The questions left Ethan a dazed. He frowned, scratching his head, puzzled by why his sister was suddenly so worked up.
But then, as he looked at Evelyn, realization struck. He had forgotten something. He had forgotten that Evelyn was an engineering student—one who actually had access to computers at Stanford.
Of course. To her, the only thing worth getting this excited about had to be the mos 6502.
After all, anyone studying computers in this era dreamed of owning one themselves.
And the arrival of a cheap CPU meant that dream was finally within reach. Yet he'd discovered the product and hadn't even bought one?
Oh—he really had been careless.
Ethan's smile returned. "Okay, okay, this one's on me. I forgot to order it for you when I found that cheap and reliable chip. My bad. I'll call them now and ask to have one mailed over."
He didn't bother making excuses—he just admitted the mistake outright.
But instead of softening, Evelyn's brows shot up. "Ethan!" she exclaimed. "Don't you get what I'm saying?"
"...?" Ethan's confused. He admitted the mistake, offered to fix it—so why wasn't she happy?
Her irritation boiled over. She jabbed him hard in the chest with her finger.
"Are you stupid? This isn't about buying a chip! It's about helping!"
"What?" Ethan blinked.
"The MOS company you're talking about—Chuck Peddle, the inventor of the 6502—they need help! Legal help!" Evelyn's voice rose, her eyes blazing.
"Why didn't you tell me about something this big the moment you got back?"
"...!"
Ethan could only stare as her words hit him. Her tone shot up another notch. "Oh my God—you really had no intention of helping, did you? Chuck Peddle and his team are trying to do something incredible! They want to bring computers into every home! To make that happen, they're even willing to stand up to Motorola! And when they run into trouble, you—" She jabbed her finger again. "—you don't even think of helping?"
She stamped her foot. "I thought you told me this because you wanted me to go to Barbara, to help them with legal advice! But you—" Her voice faltered with frustration. "You… you think all I wanted was a 6502?"
Her stammer betrayed just how angry she was. Watching her, fists clenched and hands waving through the air as if striking invisible enemies, Ethan fell silent. His lips parted, but he couldn't speak for a long while.
Because now he finally understood what Evelyn meant—what she was thinking.
Or rather, he caught a glimpse of her spirit. In truth, that spirit wasn't born with the Internet. Long before the digital age, the idea of selfless contribution had already spread through the scientific community.
Take Jonas Salk, for example, the man who developed the polio vaccine—then refused to patent it, choosing instead to save countless lives.
Ordinary people might never understand why visionaries made choices like that.
But one thing was certain: the world was brighter because such people existed.
"Okay, okay, I think I understand what you mean."
Ethan sighed, gave a small chuckle, and nodded. "Alright, I admit it—my head's always full of business ideas. Honestly, I didn't want to help them because, from their philosophy, even if I did, they'd never grant me exclusive rights to the 6502. You might look down on me for saying this, but… I see no reason to lie to you. Yes, I'm that utilitarian."
Evelyn froze for a moment, caught off guard by his bluntness. Then her gaze softened, touched with self-deprecation. She leaned back against the sofa, her voice calmer.
"Ethan, you still don't understand what I mean."
"Hm?"
"I wasn't trying to accuse you."
"Really?" Ethan raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"Of course." Evelyn let out a laugh. "Because I know research and development costs money. And if projects funded with money never see any returns, how could we possibly sustain something as expensive as scientific research?"
Her words made Ethan relax. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"What are you saying?"
"My point is simple." Evelyn's tone grew firmer. "We may not be saints, we may not be selfless—but when others are trying to contribute, we should support them. And when they're in trouble, we should do what we can to help. You might think that sounds naive, because helping others change the world won't make you famous. But…" She looked straight at him. "When you help others, you're also helping yourself."
Her idealism made Ethan purse his lips. He didn't know how to respond.
As he fumbled for words, Evelyn pressed on. "Do you think what I said is ridiculous?"
"No." Ethan shook his head firmly. "Everyone has their own beliefs—and that's their freedom."
"You still don't get it." Evelyn shook her head again. "Let me put it differently. Do you want to know why I think this way?"
That piqued Ethan's interest. "Of course. If you're willing to tell me."
"Oh, there's nothing I can't tell you—as long as you don't mind me rambling." Evelyn gave a wry smile, then sighed. "Actually, a year, maybe a year and a half ago, I thought exactly the way you do. If something had nothing to do with me and brought me no benefit, why bother getting involved? But then something happened that completely changed my mind."
She leaned forward. "Do you know about wide area networks? Basically, the telephone network. A system built from telephone lines."
"That's what the military uses," Ethan interjected.
"Exactly." Evelyn smiled and nodded. "It might've been a good invention when it was first created, but by today's standards it's outdated—slow, fragile, easily disrupted. So, to ensure communication could survive even under nuclear threat, ARPA set out to develop a network resistant to destruction."
"As for why they needed that…" she tilted her head. "I don't think I need to spell it out, right?"
"Soviets," Ethan said dryly.
"Yeah." Evelyn gave a soft laugh. Then her voice grew more animated. "From that research came ARPANET. An ARPA-led project that connected computers so they could share data. I don't know if you can fully picture it—it's still classified, hardly ever in the news—but it's incredible. Imagine this: it can break down a message into small data packets, send them to the destination, and then reassemble them on the other side. Fast. Efficient. Reliable."
Her eyes gleamed as she spoke. "In 1969 it went live, starting with just four nodes—UCLA, UCSB, the University of Utah, and Stanford. But four nodes were still too easy to wipe out. So over the years, more joined in—MIT, Harvard, Carnegie, NASA. With every addition, transmission grew more secure. But another problem appeared: ARPANET had been designed as a homogeneous system. Every computer had to use the same or compatible components and languages for data to move."
She paused for breath, then shook her head. "But getting every university and institution to agree on one computer language? Impossible. So ARPA had no choice but to solve the problem—how to make data flow across different machines, different systems, different languages. And that problem was solved by us at Stanford a year ago."
Evelyn's eyes gleamed. "Mr. Vinton—you know who I mean, right? The one I mentioned before. He and his colleague Robert Kahn cracked it together. They invented a new technology called the TCP/IP protocol. It allowed different types of computers, running on different operating languages, to finally talk to each other. Last December they ran an experiment—a single data packet traveled 60,000 miles and successfully reached a computer completely different from the one that sent it."
"In theory," Evelyn continued, "they could've wrapped things up right there, improved the system a little, and handed it over to ARPA as a finished project. But they didn't. Do you know why Professor Vinton keeps reaching out to Barbara?"
Ethan shook his head. "Because he believes TCP/IP can change the world. When the computers on the market are divided, a protocol that guarantees universal communication is the key to connecting everything. He doesn't want ARPA to own it. He wants to keep it independent. And if, one day, ordinary people need it, he'll open the license himself."
By now Ethan's face was written with shock. Evelyn pressed on.
"Do you know how stunned I was when I first realized Professor Vinton wanted to defy ARPA? But he told me—some things simply have to be done by someone. And Barbara's reaction shocked me even more. Because when he asked her for help, she agreed without a second thought."
Evelyn leaned back, remembering. "Later, I asked Barbara why she said yes so easily. She told me two reasons. First, she genuinely admired Vinton—his ideas and his courage. Second, by helping him, she was also helping herself."
She sat forward again, firm voice now. "Ethan, you said you were snobbish? Oh no—compared to Barbara, you're worse. Remember that day, when you lectured me in front of her? And she actually praised you for it? Hah!" Evelyn gave a sharp laugh. "I dare say, if she heard what you just said about not helping Chuck Peddle, she'd be deeply disappointed."
Her eyes locked onto his. "Because Barbara told me—helping Vinton today meant that if she ever ran into trouble tomorrow, Vinton would use every connection he had to help her. A man selfless enough to change the world by sharing patents would never abandon a friend in need. And there's more. By helping Vinton now, if tomorrow another person with the power to change the world appeared, that person would seek her out. People with that kind of ability are the greatest resource in the world."
Evelyn leaned forward, closer and closer, until their noses hovered barely an inch apart.
The girl fixed her gaze on Ethan, emotion flickering in her beautiful eyes. Her words, though sharp, carried a kind of brightness.
"Do you really think the 6502 patent license is the greatest benefit? Ethan, compared to those who manipulate the law for their own gain, you're almost… too kind."
Note:
① Yes, "Vinton" refers to Vinton Cerf. In 1975, the inventor of the TCP/IP protocol was indeed an assistant professor at Stanford, and he taught there.
② Barbara Babcock truly had a gift for investing in people. As mentioned before, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg—who later became the final judge appointed before the MAGA era—was actually recommended by Barbara.
On the day of Barbara's passing, The New York Times obituary directly quoted Ginsburg's words: "I would not hold the good job I have today were it not for Barbara."