Gamers' Rebellion (2 page)

‘This is for you,’ he said, stepping forward and holding out the clothing, eyes wide.

Zyra was suddenly conscious that she was naked. She dashed forward, snatched the garment from his hand and held it up against herself. Seeing her discomfort, the boy turned his back to her.

Zyra quickly shook out the garment and examined it. It was a jumpsuit, similar to the one the boy was wearing, but it looked much too small to fit her. She stepped into it anyway, pulling it up over herself, the odd plastic-like fabric stretching to accommodate her body. It covered her feet and extended into gloves that enveloped her hands. She pulled the two sides of fabric towards each other, wondering how to do up the suit since there was no zip or buttons. The fabric simply merged into itself, closing up the gap and leaving no visible join.

Zyra flexed her arms and wiggled her fingers, marvelling at the surprising comfort of the outfit. It was like being naked and clothed at the same time.

‘How do I go to the toilet in this thing?’ she wondered out loud.

‘It is a smart fabric,’ explained the boy in quiet, measured tones. ‘It has automatically coded itself to your genetic makeup. It will come apart for you, if you pull at it.’

The boy turned around. Zyra noticed that he was more than just bald – he was completely hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, not even the shadow of shaved hair. His eyes were the palest blue she had ever seen, and they were focused intently on her.

‘Where am I?’ asked Zyra.

‘Specifically,’ said the boy, ‘you are in the Design Institute. On a more general level, you are in what you would term
the real world
.’

‘What?’

‘You are no longer in the Game.’

Zyra frowned, taking in the enormity of the revelation. Fixing her eyes on the boy, she felt a shiver go up her spine.

‘Are you … are you a Designer?’

‘No,’ the boy answered. ‘I am not.’

Before Zyra had time to react, an alarm started blaring, the high-pitched wailing hurting her ears. And everything went dark.

3: Escape

Completely disorientated, Tark stumbled about in the dark, the alarm blaring around him. He crashed into one of the walls and cried out, clutching his bruised elbow.

A portion of the wall slid back and dimly silhouetted figures rushed into the room. Hands grabbed at him and something was thrown over his head. He tried to struggle, lashing out at his assailants. His arms were seized roughly and pinned behind him. Tark leaned his weight back, using his captor for support, and kicked out with both his legs.

Someone swore, then another assailant grasped Tark’s legs and he was manhandled towards the door. He continued to struggle, thrashing about.

‘Lets go of me,’ he shouted. If he had not been so preoccupied, he would have marvelled at the sound of the voice that was nothing like his own.

‘Shut him up,’ someone hissed.

Tark felt something cold and metallic pressed to his side. There was an audible crackle and he felt a jolt of electricity course through his body.

He passed out.

***

Tark ached – from the tip of his nose to the ends of his toes. Slowly, his awareness widened and he felt movement. He was being carried, jostled about roughly as his kidnappers ran with him. Nausea washed over him. He tried breathing deeply to suppress it.

He opened his eyes but saw nothing. Something still covered his head.

And then he heard the voices. Urgent, hissing voices over the top of one another, making it difficult to understand anything.

‘… got to get out …’

‘… he’s heavy …’

‘… which way?’

‘… what about the other one?’

‘… too late …’

‘… damn …’

He felt the hands holding his left leg slip, and the heel of his foot scraped along the ground. Tark yelped.

‘He’s awake!’ The voice was panicky.

‘Zap him!’ ordered a more authoritative voice.

Again, Tark felt the metal pressing up against him before the shock of electricity sent him into oblivion.

4: Captured

Zyra crouched in the darkness, every muscle tense, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.

‘Do not panic!’ said the boy, his voice calm and steady as the alarm blared. ‘You are quite safe.’

‘I don’t panic,’ said Zyra, matter-of-factly, wishing she had her knives and feeling exposed in her clinging jumpsuit.

A square of dim light appeared at the far wall as the door slid open, revealing three silhouettes. Before any of them could make a move, the boy was blocking their entrance.

‘No!’ he said, his voice still calm. ‘Zyra must stay here.’

‘Guards,’ warned one of the silhouettes. Then all three sped off.

Zyra saw other shadows running past the doorway before it closed. Then the lights came back on.

Zyra stood up. ‘What just happened?’ she demanded.

‘It appears we have had an attempted abduction,’ said the boy.

‘Why would someone want to kidnap me?’ asked Zyra.

‘Good question,’ said the boy.

‘And where’s Tark?’

‘Another good question.’

Zyra’s expression hardened. ‘So how about some good answers, kid?’ She took a threatening step towards the boy.

‘I would rather not be referred to as
kid
.’ The boy inclined his head slightly. ‘I am not a kid – not in the conventional sense. I am a clone. And my name is Robbie.’

‘Yeah, well that’s great,
Robbie
. But I want some answers.’ Zyra took another step. ‘And I want them now.’

‘Please remain calm,’ said Robbie. ‘My purpose in being here is to introduce you to the real world and give you all the necessary information. So please, let us sit down and discuss things.’

Two white spherical chairs emerged from behind opening wall panels, and slid towards them. The panels closed up as if they had never been there. Robbie sat down immediately, nodding towards the second chair. Zyra sat down warily.

‘Okay, I’m sitting. I’m calm. Now, get on with it.’

‘You are in a scientific facility and research centre called –’

‘Where’s Tark?’ Zyra cut him off. ‘I want to see him.’

Robbie paused and cocked his head to one side as if considering Zyra’s question.

‘Tark is in a clone birthing room like this one. You cannot see him yet. You –’

‘Why can’t I see him?’ demanded Zyra, cutting him off again. ‘If he’s here then I want to see him, now!’

‘I am sorry,’ said Robbie. ‘There are procedures to be followed. You need to be debriefed before anything else can happen.’

‘Right.’ Zyra crossed her arms. ‘Get on with it then.’

‘As I have already said, you are out of the Game – you are in the real world.’

Zyra held her hands up in front of her face. They were encased in the weird, skin-like fabric. She turned them over and then back again, flexing the fingers and letting the words sink in –
the real world
.

‘No doubt you are wondering,
how
?’ said Robbie. ‘You have been downloaded into a cloned body.’

Zyra lowered her hands and stared at Robbie. ‘Like you?’

‘Not quite.’ Although Robbie’s expression remained constant, Zyra thought she caught a hint of sadness in his eyes. ‘Your cloned body was specifically prepared for a downloaded consciousness. That is, it was grown from the cells of a real person, but was conditioned for physical perfection. It was also grown with no cognitive functions. Your body has a brain, but it was a
tabula rasa
– a clean slate onto which anything could have been written.’

‘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.