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Since Steven Spielberg said he could help connect Ethan Jones with Ralph Baer, Ethan wasn't about to be polite—he immediately agreed to meet at the Universal Studios hotel, choosing to stay there and wait for news.
Because they had come together and were both deeply interested in games, Steve Jobs had no intention of leaving. He decided to stay with Ethan until everything was settled, before returning to focus on his personal computer business.
Their words made Spielberg very happy. For him, this kind of staying and waiting was the best sign of trust. So, he immediately called Universal staff and instructed them to arrange the best accommodations for Ethan and Jobs. And since it was still early, Spielberg took the initiative to transform into a tour guide, leading Ethan around Universal Studios.
To be honest, Ethan was a very curious person. So when Spielberg said there were "no secrets" in Universal Studios, Ethan stood up at once, eager to see for himself what the shark props from Jaws looked like—the very things that made audiences leap out of their seats in fright.
But when he finally saw the three shark models used for filming, his excitement turned into disappointment. Their stiff movements, dull eyes, and awkward look hardly seemed threatening. In confusion, he asked:
"Steven, are you sure these are the sharks from the movie? Can something this fake really scare people?"
When the topic shifted to his own field of expertise, Spielberg said with confidence.
"Of course they're the same sharks. It's normal that they don't look scary to you here—because on the big screen, their impact is amplified through narrative and cinematic techniques.
Originally, we wanted Jaws to be a gore-filled splatter film. But these models were too heavy, too difficult to float and sink naturally in water. To save costs, I cut the bloody content from the script. What started out as a splatter film turned into the suspense film you know today.
And it's precisely because we left room for the audience's imagination that the shark on screen feels so terrifying. In a movie, people project their own fears into the gaps of what they see—and the images imagined by the human mind are always the scariest of all. That imagined picture is far more frightening than any direct shot."
"This method is called blank space in art, right?" Steve Jobs said with a smile.
"Yes, exactly—blank space," Spielberg nodded.
Hearing this, Ethan also understood: Jaws relied on atmosphere.
By abandoning the gore and severed limbs common in American B-movies, the film instead used artistic suggestion to create a sense of dread.
"If that's the case, isn't it a pity?" Ethan Jones touched the model of the great white shark and said, "You spent so much money to build it, but it never really swam. Isn't that a shame?"
"Of course!" Steven Spielberg admitted. "It is a bit of a pity."
But the next second, he shifted the topic. "However, this failure taught me something. When building prop models in the future, we must consider autonomy. In fact, a friend of mine has recently been researching electric models. If all goes well, I'll be able to use his technology in my next movie—and maybe then I can make up for this regret."
These words made Ethan, who was still petting the shark, blink.
Because he knew exactly who Spielberg's "friend" was—George Lucas. And if it was George Lucas, then the movie involving electric models could only be America's future national IP: Star Wars…
"The film has already started filming?" Ethan asked curiously. "Electric models? What kind of movie is your friend making that needs those?"
"Oh, it's a science fiction movie about outer space," Spielberg replied.
"Wow Outer space? That sounds amazing!" Ethan said, pressing further.
"Yeah I think it's amazing too!" Spielberg lit up as he spoke. "Ethan, are you interested? If you are, I can take you there sometime. His studio's not far. Though filming hasn't started yet, they're still in the modeling stage. Shooting won't begin until March next year at the earliest."
Got it! So it really is Star Wars Ethan confirmed, then smiled and agreed, "Okay, I'll go after I finish my work."
"Don't worry," Spielberg assured him with confidence. "You'll definitely get the new game before we go."
With that promise, Spielberg continued leading Ethan and Jobs around Universal Studios until his assistant came over, informing them that the hotel arrangements were ready. An entire floor had been secured, so there would be no privacy concerns. Spielberg personally escorted them to check in before heading home to contact his father.
To be honest, the most powerful background anyone could have was their parents.
When Spielberg called his father and explained that he'd run into trouble, the Arnold Spielberg didn't hesitate—he drove straight to Universal the very next morning. Ethan, still groggy from sleep, was stunned.
"This is way too fast!" he muttered, rushing to shower, brush his teeth, and head over to meet the Spielberg father.
After Ethan explained his situation, Arnold Spielberg—glasses perched on his nose, his face wise and weathered—shook his head and sighed.
"Sure enough, something like this was bound to happen. When Magnavox sued Atari over Pong, I already felt something was wrong. Magnavox demanded two million dollars from Atari. If it was just about one simple game, how could the damages possibly be that high?"
Rudolf's patent had truly made the capitalists rejoice—and the practitioners weep.
"Rudolf?" The name made Ethan pause in confusion. Why did it feel like the person Arnold Spielberg was talking about wasn't the same person he knew?
His puzzled look made Steven Spielberg laugh. "Oh Ethan, don't be surprised. That's just how it is. Professor Ralph Baer's original name was Rudolf Heinrich Baer. To avoid capture, he changed his name when he fled. So now most people call him Ralph, but those who knew him earlier still call him Rudolf."
"Oh!" Ethan Jones smiled and nodded, showing that he understood.
Just as he had this sudden realization, the Arnold Spielberg changed the subject. Looking at him with curious eyes, he called out, "Ethan Jones?"
"Yeah?" The call pulled Ethan back from his thoughts.
When he focused on the Arnold Spielberg again, the retired engineer smiled. "Ethan, you may not know, but I've heard your name long ago—in the Los Angeles Times."
"Snake Game is a very good idea. I've played it myself. Honestly, I think it's more fun than any other game on the market."
"Oh—thank you, thank you for the compliment." Ethan beamed from ear to ear.
But his modest thanks only made the Arnold Spielberg wave his hand dismissively. "Hey! Ethan, don't be so formal! Even though this is our first time meeting, you're my son's friend. There's no distance between us. Right now we're just sitting together for a pure, simple chat."
"Oh, okay." Ethan replied with a smile, showing his understanding. But then he added, a little hesitant, "Uh… Arnold… may I call you that?"
"Of course!" the Arnold Spielberg nodded.
"Okay, Arnold." Ethan pursed his lips and explained, "I'm not being cautious—I just want to show you some respect. Since you've read the Los Angeles Times report, then you must know that Snake Game wasn't my work alone. I only provided the creative idea—my sister was the one who completed it.
She's a student at Stanford, in the School of Engineering. She studies computers. Because she often reads industry books at home and talks about the latest developments, I also picked up some understanding of electronics. And precisely because of that, I realize just how powerful engineers like you are—those who built GE computers.
My sister always told me: when facing real engineers, we must keep a heart of reverence. Because these are the people working for a better tomorrow for humanity. Materially, maybe we who provide creative entertainment through technology seem richer. But spiritually, you—who drive the advancement of technology—are far richer and more fulfilled."
"Oh—hahahaha!" The Arnold Spielberg burst out laughing. He even clapped his hands. "Wow, Ethan, you and your sister are truly enlightened! Say what you will—at least your wisdom is higher than just your technology or inspiration."
Then he turned and glanced at his son. "Steven, you should learn from Ethan! If you could speak like him, I wouldn't have to worry about you getting into trouble every day!"
Steven Spielberg rolled his eyes at that, while Ethan simply smiled and waved it off politely.
Yes, he admitted—what he said just now was only for the occasion.
But so what? When you meet someone for the first time, even if you're introduced through family or friends, you're still strangers. Saying something nice makes both sides feel more comfortable.
After a good laugh, the Arnold Spielberg finally shifted to the topic he truly cared about.
"Ethan, I heard… your father is a soldier?"
The sudden question stunned Ethan. He didn't know why the Arnold Spielberg brought it up, but in his view, there was nothing sensitive about his family background. So, after a pause, he nodded.
"Yes, Arnold, my father is a soldier. If I remember correctly, he joined the Army in 1948, after World War II.
"Actually—" Ethan chuckled, his expression softening with emotion. "In my memory, his reason for enlisting was very simple. He just wanted a stable job with a good income. So, when he turned twenty, he joined the army.
Unfortunately, his luck was not good. According to his plan, he had intended to retire after serving twenty years—that would have been 1968. But no one expected that in 1965, he would be sent to Cochin… and then remain there forever."
To be honest, when telling this story, Ethan Jones felt no real sense of involvement. He had only inherited the memories of the person; he had never lived through those facts himself. Yet, when recounting it, he couldn't help but feel helpless.
In his eyes, the father was truly unlucky. Only three years away from returning home, from reuniting with his family, from finally enjoying happiness at the age of forty. But then— A war erased it all.
Just as Ethan shook his head helplessly, the Arnold Spielberg pressed his lips together and nodded. He shifted closer, placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder, and with genuine emotion said, "Son, your father loved you very much.
When I retired after serving twenty years, I was able to enjoy the highest standard of treatment. If your father had managed to retire successfully, he wouldn't just have had priority for a government job. You and your mother would also have benefited—from better educational opportunities, employment advantages, and government-funded medical care.
And as far as I know, as long as the veteran is alive, those benefits extend to the whole family.
So your father wasn't serving for himself. He was serving for all of you."
"...?"
Those words left Ethan stunned. After his transmigration, when he first learned that the father of this body had remained in the army until his death, he had been puzzled. Why continue serving even with a family, instead of retiring?
It wasn't until Thomas explained that the man who stayed in Cochin simply wanted to complete the maximum service period—so that his family could receive state benefits—that Ethan realized just how great this father truly was.
But still… weren't those benefits special military regulations?
And in an age of underdeveloped information, how could Steven Spielberg's father possibly know about them?
While Ethan was still wondering, the Arnold Spielberg gave his shoulder one last pat, then stood up. Smiling and nodding a farewell, he opened the door and left.
But what struck Ethan most: when the old man had first entered, he walked with vigor, almost with the wind at his back. Yet now, as he left, his steps were faltering.
This sight surprised Ethan—but before he could dwell on it, Steven Spielberg answered his unspoken question.
"Ethan, your father is a soldier? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Ah? What's the problem with that?" Ethan asked, puzzled.
"Of course it's a problem." Steven drew a deep breath. "Because my dad can't listen to things like this."
"What?" Ethan still didn't understand.
"My father also served," Steven explained. "He enlisted in 1941. He personally lived through World War II—and watched many of his comrades fall.
The same goes for Professor Bear, the one you're looking for. He joined in 1943, and he too fought in the war.
Now, for American society, the war in Cochin may seem disgraceful. But for them—for my father, for veterans like him—a war is a war. Win or lose, its nature doesn't change. A battlefield is a battlefield: a killing ground. And the soldiers who set foot on it have no right to choose life or death. They can only obey orders.
If you're lucky, if you survive and your side claims victory, you share in the glory."
It's bad luck. If you lose the battle and fall, then your descendants are the ones left to bear the infamy. They despise that kind of thing. They don't want to hear about another soldier's child becoming an orphan because of war...
Because they themselves walked off the battlefield alive—after sending away countless comrades, after meeting too many widows.
At this point, Steven Spielberg let out a heavy sign. As the weight of his words lingered in the air, Ethan Jones's eyes widened in disbelief.
Steven Spielberg's father and Ralph Baer had both served in the military? It's like he' has some strange BUFF on him!