“If it works,” Troy said.
Chad said, “As your boss, I am demanding that somebody bring me up to speed.”
Colin said, “Even before the player arrives, his or her musical signature will announce their appearance. As they enter into the next arena, the tempo will heighten, and the team’s structure will determine the music’s complexity, arrangement, and solos. If or when an avatar dies, their instrument vanishes from the melody.”
Troy asked, “And the opposition?”
“If you confront a different team, there will be discord between the opposing groups. When one team triumphs, this is reflected in the music. If your team faces game-based opposition, which happens here in level seven, the enemy forms new percussion instruments.”
“Enough talk,” Chad said. “Players, weapons hot.”
Colin gave them half an hour. Long enough for the entire interior window to become jammed with faces. Long enough for the door to be flung open and several dozen more employees to pry themselves into the room. Long enough for the eight players to scream as loud as the music, which was very loud indeed. Liam’s four speakers, set in the room’s corners, caused the walls to shiver. Colin had only prepared the one song. It ran through five times. He doubted any of them noticed.
Gradually Colin took a mental step away from the excitement, the thrill of getting this right, and observed the faces now lining the interior windows. The hostility and fear and friction and divide were gone now, at least temporarily. He studied the excited employees, saw the electric thrill of being on the cutting edge of something new, and wondered what it might feel like. To heal wounds of a more permanent nature.
If only.
At a sign to Liam, the room went quiet, the screens blank. Colin waited through a very noisy protest, even from Chad. When they were all watching him once again, he said, “Now imagine this with your own proprietary music.”
Aaron said, “You sign the bands. You arrange the music. You owneverything.”
“You set up a different type of music for each of the game’s levels,” Colin said.
“Classical, jazz, rock, electronic, rap, entirely your decision,” Aaron said.
Colin and Aaron had not worked on any sort of tag team, but now that it was happening, Colin found it almost natural. “The groups put out albums based on the game’s music. Timed to your new game’s global release.”
“You have the rights to create arena events,” Aaron said. “Open up the ticket sales to online gamers before the general public.”
“The higher their game status, the sooner they can buy, the closer to the stage they sit.”
“You’re taking the idea of music ownership and control to a totally new level,” Aaron said.
Chad looked around the table. “I’d say we’re definitely interested.”
“We havegotto have this,” Troy said.
“This adds a totally new dimension.” This from the senior lady.
“I’ve got chills,” said one of the guys plastered to the interior wall. “And I didn’t even play.”
“Dibs on the next go,” said another onlooker.
Chad’s attorney leaned forward so as to find Aaron. “We are talking proprietary? Exclusive ownership?”
“Wemightbe,” Aaron replied. “Given the proper incentives.”
Chad rapped the table. “All right, team. Session’s over. Time for numbers. Grinding of teeth. Shouting of voices. Wrestling of contracts.”
“Boring.” Troy rose, walked over, offered Colin his hand. “When I came in this morning, I thought I was looking at the end of the world.”
“Not even close,” Colin replied. “But I’m glad I could brighten your day.”
CHAPTER45
An hour later, as they were packing up the room, Liam told him, “Excuse me for bluntness, but I want in.”
Colin did not pretend to misunderstand. His body felt weightless with fatigue, a gentle torpor that added its own sweet music to pushing the trolley back toward the elevator. A number of people in the huge central room stopped what they were doing and waved. As the elevator doors closed, Colin saw smiles.
