Gamers' Rebellion (4 page)

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, overflowing 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.

Zyra and the Designer regarded each other. The silence stretched as each of them considered the significance of this first meeting.

‘Robert Vandenburg the Fifth.’ The man did not move his lips. There was a vibration in his throat and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down spasmodically, but the voice came from a speaker embedded into the surrounds of the chair.

‘You is the … I mean … um … you’re …’ Zyra couldn’t get the words to form.

‘Yes,’ said Robert. ‘I am your creator.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And you are … the meeting of two worlds. The digital made flesh and blood. My Game become reality. My … virtual child.’

Zyra had a momentary urge to fall to her knees, but stopped herself. ‘You are … ah … you’re so …’ And still her thoughts couldn’t transfer themselves to words.

‘Old? Frail? Pathetic?’ said Robert, his voice betraying no emotion. ‘Yes. I am. Do have a seat.’

He glided back and Robbie indicated the leather wingback chair. Zyra stared at it but did not move.

‘You can sit down,’ whispered Robbie.

Zyra plonked herself down into the leather. It creaked as if it had never been worn in.

‘Please, have some water and food,’ said Robert. ‘You must be thirsty and hungry.’

Zyra tentatively picked up the glass of water and sniffed it.

‘It is perfectly safe,’ assured Robert.

Zyra took a little sip, swirled it around in her mouth, and then drained the glass. She hadn’t realised just how thirsty she was. She was now also aware of how hungry she was. She picked up the food bar and tore open the wrapper. It was an unappealing grey bar. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

‘It is a high protein bar,’ said Robbie. ‘It is exactly what your clone body requires.’

Zyra nibbled the end of it. The taste was plain, almost non-existent, and the texture was gluggy and chewy. Not at all pleasant. She ate it anyway.

‘I realise that this is probably rather overwhelming for you,’ said Robbie. She nodded while she chewed.

‘Well,’ said Robert, gliding up to Zyra. ‘You must have questions.’

Zyra stared at him and the technology that surrounded him. He seemed more machine than man. She noticed that his chair did not touch the ground. It hovered a few centimetres in the air.

She finished chewing and swallowed the last of the protein bar.

‘Questions.’ Zyra nodded slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘Yes, I have questions.’ Then she fell silent.

‘Allow me to get you started,’ said Robert. ‘Question: Where is Tark? Answer: I do not know. Question: Can I help you get him back? Answer: No. Question: Are you a prisoner here? Answer: Officially, no. Technically, yes. Question: Are you in any danger? Answer: Not from me or Robbie. Question: What is this place? Answer: The Design Institute, although I used to refer to it as Designers Paradise. It is an independent research establishment and its purpose is the continued operation and development of the Game. Question: Who is in charge here? Answer: Officially, Designer Prime. In reality, Designer Alpha. Question: Who are the Administrators? Answer: Bureaucratic, but otherwise insignificant, pains in the neck. Question: How –’

‘Stop!’ cried Zyra, jumping to her feet and holding her hands up to her head. ‘Enough already.’

Zyra thought she noticed a hint of a smile cross Designer Prime’s wrinkled face, but it didn’t linger.

‘The Game,’ said Zyra. ‘Start with that. Tell me about the Game. What is it?’

‘A good question,’ answered Robert. ‘I approve. Please sit down and I will do my utmost to give you an adequate answer.’

Zyra stared at him warily and sat down, the leather again creaking beneath her.

‘The Game, as it now stands, is many things to many people.’

Zyra sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes.

‘Patience is a virtue,’ stated Robert. ‘But its absence is not surprising given your virtual environment of constant adventure and danger.’

Zyra sniffed.

‘When I first developed the Game it was simply an exercise in creation.’ Robert glanced towards the painting on the wall. ‘I have an interest. In fact, I have studied creation myths from across the globe.’ He paused. ‘There seemed, to me, to be an element of amusement in most of them. As if life, death, everything was for the entertainment of the specific deity or deities.

‘It struck me that perhaps that’s all that life was … a game. A game for the amusement of its creator. I liked the concept. I decided I wanted to be more than an amusement. I wanted to create. I wanted to be amused.’ He smiled. ‘I like games.’

‘What?’ Zyra looked a little bemused.

‘I was not content to be a mere player in the game of life. I am a creator… a Designer … a …’

‘A god,’ finished Zyra. ‘You think you’re some sort of god.’

‘To the inhabitants of the Game, I am.’

‘You sound crazy,’ said Zyra defiantly. She put more force into her words than she felt. Was she the crazy one, speaking like this to a Designer? But she felt an urge to exert her defiance. ‘Crazy!’

‘Explanations are going to take a very long time if you keep interrupting,’ said Robert.

Zyra glared at him.

‘Perhaps there is an easier way for this history lesson.’ Robert looked at Robbie.

The robot fetched a headset from the wall of tech. He went to put it onto Zyra but she held up an arm defensively.

‘It will not harm you,’ explained Robbie. ‘It is merely an information transfer device. Rather than Designer Prime telling you of events, with this you will be able to see them.’

Zyra lowered her hand cautiously, allowing Robbie to place the device onto her head. Little padded electrodes pressed gently onto her temples. They felt warm.

‘Okay,’ said Robert. ‘Here we go.’

Zyra was no longer seated in Designer Prime’s room. She was standing in large open area with rows of desks. Each of the desks had a computer workstation and each workstation had a person manipulating holographic displays with a virtual reality data-glove.

‘The birth of the Game.’ Robert’s voice was all around her. ‘Dozens of programmers creating code to my specifications.’

‘Where am I?’ asked Zyra, looking around, trying to find Robert. ‘Am I back in the Game?’

‘No, no,’ said Robert. ‘Getting into the Game isn’t that easy. This is just a standard computer simulation based on my memories stored in a private database. You are hooked into it via the headset you’re wearing.’

‘Oh.’

‘You will, no doubt, notice that it does not feel as real as the Game,’ said Robert, appearing before her in his chair. Zyra did a double take. ‘No smell, for starters,’ he continued. ‘And you can only observe. You can’t touch anything.’

Zyra reached out to the desk in front of her. Her hand passed through it with a blur of pixels. She tried again. It was like disturbing an image reflected in water.

‘And if you look closely, many of the details are indistinct. The failings of memory. The computer cannot simulate what I cannot remember.’

Zyra looked at the windows, but couldn’t make out what was outside. It was just an indistinct mesh of blues and greens. She looked back to the desks and the people working at the computers.

‘Their faces,’ said Zyra with a sharp intake of breath. ‘I can’t make out their features. They all look the same.’

‘I don’t remember all the people who worked for me,’ Robert explained. ‘People were not important to me.’

Zyra walked between the rows of desks, looking from one indistinct face to the next. She stopped suddenly.

‘That’s me,’ she said in a startled voice. ‘I mean it’s Tina. Tina Burrows. The avatar that I used in the Suburbia environment.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Robert, gliding through the people and desks. ‘Designer Burrows. I remember
her
very well.’

‘What?’ Zyra looked closely at the face. It was definitely Tina Burrows, although she was older than the avatar that Zyra had used. This Tina looked in her early twenties.

‘Of course, she wasn’t a Designer back then. Merely a rather promising PhD student with a talent for programming.’ Robert moved forward, passing through the memory of Tina Burrows and along the row of programmers. The images pixelated and scattered as he went, reforming behind him. ‘Follow me.’

Zyra followed, making a point of walking between the rows of programmers. Robert came to a stop in front of another desk. A familiar young man sat at this workstation.

‘John Hayes,’ breathed Zyra. ‘Tark’s Suburbia avatar.’

‘He too would go on to become a Designer.’

‘Why do our avatars look like them?’ asked Zyra.

‘Leftover memories.’ Robert glided through John Hayes.

‘What do you mean?’ Zyra chased after him.

Robert finally came to the end of the row of programmers. He turned to face Zyra.

‘You and Tark are far more linked to Designers Burrows and Hayes than you know.’ He smiled. ‘They were the first players … well, after me. They played as you and Tark. And they programmed the Suburbia environment.’

‘They played as us?’ Zyra felt her knees wobble.

‘Yes,’ said Robert. ‘In the beginning, none of the characters had any consciousness, or even personality. They were merely avatars for real people to use. Of course, that changed over time. We introduced more sophisticated programming. Each character was given traits and purpose and the ability to develop a distinct personality.’

A series of images floated around Zyra. Tark and her on various adventures – fighting dragons, stealing money and striving to reach Designers Paradise. The two of them choosing their Suburbia avatars. Tina and John in Suburbia.

‘Designers Burrows and Hayes introduced the Suburbia environment.’ Robert’s voice washed over the images like a documentary narration. ‘It was the first additional environment. Hundreds more have since been added.’

The images continued. Vistas of many varied landscapes and cityscapes and bizarre places that defied description. And then Tina and John at workstations, programming. Tina and John in lab coats, watching others do programming. Tina and John in meetings with people in suits. Tina and John talking with another man in a lab coat.

Zyra looked closely at the man. He was tall, with brown curly hair and handsome features. There was a hint of grey at his temples, and the beginning of wrinkles at the corners of his blue eyes. He looked sad.

‘That’s you,’ whispered Zyra.

‘Yes,’ Robert confirmed. ‘That’s me. Forty-two years ago. I was fifty, although I think I looked pretty good for my age. Tina and John were Designers by this stage. Had been for a while. Designers Burrows and Hayes. My best students. My closest collaborators. My greatest rivals.’

The memories of Tina and Robert began to argue.

‘That was the day that everything changed,’ said Robert. ‘That was the day my focus shifted from creation to … I don’t know … self-delusion.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Zyra.

‘Listen to them,’ said Robert.

Zyra walked closer to the image from the past.

‘You can’t just abandon the project.’ Designer Burrows waved her arms about in frustration. ‘You’ve put too much into this.’

‘As have we,’ added Designer Hayes.

‘I’m not abandoning it,’ said Robert. ‘I’m simply changing the focus. A virtual playground for disabled people.’

‘There are so many other potential uses,’ said Designer Hayes.

‘Recent revelations have focused my attention on to this one,’ said Robert.

‘We can’t just stop all our other lines of research.’ Designer Burrows was red in the face.

‘I’m no longer interested in those,’ said Robert. He continued quickly as Designers Burrows and Hayes opened their mouth to protest. ‘You can proceed with them, if you wish. Do what you like. I will not stop you.’