but I was betting that they hadn’t looked too closely at the contents.
The dean’s eyebrows jumped when he read the label. He glanced over at me, then set the disk down as Campus Cop Dave continued.
“We found the name ‘William Armitage’ in one of the files on that disk. When we confronted him about it, he admitted that the property belonged to him.”
Perfect, I thought. Keep heading down that road.
The dean nodded. His expression gave me the feeling that he’d already made up his mind. But still he said, “Continue.”
Campus Cop Dave and the Accusers summed up the Printer Incident and what they presumed about the disk. My heart pounded as I waited for the other shoe to drop …
But it didn’t.
Nothing came up that hadn’t been in the interrogation. No details about the breach. Nothing about intrusion detection or tracking or who else might be involved. Could it be that John and I had nailed it? Could these guys be basing their whole case on the title written on a diskette?
A glimmer of hope warmed a dark recess of my mind. Barely felt, but it was there. I might actually get outta this.
But then the dean straightened and said, “Well, this is a serious violation of the student code. We can’t allow unauthorized access to our systems. We will have no choice but to expel you from this institution.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I protested holding up a hand. The dean had just slammed the door! I glanced at the pleased looks on The Accusers faces, then back to the dean. Unprepared for this turn of events, I blurted, “So that’s it? You’re just going to take these guys’ word for it?” or something equally as brilliant.
I was starting to see red, so I took a deep breath, held it, let it go slowly while the dean, with condescension coloring his voice, said, “Okay, then, Mr. Armitage. What do you have to say for yourself?”
I began slowly, reeling them in. “Yes, the disk is mine.” I paused. I wanted everyone to wrap themselves in their cozy little blankets of smugness. I continued with all the Pollyanna innocence I could muster. ”It contains my English paper -- which I should be turning in right now as a matter of fact.” On a whim I fished the paper out of my backpack. I had planned to swing by the prof’s office after the hearing to hand it in, that is, on the off chance I didn't get the boot today. “This is the rough draft I worked on over the weekend.” I leaned over and handed it to the dean.
He took the paper and glanced at the title. He then flipped through it, and set the pages down next to the diskette.
I waited for him to nod, then continued. “I chose to research ‘hacking’ for my paper.” This time I definitely used air quotes. See? I can be a dick too.
”I thought the topic might make the paper stand out. But isn’t that what university is about? Aren’t we here to explore knowledge even in the face of ignorance?” I kept my expression neutral and avoided the glaring eyes of the Accusers. “I admit, the disk label was kind of a dumb idea.” I forced a chuckle. “But it’s just a prop. I thought it lent a bit of realism to the project and I was going to hand it in with the paper.
“But ...” I continued before anyone could cut me off. “Poor judgement naming a research project is no reason to burn me at the stake. And furthermore … “ (Yes, when I get defensive my diction gets a bit stilted.) “Furthermore, research in a controlled environment is hardly cause for the interrogation you subjected me to on Friday.”
The dean blinked, looked at Campus Cop Dave, then back to me with a blank expression. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The interrogation,” I said flatly. The dean’s expression stayed blank, so I pushed a bit further. “The hearing … the meeting …,” I drawled. “I’m not sure what else to call it.” The dean’s expression confirmed what I’d guessed: that he had no knowledge of Friday’s get-together; that the Friday meeting had been a clumsy attempt to force a confession.
I pulled a booklet out of my backpack, then flipped it open to a page bookmarked with a paperclip and passed the booklet to the dean. “Would you mind reading the underlined passage from the ‘Student Conduct Code’, uh, sir?”
The dean glowered. “You are out of line, Mr. Armitage.”
Abashed, I retracted the booklet, but then started reading anyway. “‘A dean … may initiate a disciplinary proceeding by conducting or directing a member of . . .’”
“Mr. Armitage--” the dean repeated, but I kept reading, raising my voice at the dean’s attempts to control the situation.
“‘. . . A MEMBER of his or her staff to conduct, an informal hearing with the respondent.’” “What is your point, Mr. Armitage?”
“Well that should be clear,” I said. “The Student Conduct Code clearly identifies that this informal hearing … “ I pointed down at the table. “... ‘initiates’ a ‘disciplinary proceeding’. The interrogation last Friday was a violation of this Code. First of all, the interrogation took place prior to this informal hearing, according to the passage I just read. Second, the interrogation was recorded, and therefore outside the definition of informal.” I was reaching on that one, but figured it was worth taking the chance.
”And third,” I continued, “under duress, I was pressured to sign an expulsion form, which represents ... let's see how does the book put it?” I made a show of flipping to the front of the book and running my fingers down the table of contents. “Ah yes, ‘Disciplinary Sanctions’ - - which also occurred prior to this official hearing - - a direct violation of Title 378-12-075. Which states … ”
“That’s enough, Mr. Armitage!” the dean said.
“Are you sure?” I said. “Because I have it right here. ‘The purpose of a hearing ... is to provide all parties with an opportunity to present evidence and argument before disciplinary sanctions are imposed on a respondent.’”
“Mister Armitage! You are out of line. We are all very familiar with what the section says.”
“Oh,” I said. “Are you? Because--”
“Yes!” the dean said. “That will be quite enough!”
I snapped the booklet shut and slapped it down in on the table in front of me. I felt I was pushing my luck, but my scholarship was on the line -- maybe even my whole college career. This was it. This was the brass ring.
I continued. “I don’t feel that I am out of line, just being clear. I also think that it’s clear that whereas I have not violated the Code, your office has by attempting to impose sanctions without a hearing.”
“Son,” the dean said. “This is the initial hearing. I don't know where you're going with this, but I should inform you that you are on very thin ice.”
I acted surprised. “Officer Jones hasn’t shared the tape he made of Friday’s proceedings?”
The dean turned to the cop. “Dave? What meeting is Mr. Armitage referring to?”
Campus Cop Dave looked stricken. He composed himself and said, “I don’t know, sir. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Sir! ” I sputtered. “I find it hard to believe that you have no knowledge that these three had me in a room at Campus Security on Friday for almost two hours! They slapped an expulsion form in front of me and told me to sign or they would put me in jail.”
Campus Cop Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s talking about, sir. I have no knowledge of this.”
I just about leapt out of my chair. “Oh really?!” I noisily rummaged through my papers. “I have a copy of the summons letter as well as a witness of the letter’s arrival, and this envelope,” of course, I was bluffing about the copy of the letter, but I slapped the envelope on the table. “It’s from the Security office with no postmark.”
I paused for a second then went on. “Not to mention the fact that when Campus Cop -- I mean Officer Jones -- handed you that disk not two minutes ago,” I said, pointing to the dean, ”he distinctly stated, ’When we confronted him about the disk ….‘“ I let that hang in the air a second. “When do you suppose Officer Jones confronted me, sir?”
The look on Campus Cop Dave’s face was priceless. He back pedaled. “We did not force him to give a confession.”
And there it was.
I wanted to yell, “BOO-YAH!! - - But the phrase wouldn't be in vogue for at least another decade.
After a brief pause the dean said, “But you had an unauthorized meeting with Mr. Armitage, and put an expulsion form in front of him?”
Campus Cop Dave nodded.
I could have danced a jig.
The dean sighed and rubbed his forehead above his glasses.
Suspected IT Admin must have felt the proceedings were turning against their case, because now he piped up. “He’s guilty! We saw the tools on the disk.”
“You saw research.” I shot back.
“What did you find, specifically, on the disk?” the dean asked Suspected IT Admin.
“Um, yes, sir. We think they are tools to crack passwords.”
The dean’s eyebrows went up. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” I stated boldly. “The ‘crack’ utility and a sample password file as part of the research. But the utility will only work on Unix passwords. It doesn’t work on the OpenVMS systems that we use here -- which these two, “ I pointed to Lab Tech Cody and Suspected IT Admin, “should know as a matter of course. That’s why I felt safe researching it in the lab. The program won’t even run on those machines. I only had it on the disk so I could read the package documentation.”
“Is this true?” The dean asked.
“Um,” Suspected IT Admin stammered, “I’m not sure that’s exactly correct. I’d have to investigate further.”
“Investigate further?!” The dean echoed with incredulity. The room went silent. The dean’s gaze jumped from person to person. “Guys,” he said, drawing the word out. “We’re in the middle of the hearing. Now. When were you going to be sure?” He took off his glasses, squeezed his eyes tight, and rubbed his forefinger and thumb across his eyelids.
“Well we assumed--” the suspected I.T. admin started. The dean cut him off with a wave of his hand then replaced his spectacles.
“Jim,” he said with a sigh, leaning back and motioning to the lawyer behind him. The rest of the room sat in silence while Legal Counsel Jim legally counselled the dean.
After a moment, the dean nodded. He cleared his throat. “In light of the circumstances, I think we have all we need at this time. I’ll review the audio recording of the meeting of last Friday and see if this warrants further action, but at this point I don’t think we have anything further to discuss.”
I couldn’t believe it. A few moments ago I faced the University “firing squad,” now it looked like I might get out of this with my college career intact. I tried to concealed a grin as I collected my things. “May I have my assignment back please?” I reached for the disk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Armitage. I won’t be able to return this until such time as we can determine that the contents are, in fact, harmless.”
So this wasn’t the end.
Then the dean continued and said something remarkable. “This whole thing has the markings of a witch hunt.
But, Mr. Armitage, I hope you know how serious the matter of computer hacking is. You’re lucky we don’t expel you just for having a disk with that label regardless of what’s actually on it.”
“Yes, sir.” I kept my expression neutral and nodded. “Is that it then? May I go?”
“Yes. You are excused.”
“What?!” Lab Tech Cody exploded as I started to stand.
The dean looked up surprised by the outburst. “You three, sit!” He punctuated the exclamation with a jab of his forefinger. He made a show of taking off his glasses and sitting back in his chair. “Never in my tenure have I seen such a mess. I can’t for the life of me figure out what you people hoped to accomplish by all this!”
Interesting as things were getting, I wasn’t about to wait around. I grabbed my gear and didn’t let the door hit me in the butt on my way out. I bolted from the administration building with just enough time to hand in my dumb English assignment.
* * * *
“Probation!” I said in disgust and slapped the letter addressed from the dean’s office onto the desk.
“Hey, beats jail time,” John grinned. “And you can always appeal, right?”
“Yeah, but why would I? Anyway, check this out,” I smoothed out the letter and showed him. “They want me to testify in a hearing against the cop.”
“Well good. That was a bullcrap stunt he pulled. Hope he gets what’s coming!” John scanned the letter and taunted, “Ha! The rest of the semester on probation for naming your English paper ‘Hacking Tools.’”
“Yeah. You gotta be kidding me.“
* * * *
Epilogue
A few years after graduation, my old roommate John Merka and I met at a local technical conference. I had been working as a technical trainer at a Seattle healthcare company for about five years. John, on the other hand, had built and sold his own Internet service provider company during the boom, and now looked for a place to park his capital gains. Over drinks we sketched a business plan to start our own technical training company. Linux had just hit in a big way, and John knew some people at RedHat who could get us into contract training to keep the lights on. In the meantime we’d save up, build our own training center, and start teaching our own classes with our own original content. “There’s gonna be a big market for network and computer security training,” said John.
And he was right. Not long after, we had our own facility and a fat contract with the State Education Association. All the school districts scheduled their I.T. staffs to attend.
I busied myself with the minutia of running the company, delivering content, and teaching courses until one Monday morning I scanned the students on the back row of my Network Security class and thought I recognized one of them.
I couldn’t believe it! Right there in my classroom sat Suspected IT Admin, looking stunned and embarrassed (as well he should!). And sure enough, fidgeting in the seat next to him sat Lab Tech Cody.
As if it had all happened yesterday, the Printer Incident and proceedings of that cold February back in 1992 flooded into my mind and I felt color rise on my face.
After all this time those two still worked I.T. for the university, and Lab Tech Cody still wore that stupid, unbuttoned dress-shirt and AC/DC tee, and, most of all, they'd ended up, through karma or poetic justice or just plain dumb luck, in my classroom!
I looked down to review the roster and, through gritted teeth, muttered, “You gotta be kidding me.”