Gnusto Ozmoo

Randi Hacker

Infocom games are not instruments of the devil. No, they want you to solve them. Really they do. It's all a matter of knowing what to look for.

The following conversation took place in a bank in New York City:

First Woman: So tell me what happened after I went home.

Second Woman: Well, we discovered a gold goblet and a silver goblet in two rooms just off the barge room. Oh, and on the barge we found a papyrus scroll with some cuneiform message about the queen on it. Later, we practically tripped over the dessicated skeletal remains of some poor slob who was not as fortunate in his explorations as we were. We know we've got to do something with the bricks in order to find the Queen's burial chamber but we're not sure what yet. Also, we found a vast underground chamber where we had to break a priceless statue and haul it around in order to get into the inner sancti of Isis, Nepthys, Neutrogena, Curly and Moe, the ancient Egyptian gods.

Third Woman (and a very puzzled woman whe was, too): I hate to intrude but I couldn't help overhearing. Where were you?

Second Woman: East 81st St.

This was, at least, partially true. But, while we may have physically been on 81st St., we were, spiritually, sporting pith helmets, carrying backpacks and exploring a pyramid that had been lost in the Egyptian desert sometime in the 1920's. Before you get cute and ask who could possibly be careless enough to misplace something as large, heavy and ancient as a pyramid let us inform you that this is a game. Not just a game, though. This is Infocom's Infidel and the whole story was just a means of illustrating how carried away you can get playing of these fine text adventures.

Not only can you take trips to exotic lands, you can also add colorful phrases to your drab vocabulary. Phrases such as "Gnusto ozmoo," for example, which in Enchanteranto means, "Enter the ozmoo spell in my spell book." What is the ozmoo spell? We can say no more about that, I'm afraid. Many valuable playing hints will be revealed in this story. What the ozmoo spell does isn't one of them.

Unlike other text adventures, Infocom games have no pictures. On screen, that is. This makes them something like the old radio shows. (You remember radio.) Radio shows could take place anywhere without the building of elaborate sets. All that was needed was a few timely sound effects and one minute you could find yourself on the frozen tundra of the Northwest Territory and, a split second later, you'd be basking in the sun of a Carribean island, birds of paradise chirping in the background and the sound of some attractive person slurping a pina colada on the beach. In addition, the appearance of any character or location was all up to you. No producer or director was able to impose his or her idea of what someone looked like on your own -- and certainly more accurate -- idea. And this served to make horror broadcasts more horrible. Your own monstrous creations and embodiments of evil were far more hideous than anyone else's idea of what would scare you.

Similarly, in Infocom games, the action all takes place wherever you choose, all the characters look the way you know they ought to and no one's characters look like anyone else's even if you're playing the game with a partner. In this way, Infocom games become your games. You feel a certain possessiveness about them. And you become really, really involved in their intricate plots.

But just because you feel a certain personal attachment to them -- a feeling that they're closer to you than even your immediate family -- doesn't necessarily mean that you can force them to bend to your will the way you can with younger siblings. It also doesn't mean that they're easy to solve. Quite the contrary, in fact. They can be very frustrating and no amount of threats or blackmail will make them more accommodating, either. Of course, the more Infocom games you play, the more familiar you become with certain standard little tricks that the authors slip into each one. And while each game creates its own world and denizens, there are several useful things which apply across the board and which, if you know to look for them in advance, can help you get out of a tight spot without resorting to ripping the diskette out of the drive and using it as a hi-tech cocktail coaster.

But first a few words about some of the Infocom plots. While each game spins its own intricate plot, you can generalize safely when you say that in each game you, incredibly innocent person with a mission, are dropped into a situation which needs resolving. How you resolve it is the key issue here.

Just because Infocom games are all text doesn't mean they lack excitement. Here are a few examples of the sorts of things you'll encounter when the disk hits the drive:

In Planetfall you are a lowly Ensign Seventh Class on the doomed space ship Feinstein. You have to explore a deserted space complex in order to find out what your task is. You are armed only with a towel, some colored goo and a can of spam. In Deadline you are an intrepid, if clumsy, detective trying to gather evidence to incriminate someone (Ms. Dunbar, the loyal but shifty amanuensis? Mrs. Robner, the unfaithful wife? George, the dissolute son with the odd taste in music?) in the murder of Mr. Robner, business tycoon and philanthropist. In Enchanter you are the most ineffectual of sorcerors sent on a mission to destroy Krill, the evil warlock whose spell of darkness keeps an entire elvish country in an oppressed state and where you meet a bunch of hunched and hairy shapes who want nothing more than to sacrifice you to their bloodthirsty god. And, finally, Infidel in which you must find the lost pyramid of an obscure but filthy rich Egyptian queen despite the fact that you've managed to offend everyone from your benefactress down to your Arab work crew and have been abandoned in the desert with nothing but beef jerky, an empty canteen and your wits, such as they are, to rely on.

Each Infocom text adventure operates in exactly the same way. You're given a lengthy description of where you are, what objects you can see and what exits, if any, are available to you. It generally appears in this format:

"Entrance to the Mine

This is the entrance to a mine. It's dimly lit by torches. Rotten wood plants support the tons of earth on top of you. They don't look too solid. In fact, they look as if they might collapse any minute. A miner's cap is on the ground and a pick axe is stuck into a vein of coal. A half-eaten lunch suggests that the occupant fled in some haste.

There is a pair of pantyhose here."

Once you've visited a room, however, descriptions are more abbreviated, so if you re-enter, you're likely to get only "Mine Entrance" or "Jayne Mansfield's Living Room" and no further description. Unless. And here we've deftly segued into the first general rule which is: Important things are often highlighted in some way in the description of where you are. For example:

"Saks' Fitting Room

Your senses reel and you suddenly find yourself in the midst of a throng of at least 25 screaming matrons all in various states of undress. Mirrors line one wall. A row of benches surrounds the room. A sallow, sour saleswoman eyes you viciously. Clothes are strewn about the area.

On the floor is a curious slip of paper that appears to have writing on it."

The fact that the slip of paper has a paragraph all its own -- like the pantyhose did in the previous example -- indicates that it is probably worth examining. Sometimes it will turn out to be nothing more than a self-congratulatory advertisement for Infocom games. More often, however, it will be significant.

You've been abandoned in the desert with nothing but beef jerky and your wits, such as they are, to rely on.

Not all clues and salient facts are that clearly set off, though. This is why the second general rule is to read the descriptions carefully. Clues are often hidden in the body of the text so your Evelyn Woods speed reading/skimming course will do you no good here. Bear in mind, however, that sometimes the important facts don't surface until after you've performed an action more than once. Be alert for cues from the computer that will, in some way, suggest that you try what you've done again. For example, say you find yourself trapped in a Safeway after closing. Your only exit is being blocked by a mutant cashier. You've tried chucking frozen orange juice cans at her three times. Each time, she has backed off somewhat but hasn't fled. Try it again. Something like this might happen on your fourth attempt:

Yes, friends, you can enlist the computer as an unwitting accomplice in your search for the ultimate solution.

"Safeway

As you raise your hand to toss the last can of frozen orange juice in your possession, you notice that the head mutant cashier is eyeing it with interest. It has no price on it."

What you might try to do, then, is offer the can to her. This could create a temporary diversion during which time she will ask Anthony for a price on this item and you can make your escape. The clue is there. You've got to look.

While we're on the subject of gleaning clues from the text, you should be aware that the computer can be used to your advantage. Yes, friends, you can enlist the computer as an unwitting accomplice in your search for the ultimate solution. Let's say, for example, that while touring the castle, you meet a dwarf and you type in "Use scalpel on dwarf." Infocom games are sticklers for details. This means that the computer will often want a clarification of your command. It might, therefore, come back with something like "Which dwarf do you mean? The dwarf with the inflamed appendix or the dwarf with the enchanted contact lenses?" You may not have known that there was, in fact, a dwarf hanging around who had in his possession magical contact lenses but now you do and armed with this information, your search becomes all the more purposeful. This sort of strategy is useful when it comes to doors, windows, gardens and all sorts of elements.

There's something else important about the description of your surroundings. As mentioned before, the computer will only give you a detailed description the first time you enter a place. From thereon in, it will simply tell you where you are. For example, "Laundry Room." However, if there's something there that's important or if you've left an item or moved something, that will be repeated. So, if you're not sure about the value of a certain object, leave the room and then return. If something is present, it will be described again.

Not everything is pertinent, however. Infocom always throws in a lot or red herrings and it's your job to weed these out. There's no one way to figure out what's going to be necessary and what's not but you ought to be aware that red herrings are going to be planted. In fact, in Deadline, one of the characters actually sits down to a meal of red herrings while in Witness, the Oriental houseman is, at times, found opening a can of worms.

Look. Whenever you're stuck, ask for a description of the area you're in. Not only does this give you a chance to search for some clue you may have overlooked previously, but, if you've done something in that room, you may find that the description has altered in some way and that change may give you a whole new direction in which to go. For example, let's say you're carrying in your inventory a mechanical pencil, a matchbook, a saucer, a rope and a three-year-old-child. You go south and end up in a playground. It's your average elementary school playground with swings, monkey bars and a seesaw. On the seesaw is another three-year-old that "seems to be the same weight" as the child you're carting around with you. The words "seems to be the same weight" are in themselves a clue. Put your child on the other end of the seesaw and then Look. What may happen is that the seesaw will balance perfectly and a secret entrance leading to the Chemistry Lab will suddenly appear in the middle of the kickball diamond.

The general rule about objects is that, if objects are going to be any use whatsoever, they will have one specific purpose. Knowing this in advance enables you to look at other things you find with an eye toward how they can be used with what you already have found. For example, in your hapless meanderings, you've come upon a perfectly good pair of pants. You already have a pair of pants on but you suspect that eventually you're going to find a good use for the second pair. You take them with you and, by golly, the next room you enter houses an old man who hasn't been able to leave his room for milennia because he hasn't got any pants. Give the pants to him. This will not only lighten your load but will probably make the man one of your most ardent admirers and no doubt he'll lead you to a room you otherwise couldn't have found by yourself.

Generally, once you've used something, you won't need it again. Discard it. You can't carry everything you find and you've got to leave yourself with some hands to carry other important things you'll find on the way. So, once you've used the scalpel to remove the inflamed appendix of the powerful but short dwarf, thus making him your friend, leave it somewhere. Chances are you won't find anyone else who needs emergency surgery.

Another comment on the usefulness of what you're carrying with you: If you find yourself in a situation for which there seems to be no solution, look at your inventory and try to figure out what, among the things you're carrying you (a) haven't used yet and (b) could possibly be used to extricate yourself or open up an enchanted door or talk to a recalcitrant toad or whatever. But don't reach for a solution. If you have to go through too much convoluted deduction, then you're probably barking up the wrong object. While the solution doesn't scream at you blatantly, too much over-reasoning is dangerous. The use of objects is rarely contrived. So, for example, you will almost never have to use the saw as a musical instrument on which to play lullabies which will put the vicious and rabid dogs guarding the entrance to the enchanted supermarket to sleep. The use of the saw will be more pedestrian than that.

You can't cut corners. In other words, if you've played Deadline before and have discovered something about the murder that happens at, say, two in the afternoon, you can't re-boot and use that information to arrest the suspect at 11 a.m. This is frowned upon by the School of Better Detectiving and besides, it's just not done. You can't know something in advance.

Similarly, you can't know something without having proof that you know something. So, if you confront Mrs. Robner about Steven, she'll play dumb unless you can prove that you know that she knows about Steven. She won't talk unless she knows that you know about Steven. You must have something to show her that is concrete evidence that Steven exists. Then she'll spill her guts.

In each game, certain things will tell you whether or not you're on the right track. Either the game will say in no uncertain terms that you're really going the wrong way, buddy, or it will be just a little more subtle. All the characters move at a frenzied pace if you do something right. If you're not doing something right, well, then nothing will happen. Everyone will simply sit around knitting or reading, the stars will twinkle, the sun will rise and set, Pinkerton will not return and you'll simply wear out your shoes and get hoarse trying to get them to confess. If things get dull, re-boot. Things should not get dull.

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