He hit the RUN switch. The little radio on top of the big, menacing computer box began to make raspy, buzzy noises. It was music of a sort, and by the time the first few plaintive bars of Paul McCartney’s ballad were through, the room of hackers—normally abuzz with gossip about the latest chip—fell into an awed silence. Steve Dompier’s computer, with the pure, knee-shaking innocence of a first-grader’s first recital, was playing a song. As soon as the last note played, there was total, stunned silence. They had just heard evidence that the dream they’d been sharing was real. A dream that only
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