by Dave Bakers
And him, being a savvy gamer, did just the same.
I watched as our cloud of cannonballs rubbed against one another in mid-air, observed as we did our best—on the split screen—to avoid the incoming fire.
When the dust had settled, with me and Alan getting into the battle, I noticed that I’d got the better of our opening exchanges, that I’d managed to take the most damage off him.
We sparred on for a little while, neither one of us wanting to make a near-suicidal attempt at swinging our boats towards one another and going all out to win the matchup.
I knew that it would come down to me, though.
Because I was the one who had taken the lowest damage in my meter.
It would fall to me to make the play to win this faceoff.
I waited for the longest time, not really sure why I did.
After all, I was nothing if not a blast-minded gamer . . . I liked to throw myself into the thick of the action and have at the other player.
Just my style, I guess.
When I finally decided that it was time to make my move, I felt that skitter trundle its way up my spine, briefly send a cold wave through my blood.
Maybe I should’ve paid attention.
Should’ve thought a little more.
About who I was playing against.
But it was too late.
As I got closer, I noticed Alan unhinging the back hatch off his boat, bringing up—what looked to me—like the uber cannon.
I . . . well, I couldn’t believe it.
Of course I knew about the uber cannon.
In fact, I knew it well, too well.
And I knew just as well that it was a kamikaze trick—one of those things that inexperienced gamers would try out during online melees . . . once they’d find themselves getting beaten up they’d decide that it was better for both of us to go down.
Before I had a chance to turn back, Alan unleashed all he had.
There was a percussive whoomph! and then, just like that, a mushroom cloud puffed up from where the nuclear-infused cannon ball hit.
The screen brightened up all over till it faded out to white.
And it was over.
The tie was drawn.
33
FOR A COUPLE OF MOMENTS I just stood there, controller locked in my hands, unable to believe just what I had seen.
That here—here—at what some gamers would’ve described as a near-holy place, Alan had pulled that kind of crap on me.
Oh, sure, he was going to lose.
He knew that I was going to take him out.
But, now, it was all over.
He had tied our match.
As Alan promptly headed back off to the sofa area, off to go and wait for the order for the next matchup to come, I couldn’t help but reach out, grab hold of him, tug him back towards me.
I only realised that I’d used my gummy left hand to do so when I felt that flush of delayed pain flare up to my skull.
I winced a little.
But I had Alan—had him now—standing before me.
His red hair all raggedy. His blue eyes slowly finding mine.
He said nothing.
So I guessed that was left up to me.
“Can we talk?” I said.
Alan didn’t react. He just continued to send me that stony glare of his. His blue eyes almost seeming to take on a dull shine in the fluorescent light.
“Let him go.”
I swivelled around. That unsettlingly booming voice dragging me back.
It was Harold.
Gently, Harold reached out and—one by one—prised my fingers off from where I held tight onto Alan’s shirt.
“May I remind you,” Harold said, “that gamers are to stay apart till the conclusion of the competition—no talking,” he added, squinting a little.
I had to admit that I hadn’t previously seen this side of Harold.
But, then again, I guessed that I would’ve acted just the same if I’d been in his shoes.
He was right, of course, the rules had clearly been laid out that we were to keep our distance from the other gamers, and I’d just gone ahead and violated it in the very first matchup of the round.
When Harold released me, allowed my hand to flop back down to its neutral position at my side, he held up his index finger then said, “First warning—you get one more.”
Despite the heavy feeling in the atmosphere between us, that had settled down over the floor of the convention centre, I couldn’t help but snap back, “Three and I’m out?”
Harold slipped me the sliver of a smile. “Yeah,” he said.
Maybe I would’ve said something more, but I felt Steve’s hand heavy on my shoulder.
When I looked back to him, I saw that his eyes, sunken into his pudgy cheeks, were fairly bored-looking, like he’d expected something like this to happen.
“All right,” Steve said, “let’s get you all set for your next matchup, huh?”
I did just what he said.
* * *
The rest of the round lasted till about ten o’clock in the morning.
I watched as the other three gamers—those among us who hadn’t been affiliated with Alive Action Games—came back with increasingly darkened features, like they were getting more and more frustrated by something.
I had half a mind to tell them.
But I knew that it would get me into a whole load more trouble.
That got me thinking, wondering if the rule change hadn’t been so that me and the others from Alive Action could get cracking on the puzzle with Halls of Hallow but so that we wouldn’t drop hints to the other three gamers that this tournament—that this Grand Tournament was anything but on the level.
Whatever the explanation was, I noticed how the leader board ticked along with the five of us from Alive Action Games all filling out the top five spots.
In my matchups with the other three gamers, I witnessed a couple of glitches. And me and my opponent both agreed on what had happened—that it hadn’t been a fair fight—and told the invigilators, they just looked at us with kind of puppy-dog glances, and shook their heads, mumbling some section of the rules of the Grand Tournament which dealt with such issues.
At one point, I thought of pressing the issue, telling the invigilator who was following my opponent around that I insisted we replay the round.
But that only served to get me my second warning.
And, though I hated a small part of myself for it, I knew that I would hate myself even more for getting this close to the Grand Tournament Trophy and then to have thrown it away over something as stupid as a glitch.
By the time we—all of us who’d been affiliated with Alive Action Games—were all standing up, being told to reconvene after lunch for the final of the competition, I felt nothing but empty inside.
Though I knew well that I hadn’t set out to cheat my way through the competition, I knew just as well that that was exactly what had happened.
With or without my input.
I was surprised to find that Steve was instructed to follow me around for the rest of the time—even tagging along with me and Dad at lunch.
I thought of telling him that he didn’t need to follow us about, but then I remembered that I was sitting on a second warning . . . that my place in the final depended on me keeping my trap shut.
And so I kept it shut.
After a lunch of hamburger and chips, I speculated that it would be one of the good things about my parents getting divorced, that whenever I was with my dad there’d be lots of hamburgers and chips to come. I looked to Dad, tried to divine just what he was going to get up to next.
He seemed to have a plan for himself, though, already.
He was back to staring at his mobile screen.
Tapping away at his latest chess move.
I don’t think he even noticed when I headed up for the hotel room—in fact I’m sure he didn’t notice because he soon lost himself in the crowds of people.
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Steve, of course, was still tagging along at my heels.
I thought he might be content with just following me up to my floor, seeing me heading for the hotel room.
But, nope, he carried on after me right to the door itself.
I felt him breathing down my neck—that warm, sweaty breath of his.
When I turned back to look at him, I was a little caught off guard.
The way that he was glancing back off along the hall, and wearing a sort of panicked expression. From the first time I’d seen Steve, I’d not once seen him look anything other than ice-cool . . . well, except when he’d had to take a brisk walk, of course.
As I tightened my grip on the plastic card which opened my hotel room, I noted how he’d lowered his voice almost to a whisper. And how he’d leaned into me, as if he was afraid of being overheard.
“Did you get the disk fine?”
34
“HUH?” I said, not really able to believe what he’d said.
“The disks,” Steve said, with another glance off along the hallway.
I followed his gaze, saw that he was looking over at a security camera which blinked a neon-red light at us from the end of the brightly lit corridor.
“From Halls of Hallow,” he said, as if he needed to clarify.
“Uh,” I said, thinking quickly, not really sure what sort of a response I was expected to give, then I added, “Yeah.”
He blinked quickly in a way that reminded me of Dad when he gets stressed. I was pretty sure, at one point, that Steve was going to reach out, grip tight to my shoulder and start blabbering in some alien language . . . maybe something about a conspiracy . . . it’s always a conspiracy.
But instead he said, “And you’ve been into the game?”
I shrugged. “What’re you talking about?”
Steve nodded vacantly a couple of moments. Then he proceeded to explain about the Sirocco 3000, and its capabilities, how—if we wanted—we could transport into games, actually be among the action taking place.
It was then that I stopped him dead.
Decided that this might be a good point to come clean.
When I told him that I knew well just what my Sirocco could do, he seemed relieved, as if he wouldn’t sound like so much of a nutcase now there were two of us.
Two nutcases.
“Look,” Steve said, shooting another glance over his shoulder.
I wondered if those security cameras were motion-activated.
Because, surely if they were, a whole group of security guards in some darkened room somewhere in the hotel would be locked on us right now—watching us blabbing away . . . no doubt seeking out Mr Yorbleson with extreme speed.
I wanted to say something to calm Steve down, but it didn’t seem like there was anything that I could say.
“You’ve got to find out,” Steve continued.
“ ‘Find out what?” I said.
Steve did that rapid-blinking thing of my dad’s again, and I wondered if Steve might be my long-lost brother.
We were both tubby after all.
“What he wants,” Steve said.
I thought for a second that I didn’t understand. And then I realised that he was talking about the Cloaked Figure in the game. I breathed in deep then said, “I’ve already tried—he wouldn’t say, told me that I wasn’t the one who he needed to speak to—”
“Try again,” Steve said.
“Why?” I said, with a shrug. “What’s the whole point of this, I don’t understand . . .”
“I . . . I . . . can’t talk about it—it’s not safe, not here.”
I tilted my head to the hotel room, inviting him inside where I guessed he’d have to be in any case, so that he might keep an eye on me—make sure that I didn’t phone up one of the other gamers, nothing like that.
He looked at me with bulging eyes.
I slipped the plastic card into the door, watched for the blinking green light and then let the both of us inside.
I brought the door shut, and Steve slumped down on my dad’s bed, apparently exhausted only by what he’d just said.
“I worked for Alive Action Games,” Steve said.
“Huh?”
Steve nodded along. “Me and Harold—we heard about it at the same time, got the chop at the same time.” He brightened just a touch, tried out a nervous smile. “We were programmers, worked on the development of new titles.”
“Oh,” I said, searching for something to say, but, at the same time, not really having anything to add to my end of the conversation.
“Yeah,” Steve said, “your Sirocco 3000, you got it from us, right?”
I thought it over, then something snapped into place in my mind.
Yes, of course I had.
It had been a while back—maybe two years ago.
But, yes, Alive Action Games were the ones who’d originally sent it to me.
I nodded in reply.
“Yes,” Steve said, “all of you—the five of you—you all received the console, the same custom-designed system.”
I did see an opportunity to butt in there, so I did.
“You mean that infrared panel on the back of it that allows you to transport into the game . . . ?”
Steve gave me another of his nervous smiles then nodded.
For a couple of moments there was a silence between us. I was waiting for Steve to pitch in with something else, but I realised that he looked just a little drawn—somewhat exhausted by all the talking he’d been doing with me.
“Uh,” I began, “why did you do that?”
Steve blinked a few times as if confused.
“You know, sending us five of those systems with that capability.”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know—I only know of it . . . nobody ever really filled me in, and, in fact, I only discovered the feature a couple of weeks back, when Alive Action was on the brink of collapse.”
“Were you the one who sent us the disks?”
Steve stayed still for a long while, then said, “Yes.”
“Then surely you know what they mean?”
He shrugged. “No, I really have no idea—but I thought it best to send a copy to all five of you, to show you what I’d seen, to see if you might be able to make something of it.”
“I was the only one who figured out how to use the feature.”
“Hmm,” Steve said, “you and Alan.”
I felt a ripple pass through my chest.
Yes, that made sense, that Alan too had worked out how to get into the game . . . there was something else there, though, I sensed it, and I wanted it brought to the surface as quickly as possible.
I can’t stand it when somebody’s holding out on the full truth with me.
“How did you find out about it?” I said. “About Alan being in the game, I mean?”
“I just, uh, stumbled across it one day. It was there, on one of the computer stations, a prototype, nothing more; a quick, playable demo.”
“Guess I never got to the playable part . . .”
Steve continued as if he hadn’t heard my snarky reply. “And I remember seeing the kid there, thinking that he looked out of place . . . like he somehow didn’t belong at all in that game.” He paused, drew a deep breath then said, “And when I asked around the office, nobody really knew anything about the game—we were all clearing out that day, leaving Alive Action for good because there was simply no money left.”
“So you sent it to us because that kid seemed strange to you?”
Steve shrugged again. “I don’t know what I was thinking really—but it seemed the most obvious thing to do . . . I, uh, never really understood a lot of the things that went on at Alive Action, I was just a programmer after all . . . when Harold landed us the job here, working as an invigilator for Gamers Con, I thought it’d be a great opportunity to make some contacts, to maybe ask around for another job.”
I just sat there for a few moments, wondering if there was anything el
se for me to ask.
Then I turned and looked over at my Sirocco, and said, “So, you want me to find out what he wants?”
Steve nodded.
“Why is this so important—I mean, it’s not like it has any sort of impact on the real world, right?”
Steve remained stone-faced.
“Right?” I said again, this time with my tone a little sharper.
Steve looked away from me, over to the window of the hotel room. When he spoke again, his tone was dull, throbbing, almost like he was feeling sleepy or something. “When I worked there—at Alive Action—there were lots of things that I didn’t understand, things that didn’t make sense to me.” He met my eye. “Sending those special, custom consoles to you five, for one.” He sniffed a laugh. “Weird enough that it actually works.”
“You really know nothing else about the game—about Halls of Hallow?”
He shook his head.
“Then how do you think that kid—Alan—got himself into the game, came across in all the disks we had?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Did he never come to visit your offices, nothing like that?”
“No.”
“And you’ve got no theory about it at all?”
Steve stayed quiet for a long while, and I wondered if something had come across his mind, or if he’d decided that he’d already told me too much.
But, right when I thought he was about to excuse himself from the room, he said, “Well, actually, there is one thing that’s been on my mind lately.”
35
THIS TIME when I trod into Halls of Hallow the manky smell was almost too much for me to bear—I could hardly breathe in it was so strong.
I scouted along in the darkness, using my hands to keep in touch with the marble walls about me, to guide me towards the hall in the centre.
To where I’d know the Cloaked Figure would be waiting.
I did my best to keep my footsteps silent, not wanting to draw the Cloaked Figure’s attention to me . . . though, considering what’d happened last time, what with that thing where he’d seem to grow huge and consume everything with his darkness, I guessed that he had other ways—other than using his eyes—of seeing me.