A CYBER-LUDDITE'S ADVENTURES BEYOND THE INFERNAL GATES.

Byline: Tad Cronn

Someone turn my digital clock back.

I've decided to convert. I want to become a Luddite. I want to stop the traffic on the infernal information superhighway and make everyone take a long walk outside.

Remember outside? It's the place where you can meet real people, not just digital ``avatars.''

What engendered this fit of pique? In a name: Bill Gates.

My disillusionment began back when I first got a modem for my trusty old DOS-using computer, lovingly referred to as ``DOS Boot.'' This was a big event in my life. I was going to get on the infamous line for the first time.

I splurged a little and got the 14.4K modem, which back then was blindingly fast. (This all occurred back in ancient times, about 2-1/2 years ago, when you could still buy a 386, Big Gulps were less than $1, and life was sweet.)

So I booted up the on-line services. At the time, they didn't even know what to do with a 14.4 modem, it sucked data so fast. I thought I was ready to break the sound barrier.

Then I hit a roadblock - Bill Gates' roadblock.

There were some features I just couldn't access on line - each time I tried, the network servers would inform me that I needed to download the latest system software, which required - da-da-DAH

- Windows. (Urgent disclaimer: All references to Windows contained in this essay are included strictly for their gripe value and are not intended to in any way infringe on licensing rights for Windows 95 or any versions of Microsoft Windows, living or dead, which are trademarks of Microsoft Inc.)

At first, I complained to the on-line services, but the folks who operate the networks, like nearly every other sentient creature in the universe, are in thrall to Microsoft.

(Upon hearing that I still used DOS, one techie told me, ``Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.'' Wonder what he meant by it?)

Between licensing agreements and software requirements, the world has been bent to Gates' will in a megalomaniacal scheme that even James Bond couldn't foil. Take a look at a software store sometime. If you've got an IBM or IBM clone, there is hardly a byte of software or a peripheral out there that doesn't require Windows.

And it's only going to get worse. Why do you think Gates spent 50 gazillion simoleons on his new house? I have it on good authority (a k a the Bill's Gotta Go Newsgroup) that he has a factory under that house, busily churning out the new line of cybernetic bodies we'll all be forced to inhabit within the next 10 years, as Microsoft sends flesh and blood the way of punch cards.

The final straw, though, came at a recent computer convention. I was weak. I admit it. I was actually on the verge of surrendering to the will of the despot, Emperor Bill. I was considering buying the dread software.

Actually, a - ahem - shall I say, ``liberated,'' copy of it.

I was desperate to belong, and there it was, all shiny and affordable in its little plastic Baggie stuffed with photocopied instructions and thrice-overwritten disks. Sure, I was suspicious, but it had a reassuring little sticker that said, ``original packaging'' on it.

I caught the dealer's eye. ``Is it like, you know, the real thing?'' I asked nervously.

``What? Windows?'' he answered in a loud voice. (Further disclaimer: The author cannot be held responsible for the use of trademarked words spoken by other people, real or imaginary.) I jumped. All the nearby dealers shushed the bombastic fellow with frantic gestures.

``I can dang well say Windows if I want to!'' he bellowed.

``Don't say that word!'' someone yelled. (See, Bill, he was warned.)

Something inside the software peddler must have snapped. ``Windows. Windows! WINDOWS!'' he cackled insanely, shaking a defiant fist at the impassive sky.

Not even a moment later, all the doors to the convention hall were blown off their hinges and hurled across the room in huge explosions of smoke and flame. A squad of power-armored, jack-booted storm troopers, each bearing the smiling Bob insignia on his chest, barged into the room from all sides. Software vendors hurriedly covered up boxes of illicit programs as the troopers' commander yelled over his helmet-mounted amplifier, ``MS-SWAT, Ver. 7.1! (Manuals not included.) Nobody move! You're all under arrest for unlicensed use of a trademark!''

I scurried for cover as the MS-SWAT squad's bullets flew, blasting posters from the walls and filling the room with the shrapnel from hundreds of shredded card tables.

The shooting stopped.

As the plaster dust cleared and the screech of mortally wounded sound cards faded into the distance, I yelled at the MS-SWAT leader: ``What the racka-fracka-ricka-racka do you think you're doing?''

``Protecting the safety of the global economy,'' replied the MS-SWAT leader, thumping his chest as a little whorl of smoke swirled around his head like an angelic halo. ``Wherever there is a threat to the duly authorized and funded free exchange of ideas, wherever there is a danger to the legitimate on-line expenditures of law-abiding consumers with good credit histories, wherever there is failure to pay appropriate licensing fees, MS-SWAT will be there to protect the sanctity of the American way of banking!''

There wasn't a dry eye in the goon squad.

There is one good thing that came out of all that confusion. It's sitting on my desk right now, its ``original packaging'' sticker winking slyly at me. I don't think I'll load it. I'm rather enjoying being a Luddite. You get to meet people. But I still like my computer, so I guess technically, I'm a cyber-Luddite. Still, I'm in no hurry to get back on the information superhighway. Some of the side streets are a lot more interesting.