Mountain View. 1585 Charleston Road.
The building was an unremarkable beige two-story structure, partially obscured by oak trees. A small metal plaque identified it: Adobe Systems. The interior contained the scent of toner and the sound of printers.
John Warnock was waiting at the front desk with coffee.
"Miss Saionji, and Miss Suzuki," he said, holding the door for Emi. "We modified the rendering algorithm overnight based on your suggestion. The preview speed has tripled. Your intuition is accurate."
Emi held her backpack straps. "I only mentioned it casually."
"Casual remarks are often close to the truth," Warnock replied, leading them into a windowless laboratory at the end of a corridor.
Inside, cooling fans operated in the dim room. In the center was a Macintosh II connected to a flatbed scanner. A young man with long hair stood nearby: Thomas Knoll, a doctoral student from the University of Michigan and the developer of the software's core code.
On the screen was a color photograph of a woman in a red swimsuit on a beach — "Jennifer in Paradise," the first photo edited in the software then codenamed 'Display.'
"Observe," Thomas said, using the one-button mouse.
He created an outline around the red swimsuit, selected blue from a palette, and clicked 'Fill.' The screen updated. The red fabric changed to dark blue.
Emi leaned toward the monitor. She removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and replaced them.
"It changed? Without a negative? Without a darkroom?"
"This is the function of digitization," Satsuki said from behind her. "No chemicals. Everything is data. 0s and 1s can represent red, or they can represent blue."
Satsuki removed a current-season S-Collection catalog from her bag and placed it on the table.
"Mr. Warnock, do you know the cost to produce this? To display one coat in five colors, we ship five garments to Paris, change the model five times, and attempt to maintain consistent lighting. It is inefficient."
She indicated the screen.
"With this, I photograph one white garment. I can change it to red, yellow, or patterned in post-production. I can adjust a model's skin texture. I can remove objects from the background. You are not selling software — you are selling the ability to revise visual content. The capacity to make reality conform to aesthetic requirements."
Thomas Knoll said, "That description is precise."
"Emi, you try," Satsuki said, guiding the girl into the chair.
Emi's hand moved the mouse. Following Thomas's instructions, she sampled the sand with the 'clone' tool and applied it over a parasol in the photo. The parasol was replaced by sand texture.
"This is more engaging than repairing radios," Emi said quietly.
Satsuki turned to the founders.
"S.A. Investment will invest five million dollars for 5% of Adobe and exclusive Asian distribution rights. Additionally, S-Collection will be your first enterprise-level client. Our next catalog will be produced entirely with this software. It will serve as your primary advertisement."
Adobe, which depended on PostScript licensing at the time, was seeking new markets. Warnock responded without delay.
"Deal. Welcome as Adobe's partner, Miss Saionji."
Outside, the California sun was intense. Satsuki stood on the steps, looking at a Marlboro billboard featuring a cowboy against a red sunset.
"Look at that, Fujita," Satsuki said as her bodyguard held the car door. "People previously operated on 'seeing is believing.' That was the standard of the film era. Soon, 'reality' will be less reliable."
She adjusted the brim of her hat.
"What we purchased is not a tool; it is an instrument to alter visual content and construct representations. We now have the capacity to define 'beauty.' This is the most significant form of representation, and a valuable business model."
As the Cadillac's windows closed, Emi remained in the laboratory upstairs. On her screen, in a pixel-based environment, she moved the mouse. A white seagull that had not existed previously appeared against a blue sky.