specifically, a CYBERPUNK science
fiction writer.

Like my "cyberpunk" colleagues in the U.S. and Canada, I've never been
entirely happy with this literary label--especially after it became a
synonym for computer criminal. But I did once edit a book of stories
by my colleagues, called Mirrorshades: the Cyberpunk Anthology, and
I've long been a writer of literary-critical cyberpunk manifestos. I
am not a "hacker" of any description, though I do have readers in the
digital underground.

When the Steve Jackson Games seizure occurred, I naturally took an
intense interest. If "cyberpunk" books were being banned by federal
police in my own home town, I reasonably wondered whether I myself
might be next. Would my computer be seized by the Secret Service? At
the time, I was in possession of an aging Apple IIe without so much as
a hard disk. If I were to be raided as an author of computer-crime
manuals, the loss of my feeble word-processor would likely provoke more
snickers than sympathy.

I'd known Steve Jackson for many years. We knew one another as
colleagues, for we frequented the same local science-fiction
conventions. I'd played Jackson games, and recognized his cleverness;
but he certainly had never struck me as a potential mastermind of
computer crime.

I also knew a little about computer bulletin-board systems. In the
mid-1980s I had taken an active role in an Austin board called
"SMOF-BBS," one of the first boards dedicated to science fiction. I
had a modem, and on occasion I'd logged on to Illuminati, which always
looked entertainly wacky, but certainly harmless enough.

At the time of the Jackson seizure, I had no experience whatsoever with
underground boards. But I knew that no one on Illuminati talked about
breaking into systems illegally, or about robbing phone companies.
Illuminati didn't even offer pirated computer games. Steve Jackson,
like many creative artists, was markedly touchy about theft of
intellectual property.

It seemed to me that Jackson was either seriously suspected of some
crime--in which case, he would be charged soon, and would have his day
in court--or else he was innocent, in which case the Secret Service
would quickly return his equipment, and everyone would have a good
laugh. I rather expected the good laugh. The situation was not
without its comic side. The raid, known as the "Cyberpunk Bust" in the
science fiction community, was winning a great deal of free nati