By s. eric merescu at the age of nine, sasha blunderbraas toured the courts of europe, playing adventure for the royalty. at the age of twelve, he stunned the continent by solving the entire saga series in two hours and seven minutes. two years ago, his performance of starcross at the albert hall received a forty-five minute standing ovation. his videotapes have sold forty-million copies. when great interactive fiction players are discussed, blunderbraas stands apart from the rest, a class unto himself. where does someone go from the top? the lights dim, and an expectant hush settles over the standing-roomonly crowd at carnegie hall. they await his appearance with bated breath, their eager faces illuminated with a ghostly blue from the projection tvs, displaying the bootscreen of zork i. blunderbraas seems so ordinary, sitting in his midtown hotel room in blue-jeans and a t-shirt, sipping a can of soda. it's hard to believe that this unassuming figure is the genius whose name is synonymous with performing interactive fiction. "people are always surprised at my appearance when they see me for the first time, " explains blunderbraas, almost apologetically. "i think they expect someone taller, more commanding, with unkempt wild hair and a look of near madness in his eyes. i'm actually just pretty ordinary-looking." the huge hall erupts with applause as blunderbraas strides onto the stage, and it's easy to see why so many people have a bigger than lifesize image of the master, as fifty-foot television screens capture him as he walks over to the waiting computer. blunderbraas swills the soda around in his mouth, pondering his answer. "why zork i again? well, to tell you the truth, i've always had a particular fondness for its simplicity of structure. it's an almost perfect piece, and of course it's very accessible to audiences, which explains its tremendous popularity. with its very first three words, west of house, a familiar mood is established, forming a common meeting ground for audience and performer." as blunderbraas flips back his tails and settles onto the computer stool, a dead silence falls over the room. there is an electrifying moment while blunderbraas seems frozen, his hands poised over the keyboard. then with a crash of the keys, he's off and running, with the swift, steady inputs that are his trademark. "i love to play carnegie hall, " explains blunderbraas, skirting the question of why he is touring again after two years of semi-retirement. "its age, its ornateness, juxtaposed against the modern simplicity of the computer, creates an image of contradiction that frequently inspires me in my performance." a smile portends the release of a bauble from the stored wisdom of the master. "the great wilbur kleister once called our art 'using illogic to untwist logical contradictions.' i was never sure what he meant by that until the first time i played carnegie." the opening moves of zork i are standard, familiar to almost everyone, but already blunderbraas has the audience gasping at his innovation, his daring twists and turns. his use of abbreviation during the troll battle leaves an unsuspecting woman in the front row on the verge of tears. the performance is still in its first minute, and already the audience's emotions are putty in the master's hands. traffic noise from fifth avenue is the only sound as blunderbraas chews thoughtfully at the hot, bubbling, room service pizza. "i'd be lying if i said the audience reaction doesn't affect me. there's a bond there, and even though my concentration, my top-level thought, is fixed on that story, there's a secondary level of thought that is fed, nourished, and inspired by the level of electricity in the theatre." as the emerald joins sixteen other treasures in the trophy case, an almost electric tremor ripples through the audience. the audience can sense history in the making; performances such as this one come only once in a lifetime. a man in the audience grabs his stunned wife's arm. "not since the great kleister have i seen such a magnificent use of again!" he murmurs. "you hear this, you read that, what does it matter?" blunderbraas asks, shrugging off the suggestion that his performance at carnegie hall was his greatest ever. "am i better than kleister? maybe, maybe not. was carnegie last night better than albert hall two years ago? maybe, maybe not. why should i ask myself questions i cannot answer?" there are no surprises left. blunderbraas skillfully sweeps the audience forward with his final, brilliant inputs. as the closing words of the story appear on the screen, and the barrow door crashes shut, the enthralled multitude is drawn to its feet as though by a single cord. as blunderbraas turns for his bows, the room thunders with applause that threatens to bring down the walls. it rolls on and on, resounding around the room, propelling the evening's performance down the corridor of time, toward a pedestal of greatness it has already earned. his agent appears at the door, reminding blunderbraas of the impending flight. the master agrees to a final question. what's next for the man who is, if not unequalled in the annals of his art, at least unsurpassed? more performances? more tours, tapes, training? an autobiography? "just now, i mostly want to go home, lie around on the beach, putter around my garden. when i feel the need to perform again, i will perform again." he reaches for his jacket and knapsack. "by the way, " he asks. "do you know when the next hitchhiker's game will be out? and play craps on line.