Matthew Garrett

The distinction between hardware and software has historically been relatively easy to understand - hardware is the physical object that software runs on. This is made more complicated by the existence of programmable logic like FPGAs, but by and large things tend to fall into fairly neat categories if we're drawing that distinction.

Conversations usually become more complicated when we introduce firmware, but should they? According to Wikipedia, Firmware is software that provides low-level control of computing device hardware, and basically anything that's generally described as firmware certainly fits into the "software" side of the above hardware/software binary. From a software freedom perspective, this seems like something where the obvious answer to "Should this be free" is "yes", but it's worth thinking about why the answer is yes - the goal of free software isn't freedom for freedom's sake, but because the freedoms embodied in the Free Software Definition (and by proxy the DFSG) are grounded in real world practicalities.

How do these line up for firmware? Firmware can fit into two main classes - it can be something that's responsible for initialisation of the hardware (such as, historically, BIOS, which is involved in initialisation and boot and then largely irrelevant for runtime[1]) or it can be something that makes the hardware work at runtime (wifi card firmware being an obvious example). The role of free software in the latter case feels fairly intuitive, since the interface and functionality the hardware offers to the operating system is frequently largely defined by the firmware running on it. Your wifi chipset is, these days, largely a software defined radio, and what you can do with it is determined by what the firmware it's running allows you to do. Sometimes those restrictions may be required by law, but other times they're simply because the people writing the firmware aren't interested in supporting a feature - they may see no reason to allow raw radio packets to be provided to the OS, for instance. We also shouldn't ignore the fact that sufficiently complicated firmware exposed to untrusted input (as is the case in most wifi scenarios) may contain exploitable vulnerabilities allowing attackers to gain arbitrary code execution on the wifi chipset - and potentially use that as a way to gain control of the host OS (see this writeup for an example). Vendors being in a unique position to update that firmware means users may never receive security updates, leaving them with a choice between discarding hardware that otherwise works perfectly or leaving themselves vulnerable to known security issues.

But even the cases where firmware does nothing other than initialise the hardware cause problems. A lot of hardware has functionality controlled by registers that can be locked during the boot process. Vendor firmware may choose to disable (or, rather, never to enable) functionality that may be beneficial to a user, and then lock out the ability to reconfigure the hardware later. Without any ability to modify that firmware, the user lacks the freedom to choose what functionality their hardware makes available to them. Again, the ability to inspect this firmware and modify it has a distinct benefit to the user.

So, from a practical perspective, I think there's a strong argument that users would benefit from most (if not all) firmware being free software, and I don't think that's an especially controversial argument. So I think this is less of a philosophical discussion, and more of a strategic one - is spending time focused on ensuring firmware is free worthwhile, and if so what's an appropriate way of achieving this?

I think there's two consistent ways to view this. One is to view free firmware as desirable but not necessary. This approach basically argues that code that's running on hardware that isn't the main CPU would benefit from being free, in the same way that code running on a remote network service would benefit from being free, but that this is much less important than ensuring that all the code running in the context of the OS on the primary CPU is free. The maximalist position is not to compromise at all - all software on a system, whether it's running at boot or during runtime, and whether it's running on the primary CPU or any other component on the board, should be free.

Personally, I lean towards the former and think there's a reasonably coherent argument here. I think users would benefit from the ability to modify the code running on hardware that their OS talks to, in the same way that I think users would benefit from the ability to modify the code running on hardware the other side of a network link that their browser talks to. I also think that there's enough that remains to be done in terms of what's running on the host CPU that it's not worth having that fight yet. But I think the latter is absolutely intellectually consistent, and while I don't agree with it from a pragmatic perspective I think things would undeniably be better if we lived in that world.

This feels like a thing you'd expect the Free Software Foundation to have opinions on, and it does! There are two primarily relevant things - the Respects your Freedoms campaign focused on ensuring that certified hardware meets certain requirements (including around firmware), and the Free System Distribution Guidelines, which define a baseline for an OS to be considered free by the FSF (including requirements around firmware).

RYF requires that all software on a piece of hardware be free other than under one specific set of circumstances. If software runs on (a) a secondary processor and (b) within which software installation is not intended after the user obtains the product, then the software does not need to be free. (b) effectively means that the firmware has to be in ROM, since any runtime interface that allows the firmware to be loaded or updated is intended to allow software installation after the user obtains the product.

The Free System Distribution Guidelines require that all non-free firmware be removed from the OS before it can be considered free. The recommended mechanism to achieve this is via linux-libre, a project that produces tooling to remove anything that looks plausibly like a non-free firmware blob from the Linux source code, along with any incitement to the user to load firmware - including even removing suggestions to update CPU microcode in order to mitigate CPU vulnerabilities.

For hardware that requires non-free firmware to be loaded at runtime in order to work, linux-libre doesn't do anything to work around this - the hardware will simply not work. In this respect, linux-libre reduces the amount of non-free firmware running on a system in the same way that removing the hardware would. This presumably encourages users to purchase RYF compliant hardware.

But does that actually improve things? RYF doesn't require that a piece of hardware have no non-free firmware, it simply requires that any non-free firmware be hidden from the user. CPU microcode is an instructive example here. At the time of writing, every laptop listed here has an Intel CPU. Every Intel CPU has microcode in ROM, typically an early revision that is known to have many bugs. The expectation is that this microcode is updated in the field by either the firmware or the OS at boot time - the updated version is loaded into RAM on the CPU, and vanishes if power is cut. The combination of RYF and linux-libre doesn't reduce the amount of non-free code running inside the CPU, it just means that the user (a) is more likely to hit since-fixed bugs (including security ones!), and (b) has less guidance on how to avoid them.

As long as RYF permits hardware that makes use of non-free firmware I think it hurts more than it helps. In many cases users aren't guided away from non-free firmware - instead it's hidden away from them, leaving them less aware that their freedom is constrained. Linux-libre goes further, refusing to even inform the user that the non-free firmware that their hardware depends on can be upgraded to improve their security.

Out of sight shouldn't mean out of mind. If non-free firmware is a threat to user freedom then allowing it to exist in ROM doesn't do anything to solve that problem. And if it isn't a threat to user freedom, then what's the point of requiring linux-libre for a Linux distribution to be considered free by the FSF? We seem to have ended up in the worst case scenario, where nothing is being done to actually replace any of the non-free firmware running on people's systems and where users may even end up with a reduced awareness that the non-free firmware even exists.

[1] Yes yes SMM

Short version: Secure Boot Advanced Targeting and if that's enough for you you can skip the rest you're welcome.

Long version: When UEFI Secure Boot was specified, everyone involved was, well, a touch naive. The basic security model of Secure Boot is that all the code that ends up running in a kernel-level privileged environment should be validated before execution - the firmware verifies the bootloader, the bootloader verifies the kernel, the kernel verifies any additional runtime loaded kernel code, and now we have a trusted environment to impose any other security policy we want. Obviously people might screw up, but the spec included a way to revoke any signed components that turned out not to be trustworthy: simply add the hash of the untrustworthy code to a variable, and then refuse to load anything with that hash even if it's signed with a trusted key.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, scale. Every Linux distribution that works in the Secure Boot ecosystem generates their own bootloader binaries, and each of them has a different hash. If there's a vulnerability identified in the source code for said bootloader, there's a large number of different binaries that need to be revoked. And, well, the storage available to store the variable containing all these hashes is limited. There's simply not enough space to add a new set of hashes every time it turns out that grub (a bootloader initially written for a simpler time when there was no boot security and which has several separate image parsers and also a font parser and look you know where this is going) has another mechanism for a hostile actor to cause it to execute arbitrary code, so another solution was needed.

And that solution is SBAT. The general concept behind SBAT is pretty straightforward. Every important component in the boot chain declares a security generation that's incorporated into the signed binary. When a vulnerability is identified and fixed, that generation is incremented. An update can then be pushed that defines a minimum generation - boot components will look at the next item in the chain, compare its name and generation number to the ones stored in a firmware variable, and decide whether or not to execute it based on that. Instead of having to revoke a large number of individual hashes, it becomes possible to push one update that simply says "Any version of grub with a security generation below this number is considered untrustworthy".

So why is this suddenly relevant? SBAT was developed collaboratively between the Linux community and Microsoft, and Microsoft chose to push a Windows update that told systems not to trust versions of grub with a security generation below a certain level. This was because those versions of grub had genuine security vulnerabilities that would allow an attacker to compromise the Windows secure boot chain, and we've seen real world examples of malware wanting to do that (Black Lotus did so using a vulnerability in the Windows bootloader, but a vulnerability in grub would be just as viable for this). Viewed purely from a security perspective, this was a legitimate thing to want to do.

(An aside: the "Something has gone seriously wrong" message that's associated with people having a bad time as a result of this update? That's a message from shim, not any Microsoft code. Shim pays attention to SBAT updates in order to avoid violating the security assumptions made by other bootloaders on the system, so even though it was Microsoft that pushed the SBAT update, it's the Linux bootloader that refuses to run old versions of grub as a result. This is absolutely working as intended)

The problem we've ended up in is that several Linux distributions had not shipped versions of grub with a newer security generation, and so those versions of grub are assumed to be insecure (it's worth noting that grub is signed by individual distributions, not Microsoft, so there's no externally introduced lag here). Microsoft's stated intention was that Windows Update would only apply the SBAT update to systems that were Windows-only, and any dual-boot setups would instead be left vulnerable to attack until the installed distro updated its grub and shipped an SBAT update itself. Unfortunately, as is now obvious, that didn't work as intended and at least some dual-boot setups applied the update and that distribution's Shim refused to boot that distribution's grub.

What's the summary? Microsoft (understandably) didn't want it to be possible to attack Windows by using a vulnerable version of grub that could be tricked into executing arbitrary code and then introduce a bootkit into the Windows kernel during boot. Microsoft did this by pushing a Windows Update that updated the SBAT variable to indicate that known-vulnerable versions of grub shouldn't be allowed to boot on those systems. The distribution-provided Shim first-stage bootloader read this variable, read the SBAT section from the installed copy of grub, realised these conflicted, and refused to boot grub with the "Something has gone seriously wrong" message. This update was not supposed to apply to dual-boot systems, but did anyway. Basically:

1) Microsoft applied an update to systems where that update shouldn't have been applied
2) Some Linux distros failed to update their grub code and SBAT security generation when exploitable security vulnerabilities were identified in grub

The outcome is that some people can't boot their systems. I think there's plenty of blame here. Microsoft should have done more testing to ensure that dual-boot setups could be identified accurately. But also distributions shipping signed bootloaders should make sure that they're updating those and updating the security generation to match, because otherwise they're shipping a vector that can be used to attack other operating systems and that's kind of a violation of the social contract around all of this.

It's unfortunate that the victims here are largely end users faced with a system that suddenly refuses to boot the OS they want to boot. That should never happen. I don't think asking arbitrary end users whether they want secure boot updates is likely to result in good outcomes, and while I vaguely tend towards UEFI Secure Boot not being something that benefits most end users it's also a thing you really don't want to discover you want after the fact so I have sympathy for it being default on, so I do sympathise with Microsoft's choices here, other than the failed attempt to avoid the update on dual boot systems.

Anyway. I was extremely involved in the implementation of this for Linux back in 2012 and wrote the first prototype of Shim (which is now a massively better bootloader maintained by a wider set of people and that I haven't touched in years), so if you want to blame an individual please do feel free to blame me. This is something that shouldn't have happened, and unless you're either Microsoft or a Linux distribution it's not your fault. I'm sorry.

A while back, I wrote about using the SSH agent protocol to satisfy WebAuthn requests. The main problem with this approach is that it required starting the SSH agent with a special argument and also involved being a little too friendly with the implementation - things worked because I could provide an arbitrary public key and the implementation never validated that, but it would be legitimate for it to start doing so and then break everything. And it also only worked for keys stored on tokens that ssh supports - there was no way to extend this to other keystores on the client (such as the Secure Enclave on Macs, or TPM-backed keys on PCs). I wanted a better solution.

It turns out that it was far easier than I expected. The ssh agent protocol is documented here, and the interesting part is the extension support extension mechanism. Basically, you can declare an extension and then just tunnel whatever you want over it. As before, my goto was the go ssh agent package which conveniently implements both the client and server side of this. Implementing the local agent is trivial - look up SSH_AUTH_SOCK, connect to it, create a new agent client that can communicate with that by calling NewClient, and then implement the ExtendedAgent interface, create a new socket, and call ServeAgent against that. Most of the ExtendedAgent functions should simply call through to the original agent, with the exception of Extension(). Just add a case statement against extensionType, define some reasonably namespaced extension, and you're done.

Now you need to use this agent. You probably don't want to use this for arbitrary hosts (agent forwarding should only be enabled for remote systems you trust, not arbitrary machines you connect to - if you enabled agent forwarding for github and github got compromised, github would be able to use any private keys loaded into your agent, and you probably don't want that). So the right approach is to add a Host entry to the ssh config with a ForwardAgent stanza pointing at the socket you created in your new agent. This way the configured subset of remote hosts will automatically talk to this new custom agent, while forwarding for anything else will still be at the user's discretion.

For the remote end things are even easier. Look up SSH_AUTH_SOCK and call NewClient as before, and then simply call client.Extension(). Whatever you stick in the contents argument will simply end up being received at the client end. You now have a communication channel between a the remote system and the local client, and what you do with that is up to you. I'm using it to allow a remote system to obtain auth tokens from Okta and forward WebAuthn challenges that can either be satisfied via a local WebAuthn token or by passing the query off to Mac TouchID, but there's fundamentally no constraints whatsoever on what can be done here.

(If you want to do this on Windows and still have everything work with existing clients you'll need to take this into account - Windows didn't really do Unix sockets until recently so everything there is awful)

We have a cabin out in the forest, and when I say "out in the forest" I mean "in a national forest subject to regulation by the US Forest Service" which means there's an extremely thick book describing the things we're allowed to do and (somewhat longer) not allowed to do. It's also down in the bottom of a valley surrounded by tall trees (the whole "forest" bit). There used to be AT&T copper but all that infrastructure burned down in a big fire back in 2021 and AT&T no longer supply new copper links, and Starlink isn't viable because of the whole "bottom of a valley surrounded by tall trees" thing along with regulations that prohibit us from putting up a big pole with a dish on top. Thankfully there's LTE towers nearby, so I'm simply using cellular data. Unfortunately my provider rate limits connections to video streaming services in order to push them down to roughly SD resolution. The easy workaround is just to VPN back to somewhere else, which in my case is just a Wireguard link back to San Francisco.

This worked perfectly for most things, but some streaming services simply wouldn't work at all. Attempting to load the video would just spin forever. Running tcpdump at the local end of the VPN endpoint showed a connection being established, some packets being exchanged, and then… nothing. The remote service appeared to just stop sending packets. Tcpdumping the remote end of the VPN showed the same thing. It wasn't until I looked at the traffic on the VPN endpoint's external interface that things began to become clear.

This probably needs some background. Most network infrastructure has a maximum allowable packet size, which is referred to as the Maximum Transmission Unit or MTU. For ethernet this defaults to 1500 bytes, and these days most links are able to handle packets of at least this size, so it's pretty typical to just assume that you'll be able to send a 1500 byte packet. But what's important to remember is that that doesn't mean you have 1500 bytes of packet payload - that 1500 bytes includes whatever protocol level headers are on there. For TCP/IP you're typically looking at spending around 40 bytes on the headers, leaving somewhere around 1460 bytes of usable payload. And if you're using a VPN, things get annoying. In this case the original packet becomes the payload of a new packet, which means it needs another set of TCP (or UDP) and IP headers, and probably also some VPN header. This still all needs to fit inside the MTU of the link the VPN packet is being sent over, so if the MTU of that is 1500, the effective MTU of the VPN interface has to be lower. For Wireguard, this works out to an effective MTU of 1420 bytes. That means simply sending a 1500 byte packet over a Wireguard (or any other VPN) link won't work - adding the additional headers gives you a total packet size of over 1500 bytes, and that won't fit into the underlying link's MTU of 1500.

And yet, things work. But how? Faced with a packet that's too big to fit into a link, there are two choices - break the packet up into multiple smaller packets ("fragmentation") or tell whoever's sending the packet to send smaller packets. Fragmentation seems like the obvious answer, so I'd encourage you to read Valerie Aurora's article on how fragmentation is more complicated than you think. tl;dr - if you can avoid fragmentation then you're going to have a better life. You can explicitly indicate that you don't want your packets to be fragmented by setting the Don't Fragment bit in your IP header, and then when your packet hits a link where your packet exceeds the link MTU it'll send back a packet telling the remote that it's too big, what the actual MTU is, and the remote will resend a smaller packet. This avoids all the hassle of handling fragments in exchange for the cost of a retransmit the first time the MTU is exceeded. It also typically works these days, which wasn't always the case - people had a nasty habit of dropping the ICMP packets telling the remote that the packet was too big, which broke everything.

What I saw when I tcpdumped on the remote VPN endpoint's external interface was that the connection was getting established, and then a 1500 byte packet would arrive (this is kind of the behaviour you'd expect for video - the connection handshaking involves a bunch of relatively small packets, and then once you start sending the video stream itself you start sending packets that are as large as possible in order to minimise overhead). This 1500 byte packet wouldn't fit down the Wireguard link, so the endpoint sent back an ICMP packet to the remote telling it to send smaller packets. The remote should then have sent a new, smaller packet - instead, about a second after sending the first 1500 byte packet, it sent that same 1500 byte packet. This is consistent with it ignoring the ICMP notification and just behaving as if the packet had been dropped.

All the services that were failing were failing in identical ways, and all were using Fastly as their CDN. I complained about this on social media and then somehow ended up in contact with the engineering team responsible for this sort of thing - I sent them a packet dump of the failure, they were able to reproduce it, and it got fixed. Hurray!

(Between me identifying the problem and it getting fixed I was able to work around it. The TCP header includes a Maximum Segment Size (MSS) field, which indicates the maximum size of the payload for this connection. iptables allows you to rewrite this, so on the VPN endpoint I simply rewrote the MSS to be small enough that the packets would fit inside the Wireguard MTU. This isn't a complete fix since it's done at the TCP level rather than the IP level - so any large UDP packets would still end up breaking)

I've no idea what the underlying issue was, and at the client end the failure was entirely opaque: the remote simply stopped sending me packets. The only reason I was able to debug this at all was because I controlled the other end of the VPN as well, and even then I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it other than being in the fortuitous situation of someone able to do something about it seeing my post. How many people go through their lives dealing with things just being broken and having no idea why, and how do we fix that?

(Edit: thanks to this comment, it sounds like the underlying issue was a kernel bug that Fastly developed a fix for - under certain configurations, the kernel fails to associate the MTU update with the egress interface and so it continues sending overly large packets)

Earlier this year, after Github accidentally committed their private RSA SSH host key to a public repository, I wrote about how better support for SSH host certificates would allow this sort of situation to be handled in a user-transparent way without any negative impact on security. I was hoping that someone would read this and be inspired to fix the problem but sadly that didn't happen so I've actually written some code myself.

The core part of this is straightforward - if a server presents you with a certificate associated with a host key, then make the trust in that host be whoever signed the certificate rather than just trusting the host key. This means that if someone needs to replace the host key for any reason (such as, for example, them having published the private half), you can replace the host key with a new key and a new certificate, and as long as the new certificate is signed by the same key that the previous certificate was, you'll trust the new key and key rotation can be carried out without any user errors. Hurrah!

So obviously I wrote that bit and then thought about the failure modes and it turns out there's an obvious one - if an attacker obtained both the private key and the certificate, what stops them from continuing to use it? The certificate isn't a secret, so we basically have to assume that anyone who possesses the private key has access to it. We may have silently transitioned to a new host key on the legitimate servers, but a hostile actor able to MITM a user can keep on presenting the old key and the old certificate until it expires.

There's two ways to deal with this - either have short-lived certificates (ie, issue a new certificate every 24 hours or so even if you haven't changed the key, and specify that the certificate is invalid after those 24 hours), or have a mechanism to revoke the certificates. The former is viable if you have a very well-engineered certificate issuing operation, but still leaves a window for an attacker to make use of the certificate before it expires. The latter is something SSH has support for, but the spec doesn't define any mechanism for distributing revocation data.

So, I've implemented a new SSH protocol extension that allows a host to send a key revocation list to a client. The idea is that the client authenticates to the server, receives a key revocation list, and will no longer trust any certificates that are contained within that list. This seems simple enough, but a naive implementation opens the client to various DoS attacks. For instance, if you simply revoke any key contained within the received KRL, a hostile server could revoke any certificates that were otherwise trusted by the client. The easy way around this is for the client to ensure that any revoked keys are associated with the same CA that signed the host certificate - that way a compromised host can only revoke certificates associated with that CA, and can't interfere with anyone else.

Unfortunately that still means that a single compromised host can still trigger revocation of certificates inside that trust domain (ie, a compromised host a.test.com could push a KRL that invalidated the certificate for b.test.com), because there's no way in the KRL format to indicate that a given revocation is associated with a specific hostname. This means we need a mechanism to verify that the KRL update is legitimate, and the easiest way to handle that is to sign it. The KRL format specifies an in-band signature but this was deprecated earlier this year - instead KRLs are supposed to be signed with the sshsig format. But we control both the server and the client, which means it's easy enough to send a detached signature as part of the extension data.

Putting this all together: you ssh to a server you've never contacted before, and it presents you with a host certificate. Instead of the host key being added to known_hosts, the CA key associated with the certificate is added. From now on, if you ssh to that host and it presents a certificate signed by that CA, it'll be trusted. Optionally, the host can also send you a KRL and a signature. If the signature is generated by the CA key that you already trust, any certificates in that KRL associated with that CA key will be incorporated into local storage. The expected flow if a key is compromised is that the owner of the host generates a new keypair, obtains a new certificate for the new key, and adds the old certificate to a KRL that is signed with the CA key. The next time the user connects to that host, they receive the new key and new certificate, trust it because it's signed by the same CA key, and also receive a KRL signed with the same CA that revokes trust in the old certificate.

Obviously this breaks down if a user is MITMed with a compromised key and certificate immediately after the host is compromised - they'll see a legitimate certificate and won't receive any revocation list, so will trust the host. But this is the same failure mode that would occur in the absence of keys, where the attacker simply presents the compromised key to the client before trust in the new key has been created. This seems no worse than the status quo, but means that most users will seamlessly transition to a new key and revoke trust in the old key with no effort on their part.

The work in progress tree for this is here - at the point of writing I've merely implemented this and made sure it builds, not verified that it actually works or anything. Cleanup should happen over the next few days, and I'll propose this to upstream if it doesn't look like there's any showstopper design issues.

"Why does ACPI exist" - - the greatest thread in the history of forums, locked by a moderator after 12,239 pages of heated debate, wait no let me start again.

Why does ACPI exist? In the beforetimes power management on x86 was done by jumping to an opaque BIOS entry point and hoping it would do the right thing. It frequently didn't. We called this Advanced Power Management (Advanced because before this power management involved custom drivers for every machine and everyone agreed that this was a bad idea), and it involved the firmware having to save and restore the state of every piece of hardware in the system. This meant that assumptions about hardware configuration were baked into the firmware - failed to program your graphics card exactly the way the BIOS expected? Hurrah! It's only saved and restored a subset of the state that you configured and now potential data corruption for you. The developers of ACPI made the reasonable decision that, well, maybe since the OS was the one setting state in the first place, the OS should restore it.

So far so good. But some state is fundamentally device specific, at a level that the OS generally ignores. How should this state be managed? One way to do that would be to have the OS know about the device specific details. Unfortunately that means you can't ship the computer without having OS support for it, which means having OS support for every device (exactly what we'd got away from with APM). This, uh, was not an option the PC industry seriously considered. The alternative is that you ship something that abstracts the details of the specific hardware and makes that abstraction available to the OS. This is what ACPI does, and it's also what things like Device Tree do. Both provide static information about how the platform is configured, which can then be consumed by the OS and avoid needing device-specific drivers or configuration to be built-in.

The main distinction between Device Tree and ACPI is that Device Tree is purely a description of the hardware that exists, and so still requires the OS to know what's possible - if you add a new type of power controller, for instance, you need to add a driver for that to the OS before you can express that via Device Tree. ACPI decided to include an interpreted language to allow vendors to expose functionality to the OS without the OS needing to know about the underlying hardware. So, for instance, ACPI allows you to associate a device with a function to power down that device. That function may, when executed, trigger a bunch of register accesses to a piece of hardware otherwise not exposed to the OS, and that hardware may then cut the power rail to the device to power it down entirely. And that can be done without the OS having to know anything about the control hardware.

How is this better than just calling into the firmware to do it? Because the fact that ACPI declares that it's going to access these registers means the OS can figure out that it shouldn't, because it might otherwise collide with what the firmware is doing. With APM we had no visibility into that - if the OS tried to touch the hardware at the same time APM did, boom, almost impossible to debug failures (This is why various hardware monitoring drivers refuse to load by default on Linux - the firmware declares that it's going to touch those registers itself, so Linux decides not to in order to avoid race conditions and potential hardware damage. In many cases the firmware offers a collaborative interface to obtain the same data, and a driver can be written to get that. this bug comment discusses this for a specific board)

Unfortunately ACPI doesn't entirely remove opaque firmware from the equation - ACPI methods can still trigger System Management Mode, which is basically a fancy way to say "Your computer stops running your OS, does something else for a while, and you have no idea what". This has all the same issues that APM did, in that if the hardware isn't in exactly the state the firmware expects, bad things can happen. While historically there were a bunch of ACPI-related issues because the spec didn't define every single possible scenario and also there was no conformance suite (eg, should the interpreter be multi-threaded? Not defined by spec, but influences whether a specific implementation will work or not!), these days overall compatibility is pretty solid and the vast majority of systems work just fine - but we do still have some issues that are largely associated with System Management Mode.

One example is a recent Lenovo one, where the firmware appears to try to poke the NVME drive on resume. There's some indication that this is intended to deal with transparently unlocking self-encrypting drives on resume, but it seems to do so without taking IOMMU configuration into account and so things explode. It's kind of understandable why a vendor would implement something like this, but it's also kind of understandable that doing so without OS cooperation may end badly.

This isn't something that ACPI enabled - in the absence of ACPI firmware vendors would just be doing this unilaterally with even less OS involvement and we'd probably have even more of these issues. Ideally we'd "simply" have hardware that didn't support transitioning back to opaque code, but we don't (ARM has basically the same issue with TrustZone). In the absence of the ideal world, by and large ACPI has been a net improvement in Linux compatibility on x86 systems. It certainly didn't remove the "Everything is Windows" mentality that many vendors have, but it meant we largely only needed to ensure that Linux behaved the same way as Windows in a finite number of ways (ie, the behaviour of the ACPI interpreter) rather than in every single hardware driver, and so the chances that a new machine will work out of the box are much greater than they were in the pre-ACPI period.

There's an alternative universe where we decided to teach the kernel about every piece of hardware it should run on. Fortunately (or, well, unfortunately) we've seen that in the ARM world. Most device-specific simply never reaches mainline, and most users are stuck running ancient kernels as a result. Imagine every x86 device vendor shipping their own kernel optimised for their hardware, and now imagine how well that works out given the quality of their firmware. Does that really seem better to you?

It's understandable why ACPI has a poor reputation. But it's also hard to figure out what would work better in the real world. We could have built something similar on top of Open Firmware instead but the distinction wouldn't be terribly meaningful - we'd just have Forth instead of the ACPI bytecode language. Longing for a non-ACPI world without presenting something that's better and actually stands a reasonable chance of adoption doesn't make the world a better place.

TPMs contain a set of registers ("Platform Configuration Registers", or PCRs) that are used to track what a system boots. Each time a new event is measured, a cryptographic hash representing that event is passed to the TPM. The TPM appends that hash to the existing value in the PCR, hashes that, and stores the final result in the PCR. This means that while the PCR's value depends on the precise sequence and value of the hashes presented to it, the PCR value alone doesn't tell you what those individual events were. Different PCRs are used to store different event types, but there are still more events than there are PCRs so we can't avoid this problem by simply storing each event separately.

This is solved using the event log. The event log is simply a record of each event, stored in RAM. The algorithm the TPM uses to calculate the PCR values is known, so we can reproduce that by simply taking the events from the event log and replaying the series of events that were passed to the TPM. If the final calculated value is the same as the value in the PCR, we know that the event log is accurate, which means we now know the value of each individual event and can make an appropriate judgement regarding its security.

If any value in the event log is invalid, we'll calculate a different PCR value and it won't match. This isn't terribly helpful - we know that at least one entry in the event log doesn't match what was passed to the TPM, but we don't know which entry. That means we can't trust any of the events associated with that PCR. If you're trying to make a security determination based on this, that's going to be a problem.

PCR 7 is used to track information about the secure boot policy on the system. It contains measurements of whether or not secure boot is enabled, and which keys are trusted and untrusted on the system in question. This is extremely helpful if you want to verify that a system booted with secure boot enabled before allowing it to do something security or safety critical. Unfortunately, if the device gives you an event log that doesn't replay correctly for PCR 7, you now have no idea what the security state of the system is.

We ran into that this week. Examination of the event log revealed an additional event other than the expected ones - a measurement accompanied by the string "Boot Guard Measured S-CRTM". Boot Guard is an Intel feature where the CPU verifies the firmware is signed with a trusted key before executing it, and measures information about the firmware in the process. Previously I'd only encountered this as a measurement into PCR 0, which is the PCR used to track information about the firmware itself. But it turns out that at least some versions of Boot Guard also measure information about the Boot Guard policy into PCR 7. The argument for this is that this is effectively part of the secure boot policy - having a measurement of the Boot Guard state tells you whether Boot Guard was enabled, which tells you whether or not the CPU verified a signature on your firmware before running it (as I wrote before, I think Boot Guard has user-hostile default behaviour, and that enforcing this on consumer devices is a bad idea).

But there's a problem here. The event log is created by the firmware, and the Boot Guard measurements occur before the firmware is executed. So how do we get a log that represents them? That one's fairly simple - the firmware simply re-calculates the same measurements that Boot Guard did and creates a log entry after the fact[1]. All good.

Except. What if the firmware screws up the calculation and comes up with a different answer? The entry in the event log will now not match what was sent to the TPM, and replaying will fail. And without knowing what the actual value should be, there's no way to fix this, which means there's no way to verify the contents of PCR 7 and determine whether or not secure boot was enabled.

But there's still a fundamental source of truth - the measurement that was sent to the TPM in the first place. Inspired by Henri Nurmi's work on sniffing Bitlocker encryption keys, I asked a coworker if we could sniff the TPM traffic during boot. The TPM on the board in question uses SPI, a simple bus that can have multiple devices connected to it. In this case the system flash and the TPM are on the same SPI bus, which made things easier. The board had a flash header for external reprogramming of the firmware in the event of failure, and all SPI traffic was visible through that header. Attaching a logic analyser to this header made it simple to generate a record of that. The only problem was that the chip select line on the header was attached to the firmware flash chip, not the TPM. This was worked around by simply telling the analysis software that it should invert the sense of the chip select line, ignoring all traffic that was bound for the flash and paying attention to all other traffic. This worked in this case since the only other device on the bus was the TPM, but would cause problems in the event of multiple devices on the bus all communicating.

With the aid of this analyser plugin, I was able to dump all the TPM traffic and could then search for writes that included the "0182" sequence that corresponds to the command code for a measurement event. This gave me a couple of accesses to the locality 3 registers, which was a strong indication that they were coming from the CPU rather than from the firmware. One was for PCR 0, and one was for PCR 7. This corresponded to the two Boot Guard events that we expected from the event log. The hash in the PCR 0 measurement was the same as the hash in the event log, but the hash in the PCR 7 measurement differed from the hash in the event log. Replacing the event log value with the value actually sent to the TPM resulted in the event log now replaying correctly, supporting the hypothesis that the firmware was failing to correctly reconstruct the event.

What now? The simple thing to do is for us to simply hard code this fixup, but longer term we'd like to figure out how to reconstruct the event so we can calculate the expected value ourselves. Unfortunately there doesn't seem to be any public documentation on this. Sigh.

[1] What stops firmware on a system with no Boot Guard faking those measurements? TPMs have a concept of "localities", effectively different privilege levels. When Boot Guard performs its initial measurement into PCR 0, it does so at locality 3, a locality that's only available to the CPU. This causes PCR 0 to be initialised to a different initial value, affecting the final PCR value. The firmware can't access locality 3, so can't perform an equivalent measurement, so can't fake the value.

I dug out a computer running Fedora 28, which was released 2018-04-01 - over 5 years ago. Backing up the data and re-installing seemed tedious, but the current version of Fedora is 38, and while Fedora supports updates from N to N+2 that was still going to be 5 separate upgrades. That seemed tedious, so I figured I'd just try to do an update from 28 directly to 38. This is, obviously, extremely unsupported, but what could possibly go wrong?

Running sudo dnf system-upgrade download --releasever=38 didn't successfully resolve dependencies, but sudo dnf system-upgrade download --releasever=38 --allowerasing passed and dnf started downloading 6GB of packages. And then promptly failed, since I didn't have any of the relevant signing keys. So I downloaded the fedora-gpg-keys package from F38 by hand and tried to install it, and got a signature hdr data: BAD, no. of bytes(88084) out of range error. It turns out that rpm doesn't handle cases where the signature header is larger than a few K, and RPMs from modern versions of Fedora. The obvious fix would be to install a newer version of rpm, but that wouldn't be easy without upgrading the rest of the system as well - or, alternatively, downloading a bunch of build depends and building it. Given that I'm already doing all of this in the worst way possible, let's do something different.

The relevant code in the hdrblobRead function of rpm's lib/header.c is:

int32_t il_max = HEADER_TAGS_MAX;
int32_t dl_max = HEADER_DATA_MAX;

if (regionTag == RPMTAG_HEADERSIGNATURES) {
il_max = 32;
dl_max = 8192;
}

which indicates that if the header in question is RPMTAG_HEADERSIGNATURES, it sets more restrictive limits on the size (no, I don't know why). So I installed rpm-libs-debuginfo, ran gdb against librpm.so.8, loaded the symbol file, and then did disassemble hdrblobRead. The relevant chunk ends up being:

0x000000000001bc81 <+81>: cmp $0x3e,%ebx
0x000000000001bc84 <+84>: mov $0xfffffff,%ecx
0x000000000001bc89 <+89>: mov $0x2000,%eax
0x000000000001bc8e <+94>: mov %r12,%rdi
0x000000000001bc91 <+97>: cmovne %ecx,%eax

which is basically "If ebx is not 0x3e, set eax to 0xffffffff - otherwise, set it to 0x2000". RPMTAG_HEADERSIGNATURES is 62, which is 0x3e, so I just opened librpm.so.8 in hexedit, went to byte 0x1bc81, and replaced 0x3e with 0xfe (an arbitrary invalid value). This has the effect of skipping the if (regionTag == RPMTAG_HEADERSIGNATURES) code and so using the default limits even if the header section in question is the signatures. And with that one byte modification, rpm from F28 would suddenly install the fedora-gpg-keys package from F38. Success!

But short-lived. dnf now believed packages had valid signatures, but sadly there were still issues. A bunch of packages in F38 had files that conflicted with packages in F28. These were largely Python 3 packages that conflicted with Python 2 packages from F28 - jumping this many releases meant that a bunch of explicit replaces and the like no longer existed. The easiest way to solve this was simply to uninstall python 2 before upgrading, and avoiding the entire transition. Another issue was that some data files had moved from libxcrypt-common to libxcrypt, and removing libxcrypt-common would remove libxcrypt and a bunch of important things that depended on it (like, for instance, systemd). So I built a fake empty package that provided libxcrypt-common and removed the actual package. Surely everything would work now?

Ha no. The final obstacle was that several packages depended on rpmlib(CaretInVersions), and building another fake package that provided that didn't work. I shouted into the void and Bill Nottingham answered - rpmlib dependencies are synthesised by rpm itself, indicating that it has the ability to handle extensions that specific packages are making use of. This made things harder, since the list is hard-coded in the binary. But since I'm already committing crimes against humanity with a hex editor, why not go further? Back to editing librpm.so.8 and finding the list of rpmlib() dependencies it provides. There were a bunch, but I couldn't really extend the list. What I could do is overwrite existing entries. I tried this a few times but (unsurprisingly) broke other things since packages depended on the feature I'd overwritten. Finally, I rewrote rpmlib(ExplicitPackageProvide) to rpmlib(CaretInVersions) (adding an extra '\0' at the end of it to deal with it being shorter than the original string) and apparently nothing I wanted to install depended on rpmlib(ExplicitPackageProvide) because dnf finished its transaction checks and prompted me to reboot to perform the update. So, I did.

And about an hour later, it rebooted and gave me a whole bunch of errors due to the fact that dbus never got started. A bit of digging revealed that I had no /etc/systemd/system/dbus.service, a symlink that was presumably introduced at some point between F28 and F38 but which didn't get automatically added in my case because well who knows. That was literally the only thing I needed to fix up after the upgrade, and on the next reboot I was presented with a gdm prompt and had a fully functional F38 machine.

You should not do this. I should not do this. This was a terrible idea. Any situation where you're binary patching your package manager to get it to let you do something is obviously a bad situation. And with hindsight performing 5 independent upgrades might have been faster. But that would have just involved me typing the same thing 5 times, while this way I learned something. And what I learned is "Terrible ideas sometimes work and so you should definitely act upon them rather than doing the sensible thing", so like I said, you should not do this in case you learn the same lesson.

(Edit 2023-05-10: This has now launched for a subset of Twitter users. The code that existed to notify users that device identities had changed does not appear to have been enabled - as a result, in its current form, Twitter can absolutely MITM conversations and read your messages)

Elon Musk appeared on an interview with Tucker Carlson last month, with one of the topics being the fact that Twitter could be legally compelled to hand over users' direct messages to government agencies since they're held on Twitter's servers and aren't encrypted. Elon talked about how they were in the process of implementing proper encryption for DMs that would prevent this - "You could put a gun to my head and I couldn't tell you. That's how it should be."

tl;dr - in the current implementation, while Twitter could subvert the end-to-end nature of the encryption, it could not do so without users being notified. If any user involved in a conversation were to ignore that notification, all messages in that conversation (including ones sent in the past) could then be decrypted. This isn't ideal, but it still seems like an improvement over having no encryption at all. More technical discussion follows.

For context: all information about Twitter's implementation here has been derived from reverse engineering version 9.86.0 of the Android client and 9.56.1 of the iOS client (the current versions at time of writing), and the feature hasn't yet launched. While it's certainly possible that there could be major changes in the protocol between now launch, Elon has asserted that they plan to launch the feature this week so it's plausible that this reflects what'll ship.

For it to be impossible for Twitter to read DMs, they need to not only be encrypted, they need to be encrypted with a key that's not available to Twitter. This is what's referred to as "end-to-end encryption", or e2ee - it means that the only components in the communication chain that have access to the unencrypted data are the endpoints. Even if the message passes through other systems (and even if it's stored on other systems), those systems do not have access to the keys that would be needed to decrypt the data.

End-to-end encrypted messengers were initially popularised by Signal, but the Signal protocol has since been incorporated into WhatsApp and is probably much more widely used there. Millions of people per day are sending messages to each other that pass through servers controlled by third parties, but those third parties are completely unable to read the contents of those messages. This is the scenario that Elon described, where there's no degree of compulsion that could cause the people relaying messages to and from people to decrypt those messages afterwards.

But for this to be possible, both ends of the communication need to be able to encrypt messages in a way the other end can decrypt. This is usually performed using AES, a well-studied encryption algorithm with no known significant weaknesses. AES is a form of what's referred to as a symmetric encryption, one where encryption and decryption are performed with the same key. This means that both ends need access to that key, which presents us with a bootstrapping problem. Until a shared secret is obtained, there's no way to communicate securely, so how do we generate that shared secret? A common mechanism for this is something called Diffie Hellman key exchange, which makes use of asymmetric encryption. In asymmetric encryption, an encryption key can be split into two components - a public key and a private key. Both devices involved in the communication combine their private key and the other party's public key to generate a secret that can only be decoded with access to the private key. As long as you know the other party's public key, you can now securely generate a shared secret with them. Even a third party with access to all the public keys won't be able to identify this secret. Signal makes use of a variation of Diffie-Hellman called Extended Triple Diffie-Hellman that has some desirable properties, but it's not strictly necessary for the implementation of something that's end-to-end encrypted.

Although it was rumoured that Twitter would make use of the Signal protocol, and in fact there are vestiges of code in the Twitter client that still reference Signal, recent versions of the app have shipped with an entirely different approach that appears to have been written from scratch. It seems simple enough. Each device generates an asymmetric keypair using the NIST P-256 elliptic curve, along with a device identifier. The device identifier and the public half of the key are uploaded to Twitter using a new API endpoint called /1.1/keyregistry/register. When you want to send an encrypted DM to someone, the app calls /1.1/keyregistry/extract_public_keys with the IDs of the users you want to communicate with, and gets back a list of their public keys. It then looks up the conversation ID (a numeric identifier that corresponds to a given DM exchange - for a 1:1 conversation between two people it doesn't appear that this ever changes, so if you DMed an account 5 years ago and then DM them again now from the same account, the conversation ID will be the same) in a local database to retrieve a conversation key. If that key doesn't exist yet, the sender generates a random one. The message is then encrypted with the conversation key using AES in GCM mode, and the conversation key is then put through Diffie-Hellman with each of the recipients' public device keys. The encrypted message is then sent to Twitter along with the list of encrypted conversation keys. When each of the recipients' devices receives the message it checks whether it already has a copy of the conversation key, and if not performs its half of the Diffie-Hellman negotiation to decrypt the encrypted conversation key. One it has the conversation key it decrypts it and shows it to the user.

What would happen if Twitter changed the registered public key associated with a device to one where they held the private key, or added an entirely new device to a user's account? If the app were to just happily send a message with the conversation key encrypted with that new key, Twitter would be able to decrypt that and obtain the conversation key. Since the conversation key is tied to the conversation, not any given pair of devices, obtaining the conversation key means you can then decrypt every message in that conversation, including ones sent before the key was obtained.

(An aside: Signal and WhatsApp make use of a protocol called Sesame which involves additional secret material that's shared between every device a user owns, hence why you have to do that QR code dance whenever you add a new device to your account. I'm grossly over-simplifying how clever the Signal approach is here, largely because I don't understand the details of it myself. The Signal protocol uses something called the Double Ratchet Algorithm to implement the actual message encryption keys in such a way that even if someone were able to successfully impersonate a device they'd only be able to decrypt messages sent after that point even if they had encrypted copies of every previous message in the conversation)

How's this avoided? Based on the UI that exists in the iOS version of the app, in a fairly straightforward way - each user can only have a single device that supports encrypted messages. If the user (or, in our hypothetical, a malicious Twitter) replaces the device key, the client will generate a notification. If the user pays attention to that notification and verifies with the recipient through some out of band mechanism that the device has actually been replaced, then everything is fine. But, if any participant in the conversation ignores this warning, the holder of the subverted key can obtain the conversation key and decrypt the entire history of the conversation. That's strictly worse than anything based on Signal, where such impersonation would simply not work, but even in the Twitter case it's not possible for someone to silently subvert the security.

So when Elon says Twitter wouldn't be able to decrypt these messages even if someone held a gun to his head, there's a condition applied to that - it's true as long as nobody fucks up. This is clearly better than the messages just not being encrypted at all in the first place, but overall it's a weaker solution than Signal. If you're currently using Twitter DMs, should you turn on encryption? As long as the limitations aren't too limiting, definitely! Should you use this in preference to Signal or WhatsApp? Almost certainly not. This seems like a genuine incremental improvement, but it'd be easy to interpret what Elon says as providing stronger guarantees than actually exist.

CPUs can't do anything without being told what to do, which leaves the obvious problem of how do you tell a CPU to do something in the first place. On many CPUs this is handled in the form of a reset vector - an address the CPU is hardcoded to start reading instructions from when power is applied. The address the reset vector points to will typically be some form of ROM or flash that can be read by the CPU even if no other hardware has been configured yet. This allows the system vendor to ship code that will be executed immediately after poweron, configuring the rest of the hardware and eventually getting the system into a state where it can run user-supplied code.

The specific nature of the reset vector on x86 systems has varied over time, but it's effectively always been 16 bytes below the top of the address space - so, 0xffff0 on the 20-bit 8086, 0xfffff0 on the 24-bit 80286, and 0xfffffff0 on the 32-bit 80386. Convention on x86 systems is to have RAM starting at address 0, so the top of address space could be used to house the reset vector with as low a probability of conflicting with RAM as possible.

The most notable thing about x86 here, though, is that when it starts running code from the reset vector, it's still in real mode. x86 real mode is a holdover from a much earlier era of computing. Rather than addresses being absolute (ie, if you refer to a 32-bit address, you store the entire address in a 32-bit or larger register), they are 16-bit offsets that are added to the value stored in a "segment register". Different segment registers existed for code, data, and stack, so a 16-bit address could refer to different actual addresses depending on how it was being interpreted - jumping to a 16 bit address would result in that address being added to the code segment register, while reading from a 16 bit address would result in that address being added to the data segment register, and so on. This is all in order to retain compatibility with older chips, to the extent that even 64-bit x86 starts in real mode with segments and everything (and, also, still starts executing at 0xfffffff0 rather than 0xfffffffffffffff0 - 64-bit mode doesn't support real mode, so there's no way to express a 64-bit physical address using the segment registers, so we still start just below 4GB even though we have massively more address space available).

Anyway. Everyone knows all this. For modern UEFI systems, the firmware that's launched from the reset vector then reprograms the CPU into a sensible mode (ie, one without all this segmentation bullshit), does things like configure the memory controller so you can actually access RAM (a process which involves using CPU cache as RAM, because programming a memory controller is sufficiently hard that you need to store more state than you can fit in registers alone, which means you need RAM, but you don't have RAM until the memory controller is working, but thankfully the CPU comes with several megabytes of RAM on its own in the form of cache, so phew). It's kind of ugly, but that's a consequence of a bunch of well-understood legacy decisions.

Except. This is not how modern Intel x86 boots. It's far stranger than that. Oh, yes, this is what it looks like is happening, but there's a bunch of stuff going on behind the scenes. Let's talk about boot security. The idea of any form of verified boot (such as UEFI Secure Boot) is that a signature on the next component of the boot chain is validated before that component is executed. But what verifies the first component in the boot chain? You can't simply ask the BIOS to verify itself - if an attacker can replace the BIOS, they can replace it with one that simply lies about having done so. Intel's solution to this is called Boot Guard.

But before we get to Boot Guard, we need to ensure the CPU is running in as bug-free a state as possible. So, when the CPU starts up, it examines the system flash and looks for a header that points at CPU microcode updates. Intel CPUs ship with built-in microcode, but it's frequently old and buggy and it's up to the system firmware to include a copy that's new enough that it's actually expected to work reliably. The microcode image is pulled out of flash, a signature is verified, and the new microcode starts running. This is true in both the Boot Guard and the non-Boot Guard scenarios. But for Boot Guard, before jumping to the reset vector, the microcode on the CPU reads an Authenticated Code Module (ACM) out of flash and verifies its signature against a hardcoded Intel key. If that checks out, it starts executing the ACM. Now, bear in mind that the CPU can't just verify the ACM and then execute it directly from flash - if it did, the flash could detect this, hand over a legitimate ACM for the verification, and then feed the CPU different instructions when it reads them again to execute them (a Time of Check vs Time of Use, or TOCTOU, vulnerability). So the ACM has to be copied onto the CPU before it's verified and executed, which means we need RAM, which means the CPU already needs to know how to configure its cache to be used as RAM.

Anyway. We now have an ACM loaded and verified, and it can safely be executed. The ACM does various things, but the most important from the Boot Guard perspective is that it reads a set of write-once fuses in the motherboard chipset that represent the SHA256 of a public key. It then reads the initial block of the firmware (the Initial Boot Block, or IBB) into RAM (or, well, cache, as previously described) and parses it. There's a block that contains a public key - it hashes that key and verifies that it matches the SHA256 from the fuses. It then uses that key to validate a signature on the IBB. If it all checks out, it executes the IBB and everything starts looking like the nice simple model we had before.

Except, well, doesn't this seem like an awfully complicated bunch of code to implement in real mode? And yes, doing all of this modern crypto with only 16-bit registers does sound like a pain. So, it doesn't. All of this is happening in a perfectly sensible 32 bit mode, and the CPU actually switches back to the awful segmented configuration afterwards so it's still compatible with an 80386 from 1986. The "good" news is that at least firmware can detect that the CPU has already configured the cache as RAM and can skip doing that itself.

I'm skipping over some steps here - the ACM actually does other stuff around measuring the firmware into the TPM and doing various bits of TXT setup for people who want DRTM in their lives, but the short version is that the CPU bootstraps itself into a state where it works like a modern CPU and then deliberately turns a bunch of the sensible functionality off again before it starts executing firmware. I'm also missing out the fact that this entire process only kicks off after the Management Engine says it can, which means we're waiting for an entirely independent x86 to boot an entire OS before our CPU even starts pretending to execute the system firmware.

Of course, as mentioned before, on modern systems the firmware will then reprogram the CPU into something actually sensible so OS developers no longer need to care about this[1][2], which means we've bounced between multiple states for no reason other than the possibility that someone wants to run legacy BIOS and then boot DOS on a CPU with like 5 orders of magnitude more transistors than the 8086.

tl;dr why can't my x86 wake up with the gin protected mode already inside it

[1] Ha uh except that on ACPI resume we're going to skip most of the firmware setup code so we still need to handle the CPU being in fucking 16-bit mode because suspend/resume is basically an extremely long reboot cycle

[2] Oh yeah also you probably have multiple cores on your CPU and well bad news about the state most of the cores are in when the OS boots because the firmware never started them up so they're going to come up in 16-bit real mode even if your boot CPU is already in 64-bit protected mode, unless you were using TXT in which case you have a different sort of nightmare that if we're going to try to map it onto real world nightmare concepts is one that involves a lot of teeth. Or, well, that used to be the case, but ACPI 6.4 (released in 2021) provides a mechanism for the OS to ask the firmware to wake the CPU up for it so this is invisible to the OS, but you're still relying on the firmware to actually do the heavy lifting here