“Exactly. That’s the one,” William exclaimed, delighted at having his suggestion at Ubatoo recognized by Jaan.
“I see. Well, that’s exactly the wrong way to go,” Jaan replied harshly. “This isn’t an academic exercise where we analyze a few people and come up with some ridiculous . . . ,” he cut himself off midsentence, remembering that the four in front of him hadn’t been here long enough for him to speak freely. “Look, this is your first day here, so you might as well learn this quickly. First, none of you have ever worked with the amount of data we have here, so whatever you think you know, you don’t. Second, you don’t need all those complex models and algorithms you studied in school. With enough data, try something simple first—it usually works just fine. We have so much information on so many people, rather than worrying about coming up with an esoteric complex approach, what you really need to concentrate on is how to put all of our tiny bits of information together in a way that makes sense. Third, the reason we hired all of you isn’t because of what you’ve studied or what papers you’ve read. It’s because we hope you know how to think. That means you know how to tackle new problems—and for you, these are all new problems. Without getting too Zen, let the data reveal its own secrets; just apply a little gentle coaxing. That’s all you need.” Jaan’s voice softened. “Oh, and Stephen, you can put your hand down. There’s no need to raise your hand in here.”
William, immediately defensive, started again, “Okay, I got it. Let’s start with people’s buying records. Hey, Jaan, do we have access to them? We could always cross-reference that by scanning their e-mails to see if they talk about diets. Jaan, if it’s possible, I’d like access to their e-mail as well. There’s also the possibility of—”
Jaan cut him off again. “If we have the records, you have access to them. This is an important project, so if you can find a way to use the data, don’t ask me about it—just use it. But, before we do anything, I’d like you to formulate a plan. Brainstorm something coherent; don’t run willy-nilly through our data. There’s too much. It’ll waste your time and get you nowhere.”
“How long do we have for this project?” Stephen asked.
“Well, I promised to launch experiments by tonight, but I think we can push that back a day.”
Stephen and the other interns were dumbfounded. “Even if we do come up with a plan, there’s no way we can search all of your logs and all of your users so quickly,” Stephen worried aloud.
“Relax,” Jaan replied, “you don’t need to look at all of it. We’re just doing this study for U.S.-based users. Start with the 200 million in the U.S. Some of the prebuilt user profiles we have will help you.”
“200 million? By tomorrow night?” Stephen asked incredulously.
Jaan’s seriousness faded, he smiled an enormous grin and stood up to address his charges. He’d been anxiously awaiting the right time to bring this up. “I give you all of India,” he said in a tone that could have been mocking or sincere. No one could tell.
He continued, eyes wide, looking more than a tad possessed. “We have 139,000 machines in our India datacenter set up to handle the high volume of traffic we have in the middle of the day there. Fortunately, by the time you’re ready to crunch data, it will likely be nighttime in India, so our traffic to the datacenter will have dropped dramatically. We’ll easily be able to reroute all of India to other datacenters in Asia and Europe. You’ll have all the machines completely at your disposal. Do with them what you will. The data is prepped and ready to go. See, all you have to do is ask, and we shall provide.”
Diet pills or not, the enormity of the problem was enthralling. They were about to tap into Ubatoo’s massive computer cloud, and use all those machines, sitting idly in India, as a single colossal computer, sifting through user profiles and all the other evidence that had been gathered on virtually every user in the U.S. It would have literally taken months anywhere else to do what this massive computation machine would complete in under a minute. This was a statistic that each of them figured out before Jaan’s smile had time to fade.
Jaan had a vested interest in ensuring that the interns did well. He was the brains behind the technology powering the Touchpoints project. He had designed how the data was stored, how it could be accessed rapidly, and how the trillions of little pieces of information Ubatoo collected were ready when needed. The interns were a good test case. If novice users could utilize the system effectively, it would go a long way to proving how well he had designed Touchpoints.
The brainstorming session progressed as Jaan had hoped. Like everyone Ubatoo hired, when working, the reason why the interns were selected was clear. They were good—excellent, in fact—at what they did. Schemes of how to best incorporate the pieces of information Ubatoo gathered were created, torn down, and rebuilt, all progressing to the solution they were seeking. Whether analyzing people’s e-mails, chat transcripts, web sites visited, search terms used, or recent purchases, everything was fair game. Each one of these pieces of information—information “signals”—yielded small but vital clues about how likely a person was to buy diet pills. Find the people who matched these signals, and show them the right advertisements—do that and their ability to resist will disappear as fast as, well, chocolate cake at a Weight Watchers meeting. It was as simple as that.
It didn’t take long for the subject matter, diet pills, to become just another abstraction, another signal to predict. The fact that more computer power than most countries have would be used to efficiently find consumers in the U.S. who were susceptible to the next diet pill fad was just something that would soon be, if it was not already, taken for granted.
With the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, the hours slipped away quickly. It wasn’t until almost 3:30 that Jaan spoke of something other than the task at hand, “You all must be quite hungry. I entirely forgot to feed you.” Nobody immediately volunteered to own up to the fact that they were famished (or point out they weren’t babies/pets/plants). Nevertheless, it was clear from their willingness to look away from their computer screens that they were ready to eat. “I’ll get us something. Why don’t you head over to the patio? I’ll meet you there.”
They made their way through the vast maze of unoccupied cubicles—empty because the other interns were still at the orientation class that they too would have attended had they been assigned to any other sponsor. The bright sunlight, which burst on them as they exited, burned their eyes instantaneously. Four new interns, lost, temporarily blinded, stumbling into each other, with tears streaming down their cheeks—it was quite a sight to behold.
“I figured I had to make up for forgetting about you earlier,” Jaan said when he met them a few minutes later. “So we shall have a feast! I told the chefs that we’re working on a crucial project for Atiq. That was all it took.”
Conversation about data and the task was shelved as Jaan told them what he had ordered (all done through an e-mail with the subject “Food-Needed ASAP” sent to [email protected]). Soon, they were rewarded with the arrival of three catering carts, holding enough food for at least ten people. The appetizers were excellent, but the entrees, seared scallops and filet mignon for the carnivores, and a Japanese tofu dish for the vegetarians, served by waiters dressed in clean white uniforms, exceeded even the already high expectations set by the first course. Despite the quality of the food, that deserved to be savored, the meal started winding down only ten minutes after it started.
“I don’t suppose you have people’s medical records online do you?” Kohan asked, returning to the task at hand. He had said it half jokingly, but still, they were all curious how far Ubatoo had ventured into that territory.
“No, unfortunately not yet,” Jaan said with real regret, silently considering the possibilities. “When we do, though, it’ll make this project a lot easier. We’d have you targeted from birth.” He stood up abruptly, “Ready to go back to work? Let’s get some drinks—we’ll hit a coffee bar on the way back.”
/> With caffeinated beverages of choice—two cappuccinos, one latte, and two extra-caffeinated waters—in hand, everyone was soon back at their desks, furiously working on the latest variation they had conceived on their walk back from lunch.
Think, Type, Caffeine. Think, Type, Caffeine. One a.m. came quickly. Most of the denizens in the surrounding offices had long ago called it quits for the night. When Jaan announced that the four should probably think about going home, all of them were genuinely taken aback that he would suggest stopping so early.
“You think we’ve done enough?” Aarti asked.
“So far, so good. I think we’ve come a long way since the beginning of the day. We’ll deploy the results you found in the morning, when we can use the servers in India to crunch the data. Within a day we’ll see if we’ve convinced America to buy more diet pills. We’ll know for sure by tomorrow night.”
Without looking away from his computer, William asked, “Can you give me thirty more minutes, Jaan? I’ve been working for the last couple of hours on squeezing more information from all the overweight support groups. There are so many . . .”
“You want us to stay, too? I can stay or come back later if you need me?” Aarti offered.
“No, you guys go ahead. I just need thirty minutes. Is that ok, Jaan?”
“No problem,” Jaan replied. “It’s early. I’ll be here for hours. Let’s plan on meeting at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
With that, the three took their leave. More excited than tired, it had been a good, actually awesome, first day.
-TO BETTER DAYS-
May, 2006.
They had rented out the entire restaurant, Il Fornaio, in Palo Alto, and everything was on the house. There would be no talk of money tonight, unless it was at least a million or more. It had been almost eight years in the making and this very restaurant was where it had begun. This was the location of the final meeting the four of them had held—where these four friends cemented their business plan and fortified their resolve to quit their regular jobs and take a chance with founding a new company. It all took place in the same booth in which the champagne fountain was flowing tonight.
It was almost 11:30, and Sebastin sat by himself at the bar near the front of the restaurant. The boisterous crowd of over 180 employees and guests were outside on the back terrace, laughing, talking, making deals, and making connections. Likely, the seeds of the next company were already being planted out there. Another eight years, and this whole scene would be repeated, but Sebastin wouldn’t be there then.
Mark had come to find him. “We did it, Sebastin. This is what we’ve been waiting for.” Mark, along with Elizabeth, Nate, and Sebastin had been the founders of iJenix.com—as of this morning, with papers freshly inked, an officially wholly owned subsidiary of the Mahabishi Keiretsu.
Sebastin raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said, and took another sip, his third drink in the last forty-five minutes.
“Come on Sebastin, cheer up,” Mark said. “This is our night. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you’ll have nowhere to be, and you’ll take your place as one of those who made it in Silicon Valley. It’ll hit you tomorrow how lucky you are.”
Sebastin raised his glass again and thrust it against Mark’s, spilling most of both drinks. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Lighten up, Sebastin,” Mark said with a grin as he nonchalantly wiped the mix of drinks from his shirt. “Good things are on their way. In a few months, when we’re all refreshed and bored to tears from not doing anything, we’re going to open up our first new office for our next gig. What’s the latest name you came up with, again?”
Sebastin tried to manage a smile as he repeated the name, “American Coalition for Civil Liberties.”
“Right, right. What a wonderfully serious name. ACCL—it just screams official and powerful . . . and good. And we’ll head it together, and lead it to great things—bettering the world, and all that.” Mark was flying high tonight. “We’ve dreamed about doing this. We knew that after iJenix sold and we’d each made our first million, we’d do something good together. Come on, Sebastin, cheer up—we’re actually going to do it finally—things are coming together.”
“For you,” Sebastin muttered under his breath.
“No,” Mark replied firmly, his smile still intact. “They’re coming together for both of us. We’re going to do ACCL together, just like we did here.”
“Just like here?” Sebastin was trying to hold it together, but that was too much. “Is that a joke? We weren’t in it together here, Mark. You took care of yourself pretty damn well. Took care of Elizabeth and Nate. But, me, no. Me, nothing doing.”
“Sebastin, we’re not going through this again,” Mark said quietly, any trace of a smile finally extinguished. “Not again. We’ve been through this—yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. I did what I could for all of us. You know that.”
Sebastin toasted his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “I know.” A minute adjustment of his eyes, and he could see Mark watching his reflection, too. “I know that in a few months from now, when we start a do-good non-profit, then we’re going to share everything equally.” He wasn’t speaking as loudly anymore, but the bitterness didn’t dissipate. “What about right now, Mark? What about the last eight years?”
“You’re drunk, Sebastin. Maybe you should just call it a night.”
“We were in this together, remember?” Sebastin was furious. “We’re back in this same restaurant. Remember, Mark? This is where I invited the four of us to meet to hash out our plans. Or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“You could have done something more for me.”
“Sebastin, you know I tried. You know that all the Mahabishi guys wanted to fire you. They didn’t trust you or want to deal with you again. You nearly single-handedly torpedoed the entire deal. You were way too aggressive—way, way out of line. They called your bluff, and we almost all paid the price for it.”
“I did it for us—we could have gotten more.”
“You shouldn’t have, and you didn’t need to. Nobody asked you to start making up stories, making up sales numbers. What were you thinking? You didn’t talk to us about it—you just did it on your own. You got greedy. We were in the home stretch, and you had to start opening your mouth, coming up with anything to milk them for more money. You were out of control.”
“I told you, it was for us.”
“And I told you, you shouldn’t have,” Mark said resolutely, though he couldn’t look at Sebastin as he said it. “Look, you and I—we’ve got to get past this. We both did okay in the end. The rest of the team came together, saved the deal, saved your ass, and it’s behind us now. It’s done.”
Sebastin finished off the remaining drops of his drink without looking outside the bottom of the small crystal glass. “Tell me again, Mark, how is it that you wind up with more than $17 million out of this deal, and I have only two? How is that, Mark?”
Mark was gritting his teeth, his breath was shallow and his mouth barely opened when he spoke. “Maybe we should just forget about working together after tonight, Sebastin. You’ve got to figure out if you can get past this. You need to figure out what matters to you.”
“Oh, screw you, Mark,” Sebastin said as he reeled off his stool.
Mark grabbed Sebastin’s arm before he could walk away. He wouldn’t let him ruin this night completely. “Where you going?”
Sebastin waved his empty glass inches from Mark’s face. “Empty. Or should I ‘just get past it,’ and ‘figure out what matters to me,’ too?”
“Damn it, Sebastin. Sit down. Stay here.” Mark ordered as he grabbed the glass. “Don’t talk to anyone until I get back.”
Eight years. Two million dollars. This is what he had been working for? Two million? That’s not what a startup is about. Nobody moves to Silicon Valley for two million. Where are the private jets and the islands he was supposed to buy? What a waste of
time. Was he really going to work with these three again? A bullet in the eye sounded better.
Another drink was placed before him, along with a glass of water, which he immediately cast aside. He lifted the fresh drink to his mouth and turned fully to face Mark. “To better days,” he said. A pleasant numbing burn warmed his throat.
“What are you going to do with all your money?” Sebastin asked.
No response. Mark looked away from Sebastin, back toward the party. The music was pouring in from the terrace, flowing across the terra-cotta tile and filling every silent moment with irrelevant noise.
“You could have done better for me, Mark. You know it. You made sure Nate and Elizabeth got their share. You could have done more for me,” Sebastin said distantly.
“Sebastin, you’re walking away with two million dollars. Two. Why don’t you take some time off, I mean really off, and get away? You’ve got nothing else to do. You owe it to yourself to get away for a while.”
Sebastin didn’t reply.
“I’ve got to get back to the party, and you should go home—now,” Mark directed.
Sebastin clumsily slid off his stool and stumbled to the front door, only a few feet away.
“Call me, Sebastin, whenever you’re ready to work together again. We’ll take care of each other on this one, okay? For what it’s worth, again I’m sorry I couldn’t have done even more for all three of you. Especially you, Sebastin. We’ve been friends for a long time. Don’t let this last month mess up what we’ve been waiting for. We’ve worked too long to piss it all away. Let’s go do something good for the world. Let’s start ACCL and get out of this miserable rat race. We’ve been in it too long. It’s driving us crazy. What do you think, buddy?”
“Asshole,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure Mark heard him or not. He hoped he did, buddy.
Sebastin stepped outside into the orange glow of the streetlamps and the flow of the college kids and night traffic. He sipped the drink he had managed to stay levelheaded enough to take with him, and started walking toward home. Two million—that’s not what he’d signed on for. Maybe it really was time to do something else. He knew he’d call Mark in a few months, and it infuriated him. But Mark was right—ACCL changed the game; it didn’t have to be the same rat race anymore. ACCL was about doing something good, not just about making money. That had to be better than this. Even so, doing ACCL in the Valley, with all the publicity it would garner and the personal cachet it would bring, there would inevitably be money, too. There had to be. Downing the rest of the drink, he sucked the ice clean and let the glass shatter on the pavement. Seven miles to home. He’d see how far he could go it alone; he had nothing better to do.
The Silicon Jungle Page 8
