I first met Bill Gates at the age of twenty. He stood in the yard of his Washington lakefront home, Diet Coke in hand, a tastefully small ketchup stain on his shirt, which no one had the courage to point out, and answered our questions, in-turn, like a savant. As a college summer intern, I had planned for a potential encounter and I approached him with questions that interested me but which would be arcane to non-computer mortals.