The Empire Strikes Back
As ID Technology rose in Silicon Valley, the computer industry landscape shifted dramatically. Some companies ascended alongside it, while others plummeted. Among those hit hardest was Microsoft.
It was almost like a one-on-one duel. ID Technology pushed into every market Microsoft once dominated. Microsoft’s business had rested on the solid foundation of MS-DOS market share, supplying office and development software. Countless companies had poured capital and talent into building new DOS variants to topple MS-DOS. Even giants like IBM and Novell had joined the fray. Yet none had delivered a decisive blow to Microsoft. Not until recently. Not until Android Alpha entered the world.
“Android Alpha. What an absurd name.”
Steve Ballmer muttered as he stared at the desktop of the operating system installed on his office computer. Every operating system before this had been some variation of DOS, usually prefixed with a company name. That made sense—DOS stood for Disk Operating System. MS-DOS meant Microsoft’s Disk Operating System. IBM’s version was naturally called IBM-DOS, and Atari’s was ATARI-DOS.
ID Technology had shattered that convention. By all rights it should have been ID-DOS, yet they named it Android Alpha.
“I thought it would fail spectacularly.”
Steve had expected Android Alpha to flop. An operating system needed a sturdy name, something reassuring. This one had none. Even if it was free, it didn’t carry forward the familiar experience users had built over years. Instead of a prompt after booting, it presented a full graphical desktop—something that felt more like a Unix window manager. Unix and Mac users might find it familiar, but it would seem alien to those on IBM-compatible PCs.
Its underlying DOS functions were also stripped down. Most commands from MS-DOS simply didn’t work. Even basic commands like DIR to list files in a directory failed. Yet a clean file manager replaced all those scattered commands. Clicking a folder icon on the desktop let users handle everything DOS commands once did.
Above all, games ran astonishingly well. Memory management was so efficient that users no longer needed complicated setups to free conventional memory. Some titles even outperformed their MS-DOS versions, thanks to the Glide X library. Even ancient games ran smoothly—machines had grown so fast that titles once requiring the turbo button disabled now worked without issue.
Then there was the Ribbon Interface. It had appeared in preview form in Keyboard Warrior and was refined in the ID Office preview. Microsoft’s leadership, after testing the ID Office preview, recognized that the interface was far more intuitive and convenient than the interface manager they planned for Windows 3.0. They intended to incorporate its strengths in the next version after Windows 3.0.
But ID Technology moved faster than Microsoft had anticipated. No one had expected them to release Android Alpha so boldly. Thanks to the Ribbon Interface, users adapted to the graphical environment with surprising ease.
“And the damn thing was given away for free.”
Many operating systems had been well-made yet failed. What set Android Alpha apart was that it was completely free. To Microsoft, it spread like a fast-growing bacterium multiplying without restraint. It reminded Steve and Gates of the freeware bearing the hated GNU mark.
“If it were truly free, we wouldn’t even need to worry.”
Yet it wasn’t entirely free. Users paid by viewing advertisements placed by companies. Microsoft had instructed its massive legal department to explore whether Android Alpha’s market-disrupting behavior could be sued, but after weeks, no promising leads had emerged. If it had been free, they could have sued it as dumping that harmed market order. Even if advertising revenue was minimal, the same logic would apply. But the advertising period lasted 100 days, and rates fluctuated with each renewal. As users abandoned corporate machines bundled with MS-DOS in favor of Android Alpha, ad rates had skyrocketed—from an initial $10,000 to $50,000.
It wasn’t just Android Alpha. The market erosion caused by the official release of ID Office was equally rapid. If they stood by and watched, their cash cow would starve. Feeling the crisis, Steve and Gates sharpened their blades.
Their first weapon was MS-DOS 4.0. A major accident had destroyed several alpha lab computers just before final completion, severely delaying the schedule, but Microsoft’s resilience had carried them through. They proudly claimed the long-promised DOS shell, along with improved large-memory management that enhanced user convenience. Of course, the strict memory management meant some programs, like ID Office, would lose compatibility—but that was unavoidable.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, kid,” Steve muttered, clenching his fist as he thought of ID Technology’s young founder.
The price announced to vendors had exceeded $100. At the final stage, however, it was slashed to $60. They also introduced a flexible discount system that grew steeper with volume purchases. Buying a million copies dropped the price to $40 each. The discounts meant significant losses for Microsoft. A single million-copy deal would cost them $20 million—$60 million if measured against the original $100 target. Gates had to ask major shareholders to forgo dividends this year. The reception was far from warm, but with control firmly in his and Steve’s hands, they pushed the pricing strategy through regardless.
This was a strategic decision to prevent losing the operating-system share of computers supplied by major vendors. With a million new PCs sold monthly in North America alone, pre-installing MS-DOS would block Android Alpha from encroaching on the IBM-compatible market at its source.
That wasn’t all. Windows 3.0 was also preparing for launch, and a new MS Office was being rushed to release alongside it. Steve’s gaze drifted to the window. He wondered how Gates was faring at the lavish Las Vegas hotel where he was announcing MS-DOS 4.0. Normally he would have assumed everything was going smoothly, but the pressure was so intense that he found himself praying Gates would unleash every ounce of showmanship and dominate the media with Microsoft’s name.
Perhaps Steve’s prayers were answered. Gates’s MS-DOS 4.0 announcement went well. The response was strong, and the media reacted positively. Combined with Microsoft’s existing influence, footage of Gates in a gray suit and pale gold tie appeared on evening news broadcasts. Yet Microsoft’s dominance of the news cycle lasted less than a day—thanks to a story from the company Steve despised most: ID Technology.
“Good afternoon. I’m Remington Sting, Vice President of ID Technology.”
Flashbulbs erupted the moment Remington finished speaking from the small stage erected in front of the flagship store. The barrage stirred old memories. In the early eighties, after cleanly resolving a massive case and holding a press conference, he had stood under similar spotlights. There had been many reporters then, but nothing compared to this crowd. It couldn’t. The event he was announcing was the largest in American corporate history. Without such a dramatic announcement, this many journalists would never have gathered.
“As you all know, the FBI recently requested technical assistance from ID Technology to solve a string of homeless murders. They had an encrypted file their own Advanced Technology Division couldn’t crack. That file, it turns out, was merely protecting a small diary inside Keyboard Warrior—a product we released. It contained only the simplest encryption scheme our development team had devised, yet the FBI couldn’t break it on their own. That was truly surprising.”
Remington’s delivery was sharp. Opportunities to gather this many people and take a subtle jab at the FBI were rare, after all. Still, he was a mature professional and now vice president of a respected company; he knew when to exercise restraint.
“What I want to tell you is this: the ID Office we announced fifteen days ago contains an encryption system far more powerful than anything in Keyboard Warrior. We are confident that any document encrypted with ID Office cannot be opened by anyone except its creator.”
The media sensed the real story was coming; flashes popped furiously. Amid the dazzling light, Remington continued.
“We are aware that many computer experts and hackers have been boasting that they cracked Keyboard Warrior and are therefore superior to the FBI. Let me be clear: the diary encryption in Keyboard Warrior is the lowest tier our company produces. ID Office, which uses our highest-grade methods, will not be broken. I state that unequivocally.”
Now came the main event.
“Based on this confidence, we are launching the first ID Office Security Challenge. The rules are simple. There is an IDW document uploaded to ID Technology’s FTP server—encrypted at the highest level using ID Office. The first person to reveal both the document’s contents and the encryption key will be declared the winner of the ID Office Security Challenge.”
Remington took a small breath before reading the final paragraph. He had known his boss was planning an interesting event, but he hadn’t expected this. After receiving the details yesterday, he had immediately called to ask if there had been a typo.
“The winner will receive a prize of ten million dollars. There are no entry requirements. Anyone around the world who is interested may participate and showcase their skills. The competition runs until December 31st, the last day of the year.”
Ten million dollars! An enormous sum. The press release had mentioned a substantial prize for an entertaining hacking contest, which was why so many media outlets had sent reporters. But ten million dollars was beyond anything they had imagined.
“Some of you may doubt ID Technology’s ability to pay. That is why I have brought a certificate of deposit from Citibank. Ten million dollars has been deposited, with a maturity date of December 31, 1989.”
Remington held up the certificate. ID Technology had prepared thoroughly, anticipating skepticism over such a large prize.
That evening, the biggest news story across America was the ten-million-dollar ID Office Security Challenge. The story spread outward from San Francisco’s Silicon Valley like ripples on a pond. Within hours it crossed the United States and reached every corner of the globe—Europe, the Middle East, Asia. The term “global village” felt suddenly real.
Naturally, everyone from casual computer enthusiasts to seasoned professionals and self-proclaimed elite hackers flocked to ID Technology’s FTP server. Even in an era of limited internet infrastructure, the number of connections was staggering. The custom-built server—equipped with the latest 486 processor, massive RAM, and a huge hard drive—could not withstand the flood of requests and crashed. Even that story—that so many people had connected that the server went down—became news itself.
The ID Office Security Challenge swept through every other topic like a hurricane.