SUMMER 1984 - THE NEW ZORK TIMES - PAGE 3 Copyright (c) 1984 Infocom, Inc. HOW THE WITNESS CAME TO BE By Stu Galley for The New Zork Times I got hooked on interactive fiction in early 1982, when I tested a preliminary version of Deadline. I had seen Zork and thought it was interesting, even fun, but the fantasy theme and the arbitrary nature of the puzzles did not excite me personally. But Deadline was different: it had a realistic setting, a realistic and coherent puzzle to solve, and a semblance of plot in its events and movements. So when, in the summer of 1982, I got the opportunity to work on a sequel, I took it! The working title was "Invitation to Murder." Marc Blank had conceived the plot and made some sketches of the scene of the crime. The most significant part of the plot was Linder's death scene, which Marc had placed in a dining room with the detective and the other characters attending a dinner party, like the final scene in "The Thin Man." Except for someone on the phone and someone else in the bathroom, everyone would be a witness to the death. Using the Deadline package as a model, Marc imagined that you would learn about the characters from newspaper stories instead of police interviews, and that the postmortem reports on Linder would be sealed inside an envelope with these instructions: "Do not open this package until instructed to do so." With Dave Lebling's help, Marc had outlined the story in a few typewritten pages: who the main characters were, what their motives were, what evidence there would be, what you would see before the shooting, and so on. So I began my moonlighting work at Infocom by expanding on that outline: completing the personal histories, designing a realistic house, and running the story forward and backward through my head with all the variations I could imagine, until I was convinced that there were no "holes" in the plot, that it made sense no matter how you looked at it or made your way through it. Then the programming began. I made a copy of the Deadline program and ripped out everything that I didn't need: the house, the characters, the evidence, and the plot. Then I could build my own story on the foundation that was left. I decided to begin with the house, so that I could play the game as soon as possible, even before I put in the characters. As I had hoped, it was a thrill when the fledgling program let me walk around this house in my imagination! By the time the shooting first occurred, I was ready to quit my regular job and work at Infocom full time, at least. In late January 1983, the program held together enough for me to demonstrate it to the folks at our advertising agency, as long as I didn't stray too far from the main line of the plot. At that demo, someone suggested that it would be fun to change the setting from contemporary to the golden age of American mysteries the 1930's. Since Mike Berlyn had also suggested this, I got a copy of Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep," and within a few pages I was convinced! Soon my office bookshelf had an old Sears catalog and a pictorial history of advertising (to help me furnish the house and clothe the characters), the "Dictionary of American Slang" (to add color to the text), and a 1937 desk encyclopedia (to weed out anachronisms). Now, how to choose a particular date for the story, as in Deadline? I wanted a contrast between our present-day view of the thirties and the characters' view, so I decided to make the house a "modern" electric one. The Los Angeles area got cheap electricity from Boulder (now Hoover) Dam, completed in 1935, so the late thirties seemed like a good choice. I didn't want the complications of wartime living, and most people now think of World War II starting in 1939, so that was too late. And '38 has the same digits as '83, the year of writing, so I chose it. Next, I wanted a contrast with Deadline, so the season had to be winter, and I think of February as the epitome of winter, with no connotations of New Year's Day or the spring to come. The day should be Friday, so that a police detective could plausibly have time to check out the case after work, and the moon should be nearly full, so that darkness would not play a part in the mystery. That settled it: February 18. (I didn't realize, until the day arrived, that February 18, 1983, was also a Friday!) In early February, Marc and I met with the agency's designers at a restaurant to figure out how to supply the evidence in the package. The designers argued strongly that everything in the package should be available to the detective before the story begins, with none of this sealed envelope business. We already knew that the package should contain the telegram that signifies your first information about the case, the newspaper stories that tell you about the main characters, and an instruction manual. There should also be something tangible that relates to Linder's fears and his relationship with Stiles: the suicide note from the police file on Mrs. Linder's death. We all wanted something even more tangible, something like the pills in Deadline that no one could forget. But what evidence could you gather before even entering the property? Finally the idea hit us: something that a character could have dropped just outside the property, something intriguing, informative, and true to life. How about a phone number cryptically scribbled on something? How about a restaurant matchbook? And so it was. Soon the agency began seeking sources of authentic-looking props. Western Union was kind enough to supply the design for a 1937 telegram, and American Optical (another client of the agency) supplied copies of their ads from the period. Used magazines and pulp novels from a second-hand store supplied more ads and plenty of ideas for the package cover and magazine layout. The "Register" newspaper in Santa Ana was a great find: not only did they give us permission to reprint, but also they sent enlargements of several possible front and inside pages from their microfilm archives, so that we could pick the one we liked best. All the type had to be set again, to match our fictitious stories, but the photos were usable. Many of the original stories were funnier than any we had time to invent! Meanwhile, back at the program, the "alpha" test had begun, when a company tester played the game over and over, looking for bugs and inconsistencies. He discovered significant "branches" in the story that I had overlooked. For example, what if the player sneaks into the house or doesn't go in at all until too late? The first possibility raised too many complications, so we decided to lock all the outside doors. For the second case, I had to invent a new sub-plot that could involve trying to accost Stiles and get new evidence, or trying to get past Phong after Stiles had come and gone. The "beta" test began in mid-March, when we sent copies of the program and the prototype package to some friends and volunteers outside the company. Based on their reports, and on continuing testing at Infocom, we decided to add some features to round out the story: giving the characters responses to questions about yourself, letting you handcuff the corpse, putting the L.A. "Times" (found in the Harvard library) in Linder's office, using its radio schedule to make the radio programs authentic, and so on. In late April, we sent out copies for final testing, which we call the "gamma" test. During this time, I got the feeling (which was typical, I was assured) that there was no end to the little bugs that kept appearing, and that maybe I should throw away the program and start over. But finally the bug reports trailed off as the deadline for production neared. In late May, I declared the program finished, prepared master disks for all the different computer versions that Infocom sold at the time, and sent them out for duplication. It wasn't until July that The Witness appeared in stores, and it was several months later that the first magazine review appeared. What was the biggest thrill in the whole process? I don't know, because there are many thrills: ~ designing the story, when the opportunities seem so rich; ~ playing the game myself for the first time; ~ watching someone else play it for the first time; ~ making a complex feature of the story work, after many trials; ~ seeing a package design that I feel good about; ~ seeing a complete package, "hot off the press"; ~ seeing my creation on the shelf (or in the window!) of a store; ~ reading a favorable review of the story; or ~ getting a special piece of fan mail from someone who got hooked on interactive fiction because of me! [Z] MAIL BAG The "Call the Exterminators" article in the Winter issue of The New Zork Times generated more mail than any other article we have run (excluding the puzzles). We'd like to thank those of you who wrote to us. We are unable to print all of the letters received due to space considerations. Dear Mr. Vezza and Staff of NZT: Thank you very much for The New Zork Times. I am a real Infocom groupie. I love all of your games because they are challenging and they respect my intelligence rather than insulting it. As a result of this addiction, I really appreciate getting firsthand beef on what's new and forthcoming from the Infolabs. I thought that you should be commended for your informative and humorous publication. I am sure that I speak for thousands of others. The puzzles are also challenging, and a lot of fun, too! Another great idea. I have questions for your summer edition: How do you determine the point value for the solving of any particular puzzle or treasure? What happens after Zork VI? Are you going to carry the Zork series further, to 7, 8, and 9? Again, congrats. Thanks for reading my letter. P.S. -- Crush Spinnaker and Lotus ! Editor's response: The point values for treasures or problems are related to the difficulty of attaining or solving them (with some exceptions, such as the 2 point treasure in Zork I). Different problems are more or less difficult for different people, but on average large numbers of points are associated with difficult problems. As for Zork VII etc., that would be telling. Gentlemen: I am only 13 years old, but a true adventurer. The article "Call the Exterminator" reminded me of a mirror that fights back in Zork I. The player types HIT MIRROR WITH SWORD and Zork replies any one of the combat replies like "Clash! Clang! The mirror parries!" or something else like "The mirror dies in a cloud of sinister black fog." I am glad I shared this news with you. Peter Schweda Chicago Illinois To the Editor: I loved your newest issue, and especially liked the part about the bugs in the games, but I was surprised to find that you missed the bug that is the most fun to play with. On the TRS-80 Model I version, if you type: > GIVE AXE TO TROLL it responds with something like: The troll accepts your gift, and not having the most discriminating tastes, eats it. The troll, disarmed, is cowering and begging for forgiveness in the gutteral tongue of the trolls. If you give the troll to the troll, he similarly eats himself, and disappears; however, he still bars you from leaving the room. Another fun bug (if you can get it to happen) is if you give the troll to the thief. The thief takes the troll and puts him in his bag. When you kill the thief, the troll pops up and blocks off all the exits from the room. If you give the thief to the troll, he will just reappear later in the game. Adam Cliff Honig Huntington, NY Dear Enchanter programmer: I regret to inform you that you have not allowed for the capture and sacrifice of any creature besides the humble novice enchanter such as myself who inadvertently strays into the Temple during a ceremony. Having instructed the turtle to enter the temple, I was dismayed to discover that upon completion of the turtle's three to four move term in the Cell, it was I who was released from the cell (which I had never entered) only to be offered up as a sacrifice to some bloodthirsty god in a rather gruesome ritual. Similarly, when the loyal turtle or the shifty adventurer encounters the hideous shapes which seem to plague areas such as the Banquet Hall and the Library, it is once again the goodhearted enchanter who receives notice of their fate as if it were his own, although he thankfully is not obliged to share that fate. Christopher P. Thorman (MIT '88) Great Falls, VA To Whoever (preferably the writer of "Call the Exterminator" for the Volume #3, Issue #1 of The New Zork Times): Talk about bugs. Poor Michael has one in Suspended. What happened was: I had Waldo get the four-inch cable which ended up in a "Sizzle...." Big Deal! I had Poet drag Waldo to Alpha Repair and pull him up on the glider so he could get fixed. After he got fixed, I had them go back to the Primary Channel where Waldo got zapped. But I noticed something when I asked Poet to look. He replied, " . . . in the room with me is a non-functional Waldo. " I immediately had Waldo look to make sure that he was working. Waldo was working and replied, " . . . in the room with me is non-functional Poet"! John Eric Markey Houston, TX