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recalls some research paper that documented the growing phenomenon of “phantom buzzing,” whereby someone feels the tug of a device even though it’s not actually beckoning. Researchers theorized that the phantom buzz might actually be serving as a reminder to the person of something he or she had wanted to do. The phone as proxy for the subconscious. The human brain and the computer becoming intertwined, even when the person is offline.
    A sharp gust of wind blows down the street, stinging Jeremy’s face. He shivers. He looks at the phone’s clock. It’s just before midnight.
    He puts his head down and walks to the café, heading into the wind. Instinctively, he realizes, he’s got his fingers gently pushing a fleshy spot on his left pectoral, where the nagging, pulsing pain seems to start. He rubs the spot. Then moves his fingers a few inches to the right and wraps them protectively around the key fob hanging from a chain around his neck. The key to getting into the guts of the program.
    It’s what Evan’s suing over; even though Jeremy came up with it, it was so clearly his idea, Evan contends he owns or shares the intellectual property rights to many of the underlying ideas. The user interfaces, the countdown clock, the sizzle that has so many business applications. He’s put together a well-heeled startup, SEER, to spot business trends. Evan claims the technology doesn’t work to predict war but it’s good enough to “intelligently guide” corporations about the future of their industries. His tagline: Not predicting the future, shaping it.
    Over the last year of their partnership, Jeremy and Evan were increasingly at odds. Evan seemed intent on showing Jeremy the potential business applications and Jeremy was intent on telling Evan where he could shove it.
    And so, now, in short, their relationship has devolved into a patent dispute. Jeremy thinks this is the most vile, uncivil form of conflict in the entire world, so cruelly administrative. And really, in the end, just a negotiation, not a search for truth. But it’s also utterly du jour in Silicon Valley, with companies wielding armies of lawyers to vie over who came up with what idea first. And then smiling and signing royalty contracts, one company agreeing to pay the other such-and-such licensing rights because, well, the stupid fucking court can’t really disentangle.
    At its heart, Jeremy tells himself, his opposition to such compromises is the kind of thing that drives his inability to let the little things go. One day, you let the barista at a café act like an idiot, the next you’re giving away your ideas, your soul.
    Emily tells Jeremy that it’s just an excuse to act like a jerk and that Jeremy isn’t allowing anyone else to even contribute to finding productive uses for the technology.
    And then Emily adds insult to injury: she says that Jeremy is jealous. Jealous! In particular, she says Jeremy can’t stand thatEvan had become tight with Harry, who for so long was Jeremy’s advocate and mentor. Evan and Harry seemed not just to become fast friends but to consult professionally. Maybe Evan, tired of Jeremy’s antics, was consulting Harry instead. Emily says Jeremy can’t stand to see anyone get along, especially people in his inner circle.
    In any case, if Evan wants to shut down Jeremy’s efforts and get access to the technology he claims to have helped develop, then Evan’s going to have to come and get it.
    Jeremy’s working on a theory: Evan’s doing just that. He’s somehow messing with his algorithm, trying to drive a wedge between a man and his machine, to get Jeremy to give up. Take the payoff, licensing fees, royalties, and then go work on something else. Fat chance.
    Jeremy wipes the drizzle from his arms and walks into the café. He orders a decaf and nods his nod to the Jabba the Hutt, who works the overnight shift behind the counter. Jeremy plops into a blue beanbag chair in the back. The place is about half full