Masters of Doom by David Kushner Page A

Computer Club. But the
     strongest impression came when he met Lane and Romero, a meeting that bordered on
     the kinetic.
    Within moments the three programmers were discussing the spectrum of game programming,
     from the challenges of double resolution 16-bit graphics for the Apple II to the nuances
     of 8086 assembly language. They talked nonstop, not just about computers but about
     their other common interests: Dungeons and Dragons, Asteroids,
The Lord of the Rings
. Carmack told them about how he never had the computers he wanted when he was growing
     up. Romero said, “Man, I would have bought you those machines.”
    Carmack was unprepared to meet anyone who could keep up with him intellectually, particularly
     in programming. Not only could these two guys talk the talk but they actually knew
more
than Carmack himself. They weren’t just good, they were better than he was, he thought.
     Romero was inspiring, not only in his knowledge of programming but in his all-around
     skills: his artistry, his design. Carmack was cocky, but if someone could teach him,
     he wasn’t going to let his ego get in the way. On the contrary, he was going to listen
     and stick around. He was going to take the Softdisk job.
    Before the Gamer’s Edge crew could get started, they needed one vital machine: a fridge. Making computer games
     required an accessible mound of junk food, soda, and pizza. And to eat this stuff,
     they’d need someplace convenient to stash it. Romero, Carmack, and Lane agreed to
     kick in $180 of their own money to buy a used refrigerator for their new office, a
     small room in the back of Softdisk.
    But as they carried the appliance through the door, they felt the icy stares of the
     jealous employees around them. All week they had been coming into the office with
     accessories: a microwave, a boom box, a Nintendo.
Fucking Romero even came in with a video game!
It was, Romero told them, research. The other employees weren’t buying it. Worst
     of all was when they saw some workmen wheeling in a fleet of sparkling new 386 PCs—the
     fastest computers around—for the gamers. Everyone else in the company was stuck working
     on machines that were about one-fourth the power.
    When the Gamer’s Edge guys had everything set up, they plugged in the microwave and
     popped in some pizza. But the moment they hit cook, all the lights in the office fizzled
     out. This was grounds for a revolt, the other employees decided. They went to speak
     with Big Al. Al was quick to quiet the storm. The Gamer’s Edge crew, he explained
     patiently, wasn’t just out to have a good time, they were out to save the company.
Yes,
he said,
save the company.
The boom of the recent years, he told them, was coming to a close. The company had
     sunk tremendous resources into the ill-fated Apple II line. Al had recently been forced
     to lay off twenty-five people in one day.
    “Look,” he told the employees who were bemoaning the Gamer’s Edge project, “don’t
     complain. If these guys make a home run, we’ll all benefit from it. It’ll work. Don’t
     worry.” Truth was, Big Al was worried himself. He walked down to the Gamer’s Edge
     office and opened the door. It was pitch-black, except for the glow of the computer
     monitors. He went to flip the light switch, but nothing happened.
    “Oh,” Romero said, “we took out the lights. They sucked.”
    “Fluorescent,” Lane explained, squinting, “hard on the eyes.”
    Al looked up. The light sockets were gutted of their tubes. The team had clearly made
     itself at home. He saw the microwave, the fridge, the junk food. Metallica played
     from a boom box. A dart-strewn poster of the hair metal band Warrant hung on the wall.
     Carmack, Lane, and Romero each sat at his own fancy machine. “Look,” Al said, “we
     can’t take two months to get out this first disk. We have to get it out in four weeks.
     And you have to have two games on it so we can entice people to