goal of the game?”
“To win,” she said. “To finish the game ahead of the game. Nothing special about it.”
“No, I mean what’s the objective?” Pikul persisted. “What are the rules? You keep going on about how wonderful eXistenZ is, but you’ve never actually said anything about what it does.”
“Not all games do something.”
“You play them to do something.”
“No you don’t. Some you just play.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you that. There aren’t likely to be a lot of thrills in Biological Father. Or none that I can imagine, anyway. But that game isn’t state of the art. Your game supposedly is. What’s the objective, how do you win?”
She sighed, looking him in the eye as if to try to determine how seriously he meant the questions. She allowed her hand to play lightly across some of the blister packs while she answered.
“The beauty of eXistenZ,” she said, “is that it changes every time you play it. It adapts to the individuals who are playing it. The result is that you have to play the game to find out why you’re playing the game.”
“But that’s kind of cheating, isn’t it?” Pikul said stubbornly. “Not to say confusing.”
“It’s not confusing at all. And it’s not a cheat. eXistenZ takes a much more organic approach to gaming than the classic, arbitrary, rule-dominated games. It’s the future, Pikul. You’ll see how natural it feels. Where we are now . . . doesn’t this feel natural?”
“You mean this shop for computer geeks is the future?”
Pikul shrugged his shoulders expressively, trying to show the antagonism he felt toward the dozens of intent game customers crowding the aisles of the store. None of them showed any reaction; indeed, hardly any of them showed any awareness that he and Geller were even present.
Pikul looked around and saw something half familiar lying on the shelf beside him. It was a game-pod. He picked it up and showed it to Geller.
“Did you ever see anything like this before?” he asked.
The pod was contained within a gel-pak that was even more bizarre and otherworldly than Geller’s own tissue pod. They both examined it with interest. It seemed lumpier than Geller’s, less well-integrated or developed. Although the flesh was as venous as her pod’s, there did not appear to be the same underlying organic logic, the sense that it had been ripped somehow from a living being. This pod had an arbitrary, thrown-together feeling. They turned it around in their hands, then over on its back. On the underside they came across a corporate logo, and a name: CORTICAL SYSTEMATICS.
A hand reached between them, from behind, and gently but firmly took the pak away from them. They turned to see who it was.
The man was large and bulky with thinning gray hair. He had a pugnacious air and seemed irritated that they’d been showing such interest in the game-pod. Swinging from his jacket lapel was a name badge: D’A RCY N ADER.
“This game-pods are most delicate,” he said, in an accent even more fractured and alien than Kiri Vinokur’s. “I’ll haff to ask you more careful to be, when you are hantling them.”
“We weren’t doing any harm,” Geller said. “We’re just interested customers.”
“Ma’am, I do unterstand. But in common wit many retail outlets, we haff to be careful of pilferage and breakings.”
“Yes,” Pikul said. “I can imagine.”
“You know vat a game-pod is?”
“Sure. We’ve just never seen that one before.”
“Cortical Systematics ist the latest and hottest player. Ist not just a new game, but a whole new system.”
Pikul said, “Yeah yeah, I’ve heard all—”
“Will it work with an industry standard bioport?” Geller said, deftly interrupting him.
But Nader was looking more carefully and curiously at them.
“I haffn’t see you two around this place before, haff I?” he said.
“Well, no—”
“This ist my place. Haimische, isn’t it? Funky?”
“Yes, well, we’re new in
“To win,” she said. “To finish the game ahead of the game. Nothing special about it.”
“No, I mean what’s the objective?” Pikul persisted. “What are the rules? You keep going on about how wonderful eXistenZ is, but you’ve never actually said anything about what it does.”
“Not all games do something.”
“You play them to do something.”
“No you don’t. Some you just play.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you that. There aren’t likely to be a lot of thrills in Biological Father. Or none that I can imagine, anyway. But that game isn’t state of the art. Your game supposedly is. What’s the objective, how do you win?”
She sighed, looking him in the eye as if to try to determine how seriously he meant the questions. She allowed her hand to play lightly across some of the blister packs while she answered.
“The beauty of eXistenZ,” she said, “is that it changes every time you play it. It adapts to the individuals who are playing it. The result is that you have to play the game to find out why you’re playing the game.”
“But that’s kind of cheating, isn’t it?” Pikul said stubbornly. “Not to say confusing.”
“It’s not confusing at all. And it’s not a cheat. eXistenZ takes a much more organic approach to gaming than the classic, arbitrary, rule-dominated games. It’s the future, Pikul. You’ll see how natural it feels. Where we are now . . . doesn’t this feel natural?”
“You mean this shop for computer geeks is the future?”
Pikul shrugged his shoulders expressively, trying to show the antagonism he felt toward the dozens of intent game customers crowding the aisles of the store. None of them showed any reaction; indeed, hardly any of them showed any awareness that he and Geller were even present.
Pikul looked around and saw something half familiar lying on the shelf beside him. It was a game-pod. He picked it up and showed it to Geller.
“Did you ever see anything like this before?” he asked.
The pod was contained within a gel-pak that was even more bizarre and otherworldly than Geller’s own tissue pod. They both examined it with interest. It seemed lumpier than Geller’s, less well-integrated or developed. Although the flesh was as venous as her pod’s, there did not appear to be the same underlying organic logic, the sense that it had been ripped somehow from a living being. This pod had an arbitrary, thrown-together feeling. They turned it around in their hands, then over on its back. On the underside they came across a corporate logo, and a name: CORTICAL SYSTEMATICS.
A hand reached between them, from behind, and gently but firmly took the pak away from them. They turned to see who it was.
The man was large and bulky with thinning gray hair. He had a pugnacious air and seemed irritated that they’d been showing such interest in the game-pod. Swinging from his jacket lapel was a name badge: D’A RCY N ADER.
“This game-pods are most delicate,” he said, in an accent even more fractured and alien than Kiri Vinokur’s. “I’ll haff to ask you more careful to be, when you are hantling them.”
“We weren’t doing any harm,” Geller said. “We’re just interested customers.”
“Ma’am, I do unterstand. But in common wit many retail outlets, we haff to be careful of pilferage and breakings.”
“Yes,” Pikul said. “I can imagine.”
“You know vat a game-pod is?”
“Sure. We’ve just never seen that one before.”
“Cortical Systematics ist the latest and hottest player. Ist not just a new game, but a whole new system.”
Pikul said, “Yeah yeah, I’ve heard all—”
“Will it work with an industry standard bioport?” Geller said, deftly interrupting him.
But Nader was looking more carefully and curiously at them.
“I haffn’t see you two around this place before, haff I?” he said.
“Well, no—”
“This ist my place. Haimische, isn’t it? Funky?”
“Yes, well, we’re new in
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