The Cutting Edge | WIRED

submited by
Style Pass
2021-06-15 07:30:05

John Wick has never read anything, he doesn't know history, and he has no sense of world politics. Except for the fact that he's a gifted computer programmer, he's a zero. But four years ago, he managed to come up with an important numerical algorithm that put him on the map. It's strange that something can just appear in a person's mind, and then ... nothing. It got him on the computer science faculty at Stanford. Four years, however, is an eternity at Stanford. He hasn't produced anything of significance since. I am one of his PhD students, and I think he's on the way out. I need a lifeboat.

As we return from a consulting job at Lockheed Martin Missiles and Space in Sunnyvale, he begins talking about simulating satellite constellations. He steadies the steering wheel with his leg and waves his arms around while delivering a staccato, rapid-fire monolog. Then he grabs a large coffee from the cup holder. I can see the coffee slosh over the side of the chipped foam cup and splatter onto his crotch. He starts convulsing electrically in his seat, arching his back. The car swerves across an entire lane of traffic. "Goddamnfuckingshit!" he screams. He grits his teeth and clutches the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. Then he continues. "Getting government money is easy. They don't have people like us at these defense contractors. They need real experts." He fumbles with the cup holder, then lights a cigarette. "At Stanford we are truly on the foreskin of technology," he says, looking over at me and grinning from ear to ear.

When we get back to the campus, I watch him walk slowly down the hall to his sunlit, wood-paneled office on the second floor of Margaret Jacks Hall. I walk up the carpeted staircase to the fourth floor, where I share a common area with four other grad students. The room has an open ceiling with wooden beams suspending fluorescent-light assemblies. Cheesy, maroon-carpeted cube dividers cut up the territory. Power and Ethernet cables have been strewn all over the floor and over the walls of the cubes. Broken workstations sit on the floor. People are writing text and coding virtually any time of the day or night. I never have the place to myself, and I rarely talk to anyone. There isn't time. You constantly have to remind yourself that you're at the top of the pyramid. Lots of people would like to be here - and you are.

Leave a Comment