Recently, a few of my colleagues at Ars gathered by the water cooler and commenced a nostalgic conversation about classic Sierra On-Line adventure games. As a dedicated fan of these titles during my formative years, I joined in, ready to dive into the treasured memories of our gaming past.
Would our discussions touch on the early days of King’s Quest, Space Quest, or the Quest for Glory series? Perhaps we would venture into lesser-known titles like Freddy Pharkas: Frontier Pharmacist? And could we not forget the eerie tone of The Colonel’s Bequest or the supernatural themes of Gabriel Knight?
Instead, the conversation unexpectedly fixated on acorns. Yes, you read that right — acorns.
This particular moment originated from King’s Quest III, where the protagonist, Gwydion, must gather desiccated acorns to progress further in the game. It appears straightforward. One walkthrough states, “Head east one screen, then north one screen to reach the acorn tree. Collect acorns until you find the dried ones.” Seems simple!
However, the reality was far from straightforward; the game was infamous for its unpredictable mechanics. Many players found themselves frustrated, convinced they were in the wrong location when the acorns wouldn’t appear, having to repeatedly input the command to collect acorns and inch around the tree until success was finally achieved. One of our staff members confessed to having purchased the King’s Quest III hint book solely due to this dilemma. The hint book, now accessible online, specifically advises players to “move around” the oak tree, as the appropriate acorns can only be located in a specific area.
This particular puzzle diverged from the fond memories I had associated with these games, yet it sparked memories of similarly frustrating situations. Space Quest II: Vohaul’s Revenge had been my introduction to Sierra, and after my brother and I battled our way through it for weeks, we found ourselves stuck in dark tunnels, leading us to persuade our father to call Sierra’s 1-900 hint line. He was hesitant, clearly pained by the thought, as calling such a number was unfamiliar territory for him. The cost was steep—75 cents for the first minute, 50 cents for each subsequent minute. But after days of our incessant whining, he relented.
Interestingly, like the acorn predicament, we had a general idea of the solution; we just hadn’t executed it by the game’s exacting standards. We needed to use a glowing gem as a light source, something we recognized. The challenge lay in the text parser, which required the specific command “put gem in mouth” in order to utilize the light in the tunnels. Our attempts to articulate this in any other form proved fruitless. Therefore, the only viable option was to comply with the game’s demands, or face inevitable death.
When I returned to the present, I overheard Senior Editor Lee Hutchinson’s cynical remark about such puzzles being “the only way to stretch 2-3 hours of game into months.” I found this perspective shocking and slightly offensive. How could he say such a thing about the games that held such significance in my childhood?
Motivated to defend my youthful experiences, I decided to revisit Space Quest II after 35 years.
Rediscovering Old Memories
In my recollections, the Space Quest series was characterized by sharp humor, engaging puzzles, and captivating visuals. Upon launching the original game, it soon became clear that only one of these aspects held up. The art, although blocky with limited colors, maintained its charm.
However, the gameplay was far from clever; it was often frustrating, frequently obscure, or just downright obvious.
To find that elusive glowing gem, for instance, players must dive into a particular spot within a sprawling river, sans any hint that this specific section contains anything valuable. Trying to “call” a hunter who has ensnared you yields no results—until you attempt it again. The less mentioned about the puzzle involving throwing something at a Labian Terror Beast, amidst various word combinations while facing imminent death, the better.
The game presented an alarming number of unexpected deaths that I had forgotten. In the very first scene, players can unwittingly walk their character right off the edge of the orbiting space station—a fatal misstep that the game mocks with comments about an “obvious lack of common sense.” Other instant-death scenarios include being reprimanded by your boss for wearing a spacesuit indoors or accidentally plunging off the guardrail-less elevator platform.
The game boasted a myriad of ways to meet an abrupt end: interacting with any part of a root monster’s maze-like branches, walking into a giant mushroom, stepping over invisible pits, or not using the glowing gem correctly. In one particularly cruel plot point, a giant alien stalks your character until you think you are safe—only to have its offspring kill you later. Instant death.
This is precisely why the official hint book recommends frequent game saves, especially before entering perilous moments, so players can avoid retracing their steps. This approach was likely viewed as entertaining in its time.
As for the humor, it ranged from broad and obvious to condescending and juvenile. Players are prompted to “say the word,” meaning they should literally say “the word.” Much of it centered on potty humor, with plungers, alien bathrooms, and other gags making appearances.
My total playthrough lasted a few hours.
“By Grabthar’s hammer!” I thought. “Lee was right!”
When I confessed this to him, Lee shared that he had spent time during the pandemic mastering speedruns of the Space Quest series. “From my calculations, a flawless run of SQ2 in ‘fast’ mode takes about 20 minutes with good typing skills,” he said. Yikes.
Still, Reflecting on the Past
Looking back, it is essential to recognize that this was a different era for gaming. Computers possessed limited memory, graphics were primitive, and many games had transitioned from arcade models that encouraged players to spend quarters. The eventual adoption of mice in gaming came slowly, and text parsers were a sensible choice, even if they caused immense frustration. It’s true that some games were drawn out by trial-and-error deaths, obscure puzzles, and the significant time required to traverse various screens.
Evaluated by contemporary standards, the Sierra titles do not seem like the best option for engaging gameplay today.
Nevertheless, I cherished them. They opened the door to exploring new virtual realms and showcased the power of imaginative artwork. These games transported me to space, fairy tales, and historical settings while providing humor and intriguing narratives. (“An army of life insurance salesmen?” was a revelation of hilarity and cleverness at the time.)
Even if some design elements now appear arbitrary or vexing, my childhood appreciation for these experiences allowed me to view them as engaging challenges rather than unfair gameplay mechanics.
Rediscovering Space Quest II and revisiting those half-remembered jokes and visuals evoked cherished memories. As novelist Thomas Wolfe aptly noted, you can’t go home again, and I fully anticipated that today’s version of the game would feel outdated. Nevertheless, reliving it took me back to a time when even the most challenging puzzles, unexpected deaths, and retro graphics could not diminish the enchantment of the virtual worlds that computers had begun to reveal.
For those interested in revisiting Space Quest II or exploring other Sierra titles, they are available for free online at sarien.net, although users may encounter various glitches. Additionally, Windows users can purchase the entire Space Quest collection on Steam or Good Old Games. There is also a fan remake compatible with macOS, Windows, and Linux.
