The Theory of Games by Ezra Sidran Read Free Book Online Page B

well-known defense contractor infamous for bribing congressmen. They were over budget and behind schedule so they called for ol’ Jake Grant the relief pitcher. For once I would like to get a fat government contract with a reasonable timeline from the git-go and not get the call in the bottom of the ninth when I have to deal with somebody else’s mess.
    “Was there anything – now think, Jake – was there anything unusual about what they wanted?”
    You mean other than that it was a full first-person shooter assault on the White House and Congress? Oh, and the computer Artificial Intelligence had to be driven by the BILL equation? I paused for dramatic effect. Nah, I guess it was a pretty standard computer game deal, well…
    “Yes?”
    I mean they obviously didn’t care about distribution; there was no copy-protection in the deal; you know these days every game deal includes a shitload of copy protection schemes (usually fairly stupid algorithms that it’s the developer’s responsibilities to implement). You know I’ve been around this business for longer than I care to think about and I’ve seen them all: manual protection (where you have to look up a word from a booklet they throw in the box), key disk protection, dongles, online registration; they’re all stupid. The only pirates I ever worried about were the fucking game publishers. They never paid the royalties they owed me. I suppose this deal wasn’t any different.
    “Okay, aside from the lack of copy-protection, and the BILL equation, was there anything else unusual about this deal?”
    You mean other than the circumstances: cutting a whorehouse deal with a fake major general in the backroom of the O-Club at Maxwell? Of course you do. Well, there was one other thing: they wanted us to use their topographical database. You know, their 3D files. I mean, it’s not like I had access to the blueprints for the fucking White House.
    “Okay,” said the Authoritarian Man, “please continue.”
    Most of the details for the project came from Finley and Jacobson. I’ve worked with them before; I’m sure they’re both legit. Jacobson was at the War College. I’m sure of it. He once sent me a copy of his Master’s thesis on a proposal for an automated Course of Action program.
    The Authoritarian Man picked up Jacobson’s brown OMPF (Official Military Personnel File) and started flipping through it. I thought I caught a glimpse of a DD-214 form; that’s a Military Discharge Document. If Jacobson wasn’t active duty and Stanhope was a fraud what were they doing at Maxwell? How deep was this thing?
    The Authoritarian Man must have seen me sneaking a peek at the DD-214 because he abruptly snapped the OMPF shut and turned his back to me.
    Jacobson was legit, right? He was at the War College, wasn’t he?
    “I can’t comment on that,” the Authoritarian Man replied. “What about Finley?”
    After the meeting at the O-Club broke up, Finley drove me back to the motel to get my bag and then out to the airport. The same twin-engine plane was already warming up on the runway. That’s about all I remembered about Finley from that day (except the West Point ring: Duty , Honor , Country ; USMA Class of 2006).
     
    The journey home is always longer. In retrospect it doesn’t seem that way; you look back and barely remember it at all. But when you’re there, bumping through the clouds, refueling in St. Louis, it takes forever and all you can think of is the homecoming. The new security – since 9/11 – keeps your family far from the jetways and the airport gates. In the old days you walked off the plane and straight into your family’s arms. Of course there was never a time you could have snuck old Bill into an airport arrival gate. Bill as a guide dog; now there’s a joke.
    Kate tried; God bless her. She actually found (borrowed? stole?) a guide dog harness from somewhere and tried to pass Bill off as a leader dog for the blind. But you know a dog’s tell,