Location: Network supervision room, Level 4 (The « Bunker »), Volta SA factory, Ivry-sur-Seine.
Date: Autumn 1996.
Viewpoint: Omniscient (Sliding focus on Xavier Niel and Lazare Bonaparte).
The Level 4 network control room was no longer the modest test lab of the previous year. The space had doubled in size, lined with giant screens displaying heat maps of Europe. Luminous lines pulsed across the surface of the continental hologram, materializing in real time the terabits of data flowing through the arteries of fiber optics and copper.
The pneumatic doors of the security airlock opened with a muffled hiss.
Xavier Niel entered with the swagger of a privateer who had just boarded an enemy frigate. The young entrepreneur, always dressed in an open-necked shirt and a dark jacket that was a little too big for him, stood in stark contrast to the austere, martial demeanor of the Volta Secure operators monitoring the consoles.
He was carrying a file under his arm, but his face, radiating joyful arrogance, spoke for itself.
Lazare Bonaparte and Karim Belkacem were waiting for him in front of the central control panel. The Ogre of Ivry, stiff in his ever-present double-breasted suit, watched the telecom hacker approach. «I have the impression that we've broken the bank, boss,» said Niel, throwing his file onto the frosted glass table, an insolent smile crossing his face. «The figures, Xavier,» demanded Lazare, insensitive to the theatricality, although the glint in his black eyes betrayed his absolute attention.
Niel leaned on the edge of the table, savoring its effect.
« The Volta-Box rollout is a massacre for the competition, » the young hacker began. « We've installed your DSLAMs in over eighty percent of France Telecom's exchanges in major urban areas. Their unions screamed, their lawyers tried to block us with lawsuits for 'damage to the public network,' but Maître Delacroix and your legal team overwhelmed them with injunctions.
They capitulated. »
Niel pointed to the screen displaying the map of France, where the connection nodes shone with a blinding intensity.
« Subscriptions are skyrocketing. Word of mouth is spreading like wildfire. Just imagine: while Americans are getting worked up over 56k modems that scream and jam the home phone line, we're offering French households a permanent, unlimited connection with a download speed of eight megabits per second!
It's pure science fiction for 1996! The American press can't believe it. Their journalists are talking about Europe as if it were a continent of aliens. »
Karim Belkacem gave a tired but proud smile. The physical architecture had lived up to its promises. The copper of the old world had been twisted by Volta's mathematics to deliver the future.
« We have the highway, Lazare, » Niel concluded, his eyes shining with libertarian fervor. « And to market this access independently, I restructured my company.
I chose a new name. A name that will make the old dinosaurs in the government, who charged us exorbitant prices for a minute of Minitel, grind their teeth. » «And what is that name?» Karim inquired.
« Free . »
The word floated in the cold air of the Bunker. Free . Libre. Gratuit. It was an absolute provocation, a semantic middle finger to the established order of global telecommunications.
Lazare gave a very slight nod of approval. The name was a stroke of marketing genius. It sold the perfect illusion of digital emancipation. «The physical infrastructure is a triumph, Xavier.
I acknowledge that,» Lazare admitted in a low, stony voice. «You laid the pipes with formidable efficiency.» Niel straightened up, puffed up by the Builder's rare compliment. «The telecom war is won, Lazare. We have the fastest network on the planet.
Europe is connected.» Silence suddenly fell over the room. Lazarus's half-smile vanished, replaced by an unbearably dense coldness. «Do you think the war is won because you poured the bitumen?» the engineer asked softly, approaching the control console.
He lightly touched the keyboard with his pale hand. The immense map of Europe vanished from the main screen, instantly replaced by thousands of lines of code scrolling by at breakneck speed. Strings of numbers, IP addresses, TCP/IP protocol headers.
« Look at this screen, Xavier. Look at it closely, ordered Lazare, the timbre of his voice plunging into an abyssal gravity. »
The founder of Free frowned, struggling to read the HTTP requests that were displayed. Karim Belkacem, for his part, paled slightly, immediately understanding what his boss was getting at. «What do you see?» demanded Lazarus. «These are the real-time connection logs,» Niel analyzed. «The data packets that pass through our routers.
Our subscribers surfing the web.» «And where are they surfing?» insisted Lazarus, slamming his index finger down on the screen. «Read the destinations!» Niel approached. The URLs lined up, relentless.
yahoo.com
altavista.digital.com
aol.com
netscape.com
The demonstration was stunning.
« You've built the fastest and most perfect highway in the world, Xavier, » Lazare analyzed with absolute cynicism. « But look where your tracks lead.
They all lead, without exception, to America. Our users turn on their Compaq AXIOM computers , powered by our VESLA processor , they connect via your Volta-Box , and the very first thing they do… is open the American Netscape browser to look up information in American directories like Yahoo or AltaVista . »
Lazare moved away from the screen, clasping his hands behind his back, his dark gaze fixed on the young entrepreneur.
« What good is owning the road if all the destinations belong to our enemies? » growled Lazarus. « We are becoming the free taxi drivers of the American economy! We are providing them with high-speed logistics so they can implant their culture, their services, and soon their commerce directly into European living rooms! »
Xavier Niel's silence betrayed a brutal realization. The libertarian idealism of the «free network» had just crashed against the ruthless realism of the geopolitics of attention.
« In 1849, » Lazare continued, his voice becoming more professorial, but still laced with venom, « a rumor sparked the California Gold Rush. Hundreds of thousands of men left everything behind to dig in the mud of American rivers.
Ninety-nine percent of them died ruined, insane, or murdered. »
He moved forward until he almost touched Niel's shoulder.
« Do you know who the only men were who became untouchable billionaires during that gold rush? Those who never held a gold pan in their lives. Levi Strauss, Leland Stanford, Samuel Brannan.
Those who sold shovels, picks, sieves, and canvas tent pants. »
Lazare pointed to the screen where global traffic was going haywire.
What's happening right now on the World Wide Web is the new gold rush. Silicon Valley is panicking. American companies are tearing each other apart to see who will have the best browser.
Netscape and Microsoft are tearing each other apart in a civil war that will eventually attract the wrath of antitrust laws. Thousands of startups are raising insane amounts of money to create websites that will serve no purpose.
They're digging in the mud, Xavier. They're looking for gold nuggets in the chaos of the network.
Lazarus straightened up, dominating the room with his full intellectual authority. The man who had already lived through the end of this story in his original timeline knew perfectly well how the equation would be solved.
« We won't stoop to digging with them. We won't create a browser to compete with Netscape . It's an ego trap, a battle we're destined to lose, and it would only bring us legal trouble.
We're going to be the shovel sellers of the 21st century. »How?« asked Niel, fascinated by the darkness of the vision. »How do you monetize emptiness?« » The highway you've built is magnificent, Xavier, « Lazarus replied, a thin, predatory smile stretching his lips.
» But the highway is free. We need the toll. And that toll won't be financial.
It will be cognitive. We're going to capture the entry point to the Matrix. « »
Lazare turned to Karim Belkacem.
« Prepare the tactical projection room, Karim. Physical recreation is over. It's time to show them the architecture of the void. »
Location: Tactical projection room, Level 4 (The « Bunker »), Volta SA factory, Ivry-sur-Seine.
Date: Autumn 1996.
Viewpoint: Omniscient (Sliding focus on Lazare Bonaparte, Xavier Niel and Karim Belkacem).
The tactical projection room on Level 4 was plunged into a semi-darkness pierced only by the bluish glow of the holographic table. Around this frosted glass cylinder, three men observed the virtual representation of the global network.
Thousands of connection points pulsed across the surface of a wireframe digital globe. It was a rapidly expanding, chaotic, exponential, and, for the moment, utterly anarchic universe.
Xavier Niel, arms crossed, eyes shining with pioneer fever, had just realized that his ADSL infrastructure, revolutionary as it was, was nothing more than an asphalt network. Lazare Bonaparte was about to reveal to him how Volta SA intended to become its highway code, its signage, and above all, its sole tollbooth. «The World Wide Web is like the Library of Alexandria, growing by a million books a day, but no one has thought to write the catalogue,» began Lazare, his deep, mineral voice resonating in the perfect acoustics of the room.
The young, twenty-eight-year-old CEO stepped forward, pointing to the surface of the light table.
« Look at our American competitors. Look at Yahoo !. It's not a technological tool, it's a glorified phone book.
Human beings, sitting behind desks in California, manually categorize websites into thematic sections. It's archaic. It's a shopkeeper's approach.
In two years, when the web has hundreds of millions of pages, their army of information specialists will be overwhelmed by the sheer volume. Their model is mathematically doomed from the start. »
Karim Belkacem, Volta's technical director, nodded slowly. He knew the system's limitations. «And what about the others?» Niel interjected, his mind racing. « AltaVista , Lycos ?
They're real search engines. They use indexing robots.» « They use stupid bots, » Lazare snapped, his contempt icy.
« Their algorithms simply count how often a keyword appears on a page. If a user types 'computer,' AltaVista returns the page that repeats the word 'computer' the most. It's astoundingly naive.
A malicious developer only needs to write the hidden word a thousand times in white text on a white background to propel their garbage website to the top of the search results. It's the triumph of spam and mediocrity. »
Lazare leaned back against the command console. His face, lit from below by the screen's light, took on the features of a prophet dictating a new physical law. «Semantic occurrence indexing is a dead end,» he declared. «We're going to introduce a new paradigm.
We're no longer going to analyze what a page says about itself. We're going to analyze what the rest of the world says about that page.» Xavier Niel narrowed his eyes, disconcerted by the approach. Karim, on the other hand, froze.
The mind of the VoltaOS designer had just glimpsed the outline of the algorithmic monster his boss was unleashing. « PageRank ...» Karim murmured, unknowingly using the term that would make Google's fortune two years later. «You want to apply the logic of academic citations to the entire global network.» « Exactly, »
Lazare confirmed, a predatory grin stretching his lips. « In academia, the importance of a thesis isn't measured by the number of times the author repeats a word, but by the number of times that thesis is cited by other renowned researchers.
We're going to apply this principle to hypertext. »
Lazare typed a command on the glass keyboard. The globe gave way to a nodal tree, a complex mathematical graph where spheres of different sizes were connected by vectors.
« If site A contains a hyperlink pointing to site B, that's a vote of confidence, » Lazarus explained with surgical clarity. « But not all votes are created equal. If an obscure personal page links to you, your 'weight' only increases by an infinitesimal fraction.
On the other hand, if the MIT website, the French government website, or the BBC website links to you, then the value of the link transfers massive authority to your page. The algorithm will calculate the probability that a user clicking randomly on links will end up on a given page. »
The sixty-year-old engineer trapped in the body of a twenty-year-old had just revealed the best-kept secret of the 21st century.
« Relevance through cross-reputation, » Xavier Niel breathed, his breath coming in short gasps, taking in the terrifying brilliance of the concept. « The engine will no longer be manipulable.
It's the very structure of the human network, peer validation, coded in real time. It's brilliant. It's absolute. »
But Karim Belkacem, struck by the magnitude of the challenge, approached the table, his fists clenched.
« Lazare, that's graph theory applied on a planetary scale! » exclaimed the technical director, panic surging beneath his admiration. « You're talking about solving matrices containing hundreds of millions, even billions of variables!
To recalculate the 'weight' of each web page every time a new link is created, you need insane computing power. No commercial server from IBM or Sun Microsystems can handle that! It's physically impossible! »
Lazarus's smile widened. A cold, calculated, self-satisfied smile. He turned towards the large interior window of the projection room.
Behind the thick bulletproof glass lay the inner workings of the Omega-1 Data Center .
Thousands of Generation 2 IMPERATOR servers , lined up like a terracotta army, throbbed in the refrigerated gloom.
« It's impossible for them, Karim, » Lazare corrected in a low, almost liturgical voice. « Why do you think I poured all our 1995 profits into building four colossal data centers across Europe?
Why do you think I demanded CELLA-M2 synchronous DDR memory from Volkov and his Russian engineers, capable of churning out gigabytes per second? »
Lazare placed his hand flat on the windowpane.
« I didn't build these fortresses solely to store national defense secrets or Bank of France transactions. I constructed the only physical strike force on the planet capable of processing this mathematical matrix in real time.
Volta's silicon is the only ecosystem in the world capable of calculating the indexing algorithm I just dictated to you. »
Xavier Niel felt his legs tremble. Lazarus never moved a piece unless he had already locked down the entire board ten moves in advance. «And that's where your role as an intermediary takes on a historical dimension, Xavier,» announced Lazare, turning back to the head of Free. «My role?» exclaimed the telecom pirate, astonished. «I provide ADSL access.
You have the computing power. Launch your own search engine under the Volta brand!» «Absolutely not,» Lazarus declared.
The injunction sounded like a crack of a whip. Lazare left the window and returned to his executive chair, assuming the posture of a legal strategist.
« North America, the European Commission, the competition authorities… They're watching us with the terror of a hunted animal, » Lazare explained. « We already have a near-monopoly on high-performance processor architecture, institutional servers, and bank clearing networks.
If Volta SA officially launches its own search engine and integrates it natively into its systems, we'll be accused of sprawling hegemony. That's the mistake Microsoft is about to make by trying to force Internet Explorer into Windows.
They'll end up torn apart by the antitrust laws of the US Department of Justice. I refuse to give them ammunition to beat me with by ignorant regulators. »
Lazarus leaned on his elbows.
« I want Free , as an internet service provider and independent legal entity, to develop the public interface of this search engine. You will create the lightweight, streamlined browser, as well as the public web portal.
The face of the interface will be yours. But the engine running deep within the tool, the indexing API, will be secretly powered by servers in Ivry and licensed by Volta. »You want to stay in the shadow of the reactor,« Niel understood. »I want to file the patents,« corrected Lazare, his eye shining with absolute legal darkness. »
The young billionaire revealed the second blade of his guillotine.
« Armand Delacroix and our lawyers in Geneva are currently working on drafting worldwide patents covering the cross-relevance indexing algorithm and the architecture of distributed server networks for processing massive databases. We are going to patent the very logic of modern search. »
Lazare crossed his fingers, relishing the mechanics of legal racketeering.
When other companies, American or Asian, realize in a few years that our method is the only viable one for indexing the web, they will try to copy it. And that's when we'll close the trap. We won't block them.
We'll sell them operating licenses at prices calculated down to the cent. We'll let them exist, but they'll pay a tithe to Volta on every query performed on their own search engines. We won't be the exclusive search engine; we'll be the tax collector of the global internet.
Xavier Niel let out a nervous laugh, appalled by the architectural cynicism of the maneuver. The young postal service hack thought he was playing on the fringes of the system; Lazare Bonaparte was busy drafting the constitution of the new world.
« You give me God's algorithm, you let me design the public interface, and in exchange for this subcontracting, you collect the worldwide patents… » Niel summarized, his mind racing. « That's masterful, Lazare.
But how does my company, Free , make money in this? A search engine is free for the user. I'm going to burn millions on bandwidth to run a portal that doesn't bring me a single penny! »
Lazarus rose slowly. The smile he gave the young entrepreneur was that of the original tempter offering the fruit of knowledge.
« Free access is the ultimate illusion, Xavier. It's the most beautiful trap ever devised by capitalism. »
Lazare approached the whiteboard in the tactics room and grabbed a red marker.
« The traditional banner ads that American websites are starting to display are visual pollution. They are random, indiscriminate, and sold as a package deal like adverts in a newspaper. It's all very amateurish. »
With a red line, he drew a clean search page. A text field, a list of results, and a narrow right-hand sidebar.
« Imagine for a moment the value of human attention. When a user types a query into your search engine, they are not just looking for information. They are entrusting you with their most intimate intention , at the precise second they formulate it. »
Lazare tapped the marker against the board, chanting each syllable.
If someone types «AXIOM computer,» they don't want to see an ad for toothpaste. They're in the process of making an immediate purchase. I want Free to develop a completely revolutionary advertising platform.
Proprietary real-time bidding technology.
Karim and Niel listened, paralyzed, to the invention of the economic model that would make Silicon Valley's fortune, unveiled by a Frenchman in the suburbs of Paris.
« We're no longer going to sell ad space. We're going to sell keywords, » Lazare dictated.
« Companies will bid to have their discreet, embedded text ads appear in this right-hand column, but only when the user types the word they've purchased. And best of all, the brilliant part: the advertiser won't pay for the ad to be displayed.
They'll only pay if the user clicks on it. » «Cost Per Click...» Xavier Niel stammered, feeling his legs buckle under the weight of the virtual billions that had just formed in his mind. «Advertisers will flock to it! The targeting is absolute!
It's the Holy Grail of advertising!» « And since it's an automated blind auction system, » Lazare concluded, « companies will fight each other to appear at the top of the list, mechanically driving up the price per click without any intervention from you.
It's an automated, infinitely scalable cash-printing machine that feeds on the vanity and needs of global commerce. »
The young CEO of Volta closed the cap of his marker.
« You wanted to know how Free was going to make money, Xavier? Here's your business model. I'm giving you the tool to ransom global commerce.
You'll create the portal, you'll create the advertising network, and you'll be rich beyond all reason. »
Xavier Niel remained silent. Lazarus's audacity had just short-circuited all his own ambitions. He had come with the pride of having laid ADSL cables; he was leaving with the keys to the nervous system of global commerce.
But Lazare Bonaparte was not a philanthropist. The clarity of his presentation was merely the anesthetic preceding the surgical incision. «However, Xavier, this vision comes at a price,» announced Lazare, the timbre of his voice suddenly plunging into a steely gravity.
Niel stiffened. The corsair's euphoria immediately gave way to the businessman's mistrust.
« Last year, when your infrastructure was created, Volta SA took a five percent stake in your capital in exchange for our technological support and our twenty million francs, recalled Lazare, walking around the table to stand less than a meter away from him. »That was the agreement,« Niel defended himself. »I kept ninety-five percent. I'm master in my own house.« — Not anymore. »
The words fell like a court-martial sentence. Lazare crossed his arms over his chest, his imposing figure dominating the young entrepreneur.
« The algorithms I just shared with you, the use of our massive data centers to power your engine, and the architecture of the targeted advertising network are not mere 'tips.' They are the very core of the next millennium's economy. In exchange for granting these technologies to your holding company—the Iliad Group , your parent company—Volta SA demands an increase in its stake.
I want an additional ten percent. Immediately. »
Xavier Niel took the blow hard, his face turning crimson. The pirate's instinct rebelled violently against the expropriation.
« Fifteen percent of my parent company's capital?! » Niel exclaimed, raising his voice, his fists trembling with anger. « It's a robbery, Lazare!
You're exploiting my dependence on your servers to bleed me dry! And from a legal standpoint, it's suicide for you! The competition authorities will be all over us!
If the undisputed master of microprocessors takes such a massive stake in the leading internet service provider and the only European search engine, Brussels and Washington will cry foul, claiming it's an absolute monopoly! You'll be facing a massive antitrust lawsuit, and so will I! »
Lazarus did not flinch in the face of his partner's outburst. He let the silence absorb the echoes of Niel's anger, before sketching a sneer of sublime legal perversity.
« You underestimate Mr. Delacroix and my listeners, Xavier. I had this equity investment modeled by the best tax specialists in Geneva before you even crossed the threshold of my factory this morning. »
Lazare leaned back against the bay window, confident.
« The threshold for triggering antitrust action by the European Commission and the US Department of Justice rests on the notion of »decisive control« . This warning threshold, the automatic blocking minority or presumed vertical integration, is traditionally set above twenty-five or thirty percent of voting rights, depending on the jurisdiction. »
He pointed an absolute index finger at Niel.
Iliad group to fifteen percent —or even if we contractually decide to cap it at twenty percent—we deliberately and structurally remain below the critical alert threshold. Legally, Volta SA is only a «strategic minority investor.» We do not hold a majority on the board of directors.
We do not run your company. Competition authorities will not be able to initiate dismantling proceedings for abusive vertical integration, because the articles of association will prove that Free is independent.
The legal trap was terrifyingly beautiful. Lazare was organizing a massive siphoning of future profits without ever exposing himself to legal management responsibility.
« I'm offering you the perfect antitrust shield, Xavier, » Lazarus murmured, his voice almost hypnotic. « You retain eighty percent of your holding company. You'll be the face of the digital rebellion, the untouchable CEO, adored by the masses for liberating the internet.
You'll be worth tens of billions. And behind the scenes, in the comfortable shadow of the minority 15 percent, Volta will collect its cut of global advertising revenue without ever incurring the wrath of the judges. »
Lazare stepped forward and took a thin black lacquer fountain pen from his jacket pocket. He placed it on the file that Niel had brought at the beginning of the meeting.
« The sovereignty of anonymity, Xavier. That's the essence of modern power. We have the servers, you have the browser and the control room.
We share the gold, but I keep the patents, and you keep the spotlight. »
Xavier Niel looked at the pen. He gazed at the young silicon monarch facing him. He felt the sting of extortion, the narcissistic wound of having to relinquish a fraction of his nascent empire.
But the spirit of the mathematician and the pragmatic businessman prevailed. Eighty percent of a matrix that would dominate the planet was worth infinitely more than one hundred percent of a simple local network of copper cables.
With a swift, resigned but resolutely ambitious gesture, the founder of Free seized the pen and initialed the share transfer agreement, definitively linking the fate of the immaterial network to the silicon fortress of Val-de-Marne. «You are the devil, Bonaparte,» Niel said, putting down the pen, a bitter smile mixed with immense respect floating on his lips.
« The devil is a romantic, Mr. Niel, » retorted Lazare, taking the contract, his marble face sealing the alliance. « I'm just an architect.
Get your algorithms ready. The century is about to run on our servers. »