Net Dreams

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Scott Krause always seemed to me to be the most representative of the conventional pilgrim experience: Have an M.B.A. from a good school, get a good manager-level job at a big Web portal, make a bundle on your options, and have the privilege of saying that money is not the motivation.

I kept waiting for the wrinkle in that best-laid plan, but it never came.

I bump into Scott on the street outside my gym, and he invites me upstairs to Infoseek's San Francisco satellite office, located on the third floor of the old Hamm's brewery. He can tell me at last what his secret project wasóit had been killed at beta phase, just before launch.

Here is my chance to hear about his defeat and aggravation, but no. He is unshakable. I probe for signs of glumness, but Scott is frustratingly buoyant. He's been reassigned to a new product that won't go online for another six months to a year. I'm confused by how he can suffer a failed launch without a scar. But Scott's father is a steamfitter, repairing boilers for a public school district. Coming from that kind of background, just to be in Silicon Valley working in the Internet space is insanely heady stuff.

'I tell my dad how much money I'm making and it's just unbelievable to him.' (During Scott's first year there, Info-

seek stock climbed from 16 to 90.) 'I remember when I was back in Tennessee. Just over a year ago. I was so ready to come out here. I dreamed of it, but I never thought that dream would actually come true.' He is awed. 'I got to work at one of the most prominent companies, on one of the most cutting-edge products.'

Michael Zilly invites me to meet him on a certain bench beside a certain fountain on the Peninsula at four o'clock on a Friday afternoon. The fountain is a water-driven sculpture, a 25-foot-tall bronze man slowly hammering the air.

He has a much hipper look about him. His hair is brush cut, his jeans jet black, his shoes boxy black leather loafers with chunky heels. He still has a bit of a stoner's hush to his voice, but his eyes are clear.

Zilly passed the COBOL exam. Properly credentialed, he became a full-time temp, on call for a Y2K-service firm. After two months at one location, he was moved to one of the most respectable firms in the entire Valley, where we're meeting today. The fountain feeds into an artificial lake, big enough to froth up in whitecaps on windy days. The 12 glass-and-brick buildings that surround it are beautiful monuments.

A couple weeks ago, the company decided to end the service firm's contract and handle the Y2K conversion internally. They asked the implementation consultants for their rÈsumÈs. Zilly had a moment of panic. Then he fudged it. It worked. The company hired him as employee number umpteen thousand, with full bennies. The security badge he wears is now laminated plastic, not flimsy card stock.

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