Set This House in Order by Matt Ruff Page A

be,” Julie told me. “That’s the point.”
    â€œWell, but…not that it isn’t neat, and all, but do you really think people will pay money just to play an imaginary game of catch?”
    â€œYou don’t get it, Andrew,” Julie said. “Eidolon isn’t the playroom.”
    â€œIt isn’t?”
    â€œNo. Eidolon is what built the playroom.” She went on to explain thatEidolon was actually a “software engine,” a sort of programming language and interpreter. “The playroom is just a sample application. A demo. But you can use the engine to design any sort of geography you want, for any reason you want. So maybe you’re a real-estate developer who wants to take someone on a walk through a building that only exists as a blueprint; Eidolon will let you do that. Or maybe you do want to play an imaginary game of catch, but using your own laws of physics; Eidolon will let you do that, too.”
    â€œHmm.” I didn’t say so out loud, but these examples still didn’t sound very interesting. But Julie sensed my lack of enthusiasm, and quickly came up with an application that did interest me.
    â€œOr,” she said, “maybe you’ve been hurt.”
    â€œHurt? Hurt how?”
    â€œIn an accident, say. Let’s suppose you’ve had a spinal injury that leaves you partially paralyzed, with no feeling in your legs. You might be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. But with this”—she tapped the back of the data glove—“you can still get up and dance any time you want to.”
    â€œThe engine would let you do that?”
    â€œSure.” She smiled. “So you see, it’s not just an expensive toy. With the right application, it can be a tool for living a fuller life.”
    A tool for living a fuller life …I liked that phrase. “It sounds good,” I said. “But who would actually program that application? I mean—”
    â€œThe end-user,” Julie said.
    â€œThe person in the wheelchair?”
    Julie nodded. “The finished version of the programming interface will be very intuitive, very easy to use. You’ll be able to define and create whole new geographies using just the headset and the glove.”
    That got my attention. Inside Andy Gage’s head, only my father was allowed to make changes to the house and the grounds; but here was an opportunity to wield a similar power myself.
    â€œCan you show me how that works?” I went to pick up the goggles and the data glove again, but Julie stopped me: “The finished version, I said. It’s not finished yet.”
    â€œOh…you mean there’s not even a test version I could try?”
    â€œNope. Sorry. Dennis is still working on the core Eidolon engine, so for now, applications have to be coded individually. The simplified geography editor—we call it Landscaper—is still a ways down the road yet.”
    â€œHow far down the road?” I had a sudden nagging suspicion. “When is Eidolon supposed to be finished?”
    â€œWhen it’s done,” said Julie.
    Every few months Dennis would cobble together a new demo program, showcasing the latest version of the still-unfinished Eidolon engine, as a lure for potential investors. These demos were the closest thing the Reality Factory had to an actual product. They were also my only real chance to play consultant: before Dennis started coding, Julie would sit me down with him and have me offer suggestions about what the demo should include. But these brainstorming sessions never lasted very long, and most of my suggestions were things that Dennis couldn’t possibly implement. “This is not the holodeck on the starship Enterprise !” he would end up shouting at me, his patience exhausted. “I can’t program it to let you smell things!”
    So I ended up spending most of my time doing nonconsulting work: helping