If you could utilize the resources of the end users' computers

Host: The office was quiet — too quiet — the kind of stillness that hums with invisible electricity. Through the tall windows, the city shimmered in digital dusk; towers of glass reflected screens upon screens, a skyline made of algorithms. The hum of servers filled the air like an artificial heartbeat. Rows of dormant monitors blinked faintly, awaiting command.

Jack sat at the long conference table, the glow of his laptop illuminating the hard edges of his face. A half-empty coffee cup steamed beside a pile of tangled wires. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the table, her posture calm, her eyes alive with thought.

Above them, projected onto the glass wall, was a single line of text:

"If you could utilize the resources of the end users' computers, you could do things much more efficiently."
— Niklas Zennström

Jeeny: “He meant it as a vision, you know. Not control. The idea that power could be shared — that the world could work like a network of equals.”

Jack: (smirking) “A utopian idea — until someone realized equality runs slower than centralization. Look what it turned into: data mining, corporate cloud empires, people trading their privacy for speed.”

Host: The light from the screens flickered, casting soft blue shadows across their faces — the glow of modern confessionals. A gentle vibration came from Jack’s phone. He didn’t look.

Jeeny: “You always see the cage, never the key. What Zennström built wasn’t control — it was connection. Peer-to-peer meant people weren’t just users; they were part of the system. Shared computing, shared responsibility. The dream was collaboration.”

Jack: “And the result was exploitation. Napster, Skype, BitTorrent — they began as revolutions and ended as acquisitions. Every shared dream becomes a business model, Jeeny. Efficiency is the bait. Dependence is the hook.”

Host: The air trembled faintly with the sound of cooling fans. Somewhere in the building, a generator hummed — persistent, mechanical, alive. Jeeny walked toward the window, watching the reflection of endless lights — each one a person, each one a terminal.

Jeeny: “You talk like humanity’s a virus that ruins every system it touches. Maybe it’s not that we corrupt networks — maybe we just mirror them. Zennström’s idea wasn’t evil; it was neutral. The problem isn’t shared power. It’s greed.”

Jack: (leaning forward) “Greed is the network, Jeeny. It’s what powers every node. You think peer-to-peer is freedom? No. It’s decentralized dependency. You’re still part of someone else’s circuit. You’re still feeding the system.”

Jeeny: “And yet, without sharing, the system dies. Look at the early days — SETI@home, folding@home — millions of users donating processing power for science, for health. Ordinary people, building extraordinary things together. That was the point. The resource wasn’t the computer — it was trust.”

Host: Her words hung in the charged air. Jack looked at her, his expression a mix of skepticism and reluctant admiration. The rain began to fall against the windows, fine and rhythmic — like code cascading down a screen.

Jack: “Trust is the most inefficient code ever written. People betray it faster than processors overheat. Look around — every promise of open access has turned into a closed ecosystem. Google was once about democracy of information. Now it’s just empire.”

Jeeny: “Empires always fall, Jack. But the network survives. It reconfigures, it adapts. Peer-to-peer isn’t dead — it’s reborn in every open-source coder, every decentralized app, every student in some forgotten part of the world sharing files over a dying connection because it’s the only way to learn.”

Host: The lightning outside flashed briefly, its reflection dancing across their faces — a silent exclamation point in the argument of progress. The room seemed to breathe, as though the building itself was listening.

Jack: “You really think that’s what Zennström saw? Freedom?”

Jeeny: “He saw efficiency. But efficiency is just the architecture. What we build inside it — that’s where freedom lives.”

Jack: “So, you’re saying the problem isn’t the network, but the intent.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The same wires that transmit surveillance can also carry revolution. The same code that spies can save. The technology is neutral — only its purpose decides whether it liberates or enslaves.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, blurring the skyline until the lights outside looked like circuits underwater. Jack turned off his laptop and stared at the dark screen, his own reflection fractured by faint residual light.

Jack: “You talk about purpose as if it’s programmable. But who writes that code, Jeeny? Who decides what freedom looks like?”

Jeeny: “Everyone. Or at least, everyone should. That was the whole point of peer-to-peer — that the system belongs to everyone who participates. The moment we stop participating consciously, we surrender authorship.”

Jack: “So what are we now? End users or end products?”

Jeeny: “Both — for now. But we can still choose which one defines us.”

Host: The silence that followed was soft but deep, like a pause between heartbeats. Outside, the storm began to fade, and through the thinning rain, the city’s pulse returned — blinking lights, moving cars, signals bouncing invisibly through the air.

Jeeny moved closer, her reflection merging with his on the dark glass.

Jeeny: “You see inefficiency as weakness. But maybe inefficiency is what makes us human. Machines optimize; humans empathize. Maybe what Zennström didn’t say — what he couldn’t say — is that the true resource isn’t computing power. It’s consciousness.”

Jack: “And consciousness can’t be distributed.”

Jeeny: “Not yet.”

Host: Her smile was faint, electric — the kind that lingers in the mind longer than the sound of thunder. Jack looked at her, then back at the dark city beyond, its countless unseen networks humming in silent unity.

Jack: “So maybe the future isn’t in the cloud or the code — maybe it’s in how we share both.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The revolution isn’t about making the network efficient. It’s about making it ethical.”

Host: The lights in the room dimmed automatically — an energy-saving protocol — but it felt like symbolism, as if the world itself were listening, conserving power for what might come next.

Jeeny picked up the old whiteboard marker and wrote on the glass wall beneath Zennström’s quote:

“Efficiency without empathy is exploitation.”

Jack stared at the words, the glow of the city glinting off the letters. Slowly, he nodded.

Jack: “Then maybe the next upgrade isn’t software at all.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s soulware.”

Host: A faint hum filled the room again — the servers waking, reconnecting, syncing in quiet conversation. Outside, the storm had cleared, and the moonlight fell across their reflections in the glass: two human figures in a sea of circuits, flickering but alive.

And as they stood there, surrounded by the invisible architecture of connection, the truth of Zennström’s idea — stripped of its commerce, its code, its greed — shimmered softly between them:

That the real power of the network was never in its machines,
but in the hearts still willing to share.