Gamers' Rebellion

by George Ivanoff

  ‘And I was written onto it,’ said Zyra. ‘So, how is that different from you?’

  ‘I was entirely cloned. My cognitive functions are a copy of my original. As is my physical … non-perfection. But I have been conditioned as a robot.’

  ‘How can you be a robot if you’re a clone?’ Zyra asked. ‘Aren’t robots mechanical?’

  ‘The word robot simply refers to an entity created to perform specific tasks. That is what I am, officially.’ Robbie lowered his eyes. ‘My emotional development has been inhibited. Certain physical characteristics have been genetically imposed as a designation of my status.’ Robbie’s hand briefly went to stroke the skin where an eyebrow should have been.

  ‘I have intelligence. However, my thought processes and my decisions mirror those of my originator, Designer Prime.’

  ‘The Designers are here!’ Zyra’s eyes were wide with excitement.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Take me to them.’ Zyra jumped to her feet expectantly. ‘I want to see them.’

  ‘I am afraid things do not work like that,’ said Robbie. ‘There is a hierarchy to be observed.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means you have to wait until someone is ready to see you.’

  ‘And how long will that take?’

  ‘Given that it is currently 2 am, it may be a while.’

  As if in response a harsh electronic voice boomed all around them: ‘Downloaded entity known as Zyra to be brought to administration room 12.’

  ‘Or perhaps not.’ Robbie stood up. ‘Please follow me.’ He walked towards the doorway that had again opened up in the far wall.

  Zyra followed, wondering what the Designers would look like.

  5: Wake Up

  Tark woke up and felt pain – all over. He took a deep breath and even that hurt. And his arm felt as if someone was stabbing it repeatedly.

  He heard voices and the bustle of movement.

  ‘Found the vein.’

  ‘Measurements?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Cell sample?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Hair?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Blood?’

  Tark could hardly move. He felt himself being prodded and poked, so he forced himself to open his eyes.

  With his head lolling to one side, the first thing he saw was a kid with red hair. The boy held up a syringe full of blood.

  ‘Finally got it.’ The kid smiled and then noticed Tark’s eyes were open. He jumped back, fumbling with the syringe, almost dropping it, and catching it again at the last moment.

  ‘He’s awake,’ the boy yelped.

  ‘Okay, back off,’ said a voice that was out of his line of sight.

  The kid moved away.

  With a great deal of effort, Tark managed to move his head. He caught sight of two other kids, one boy and one girl. Tark noticed that they were all wearing lab coats. What were they doing to him? Experimenting on him? Stealing his blood? Getting ready to dissect him?

  He tried to call out, but all he managed was an incoherent grunt.

  ‘He still can’t move properly,’ said the older boy, approaching Tark. ‘We’ve probably got a few minutes to finish up. Get the samples into the cooler.’

  The younger boy looked at the syringe of blood – Tark’s blood – and then moved to the other end of the room. The girl, who was holding a Petri dish and a glass slide, also moved off. The older boy continued to stare at Tark.

  ‘Tara, set up the last scan,’ the boy ordered.

  ‘And Len, go get the boss.’

  The younger boy raced off.

  The older boy moved around to the head of the table. He put his hands on either side of Tark’s head and straightened it so that Tark was looking up towards the ceiling – except that his view of the ceiling was blocked by some sort of machine. A machine that was descending towards him.

  Tark tried to move, to jump up from the table and run off, but all he managed to do was twitch his arms and legs.

  ‘Okay,’ said the boy. ‘Do it!’

  A bright white light flashed from within the machine, blinding Tark.

  6: Administrators

  Robbie led Zyra into another sterile white room. This one had a white table with three people seated behind it. The woman in the centre wore a dark blue suit, her peach- coloured lipstick matching the colour of her tie. Her dyed black hair was short and spiky. The woman to her left also wore a blue suit, but of a lighter shade, with her hair and makeup mimicking that of the other woman. The man wore a white lab coat, with a pale blue jumpsuit beneath. All three were intently studying computer tablets, their fingers brushing the surfaces and scrolling through information.

  Robbie pointed to a lone white chair positioned a metre in front of the table.

  Zyra raised an eyebrow but remained where she was.

  ‘Sit,’ said the woman in the centre, indicating the chair, her attention never leaving her tablet.

  The other woman stifled a yawn.

  Zyra cleared her throat loudly before striding forward to sit purposefully in the chair, her feet placed firmly on the floor in front of her – ready to leap up at a moment’s notice. It was only once she was in the chair that she realised it was quite low, forcing her to look up towards the people behind the desk. From her position, Zyra saw that the desk was quite high, the people behind it seated on stools, their feet well off the floor.

  Robbie positioned himself behind her right shoulder.

  The woman in the centre continued working on her computer tablet, fingers tapping away. The other two now placed their tablets on the table and stared at Zyra, eyes not betraying any emotion. They both looked rather tired.

  ‘Where’s Tark?’ asked Zyra, deciding to jump in and start the conversation. ‘I want to see him.’

  The woman in the centre held up a single finger as an indication for Zyra to stop talking.

  Zyra huffed and crossed her arms.

  The woman placed the tablet flat onto the surface of the table and looked down at Zyra. She pursed her peachy lips.

  ‘We are the Administrators,’ she announced as if expecting a standing ovation. Her voice was loud and precise. ‘I am the Chief Administrator.’

  The woman to her left spoke next, her manner and inflection a carbon copy of her superior. ‘I am Second Administrator Dorien.’

  The man, by contrast, spoke softly and slowly, although his eyes never lost their hard edge. ‘And I am Third Administrator and Designer-in-training, Welbourne.’

  Zyra noted that he appeared a lot younger than the other administrators. They were, Zyra guessed, somewhere in their thirties or forties, while he couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

  There was silence as the three of them continued to look at Zyra with inscrutable gazes.

  Zyra tightened her arms in front of herself. ‘Well, my name –’

  The Chief Administrator cut her off with another raised finger. ‘We are well aware of who you are,’ she said. ‘The question is – what is to be done with you?’

  Administrator Welbourne shifted his gaze from Zyra to Robbie. ‘The scans indicate that the clone body is functioning correctly. You, robot, have interacted with her directly. Report.’

  Zyra couldn’t help noticing the way he said the word robot, as if it were some kind of insult.

  ‘Zyra appears to be adapting well to her new body,’ said Robbie, glancing briefly at her. ‘She has accepted her existence in the real world. She is naturally curious about the situation that she finds herself in and wants to learn more. I believe that the more information she is provided with, the better her continued adaptation will be.’

  Administrator Welbourne made some notes on his tablet.

  ‘She is quite concerned about her partner, Tark,’ continued Robbie.

  Welbourne looked up sharply.

  ‘It would be of great benefit to her emotional wellbeing if she were allowed to see Tark.’ Robbie looked intently at
the Administrators. ‘They have an emotional attachment. And her emotional wellbeing is as important as her physical and intellectual wellbeing.’

  ‘That will not be possible,’ said the Chief Administrator.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Zyra, uncrossing her arms.

  ‘You cannot see Tark,’ said the Administrator sharply, as if that explained everything.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Zyra, jumping to her feet.

  Robbie put a calming hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You cannot see him,’ said the Chief Administrator, ‘because he is not here.’

  ‘But –’ began Zyra.

  The Chief Administrator raised a finger. ‘He has been abducted.’

  ‘What?’ Every muscle in Zyra’s body tensed.

  ‘A group of adolescents managed to breach security and abduct the other clone,’ explained the Chief Administrator. ‘They also apparently intended to abduct you, but were unsuccessful. They seemed to know exactly where to find the other, but had trouble locating you. By the time they did discover your location, it was too late and security was able to intercept them. One of their number was captured.’

  ‘She has been questioned,’ added the Second Administrator, ‘but has thus far proved uncooperative.’

  ‘We are digressing,’ announced the Chief Administrator. She indicated the chair to Zyra. ‘Sit!’

  Zyra’s nostrils flared.

  ‘You’re telling me that Tark has been kidnapped,’ said Zyra. ‘Well, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘You are not going to do anything,’ said the Chief Administrator. ‘The other clone’s abduction will be handled by security.’

  ‘Would you stop calling us clones,’ shouted Zyra. ‘We are people! We have names!’

  ‘Zyra,’ said the Chief Administrator, pointedly. ‘Sit!’

  Zyra clenched her fists.

  ‘Please,’ said Robbie, gently, his hand on her shoulder again. ‘Not now.’

  Zyra hesitated a moment, then sat.

  ‘There is still the matter of this clone to decide.’ The Chief Administrator looked from one colleague to the next.

  ‘She needs to be studied,’ said Administrator Welbourne, eyes lighting up as he absently bit his lower lip. ‘We could discover much from so perfect a specimen.’

  ‘She is dangerous,’ said Administrator Dorien. ‘She should be placed in stasis.’

  ‘That would not be ideal,’ said Administrator Welbourne. ‘It would be so much better if she were conscious.’

  ‘Confinement, then.’ Administrator Dorien looked pointedly across at her colleague.

  ‘I am not some lab rat,’ Zyra blurted out.

  The Chief Administrator went to raise her finger again.

  ‘Oh would you stop doing that,’ said Zyra, springing to her feet. ‘It’s very annoying and extremely rude.’

  ‘If I may be permitted to pass on a suggestion,’ said Robbie, stepping forward to stand beside Zyra.

  The Administrators all looked to him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

  ‘It is the opinion of Designer Prime that Zyra should not be confined,’ said Robbie, not waiting for the Administrators to respond. ‘Designer Prime believes that it is important for her to interact with her surroundings. Designer Prime proposes that she be allowed the freedom of this research facility.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ said Administrator Dorien.

  ‘Interesting proposition,’ said Administrator Welbourne. Dorien immediately glared at him.

  ‘Impossible,’ said the Chief Administrator. ‘The research facility has far too many sensitive areas and –’

  ‘Designer Prime is quite insistent,’ interjected Robbie. ‘Designer Prime is willing to accept responsibility for her actions and offers my services as her guide to ensure her actions and movements remain appropriate.’

  Zyra noticed the hint of a smile on Administrator Welbourne’s face, before it disappeared.

  ‘Very well,’ conceded the Chief Administrator, obviously far from happy with the situation. She got to her feet. ‘My objections will be noted in my report to Designer Alpha. This interview is now over.’

  The other two administrators also got to their feet. A door opened in the wall behind them and all three left.

  ‘What just happened?’ asked Zyra.

  ‘A minor power struggle,’ said Robbie, thoughtfully.

  7: Josie and the Rebels

  As the light faded, Tark opened his eyes. Bright spots danced in his vision, obscuring everything. They diminished and a blurry form took shape.

  Messy dark hair, golden brown skin, soft hazel eyes and full lips.

  Tark smiled.

  ‘So, you are awake,’ said the beautiful face.

  Tark suddenly remembered what had been going on. He sprang into a sitting position and almost fell off the table in surprise. Just a short while ago he could barely move a muscle, and here he was sitting up.

  ‘You seem to be recovering quite nicely,’ said the girl. ‘My name is Josie.’

  Josie was short. She was dressed simply in grey cargo pants and black, long-sleeved T-shirt. She was arrestingly beautiful.

  ‘Oh … ah … I is Tark.’

  ‘You is Tark?’ Josie smirked. ‘Don’t you learn how to talk properly inside the Game?’

  ‘There ain’t nuthin’ wrong with the way I is talking,’ said Tark defensively.

  ‘Really?’ Josie sounded less than impressed. ‘Well, maybe not where you come from. But out here you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb if you keep speaking like that. And believe me, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.’

  The boy who had been giving orders earlier walked into the room carrying a computer tablet. Tark looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time. The room looked like a cross between a storeroom and a makeshift laboratory. All sorts of medical equipment was sandwiched between crates and boxes. The windows had been covered over with black plastic and masking tape. The whole place had a worn-out ambiance.

  ‘Got the results, boss,’ said the boy.

  ‘Well?’ asked Josie. ‘Spit it out, Devon.’

  ‘He’s perfect!’ Devon handed the tablet to Josie.

  Josie looked at the information on the screen, then back at Tark, arching one eyebrow. ‘Perfect, huh?’

  Tark suddenly felt vulnerable under her gaze. And cold.

  ‘I is naked!’ he announced, surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Josie, looking him up and down. ‘Yes you are. You have an amazing talent for stating the obvious.’

  Tark’s hands shot out in front of himself, trying to cover up the bits he didn’t really want out on public display.

  ‘Ah … I needs ta have clothes.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ Josie looked to Devon.

  He sighed and went to rummage through a box in the corner of the room. He returned with an old lab coat covered with mysterious technicolour stains. Tark jumped down from the table, snatched the coat from Devon’s hand and hurriedly put it on.

  ‘Better?’ asked Josie.

  ‘It’ll do.’ Tark looked down at himself. The coat was too small. The sleeves were short on him, it barely reached mid-thigh level and the top buttons strained around his chest.

  ‘Very good,’ said Josie. ‘Now, can we get down to business? There’s a lot to fill you in on.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Tark, eyeing Josie suspiciously. ‘How comes I is not looking like I is supposed ta? Where is Zyra? Dids we gets outta the Game?’ He took a step towards Josie, towering over her. ‘And what the hell is you up ta?’

  8: Designer Prime

  The door slid open and Robbie ushered Zyra into yet another white room.

  Unlike all the other rooms, this one was cluttered with an eclectic assortment of technology and furniture. For the first time since her arrival in the real world, Zyra felt a sense of individuality around her.

  Two of the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark and wooden, overflow
ing with dusty tomes. A third wall was lined with monitors, keyboards and goodness-knows-what-else. The wall of tech, thought Zyra.

  The white of the floor was partly obscured by a large rug, the concentric patterns of a mandala woven through with muted reds and golds. A dark leather wingback chair stood slightly off centre, a small wooden table beside it. There was a glass of water and something that looked like a foil-wrapped food bar on the table.

  Zyra looked back over her shoulder as the door slid closed behind her, disappearing into the wall. It was a bare white wall except for one framed painting to the left of where the door had been. Zyra stared at it.

  An elderly, bearded man in white robes reclined on a cloud, his hand extended towards a computer monitor on the ground below. The naked man on the monitor reached up, his hand extending beyond the boundaries of the screen. Their fingers almost touched.

  ‘It’s called Creation.’

  The voice was crackly and dry with an electronic edge. Zyra whirled around.

  Something was detaching itself from the wall. A man emerged from the midst of all the technology, gliding forward in a contraption that was part chair and part life support system.

  He was dressed in a jumpsuit. But his was different from those worn by others. It was a pink-flesh colour and it extended into a hood, encasing his head – his wrinkled face protruding like a dried prune through the oval in the fabric. Silvery strands of wiring were woven into the fabric, giving the jumpsuit a shimmering quality as it moved under the light. The man’s waist and legs were totally encased by the chair. His left arm had a mechanical exoskeleton, pistons and cables simulating the movement of the muscles and tendons that no longer worked. His head was held back into a headrest by clamps, pierced by tubes filled with fluids.

  The chair silently stopped in front of Zyra and Robbie.

  ‘May I introduce Designer Prime.’ Zyra thought she detected a note of awe in Robbie’s voice.

  The headrest turned slightly, moving the Designer’s head so that his watery eyes fixed onto Zyra. They were a faded blue and looked oh-so-tired – and yet there was a spark of excitement buried deep within.