For years video game developers have had psychologists on staff whose sole purpose is to help make their games addictive. And the results are in. Just last week the president of the United States called for a “war on idle distraction.” Indeed, by some estimates, over 16 % of our gross domestic product is piddled away playing games of no economic or social benefit.
But games needn’t be idle or unproductive. I propose we harness the addictive aspects of entertainment games and apply them in the workplace. Aspects like clear, measurable goals with frequent and tangible rewards, transparent scoring and competition, gradual increase in difficulty of tasks as the player progresses in skill, and so forth. We can build this abstraction over mundane employment using software.
Until we take the “work” out of work, world labor will not meet its full potential. Making the tools to do this will be a lot of fun…and make us a few bucks!
D_Light scratched the scalp under his thick, dark hair and inquired, “I don’t suppose you saw the archive? You know that she tried to frag me first, right?”
The guard, who Smorgeous said was named Brian, glared back at D_Light and said nothing. Instead, he tensed his biceps and rolled his shoulders forward, like an animal presenting a threat display.
D_Light returned a smirk. I can’t let some palace guard intimidate me, he thought.
Finally, as though he could no longer control himself, Brian hissed back, “I’m sure you deserved getting fragged.” His greenish eyes then twinkled a bit, and a subtle grin spread across his face. “I wish I had been there. Oh yeah,” he exclaimed. He breathed in deeply through his flaring nostrils. “Had I been there, you’d have had to answer to little Tiffany here.” He caressed the hilt of his mace.
“Seriously? You named your club?” D_Light asked incredulously. And then he laughed. “My Soul, you’ve got to be a human! Only a human would name their weapon. A security product would shut up and do their job.”
“Mmmm.” Brian smiled. “One tiny tap on the skull with Tiffany here and you’d be meowin’ like your little kitty there.” The guard looked down at Smorgeous with disgust. Smorgeous stared back indifferently.
“Meowing, huh?” D_Light asked as he raised his eyebrows. In response the large guard grabbed the hilt of Tiffany hanging from his belt.
Why am I provoking this guy? I’m gaining no advantage from this, D_Light thought.
D_Light took a step back and put up his hands in what he hoped was a diplomatic gesture. “Look, I know I’m enjoying this as much as you are, but I was summoned here by your mistress, so…” He cocked his head, giving the guard an expectant look.
Brian gave no reaction. He just stared at D_Light as though daring him to take an unauthorized step. The guard was muscular, even for the modern day, and he was wearing a full suit of armor, which for House Tesla guards was a yellow and black skinsuit. The nano-enforced fabric was not much thicker than a normal skinsuit. However, when forcefully struck-say by a weapon-the fabric instantly hardened and then pushed back in the region of impact, counteracting the blow. This guard didn’t adorn his armor with anything. Some guards projected medieval armor or even normal clothes.
After a few seconds D_Light continued. “Look, brother, you liked Fael? Well, I actually liked her too. A good, sweet, and smart woman. It’s just, you know, during Rule Seven, ShipIt™ happens.”
“Yeah, maybe I should go flake. Then I could bring the ShipIt™ to you!”
D_Light knew House Tesla guards were not allowed to participate in Rule Seven. In fact, they could not even be ordered to frag another during Rule Seven unless it was in defense of a client. Due to this restriction, it was common for guards to quit that game and become a flake. A flake was a member of the Tesla family who specialized in Rule Seven. Since a person always took a fifth of the points of anyone he or she fragged, it was just about the fastest way to get points in the Game. Indeed, most flakes didn’t even play other games. They simply trained with their weapons, memorized the labyrinth hallways of the castle, sized up their rivals, and then waited for the siren to sound them into action once again. Appropriately named, flakes were called such because it usually wasn’t long before they were fragged by another flake and ground up into fish food. Since anyone who wasn’t a flake took cover when Rule Seven was in effect, flakes were typically left to hunt down each other. Needless to say, it was a dangerous undertaking.
Perfect. Now I have this psycho fantasizing about fragging me. Smorgeous, alert me if Brian Roffenbach ever revokes his guard status. His thought was followed by a ping from his familiar.
Several more minutes passed in silence as D_Light shifted his weight between one leg and the other. Although D_Light was prepared for the worst from this meeting, he decided it was particularly ominous that he was getting flack from the sentries outside the waiting room doors. It’s like I’m wearing a ring of toddler heads tied to my belt, he thought. I mean, who is this guy? I’m not a flake. It’s not like I enjoyed fragging her. Ignorant plebs like that don’t even try to relate to anyone else’s situation.
D_Light reminded himself that he should not let people get the better of him. Nor should he dwell on the past. He was being soft. Nothing matters but the present. He had Smorgeous repeat this mantra in an infinite loop over the top of one of his favorite songs for such occasions, a peppy little track called “What’s Done Is Gone,” by Real_Deal. He let the custom music wash over him as he let the minutes slip by.
Finally, without a word, Brian nodded his head toward the doors to indicate that the visitor could enter. Typically, guards opened the doors for visitors, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that Brian would skip this courtesy. D_Light pushed his way through the heavy doors as quickly as possible, brushing against Brian’s shoulder as he passed.
The doors led to the actual waiting room. It contained no chairs, simply beds canopied with semitransparent curtains of purple and gold. Only one of the dozen beds seemed to harbor a resident, a lump of a man who appeared to be sleeping. Prismatic colors from an unseen source oozed and undulated over the walls, ceiling, and floor. The rays of light also filtered through the gossamer bed curtains, creating a hauntingly beautiful 3-D effect. There was no receptionist here, only a pair of tall and ornate double doors that commanded the wall in front of him. A low, rhythmic hum pulsed all around him. D_Light’s skinning software was not rendering anything, as the room was a designated dark zone-an area where no SkinWare-facilitating nanosites covered the surfaces of anything. D_Light chose a waiting bed and sat on the edge, legs dangling. The softly shifting light patterns, more entrancing than an ancient lava lamp, were as real as the low, rhythmic, pulsating sound that filled the air. Despite his best efforts, D_Light fell fast asleep.
D_Light woke with a start. “ Haw, haw, haw, ” the SeaGuy™ called out. The seagull-like head was cocked sideways, regarding D_Light with one bulging, pink eye. The torso, pelvis, and legs were those of a nude and impossibly muscular man. Tufts of white feathers interspersed with patches of curly black human hair shot out haphazardly. The ankles of the monster faded into the webbed feet of a seagull. It had great seagull wings in place of arms, which it now splayed out wide. The creature quickly waved its gigantic feathered rear end back and forth a few times, at which point it tipped up its beak and yammered out another call. “ Haw, haw, haw! ”
D_Light couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the avatar he had designed for Mother Lyra. Man, I really nailed it with this one, he thought.
“Oh, D_Light, have you any fishies for me?” Blood and orange-colored ooze streamed out of its beak, running down its mottled chest as it spoke. The voice was guttural with raspy undertones.
D_Light supposed that this bizarre reception was par for the course. Mother Lyra seemed to be one of the few nobles with enough confidence in her position and enough of a sense of humor to not take herself too seriously-or anyone else for that matter. He decided to respond in kind.
“Um, no fish, but there’s a guard out in the hall you can have.” D_Light jumped out of the waiting room bed and bowed formally to the gigantic holographic birdman. A lynx, which D_Light assumed was Mother Lyra’s familiar, stood only a few paces behind. Certainly, the familiar was projecting the holographic avatar at Lyra’s command.
With a sweeping motion of one of its wings, the seabird motioned for D_Light to proceed through the double doors ahead, doors that had apparently opened as D_Light slept. He bowed to the beast and passed through the opening into the formal entertaining room.
The entertaining room was colossal, leading D_Light to the safe conclusion that Mother Lyra must truly be a favorite of House Tesla. A nondescript man was sitting in a chair to D_Light’s left. D_Light did not recognize him, but the man’s crest indicated he was a noble. He stared at D_Light as though he had nothing more interesting to do. D_Light knew better than to stare back at his father. Lyra, pacing back and forth like a caged jaguar, was clearly multitasking, distant and preoccupied, evidenced by her fixed, vacant stare. While D_Light knew that part of her brain was being used to control the birdman avatar, he could only imagine what she was doing with the other part. Whatever it was, however, must have something to do with why he had been summoned here, and that was unsettling to the slightly anxious D_Light.
The birdman pointed a wing toward some high-backed chairs and ordered D_Light to take a seat in the corner. It then proceeded to hop over to the mute nobleman who still stared meditatively at D_Light, protracted its beak out towards his ear, and did a low haw, haw, haw, each haw repeating in rapid succession like a machine gun. D_Light suppressed a chuckle, intrigued by Lyra’s use of SeaGuy™ for the purpose of taunting. He was also impressed with Lyra’s lynx familiar, how it was capable of projecting its auditory output to seem as though the sound was coming from the bird beak. Very polished.
Clearly, the nobleman was doing his best to ignore the persistently irritating avatar, but D_Light imagined the man would grab the birdman by the throat and throttle the life out of its deranged body had the creature been anything more than a projection of light. Of course, if he did lose control and go ballistic on the monster, he wouldn’t be the first human alive to thoughtlessly attack an avatar. D_Light almost wished he would, as it would provide him some much-needed comic relief.
The birdman, appearing to be bored with tormenting the nobleman, parted with one last goading haw, haw, haw, haw. It then ambled-a combination of hops interlaced with waddling-over to D_Light, its absurdly long penis swaying back and forth as it approached. Upon reaching D_Light, it turned its head so that one devilish eye was facing him, inspecting him with intent. It stood there momentarily and then said, “I’m so rude! I forgot to ask if you wanted a little something to eat. I have these chocolate truffles that are to die for!” It spoke the word “die” with an extra raspy flair. “You must be famished after a long night of snuffing out my handmaidens!”
Oh, here we go, D_Light thought. I was wondering when she’d cut to the chase. D_Light was not entirely sure how to react to the comment, but he did like chocolate and wasn’t about to screw up that offer. “Yes, please,” he replied with a nod.
The birdman then took a hop closer, twisting its head and beak around to regard D_Light with its other eye. The creature just stood there, staring at him with an unnerving and unnatural rigidity that D_Light first found discomforting and then amusing. Remembering that he was actually interacting with Mother Lyra via this creature, D_Light decided to return the gaze for a while and then eventually mustered the courage to wink at it playfully.
D_Light was now feeling downright cocky and was getting ready to compliment the bird on its fine plumage-especially on its backside-and its lack of fishy breath. Fortunately, he was interrupted before he said something he’d later regret. In walked a tall, well-built man carrying a round stone tray. The man, dressed in a long, dark, flowing robe that dragged behind him with a faint brushing sound, bore a dark circle tattoo in the middle of each cheek like a classic clown who had gone gothic. These tattoos indicated that the servant was a product, a living organism based on a human template that was engineered to serve a human master. The servant smiled politely and bent down to present D_Light with a truffle. He selected one that was dusted with a shimmering golden powder.
“Ah, curry coconut,” squawked the bird, “my favorite! Take another, we can always make more.”
D_Light, having confirmed with Smorgeous that no poison was detected, decided to take two. They were to die for, at least metaphorically. Not that D_Light was truly afraid of being poisoned, for outside of Rule Seven it was a sin for anyone-noble or otherwise-to murder another human, even a common player like D_Light. Still, the truffles could be drugged. The recent sniffing software Smorgeous had downloaded could detect many drugs, but not all of them, especially since new drugs were being invented every day. Calculating the risk and deciding that the benefits outweighed them, D_Light reached for yet another. After all, this was top-notch gourmet chocolate that was prohibitively expensive for anyone but nobility. It also seemed to contain a chili powder or some such substance that inflicted an addictive and satisfying burn.
D_Light was about to remark that these chocolates were even better than Cweet™ gourmet chocolates when he caught himself. Nobles themselves never dropped brand names, and it was rude for others to drop on them. Unlike nobility of past eras, the powerful of today were distinguished largely by what they did not say. By refraining from name-dropping, a well-to-do player was telling the world, “I needn’t the trivial point scraps for which lesser players prostitute themselves.”
Until now, Lyra had been completely committed to pacing between the fireplace on the west wall and the fireplace on the east. Presently, she began advancing toward D_Light, her eyes bearing down on him. D_Light, halfway into a truffle, swallowed the contents of his mouth and silently debated whether or not it would be rude to pop in the other half while she approached. In his indecision, the delicate chocolate melted between his fingers. He ended up not only popping in the other half, but licking off his fingers as well. Good one, D_Light, he thought. Why not just blow your nose on your sleeve while you’re at it! He glanced up at Lyra and gave her a quick and innocent, “Oops!”
Mother Lyra was unusually tall for a human female. Like most humans, she was pandectic, a descendant of a rich mixture of many different races, making her skin a deep tan color. Her heart-shaped face was softly sculpted, the skin smooth and flawless, like polished stone. Long, jet-black locks of loosely curled hair were amassed on the top of her head and hung haphazardly about her face, encircling her cheeks and eyes. She wore an organic bodysuit, similar to the one Fael had worn last night, but Lyra’s suit was blood red. Power red. Although Lyra was not very muscular, the formfitting bodysuit revealed a lean, fit figure. Over her bodysuit a semitransparent cloak of sea blue hung on her like a whisper. She was the godmother of many, and she definitely looked the part.
D_Light had been in Lyra’s presence before, and aside from the noblewoman’s carefree manner, there was one thing about her that fascinated him more than all else. It was her eyes. Striking green emeralds that nearly glowed against the otherwise dark shadows of her countenance, a trait engineered by her ancestors. As would be expected from someone of her station, her eyes were fearless and determined, but there was also some wilderness that hid behind them, a feral quality that somewhat belied her elegant composure. It was a contradiction that D_Light found most intriguing.
I want you to know that I harbor no ill feelings toward you with regard to the matter between you and Fael. Lyra’s voice was transmitted telepathically, using Smorgeous as a security intermediary.
This was completely unexpected, both the message and the method of delivery. It was highly irregular for members of unequal social classes to blink one another. Lyra’s lynx familiar had locked eyes with Smorgeous for optimal communion. D_Light was caught off guard by the blink, but he promptly gave a telepathic reply. Thank you, Mother. I never intended-
I do not want an apology, Lyra interrupted. I watched the archive. You did what you thought sensible, and it appears to have paid off well. Clearly, Fael underestimated you. It was her own ambition that was her undoing.
D_Light sent the next thought that came to him. Mother, if you saw the archive, then you know I did not have to frag her. I could have let her go.
D_Light immediately regretted the response, wondering why he was insisting on apologizing when she had expressly stated that she did not want one. He silently chastised himself for his pathetic behavior.
Lyra smiled at him shrewdly. Well, I’m sure you know that if you had let sweet Fael live, every girl with a pretty smile would think she could get a free pass. And then what kind of player would you be?
A dead one, D_Light thought, although he kept this superfluous thought to himself.
Lyra’s eyes softened and the taut skin of her face relaxed as she turned away from D_Light. I like that you felt something for her, D_Light. Watching the two of you together… Lyra hesitated for a moment. Well, I would say she was fond of you as well. Sure, she was willing to cash you in, but that does not mean that under other circumstances you two could not have been friends. Or more.
As she sent that thought, she turned and looked directly into D_Light. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as he became simultaneously afraid and thrilled by her intense green eyes.
“Lyra, what are you doing?” The nobleman in the chair looked back and forth between Lyra and D_Light. His tone was not one of urgency, but of mild curiosity and possible irritation.
“Just making our new friend feel at ease,” Lyra said aloud. As the blink terminated, D_Light felt as though something warm had just fled his mind. He lamented the loss of their private telepathic communication.
As though taking a cue, the monstrous birdman flew up onto one of the arches high overhead. It then perched itself, swinging its giant webbed feet under the rafter while contently watching over the room.
“Djoser, this is D_Light, level eighty-three player and resident of the upper east wing of this little pile of stones,” Lyra declared. Then, gesturing toward the nobleman, she said, “D_Light, this is Father Djoser Townsend, third son of the First Grandfather of Townsend.” D_Light stood and bowed low to the confirmed noble.
Mother Lyra brought her hands together and interlaced her fingers. “So now that you are comfortable, properly introduced, and stuffed with fine chocolate, let me tell you why you were summoned here.”
D_Light felt a slight knot in his stomach. He bowed to his mother and then stood alert.
“Our house has been selected for this month’s MetaGame,” Lyra said. “Father Townsend and I have been invited to be the players. According to the rules, participants in the game are allowed to bring along an advisor. I was planning on taking Fael, as I always do, but due to recent events, I thought it appropriate for you to take her place.”
D_Light stood dumbfounded, half wondering if he had heard correctly. MetaGames were reserved for nobility and their closest entourage, and he certainly did not qualify as either. He hesitated before responding to make sure that he did not speak over Lyra. “Mother, I am at your service,” he declared. Another bow.
“Have you ever played a MetaGame before?” inquired Djoser, making no attempt to mask his skepticism.
D_Light assumed it was he who was being addressed. “No, Father,” he replied.
“What makes you qualified to advise anyone playing a MetaGame?” Djoser barked at him.
“I, um…I do not know for sure, Father. From what I understand, every game is unique.” D_Light had no idea what to tell the man, for he was just as surprised as Djoser.
“Lyra, is this a joke?” asked Djoser while looking at her severely. “This is a high-stakes game. If you are going to invite a pleb, at least choose someone useful!”
“He will be,” Lyra answered, her voice cool and unaffected.
“Really? What did you say he does? Makes avatars like…like that thing?” Djoser pointed up at the birdman in the rafters.
D_Light felt his gut wrench, for in actuality he designed and built all sorts of software, not just avatars. He hated it when people wrote him off as a designer of useless toys and tricks. However, D_Light knew it imprudent to correct his father. Besides, the man was probably right that his day-today skill set might not be all that useful in a real-life game.
A brown hawk with gray flecks swooped down from a high, dark marble fireplace mantle and landed directly across from Lyra’s lynx; it was the nobleman’s familiar. The two creatures locked eyes, and for several minutes the nobles discoursed silently, punctuated only with a variety of eye maneuvers (rolling eyes being the most common), hand gestures, sighs, and occasional laughs of contempt.
Finally, Lyra turned to D_Light and said, “We shall see you at sixteen hundred tomorrow. The game starts at sixteen thirty. I trust you will be prepared.”
“Yes, my lady,” D_Light confirmed. He bowed once to each of the nobles and did his best to back out of the room gracefully. He nearly tripped.