Public Day

The sharp drop in workload finally gave him time to go downstairs to the vending machine and buy a can of ice-cold Coke.

Fax machines hummed one after another, turning typeset copy into electrical signals and sending it across oceans and continents.

Dial-up modems let out their piercing connection screeches, while editors stared at progress bars crawling slowly across their screens and sent a few compressed key photos back to headquarters. A few complaints rang out now and then, mostly because the connection had dropped or a fax machine had jammed.

Eleven-thirty at night.

GamePro's editor hit the final Enter key and watched the email-sent-successfully prompt appear on the screen.

"Done." He closed his laptop screen and rubbed his aching neck, his bones cracking.

The photographer had already finished showering and was wiping his wet hair with a towel. "I set the alarm for six tomorrow morning. God bless, tonight we finally don't have to look at Los Angeles at four in the morning."

The first day's press conferences had been manufacturers flexing their muscles, the second day's closed-door meetings had been commercial maneuvering, and tomorrow, the third day—E3's public day—would bring the real test.

The exhibition hall doors would open to ordinary players. Tens of thousands of fanatics with tickets would pack the Los Angeles Convention Center to the brim.

"Tomorrow's work will be even more physically draining." The editor walked to the window, drew back the curtains, and looked at the city lights in the distance. "I heard Bandai held back sixty percent of its limited merchandise. The channel merchants who didn't get anything today probably hired scalpers overnight to line up for them. Sega's MGS2 demo area will be open all day. Sony's and Nintendo's booths are definitely going to be jammed until they burst. We have