Anyone into retro Macintosh machines has probably heard of BlueSCSI: an RP2040-based adapter that lets solid state flash memory sit on the SCSI bus and pretend to contain hard drives. You might have seen it on an Amiga or an Atari as well, but what about a PC? Once upon a time, higher end PCs did use SCSI, and [TME Retro] happened to have one such. Not a fan of spinning platters of rust, he takes us through using BlueSCSI with a big-blue-based-box.
Naturally if you wish to replicate this, you should check the BlueSCSI docs to see if the SCSI controller in your PC is on their supported hardware list; otherwise, your life is going to be a lot more difficult than what is depicted on [TME Retro]. As is, it’s pretty much the same drop-in experience anyone who has used BlueSCSI on a vintage Macintosh might expect. Since the retro-PC world might not be as familiar with that, [TME Retro] gives a great step-by-step, showing how to set up hard disk image files and an iso to emulate a SCSI CD drive on the SD card that goes into the BlueSCSIv2.
This may not be news to some of you, but as the title of this video suggests, not everyone knows that BlueSCSI works with PCs now, even if it has been in the docs for a while. Of course PCs owners are more likely to be replacing an IDE drive; if you’d rather use a true SSD on that bus, we’ve got you covered.
Some time ago, Linus Torvalds made a throwaway comment that sent ripples through the Linux world. Was it perhaps time to abandon support for the now-ancient Intel 486? Developers had already abandoned the 386 in 2012, and Torvalds openly mused if the time was right to make further cuts for the benefit of modernity.
It would take three long years, but that eventuality finally came to pass. As of version 6.15, the Linux kernel will no longer support chips running the 80486 architecture, along with a gaggle of early “586” chips as well. It’s all down to some housekeeping and precise technical changes that will make the new code inoperable with the machines of the past.
[Ken Shirriff] has been sharing a really low-level look at Intel’s Pentium (1993) processor. The Pentium’s architecture was highly innovative in many ways, and one of [Ken]’s most recent discoveries is that it contains a complex circuit — containing around 9,000 transistors — whose sole purpose is to multiply specifically by three. Why does such an apparently simple operation require such a complex circuit? And why this particular operation, and not something else?
Let’s back up a little to put this all into context. One of the feathers in the Pentium’s cap was its Floating Point Unit (FPU) which was capable of much faster floating point operations than any of its predecessors. [Ken] dove into reverse-engineering the FPU earlier this year and a close-up look at the Pentium’s silicon die shows that the FPU occupies a significant chunk of it. Of the FPU, nearly half is dedicated to performing multiplications and a comparatively small but quite significant section of that is specifically for multiplying a number by three. [Ken] calls it the x3 circuit.
The “x3 circuit”, a nontrivial portion of the Pentium processor, is dedicated to multiplying a number by exactly three and contains more transistors than an entire Z80 microprocessor.
Why does the multiplier section of the FPU in the Pentium processor have such specialized (and complex) functionality for such an apparently simple operation? It comes down to how the Pentium multiplies numbers.
Multiplying two 64-bit numbers is done in base-8 (octal), which ultimately requires fewer operations than doing so in base-2 (binary). Instead of handling each bit separately (as in binary multiplication), three bits of the multiplier get handled at a time, requiring fewer shifts and additions overall. But the downside is that multiplying by three must be handled as a special case.
[Ken] gives an excellent explanation of exactly how all that works (which is also an explanation of the radix-8 Booth’s algorithm) but it boils down to this: there are numerous shortcuts for multiplying numbers (multiplying by two is the same as shifting left by 1 bit, for example) but multiplying by three is the only one that doesn’t have a tidy shortcut. In addition, because the result of multiplying by three is involved in numerous other shortcuts (x5 is really x8 minus x3 for example) it must also be done very quickly to avoid dragging down those other operations. Straightforward binary multiplication is too slow. Hence the reason for giving it so much dedicated attention.
[Ken] goes into considerable detail on how exactly this is done, and it involves carry lookaheads as a key element to saving time. He also points out that this specific piece of functionality used more transistors than an entire Z80 microprocessor. And if that is not a wild enough idea for you, then how about the fact that the Z80 has a new OS available?
Die photo of the Intel Pentium processor with the floating point constant ROM highlighted in red. (Credit: Ken Shirriff)
Released in 1993, Intel’s Pentium processor was a marvel of technological progress. Its floating point unit (FPU) was a big improvement over its predecessors that still used the venerable CORDIC algorithm. In a recent blog post [Ken Shirriff] takes an up-close look at the FPU and associated ROMs in the Pentium die that enable its use of polynomials. Even with 3.1 million transistors, the Pentium die is still on a large enough process node that it can be readily analyzed with an optical microscope.
In the blog post, [Ken] shows how you can see the constants in each ROM section, with each bit set as either a transistor (‘1’) or no transistor (‘0’), making read-out very easy. The example looks at the constant of pi, which the Pentium’s FPU has stored as a version with no fewer than 67 significand bits along with its exponent.
The early 1990s were an interesting time in the PC world, mainly because PCs were entering the zeitgeist for the first time. This was fueled in part by companies like Intel and AMD going head-to-head in the marketplace with massive ad campaigns to build brand recognition; remember “Intel Inside”?
In 1993, Intel was making some headway in that regard. The splashy launch of their new Pentium chip in 1993 was a huge event. Unfortunately an esoteric bug in the floating-point division module came to the public’s attention. [Ken Shirriff]’s excellent account of that kerfuffle goes into great detail about the discovery of the bug. The issue was discovered by [Dr. Thomas R. Nicely] as he searched for prime numbers. It’s a bit of an understatement to say this bug created a mess for Intel. The really interesting stuff is how the so-called FDIV bug, named after the floating-point division instruction affected, was actually executed in silicon.
We won’t presume to explain it better than [Professor Ken] does, but the gist is that floating-point division in the Pentium relied on a lookup table implemented in a programmable logic array on the chip. The bug was caused by five missing table entries, and [Ken] was able to find the corresponding PLA defects on a decapped Pentium. What’s more, his analysis suggests that Intel’s characterization of the bug as a transcription error is a bit misleading; the pattern of the missing entries in the lookup table is more consistent with a mathematical error in the program that generated the table.
The Pentium bug was a big deal at the time, and in some ways a master class on how not to handle a complex technical problem. To be fair, this was the first time something like this had happened on a global scale, so Intel didn’t really have a playbook to go by. [Ken]’s account of the bug and the dustup surrounding it is first-rate, and if you ever wanted to really understand how floating-point math works in silicon, this is one article you won’t want to miss.
Die photo of the Intel Pentium processor with standard cells highlighted in red. The edges of the chip suffered some damage when I removed the metal layers. (Credit: Ken Shirriff)
Whereas the CPUs and similar ASICs of the 1970s had their transistors laid out manually, with the move from LSI to VLSI, it became necessary to optimize the process of laying out the transistors and the metal interconnects between them. This resulted in the development of standard-cells: effectively batches of transistors with each a specific function that could be chained together. First simple and then more advanced auto-routing algorithms handled the placement and routing of these standard elements, leading to dies with easily recognizable structures under an optical microscope. Case in point an original (P54C) Intel Pentium, which [Ken Shirriff] took an in-depth look at.
Using a by now almost unimaginably large 600 nm process, the individual elements of these standard cells including their PMOS and NMOS components within the BiCMOS process can be readily identified and their structure reverse-engineered. What’s interesting about BiCMOS compared to CMOS is that the former allows for the use of bipolar junction transistors, which offer a range of speed, gain and output impedance advantages that are beneficial for some part of a CPU compared to CMOS. Over time BiCMOS’ advantages became less pronounced and was eventually abandoned.
All in all, this glimpse at the internals of a Pentium processor provides a fascinating snapshot of high-end Intel semiconductor prowess in the early 1990s.
(Top image: A D flip-flop in the Pentium. Credit: [Ken Shirriff] )
Wanna be hackers? Code crackers? Slackers. If the vintage computing community ever chooses an official anthem, count my vote for It’s All About The Pentiums by “Weird Al” Yankovic. More than twenty years after its release, this track and its music video (with Drew Carey!) are still just as enjoyable as they ever were, with the track’s stinging barbs and computing references somehow only improving over time.
In the track, Weird Al takes on the role of ‘king of the nerds’ with his rock star-esque portrayal of a nameless personal computing legend, someone who de-fragments their hard drive “for thrills” and upgrades their system “at least twice a day”. The lyrics are a real goldmine for anyone that is a fan of 1990s computing, but what stands out to me is the absurd hardware that Weird Al’s character claims to own.
Absurd by 1990s standards, maybe. Not so much anymore. Even with the ongoing chip shortage and other logistic shortfalls, everyone now has the opportunity to start cruising cyberspace like Weird Al and truly become the “king of the spreadsheets”. However, would it have even been possible to reach these lofty computing goals at the time of the parody’s release? Let’s check out both of these threads.
