Chapter 2: Let's (not) Make A Deal
Have I got a deal for you!
--Satan
Wiz’s first thought was inter-world bank robbery. But from the look on Jerry’s face this wasn’t something so insignificant as bank robbery. Wiz sat down on the pile of luggage. “I think,” he said slowly, “you had better tell me about it.”
“Okay, you know how we wanted to put the magic compiler out in the real world to get some feedback on it?”
“Yeah,” Wiz said warily.
“Well, you know how we’ve been getting some really good ideas and some powerful stuff from that?”
“Yeah,” Wiz said, even more warily. By now a couple of hundred hairs on the back of his neck had snapped to rigid attention. A neat trick, since Wiz was wearing his usual pony tail.
The idea had been Danny’s to begin with. Moving things back and forth between worlds was a
major magical operation, usually requiring the cooperation of several powerful wizards, but it was possible to diddle electrons across the barrier fairly easily. By using this technique, it had been possible to establish fairly reliable communications with the world where Wiz, Danny and Jerry had originated. Telephone conversations were somewhat difficult to manage, but an Internet link wasn’t. And an Internet link had the added advantage that it was easy to hide the fact that the Wizard’s Keep wasn’t anywhere on Earth.
Building on that link, Danny had suggested getting the opinions of programmers on the Net about the quality of the code that went into their magical operating system. In a world where magic spells could be constructed like computer programs, bugs could be disastrous -- as several near misses had proven over the years. So the idea of getting even more code review made sense to everyone.
Thinking back on it, Wiz had to admit that a lot of good ideas had flowed back over the Internet link. In fact, as he thought back on it, Wiz realized there were perhaps too many good ideas and nifty pieces of code that had come their way. So many, perhaps, that the programmers of the Wizard’s Keep probably owed somebody big time. Another couple of hundred neck hairs roused themselves to attention. From the way Danny was asking he had a nasty suspicion they weren’t going to be able to pay off those debts with something easy like money.
“And. . .” Wiz said, looking hard at Danny.
“And he got that help by posting the code on the Net as Open Source,” Jerry interjected.
“You did what?” Wiz yelped.
“It’s the most effective way to do distributed software development on the Web,” Danny said. “The latest thing. Besides, what can it hurt?”
Wiz was having trouble getting his jaw back in its socket, so he wasn’t able to answer that one immediately. In this world the magic compiler and its associated tools were enormously powerful because they let anyone who could learn to program a computer write powerful spells quickly and easily. Under the Open Source license, anyone was free to download the code and modify it in any way they chose. The only requirement was that they had to keep the source code with the software and provide source code for any ‘derivative works’.
“I mean it’s not like you can do anything with it on the other side,” Danny said. “Magic doesn’t work there.”
“No, but it works here with a vengeance,” Wiz told him. “You just released it to hundreds, or maybe t housands, of people who have no idea how dangerous it can be.”
“Hundreds of thousands,” Jerry put in glumly.
“What?”
“There have been over 125,000 downloads from thekeep.com since Danny posted the code.”
“Why for Pete’s sake?”
“It seems,” Jerry said glumly, “that with the appropriate Intel back end, our spell development package is a killer tool for writing games.”
“Yeah,” Danny said eagerly, “you should see some of the nifty stuff people have come up with.”
Considering that the magical compiler was originally written to manipulate a universe where magic was real -- whether or not you declared it integer -- Wiz could believe that. However the thought of hundreds of thousands of programmers playing with the magical equivalent of a thermonuclear device was enough to make his blood run cold.
“Now,” said Jerry, as Wiz contemplated the rapidly cooling temperature of his blood, “do you want to hear the really bad news?”
Wiz almost asked how the situation could get any worse. Then he thought about some of the other stuff that had happened since he’d come here and decided to keep his mouth shut. So he just nodded, even though really bad news was the last thing he wanted just now.
“Someone,” Jerry said, “wants to buy the whole shooting match. For $125 million.”
“Who? I mean they want to buy what?”
“Development rights to the code,” Danny said. “But that’s the problem.”
“It sure as shooting is a problem!”
“No. Not that kind of problem. I mean they wouldn’t have the right to use it here. But the problem is the people want to buy it. It’s Deinosuchus Software.”
“Deinosuchus Software?”
“One of those multi-million dollar Internet companies,” Jerry informed him.
“Yeah,” Danny said with anguish in his voice. “And if they get it, they’ll just ruin it. The whole place is full of suits and ex-Microsofties. You know, ‘embrace, extend and extinguish’.”
Wiz couldn’t quite digest the larger implications of all this, so he settled on concentrating on one of the smaller ones.
“Why does Deinosuchus Software want our system? Especially if it’s open source?”
“That’s easy,” Danny said. “It gives the access to our developer community and they can turn around and sell that access to other companies, and move our developer site to their Internet portal to build traffic.”
“The alternative explanation,” Jerry said drily, “is that they need sexy acquisitions to keep their stock price up. Their value, or their market cap anyway, went to something like a billion dollars after their IPO and now they’re running the Red Queen’s race to keep it there while they raise even more money.”
“But $125 million for access to a bunch of open source developers? That’s insane.”
“Wiz,” Jerry asked in the same dry tone, “how closely have you been following the market for Internet companies?”
Wiz made a face. “Not at all if I can help it.”
“Let me put it this way. A while back someone had an Internet software company that made him a multi-millionaire in less than three years. The company had never made a profit. It never could make a profit because they were giving their product away. It sold for $287 million with essentially the same value proposition we have here. Wall Street thought it was such a good idea, the purchasing company’s stock went up more than $300 million in the next few weeks.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“If you’re looking for an argument,” Jerry said, “you are not going to get one.”
“Anyway,” Danny said, “we’ve got a choice. We can stick by our principles or we can clear a quick $125 million.”
“No,” Wiz said firmly. “We’ve got no choice at all. We’ve got to stop this and stop it fast.”
Danny scowled. “That’s what Jerry keeps saying. I still don’t see why.”
“Because,” Jerry said with the air of someone repeating an old argument. “If we don’t stop it, sooner or later someone’s going to do something in that world with the magic compiler and it’s going to leak back through to this one. Then we’ll have a royal mess on our hands.”
“That’s silly. I mean how can anything get though the barrier between worlds?”
“Danny,” Wiz said gently.
It was Danny’s turn to look apprehensive. He knew that tone. “Yeah Wiz?”
“How did you find out someone wanted to purchase the compiler?”
“They sent me e-mail.”
“And how did that e-mail reach you?”
“At our domain. thekeep.com”
“And which side of the barrier,” Wiz asked gently, “are you on? Which side are they on?”
“Oh,” Danny said softly. “Well it still doesn’t matter. I mean who’s going to find their way through?” |
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