Chương 43: Reality Distortion (01/17/1984 | 11:00 AM)

DATE: Tuesday, January 17, 1984 LOCATION: Cupertino, California | Apple Computer HQ | Bandley 3 Building LOCAL TIME: 11: 00 AM The atrium was pure chaos. Engineers ran in every direction, fueled by caffeine and panic. The Macintosh launch was exactly one week away. Steve Jobs stood in the center of the lobby, screaming at a marketing executive over a brochure.

"It's not 'cream'!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the glass walls.

"It's 'sand'! It needs to feel organic! Fix it and don't come back until it's right!" The executive fled. Jobs turned, radiating a wild, volatile intensity. The moment he spotted Bob Yauney, he marched straight over.

"Bob! You're late. Where the hell is Gates?"

"Bill's in Bellevue," Bob replied calmly.

"He's finishing the Excel port and sends his regards." Jobs scoffed.

"He ships code, I'll give him that." His gaze suddenly dropped to me.

"Who is this kid?" Bob placed a hand on my shoulder.

"This is Chad, my nephew." Jobs crouched down, staring at me with uncomfortable focus.

"What do you do, kid?"

"I build bridges," I said. Jobs' face twisted in immediate disgust.

"Bridges?" he snapped.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You should build islands—perfect, beautiful islands."

"Islands sink," I replied evenly.

"Bridges survive." The shift was instantaneous. Jobs' expression darkened, the air in the atrium suddenly freezing around us. Bob tensed beside me. Jobs glared in silence for a long, dangerous second, then abruptly barked out a sharp, ugly laugh and stood back up. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"He's got balls," he said to Bob, though it didn't sound like a compliment.

"I like that. Come on. I want to show you the commercial." LOCAL TIME: 11: 15 AM | The Screening Room The lights dimmed. On screen, gray drones marched in lockstep into a massive theater, where a Big Brother figure representing IBM droned on from an oversized display. Then, a woman in bright athletic gear sprinted forward, swinging a sledgehammer and hurling it at the giant screen. SMASH. The projection exploded in blinding white light. When the room lights came back up, Jobs was practically glowing.

"Ridley Scott directed it," he said breathlessly.

"We're only airing it once—during the Super Bowl. It's going to destroy IBM."

"It's powerful, Steve," Bob said. Jobs turned to me, still riding the high of the violent imagery.

"What do you think, Architect?" I looked up at him and spoke quietly.

"Make sure you throw it hard. Because if you miss the screen… the drones will never wake up." LOCAL TIME: 12: 30 PM | The Parking Lot We walked back to the rental car in silence. The nondescript Chevy Cavalier sat baking under the pale, dry California sun. Bob's hands were still trembling slightly as he unlocked the doors. Dealing with Steve Jobs had that effect on people; he was a sudden shock to the system. He slid into the driver's seat, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag before speaking.

"He really believes it," Bob said quietly.

"Thinks he's saving the world from IBM."

"He is," I replied from the back seat, buckling my seatbelt.

"He's the icebreaker. He smashes through first, and we follow in the calm water behind him." Bob started the engine, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"Bill called this morning. He's scared about the lawsuit. Apple showed him the Mac OS for the Excel port. If we ship Windows next year, Steve's going to come after us hard. The 'look and feel' case is strong." I looked out the window at the Santa Cruz hills.

"He lifted the whole concept from Xerox PARC. Thieves don't get to call the cops. Besides, did Patterson include the clause I wrote in the contract with Sculley last month?" Bob nodded.

"The derivative works language. Perpetual, royalty-free license for current and future programs."

"Good. Steve will think it only covers Excel updates. He won't realize it hands us the keys to the operating system for the next decade." Bob let out a short, nervous laugh and shook his head.

"You're ice cold, Chad. You stood in there, looked him in the eye, and told him to swing that hammer—knowing exactly what we're planning to do with the pieces." I shrugged, watching the landscape roll by.

"I wasn't lying to him. The public needs to wake up first. They can't log in if they're still asleep."