GAME SPACE - Full Novel

by Peter Jay Black

  Also, I had no internet, no phone, and no television.

  Seriously? How does someone not have the three cornerstones of human survival?

  I had to admit the first few days in Colorado were amazing; I’d explored the wilderness and marvelled at the varied landscape, with its mountains, forests, and lakes.

  Milo came with me a few times too, huffing along the trails, sniffing every rock and pinecone, peeing on every tree trunk and root.

  Once, we spotted a bear. At least, I thought it was a bear. It was hard to gauge size and distance through the dense woodland, so it could have been an overweight raccoon. Either way, pretty cool.

  Now when I snatched up Milo’s leash and waved it at him with an encouraging smile, he looked at me with his boss-eyed, flat face as if to say, “Pppfffttt. Not a bleedin’ chance, mate,” and he’d go back to sleep.

  I’d brought three books in my luggage: The Martian by Andy Weir—a science fiction masterpiece, in my humble opinion; an old-school classic, 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke; and last but not least, an incredible non-fiction book called Ancient Egyptian Magic by Bob Brier.

  I had already read them a thousand times each, but I read them again for good measure, in case I’d missed a minuscule detail here or there.

  I hadn’t.

  Then I attempted drawing to pass the time, but everything resembled a jumbled mess. So, probably worth millions.

  I played music on my laptop over and over until I was sick of it; there are only a finite amount of Danny Boys you can bear before insanity takes hold.

  I tried out the one pre-installed game I had, Skylark, where you play as a plucky, pixelated bird, flying across the screen, steering over rooftops, through windows, and avoiding objects while deftly popping balloons.

  Yeah. I couldn’t get past the first ten seconds.

  Pretty sure the keys weren’t working properly.

  Maddening beyond belief.

  I watched the four movies I owned too: The Goonies, treasure-hunting classic; Avatar, all-time, blue-alien greatness; Avengers Assemble, pew, pew, whoosh; and Gnomeo and Juliet . . . don’t ask.

  Desperate for any other form of entertainment, I searched the house, but apart from a Mason jar filled with marbles, a biography on William Thomson, a novel about King Arthur, and a well-thumbed copy of Alice in Wonderland on a shelf by the front door, I was out of luck.

  If I had known about the lodge’s lack of basic amenities before I’d left the UK, I would’ve stolen my father’s credit card and downloaded everything.

  But on my sixteenth birthday, a rare thing happened.

  All three guardians showed up at once.

  How about that?

  Redemption.

  Mum and Dad pulled up in matching cars—silver with electric windows and stereo systems from this decade.

  Unbe-freaking-lievable.

  As they strode toward the lodge, I bounced on the balls of my feet and held out a hand, eager for either set of keys.

  Back home, the legal driving age was seventeen, but I was sure it was sixteen in Colorado.

  For one giddy moment I imagined freedom—driving on Route 66 across the grand old US-of-A, windows down, Milo in the passenger seat with the wind in his fur, heading to the promised land of internet, modern entertainment, and corrective eye surgery for pets.

  Mum and Dad chuckled at my outstretched hand, shaking their heads as they walked into the house.

  I raced after them. “Can I at least have a moped?”

  Another pair of hearty chortles.

  What is their problem?

  I got the feeling my parents were deliberately keeping me housebound so they knew exactly where I was at any given moment. Because Mum and Dad were so busy with their jobs, perhaps they were using the lodge’s remote location as parenting by proxy, which was kind of smart but extremely irritating.

  Either that or they knew I was one hundred percent guaranteed to crash whatever vehicle they gave me. I couldn’t ride a bicycle without having a near-fatal accident within the first ten seconds.

  However, I felt a little more forgiving when my parents produced a cake topped with sixteen candles, sang Happy Birthday in surprising harmony—Grandpa John providing the bass—and then brought out the presents.

  I got hiking boots, a parka, several pairs of wool socks, gloves, and a knitted hat from my ever-sensible mother.

  God bless her.

  Dad bought me a smartphone.

  Yay.

  But I couldn’t help showing my disappointment when I discovered it didn’t have a signal, and therefore no internet.

  My father noticed my crestfallen expression. “I spoke to the shop owner,” he said. “Told me a new cell tower is going up in a month or so.” He winked. “Dragging us poor hill-folk from the dark ages.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  I had that to look forward to.

  Dad also handed over a book about the Ancestral Pueblo culture. I looked forward to learning all I could about my new country’s past and yearned to visit the nearest Native American museum.

  Grandpa John gave me a—well, I wasn’t sure what the object was for, but it was unusual. My best guess at the time was that it was an ornament—a crystal, cold to the touch, cylindrical, four inches long and one in diameter, transparent for the most part, and filled with overlapping streaks of blue.

  “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said, and meant it.

  I decided to put the sculpture on my window ledge, where it would catch the morning light.

  Milo received new bowls, chew toys, and a collar, all of which totally unimpressed him.

  It was a Cooper family tradition to celebrate the scatter-brained Pekingese’s birthday the same day as mine because he was adopted, like yours truly, and no one knew his real age. Judging by his almost constant need to sleep and greying muzzle, I guessed he was somewhere around one hundred and seventy in dog years.

  I surveyed my presents.

  Overall, a good birthday.

  Minus friends, but Mum was right—I’d make an effort getting some of those when I started school.

  If I ever did.

  And then the next day came. My parents returned to work—Dad risking his life, Mum saving others—Grandpa John vanished in a puff of smoke, and everything returned to being as boring as ever.

  I decided I had no choice; I would have to walk to town. I was certain they had electricity and everything. How utterly twenty-first century of them.

  But I wouldn’t go right at that moment.

  I glanced at my watch. It was fast approaching ten o’clock at night, and there were no signs of a parent or guardian returning.

  I’d already finished off the evening by dozing in one of the lounge chairs by the fire as Milo snored at my feet, his legs twitching, no doubt dreaming about peeing on car wheels.

  I took that as my cue to give up on another wasted day. I stretched, yawned, and trudged halfway across the sitting room, then a strange buzzing sound stopped me dead in my tracks.

  What was that?

  My smartphone was in my pocket, not on vibrate, and still had no signal . . .

  Brrrrttttttt. Brrrrttttttt.

  The noise came from the kitchen.

  Milo opened one eye and lifted his head a fraction of an inch off the floor, but that was the extent of his investigation.

  I guess it’s up to me.

  “Thanks for your help, buddy,” I called as I headed into the kitchen.

  Brrrrttttttt. Brrrrttttttt.

  I turned around.

  An old-fashioned phone sat by the door, yellowed plastic, big dial on the front.

  Brrrrttttttt. Brrrrttttttt.

  I answered. “Hello?”

  “Leo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Grandpa John.”

  I relaxed. “Hey. Where are you?” Until that moment, I didn’t know he even possessed a landline.

  “Hard to describe.”

  “It’s a pub, isn’t it?�
� My lips twitched.

  That would explain his prolonged absences.

  “No,” came the curt reply. “I need you to come to me.”

  “O-kay,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “Look outside.”

  I stretched the phone’s cord as far as it would go and peered out of the kitchen window into blackness. I squinted. “Am I looking in the right direction?”

  As if in answer, thousands of blue and white fairy lights sprang to life, illuminating a faint path I hadn’t spotted before, winding from the lodge through the forest, then disappearing up a hill into the distance.

  I gaped.

  “See you soon,” Grandpa John said, followed by a click as he hung up the phone.

  Three

  Heart thumping, I raced to my bedroom, donned my parka, hat, gloves, and hiking boots—thanks, Mum—and after checking Milo was still fast asleep, I hurried to the back door and stepped outside.

  The narrow path snaked through the trees, lit by the thousands of tiny blue and white lights like something out of a fairy tale.

  I felt like a cartoon princess, but resisted the urge to skip through the forest, trilling about the beautiful world and dancing with any wild animals I met on the way.

  Instead, I trudged onward, my oversized hiking boots thudding in the dirt, sweat pouring from my face after only a few feet.

  I unzipped my parka, letting in the cool air, and removed my hat and gloves, shoving them into my pockets. “Thanks, Mum. A little overkill,” I muttered and pressed on like a brave pioneer, heading up the hill. I followed the lights for a good third of a mile until I crested the peak and halted, my mouth dropping open.

  Ahead of me sat a brick building as big as a factory. At one end, a copper dome weathered green with age towered above the landscape.

  A tumbledown sign with faded letters declared it to be the Penny Hill Observatory.

  Amazing.

  Like a nerd at a comic con, I stumbled toward the building, eyes bulging, drool seeping from the corner of my mouth. My heart filled with the promise of entertainment, wondering what incredible sights the telescope had captured from the far reaches of the cosmos and how I could play a part in finding more.

  The main door opened, and Grandpa John stood silhouetted in the light.

  I waved a finger at the dome as I approached. “This is amazing.”

  He gave a modest nod and stepped aside.

  I crossed the threshold and gaped once again.

  The enormous telescope looked as impressive as I’d imagined, with the tube and optics mounted to a gimbal, metal steps leading to a fixed seat on the side, and an eyepiece.

  I swallowed. “Can I take a peek?”

  Grandpa John nodded. “But not today.”

  My shoulders slumped. “Why not?”

  “It’s cloudy.”

  “Oh.” Now my cheeks flushed. “Right.”

  It made sense when I thought about it—I was sure I’d read somewhere that stars tended to only be visible in clear night skies.

  “Do you know who invented the first telescope?” I asked, wanting to redeem myself.

  Grandpa John gave a shrug. “Galileo?”

  “Nope. A guy called Hans Lippershey. Well, he applied for the patent, anyway. Galileo was a year later, and the first to point a telescope at the sky.”

  “Fascinating,” Grandpa John muttered, looking anything but fascinated, and gestured toward a door.

  We strode into a warehouse.

  Row upon row of racking filled the space floor to ceiling, crammed full of thousands of video games, everything from classics like Pong, Frogger, Donkey Kong Jr, Asteroids, and Missile Command to the immersive, violent, and bloodcurdling modern bestsellers for the whole family to enjoy.

  I followed Grandpa John down the aisles of shelving, reading titles as I went. “This must have cost millions.”

  Benches lined the far wall, packed with video game consoles stretching back decades, all wired to TV monitors, and ready to play—an entire history covered from Magnavox Odyssey, Super Nintendo, Atari 2600, and Sega Megadrive to present-day Sony and Microsoft systems, and a lot more besides.

  I staggered past them, slack-jawed. “Why didn’t you tell me you had all this?”

  To think I’d spent the last few weeks bored out of my skull when the entire catalogue of video-game history was only a short walk away.

  Okay, I was rubbish at games, having zero patience and self-control, but even so . . .

  Boxes crammed every inch of the remaining warehouse, along with piles of books on game theory, strategy, science, and programming. A couple caught my eye: The Simulation Experiment by Kloe King, Finding Code’s Hidden Treasure by Jake Reynolds, and The Simulation Experiment by Lucian Knight.

  An old-school camcorder, tape player, and television sat on a table in the corner of the room.

  Grandpa John stopped at three doors—red, green, and blue— and turned to me, his expression grave. “Your mother and father think I’m going on a two-week hunting trip.”

  I nodded.

  I’d heard them mention it. He planned on leaving the next day. I would miss him, but it made no difference to me. Grandpa John was never at home. I looked around the place, now comprehending why.

  “Truth is . . .” Grandpa John cleared his throat. “I’m off to Cleveland, Ohio. To have heart surgery,” he added. “A coronary bypass.”

  I blinked. “Why not ask Mum to do it?” After all, she was a world-class surgeon.

  “If I died on her operating table,” Grandpa John said, “through no fault of her own, your mother would never forgive herself.” He shook his head. “No. No, it has to be this way.”

  I could see the logic in what he was saying, but Mum would be furious when she found out. And she definitely would find out. My mother had a knack for getting to the truth. It was uncanny. Sick, really.

  “How old are you?” Grandpa John asked.

  “Sixteen. I had my birthday yesterday, remember?”

  “Hmm.” He scratched his head. “I was sixteen when I was your age.”

  I suppressed a smile. “True story?”

  Grandpa John appraised me for several seconds more, then sighed. “Seeing as you’re my only grandchild and—”

  “Sorry,” I interrupted. “Mum and Dad said they didn’t have much of a selection that day at the orphanage.”

  He ignored my poor attempt at humour. To be fair, most people did.

  “I planned on giving you something when you turned eighteen.” Grandpa John stared at me. “Maybe twenty.”

  His assessment was right—I needed to grow up. I had to be the most immature person I knew, with zero control over most of my actions, along with what crap flew out of my mouth, so I tried my best to straighten my face.

  Grandpa John let out a breath. “Seeing as I might die n’ all, I will give you something now. You can’t use it yet, you’re still too young, but you can hold onto it until I return. Then in a few years . . .” His voice trailed off, and he opened the red door behind him, revealing a set of stone steps leading down.

  I already knew what Grandpa John was talking about. The object I couldn’t use—the one I had to take care of until he got back. A hunting rifle.

  It had to be.

  And I had a good idea of how Mum would react when she found out.

  As I followed my grandfather down, the air grew colder with each step. At the bottom he flicked on a light, revealing a basement thirty feet on each side, with plain brick walls and an old, rusty boiler in the corner. Ahead, a concrete ramp led up to double doors, and several crates sat against the opposite wall.

  Grandpa John pulled one crate aside, exposing a rectangular opening in the brickwork near the floor—two square feet, with blackness beyond.

  He gestured to it. “Get in.”

  My stomach clenched as I gazed at the confined space, and I shook my head. No way was I going in there. My muscles froze at the thought of getting stuck.

  Gra
ndpa John grumbled under his breath as he got on all fours and disappeared into the hole. A few seconds later, he poked his head back through. “Don’t be a chicken. Get in here.”

  I let out a juddering breath, dropped to my hands and knees, and crawled to the hole. Sweat beading on my forehead, I peered inside.

  Grandpa John flicked on overhead lights. Instead of a narrow, claustrophobic tunnel or a cubbyhole with no way out, this new area was another spacious room. I sighed with relief and clambered through.

  As I did, I realised the wall was fake—not brick, only wood and plaster. I straightened up, dusted my knees, and faced the room.

  Dominating the secret space was a large object covered in several grimy canvas tarpaulins.

  A boat?

  It was hard to tell.

  Grandpa John grabbed a corner of the first tarp and tugged it free, revealing a sleek, matte-black object underneath.

  I tilted my head, trying to work it out.

  When he yanked the rest of the sheets away, I was none the wiser.

  I edged forward, staying close to the outer wall, peering around the thing. It was the size of a small car, but there were no windows, doors, or wheels, only a smooth body with a pointed front, a flattened back, and ridges running down each side.

  “Wow. That’s really something.” I gathered it must be a sculpture, but I decided to have fun with him. I smirked. “What is it? A UFO?”

  Grandpa John shook his head. “Not unidentified. I know precisely what this is.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “An alien taxi.”

  The stupid grin slipped from my face. “Huh?”

  “It’s an alien taxicab,” he said, deadpan.

  My gaze moved back to the sleek object. “There’s no sign on the top,” was all I could manage in reply.

  Four

  There have only been two times in my life when I’ve felt truly astonished.

  The first was when Mum and Dad brought Milo home from the rescue center. Until that moment, they’d not shown the slightest hint of wanting a dog, let alone a wonky-eyed, raspy-breathing, utterly dopey one.

  The second occasion was when I passed my mock French exam at school. Bonjour!

  Seriously, I have no idea how I managed that.