Adam knew he should be mingling and networking, engaging in the now! This was a party, after all. He should at least appear to be having a good time.
A couple of young hackers noticed Adam and looked as if they might walk over to chat. He was something of a legend in the programmer world. But before the two geeks could get any closer, Adam stuck in his earbuds. Wearing earbuds, whether he was using them or not, had become his go-to strategy for warding off unwanted human interaction. It was surprisingly useful, especially in San Francisco, where one easily could be accosted by a panhandler, a religious fanatic, and an environmentalist all on the same street corner.
A new current of excitement was forming in the room, a small eddy quickly building into a whirlpool second only to the one encircling Adiklein. At the center of this new vortex was a young Hollywood couple known to invest in start-ups. Adam watched as the unstoppable smile of Blake Dorsey penetrated the eye of this new storm where he began effortlessly chatting up the investors. Later Blake would inform Adam that the celebrities were “full-on gamers and huge fans of Lust 4 Blood. Dude, they were starstruck meeting me! Seriously, she was totally flirting with me, and he was talking movies, as in Lust 4 Blood, the movie!”
“Wow.” Adam did his best to sound enthusiastic.
“‘Wow’? Come on, dude! At least pretend like you’re lovin’ it! By the way, did you know that Adiklein never forgets a name? Like even if he meets a hundred people at a party, he can remember every single person’s name. Total badass!”
Adam really did want to be “lovin’ it.” He and Blake had a huge hit game; they were working at Virtual Skies, for the one and only Rene Adiklein, with a future that looked unlimited. Yet along with the success, something else had risen up inside of Adam. A dark, panicky something. That niggling feeling of having forgotten something important. Was it sunlight? Sunlight flickering off metal? And was someone else there, someone important? Something was lurking just below the conscious surface of Adam’s mind, ready to pull him into another mind loop. But this one, he sensed, had no end.
CHAPTER 3
CLUTTER IN THE CAVE
Propelled by a surge of morning commuters, Adam emerged from the Embarcadero BART station into downtown San Francisco. Like being caught in a school of fish, the collective biomass carried him up the escalator and out onto Market Street where, protective earbuds in place, he flowed with the sidewalk current toward Fremont Street. There he waited for the light to change before crossing Market and heading directly toward the new heart of San Francisco, the monolithic Virtual Skies Tower.
Dubbed “Techie Heaven” by The Wall Street Journal, the building also had received other not-so-positive nicknames, including “The Tower of Babel” (Wired magazine) and “The Giant Dildo” (SF Weekly). Eighty-one stories of fritted blue glass glittering beneath an intricate latticework of brushed steel. Like a gemstone cocooned within a web of descending gray fog, the new tower was now officially the tallest structure in San Francisco.
Staring up at it from the corner of Fremont and Mission, Adam waited for the light to change. The sky was unusually clear this morning, and he could see all the way to the top of the Tower. It was dizzying. The intricate pattern of steel latticework did something strange in the light, creating the illusion that it was vibrating, shifting like a Tesla coil; but instead of pulsing energy outward, it seemed to be sucking energy into itself. At least that’s what it looked like to Adam, but then again, he’d worked 16-hour days for the past two weeks.
Way up at the crown of the Tower, Adam could just make out the crystal-blue glass pyramid twinkling away in the morning light. There’s something strange about that tip of the spear, Adam thought for the hundredth time. What’s it for, anyway? There’s nothing actually inside of it, just like the Transamerica Pyramid, just empty space. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of it up there always disturbed him.
The empty glass pyramid was just one resut of the many unusual circumstances surrounding the new Virtual Skies Tower. Originally conceived as part of the city’s much-needed new Transit Terminal, the inclusion of a business tower was intended to provide additional funds for the project. To appease the Joint Authority the new tower was designed with 10 percent of its usable space devoted to public use. The building’s lobby would be directly linked to the new Transit Center’s rooftop park, and would showcase restaurants, retail outlets, and dramatic multicultural art installations, as well as high-speed elevators that would shuttle tourists to the Tower’s rooftop, where they would find themselves in an open, glass crown with a grand 360-degree panoramic observation deck.
Everything had been approved, and construction was ready to begin, when one of the Tower’s key investors mysteriously pulled out. The city was screwed, since it had already begun to demolish the old transit terminal. That was when an angel named Rene Adiklein fell into the picture.
At the time, Adiklein had just begun working with Virtual Skies Media Group to help reboot their company’s image, but what he now offered the company’s founders left them dumbstruck. He not only proposed to work for Virtual Skies exclusively, but promised to introduce them to the most exclusive private investment firm on the planet: Blanchefort and Rhodes. B&R was prepared to boost Virtual Skies’ liquid equity and provide an impressive line of credit, hinging on one small condition: Rene Adiklein would run the show. The company founders would need to fall in line with Adiklein’s directions—from marketing strategies to who they hired and fired, to how they diversified and which start-ups they acquired. As a face-saving measure, Adiklein would take the modest title of VP of marketing, though he would be firmly in charge.
The founders of Virtual Skies took less than a day to agree to terms.
A week later City Hall received an offer from Blanchefort and Rhodes to fund the new transit tower. There were, of course, several concessions the city would have to make, including a substantial redesign. Gone would be the cultural center, the art installations, and all public access to the building. Instead of the observation deck, the building would be crowned with a specifically designed glass pyramid, strictly ornamental. The city’s choice was clear: Give up control of the Tower, and you get a new Transit Center. Retain control, and it won’t get built.
Over the next few years, with the Transit Center on its way to completion and the city’s newest skyscraper reshaping San Francisco’s skyline, Virtual Skies Media Group, under Adiklein’s direction, was also rising to the pinnacle. The company’s headquarters would not only have amenities to rival the extravagant campuses of other well-known tech firms in the greater Bay Area, but more importantly, Virtual Skies wouldn’t be stuck way out in Cupertino or Mountain View; it was right smack in the middle of the city! Forbes magazine called the decision “A masterstroke for Virtual Skies Media Group.”
The light changed at Fremont and Mission. Adam crossed the zebra stripes, broke from the main current of foot traffic that turned up Mission, and continued along the rear facade of the Tower on Fremont. Lately he’d fallen into the habit of using the building’s lesser-known back entrance. It was quicker, and the elevators on that side were far less congested.
For the first few months, Adam had entered through the Tower’s more glamorous front entrance. To get there he would head up Mission with the rest of the crowd, to the escalators leading to the Transit Center’s rooftop park. Then, as early-rising tourists veered right, Adam turned left toward the massive cast-iron gates and arched sign that read: Virtual Skies Media Group. It looked like the entrance to a Hollywood movie studio. Adam could feel the envious eyes of the public as he walked toward the security guards.
After presenting his ID, Adam would leisurely stroll through the Virtual Skies private park—past the day-care center, the wood- and-glass structure for yoga classes, the organic gardens, the fountains, the miniature outdoor amphitheater, and the sculpture garden—finally arriving at the Tower itself. His pulse would quicken as he entered the main lobby. Like the floor of the New York Stock Excha
nge, the Virtual Skies lobby had the electrifying feel of big things taking place here. Overlooking the lobby, mezzanine levels contained the health club, a full-service spa, multifaith worship rooms, and the building’s primary eatery, simply named The Commissary. Serving 11 different cuisines, this not-so-unassuming cafeteria had reportedly received an unofficial Michelin star.
At first Adam felt as if he and his colleagues had relocated to a luxury resort in the Bahamas. He’d always enjoyed amenities at work—an espresso machine, a fancy refrigerator, a pool or ping-pong table—but sleep-pods and acupuncturists? It was all a bit much. Even worse were the Virtual Skies employees, who seemed to possess the same creepy, casual self-importance, as if they were all on the verge of saving humanity. I just make games, Adam wanted to say. So it was with relief that he had found the Tower’s back entrance, which allowed him to bypass all of the bustle and the posturing.
Adam arrived on the 33rd floor and was greeted by the new promotional displays for Lust 4 Blood Expansion Worlds. The seven-foot cardboard stands depicted two sexy teenage vampires standing in a misty redwood forest, sucking each other’s necks. Adam passed reception and cruised down a hallway past the executive offices—finance, legal, marketing, sales, and, of course, Blake’s corner office. Adam peeked in, but, as usual, Blake wasn’t in yet. His secretary, Cory, was at her desk eating what looked like a quinoa salad. Cory was a hot burlesque chick, who this week was sporting black-and-pink hair, lots of mascara, and a sleeveless top with a short, black skirt that revealed provocative tattoos crawling up her arms and legs. Adam always got nervous around Cory, so he moved on before she noticed him.
The farther he went into the bowels of Pixilate, the darker it became. They had been given the entire 33rd floor—which was at least 50 times the size of the garage Adam and Blake had started out in—but due to all the windows, a design team had been hired to modify the work environment. Spiraling inward, windows disappeared until finally the hallway ended in a large, gothic archway made of hard foam, which matched in every detail the entrance to level 19 of the original Lust 4 Blood game, Grotto of Lost Souls. On the arch’s keystone hung a sign decorated with fake spiderwebs that read:
THE CAVE
Plunging into the dark abyss, Adam’s eyes adjusted to take in a cavernous maze of cubicles, each displaying a garage-sale array of the occupant’s paraphernalia: action figures, promotional toys, gamer swag, posters, giant candy jars, vitamin bottles, economy-size TUMS bottles, dead processors, motherboards, and soldering equipment. Adam worked his way to the far end of the Cave, past the testers, audio engineers, 3-D animators, and programmers, all the way back to the deepest crevice of seclusion, where his own collection of clutter awaited him.
As an original founder, Adam really should have had his own office, but in the chaos of the move, and with the addition to management, it just made sense for him to remain in the bull pen. “For now at least,” Blake had said, “let’s keep our genius engine master easily accessible to all the new blood.” Adam had essentially created L4B, the original game engine that ran the Lust 4 Blood series. It was revolutionary in the world of computer graphics, and no one understood its source code and various modifications like Adam. Along with complex new techniques in computer graphics, Adam was also unparalleled in his nuanced understanding of the game’s level design. His fingerprints were on every landscape, every tree, every rock, every fang puncture hole, every blood splatter, every shadow effect, and every algorithm lurking beneath.
Adam’s cubicle had its own unique assemblage of clutter. Waist-high stacks of books barred entry for more than a single thin human. Decorating his walls were magazine clippings and color printouts of exotic places all over the world—the pyramids in Giza, a Tibetan monastery, the temples of Angkor Wat, India’s Ajanta caves, and the ruins of an old Armenian church in the Caucasus mountains. Not places he’d been to, at least not yet, but he definitely planned to get to them once the pressure to keep producing new versions of Lust 4 Blood eased off a little.
Just after 10 A.M., Blake strolled into the Cave. “All right, geniuses!” Blake shouted. It was rare for him to make an appearance in the Cave, especially before noon. “Expansion teaser hits the web at twelve midnight!”
A halfhearted cheer sounded from the Cave’s nooks and crannies.
“And,” Blake continued ominously, “you can forget that bullshit you’ve been hearing about pushing the launch date.”
This news was met by a chorus of full-throated groans.
“Mitch, wherever you’re hiding, you’re a total douche for leaking that crap; we’re slated for December fourteenth, and we’re sticking to it!” Blake clapped his hands like a basketball coach. “Chop, chop! Instant user gratification, that’s the name of the game. And that means eighteen-hour days, nights, weekends, and P1s flying at you people!”
Blake continued on through the Cave until he reached Adam’s corner.
“Yo, dude.” Blake perched himself on the edge of the cubicle.
At first Adam didn’t notice him. His earbuds were in, and he was engrossed in something on his laptop.
“Yo! Adam!”
Adam looked up with a jolt. “Hey, Blake.” He half shut the lid to his laptop.
Blake raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You looking at porn?” Leaning over, he pulled back the lid to expose an open image search window. No porn, just pictures of ocean cliffs.
“Research.” Adam’s voice was tentative.
“Porn would have been more interesting.”
“What’s up?”
“Your text from last night. Said you’ve got something tasty to show me?” Blake rubbed his hands together, the same greedy gesture he’d been using since they had met in college.
It took a moment for Adam to reshuffle his thoughts. “Oh, yeah. I was having trouble sleeping last night so I started messing around with a mobile app idea.”
“Oh.” Blake’s enthusiasm dropped 15 degrees. “Not that web 2.0 shit?”
“That changed in March with the 3G. Apple opened it up to third parties. I downloaded the SDK; you can do some pretty cool stuff with it. Your own graphic user interface, your own icon—”
“I know everyone’s talking mobile,” Blake interrupted, “A waste of time to me.” Blake pulled out his Jesus-phone to deal with a text that had beeped in. For years Blake had been a BlackBerry guy, which was annoying enough, but now that he had an iPhone, having a conversation with him was nearly impossible.
“I just thought it could be something fun to go out with the Expansion,” Adam suggested.
“We don’t do mobile. Even if we did, there’s no real market yet. Too limited a platform, bro.”
“Maybe we could just show it to Adiklein. I think he might actually like it—”
“Asshole,” Blake said under his breath. It took Adam a moment to realize that Blake was referring to his text. Blake looked back up with a smile. “Dude, I thought you were going to tell me about the other thing?”
Adam looked lost.
“Zombies,” Blake whispered.
Click. “Oh, right. Zombies,” Adam said wearily.
Again with the greedy hands, Blake added, “Zombieees.”
Adam sighed. One of the reasons Virtual Skies acquired Pixilate was to create games for MyStar, Virtual Skies’ social media site. Blake already had a team porting a version of Lust 4 Flesh, and they had half a dozen other knockoffs in the works. But Adam had recently shown Blake a concept for how to take advantage of existing social networking aspects of the MyStar platform that could be easily integrated into a gaming environment. The zombie theme had been Blake’s contribution.
“You haven’t shared it with anyone else have you?” Blake whispered before giving a quick conspiratorial glance toward the other programmers. Adam saw that Blake was playing mischievous comrade, a role he took on whenever Adam got moody.
“No, it’s safe. Not even on the network.” Adam pointed down at the external drive under his desk. “I just have
n’t been able to focus on it with the Expansion coming out; half these new guys don’t know what the hell they’re doing.” Adam shrugged wearily. “Zombies isn’t exactly at the top of my list.”
“Dude, we gotta move on that shit. Seriously. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough to show Adiklein the integrated social networking concepts.”
“But I’m going to have to totally rewrite L4B’s renderer, the memory management needs to go, there’s a ton of stuff to do—”
“Adiklein doesn’t give a shit about your engine mods, just the social networking stuff. I’m telling you, it’s going to blow his mind. And now that we’re part of V-Skies, money is no object.” Blake leaned in. “Blanchefort and Rhodes? Those motherfuckers run the world, dude. Seriously. And they are right up there.” Blake pointed at the ceiling.
The only part of the Tower not occupied by Virtual Skies was the top two floors, which Blanchefort and Rhodes had taken for their new West Coast offices. The building’s design had included a separate garage and elevators bypassing the rest of the floors. Other than B&R employees, the only person with access to the top floors was Adiklein.
“Seriously, dude,” Blake continued. “We need to deliver eyeballs. It’s why Adiklein bought us.”
Adam did his best to show some enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll try to get back on Zombies.”
Blake’s phone beeped again. With a one-handed palming move, he checked the text while Adam tried to catch his eye.
“If you change your mind about the mobile app idea, I did a quick mock-up with some basic functionality.”
“Total jackass.” Blake shook his head at his phone. “This PR guy is a complete tool.” He looked back at Adam and smiled. “Of course, dude, I’ll totally look at it. Send it to me, and I’ll check it out.” Blake went back to his texts as he walked away, but then he stopped and half-turned back to Adam. “Oh, tell Jane that I’ll do my best to make this dinner thing she e-mailed me about. What’s it for again?”
What Lies Beyond the Stars Page 3