The Codeless Code: Case 35 Sparrow Breaks Free
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A messenger informed Abbess Jinyu that several of her monks
had devised a clever new method for storing information in
the Cloud. The monks were excited by the possibilities and
wished to develop the technology further. The abbess sent
back this message:
An egg hatches, and
Sparrow Clan has emerged.
The new clan labored night and day and produced a working
prototype. All attended the demo, and soon the Sparrow Clan
was celebrated throughout the Temple. The clan’s head monk
received another message from the abbess:
Sparrow breaks free from the shadowy forest.
All eyes behold her ascent.
At this time a prospective client was entertaining bids for
a new social networking application. The head monk arranged
a tea with the client, at which he argued that his clan’s
new software would be an ideal foundation for the proposed
system. The client agreed, and the contract was awarded to
the Sparrow Clan. Old Jinyu sent her congratulations:
Soaring alone over distant fields,
Sparrow nabs the worm
while her flock still slumbers.
The system was delivered, and enjoyed great success.
Months passed. Many came to use the application, including
developers who were intrigued and inspired by its novel use
of the Cloud. Although they did not possess the Sparrow
Clan’s software, the fundamental approach was easy to
discern.
Word reached the abbess that a Birds of a Feather session
had convened at a recent conference, and the attendees had
begun work on a standard API for this new type of Cloud
interface. The next day the head monk opened his mail to
find this warning:
Yellow leaves tumble through the air.
The flock is stirring.
The Sparrow Clan had no interest in the new API, which it
regarded as over-engineered. They continued to employ and
develop their own approach with each new contract won. Yet
cryptic notes continued to arrive:
A hundred sparrows can peck an eagle blind.
Every nightingale loves her own song best.
One bird cannot hatch an egg.
The Sparrow Clan’s software continued to evolve,
accumulating some impressive new features, but as a
consequence it was now hopelessly incompatible with the new
API specification. The head monk had no concerns (Let the
other temples enjoy their primitive implementations!) but
still he dreaded opening his mail each morning. Jinyu’s tone
grew ever darker:
The grown falcon does not dine on flies.
Temples which had adopted the new API continued to
collaborate, producing various extensions and enhancements.
Commercial ventures were spun off, competition escalated,
and soon a blizzard of glossy brochures were printed up and
dispatched by carrier pigeon to all corners of the Empire.
Even the abbess received a few, which she forwarded on with
this note:
A little fledgeling sang thus to me:
snow has fallen.
Across the Empire, governors and generals clamored for
systems built with the newer technology. Every temple in the
bidding crowed that its solution was standards-compliant—or
rather, every temple but one.
In a secluded courtyard of the Temple of the Morning Brass
Gong, a meeting was held to discuss the fate of the Sparrow
Clan. Their libraries had become liabilities, since (unlike
their competitors) they could not interoperate with the
immensely popular commercial extensions. Clients who had
adopted the Sparrow’s technology in its early days were now
demanding upgrades to the commercial solutions—but since the
interfaces were so different, the cost was prohibitively
high. Contracts were being cancelled. Worse, the temple’s
reputation had suffered.
That evening Jinyu sent a final message to the clan’s head
monk, written on a square of rice paper that had been folded
around the blade of a seppuku knife:
