04 Track 4

Unit 2

Computer Culture

Chapter 2

Female Virus Writer Packs Punch

Page 33

Female Virus Writer Packs Punch

She can kick you in the pants and wipe your hard drive cleaner than a dog’s dinner plate. So when the young kickboxer and virus writer known as “Gigabyte” tells you she doesn’t want her face on TV, well, you play along.

“I’ll just shoot you from behind,” I say, carrying my TV camera across the large mat that covers the health club’s gymnasium floor.

It’s almost time for the 6 P.M. kickboxing class, and Gigabyte is the only woman there. Of course, she’s used to that. In the male dominated world of virus writers, she stands out.

And not only because of her gender. She is also something of a virus-writing prodigy, having started programming at age six.

“I figured out how to write a few lines of code on my uncle’s Commodore 64,” says Gigabyte. “Later, I wanted to learn more about programming, so I went to the store and ask for books. The salespeople were surprised. It was like, ‘Why do you want to book? Why don’t you just buy a game and go play?

But games are not very interesting to me. I wanted to learn how to write real executable programs.”

So she did.

At age fourteen, she wrote her first computer worm, which took over the shutdown screens of infected users.

Two years later, she wrote a powerful virus that mangles MP3 files. More recently she became only the second person to write a virus in C, the language of Microsoft’s .Net platform.

Her so-called “sharpie” worm, which comes in an e-mail attachment, spreads via Microsoft’s Outlook e-mail program and infects certain files and computers where the .Net framework is present.

The morning after kickboxing class, I arrive at Gigabyte’s house at 630. She’s having tea with her grandmother in the kitchen of a tiny, immaculate cottage.

She has lived with her grandparents most of her life, for reasons she declines to discuss.

We catch the public bus downtown to her school. Although the bus is packed with other teenagers, she speaks to no one.

We walk a few blocks to her school, where I meet her computer teacher. “She is a good young programmer,” she says. “But I do not approve of her virus writing. I know she says she is not causing any harm, and it is true that she does not intentionally spread these viruses, but I do not think it is appropriate, and viruses can cause a lot of damage.

“Nevertheless, teacher and student are cordial to each other throughout the long morning class. Later that afternoon, Gigabyte walks around the computer room her grandparents have set aside for her, flicking on no fewer than four Windows machines. She’s comfortable here, and full of opinions.

On being some sort of feminist icon, she says, “… I’m a virus writer. If I wanted to make a [feminist] statement, don’t you think would be part of the viruses I’ve written?

I mean, yeah, I do want to admit I’m female because there is nothing to hide about it.

The world should know there are female virus writers out there. But it’s certainly not my motivation for virus writing. I do this for myself, not for the whole world. Other females don’t need me to stand up for them; they can do it for themselves.”

On the ethics of writing viruses: “I’m not responsible for stupid people who open e-mail attachments that erase their files.”

“Hey,” she says, “let’s go outside. I want to show you something.”

I’m led out into the backyard garden, which is beautifully groomed. There are painted gnomes and a small pond, and then, suddenly, there is a ferret, Gigabyte’s pet ferret, out for a little afternoon walk.

How right they are for each other, I think, looking at the ferret in the virus writer. Both are cunning and quick, and you wouldn’t want either of them to bite you.

“Virus writing is so aggressive and most reasonable people consider it an act of vandalism, or at least potential vandalism,” I say. “Would you spray paint graffiti on somebody’s wall?

“We are not coming inside anyone’s walls,” she said. “The users are running the virus. They are the ones clicking on it.”

“So you think the people who execute these programs are responsible for the damage that your viruses do? I ask.

“Actually,” she says, “I think stupid people should have to have some sort of license to get on the Internet.”

There’s a pause in the conversation. The ferret is turning somersaults in the grass at our feet. “Do you think of what you do as art?” I ask.

“I want to do something original, that not everyone does,” she says. “If you write something that’s new or funny or special in a way, then I think it is a form of art, yes.”

I ask her if she wants to work with computers for a living. When she grows up, I mean.

“Yes. But not with an antivirus company,” she says. “I will never do antivirus.” That would run counter to her code.