Fishbowl

by Matthew Glass

  ‘I don’t need to tell you,’ said Kevin. ‘You know it better than me.’

  Andrei shrugged. ‘You get a buzz, the numbers go up. Then they go down.’

  ‘Not this one. This is the real deal, Andrei.’

  Andrei looked at Ben. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t know what makes a website work. But I can tell you, if you go to the Grotto, you’ve got a shitload of people who believe in this site. I mean, believe. Evangelical. It’s scary.’

  ‘Guys,’ said Andrei, ‘this site just sits on top of a whole bunch of social networking sites. It’s like a network that connect other networks. A meta-network, if you will. It just connects home pages.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Kevin. ‘People have their own Fishbowll home page now.’

  ‘Some people. And if they stick to those, it just creates another silo. The point is to trawl the different networks – that’s what gives the step change in connection.’

  ‘And your point?’ said Kevin.

  ‘How long until one of the networks starts doing this themselves?’

  ‘Why are they going to do that?’ demanded Kevin. With all of two years of an economics major, he regarded himself as the business guru of the group. ‘Dude, think about it. The whole point of their model is to keep people in their network. The walled garden. Your point is to put connectivity across those networks. Like you said, Fishbowll is a meta-network. It’s like the brain. The social networks, they’re like regions in the brain. Each one of them can only do so much. But connect them, and look what you can do.’

  ‘And someone else will recognize that,’ said Andrei. ‘Maybe I should sell now before that happens.’

  Kevin sat forward. ‘What’s going on? Has someone made you an offer? Has someone—?’

  He stopped. The food had arrived.

  ‘Thanks, Lopez,’ said Andrei, as the waiter put down their plates.

  Lopez smiled. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Well?’ said Ben, when Lopez had gone. ‘What’s the offer?’

  ‘There’s no offer,’ said Andrei. ‘I’m just thinking. How defensible is this business? If I can do it, someone else can do it.’

  ‘But they haven’t,’ said Kevin.

  ‘But they will.’

  ‘You’re the first mover. That’s why you’ve got the numbers you’ve got.’

  ‘I’ve got a million. We need a billion.’

  Kevin grinned. ‘Give us a couple more weeks.’

  Andrei took a forkful of his fried chicken and prawn noodles. ‘Why shouldn’t I sell the site?’

  ‘What have you been offered?’

  ‘Nothing, believe me. But let’s say I was. It might be at its peak value right now, before someone tries to take us out.’

  ‘You’d be giving it away.’

  ‘Depends how much I was offered.’

  ‘Whatever you’re offered! Hell, sell it to me!’

  ‘Kevin, you have nothing.’

  ‘I’ll give you an IOU.’

  Andrei turned questioningly to Ben.

  Ben frowned. ‘I’m not a businessman. I don’t know what it’s worth. As to whether the big guys are going to eat you alive … I don’t know. You’d think they would. But Kevin’s got a point. There’s a conflict. They don’t want people going outside their network – and that’s the core of what we do. They want to keep people in. All I can say is, psychologically, people have a hard time doing the opposite of what they’ve been committed to doing, even if that’s what they say they want to do. But I don’t know if that’s the same for business.’

  ‘It is,’ said Kevin, with all the assurance of the junior economics major.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a flash in the pan,’ said Ben, ‘but if you think now’s the time to sell, Andrei, then I guess you should.’

  ‘Dude, shut the fuck up!’

  ‘It’s his, Kevin. It’s his choice.’

  ‘He’ll sell it to some corporate who’ll just ruin it. Is that what you’re going to do, Andrei? Sell it to some fucking big corporate like Homeplace? Then make them pay you a billion. At least make them pay for ripping the heart out of what we’ve created.’

  ‘You’re being melodramatic,’ said Andrei.

  ‘Am I?’ Kevin looked as if he was about to leap up and tear his shirt off. ‘Am I really? Then why are you selling to them?’

  Andrei didn’t reply. He ate a forkful of noodles. Then another. ‘Fishbowll’s about connection,’ he said eventually. ‘That’s all. It’s about inspiring people to connect in ways that are unexpected and exciting and important and can change the way things happen, the way they think.’

  ‘Dude, I totally get it. So why are you selling—?’

  ‘I’m not selling!’ said Andrei impatiently.

  ‘So why did you go to a lawyer? Why are you telling us—?’

  ‘I want to know how committed you are,’ said Andrei, cutting across him.

  ‘And a lawyer’s going to tell you that?’

  ‘No. You are.’ Andrei looked at each of them in turn. He said the words again. ‘I want to know how committed you are.’

  Kevin slapped his fist, knuckles down, on the table beside his bowl of noodles. The tendons stood out in his wrist. ‘You want my blood?’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Andrei, this is the coolest thing I’ve ever been near. It’s the biggest psychological experiment you can imagine, seeing how people use this network, seeing how they respond to what it offers, seeing what they say, what they feel, what they think, and I’ve got a seat behind the one-way window. I’m not going to ask you to hold on to it just for that, but—’

  ‘Dude, he’s committed,’ said Kevin. ‘All right? We’re both committed. And you know what, I was thinking over the break … since you’re asking about commitment, and if you’re telling us the truth and you’re not going to sell, then I guess this is a good a time as any to say it …’ Kevin coughed. ‘Maybe you should recognize that. Our commitment, I mean.’

  Andrei didn’t reply.

  ‘We both put in, Andrei. I’m not saying we contributed what you did. I’m not saying we had the idea or brought it to life. But I think, if it hadn’t been for us, I’m not sure if Fishbowll would still be in operation. There were times over the last couple of months when I think you would have gone down without us.’

  ‘So you want me to pay you?’

  ‘No. I’m just wondering whether we shouldn’t have some kind of … you know, some kind of a share.’

  Andrei glanced at Ben.

  Ben put up his hands. ‘First I’ve heard of it. We haven’t discussed it.’

  ‘Dude, I’m just being honest,’ said Kevin. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. That’s what I think.’

  Andrei was silent for a moment. ‘What are you going to do about school?’ he asked.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ replied Kevin.

  ‘I’m going to try to get through this quarter. I’m going to try to juggle things that far. Then I’ll see.’

  ‘What comes first?’

  Andrei picked up a napkin and took a pen out of his pocket. He listed a set of dates: 1 February, 1 March, 1 April, 1 May, 1 June. Alongside each date he listed a user number, rising to hit 10 million by the last date. ‘If we can track that growth curve, this comes first.’

  Ben smiled. ‘If you don’t hit those numbers, you’ll do more, not less.’

  Andrei pushed the napkin across the table. ‘I want to know if you guys are prepared to be in.’

  ‘Dude, we told you we’re in,’ said Kevin. ‘What part of “in” don’t you understand?’

  ‘Then going back to what you said before, I want you to have part of the company.’

  ‘What company?’ said Ben.

  ‘The company I went to the lawyer to set up. This is getting big. I agree with you, Kevin – I couldn’t have got this far without you, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that. It’s going to get more crazy, not less. We haven’t even
seen the start of it.’

  ‘So you’re saying … you want to give us a share?’

  Andrei nodded. He had no idea how he was going to manage his school work for the rest of the year, but he had no intention of selling Fishbowll, even if he could get some money for it. That wasn’t why he had built the site. He had seriously asked himself if he was the best person to build the site and he had come up with the answer that he didn’t think anyone else would understand his vision of connection the way he did. And that meant that if he wanted that vision to come to life, in all of its power and its purity, he had to keep building it. If he sold it, it would never be the Fishbowll it could be, and his vision would never be realized. Whoever bought it would prostitute it to advertising, like every other site on the net, to make as much money as they could.

  But he couldn’t do it by himself. That was something else he had decided very clearly. He had started something, and he had no idea where it was taking him. Already, after two months, Fishbowll was bigger, more diverse, more demanding – different, in almost every way – than anything he could have imagined when he began. It way too lonely to be doing this alone. He had felt that in the plane home, out of San Francisco, and he had felt it even more strongly coming back. He needed help. He needed brothers in arms, and those brothers were Ben and Kevin. He needed the way Ben listened, the way he thought. It was Ben who had come up with the idea for the Grotto, Ben who had said the things on the way to Ricker that had finally set off the explosion in his head that had made Fishbowll work. And he needed Kevin, who was as much of a wheelspinner as he was. He wanted them to be in, in a way that was strong and permanent. And if there was ever going to be any money in Fishbowll, he wanted them to have part of it too.

  He had no problem with Kevin having asked before he had had the chance to make the offer. After the work he had put in, Kevin had every right.

  ‘Ben,’ he said, ‘we wouldn’t be here without the things you said to me. Kevin, you’re a Stakhanovite.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s the old Soviet term for a hero worker, the guys who did more than anyone thought possible. We would have crashed and burned in week two without you. I want you to have fifteen per cent of the company each. But I’m going to need you to put in some money. We need more server space. I’m putting in everything I’ve got, every last cent I’ve saved. Can you find something? I don’t know, talk to your families. Say, fifty thousand each.’

  ‘How long will that take us through to?’ asked Kevin.

  Andrei glanced at the napkin with the numbers he had written. ‘September? I figure we’re also going to have to pay someone to help with the coding, and that should cover that as well.’

  Kevin considered it. Obviously, Andrei wasn’t going to divide the company equally, with each of them getting 33 per cent. Andrei had had the idea, he had made it happen, he had put in the initial funds for server space. He deserved to have more. Kevin hadn’t settled on a share for himself that he thought would be fair. Twenty would have been nice. Ten would have been low.

  Fifteen per cent of the company for $50,000 valued the business at somewhat over $300,000. Kevin believed in Fishbowll and its potential – $300,000 was nothing. If they did things right, he calculated that it would be worth a whole lot more than that.

  ‘I’m in,’ he said.

  ‘Can you get fifty thousand?’

  ‘I’ll tell my parents any lie I have to. I’ll tell them I got a girl pregnant.’

  ‘Tell them something they’ll believe,’ said Ben.

  ‘Funny. Very funny.’

  ‘Ben?’ said Andrei.

  ‘I’m not sure. My folks don’t have that much spare cash. Stanford’s stretching them to the limit.’

  ‘Call them. I want you in. You guys should get your own attorneys. I don’t want you to feel there’s any problem in the future. I’ve got my guy to draft an agreement, but we should make sure everyone is happy that this is absolutely fair.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ said Kevin. ‘I’ll talk to your guy.’

  ‘I’m OK with that,’ said Ben.

  Andrei nodded. That was what he wanted to hear. He had felt he had to recommend that the others get their own lawyers, but if they had taken him up on the suggestion, he didn’t know if he would have gone ahead with the deal. If they didn’t have trust amongst the three of them at this stage, he didn’t think it would work.

  Andrei put out his hand. ‘Welcome to Fishbowll, gentlemen!’

  ‘Dude, we are going to make something awesome,’ said Kevin.

  Andrei nodded. ‘I hope so.’

  Ben and Kevin talked to their parents. Ben was able to raise only $30,000 and received 9 per cent of the company. Kevin produced $50,000 and received 15 per cent. The legal papers were signed a week later. Andrei Koss, Kevin James Embley and Benjamin Shapiro Marks became the founding owners of Fishbowll Inc., incorporated in Delaware.

  Two weeks after the papers were signed and the money was handed over, Fishbowll hit a wall.

  8

  OUTSIDE THE SUITE in Robinson House, no one knew what was happening. Users only ever saw nine names at a time, out of lists that usually reached into the thousands, and often many thousands. So if those lists were reduced by 40 per cent, or 60 per cent, or even more, it wasn’t apparent to them. But Andrei had detected that the list numbers had contracted dramatically.

  A little more investigation revealed that names from Homeplace, the world’s biggest social network, were no longer coming up on Fishbowll searches.

  In an all-night wheelspin, Andrei and Kevin independently checked the relevant coding to see if a bug had crept in. Considering the tiers of functionality that had now been layered over the original Fishbowll search algorithm, it was possible that a piece of coding had been introduced that inadvertently had the effect of excluding the names. There was nothing. When they were finished – with a couple of dozen empty Coke cans scattered on the floor between them – they looked at each other wearily, knowing that they were going to have to check it all again.

  Ben appeared, looking obscenely fresh after a full night’s sleep, and asked what they had found.

  ‘You know,’ he said, when they told him they had drawn a blank, ‘I was thinking, what if it’s not us? What if it’s them?’

  ‘Homeplace?’ said Kevin. ‘They’ve got a bug? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘No, I mean, what if they’re keeping us out on purpose?’

  ‘Keeping us out?’ said Kevin incredulously. ‘Dude, you think Mike Sweetman even knows we exist?’

  ‘Well, maybe not us. I mean, maybe they’re keeping everyone out. Anyone who’s accessing them. Could they do that?’

  Andrei and Kevin exchanged a glance. It was possible. There was constant tension between social networks, which wanted to keep people within their sites for as much of their online time as possible, and search engines, which wanted their users to be able to search social networks from outside. Technically, it would be a relatively easy thing for the networks to shield themselves from the web crawlers that the search engines – and Fishbowll, as well – used to access them. A cold war existed between them, with the potential to turn hot at any time. There was an unspoken understanding that Mike Sweetman, the CEO of Homeplace, and the CEOs of the other social networks weren’t going to shield their services entirely. But it was a step that was just waiting to be taken.

  And, naturally, if the war had broken out, as in any conflict there was going to be collateral damage.

  There was a glum silence.

  ‘If Homeplace gets away with this, every network is going to do it,’ said Kevin eventually.

  ‘But we don’t just look at social networks, right?’ said Ben.

  ‘Dude, ninety-eight per cent of our names come from social networks. We’re a meta-network. You can’t be meta if you’ve got nothing underneath you. The social networks cut access – we’re dead.’ Kevin glanced at Andrei. ‘Should have taken the money when it was offered.’


  ‘I never had an offer,’ said Andrei impatiently.

  Charles Gok came out of the room he shared with Ben. Normally he walked straight through the common room, ignoring the wheelspin or the discussion or whatever Fishbowll activity happened to be taking place. But this time he stopped. Even Charles could sense that something was wrong. The room was silent. Andrei, Kevin and Ben were just sitting there, looking miserable.

  ‘Guys,’ he said. ‘You OK?’

  They nodded gloomily.

  He sat down. The silence continued.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘This is fun.’

  More silence.

  ‘I’m going to go get breakfast on the way to the lab. Anyone want to come?’

  ‘Not me,’ said Kevin.

  Andrei shook his head.

  ‘Later,’ said Ben.

  Charles got up. ‘OK, well, I’m going to go get dressed, and if anyone wants to, like, come to breakfast, that’s cool.’ He paused. ‘OK,’ he said, and he went back to his room.

  The silence continued.

  ‘So what the fuck do we do?’ said Kevin. ‘Do we just sit here and let them kill us? I just put fifty grand into this thing. My parents think I’ve got a girlfriend who’s pregnant with twins.’

  Ben laughed. ‘Twins!’

  ‘Dude, I don’t know if I’d be so cheerful. You put in thirty. Well, that thirty will be a big fat nada if this doesn’t get fixed.’

  Ben’s face changed. ‘Can’t we get it back? We only put it in, like, two weeks ago.’

  Andrei sighed. ‘Most of it’s committed. I got a great deal on server space for paying up front.’

  ‘And Kevin’s right? Are we dead?’

  ‘We have one and a quarter million users,’ said Andrei. ‘If we had a billion and a quarter, we’d be fine. But a million and a quarter … that’s not enough. We need access to social networks. That’s our oxygen, Ben.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Ben. ‘Isn’t there anything you can do? You know …’

  ‘What?’ said Andrei. ‘Write some code that gets around whatever they’ve put in place? Hack into them? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. Is that what I mean? Well, OK, maybe we should do that.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s a very sustainable way to build what we’re trying to do here,’ said Andrei.