Gamers' Quest (11 page)

‘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.’

‘Not any more,’ said the Fat Man. ‘And very soon, you too will be following my orders.’

A horrible sound boomed through the control centre – the sound of rending metal. And after a brief silence the banging resumed, metal on metal. Closer this time, as if it were coming from the other side of the wall.

‘I thinks its gonna breaks through soon,’ said Tark.

‘I have no intention of relinquishing control to you or anyone else,’ said the Prime Maintainer, still addressing the Fat Man. ‘We are the Designers’ children. The entities chosen to maintain the system they designed. The perfect system, with perfect boundaries and perfect rules, which you have violated.’

The Prime Maintainer closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. The Fat Man's image disappeared off all the screens except the main one, replaced by strings of numbers and symbols streaming across at incredible speeds. Needles flickered erratically on gauges. Indicators fluctuated up and down. The Fat Man's face began to fade from the main screen. The banging from outside seemed to weaken.

‘ACTIVATING COUNTER MEASURES STOP’ said Maintainer 102, as his hands sped over the controls before him. ‘ALL HAIL THE FAT MAN STOP’

The Fat Man's image solidified on the main screen. The numbers and symbols scrolling across the other screens slowed. The banging resumed with renewed vigour.

The Prime Maintainer's brow furrowed with concentration as beads of sweat began to form. He tilted his head from one side to the other. The numbers and symbols sped up again. Maintainer 102’s hands were a blur over the controls.

‘We has gotta do somethin’,’ said Zyra, drawing one of her knives.

‘I think we should stay out of this,’ said the princeling. ‘Leave it to the Prime Maintainer.’

‘Yeah, rights,’ she scoffed, striding over to the chair and suddenly plunging her knife into Maintainer 102’s shoulder.

The knife slid in without resistance. There was a crackle of unseen energy and Zyra was thrown back across the room, crashing to the floor.

‘Ya alrights?’ asked Tark, rushing to her side.

She looked up, shaking her head, just in time to see her beloved knife dissolve into static. ‘Yeah.’

With a loud bang and the sound of rending metal, a metallic spider's leg tore through the wall behind them. At that moment, the Fat Man's face again filled all the screens. Laughter boomed from every speaker.

The Prime Maintainer's eyes snapped open. In two steps, he was behind Maintainer 102. He swiftly brought his arm up then down in a karate style motion to the back of the maintainer's neck. The fingers of the Prime Maintainer's hand plunged into the flesh of Maintainer 102’s neck. The seated man's eyes widened, his hands froze over the controls, then he dissolved into static.

‘Maintainer 102 has been neutralised,’ announced the Prime Maintainer.

‘You're too late,’ said the Fat Man. ‘The system is mine. I
am
the system.’

The Prime Maintainer's hands skimmed the keyboard.

‘This is impossible,’ he said uncertainly.

‘He's taken over, hasn't he?’ said Zyra.

‘Yes,’ admitted the Prime Maintainer. His hands fell away from the controls and he turned to face Zyra.

‘So he controls all the games?’ asked the princeling.

‘Not quite,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘He has control of the system, but the environments are vast and numerous. It will take him some time yet to have complete power.’

‘But I will,’ interjected the Fat Man. ‘Very soon. Then all the environments will collapse into one world, which I shall dominate. There will be no more games, no more quests and challenges, except in worship of me.’

‘That is an abomination,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘The purpose of Designers Paradise is to provide environments with boundaries in which to quest and challenge and strive. That is the legacy of the Designers.’

‘A legacy that is no more,’ said the Fat Man.

‘Ain'ts there somethin’ ya can do?’ asked Tark.

The Prime Maintainer shook his head, confused.

‘Don't you have some sort of plan to deal with an emergency like this?’ asked the princeling.

‘A situation such as this was never foreseen,’ explained the Prime Maintainer.

‘Hangs on,’ said Zyra, a spark in her eyes. ‘If he's in the Designers Paradise system, a part of it –’

‘Oh, I'm so much more than that,’ interjected the Fat Man.

‘Well, if he's the system, can'ts ya just, ya know, turns it off?’

The Prime Maintainer's eyes widened, true fear entering them for the first time.

‘Well?’ asked Tark, eagerness in his voice.

‘No,’ whispered the Prime Maintainer. ‘That would be … unprecedented.’

‘Yes, well, the Fat Man
becoming
the system is somewhat unprecedented as well, I would think,’ said the princeling.

‘Only the Designers can shut down and restart the system,’ said the Prime Maintainer with certainty. ‘No control or procedure for such an operation has been provided to the Maintainers. It is not as if I can just flick a switch.’

‘Well then,’ said Zyra, ‘just pulls the plug!’

‘Yeah,’ added Tark. ‘Cut the power.’

‘It's not that simple,’ explained the Prime Maintainer. ‘If I were to circumvent the controls and cut the power, as you say … I … I'm not entirely sure what would happen. If the system were to be switched off, even for a few seconds, everything would probably revert to default settings.’

‘Wot does that means?’ asked Tark.

‘All environments would revert to their original parameters. All upgrades would be lost. Entities would return to their environment of origin. Accumulated assets and Designers Paradise accounts would be lost. All quests and challenges would need to begin again. Everything would be as it was in the beginning.’

‘And all trace of the Fat Man woulds be wiped from the system?’ asked Zyra.

‘Well. Yes. Probably.’

‘Then do it!’ demanded Zyra.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Tark.

‘All the money I've put into my Designers Paradise account would be gone?’ asked the princeling. ‘And my position as princeling? All the planning? All the assassinations? Gone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who cares?’ Tark blurted.

‘You can't get rid of me that easily,’ said the Fat Man. But there was a worried look in his piggy eyes.

The metallic spider forced its leg further through the tear in the wall. The appendage flailed about, knocking into screens and controls, tangling in wires. Tark, Zyra and the princeling retreated to the opposite end of the room, next to the Prime Maintainer.

‘Do it!’ said Zyra. ‘Please!’

‘I'm … I'm not sure,’ stuttered the Prime Maintainer. ‘There could be other effects.’

‘Will we still have our memories?’ asked the princeling.

‘I don't know,’ said the Prime Maintainer.

‘Wot abouts the rules?’ asked Tark, glancing over at Zyra. ‘Will the rules be the same? Will we still not be allowed –’

‘The rules will remain,’ said the Prime Maintainer, seemingly pleased to have found a certainty to cling to. ‘They are part of the original design. They are constant. Without rules, there would be anarchy. Without observance of the rules, there would be uncontrolled change. The Fat Man has transgressed and look what has happened. Everything is falling apart.’

They all jumped as the spider forced another leg through the tear. With two legs in the room, it was able to rip apart an entire section of wall. It screeched in triumph.

‘Well, ya is about to lose all ya rules,’ shouted Zyra.

‘There will be new rules,’ said the Fat Man. ‘My rules!’

The spider forced it head, jaws gaping, into the control room.

‘No,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘There are only the Designers’ rules. They must be maintained, at all costs. I must maintain. That is my function.’

He got down on his knees before the main control panel. For a moment, Zyra thought that he was about to pray to it, but instead, he slid back the front metal panel.

‘Reboot,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Restore the environments so that the rules may be obeyed once more. So that harmony returns.’

A coil of sticky metallic web shot from the spider's open maw, catching the Prime Maintainer's foot. Like a slab of meat he was dragged from the control panel towards the jaws of the metallic beast. Zyra took out her remaining knife and set to work hacking at the web. The Prime Maintainer scrambled forward as soon as he was free. The spider shrieked as it retracted what remained of its web.

‘There are weapons in there!’ The Prime Maintainer pointed to a panel in the far wall, which slid open. ‘I will bring help.’

Zyra and Tark made for the weapons, only to be blocked by one of the spider's legs.

The Prime Maintainer closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. Three swirls of static coalesced into the white-clothed figures of Maintainers.

‘Oh no you don't,’ said the Fat Man with a snarl.

One of the grey, sizzling shapes burst before it became solid. The other two solidified.

The Prime Maintainer gasped as he opened his eyes. ‘My control of this environment is weakening. I cannot summon further assistance.’

‘Environment?’ asked the princeling. ‘You mean to say –’

He did not get the chance to finish. One of the spider's legs knocked him to the floor.

The Prime Maintainer was now pulling wires from the bottom of the control panel. ‘This may take a little while,’ he called. ‘MAINTAINERS TO DEFENSIVE POSITIONS STOP’

The two Maintainers stepped forward and raised their right arms, each of which was cloaked in a bronze gauntlet from fingertip to elbow. Bursts of static exploded from their hands and streaked towards the spider. As each static burst impacted, the spider became momentarily insubstantial, taking on a static-like, ghostly appearance. But each time, it was quick to solidify again.

With the spider distracted, Tark and Zyra made it to the weapons – small, stubby metal truncheons. They each took one, with Tark grabbing a second in his other hand.

‘Oi!’ shouted Tark to the princeling, who was staggering to his feet. ‘Makes yaself useful.’

He threw across the truncheon. The princeling caught it and turned to face the spider, anger blazing in his eyes. He held the truncheon out in front of him, wondering how to activate it. He squeezed the handgrip and a bolt of energy sizzled out of the end. It hit the spider, scorching its metal plating, but doing little else.

Tark and Zyra were still staring at their own truncheons in confusion.

‘Point it,’ shouted the princeling, ‘and squeeze the grip!’

Both Tark and Zyra followed the princeling's instructions and fired at the spider. But again the weapons inflicted scorch marks only.

The Maintainers fired their gauntlets. The spider wavered. The princeling fired again.

‘Wait!’ called Zyra. ‘We's all gots to shoots the one spot. The Maintainers first, then us.’

The Maintainers looked to the Prime Maintainer for confirmation. He was still shoulder deep in the control panel. ‘CONFIRM STOP’ came his muffled voice.

‘Where do we aim?’ asked the princeling.

‘The head,’ shouted Tark eagerly.

The spider was now trying to squeeze its bulky abdomen into the room.

The Maintainers stepped forward, took aim and fired together at the spider's head, firing repeatedly. Tark, Zyra and the princeling also fired. The three bolts of energy struck the spider's head within milliseconds of each other. The mechanical arachnid froze. A faint vibration, starting at its head, spread throughout the length of its body. Then, without warning, it burst apart. The two Maintainers caught the impact and dissipated into static nothingness, their gauntlets dropping to the floor.

Princeling Galbrath dived for cover behind the Maintainer's chair, while a dismembered spider leg knocked Tark and Zyra off their feet, their truncheons skittering across the floor.