Chapter 44
Aaron arrived just as Liam completed the final adjustments.
He offered Colin a glum greeting, accepted the introduction to Liam, seated himself, sighed, and began texting.
Ten minutes later, the EA team gradually entered and slumped into chairs and worked their phones.
There was no chatter. Even the victorious staffer was silent.
Only one person bothered to greet Colin at all.
Five minutes passed, then Chad Helms arrived. The former CEO of Legend Inc. was now head of EA’s Research Triangle divisions. Chad was accompanied by the only EA team member wearing a suit, a narrow-faced man in his forties with square-rimmed glasses. “Hello, Aaron.”
“Morning, Jerry.” To Colin, “Jerry Lieberman, EA’s head of legal.”
The in-house attorney nodded to Colin. “Shame about the day.”
“Can’t be helped.” This from Chad. He waved his hand at the others. “You wanted our top gamers. Okay, we’re here. Now what?”
Colin rose, but instead of heading for the front of the room he made his way slowly around the table, introducing himself, taking in each of their names.
Five men, two women, all in their twenties, all fiercely intelligent, all skeptical, but at least by the time he finished their attention was fully on him.
Colin began, “The announcement of every new EA game generates huge excitement. EA has become the trademark brand for fully immersive experiences. Gamers do not simply play an EA game. They become it. They identify with their online avatar. The evidence backing this claim is clear enough. Last year, EA sold just over fifty million dollars’ worth of personalized merchandise.
Seventy dollars for a T-shirt, ninety for a plastic avatar, all bearing the weaponry and name of the individual user. A brilliant move, by the way.”
The in-house attorney asked Chad, “Is that public knowledge?”
“Probably not,” Chad replied. “Doesn’t matter. Go on.”
“I say it’s time to expand this identity issue,” Colin went on. “Take it to the next level. With music.”
Liam was seated on a stool in the rear corner, headphones around his neck, with two portable tables in front of him supporting the control gear.
At a nod from Colin, he switched on the massive flat-screen monitor they had positioned at the front of the room.
There was a similar screen imbedded into the wall.
But Colin had decided on this move so as to maintain full control of his pitch.
He stepped to one side and said, “This is a proprietary system I have developed.”
“The patents are now in place,” Aaron confirmed.
“This is a two-part algorithm for game music. It is totally new. There is nothing like it anywhere. As most or all of you know, formulas like this are called interactive or parallel algorithms, because they restructure results based upon incoming data. If we ever manage to create fully independent and free-thinking computers, these interactive algorithms will most likely form the design basis.”
Colin fit his hands around the top two-thirds of the screen. “This is the foundational structure. It and all the primary data remain in the EA central computer.” He shifted down to the bottom third. “This secondary algorithm is inserted into the player’s own system. The result—”
“Hang on a second.” Chad Helms leaned forward. “You’re that kid.”
Jerry from Legal said, “Who?”
“Sure, I heard rumors about you.” To the others, “Some Wilmington kid caught wind of the Legend buyout a week before the rest of the market.”
“They weren’t rumors,” Aaron said. “And it wasn’t a week. It was a month and a half.”
Troy, the senior techie said, “I always thought those stories were bogus.”
“Far from it,” Aaron said. “Not only did he set up a long position on Legend stock in advance of the first press notice, he did it twice.”
And just like that, they were with him.
Colin said, “You licensed Legend’s original hit, Barsoom, to UNC’s software engineering department.
So that’s what we’re using for today’s demonstration.
” This time, Liam beat him to it, throwing up the game’s logo before Colin looked his way.
“If you’ll open the laptops in front of you, and please select your avatars. We are going to play level seven.”
“My absolute favorite.” Troy again. “I grew up wanting to move permanently to level seven.”
Everyone except Jerry showed glimmers of genuine excitement, even Chad. The in-house attorney asked, “Do I have to play?”
“Absolutely not.” Troy again. “Same goes for you, Aaron. Can’t allow Legal to slow us down.”
Aaron said, “And here I was, all ready to go battle hot.”
“That’s not even a term,” Chad said. “I’m head wizard, and nobody gets to complain even a little bit.”
When they were all named and suited and armored and weaponed, Colin halted them with, “Before we start, you need a heads-up on what is about to happen. Each of you have now become a musical instrument. The melody I’ve chosen is a fusion jazz number from Steve Winwood’s latest album called Mozambique.
I’m using this without proper licensing.
This is for today’s trial run only. This song works because it follows a number of very distinct musical patterns, with unique solo opportunities for each instrument.
Which means in this demonstration, each of you can stand out. ”
Troy asked, “How?”
“By taking the lead in a battle.”
Two of the other gamers leaned back, breathed in unison, “Oh. Wow.”
Chad asked, “What?”
One of the women said, “This. Is. Totally. Wild.”
“If it works,” Troy said.
Chad said, “As your boss, I am demanding that somebody bring me up to speed.”
Colin said, “Even before the player arrives, his or her musical signature will announce their appearance. As they enter into the next arena, the tempo will heighten, and the team’s structure will determine the music’s complexity, arrangement, and solos.
If or when an avatar dies, their instrument vanishes from the melody. ”
Troy asked, “And the opposition?”
“If you confront a different team, there will be discord between the opposing groups. When one team triumphs, this is reflected in the music. If your team faces game-based opposition, which happens here in level seven, the enemy forms new percussion instruments.”
“Enough talk,” Chad said. “Players, weapons hot.”
Colin gave them half an hour. Long enough for the entire interior window to become jammed with faces.
Long enough for the door to be flung open and several dozen more employees to pry themselves into the room.
Long enough for the eight players to scream as loud as the music, which was very loud indeed.
Liam’s four speakers, set in the room’s corners, caused the walls to shiver.
Colin had only prepared the one song. It ran through five times. He doubted any of them noticed.
Gradually Colin took a mental step away from the excitement, the thrill of getting this right, and observed the faces now lining the interior windows.
The hostility and fear and friction and divide were gone now, at least temporarily.
He studied the excited employees, saw the electric thrill of being on the cutting edge of something new, and wondered what it might feel like.
To heal wounds of a more permanent nature.
If only.
At a sign to Liam, the room went quiet, the screens blank. Colin waited through a very noisy protest, even from Chad. When they were all watching him once again, he said, “Now imagine this with your own proprietary music.”
Aaron said, “You sign the bands. You arrange the music. You own everything.”
“You set up a different type of music for each of the game’s levels,” Colin said.
“Classical, jazz, rock, electronic, rap, entirely your decision,” Aaron said.
Colin and Aaron had not worked on any sort of tag team, but now that it was happening, Colin found it almost natural. “The groups put out albums based on the game’s music. Timed to your new game’s global release.”
“You have the rights to create arena events,” Aaron said. “Open up the ticket sales to online gamers before the general public.”
“The higher their game status, the sooner they can buy, the closer to the stage they sit.”
“You’re taking the idea of music ownership and control to a totally new level,” Aaron said.
Chad looked around the table. “I’d say we’re definitely interested.”
“We have got to have this,” Troy said.
“This adds a totally new dimension.” This from the senior lady.
“I’ve got chills,” said one of the guys plastered to the interior wall. “And I didn’t even play.”
“Dibs on the next go,” said another onlooker.
Chad’s attorney leaned forward so as to find Aaron. “We are talking proprietary? Exclusive ownership?”
“We might be,” Aaron replied. “Given the proper incentives.”
Chad rapped the table. “All right, team. Session’s over. Time for numbers. Grinding of teeth. Shouting of voices. Wrestling of contracts.”
“Boring.” Troy rose, walked over, offered Colin his hand. “When I came in this morning, I thought I was looking at the end of the world.”
“Not even close,” Colin replied. “But I’m glad I could brighten your day.”