As everybody in the consulting business in this town knows, never schedule consecutive meetings with an Israeli and an Arab. You always need to leave sufficient time between them so that they don’t run into each other outside your building, in the elevator or in your reception area. And that’s under normal circumstances; this week, it has been an even greater imperative than ever – the Israeli wanted to discuss strategies to keep Egyptian natural gas flowing to Israeli power plants after Hosni Mubarak leaves, and the Arab was an Egyptian who wanted to discuss the US foreign policy implications of cutting it off.
My strategy has always been to schedule the Arab’s appointment to start fifteen minutes after the Israeli’s ends and then rely on the fact that Arabs are quite dependably late for their appointments. It was during just such a hiatus on Friday morning that Gretchen opened the big, thick oak door to my office and peeked in, her face bearing an uncharacteristic expression of concern.
“My friend Darlene,” she told me anxiously, “just sent me a text message that says the Internet has run out of space.”
“Actually,” I informed her, “it ‘ran out’ of IP addresses on Thursday.”
“It ran out of IP addresses?” Gretchen gave me quizzical look. “You mean, those numbers and dots that identify your computer?”
“Precisely,” I confirmed. “The current Internet address system, IP version 4, or IPv4 as the techies call it, has been around since before the beginning of the World Wide Web. Each IP address consists of four three-digit numbers between zero and two-hundred and fifty-five…”
“Why two-hundred and fifty-five?” Gretchen asked with a puzzled tone.
“Because two-hundred and fifty-six is two to the eighth power.” I explained.
“Huh?” Gretchen was clearly nonplussed.
“Because, essentially,” I simplified, “computers are so stupid they can only count to two and add one to zero.”
“So, computers aren’t smart?” Gretchen wondered.
“No they’re not,” I confirmed. “As a matter of fact, they’re so dumb, they always do exactly what they are told to do, whether it makes any sense or not.”
“Hmm,” Gretchen mused. “You mean, they’re sort of like federal employees?”
“Be careful with your comparisons,” I cautioned, “or you’ll end up owing computers an apology.”
“Really?” Gretchen responded in a skeptical tone. “You think so?”
“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “Computers aren’t lazy and they can’t lie.”
“Okay, Mr. Collins,” she promised. “But if the system is based on two-hundred and fifty six, why do the IP numbers only go up to two-hundred and fifty five?”
“Because,” I related, “if I ask you to count to ten, you will say, ‘one, two, three, four…’ and end with ten, but if I ask a computer geek to do that, they will say ‘zero, one, two, three…’ and end with nine.”
“Gee,” Gretchen wondered, “what’s their problem?”
“Binary number systems,” I answered. “Among a host of other things, like poor personal hygiene, a lack of social skills, low verbal SAT scores, obsessive addictions to video games and an average level of emotional maturity commensurate with the seventh grade.”
“Oh, the poor things,” Gretchen sighed, displaying her typically naive Pennsylvania Amish country girl empathy, wasting it, in my opinion, on the type of arrogant, self-absorbed high-tech twits that work in places like Washington, Wall Street and Silicon Valley. Would any of them bother to stop playing World of Warcraft, Black Ops or Halo long enough to call 911 and save her from burning to death in a house fire?
“Not to worry,” I advised. “They’re generally much too busy writing code to realize how pathetic they are.”
“All right,” Gretchen shrugged, “I won’t. But if there are two-hundred fifty six numbers and four sets of them, shouldn’t there be like, a gazillion IP addresses?”
“There are,” I clarified, “four billion, two hundred and ninety-four million, nine hundred and sixty-seven thousand, two hundred and ninety-six possible IP addresses in version 4.”
“Oh, gee,” Gretchen gasped. “Only four billion? That’s not much at all! There are like, what, almost seven billion people, right? What ever gave them the idea that only four billion IP addresses would be enough?”
“Back when they came up with IPv4,” I explained, “virtually the only people using the Internet were scientists, engineers, mathematicians, economists and few avant-garde artists and musicians. No way did the folks who came up with IPv4 ever think there would be more than four billion of them in the world, believe me. And they were quite correct, too. Even today, there still aren’t anywhere near that many. What they didn’t anticipate was what happened when Tim Berners-Lee, an engineer at CERN, invented hypertext transfer protocol in 1989, after which, starting about the mid 1990’s, the Web became the biggest fad in history. That’s when everybody else showed up and started demanding their own IP addresses. Then there was the wireless revolution, accompanied by a huge number of corporate business plans based on the manufacture of things like cars, refrigerators, burglar alarms and home entertainment systems with Internet connectivity. And before we knew it, all four billion IP addresses were spoken for.”
“So what are they doing about it?” Gretchen implored. “What if I want to buy something like that, something that needs its own IP address, like a smart microwave oven, or an Internet GPS tracking collar for my cat?”
“They came up with a new system,” I replied. “It’s called IPv6, it’s been around since 1999, and it actually does have a gazillion IP addresses. It’s designed to be so big, not even the most frivolous, wasteful, profligate and asinine Internet schemes or devices will ever be able to exhaust it.”
“And that’s good,” Gretchen murmured uncertainly. “Isn’t it?”
“Call it ‘progress,’” I suggested. “That’s what’s always done when legions of clueless bozos screw up a really cool technology and there’s no way to go back, anyhow.”
“Very good Mr. Collins,” Gretchen nodded. “’Progress’ it is. So ‘gazillion’ really is a number?”
“No,” I corrected, “it’s just a colloquial figure of speech. IPv6 addresses contain eight groups of four-digit hexadecimal numbers, separated by dots. Each group ranges in value from zero to FFFF, or, in decimal notation, from zero to sixty-five thousand, five hundred and thirty five. Raising sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty six to the eighth power yields a value of three hundred and forty undecillion, two-hundred and eighty two decillion, three hundred and sixty-six nonillion, nine hundred and twenty octillion, nine hundred and thirty eight septillion, four hundred and sixty-three sextillion, four hundred and sixty-three quintillion, three hundred and seventy-four quadrillion, six hundred and seven trillion, four hundred and thirty-one billion, seven hundred and seventy-three million, six hundred and thirty-eight thousand, nine hundred and twenty two possible IP addresses.”
“I think,” Gretchen mused, “that’s got to be the biggest number I’ve ever heard of.”
“And unless you decide to pursue a career in cosmology or cryptography,” I assured her, “that’s the biggest number you ever will hear of. Now, a beam of light travels roughly eleven point eight inches in a nanosecond, which is one billionth of a second. A attosecond is the time it takes that light beam to traverse the length of three hydrogen atoms. If you assigned a new IPv6 address every attosecond, starting at the very beginning of the universe, thirteen point seven five billion years ago, there would still be more than ninety-nine point eight percent of them left.”
“I guess that should be enough,” Gretchen sighed, “even for those poor little geeks. Okay, IPv4 ran out today, so they’re starting IPv6 tomorrow, then?”
“No,” I revealed, “IPv6 won’t be fully implemented for several years.”
“Omigod!” Gretchen exclaimed. “What’s going to happen to the Internet while we wait? Is it going to stop?”
“No,” I assured her, “but it might start slowing down.”
Gretchen’s eyes went wide. “When?”
“What the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers did yesterday was to allocate the very last remaining block of sixteen million IPv4 addresses. They handed out about thirty three million others on Tuesday. So there are about forty-nine million IP addresses left that nobody has used yet. It will probably be until October or November before those are all taken.”
Gretchen knit her brow in concern. “Then what?”
“Then,” I acknowledged, “there could be some problems.”
“Such as?” Gretchen’s voice rose just a bit too much at the end of that question.
“They’re not exactly sure,” I confessed. “But they’ve scheduled a big test this coming June to find out if IPv6 is going to work.”
“A test?” Gretchen gasped. “Is that all… just a test?”
“Well,” I observed, “upgrading Internet hardware platforms from IPv4 to IPv6 is going to cost a lot of money. So, given the way the executives in charge of that infrastructure think, generally speaking, and the way almost all of their bosses think, I’d say it’s going to take some kind of major meltdown to get them motivated enough to make the necessary expenditures.”
At that, Gretchen threw a nervous glance over her left shoulder at her workstation on her desk in the reception area, then stared blankly back at me. “What should I do?”
“Take a long lunch, someplace nice,” I advised, “and put it on the company credit card. Then quit worrying. There’s nothing that either of us can do about it.”
And speaking of lunch someplace nice, while I was dining Friday afternoon at Wolfgang Puck’s Source Restaurant, my Blackberry discreetly let me know that my sister’s brother-in-law’s wife, Shannon, was trying to contact me. Having just ordered my appetizer and entrée, and being suitably equipped with a Bombay Sapphire dry martini, I figured, why not?
Tom: Hi, Shannon, what’s up?
Shannon: Tom, I know you know about these things, so I thought I’d better call you before I did anything. I’ve got this e-mail that says that it’s from something called the “Internet Authority,” telling me that something I’ve got called an “IP address” is scheduled to be “re-allocated” unless I fill out this form here on the screen. It says “Your IP Address is one hundred twenty seven dot zero dot zero dot one. Do you want to keep it? Due to the recent shortage of IP addresses, you must respond within 24 hours or lose this address.”
Tom: Well, first of all, IP address 127.0.0.1 is the address of something called the “local host” on your PC, not your machine’s IP address. What information does the form want?
Shannon: Let’s see… um… first name, last name, middle name, mother’s maiden name, date of birth, address, daytime telephone number, home telephone number, cell phone number, and three major credit card numbers with credit card type. It has three blanks for the numbers, and it says “Specify type – Master Card, Visa, American Express” with a little menu that drops down next to where you’re supposed to put each number in. And it says, “If you have less than three major credit cards, you must also enter the bank routing and account number from one of your checks.” Then it says, “For security purposes, you must provide an e-mail address and password,” and it has places to put them, too.
Tom: Uh-huh, I understand. Shannon, don’t fill it out. That’s a phishing scheme.
Shannon: Fishing? What’s my computer’s… Internet address thingy got to do with fish?
Tom: Oh, Lord… never mind what, okay? It’s a trick. Somebody is trying to scare you into providing a bunch of personal and financial information so they can use it to steal your identity and your money. IPv4 exhaustion does not mean that anybody who already has an IP address is in any danger of losing it.
Shannon: Huh? Who’s exhausted?
Tom: Oh, nobody. What kind of protection are you using?
Shannon: None! We’re Catholics, you know that!
Tom: No, no, what I mean is, I think you might have a Trojan there and…
Shannon: Tom, the Vatican has made it abundantly clear that any form of contraception, including condoms…
Tom: No, no, I meant, what kind of anti-virus, spyware scanning, Trojan horse malware insertion prevention products do you have on your computer?
Shannon: Uh… ah… I don’t know, it’s got Windows 7 on it. It’s practically brand new – I only bought it a couple of months ago. I mean, isn’t that kind of stuff included?
Tom: Look – why don’t you call my brother Rob Roy, tell him you talked to me and say I told you to ask if he, his wife Katje, or their son Jason can go over to your place and set up some decent security on your machine? Rose has the number.
Shannon: Okay, Tom. Thanks.
Tom: You’re welcome. Here comes my crispy suckling pig with plum puree, pickled cipollini onion and sweet beans, so I have to go.
Shannon: Oh, sure thing. ‘Bye now!
Saturday morning, Cerise and I were having breakfast in bed at my place, when the land line rang. Caller ID said it was my sister Rose’s husband, Hank, on his cell phone.
Hank: Tom! Sorry about calling before noon on a weekend, but I need to talk to you, right away!
Tom: About what?
Hank: About this incredible business deal I’m in on.
Tom: You’re in on a business deal?
Hank: In on the ground floor, my man! You’ve heard about the impending shortage of Internet IP addresses, haven’t you? So, we put two and two together and we get five, Tom! Like five million dollars, know what I mean? Like five million a month, maybe – hell, five million a week!
Tom: And who’s bright idea was this?
Hank: You ever meet Chuck Farley, the guy who lives down the street from us out here in Fairfax?
Tom: You mean, Charles Ulysses Farley? I think I met him at your Halloween party. The one who was wearing the Bernie Madoff mask?
Hank: Yeah, that was him – Chuck U. Farley, the guy who used to be a mortgage derivatives specialist at Freddie Mac.
Tom: So he’s out of work now, just like you?
Hank: Yeah, but like they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, you know? And last night, we got going over a couple of beers…
Tom: Sounds like more than a couple.
Hank: Yeah, a few, whatever, and he’s like “Did you hear about how the Internet is running out of IP addresses? That’s just like real estate! When there’s no more of it left, the price starts going up, and up, and up…”
Tom: Except that there’s no market for IP addresses.
Hank: Sure, there hasn’t been – yet. That’s because there was never a shortage before! Me and Chuck, we’re going to put a big pile of money together and buy up as many IP addresses as we can while they’re cheap and…
Tom: Well, okay, it is possible to buy IP addresses, if you purchase very large blocks of them…
Hank: And that’s what we’re going to do!
Tom: Oh, boy…
Hank: “Oh boy,” is right! It’s going to be the biggest money-making opportunity since the domain name gold rush! We just thought of it last night, and I’m calling around to everyone I can think of today. What to you say? Want to kick in a few grand – twenty-five, thirty… maybe fifty thousand or whatever?
Tom: I think I’ll pass.
Hank: Aw, c’mon, Tom, be a sport! No guts, no glory! No risk, no reward! Remember when “sex.com,” “drugs.com,” and “rockandroll.com” all sold for over a million bucks each?
Tom: Yeah.
Hank: Well, it’s going to be just like that!
Tom: You mean, you think that idiots are going to pay ridiculous amounts of money for IP addresses, just like they used to pay for domain names?
Hank: Well, think about it – what’s the one thing these days the Internet is running out of?
Tom: IP addresses.
Hank: Right! And what’s the one thing the Internet has more of these days than ever before?
Tom: Idiots.
Hank: Bada bing, bada boom! We’re rich!
Tom: Thanks, Hank, but I don’t think so. By the way, have you discussed this… investment plan… with Rose yet?
Hank: Rose? Uh… no… actually, I haven’t.
Tom: Mind if I do?
Hank: Ah, um… er, please don’t, okay? I mean, uh… I would really rather you not speak with Rose concerning, um… the proposed business model… at this time, in light of the various issues at the moment, regarding my… ah, employment situation… my, uh, job search, our… current cash flow, and…
Tom: Tell you what – if you hang up now, I won’t.
Hank: Okay! ‘Bye!