Gamers' Quest

by George Ivanoff

  ‘Wot?’ said Tark.

  ‘The phone,’ said Zyra. ‘Didn't ya sees the way it wuz shimmerin’? I couldn't gets a proper hold on it. It must ’ave been a weakness.’

  ‘But a trifle small for us to get through,’ said the princeling.

  ‘Yeah,’ Zyra agreed, grudgingly.

  ‘How is we gonna find a bigger one?’ asked Tark.

  Zyra's face brightened. ‘We looks for somethin’ that don'ts belong ’ere. Somethin’ the Fat Man's sending after us. Somethin’ big!’

  ‘Likes wot?’ asked Tark.

  From outside came a horrible screeching sound, followed by crashing and screaming.

  ‘Why do I get the sinking feeling that the something we're looking for has just arrived?’ said the princeling.

  Zyra led the charge to the front of the shop. They peered through the broken window, just in time to see a giant metal spider step on a policeman. The mechanical beast was the size of an average suburban house, and it towered menacingly over the terrified people trying to escape it.

  ‘That'll do,’ said Zyra, opening the door and heading out onto the street.

  Tark and the princeling followed.

  ‘Looks at it!’ breathed Zyra, oblivious to the hysterical crowd shoving past them.

  ‘I'd rather not,’ said the princeling.

  ‘Looks at the way it kinda shimmers and blurs,’ said Zyra, fixated.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the princeling. ‘I can see. But it's not doing it all the time. Just like the phone, sometimes it looks completely solid. Remember what the portal said: find a stable one.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Bit risky,’ said Zyra. ‘But it's all we's gots.’

  ‘I guess ya is rights,’ agreed Tark. ‘We is gotta go through that.’

  ‘Oh, and how do you propose to do that?’ asked the princeling.

  Zyra looked to Tark and shared a grin. Then as Zyra nodded, they both took off at a run, directly for the spider. The princeling hesitated a moment, weighed up his choices, then gave chase.

  As they approached the spider, it reared on its back four legs, opened its mouth and released a piercing screech. Then it jumped forward, its gaping maw opening wider still, swallowing Tark and Zyra.

  Princeling Galbrath ground to a halt, but too late. The spider lunged forward and snapped him up.

  21: The Designers’ Legacy

  Fizzling, crackling grey static. They were in the Designers Paradise interface. But this time it was different. The static was more substantial. It felt as if they were submerged in water. And floating through it were insubstantial images, ghosts of suburbia, of the World from which they came, of unknown and inexplicable environments comprising spaceships, robots, dark-skinned natives with clubs, giant sailing ships, bizarre-looking animals and things to which they couldn't even put names.

  ‘Now what?’ shouted the princeling.

  A spear flew through the static and pierced the hem of the princeling's coat. ‘We must do something, NOW!’ he shouted, flailing about and floating off through the static.

  ‘Stays togetha,’ called Zyra, as she grabbed onto Tark's hand.

  The princeling stopped his thrashing. Another spear passed through the static narrowly missing them.

  Suddenly a Roman centurion pushed his arm through what looked like a shimmering tear in the static. His arm solidified while the rest of him remained an insubstantial ghost.

  ‘This ain'ts good!’ said Zyra. ‘He's pushing through a weakness. He's after us.’

  ‘The keys!’ suggested Tark. ‘Coulds we use ’em?’

  A piercing screech reverberated through the static. They stared in horror as the insubstantial robotic spider they had encountered on the suburban street appeared before them. The spider screeched again, reared on its back legs and thrust its two front legs forward. A small tear appeared in the static, blurred and shimmering at the edges. Beyond it, the spider seemed solid enough. It forced a leg through the tear, pushing and pulling at the edges, widening it.

  Princeling Galbrath reached into his coat and pulled out his key. With a spark of energy it leapt from his hand. It hung in the static, tendrils of grey crackling wispiness enshrouding it, coalescing and forming the vague outline of a door.

  ‘Quick!’ he yelled. ‘Your keys!’

  Tark and Zyra swam through the static to reach the princeling.

  Zyra fished out their keys, relieved that she had pocketed them when she'd had the chance. They sprang from her hand and joined the other key. The static hissed and crackled and sparkled into an open doorway, light streaming through it, making it impossible to see what lay beyond. Princeling Galbrath thrashed his arms and kicked his legs, launching himself through the opening. With a quick backward glance at the spider, Tark and Zyra followed through to a bizarre landscape, the likes of which they had never seen before. They were standing on a vast expanse of gently undulating greenery, which in the distance formed hills. At first it looked like grass, but on closer inspection revealed itself to be non-organic. The green plastic substance was dotted with points of silver, connected by an intricate array of wire-work that sparked with electric life.

  Sprouting like trees, bunches of fibre-optic cable dotted the landscape. Crackles of electricity flew back and forth through the darkness above, appearing to originate from a tower atop a distant hill. The sizzling energy lit up the silver clouds which reflected the vast circuit-board landscape below.

  They looked around in confusion. Behind them was a door-shaped oblong of static. Within, they saw another Roman centurion hitting the doorway with his shield. Again and again, the soldier threw his weight against the door, but to no avail. Then suddenly he was encased in a spray of glistening, metallic webbing. Although he fought against it, the centurion was dragged backwards towards the gaping jaws of the metallic spider, its head and forelegs now through the tear it had created.

  ‘Let's gets movin’,’ cried Zyra.

  ‘Where?!’ screamed the princeling.

  ‘Anywhere that ain'ts near that thing,’ said Tark, pointing back to the static.

  Zyra took the lead, heading towards the hill in the distance. There seemed to be no predators in this weird world, or any form of life for that matter. They were soon standing beneath the towering construction of criss-crossing steel that worked its way to a high point with a complex antennae array.

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ asked the princeling. ‘Climb it?’

  Zyra ignored him and walked under the tower to the other side of the hill. ‘Over here,’ she called back.

  Tark and the princeling joined her. The circuitboard landscape continued beyond the hill into a valley with more hills swelling to the horizon. Nestled in the valley was … something. But what? It was difficult to make out. A building? A domed building with a reflective surface? The circuit board pattern and crackling streaks of energy reflected on the structure's surface, blending into its surroundings. ‘There,’ said Zyra. She started walking down the hill.

  Tark and the princeling hurried to keep up with her.

  They approached the building and were soon facing distorted images of themselves.

  ‘There ain'ts no door,’ said Tark walking a short way along the dome's perimeter.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Zyra, running a hand over the smooth surface.

  In the distance a horrible screeching sound echoed across the landscape. The three of them looked back to where they had come.

  ‘Must ’ave broken through,’ stated Zyra, matter-of-factly.

  Princeling Galbrath turned back to the dome and pounded on its surface with his fists.

  ‘Let us in,’ he demanded.

  To his surprise, a person-sized hole opened like an iris. He looked back at Tark and Zyra, who urged him forward.

  ‘It could be a trap,’ Princeling Galbrath said, peering into the darkness.

  Still in the distance, but now a little louder, perhaps a little closer, another screech pierced the silence. The princeling stepped through the opening without
further hesitation, Tark and Zyra followed. The iris closed behind them.

  ‘It is a trap,’ whined the princeling in the darkness.

  Light suddenly filled the mirrored tunnel, although no energy source was visible.

  ‘Yeah, rights,’ said Tark. ‘’Cause when ya makes a trap, yas always gotta make sure to lights it properly.’

  Zyra pushed past them and strode down the tunnel. It twisted and turned for some time before ending in another mirror. She held out a hand to touch it, and it slid back revealing a control room. The most massive, complex control room imaginable.

  They stood before a curving bank of screens and panels and buttons and switches and flashing lights that appeared to be made up of different technologies. Cogs and gears rested in amongst circuit boards and fibre-optic cables; electrical energy crackled along wires beside steam vents; holographic displays appeared along side television monitor screens and dot-matrix printers. It was like being inside a vast, improbable machine.

  And in the middle of it all was a high-backed, white chair.

  And seated in the chair was a young man dressed in white.

  He swivelled around to face them. He was bald and had no eyebrows or eyelashes. And his eyes were the most piercing, icy shade of blue they had ever seen. His white clothes sagged on him, accentuating his gaunt figure.

  Zyra took a step forward. ‘Um, who are ya?’

  ‘MAINTAINER 102 STOP’

  Zyra stopped, taken aback by the young man's manner of speaking.

  ‘Things is happenin’,’ she said. ‘Bad things. And we is ’ere ta talk ta the Designers. Ta asks for their ’elp.’

  ‘INTERACTION WITH DESIGNERS NOT POSSIBLE STOP’

  ‘Just tell ’em we is ’ere,’ said Tark.

  ‘NO STOP’

  ‘Wot does ya mean?’ asked Tark.

  ‘DESIGNERS NONEXISTENT STOP’

  ‘Wot? But they created all this, didn't they?’

  ‘YES STOP DESIGNERS PARADISE CREATED BY DESIGNERS STOP PURPOSE FULFILLED STOP CEASED TO EXIST STOP’

  ‘But how can Designers Paradise exist without the Designers?’

  ‘MAINTAINERS STOP’

  ‘Wot?’

  ‘MAINTAINERS STOP’

  ‘I don't gets it,’ said Tark.

  ‘I think I do,’ said the princeling. Then he took a step forward and spoke to the young man. ‘Clarify situation.’

  ‘DESIGNERS DESIGN SYSTEM STOP MAINTAINERS MAINTAIN SYSTEM STOP’

  ‘And you're one of these Maintainers?’

  ‘AFFIRMATIVE STOP MAINTAINER 102 STOP’

  ‘Well then, Maintainer 102,’ said the princeling. ‘You've got a problem. The system is breaking down.’

  The chair swivelled around, and the Maintainer's hands flew at an incredible speed over a set of controls that hovered in the air just in front of his chair. Numbers flashed across the screens. Then the chair swivelled around again to face them.

  ‘AFFIRMATIVE STOP ENTROPY VIRUS STOP’

  ‘Well, wot's ya gonna do abouts it?’ asked Zyra.

  ‘MAINTAIN STOP’

  ‘Maintain what?’ asked the princeling. ‘If the virus continues, there will be nothing to maintain.’

  ‘MAINTAIN VIRUS STOP’

  Bang!

  It was a distant muffled sound.

  Bang!

  The lights flashed red and a siren wailed stridently.

  ‘INTRUDER ALERT STOP INTRUDER ALERT STOP INTRUDER ALERT STOP MECHANICAL ENTITY STOP ATTEMPTED FORCED ENTRY STOP’

  The princeling's face blanched. ‘The spider.’

  The Maintainer suddenly cocked his head to one side as if listening to someone speak. The siren stopped, the lights flicked back to green and his chair swivelled around.

  ‘ALERT CANCELLED STOP INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP FAT MAN STOP’

  ‘The Fat Man!’ Tark's eyes widened.

  ‘Yes, it's me again,’ said the Fat Man's wheezy voice, as his image filled the main screen. ‘Although I'm considering a new title. I thought Emperor maybe? Or Supreme Ruler? Or perhaps I should just go straight for the top and call myself the Designer?’

  ‘Ya can'ts do that,’ said Tark. ‘It's blasphemy. The Designers won't lets ya.’

  ‘Wake up and smell the microchips, you stupid boy. There are no Designers! At least, not any more. There are only Maintainers – glorified janitors and administration staff – maintaining a stagnant system. A system that is crying out for change, crying out for someone to give it direction.’

  ‘But you're destroying it.’

  ‘No. I'm re-shaping it. More than that, really. I'm no longer just part of the system. I'm becoming the system.’

  The banging from outside became more strident, punctuated by screeches.

  Static appeared beside the Maintainer's chair and coalesced into the form of a man. Like Maintainer 102, he was bald with no eyebrows or eyelashes, and was dressed in white. But he was much older and his dark eyes were imprinted with a circuit pattern. He surveyed the scene, then spoke to Maintainer 102.

  ‘REPORT STOP’

  ‘GAME ENTITIES REQUESTING AUDIENCE WITH DESIGNERS STOP MECHANICAL ENTITY FORCING ENTRY STOP INCOMING COMMUNICATION WITH FAT MAN STOP ENTROPY VIRUS INITIATING SYSTEM DEGRADATION STOP’

  ‘REPEL MECHANICAL ENTITY STOP DISCONNECT INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP RUN ANTI-VIRUS SOFTWARE STOP’

  He turned to face Tark, Zyra and the Princeling. ‘I will deal with the game entities,’ he added, in a calm voice.

  ‘Wots does ya mean game entities?’ queried Tark. ‘We is tryin’ ta gets out of this damn game.’

  ‘You are game entities because you inhabit the games,’ the man said. ‘I am the Prime Maintainer. I am in charge of Designers Paradise. If you seek an audience with anyone, it is with me.’

  ‘We ain'ts game entities,’ said Zyra. ‘We is people. Real people. From the World.’

  ‘Your world is an environment,’ the Prime Maintainer explained patiently. ‘The only reality is the will of the Designers.’

  ‘No!’ insisted Tark. ‘Suburbia's a game. The World is real. In Suburbia we is avatars. In the World we is our real selves. We comes to Designers Paradise to leaves the real world for a bits. To pretends. To be in Suburbia.’

  ‘A perfect place,’ added Zyra.

  ‘Suburbia may be your chosen destination, your goal in escaping your own environment, but for game entities originating in that environment, it is a challenge to escape. They quest to leave behind the dreary, the ordinary, the mundane, in favour of the danger, excitement and thrills provided by an environment such as that from which you originate.’

  ‘You mean they quest for keys and money?’ asked the princeling.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ answered the Prime Maintainer. ‘Each environment has its own rules and methods. The students in Suburbia get access to other environments by achieving a certain level of grades in their classes. They pay for time spent in these environments with saved pocket money supplemented by what they earn in after-school jobs, which are limited in number and highly contested.’

  ‘That ain't fair,’ said Zyra. ‘If we is game entities, why don'ts we gets to be in Suburbia?’

  ‘It's about providing interesting, varied and challenging structures. It's about game entities having a purpose, something to strive for. It's got nothing to do with fairness. Students in Suburbia often complain about how they need to study in order to gain access to Designers Paradise, whilst the adults of that environment merely purchase their access. It is this lack of equity that inspires them to be creative in their endeavours.’

  ‘Stop it!’ yelled Tark. ‘Stop it! We ain'ts game entities. We is real!’

  ‘Can you recall anything of your childhood?’ asked the Prime Maintainer.

  ‘Wot?’ Tark looked at him in confusion. ‘Wot's that got to do with anythin’?’

  ‘Do you age?’ asked the Prime Maintainer.

  ‘Wot?’ said Tark, incredulous. ‘Yeah! Of course.’

>   ‘Are you sure? Think! Do you ever remember a time when you weren't sixteen years of age?’

  Tark stared at the Prime Maintainer. Wracking his brain, he couldn't remember being any younger. He could remember countless quests. He could remember past visits to Suburbia. But, in all that time, he had always been sixteen.

  ‘You are a game entity. A construct. An avatar, if you will. You have no past. You exist to play the game of your environment. As reward, you are allowed time in another environment, to provide incentive to play again, and again, and again. Your function – your past, present and future – is to play the game, just as my function is to maintain.’

  Tark was utterly devastated. His whole life was a lie. What was the point in playing a game over and over again, when all there was to achieve, was the ability to play it yet again? There had to be something more. He looked towards Zyra, saw the sadness in her eyes, and felt his heart lurch. He held out a hand to her.

  ‘I luvs ya,’ he said quietly.

  She smiled wanly. ‘I luvs ya too.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘Game entities are not programmed for love. And the rules for entities at your level in your environment forbid any physical intimacy.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tark.

  ‘Because the Designers have willed it.’

  ‘But why?’ shouted Tark, in a flash of anger. ‘Why have the Designers willed it?’

  ‘Enough!’ roared the Fat Man, forgotten until now. ‘None of this matters. Everything is about to change.’

  The Prime Maintainer looked momentarily startled before he turned his attention to Maintainer 102. ‘DISCONNECT INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP’

  ‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’

  As the Fat Man's laughter filled the control centre, his face filled each and every screen.

  ‘RELINQUISH CONTROL STOP’ demanded the Prime Maintainer, returning his attention to Maintainer 102. ‘DISCONNECT STOP’

  ‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’

  ‘MAINTAINER 102 INITIATE SELF-NEUTRALISATION SEQUENCE STOP’

  ‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’

  The Fat Man chuckled. ‘I'm afraid that Maintainer 102 works for me now.’

  ‘That is impossible,’ said the Prime Maintainer, addressing the Fat Man for the first time. ‘I am the Prime Maintainer. All Maintainers answer to me.’