The Empire Strikes Back
“No! How can something like this happen?”
It was absurd. Utterly absurd. After only a few psychological evaluations, a court had issued a preliminary injunction halting sales in less than a week. The dream team Ellen was assembling never even had a chance to form. Yoo Jae-won, who had once praised the American rule of law during the Los Angeles homeless serial murder case, now wore the expression of a man struck by a club in the dead of night.
—It appears the judge who issued the injunction, Samuel Schneider, is known for his pro-corporate leanings. That likely played a significant role.
It was Ellen speaking.
“Tsk. Even so, this is ridiculous! We’re not even a corporation in their eyes?”
Since his regression, this was the first time Yoo Jae-won had encountered such blatant injustice, and the complaints kept pouring out. No matter how pro-corporate the judge might be, how could he render such a critical decision—one that could determine the fate of an entire company—so quickly? Moreover, as he had just protested, ID Technology was itself an American company operating within the United States.
If the ruling had come after their lawyers had at least traded arguments in court, his heart might not have accepted it, but his head would have understood. Instead, the decision arrived before the team had even assembled. It felt as though they had just stepped into the ring for a sparring match only for the referee to raise their opponent’s hand in victory.
—I agree. Microsoft’s influence must have weighed heavily on the proceedings.
Yoo Jae-won nodded at Ellen’s analysis. Nothing else could explain such lightning-fast judgment.
—We need to request a full trial. We must win the first-instance case as quickly as possible to lift the injunction and claim damages from Microsoft.
“Of course. That goes without saying.”
The one silver lining was that the preliminary injunction was not a final judgment. America, like Korea, followed a three-tiered court system. The injunction was merely a temporary measure to prevent accumulating damages while the full trial proceeded. For companies where every day mattered, even a temporary halt was devastating—but the same applied to the opposing side, which faced an existential threat. In that sense, Microsoft’s request had been granted because their arguments had been made persuasively enough to earn the judge’s active sympathy.
“Still, there must be some basis for this decision. What was the decisive factor that made the court side with Microsoft?”
—Yes. The experts at Paul & Smith, the firm we retained, are currently reviewing the full ruling. From what we can see so far, the court appears to have accepted Microsoft’s claim of sixty million dollars in losses.
What? Sixty million dollars in losses?
Yoo Jae-won found Ellen’s report utterly preposterous. The claim was that because Android Alpha—a DOS-compatible graphical operating system—had been distributed for free to users, Microsoft had lost sixty million dollars in revenue it would have earned from MS-DOS 4.0.
Microsoft’s calculation went like this: within a month of release, they expected one million units sold, based on sales figures from MS-DOS 3.0, which had moved around six hundred thousand copies. With rising computer adoption and a steady stream of new hardware, one million sales seemed entirely plausible. At a wholesale price of one hundred dollars per package, that translated to one hundred million dollars in revenue.
Then Android Alpha entered the market with its adware model—free to users, with minimal advertising revenue from corporations—and disrupted everything. Users got it for nothing, and the low cost allowed it to devour market share at terrifying speed. Microsoft was forced to drop its own price. The wholesale price fell to sixty dollars, and aggressive volume discounts brought the effective price down to forty dollars. Revenue dropped from one hundred million to forty million dollars. The sixty-million-dollar gap, they argued, existed solely because of Android Alpha.
“Who came up with this nonsense? They lower their own prices and then blame us for their losses? That’s the height of hypocrisy.”
—Exactly. They need to go back to elementary school and relearn arithmetic. And Microsoft’s nonsense doesn’t stop there.
“There’s more?”
—They’re also claiming that because Android Alpha isn’t sold in packaged form but is instead copied at retail outlets, it teaches consumers how to engage in software piracy. The same applies to distribution via PC communications or university FTP servers. Users accustomed to these methods, they argue, will never purchase legitimate copies in the future.
Online software distribution platforms would become the dominant model in the twenty-first century. The first company to truly capitalize on that market would be Steam. If Gabe Newell, the man who would one day create Steam, heard this argument, what would he think? Come to think of it, Gabe Newell was currently employed at Microsoft, working diligently in the Windows development division. The situation was almost comical.
In any case, Yoo Jae-won regretted not being able to deploy the counterarguments he had prepared. Microsoft’s logic, however absurd, had the advantage of being intuitive. ID Technology’s position was more nuanced: by freeing users from the cost of an essential operating system, money that would have gone toward purchasing DOS could instead be spent elsewhere—on multiple game titles, for example—benefiting smaller businesses. Even larger corporations saved substantially on MS-DOS licensing thanks to Android Alpha and could redirect those savings into new product development, research, and marketing.
Ellen and the elite attorneys at Paul & Smith were gathering concrete evidence rather than relying on rhetoric alone. They planned to include commentary from Keynesian economists arguing that wealth distributed broadly across society benefited the national economy far more than wealth concentrated in a handful of giant corporations. The task was enormous, and they had yet to compile formal documentation, so for now they would rely on verbal persuasion in court.
The gavel had already fallen. They had no choice but to prepare even more thoroughly for the first-instance trial.
“So what exactly did the court order?”
—Distribution of Android Alpha must cease until the outcome of the first-instance trial. Daily downloads had been reaching tens of thousands, sometimes exceeding one hundred thousand. The software was gaining serious momentum, and being forced to halt it now was painful.
“We can’t just bump the version and keep distributing it as Android Beta?”
—Well, the injunction specifically targets Alpha, so it might technically be permissible. But I’m certain it would harm our position in the upcoming trial.
The Beta suggestion had been a joke. Android Alpha was merely the marketing name; internally, the version was 0.1. Only after incremental updates and the adoption of a Unix kernel would it become version 1.0. Yoo Jae-won briefly wondered what would have happened if Android Alpha had launched from the beginning with a Unix-style kernel. MS-DOS and Unix were fundamentally different operating systems, but given Microsoft’s current behavior, they would likely have found a way to interfere regardless of lineage.
“Understood. A court order is still a court order. We’ll respect it. Ellen, please prepare for the full trial to the best of your ability.”
—Yes. I’ll make sure no such shoddy ruling comes out of the actual trial. I’ll bring you good news as soon as possible.
Ellen’s voice rose with determination. She saw this as her moment to prove herself. Until now, opportunities to showcase her skills at ID Technology had been limited—mostly drafting final contracts with Electronic Arts or reviewing investment documents for ID Software. This case was different. It was a chance to demonstrate her full capabilities, and she intended to seize it. Having spent enough time around Remington, she had begun referring to Yoo Jae-won as “Boss” rather than “Mr. President.” The term carried an almost mafia-like undertone, yet it felt oddly natural between them.
After ending the connection with Ellen, Yoo Jae-won immediately reached out to Remington. Since they were using the messenger program rather than a phone call, there was no need to hang up and redial. From the vice president down to the development teams in Silicon Valley, every desk-bound employee was required to log in upon arrival, so contacting anyone was instantaneous.
“You’ve heard about the court ruling? We need to stop distributing Android Alpha. No need to act immediately—wait until we receive the official court documents before taking action.”
—Understood, Boss.
“And we need to clearly explain to users why this distribution ban occurred. Especially emphasize Microsoft’s overreach. I want every possible criticism raining down on them.”
—Of course!
The message was simple text, yet Remington’s furious energy came through clearly. Yoo Jae-won had no intention of simply taking the hit. He would delay the suspension as long as possible and make Microsoft’s heavy-handed tactics as public as he could—through mass media, PC communications networks, university bulletin boards, and every grassroots connection built during the ID Office marketing campaign. He was confident the news would generate significant backlash.
Once the necessary measures were in place, Yoo Jae-won closed the messenger. It was Sunday morning, and his blood was boiling. Since beginning his work after the regression, he had never experienced stress of this magnitude. The rage bubbling inside him was simply too great to contain.