Author: Matthew Garrett

I've been digging through the firmware for an AMD laptop with a Ryzen 6000 that incorporates Pluton for the past couple of weeks, and I've got some rough conclusions. Note that these are extremely preliminary and may not be accurate, but I'm going to try to encourage others to look into this in more detail. For those of you at home, I'm using an image from here, specifically version 309. The installer is happy to run under Wine, and if you tell it to "Extract" rather than "Install" it'll leave a file sitting in C:\\DRIVERS\ASUS_GA402RK_309_BIOS_Update_20220322235241 which seems to have an additional 2K of header on it. Strip that and you should have something approximating a flash image. Looking for UTF16 strings in this reveals something interesting: Pluton (HSP) X86 Firmware Support Enable/Disable X86 firmware HSP related code path, including AGESA HSP module, SBIOS HSP related drivers. Auto - Depends on PcdAmdHspCoreEnable build value NOTE: PSP directory entry 0xB BIT36 have the highest priority. NOTE: This option will NOT put HSP hardware in disable state, to disable HSP hardware, you need setup PSP directory entry 0xB, BIT36 to 1. // EntryValue[36] = 0: Enable, HSP core is enabled. // EntryValue[36] = 1: Disable, HSP core is disabled then PSP will gate the HSP clock, no further PSP to HSP commands. System will boot without HSP. "HSP" here means "Hardware Security Processor" - a generic term that refers to Pluton in this case. This is a configuration setting that determines whether Pluton is "enabled" or not - my interpretation of this is that it doesn't directly influence Pluton, but disables all mechanisms that would allow the OS to communicate with it. In this scenario, Pluton has its firmware loaded and could conceivably be functional if the OS knew how to speak to it directly, but the firmware will never speak to it itself. I took a quick look at the Windows drivers for Pluton and it looks like they won't do anything unless the firmware wants to expose Pluton, so this should mean that Windows will do nothing. So what about the reference to "PSP directory entry 0xB BIT36 have the highest priority"? The PSP is the AMD Platform Security Processor - it's an ARM core on the CPU package that boots before the x86. The PSP firmware lives in the same flash image as the x86 firmware, so the PSP looks for a header that points it towards the firmware it should execute. This gives a pointer to a "directory" - a list of different object types and where they're located in flash (there's a description of this for slightly older AMDs here). Type 0xb is treated slightly specially. Where most types contain the address of where the actual object is, type 0xb contains a 64-bit value that's interpreted as enabling or disabling various features - something AMD calls "soft fusing" (Intel have something similar that involves setting bits in the Firmware Interface Table). The PSP looks at the bits that are set here and alters its behaviour. If bit 36 is set, the PSP tells Pluton to turn itself off and will no longer send any commands to it. So, we have two mechanisms to disable Pluton - the PSP can tell it to turn itself off, or the x86 firmware can simply never speak to it or admit that it exists. Both of these imply that Pluton has started executing before it's shut down, so it's reasonable to wonder whether it can still do stuff. In the image I'm looking at, there's a blob starting at 0x0069b610 that appears to be firmware for Pluton - it contains chunks that appear to be the reference TPM2 implementation, and it broadly decompiles as valid ARM code. It should be viable to figure out whether it can do anything in the face of being "disabled" via either of the above mechanisms. Unfortunately for me, the system I'm looking at does set bit 36 in the 0xb entry - as a result, Pluton is disabled before x86 code starts running and I can't investigate further in any straightforward way. The implication that the user-controllable mechanism for disabling Pluton merely disables x86 communication with it rather than turning it off entirely is a little concerning, although (assuming Pluton is behaving as a TPM rather than having an enhanced set of capabilities) skipping any firmware communication means the OS has no way to know what happened before it started running even if it has a mechanism to communicate with Pluton without firmware assistance. In that scenario it'd be viable to write a bootloader shim that just faked up the firmware measurements before handing control to the OS. The bit 36 disabling mechanism seems more solid? Again, it should be possible to analyse the Pluton firmware to determine whether it actually pays attention to a disable command being sent. But even if it chooses to ignore that, if the PSP is in a position to just cut the clock to Pluton, it's not going to be able to do a lot. At that point we're trusting AMD rather than trusting Microsoft, but given that you're also trusting AMD to execute the code you're giving them to execute, it's hard to avoid placing trust in them. Overall: I'm reasonably confident that systems that ship with Pluton disabled via setting bit 36 in the soft fuses are going to disable it sufficiently hard that the OS can't do anything about it. Systems that give the user an option to enable or disable it are a little less clear in that respect, and it's possible (but not yet demonstrated) that an OS could communicate with Pluton anyway. However, if that's true, and if the firmware never communicates with Pluton itself, the user could install a stub loader in UEFI that mimicks the firmware behaviour and leaves the OS thinking everything was good when it absolutely is not. So, assuming that Pluton in its current form on AMD has no capabilities outside those we know about, the disabling mechanisms are probably good enough. It's tough to make a firm statement on this before I have access to a system that doesn't just disable it immediately, so stay tuned for updates. comments

Intel's Dynamic Platform and Thermal Framework (DPTF) is a feature that's becoming increasingly common on highly portable Intel-based devices. The adaptive policy it implements is based around the idea that thermal management of a system is becoming increasingly complicated - the appropriate set of cooling constraints to place on a system may differ based on a whole bunch of criteria (eg, if a tablet is being held vertically rather than lying on a table, it's probably going to be able to dissipate heat more effectively, so you should impose different constraints). One way of providing these criteria to the OS is to embed them in the system firmware, allowing an OS-level agent to read that and then incorporate OS-level knowledge into a final policy decision. Unfortunately, while Intel have released some amount of support for DPTF on Linux, they haven't included support for the adaptive policy. And even more annoyingly, many modern laptops run in a heavily conservative thermal state if the OS doesn't support the adaptive policy, meaning that the CPU throttles down extremely quickly and the laptop runs excessively slowly. It's been a while since I really got stuck into a laptop reverse engineering project, and I don't have much else to do right now, so I've been working on this. It's been a combination of examining what source Intel have released, reverse engineering the Windows code and staring hard at hex dumps until they made some sort of sense. Here's where I am. There's two main components to the adaptive policy - the adaptive conditions table (APCT) and the adaptive actions table (APAT). The adaptive conditions table contains a set of condition sets, with up to 10 conditions in each condition set. A condition is something like "is the battery above a certain charge", "is this temperature sensor below a certain value", "is the lid open or closed", "is the machine upright or horizontal" and so on. Each condition set is evaluated in turn - if all the conditions evaluate to true, the condition set's target is implemented. If not, we move onto the next condition set. There will typically be a fallback condition set to catch the case where none of the other condition sets evaluate to true. The action table contains sets of actions associated with a specific target. Once we've picked a target by evaluating the conditions, we execute the actions that have a corresponding target. Actions are things like "Set the CPU power limit to this value" or "Load a passive policy table". Passive policy tables are simply tables associating sensors with devices and an associated temperature limit. If the limit is exceeded, the associated device should be asked to reduce its heat output until the situation is resolved. There's a couple of twists. The first is the OEM conditions. These are conditions that refer to values that are exposed by the firmware and are otherwise entirely opaque - the firmware knows what these mean, but we don't, so conditions that rely on these values are magical. They could be temperature, they could be power consumption, they could be SKU variations. We just don't know. The other is that older versions of the APCT table didn't include a reference to a device - ie, if you specified a condition based on a temperature, you had no way to express which temperature sensor to use. So, instead, you specified a condition that's greater than 0x10000, which tells the agent to look at the APPC table to extract the device and the appropriate actual condition. Intel already have a Linux app called Thermal Daemon that implements a subset of this - you're supposed to run the binary-only dptfxtract against your firmware to parse a few bits of the DPTF tables, and it writes out an XML file that Thermal Daemon makes use of. Unfortunately it doesn't handle most of the more interesting bits of the adaptive performance policy, so I've spent the past couple of days extending it to do so and to remove the proprietary dependency. My current work is here - it requires a couple of kernel patches (that are in the patches directory), and it only supports a very small subset of the possible conditions. It's also entirely possible that it'll do something inappropriate and cause your computer to melt - none of this is publicly documented, I don't have access to the spec and you're relying on my best guesses in a lot of places. But it seems to behave roughly as expected on the one test machine I have here, so time to get some wider testing? comments

I'm still playing with my X210, a device that just keeps coming up with new ways to teach me things. I'm now running Coreboot full time, so the majority of the runtime platform firmware is free software. Unfortunately, the firmware that's running on the embedded controller (a separate chip that's awake even when the rest of the system is asleep and which handles stuff like fan control, battery charging, transitioning into different power states and so on) is proprietary and the manufacturer of the chip won't release data sheets for it. This was disappointing, because the stock EC firmware is kind of annoying (there's no hysteresis on the fan control, so it hits a threshold, speeds up, drops below the threshold, turns off, and repeats every few seconds - also, a bunch of the Thinkpad hotkeys don't do anything) and it would be nice to be able to improve it. A few months ago someone posted a bunch of fixes, a Ghidra project and a kernel patch that lets you overwrite the EC's code at runtime for purposes of experimentation. This seemed promising. Some amount of playing later and I'd produced a patch that generated keyboard scancodes for all the missing hotkeys, and I could then use udev to map those scancodes to the keycodes that the thinkpad_acpi driver would generate. I finally had a hotkey to tell me how much battery I had left. But something else included in that post was a list of the GPIO mappings on the EC. A whole bunch of hardware on the board is connected to the EC in ways that allow it to control them, including things like disabling the backlight or switching the wifi card to airplane mode. Unfortunately the ACPI spec doesn't cover how to control GPIO lines attached to the embedded controller - the only real way we have to communicate is via a set of registers that the EC firmware interprets and does stuff with. One of those registers in the vendor firmware for the X210 looked promising, with individual bits that looked like radio control. Unfortunately writing to them does nothing - the EC firmware simply stashes that write in an address and returns it on read without parsing the bits in any way. Doing anything more with them was going to involve modifying the embedded controller code. Thankfully the EC has 64K of firmware and is only using about 40K of that, so there's plenty of room to add new code. The problem was generating the code in the first place and then getting it called. The EC is based on the CR16C architecture, which binutils supported until 10 days ago. To be fair it didn't appear to actually work, and binutils still has support for the more generic version of the CR16 family, so I built a cross assembler, wrote some assembly and came up with something that Ghidra was willing to parse except for one thing. As mentioned previously, the existing firmware code responded to writes to this register by saving it to its RAM. My plan was to stick my new code in unused space at the end of the firmware, including code that duplicated the firmware's existing functionality. I could then replace the existing code that stored the register value with code that branched to my code, did whatever I wanted and then branched back to the original code. I hacked together some assembly that did the right thing in the most brute force way possible, but while Ghidra was happy with most of the code it wasn't happy with the instruction that branched from the original code to the new code, or the instruction at the end that returned to the original code. The branch instruction differs from a jump instruction in that it gives a relative offset rather than an absolute address, which means that branching to nearby code can be encoded in fewer bytes than going further. I was specifying the longest jump encoding possible in my assembly (that's what the :l means), but the linker was rewriting that to a shorter one. Ghidra was interpreting the shorter branch as a negative offset, and it wasn't clear to me whether this was a binutils bug or a Ghidra bug. I ended up just hacking that code out of binutils so it generated code that Ghidra was happy with and got on with life. Writing values directly to that EC register showed that it worked, which meant I could add an ACPI device that exposed the functionality to the OS. My goal here is to produce a standard Coreboot radio control device that other Coreboot platforms can implement, and then just write a single driver that exposes it. I wrote one for Linux that seems to work. In summary: closed-source code is more annoying to improve, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Also, strange Russians on forums make everything easier. comments

The laptop industry was still in its infancy back in 1990, but it still faced a core problem that we do today - power and thermal management are hard, but also critical to a good user experience (and potentially to the lifespan of the hardware). This is in the days where DOS and Windows had no memory protection, so handling these problems at the OS level would have been an invitation for someone to overwrite your management code and potentially kill your laptop. The safe option was pushing all of this out to an external management controller of some sort, but vendors in the 90s were the same as vendors now and would do basically anything to avoid having to drop an extra chip on the board. Thankfully(?), Intel had a solution. The 386SL was released in October 1990 as a low-powered mobile-optimised version of the 386. Critically, it included a feature that let vendors ensure that their power management code could run without OS interference. A small window of RAM was hidden behind the VGA memory[1] and the CPU configured so that various events would cause the CPU to stop executing the OS and jump to this protected region. It could then do whatever power or thermal management tasks were necessary and return control to the OS, which would be none the wiser. Intel called this System Management Mode, and we've never really recovered. Step forward to the late 90s. USB is now a thing, but even the operating systems that support USB usually don't in their installers (and plenty of operating systems still didn't have USB drivers). The industry needed a transition path, and System Management Mode was there for them. By configuring the chipset to generate a System Management Interrupt (or SMI) whenever the OS tried to access the PS/2 keyboard controller, the CPU could then trap into some SMM code that knew how to talk to USB, figure out what was going on with the USB keyboard, fake up the results and pass them back to the OS. As far as the OS was concerned, it was talking to a normal keyboard controller - but in reality, the "hardware" it was talking to was entirely implemented in software on the CPU. Since then we've seen even more stuff get crammed into SMM, which is annoying because in general it's much harder for an OS to do interesting things with hardware if the CPU occasionally stops in order to run invisible code to touch hardware resources you were planning on using, and that's even ignoring the fact that operating systems in general don't really appreciate the entire world stopping and then restarting some time later without any notification. So, overall, SMM is a pain for OS vendors. Change of topic. When Apple moved to x86 CPUs in the mid 2000s, they faced a problem. Their hardware was basically now just a PC, and that meant people were going to try to run their OS on random PC hardware. For various reasons this was unappealing, and so Apple took advantage of the one significant difference between their platforms and generic PCs. x86 Macs have a component called the System Management Controller that (ironically) seems to do a bunch of the stuff that the 386SL was designed to do on the CPU. It runs the fans, it reports hardware information, it controls the keyboard backlight, it does all kinds of things. So Apple embedded a string in the SMC, and the OS tries to read it on boot. If it fails, so does boot[2]. Qemu has a driver that emulates enough of the SMC that you can provide that string on the command line and boot OS X in qemu, something that's documented further here. What does this have to do with SMM? It turns out that you can configure x86 chipsets to trap into SMM on arbitrary IO port ranges, and older Macs had SMCs in IO port space[3]. After some fighting with Intel documentation[4] I had Coreboot's SMI handler responding to writes to an arbitrary IO port range. With some more fighting I was able to fake up responses to reads as well. And then I took qemu's SMC emulation driver and merged it into Coreboot's SMM code. Now, accesses to the IO port range that the SMC occupies on real hardware generate SMIs, trap into SMM on the CPU, run the emulation code, handle writes, fake up responses to reads and return control to the OS. From the OS's perspective, this is entirely invisible[5]. We've created hardware where none existed. The tree where I'm working on this is here, and I'll see if it's possible to clean this up in a reasonable way to get it merged into mainline Coreboot. Note that this only handles the SMC - actually booting OS X involves a lot more, but that's something for another time. [1] If the OS attempts to access this range, the chipset directs it to the video card instead of to actual RAM. [2] It's actually more complicated than that - see here for more. [3] IO port space is a weird x86 feature where there's an entire separate IO bus that isn't part of the memory map and which requires different instructions to access. It's low performance but also extremely simple, so hardware that has no performance requirements is often implemented using it. [4] Some current Intel hardware has two sets of registers defined for setting up which IO ports should trap into SMM. I can't find anything that documents what the relationship between them is, but if you program the obvious ones nothing happens and if you program the ones that are hidden in the section about LPC decoding ranges things suddenly start working. [5] Eh technically a sufficiently enthusiastic OS could notice that the time it took for the access to occur didn't match what it should on real hardware, or could look at the CPU's count of the number of SMIs that have occurred and correlate that with accesses, but good enough comments