She took the pictures before the dish came up, one page at a time on the porch boards, with her shadow off the paper. Two of them were blurry so she took those again. Twelve pictures. Nine of the algorithm and three of the list.
At two o’clock she plugged the dish in.
“Thirty seconds,” Marcus called from the couch.
The bars came up. She opened a new message and typed the two addresses into the To line from memory. pqc-forum. oss-security. She had written the rest on the porch while she waited for two o’clock to come.
Subject: Method for breaking the classical keys, and a list of what is exposed (no embargo)
Some of you will know my name from the news. I’m sorry to send this as photographs of handwritten pages. I don’t have a computer or a reliable connection, and I didn’t think it could wait for either.
The first three pictures are a list of every kind of device I could think of that never took PQ1, in the order I think they need to be fixed, with who I think has to fix each one. Building automation controllers are at the top. I am sure the list is incomplete. Please be aware that it is also the list anybody attacking these systems will use, so if you maintain or own anything on it, please start today, and please forward this to whoever runs those systems if it isn’t you.
The other nine pictures are the method. It breaks the keys on everything on that list. Anybody who can follow it can run it.
There is no embargo. I know that is not how this is supposed to be done. My bet is that the people who own these things can fix them faster than anybody can break them. I hope I’m right.
Samantha Hale
She read it one more time. She attached the three pages of the list first, then the nine. If only part of it got through, she wanted it to be the list.
“Ninety seconds,” Marcus called. “What are you doing out there?”
“Email.”
“To who?”
“Everybody.”
“Tell them I said hi.”
She assumed he thought she was kidding. She let him.
Through the window Vlad was still in Doug’s chair. He hadn’t moved since she came out.
She thought about the traffic light. She pressed send.
The upload started. One picture. Two. Her hands were shaking. She put the tablet down flat on the rail and held onto the rail with both hands.
At five pictures the bars on the dish went from four to one.
The dish pointed over the ridge, and the tops of the trees up there were moving in the wind. She reached for the dish and stopped. If she touched it she might lose the one bar.
The upload stopped.
“Two minutes,” Marcus called.
“Come on,” she said under her breath. “Come on, come on.”
The dish went back to three. The upload jumped and kept going. Eight. Ten. Twelve.
Sent.
She let go of the rail. Her hands hurt from holding it.
There was one email in the inbox from E. Voss, from noon. If you are coming, tell me by two where to send the car. She opened a reply.
I’m not coming. Read pqc-forum.
She sent it. She felt bad about Eleanor. Eleanor was going to read it in a room full of people.
“Two thirty,” Marcus called. “Did Eleanor write back?”
“No.”
It was true. Through the window, Doug’s chair was empty.
She refreshed the inbox. Her own message came back to her from pqc-forum, the copy the list sent to everyone on it. Then from oss-security. She opened the pqc-forum archive. Her name was at the top of the page, above a man in Ottawa asking about key sizes.
“Three,” Marcus called.
A reply came in from pqc-forum, from a name she didn’t know at Eindhoven. One line.
Is this real?
pqc-forum had a few thousand people on it. She typed Yes. Try it. and sent it.
“Three thirty.”
The door opened behind her. Vlad came out onto the porch and stood next to her. He didn’t say anything. He held out his hand.
She gave him the tablet. She couldn’t think of one thing to say to him.
He read the To line first.
“Four,” Marcus called. “Sam, that’s four.”
Samantha unplugged the dish.