Gamers' Challenge (10 page)

‘Like when the VI absorption of an essential character causes a rift to the Interface?’ said Tee.

‘Which always ends in the destruction of the VI.’

‘Indeed. Indeed.’ The professor smiled, relief clear on his face. ‘Yes, yes, yes. That is it. Yes. Should.’

The lack of conviction was plain upon Tark’s face.

‘Should? As far as ya knows?’

‘Well ... urn ... ah ...’ Palimpsest fumbled for words. ‘It is all theory. Yes. But.’ He held up a finger and waggled it at Tark. ‘But, but. Theory based on prior experience and observation. Yes. All our anti VI developments have been based on this theory. Yes. The patches. Yes. The bolts. Yes.’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘They work. Yes. As shall the IDD. Yes, yes.’

Tark glowered, still not entirely convinced.

The professor shifted his attention back to the IDD before Tark had the chance to raise any more questions. He indicated a dial on the side of the rubber-enclosed chamber. ‘This controls the amount of electricity that is discharged and therefore the amount of Interface substance that is released and fired at the target. I am not sure how much will be needed, so I have set it to the lowest setting. You will need to try it and adjust the setting if necessary. Yes, yes. Adjust.’

‘Why nots just bumps up the setting now?’ asked

Tark.

‘Brim-full of questions, aren’t we? Hmm.’ The professor fiddled with the buttons on his lab coat, his lips curling into a tight smile. ‘The higher the setting, the fewer times the IDD may be fired.’

‘Oh.’ Tark stared at the professor.

‘Oh, indeed,’ said the professor. ‘Indeed, indeed. At its lowest setting, you have fifty shots. At its highest, you have ten.’

‘What if the highest setting isn’t high enough?’ asked Tee. h. Yes.’ The professor scratched at his goatee.

‘Yes. I did take that possibility into account. There is an override switch.’ He slid aside a panel next to the dial on the IDD, revealing a small switch. ‘That will override the settings and empty the remaining contents in one continuous discharge.’

‘Whats if -’ Tark began.

‘If it doesn’t work?’ Palimpsest cut him off. ‘Run, run, run!’

As Tark and Tee turned to leave the professor’s workshop, they found Gal standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

‘I should be going instead of Tark,’ he said. Tee shook his head. ‘I need Tark with me.’

‘Why?’ demanded Gal. ‘Because he’s potentially you?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, he isn’t yet. He hasn’t been an Outer for long and we don’t know if he’s trustworthy.’ He strode into the workshop. ‘But here you are, showing him the latest research, taking him on a vital mission.’

‘I trust him,’ said Tee, looking at Tark rather than at Gal. ‘I trust him with my life.’

‘I don’t.’ Gal paced back to the doorway.

‘Fine,’ said Tee. ‘Then you can come with us.’

Tee clapped Tark reassuringly on the back before walking out. Tark followed, murmuring ‘Snotling’, as he passed Gal.

Gal glared at their backs for some time before alsoleaving.

Professor Palimpsest shook his head slowly. ‘It doesn’t really matter who goes. No. So long as they can run, run, run.’

16:
No-man’s-land
 

‘That was impossible.’ Hope’s voice was shaky. She was still holding onto Zyra.

‘Yeah, well, it happened, didn’t it?’ Zyra did her best to keep her voice steady. ‘You can let go of me now.’

‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ said Hope, releasing Zyra, and holstering her pistol. ‘That thing shouldn’t have been able to see us.’

‘So you keep saying.’ Zyra stared at Hope. ‘I thinkthat unicorn was looking at us, too. I think you’re wrong. I think some people and creatures can see us.’ Hope looked away and gazed around at theirsurroundings. ‘Where are we?’

‘No idea!’ Zyra also looked around.

They were standing in mud. It was a flat, featureless landscape, with sodden ground as far as the eye could see. The sky was dark and brooding with storm clouds blocking out the sun. In the dim light, Zyra and Hope saw twisted masses of barbed wire. An icy wind blew across the desolate terrain, making them shiver despite their warm clothing.

‘What were you thinking when we jumped?’ asked

Hope.

‘Nothing,’ said Zyra, trudging off to examine the nearest coil of barbed wire. ‘I wasn’t thinking of any place. I was just scared. I thought we were about to die.’ She pushed at the wire with a booted foot.

‘So we’re nowhere?’ Hope slowly turned 360 degrees, carefully surveying the landscape. A bitter wind howled past. ‘Some sort of war zone?’

‘No-man’s-land!’ Zyra cried, looking up fromthe wire. ‘The unoccupied area of ground between enemy trenches during a war.’

She caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye and spun around.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Hope.

‘Not sure,’ answered Zyra, eyes searching the terrain. All was still. ‘I thought I saw something.’ She took a few steps and then spotted a shape lying in the mud. A rifle. Eyes lighting up, she moved to get it.

‘Where are you going?’ demanded Hope. ‘Don’t go too far. We don’t want to get separated.’

Moving quickly, Zyra bent down to scoop up the rifle. But all she got was a handful of mud. She tried again, but her fingers were unable to grasp it.

‘Damn!’

When Zyra straightened up, she again saw movement. Was the ground moving? No! It was a soldier. Covered in muck from head to toe, he crawled slowly across the desolate battlefield towards her. Reaching out a camouflaged hand, he grasped the rifle and continued, blending in with his surrounds. Zyra blinked in disbelief When she looked back, she could no longer locate the soldier.

‘We’re in the middle of something,’ called Zyra.

‘No kidding,’ said Hope.

‘I just saw a gamer.’

A distant rumble interrupted them. Hope looked towards Zyra. ‘Thunder?’

A high-pitched, whining, whistling sound filled themr.

‘I don’t think so,’ yelled Zyra.

A patch of ground a couple of hundred metres from them erupted in a massive explosion. Both girls ducked as dirt rained down on them.

‘I don’t like this place,’ complained Hope, still cowenng.

‘Me neither,’ agreed Zyra, standing and trying to brush mud from her coat. She looked in the direction of the explosion and thought she could see mangled bodies. She shuddered and turned back towards Hope. ‘Well, let’s not stay here.’

Another rumble filled the air, closer this time, and the whistling sound started again. They looked up to see something streaking through the sky towards them.

‘Run!’ yelled Zyra.

They sprinted as the ground between them erupted, the force of the explosion propelling them through the air.

Zyra hit the ground, face down.

Hope landed on her side, dazed. Before she had time to recover, hands appeared from a concealed trench, grasped her and pulled her down.

Zyra sat up, coughing and spitting mud. She wiped the muck from her face as best she could and looked around. It was as before - an endless, featureless terrain, broken only by the occasional coil of barbed wire. She could discern no movement.

She called out. ‘Hope!’

There was no answer.

‘Hope!’

Zyra struggled to her feet, weighed down by her sodden clothing. Her precious coat was barely recognisable as red. She looked about, trying to spot Hope.

‘Hope!’ she called out again, an edge of panic toher voice.

Where could she be? Zyra’s mind raced through possibilities as she frantically scanned the surroundings. Was Hope tangled in barbed wire? she wondered. Swallowed up by the mud? Torn apart by the explosion? Dying? Already dead?

Zyra staggered back to where the shell had hit, her coat flapping about her legs, and examined the muddy crater. No sign of her friend. She stumbled on in the direction she thought Hope had been thrown, eyes scouring the ground as she went. Up ahead, she saw a person-sized depression in the ground. She crouched down to examine it closer. It looked like she had landed there and then ... rolled away. But where to?

Zyra stood up, stepped over the depression, and fell into a trench -face down in the muck, again. She howled with rage as she sat up, wiping her face and spitting dirt. Opening her eyes, she looked straight up the barrel of a rifle. A man in a grey uniform clutched the weapon. He had a voluminous coat wrapped around him and a gas mask over his face.

Zyra scrambled backwards until her back pressedagainst the trench’s damp wall.

‘Up!’ The soldier’s voice was muffled by the mask, giving it a slurred, inhuman sound.

Zyra scrambled to her feet, eyes darting about, looking for an escape route. To one side, the trench curved away concealing what lay further along. To the other side, the muddy walls seemed to stretch on forever behind the soldier. Above, the walls looked improbably high.

‘Move!’ The soldier nudged her with the end ofthe rifle.

Zyra grabbed the barrel and yanked. The soldier stumbled, releasing the rifle as he fell to his knees. Theatrically twirling the firearm around like a baton, Zyra quickly had it pointed at the soldier.

The man tilted his masked face up at her. Zyra found it unnerving being unable to see his eyes.

‘Takes ya mask off!’

The soldier got to his feet and unhurriedly took hold of the rifle’s barrel. With a display of amazing strength he swung both the rifle and Zyra around to the other side of the trench, slamming her into the wall.

Zyra gasped as the breath was knocked out of her. Overcoming the initial shock, she fired the rifle into the man’s chest.

He didn’t move. He kept hold of the rifle and continued to stare at her with his blank, masked face. Was there even a face behind that mask? wondered Zyra. She had a sudden vision of cold, featureless flesh, moulded to the shape of the gas mask.

She fired a second time.

The soldier swung her around again, throwing her into the opposite wall before yanking the rifle from her hands. Turning it around, he nudged her with the end of the barrel.

‘Move!’ he grunted.

Zyra had no option. She began edging her way along the curve of the trench. It twisted and turned, making it impossible to see what was beyond each bend. The soldier kept poking her in the back with the rifle and barking, ‘Move!’

Zyra wasn’t sure how long they walked. The walls curved one way and then the other and then back again in a featureless, endless tunnel of mud.

Finally, the trench widened out and around thebend was an oblong-shaped area, like a little muddy room, a ceiling of grey stormy clouds rolling past overhead. And in the centre, Hope was slumped in a chair, arms and legs bound tightly, her head hanging down, eyes closed. Beside her was a second chair, empty and waiting.

‘Sit!’ The soldier pointed to the chair with the rifle. Zyra stumbled over to the chair and sat down, looking across at Hope, relieved to see the rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. Zyra sat back, glad that she had not been left alone. She looked up at the soldier to see a red blaze behind the eye pieces of hismask.

‘Magik!’ Zyra’s surprise doubled when she felt movement at her hands and feet. Ropes were coiling themselves around her ankles and wrists. She struggled, but they tightened.

The soldier grunted and walked behind the chairs.

Zyra turned as far as she could, frantically trying to keep him in view. He strode over to a door in the far wall that Zyra had not noticed. It was dark and wooden and old, set directly into the mud. It couldn’t possibly lead anywhere. The soldier yanked the door open and disappeared into the blackness beyond.

The moment the door closed Zyra looked back at

Hope.

‘Wake up,’ she hissed. ‘Hope! Wake up!’

Hope didn’t stir. Zyra stared at her, looking for signs of life. Was she breathing? Had she imagined the movement of her chest earlier? Was she dead?

‘She is not dead.’ The cold voice spoke from behind her.

Zyra twisted her head to see a man closing the door. He was tall, with a long face and skinny, skeletal fingers. He wore a grey uniform, like the soldier, but his was neater and better fitting, tailored for him rather than off the rack. The jacket had a high collar with a little gold insignia that Zyra couldn’t make out. There were stripes on the epaulettes, signifying rank, although she didn’t know what rank. And pinned to the front of the jacket were several medals. Despite the bitter cold, he did not wear a coat.

The man slowly circled Zyra and Hope, his ridiculously clean shoes making a clicking sound with each step, even though he was walking on mud.

‘You are worried for your friend with the hopefulname?’ He spoke in clipped, measured tones, as if each word was an effort to pronounce. ‘This is excellent.’

He stopped in front of Zyra. ‘She is unharmed. Sheis but sleeping. If you wish her to remain unharmed, you will answer my questions. You understand?’

Zyra nodded.

‘Superb.’

Zyra stared at the man, studying every contour of his face, every element of his uniform. Who was he? Why was it she could interact with him? Was he some sort of Outer?

‘My perception is unclouded,’ said the officer.