All kinds of visitors began appearing at Blawnox, eager to see the work. Some of them were very strange, but all commanded influence or were in positions to direct significant flows of money. Another thing they had in common was the perception that they brought of Oz. They did not seem to have been made to understand it merely as a means to achieving AI. Rather, they took the AI for granted and saw it in turn as the engine that would power a revolutionary method for testing new design concepts, product models and styles, marketing methods, political campaign strategies—anything at all—in an artificial world running hundreds of times faster than the real thing: a Reality Simulator.
* * *
The character that Pinder and Tyron had brought over from the Executive Building was as zany as any that Corrigan had met in the last few months. His name was Roderick Esmelius, and he was from Market Resource Researches Inc., one of Feller & Faber’s clients. He was tall, lean, and eccentrically theatrical, with flowing, silver hair, a suit of maroon trimmed with pink, and sporting a cane. The assistant with him, whose name was Godfrey, had dark curls, heavy, black-rimmed spectacles, and a mauve suit. He referred to the project as the “Crystal Ball,” and seemed to think that it could predict election results. MRR were contemplating buying into Oz to the tune of two million dollars to try out a brainchild of Esmelius’s that he was sure would revolutionize advertising. He explained to Corrigan and Shipley, punctuating his words with flourishes and pauses for effect:
“It will have the greatest impact of anything since the advent of television. The problem is getting to people, you see. There are too many distractions and alternatives to pull audiences away.” In other words, the program offerings were garbage. “People are busy and more mobile these days than they used to be. They don’t have enough opportunity to be near their TV.” Esmelius wagged a finger and swept his gaze over the whole group as he came to the crux. “So why not let it accompany them permanently, everywhere? We hear about putting chips in people’s heads to link them to computers. So why not a TV in the head?” He paused expectantly. Pinder nodded an amen. Tyron smirked at Corrigan. Shipley, from his chair at a terminal where he had been working, tried to catch Corrigan’s eye with a look that asked if they were hearing things right; but Corrigan was too busy keeping up an appearance of relaxed, can-do suavity. He had been getting more conscious about dress lately, and was turned out in a stylish jacket of gray and black fleck, with a pink shirt and red silk tie with matching handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. Gold had appeared on his fingers, cuffs, and in his tie clip, and he had upgraded his watch.
Esmelius went on. “Just imagine, watch anything you like, any time, anywhere you like. And what a medium for advertisers: a direct line straight into everyone’s head! You can’t beat it.”
Godfrey carried on, pitching with the same enthusiasm. “We have a number of potential investors. But public acceptance would be the key factor in a venture like this. Now, if we could show them what the public’s reaction would be, before anyone puts up the money to actually develop the technology . . .”
“You want to know if the Oz simulation could tell you,” Shipley completed. Having listened to a dozen similar lines in the last two weeks, he knew what was coming.
“Yes, precisely,” Godfrey said. “Can the Crystal Ball do it? It would pay for itself ten times over, just on that.”
“You’d only need to give the inhabitants the effect of having such technology,” Pinder put in.
“Quite so,” Esmelius confirmed. “All we’d want to know is their reactions.”
Shipley was looking dubious and about to say something, but before he could do so, Tyron came in, looking at Pinder. “The potential for this kind of thing must be enormous. Just think of all the applications that could be emulated in advance, without the need for detailed designs or even a working prototype. All you need is the concept.”