Atlantis

I
When I was first approached by the Meridian Games Company in connection to my work with the Hayfield Group, I must admit I had never heard of them. I simply received a letter out of the blue inviting me to consider involving them in my work. Before tendering my response I made sure to check their credentials, making sure that our plans and ideas were mutually beneficial. This in itself proved to be a lot more difficult than I had anticipated, I found nothing relevant through my initial research, and a browse around the shops in town turned up none of their products. I pored over catalogues of recent years and asked around colleagues in the field, but nobody seemed to have heard of them. Perhaps they were a new company, I told myself, it could be that they trade under a different name, Meridian being the name of their research and development department
I decided to ask them personally, but their letterhead bore only a postal address. Anticipating the length of time it might take for them to reply, I decided to hedge my bets. I provisionally agreed to the collaboration, requesting further information regarding their previous projects, neglecting to stipulate that I might pull out at a later date.
This first letter arrived almost immediately after my employers, The Cook Foundation had agreed that I could spend the next few months working with the Hayfield Group in Stepney Green. I was rather surprised by the directors' decision that a secondment would be beneficial to my progress; my term with them didn't seem long enough to merit the freedom to work remotely from the rest of the team. One selling point for them, it seemed, was the approximation of Lieutenant James Cook's house, now demolished, to the venue on Mile End Road. The trustees were very keen to have somebody working on behalf of the organisation so closely to the site, and I was pleased to be there making preparations for Level Zero.
However, Level Zero could not begin before a Level -1 had been finalised. This was to be the work of these months. The Hayfield group were about 7 or 8, all based in London working with flight, who had a space above the Hayfield pub in Stepney Green. The landlord didn't seem the likeliest of patrons, but he was very keen for this sort of work to be carried out on his premises. He only specified that there should be some sort of public display at the end of our period there. The more the possibility of my working with the group became apparent, the more it seemed to make sense. It wasn't easy to make my intentions clear to all the members from the outset as my position as a member of another organisation caused some confusion, and the later involvement of Meridian made things even more unclear.
It was upon finally agreeing the terms of working with the group, and with my employers, that the letter arrived from Meridian. This offered no explanation as to their knowledge that I would be working on the project, which was especially odd given that the letter arrived only a day after this had all been agreed. Also the letter was rather presumptuous: "We are pleased to formally offer you a partnership grant towards your work for 'Untitled Flight Project' with the Hayfield Group" seemed to intone that I had accepted, without having been informed of their offer nor their terms and conditions. My response was something along the lines of "Thank you for your generous offer, I look forward to our potential collaboration and to seeing your exact terms of engagement." Within the week another envelope arrived at my door, this one simply containing a cheque for £1100 made out by Meridian Games Inc. to Phillip Edward Johnson with a post-it tacked on simply saying "In advance, yours, MGI."
They certainly did seem to be in advance of me, I felt that whoever they were it would be pointless for me to try and opt out. I met with one of the Cook Foundation's Directors to discuss the project. She was wholeheartedly supportive of the work and was very curious as she had lived in Stepney many years earlier. She told me that The Hayfield had originally been a show-pub for one of the old London breweries which had then been located just over the road. The brewery had since been converted into furniture warehouses and wholesale electrical outlets whilst the pub itself had long been bought out by a large chain of student bars. On the subject of MGI she hadn't the foggiest clue, and suggested a few people who I might be able to ask. Sensing the futility of the situation, and preferring to reserve my efforts for my studies, I naively decided that an offer of money could only be a positive thing, and that if a company wanted to use my work, for whatever purposes, then at least it would have a definite outcome.
I knuckled down to the project itself. I had already ascertained that the game would take place on an island, and that level zero would involve an initial gathering of early players using formative rules in a process of discovering this island, I decided that there must prior to this be a level -1, which would use test players to explore the possibilities of a lost island and to cross-check every possible rule-set in relation to this "Lost-ness." But a lost island is so ubiquitous that it seemed impossible to pick a single one to use as a model. Eventually we agreed on the progenitor to all lost islands, the Platonic city and continent of Atlantis. Existing in many forms in fact and fantasy in numerous potential locations across the world, Atlantis provided an ideal site for our own methods of discovery and for testing rules and methods of play.
What we were originally interested in was testing out the possibilities of quantifying the lost-ness that defines Atlantis, and the opportunities for existing characters to 'discover' it. As time went on it became clear that the notion of flight would become all the more important in this process.
In the year I was born, 1981, Rand and Rose Flem-Ath, a married pair of scientific researchers moved from Canada to London to study possible sites for the location of Atlantis on the back of their book Atlantis at Last! Rand spent his days in the British Museum Reading Room inspecting Portolans, ancient maps produced by Turkish sailors, purportedly proving a global knowledge of the oceans; maps that hinted that human culture could reach much further back than previously believed. One interesting discovery from this area of research is that, for all the current capabilities of global imaging satellites orbiting Earth, unless one has a clear idea of where to search, based on traditional forms of research, all this technology is useless.
It made sense in the context of the game level to utilise both research methodology and aerial reconnaissance. Therefore it was essential to utilise characters already able to fly in varying ways, either within Earth's atmosphere or in nearby space. There would also need to be a control subject which all other characters could relate to and which could be compared through a single real-time event. It is all good and well to create this sort of test game allowing for every potential rule-scenario and preparing to apply it to a wider context with practical implications, but without allowing for the movement of real-world characters, without including a body of truth within its framework, the project is lacking in its very core.
My next meeting with the group was a difficult one, but it brought about a wonderful coincidence that gave me the ideal control-subject I was looking for. Word had reached the group from my colleagues at the Foundation that I was being paid for my work externally by MGI, and they had some frank questions for me and some doubts as to my involvement in the project. As we were all meeting only once a week there was rather a large divergence in the work being produced by each member. While half the group were concerned with the philosophies of flight, the other half were working with the problem of air traffic and ethics. My own area fell into neither category, and it was revealed that the landlord wanted to see some sort of outcome for this project by the 6th December (2007). I was immediately struck by the feeling there was some significance to this date and excused myself whilst I pored through my notes from previous weeks.
Sure enough, on the 6th December 2006 the NASA Shuttle Atlantis was scheduled to launch from the Johnson Space Centre at 16:33:43 on a mission to take the Columbus Module to the International Space Station. Suddenly my plans started to come into focus. As I sat before the group, my files and papers strewn wildly about, figuring out how the architecture of the shuttle worked into the dynamics of the game, how the astronauts figured into their roles within the character of the vessel itself, the group looked at me with renewed interest. I don't think they had before realised the weight of complexity involved in the work I was trying to accomplish. They started to talk amongst themselves, separated into their two interest groups. There was a definite change in that meeting wherein each of the other members began to see the potential application to their own areas of work.
When discussion across the table was resumed, it was agreed that my work could continue so long as doubts regarding irregularities in funding were investigated by myself at the earliest given opportunity. I agreed in principle, but I could not know in reality how long it would be before I had these answers to give to them. I had written back to MGI one more time to request information regarding their involvement, but had so far received nothing. The day after this meeting with the Hayfield members a package arrived containing 15 envelopes, all apparently empty but with return addresses on the front of each. With the package was a note which read, "Players, Level -1: Atlantis"; the implication was enough to cause me some alarm. Was this the involvement that they were suggesting? A monopoly over the player group and sole rights to external membership?
I decided to follow up my leads within the Cook Foundation, but none of them led anywhere. The work was continuing apace and I was afraid that the silence of my secret benefactor would endanger my ability to continue working at all. I had constructed a play sheet which allowed for surface movement to be charted across the areas between, and including, South west Africa, South-East America and Antarctica. Existing rule-sets for each of the characters selected were updated and modified to take into account the new items of play and the systems I had set in place within my previous endeavours.
To allow for the outer atmosphere players in this system a raised platform was constructed. For simplicity's sake I used a glass coffee-table, found in a storage room at the pub, which I marked with a hexagonal grid, warped to take into account the curvature of the Earth.
When all the characters had been decided on and designed in detail, I was ready to contact the players whose addresses I had been sent via MGI. Whilst stuffing the envelopes provided with each correspondent's character details, I noticed that the envelopes were produced by MGI STATIONERY, and patterned on the inside with an hexagonal tesselation. I also noticed by the third or fourth envelope that there were occasional areas in the paper where the ink in this design had run and the paper itself was wrinkled.
It seemed peculiar that MGI were also producing their own stationery, and furthermore, I was troubled with the thought that the envelopes could have ben tampered with. They had barely been out of the packet, and sealed as they were upon arrival I could think of no instance when the could have had water splash on them in the way this suggested. I decided to take the risk of opening one of them fully, tearing at either side with a letter opener so that I could inspect its innards. There were definite, deliberate marks inside. It brought to mind the coded letters and secrets messages of espionage. I held the letter above a candle to see if some invisible ink was revealed when exposed to the heat of the flame. The letter quickly caught fire and cursing loudly in my flat, I threw the thing to the floor, stamping out the fire. I picked up the remains, wondering how I would explain this to the person named thereupon, when I noticed, a few letters in light brown around the singed area of the paper.
Each of the envelopes turned out to be letters written in lemon juice detailing the nature of each of these players involvement in the game. Through the evening's work unearthing these secret messages and decoding their meaning, I discovered that the addresses I had been provided with were not new players so much as they were already involved in the Game and had been from the outset of my designing it. Each of the letters had been written by the player his/herself and professed a far greater awareness of the intricacies of the rules set out in the early stages of the rule-sets, dangerous levels which could be used to unravel future scenarios and damage the safety of players. I began to panic, realising the weakness of the safety features I had set in place, planning what I could further implement to guard against problematic developments.
I would have to create teams to protect hazardous areas and to clear out loopholes in existing level-plans. I would have to be a very tactical designer in setting groups against one another so as not to allow them to team up and reach higher, more destructive levels. My only option at this point was to continue the plans for level -1 and send the letters off to the MGI players. It would also mean bringing forward the date of the live public release of the game.


II

In the year I was born, 1981, Prince Namor and his cousin Namorita, the Atlantean monarchs moved from New York to London to study possible sites for the location of the ancient continent of Atlantis on the back of their discovery that their own home, Atlantis, was a very different kingdom from the one described by Plato. The pair spent their days in the British Museum Reading Room inspecting Portolans, ancient maps produced by Turkish sailors purportedly proving a global knowledge of the oceans, maps that hinted that human culture could reach much further back than previously believed. One interesting discovery from this area of research was that for all their superhuman capabilities, the power of flight, underwater speed and strength etc. without a clear idea of where to search, based on traditional forms of research, all these powers were useless.
Based on their pioneering work I created a study map of the possible locations, bearing in mind their belief that the land mass underneath the Antarctic ice was the continent once known as Atlantis. I wanted also to compare the various methods of flight employed by super-humans and by NASA spacecraft to see similarities in the nature of their propulsion and, in the case of Iron Man, whether there were any influences and design similarities that might bring us a better knowledge of flight both philosophically and ethically. Other examples I wanted to examine were Namor and Namorita themselves, Johnny Storm, Norrin Rad, Alicia Masters as well as NASA's mission of the shuttle Atlantis to the international space station to deliver the Columbus module.
With the game underway, the tracks of the various participants had been charted, the process being validated by independent onlookers, the area of data collection becoming overgrown with texts and images. In the rush to have all the work done, neatness became secondary to the quantity of information imparted and soon I found careless footprints, spillages and detritus stuck to the surface of the paper. The contents of the room were cleared out and put into storage and audio visual equipment tested out for screening the launch of Atlantis. It was rather encouraged to turn the affair into something of a spectacle.
Upon returning to the Hayfield the day after to finalise preparations, I was confronted by a member of their staff. He explained that the management had some complaints about the group and then drew my attention to a hole in the ceiling in the corner of the room. This had apparently been caused by a leaking pipe, which had been caused by our group negligently striking a radiator whilst moving items of furniture. There were also, he informed me, 'issues' regarding the way in which we had moved items from the room into storage, of which we were previously unaware.
I spoke with other members of the group and it was agreed that we must postpone the show. It was not agreed when, but I knew that whenever it was, my work would suffer. If the game was not played out on the day of the Atlantis launch then the results would be null and void. Maybe with this the MGI would withdraw its funding and leave me to continue my work unhindered, but this was of little comfort. The blow to the research and advancement of the game was such that I would have gladly encouraged MGI's shady interference if I thought it would help.
I left the premises alone and wandered along Mile End Road to the bus stop, wondering what I should tell my employers. Absently I looked skywards, and realised I was looking at something I had meant to investigate all along. On a fairly modern wall on the main street, raised from eye level was a large stone plaque which read "On this site stood a house occupied for some years by CAPTAIN JAMES COOK.R.N.F.R.S. 1728 - 1779 Circumnavigator and Explorer" before going on to detail some of the achievements he had made during his career. I truly had neglected my work for the Cook Foundation whilst this had all been going on, I hadn't even seen this wall plaque moments from the pub in which I had spending so much time.
The wall itself was the side of a building, by a car-entrance leading into an industrial-looking courtyard, darkly peopled by smoking men and taxi-cabs. Walking around inside I saw the various businesses were a taxi firm, a bakery, a print studio. Leaving again I saw that the building on which the Cook Plaque was found was unoccupied, but it was number 88. The number seemed significant, but I did not know why. I pulled out a pen and a notepad gleaned from the Novotel Conference Centre in London Bridge and wrote the number large across the page, stuffing it cack-handedly in my satchel.
Back home I heartened myself thinking of other scenarios in which failed exhibitions have gone on to have the same or even greater effect after the fact, with the work in a lesser state due to complications in the attempt to show it. Just before Galactus the Devourer's final attempt to subdue and consume Earth a number of years ago, Alicia Masters, the blind sculptress, had her major show in New York attacked by the Mole-Man. Many of her works were damaged beyond repair, but she found that when re-exhibited (minus various limbs etc.) they sold for at least double their estimated worth.
I planned to continue with the project, at least trying to record the space-flight along with my own study of the phenomenon of the flight itself. A few select colleagues would be invited to witness the event whilst I carried out the work with my associates, and the totality of the work could be exhibited at a later date for the broader public. However, the most unusual thing happened on the evening of the 6th December 2007. About 5 people gathered in my studio, around a jittery computer-feed of NASA TV with the map laid out on the floor. We waited for the count-down to be completed but, at the very last minute, the launch had to be abandoned when a fault was discovered with one of the computer's circuits. At first NASA's scientists estimated that the problem could be solved by the following Sunday, but by then they had agreed that it should not go ahead until at least mid-January.
Letters from MGI ceased to come for me at the office and at home, and interest very quickly evaporated for the game itself. Though I continued with it intermittently, my main program was within the foundation itself, and remains so to this day.





Appenix 1

While I planned for this exhibition some other events took place of lasting interest to me which I would like also to note. The first was the imminent closure of the Dalston Blockbuster. This giant video shop was more than just a video shop, it had also been the Video Shop Museum for some time. The video shop museum project was intended to provide a place where people could study the history and the contemporary existence of video shops and the culture in which they currently exist. It was brought about by my own concern that this instittion, one that had existed since around the time of my own birth, was becoming defunct, and that the space of these shops would no longer be around for people to see. In planning a space that could be used for this purpose, many suggestions were rejected, such as simple video documenation or a dedicated space with the appearance of a video shop. It became increasingly obvious that the only space which would serve to illustrate what video shops were and are would be an actual video shop. To this end it was decided amongst the committee of the Video Shop Museum that the Dalston Blockbuster would from then on be the museum. The beauty of this is that the experience of the museum is therefore totally immersive, to the point where no onlooker would know whetehr a visitor is a museum-goer or simply a customer. It is also one of the few museums where one can quite affordably rent the exhibits.
Unfortuneately during this time the shop was bought out by Tesco Extra who began building their new shop almost imediately. Whilst in one of our meetings about the exhibition, one of te other members pointed out the very peculiar Blockbuster video shop just over the road. The building in which it was based was indeed very odd, a victoria building with a very modern section apparently slotted in the middle. I planned immediately to find out more about the space and whether it would be suitable for the new museum.