The computer game problem is, in some ways, indicative of the medium's endemic embarrassment of riches. Given how young videogames are, their fossil record is still quite rich. Not only is the technology itself still in use, but more importantly, most of the people alive to experience gaming's greatest landmarks are still around today, able to offer up their stories as precious primary source material for future generations. We are literally living through videogame history.
That's why it's so important to start archiving the story of games now, says Dyson, before it begins to fade away: "Everything has a shelf life -- even computers."
Even the most carefully maintained videogame or console will eventually fall prey to "bit rot," or the gradual decay of digital data. Optical discs can become scratched or pitted, and contaminated by the breakdown of ink and adhesives. Floppy disks or hard drives may lose their magnetism or suffer actual rot. Even cartridges will one day cease to work, corroded from battery acid and moisture (and unfortunately, blowing on that old Nintendo cartridge actually speeds this process along).
Old stuff rules.
"So far, we've been lucky. Almost everything we've gotten has worked," says Wheeler. But the specter of bit rot still hovers over NCHEG. When you consider that scientists' best estimates suggest floppy disks may last only 10-30 years, and that the thousands of games published on floppies in the 1980s are already at least 21 years old, you can begin to see the urgency of the situation.
Equally daunting is the challenge of obsolescence: Even if a floppy disk could somehow be preserved for hundreds of years, it might as well be a stone tablet of Indus Valley script, since with today's newest hardware the floppy has become an all-but-unreadable media. Likewise with punch cards or cassette tapes -- these once-ubiquitous storage solutions have been rendered obsolete by the ever-accelerating evolution of technology. "We need native speakers," says Dyson, referring to the hardware capable of reading obsolete media. "It's not enough to just have the game; we need Rosetta stones, equipment able to translate and decipher these older materials."
But consoles and computers are themselves susceptible to bit rot, and furthermore, even the hardware components are quickly vanishing. For example, the bulky CRT monitor -- the kind found in arcade game cabinets -- is nearly extinct, thanks to the transition to LCD screens. Few manufacturers produce CRTs anymore, and the number shrinks daily.
Slightly less-old stuff also rules.
Although the NCHEG curators utilize several sources who can custom-fabricate parts, if a component breaks, the only recourse in many cases is to find an identical machine and swap out the parts.
Oftentimes, the best (or only) way to ward off bit rot and obsolescence is to transfer a game from one storage medium to another, via emulation or other methods. However, this presents its own challenges, since some copy-protection schemes and licensing agreements make it difficult -- or even illegal -- to copy a videogame.
To confront these logistical issues, the Preserving Virtual Worlds project -- a joint effort across four universities (including Strong's neighbor, Rochester Institute of Technology) and Second Life developer Linden Lab -- is currently trying to divine a set of basic standards and preservation methodology. "We're following their efforts closely," says Dyson.
