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.’
‘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.
‘Got it!’ said the Prime Maintainer, holding up two cables, one in each hand. Their frayed ends sizzled with energy. ‘This will shut down the system for five minutes at which point it will reboot.’
‘NO!’ shouted the Fat Man.
‘You has lost!’ crowed Zyra, staggering to her feet.
As attention was focused on the Fat Man and the Prime Maintainer, Princeling Galbrath stepped forward and scooped up one of the gauntlets.
‘No,’ he said, his voice cold.
All eyes turned to him and the gauntlet that was now aimed at the Prime Maintainer.
‘You try to reboot the system, and I'll neutralise you.’
‘No you won't,’ said the Prime Maintainer.
‘I've disposed of more family members than I care to remember,’ said the princeling bitterly. ‘Do you really think I'm going to be concerned about killing you?’
‘Buts why?’ asked Tark, startled by the princeling's betrayal.
‘Environment!’ said the princeling. ‘The Prime Maintainer called this place an environment. That means that it's just another one of the games. This isn't real. It's just another game. A game that I intend to win.’
‘But you won't win,’ said Zyra, pointing to the Fat Man. ‘He'll win!’
The princeling turned to the screen and the image of the Fat Man. ‘If I stop him,’ he gestured to the Prime Maintainer, ‘what do I get?’
‘Anything,’ blustered the Fat Man, desperate to regain control. ‘Anything your treacherous little heart desires.’
‘My own personal Suburbia,’ said the princeling. ‘Somewhere that I can live out the rest of my life the way I want it. Where no one can hurt me. No games. No treachery.’
‘You have my word,’ said the Fat Man. ‘Now shoot him! Shoot him!’
The princeling fired. The Prime Maintainer dissolved in a burst of static, the cables dropping to the floor. The princeling turned to face Zyra and Tark.
‘Ya gonna shoots us too?’ asked Zyra, incredulous.
‘If I have to.’
Tark eyed the two cables, weighing up his chances of getting to them before the princeling shot him. Zyra caught his eye, then looked at the other gauntlet lying on the floor. Tark looked down at it. It was fairly close. He could probably get to it, if only he could distract the princeling.
Suddenly, Zyra's remaining knife was momentarily in her hand before being flung at the princeling. As Princeling Galbrath shielded himself with the gauntlet, Zyra swirled in a circle, pulling off her coat as she went and flinging it after the knife.
This was all the distraction that Tark needed. He launched himself at the second gauntlet.
The princeling deflected the knife and fired the gauntlet. Zyra's precious coat dispersed in a sizzle of static to reveal Tark standing with the second gauntlet pointed at the princeling.
‘Gives it up,’ said Tark.
‘Not a chance,’ said the princeling. ‘I am a princeling. I don't take orders from a common thiever.’
The princeling fired a burst of static.
Tark fired a burst of static.
The two eruptions met with a thunderous roar, the impact knocking everyone to the floor.
As soon as he regained his senses the princeling tried firing again, but his gauntlet was useless. It was then that they all noticed the ball of fiery static hanging in the middle of the room. The princeling scrambled to his feet. Tark and Zyra were already standing well back, watching it. The ball of static pulsed and sizzled as if it were alive.
‘It's getting bigger,’ said Zyra.
The princeling stooped and snatched up Zyra's deflected knife. He took careful aim and threw it at the ball. The knife exploded in a burst of static as soon as it came in contact with the ball.
The ball grew bigger at a faster pace.
‘Ya snot-rag!’ yelled Zyra. ‘Ya've mades it worse!’
The pulsating static ball continued to grow and touched the top of the Maintainer's chair, which promptly burst into static, feeding the ball, enlarging it even further.
‘Do something,’ demanded the princeling, looking up at the Fat Man on the main screen.
‘I can't,’ said the Fat Man, the colour draining from his face.
The ball was now as big as the princeling, and still growing.
Tark ran for the cables.
But so did the princeling.
They each snatched up a cable.
‘Hands it ova!’ Tark shouted.
‘I will not let you win,’ said the princeling.
‘We is gonna die if we don't restart the system,’ said Tark.
‘This is just a game,’ insisted the princeling, a tinge of uncertainty creeping into his voice. ‘We are not going to die.’
Zyra circled around the ball and came up behind the princeling. She grabbed the cable, but the princeling continued to hold on and struggle. Zyra bared her studded teeth and bit his arm, wrenching the cable from his grasp as she did so. The princeling clutched his arm and staggered backwards towards the ball, now twice his size. He tried desperately to regain his footing, but couldn't. Tark reached out a hand to try and help him, but he was too late.
‘Nooo!’ screamed the princeling, as his hand brushed the pulsating ball.
In a flash of static, he was gone, his plaintive cry echoing through the control room.
The ball pulsed with energy and expanded rapidly, devouring monitors and wires and controls into its sparkling grey depths. The room would be consumed within seconds. Tark and Zyra had no time to think. They leapt for each other, cables held out in front of them. The frayed ends met just as the edge of the expanding ball reached them.
And then there was nothing.