Makers by Cory Doctorow (best romance ebooks .TXT) đ
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- Author: Cory Doctorow
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âLike Ikea meets Barbarella. What happened here?â
Tjan did a little two-step. âIt was Lesterâs idea. Have a look in the boxes.â
She pulled a couple of the tubs out. They were jam-packed with books, tools, cruft and crudâall the crap that had previously cluttered the shelves and the floor and the sofa and the coffee table.
âWatch this,â he said. He unvelcroed a wireless keyboard from the side of the TV and began to type: T-H-E C-O. . . The field autocompleted itself: THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO, and brought up a picture of a beaten-up paperback along with links to web-stores, reviews, and the full text. Tjan gestured with his chin and she saw that the front of one of the tubs was pulsing with a soft blue glow. Tjan went and pulled open the tub and fished for a second before producing the book.
âTry it,â he said, handing her the keyboard. She began to type experimentally: U-N and up came UNDERWEAR (14). âNo way,â she said.
âWay,â Tjan said, and hit return, bringing up a thumbnail gallery of fourteen pairs of underwear. He tabbed over each, picked out a pair of Simpsons boxers, and hit return. A different tub started glowing.
âLester finally found a socially beneficial use for RFIDs. Weâre going to get rich!â
âI donât think I understand,â she said.
âCome on,â he said. âLetâs get to the junkyard. Lester explains this really well.â
He did, too, losing all of the shyness she remembered, his eyes glowing, his sausage-thick fingers dancing.
âHave you ever alphabetized your hard drive? I mean, have you ever spent any time concerning yourself with where on your hard drive your files are stored, which sectors contain which files? Computers abstract away the tedious, physical properties of files and leave us with handles that we use to persistently refer to them, regardless of which part of the hard drive currently holds those particular bits. So I thought, with RFIDs, you could do this with the real world, just tag everything and have your furniture keep track of where it is.
âOne of the big barriers to roommate harmony is the correct disposition of stuff. When you leave your book on the sofa, I have to move it before I can sit down and watch TV. Then you come after me and ask me where I put your book. Then we have a fight. Thereâs stuff that you donât know where it goes, and stuff that you donât know where itâs been put, and stuff that has nowhere to put it. But with tags and a smart chest of drawers, you can just put your stuff wherever thereâs room and ask the physical space to keep track of whatâs where from moment to moment.
âThereâs still the problem of getting everything tagged and described, but thatâs a service business opportunity, and where youâve got other shared identifiers like ISBNs you could use a cameraphone to snap the bar-codes and look them up against public databases. The whole thing could be coordinated around âspring cleaningâ events where you go through your stuff and photograph it, tag it, describe itâgood for your insurance and for forensics if you get robbed, too.â
He stopped and beamed, folding his fingers over his belly. âSo, thatâs it, basically.â
Perry slapped him on the shoulder and Tjan drummed his forefingers like a heavy-metal drummer on the side of the workbench they were gathered around.
They were all waiting for her. âWell, itâs very cool,â she said, at last. âBut, the whole white-plastic-tub thing. It makes your apartment look like an Ikea showroom. Kind of inhumanly minimalist. Weâre Americans, we like celebrating our stuff.â
âWell, OK, fair enough,â Lester said, nodding. âYou donât have to put everything away, of course. And you can still have all the decor you want. This is about clutter control.â
âExactly,â Perry said. âCome check out Lesterâs lab.â
âOK, this is pretty perfect,â Suzanne said. The clutter was gone, disappeared into the white tubs that were stacked high on every shelf, leaving the work-surfaces clear. But Lesterâs works-in-progress, his keepsakes, his sculptures and triptychs were still out, looking like venerated museum pieces in the stark tidiness that prevailed otherwise.
Tjan took her through the spreadsheets. âThere are ten teams that do closet-organizing in the network, and a bunch of shippers, packers, movers, and storage experts. A few furniture companies. We adopted the interface from some free software inventory-management apps that were built for illiterate service employees. Lots of big pictures and autocompletion. And weâve bought a hundred RFID printers from a company that was so grateful for a new customer that theyâre shipping us 150 of them, so we can print these things at about a million per hour. The plan is to start our sales through the consultants at the same time as we start showing at trade-shows for furniture companies. Weâve already got a huge order from a couple of local old-folksâ homes.â
They walked to the IHOP to have a celebratory lunch. Being back in Florida felt just right to her. Francis, the leader of the paramilitary wing of the AARP, threw them a salute and blew her a kiss, and even Lesterâs nursing junkie friend seemed to be in a good mood.
When they were done, they brought take-out bags for the junkie and Francis in the shantytown.
âI want to make some technology for those guys,â Perry said as they sat in front of Francisâs RV drinking cowboy coffee cooked over a banked wood-stove off to one side. âRoom-mate-ware for homeless people.â
Francis uncrossed his bony ankles and scratched at his mosquito bites. âA lot of people think that we donât buy stuff, but itâs not true,â he said. âI shop hard for bargains, but thereâs lots of stuff I spend more on because of my lifestyle than I would if I had a real house and steady electricity. When I had a chest-freezer, I could bulk buy ground round for about a tenth of what I pay now when I go to the grocery store and get enough for one nightâs dinner. The alternative is using propane to keep the fridge going overnight, and thatâs not cheap, either. So Iâm a kind of premium customer. Back at Boeing, we loved the people who made small orders, because we could charge them such a premium for custom work, while the big airlines wanted stuff done so cheap that half the time we lost money on the deal.â
Perry nodded. âThere you have itâroommate-ware for homeless people, a great and untapped market.â
Suzanne cocked her head and looked at him. âYouâre sounding awfully commerce-oriented for a pure and unsullied engineer, you know?â
He ducked his head and grinned and looked about twelve years old. âItâs infectious. Those little kitchen gnomes, we sold nearly a half-million of those things, not to mention all the spin-offs. Thatâs a half-million livesâa half-million householdsâthat we changed just by thinking up something cool and making it real. These RFID things of Lesterâsâweâll sign a couple million customers with those. People will change everything about how they live from moment to moment because of something Lester thought up in my junkyard over there.â
âWell, thereâs thirty million of us living in what the social workers call âmarginal housing,ââ Francis said, grinning wryly. He had a funny smile that Suzanne had found adorable until he explained that he had an untreated dental abscess that he couldnât afford to get fixed. âSo thatâs a lot of difference you could make.â
âYeah,â Perry said. âYeah, it sure is.â
That night, she found herself still blogging and answering emailsâthey always piled up when she travelled and took a couple of late nights to clear outâafter nine PM, sitting alone in a pool of light in the back corner of Lesterâs workshop that she had staked out as her office. She yawned and stretched and listened to her old back crackle. She hated feeling old, and late nights made her feel oldâfeel every extra ounce of fat on her tummy, feel the lines bracketing her mouth and the little bag of skin under her chin.
She stood up and pulled on a light jacket and began to switch off lights and get ready to head home. As she poked her head in Tjanâs office, she saw that she wasnât the only one working late.
âHey, you,â she said. âIsnât it time you got going?â
He jumped like heâd been stuck with a pin and gave a little yelp. âSorry,â he said, âdidnât hear you.â
He had a cardboard box on his desk and had been filling it with his personal effectsâlittle one-off inventions the guys had made for him, personal fetishes and tchotchkes, a framed picture of his kids.
âWhatâs up?â
He sighed and cracked his knuckles. âMight as well tell you now as tomorrow morning. Iâm resigning.â
She felt a flash of anger and then forced it down and forcibly replaced it with professional distance and curiosity. Mentally she licked her pencil-tip and flipped to a blank page in her reporterâs notebook.
âOh yes?â
âIâve had another offer, in Westchester County. Westinghouse has spun out its own version of Kodacell and theyâre looking for a new vice-president to run the division. Thatâs me.â
âGood job,â she said. âCongratulations, Mr Vice-President.â
He shook his head. âI emailed Kettlewell half an hour ago. Iâm leaving in the morning. Iâm going to say goodbye to the guys over breakfast.â
âNot much notice,â she said.
âNope,â he said, a note of anger creeping into his voice. âMy contract lets Kodacell fire me on one dayâs notice, so I insisted on the right to quit on the same terms. Maybe Kettlewell will get his lawyers to write better boilerplate from here on in.â
When she had an angry interview, she habitually changed the subject to something sensitive: angry people often say more than they intend to. She did it instinctively, not really meaning to psy-ops Tjan, whom she thought of as a friend, but not letting that get in the way of the story. âWestinghouse is doing what, exactly?â
âItâll be as big as Kodacellâs operation in a year,â he said. âGeorge Westinghouse personally funded Teslaâs research, you know. The company understands funding individual entrepreneurs. Iâm going to be training the talent scouts and mentoring the financial people, then turning them loose to sign up entrepreneurs for the Westinghouse network. Thereâs a competitive market for garage inventors now.â He laughed. âGo ahead and print that,â he said. âBlog it tonight. Thereâs competition now. Weâre giving two points more equity and charging half a point less on equity than the Kodacell network.â
âThatâs amazing, Tjan. I hope youâll keep in touch with meâIâd love to follow your story.â
âCount on it,â he said. He laughed. âIâm getting a week off every eight weeks to scout Russia. Theyâve got an incredible culture of entrepreneurship.â
âPlus youâll get to see your kids,â Suzanne said. âThatâs really good.â
âPlus, Iâll get to see my kids,â he admitted.
âHow much money is Westinghouse putting into the project?â she asked, replacing her notional notebook with a real one, pulled from her purse.
âI donât have numbers, but theyâve shut down the whole appliances division to clear the budget for it.â She noddedâsheâd seen news of the layoffs on the wires. Mass demonstrations, people out of work after twenty yearsâ service. âSo itâs a big budget.â
âThey must have been impressed with the quarterlies from Kodacell.â
Tjan folded down the flaps on his box and drummed his fingers on it, squinting at her. âYouâre joking, right?â
âWhat do
Tjan did a little two-step. âIt was Lesterâs idea. Have a look in the boxes.â
She pulled a couple of the tubs out. They were jam-packed with books, tools, cruft and crudâall the crap that had previously cluttered the shelves and the floor and the sofa and the coffee table.
âWatch this,â he said. He unvelcroed a wireless keyboard from the side of the TV and began to type: T-H-E C-O. . . The field autocompleted itself: THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO, and brought up a picture of a beaten-up paperback along with links to web-stores, reviews, and the full text. Tjan gestured with his chin and she saw that the front of one of the tubs was pulsing with a soft blue glow. Tjan went and pulled open the tub and fished for a second before producing the book.
âTry it,â he said, handing her the keyboard. She began to type experimentally: U-N and up came UNDERWEAR (14). âNo way,â she said.
âWay,â Tjan said, and hit return, bringing up a thumbnail gallery of fourteen pairs of underwear. He tabbed over each, picked out a pair of Simpsons boxers, and hit return. A different tub started glowing.
âLester finally found a socially beneficial use for RFIDs. Weâre going to get rich!â
âI donât think I understand,â she said.
âCome on,â he said. âLetâs get to the junkyard. Lester explains this really well.â
He did, too, losing all of the shyness she remembered, his eyes glowing, his sausage-thick fingers dancing.
âHave you ever alphabetized your hard drive? I mean, have you ever spent any time concerning yourself with where on your hard drive your files are stored, which sectors contain which files? Computers abstract away the tedious, physical properties of files and leave us with handles that we use to persistently refer to them, regardless of which part of the hard drive currently holds those particular bits. So I thought, with RFIDs, you could do this with the real world, just tag everything and have your furniture keep track of where it is.
âOne of the big barriers to roommate harmony is the correct disposition of stuff. When you leave your book on the sofa, I have to move it before I can sit down and watch TV. Then you come after me and ask me where I put your book. Then we have a fight. Thereâs stuff that you donât know where it goes, and stuff that you donât know where itâs been put, and stuff that has nowhere to put it. But with tags and a smart chest of drawers, you can just put your stuff wherever thereâs room and ask the physical space to keep track of whatâs where from moment to moment.
âThereâs still the problem of getting everything tagged and described, but thatâs a service business opportunity, and where youâve got other shared identifiers like ISBNs you could use a cameraphone to snap the bar-codes and look them up against public databases. The whole thing could be coordinated around âspring cleaningâ events where you go through your stuff and photograph it, tag it, describe itâgood for your insurance and for forensics if you get robbed, too.â
He stopped and beamed, folding his fingers over his belly. âSo, thatâs it, basically.â
Perry slapped him on the shoulder and Tjan drummed his forefingers like a heavy-metal drummer on the side of the workbench they were gathered around.
They were all waiting for her. âWell, itâs very cool,â she said, at last. âBut, the whole white-plastic-tub thing. It makes your apartment look like an Ikea showroom. Kind of inhumanly minimalist. Weâre Americans, we like celebrating our stuff.â
âWell, OK, fair enough,â Lester said, nodding. âYou donât have to put everything away, of course. And you can still have all the decor you want. This is about clutter control.â
âExactly,â Perry said. âCome check out Lesterâs lab.â
âOK, this is pretty perfect,â Suzanne said. The clutter was gone, disappeared into the white tubs that were stacked high on every shelf, leaving the work-surfaces clear. But Lesterâs works-in-progress, his keepsakes, his sculptures and triptychs were still out, looking like venerated museum pieces in the stark tidiness that prevailed otherwise.
Tjan took her through the spreadsheets. âThere are ten teams that do closet-organizing in the network, and a bunch of shippers, packers, movers, and storage experts. A few furniture companies. We adopted the interface from some free software inventory-management apps that were built for illiterate service employees. Lots of big pictures and autocompletion. And weâve bought a hundred RFID printers from a company that was so grateful for a new customer that theyâre shipping us 150 of them, so we can print these things at about a million per hour. The plan is to start our sales through the consultants at the same time as we start showing at trade-shows for furniture companies. Weâve already got a huge order from a couple of local old-folksâ homes.â
They walked to the IHOP to have a celebratory lunch. Being back in Florida felt just right to her. Francis, the leader of the paramilitary wing of the AARP, threw them a salute and blew her a kiss, and even Lesterâs nursing junkie friend seemed to be in a good mood.
When they were done, they brought take-out bags for the junkie and Francis in the shantytown.
âI want to make some technology for those guys,â Perry said as they sat in front of Francisâs RV drinking cowboy coffee cooked over a banked wood-stove off to one side. âRoom-mate-ware for homeless people.â
Francis uncrossed his bony ankles and scratched at his mosquito bites. âA lot of people think that we donât buy stuff, but itâs not true,â he said. âI shop hard for bargains, but thereâs lots of stuff I spend more on because of my lifestyle than I would if I had a real house and steady electricity. When I had a chest-freezer, I could bulk buy ground round for about a tenth of what I pay now when I go to the grocery store and get enough for one nightâs dinner. The alternative is using propane to keep the fridge going overnight, and thatâs not cheap, either. So Iâm a kind of premium customer. Back at Boeing, we loved the people who made small orders, because we could charge them such a premium for custom work, while the big airlines wanted stuff done so cheap that half the time we lost money on the deal.â
Perry nodded. âThere you have itâroommate-ware for homeless people, a great and untapped market.â
Suzanne cocked her head and looked at him. âYouâre sounding awfully commerce-oriented for a pure and unsullied engineer, you know?â
He ducked his head and grinned and looked about twelve years old. âItâs infectious. Those little kitchen gnomes, we sold nearly a half-million of those things, not to mention all the spin-offs. Thatâs a half-million livesâa half-million householdsâthat we changed just by thinking up something cool and making it real. These RFID things of Lesterâsâweâll sign a couple million customers with those. People will change everything about how they live from moment to moment because of something Lester thought up in my junkyard over there.â
âWell, thereâs thirty million of us living in what the social workers call âmarginal housing,ââ Francis said, grinning wryly. He had a funny smile that Suzanne had found adorable until he explained that he had an untreated dental abscess that he couldnât afford to get fixed. âSo thatâs a lot of difference you could make.â
âYeah,â Perry said. âYeah, it sure is.â
That night, she found herself still blogging and answering emailsâthey always piled up when she travelled and took a couple of late nights to clear outâafter nine PM, sitting alone in a pool of light in the back corner of Lesterâs workshop that she had staked out as her office. She yawned and stretched and listened to her old back crackle. She hated feeling old, and late nights made her feel oldâfeel every extra ounce of fat on her tummy, feel the lines bracketing her mouth and the little bag of skin under her chin.
She stood up and pulled on a light jacket and began to switch off lights and get ready to head home. As she poked her head in Tjanâs office, she saw that she wasnât the only one working late.
âHey, you,â she said. âIsnât it time you got going?â
He jumped like heâd been stuck with a pin and gave a little yelp. âSorry,â he said, âdidnât hear you.â
He had a cardboard box on his desk and had been filling it with his personal effectsâlittle one-off inventions the guys had made for him, personal fetishes and tchotchkes, a framed picture of his kids.
âWhatâs up?â
He sighed and cracked his knuckles. âMight as well tell you now as tomorrow morning. Iâm resigning.â
She felt a flash of anger and then forced it down and forcibly replaced it with professional distance and curiosity. Mentally she licked her pencil-tip and flipped to a blank page in her reporterâs notebook.
âOh yes?â
âIâve had another offer, in Westchester County. Westinghouse has spun out its own version of Kodacell and theyâre looking for a new vice-president to run the division. Thatâs me.â
âGood job,â she said. âCongratulations, Mr Vice-President.â
He shook his head. âI emailed Kettlewell half an hour ago. Iâm leaving in the morning. Iâm going to say goodbye to the guys over breakfast.â
âNot much notice,â she said.
âNope,â he said, a note of anger creeping into his voice. âMy contract lets Kodacell fire me on one dayâs notice, so I insisted on the right to quit on the same terms. Maybe Kettlewell will get his lawyers to write better boilerplate from here on in.â
When she had an angry interview, she habitually changed the subject to something sensitive: angry people often say more than they intend to. She did it instinctively, not really meaning to psy-ops Tjan, whom she thought of as a friend, but not letting that get in the way of the story. âWestinghouse is doing what, exactly?â
âItâll be as big as Kodacellâs operation in a year,â he said. âGeorge Westinghouse personally funded Teslaâs research, you know. The company understands funding individual entrepreneurs. Iâm going to be training the talent scouts and mentoring the financial people, then turning them loose to sign up entrepreneurs for the Westinghouse network. Thereâs a competitive market for garage inventors now.â He laughed. âGo ahead and print that,â he said. âBlog it tonight. Thereâs competition now. Weâre giving two points more equity and charging half a point less on equity than the Kodacell network.â
âThatâs amazing, Tjan. I hope youâll keep in touch with meâIâd love to follow your story.â
âCount on it,â he said. He laughed. âIâm getting a week off every eight weeks to scout Russia. Theyâve got an incredible culture of entrepreneurship.â
âPlus youâll get to see your kids,â Suzanne said. âThatâs really good.â
âPlus, Iâll get to see my kids,â he admitted.
âHow much money is Westinghouse putting into the project?â she asked, replacing her notional notebook with a real one, pulled from her purse.
âI donât have numbers, but theyâve shut down the whole appliances division to clear the budget for it.â She noddedâsheâd seen news of the layoffs on the wires. Mass demonstrations, people out of work after twenty yearsâ service. âSo itâs a big budget.â
âThey must have been impressed with the quarterlies from Kodacell.â
Tjan folded down the flaps on his box and drummed his fingers on it, squinting at her. âYouâre joking, right?â
âWhat do
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