‘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.
22: Back to the Beginning
Tark and Zyra awoke in their basement. Everything was back in place. There was no sign of the damage done by Vera.
Tark sat up on his mouldy, lumpy mattress, and looked across the basement at Zyra who was sitting up on her mattress.
‘I guess it's done,’ he whispered.
Gamers' Quest Page 11