Solarversia: The Year Long Game

by Mr Toby Downton

  Nova quickly spotted the arkwini that Arkwal had referred to. A pair of yellow rubber gloves and a chef’s hat that doubled his height complemented his bleached white lab coat. He clutched a clipboard close to his chest and strode the length of the open-plan kitchen like he owned the place. Following close behind him were a gaggle of junior chefs carrying various kitchen utensils.

  The Gastronomer stopped beside an oversized wok that contained a bubbling brownish paste and leaned over to inspect its contents. His large nostrils twitched as he wafted its aroma towards his face. One of his shadows handed him a ladle, which he used to taste the concoction. He swilled the paste from cheek to cheek, then spat it out.

  “Add two pounds of chicken livers, seven ounces of margarine, and simmer for three hours,” he shrieked in a German accent at no one in particular. He scribbled something on to his clipboard and an arkwini ran off to do his bidding. The group fell in once more around Arkwal.

  “The Emperor consumes five to six metric tonnes of produce every day, washed down by one of several cocktails. His current favourite is the Panama Pooky, which consists of Cognac and white crème de cacao. Here on Earth you’d usually garnish it with nutmeg; the Emperor prefers a clove or six of garlic.”

  “A clove or six of garlic?” a well-dressed French woman asked. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.” She smirked at Arkwal, delighted with her remark.

  “I trust you aren’t questioning the Emperor’s taste, madam, especially not while you’re a guest aboard his palace. He’s been known to eat an old baguette or two in his time.” Arkwal gestured toward to the furnace with a nod of his head. “Unless there were any other, less inane, questions, that concludes the tour of the palace.”

  “What about the North- and Southdomes?” Burner asked. “We never got to see those.”

  “A sensible question for a change. The North- and Southdomes are used in one of the final rounds, so you’ll get to see them then. Although it’s highly unlikely that any of you will make it that far. You know, statistically speaking.”

  “Excuse me, Mr Arkwal,” Nova said. “That teleport machine over there, the one being guarded by a bunch of arkwinis. The signpost is bare. Is it special in some way?”

  Arkwal rubbed his hands together slowly. “Yes, you could say that. Every other teleport machine is bidirectional, you see. You can teleport from one to the other and back again. The machine you asked about has been programmed differently. It allows the user to teleport anywhere in Solarversia. The destination isn’t restricted to other machines. And that, good people, really does conclude the tour.”

  Arkwal flicked his telescope. Seconds later, Nova found herself back in her Corona Cube. She removed her headset and looked out of the window of the train. It was stopped at a station, and through the PA system, apologies were being made for the delays due to leaves on the line. She wondered how long they’d been stationary without her noticing, and wished that she, too, were a master of space and time.

  Chapter Nine

  Nova waited patiently in the Portland Building with a bunch of other hopefuls for the only item on the day’s official itinerary she deemed worthy of her time — an introduction to Solar Soc, the university’s Solarversia Society.

  She’d already had the exclusive ‘Burner Tour’ of campus, which had introduced her to all the stairwells, alleyways and student bars where he and Jono had got drunk, smoked blunts, and been indecent with dodgy-looking second years. And though she hadn’t seen any of the lecture theatres, facilities or halls of residence, she’d fallen in love with the place, and was already wondering how on earth she would get the grades she needed in order to be accepted onto a course there.

  Next to her, Burner was waxing lyrical about university life to some of the other attendees. Three spotty youths from Manchester hung on his every word. She enjoyed the way he could work a crowd, but had heard the stories about Jono, smoking weed, and the gliding club a hundred times. Usually stories that combined all three.

  She turned away from the group to have a look around the room. Thick carpets and finely upholstered sofas complemented the old masters on the walls. Leaflets provided details about the augmented reality tour she could take, one that would bring the old masters to life, giving their history and place in the university. Across the room, a row of gilt-backed chairs were lined up against the wall. She was eying them hungrily when a student appeared at the top of the landing and addressed the room.

  “Excuse me, folks, could I have your attention please? There’ll be an introduction to the Sustainable Development Society in room C203 in approximately five minutes. We’re a friendly bunch and we’d love to meet you.”

  Clutching a ring-bound folder to his chest, leather satchel hanging at his side, he looked nothing like the meek freshers surrounding her. He was at home: at the university, and in himself. She kept looking at him. Since when did she go for blond surfer locks, strong jawlines and knitted cardigans with stonewashed denim jeans? Since now. As half the room headed to the landing, he turned and looked at her with the most incredible blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  She discovered that she was incapable of looking away. A huge grin accompanied the flushing in her cheeks. She gulped, looked down at her feet, brushed her hair behind her ears and chanced another look. This time she was rewarded with a smile. Her heart fluttered. Another look, another exchanged smile, this one more intimate. His raised eyebrows willed her to join him. Her heart pounded and her cheeks warmed further.

  “You alright, mate? You don’t look too good.” Burner seemed genuinely worried. Where had he appeared from? She’d almost forgotten he existed.

  “I feel a bit dizzy actually. Just gonna—”

  She motioned in the general direction of the washrooms before joining the herd of people heading for the landing.

  ***

  Nova wasn’t able to explain how she’d ended up sitting in the middle of the semicircle of chairs in room C203. She’d been drawn there, inexplicably, like an iron filing to a magnet. Either side of her were people wearing some combination of bell-bottomed jeans and wooden beads. One guy even sported a tie-dye T-shirt. She couldn’t remember feeling so out of place and had a sudden impulse to flee — and would have done, had the guy with the incredible eyes not joined them that second. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Hey, guys, welcome to the Sustainable Development Society. I’m Charlie. I took a year out after school to travel the world, and did some work in London for an NGO that specialised in microfinance to Third World entrepreneurs. It would be great to hear how each of you became interested in the topic of sustainable development, so let’s go round the circle before I tell you about what we get up to here at Nottingham.”

  As they went round the group, the experience people had seemed to get more varied and impressive: expeditions through Costa Rica, volunteer projects in Tanzania, community building in Mongolia. As the girl next to her started talking, Nova’s mind raced, desperately wanting to know how she had got herself into this situation.

  “Hi, guys, I’m Ayesha. Like you, Charlie, I’ve been on a gap year since school. My main area of interest is renewable energy — I spent the last six months travelling through Africa, educating villagers about solar power and helping them to install arrays, principally for hospitals and libraries.”

  Charlie scribbled some notes on his tablet. “Great, thanks for sharing, Ayesha, that was really interesting.”

  The group turned to face Nova. She froze in her seat — what on earth was she going to say? That she had zero experience in sustainable development? That she wasn’t too sure what it even meant? Her heart beat ever faster. People her age couldn’t have heart attacks, could they?

  “Hi, there. My name’s Nova Negrahnu, and I’m interested in sustainable development. I built mud huts in …”

  She paused and looked round the group, trying to think of a country that hadn’t been said yet.

  “In Mozambique. I built mud huts in Mozambique and
I carried some bricks.”

  Everybody stared at her. Had she really said that? I carried some fucking bricks? What next, nobody puts Nova in the corner? The guy next to her started talking, something about India and yoga and transcendental something-or-other. Her words replayed in her head. She looked at Charlie to find that he was staring at her. When he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back. And nothing else mattered.

  ***

  The flying carpet swept into the Magisterial Chamber and came to a fluttering halt in the northwest corner of the room beside an easel. Seated in the lotus position upon it was a woman. In place of a head, her neck was a thick stem that supported a blue and yellow flower reminiscent of an orchid. From her throat and down the length of her belly ran an inch-wide flap of skin, into which flew some of the millions of insects that had previously formed the carpet.

  Nova checked the datafeed. Spee-Akka Dey Bollarkoo was an artist from Nakk-oo, Emperor Mandelbrot’s home planet. She’d been commissioned to paint a monthly portrait depicting events that occurred within Solarversia throughout the year. These paintings would adorn the walls and ceiling of the chamber in a series of triptychs.

  The insects, referred to in the feed as zapiers, emitted a low-pitched droning sound that reminded Nova of being on a plane. They buzzed around the easel for a while, seemingly taking in their new surroundings, and then swarmed into Spee-Akka’s chest through the skin flap. Nova grinned. It was certainly an original way to store your transport.

  The other new arrival in the Magisterial Chamber was less graceful but no less intriguing. His body was arched backward, so that his view of the world was upside-down. It looked like his feet had been nailed to the ground before a strong wind had taken him by surprise, blowing his body backward until his hands met the ground behind him. His movements were crab-like. Scuttling sideways, he’d come to a stop for a few suspenseful seconds, take in his surroundings, and then scuttle off again.

  Except for the haphazard stitches that ran down the centre of his body, he was entirely naked. The stitches ran from the top of his skull, over his flat mandible — for he had no mouth — down his torso, past his crotch and back up his spine to the top of his skull. On his right side, the skin was pure white, but covered in bruises. On the left, his skin was jet-black and disfigured with blisters and ugly welts. He came to rest in the southeast corner by a machine covered in spinning wheels, switches and buttons, and a plethora of other components.

  Nova flipped back to the datafeed. The black and white man was Ludi Bioski. His machine, the Orbitini, was described as a ‘biomechanical random event generator’. According to the feed, he was here to ‘spice things up’ for players. Nova zoomed in to the Orbitini and watched as Ludi righted himself to stand over the machine and began to interact with it, flicking switches, pressing buttons and whirling wheels. Mesmerised, she tried to figure out what effect his actions would have on the Gameworld.

  “What exactly are you looking at there, Miss Negrahnu?”

  Nova volleyed an eye back to the classroom and looked up to see her English teacher’s stern face bearing down on her. Shit. Old Mophead.

  “Mrs Woodward! I was looking at … I was just about to—”

  “You were playing that infantile game, no doubt, rather than reading act three of King Lear like everyone else in the room. Headset, please — you can have it back at the end of the day. Along with a week of detentions.”

  Nova clutched her Booners tight to her chest. It was ridiculous that she should have to hand them over. What could be more Shakespearean than a random event generator? Ludi Bioski could have come straight out of King Lear, if only Shakespeare had been down with virtual reality. Mrs Woodward’s glare hardened. Nova wiped the Booners lovingly with the sleeve of her jumper and slowly placed them in her teacher’s outstretched hand. She was unable to stifle the huge yawn that emanated from deep within her.

  “You’re exhausted. Which is exactly why these dreadful games have been banned.”

  “Oh, get a life, you mean old cow.”

  The room fell silent. Nova was as surprised as anyone that she’d said it out loud. Mophead’s nostrils flared to twice their usual size, even larger than the time Burner had set fire to the wastepaper basket in the middle of morning register. She looked terrifying.

  Nova’s lip trembled. “I’m so sorry, miss, I don’t know what—”

  “Headmaster’s office. Now. You can save your sorries for him.”

  As Nova went to close the classroom door behind her, Mrs Woodward called after her, “And Nova, I think we’ll make that a month of detentions.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nova stared at the textbook and stifled another yawn with the back of her hand. She was only three days into her month’s worth of detentions, but already they were taking their toll. She was getting home late every day, and the constant exhaustion was impacting her schoolwork and revision. Worse still, it was affecting her gameplay. Her Booners sounded the Solarversia jingle. Yet another message from Sushi.

  “Either do your homework later, or tell Mrs Woodward to take a hike. We both know Solarversia is far more important. If you crash out of The Game through negligence, you’re going to have to wait four whole years for the next one. Your choice, girlfriend.”

  Sushi knew how to push her buttons, that was for sure. Although Spiralwerks had a host of other games lined up for the intervening period, every Solo knew that the quadrennial Year-Long Games were the ones that mattered most. Nova confirmed that her parents were busy watching TV with the volume turned up and quietly shut her bedroom door.

  She crept over to her wardrobe and leafed through her many Solarversia-themed T-shirts. Although she didn’t truly believe they brought her good luck, she preferred to wear one while playing. Most of her shirts — like the one she grabbed and quickly put on — featured creative transformations of her player number.

  This shirt displayed the characters Ken and Ryu from the classic arcade game Street Fighter, facing one another in a sparring pose. Ken, who was standing on the left, had been drawn with the head of a guy called ‘Duncarelli’, who happened to be Thailand’s most famous ladyboy — and also number 515 in the Player’s Grid. Ryu on the other hand, had been replaced by ‘Alexander Lazaar’, a techno DJ from Detroit, and player number 740.

  Most people looked at the T-shirt and saw a couple of guys from a computer game. Some could even name them. But most Solos knew the characters well enough to know that they’d been redrawn, and instantly knew the shirt contained a puzzle to be solved — one whose answer revealed the wearer’s player number. Solos competed to outdo one another in terms of their creativity, and examples went viral all the time.

  She patted the shirt down, put her headset on, and sent a quick message back to her friend.

  “Twenty minutes max. Then I really do need to get back to my books.”

  “That’s the spirit. See you there.”

  Nova left her Corona Cube in Staten Island, New York. She’d met Sushi there the previous day to attend a virtual punk rock concert, and they’d promised to hang out in the Gameworld for a day or two before going their own ways. Her Route Planner informed her that the nearest Solarversia Simulator was a two-minute run from the cube. She locked on.

  Like Corona Cubes and Tweels of Fate, Simulators were absolutely everywhere in the Gameworld. They were in phased zones, but ones that players had basic control over so that they could train with friends, if they wanted. Simulators were modelled on old school photo booths, the kind that charged an arm and a leg to provide you with a strip of passport photos. The small entrance way consisted of a piece of hanging curtain, below which a round swivel chair could be seen.

  Next to the curtain was a control panel that allowed the Solo to program the type of simulation they wanted to experience. There were four categories of simulation: Knowledge, Puzzles, Combinations and Combat. Spiralwerks had promised that a thorough mastery of each would be a prerequisite for success in The Game.
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  Although there was an element of luck in Solarversia, it only went so far. Good luck could help in the short term, but it couldn’t be relied on to get you through the year. Likewise, bad luck could darken your day, but it would never kill you outright. Skill was a far more important component of a serious gamer’s strategy. And it could only be acquired in the way it’s always acquired: through lots and lots of hard work. Mastery of the four categories had come to be known as the Science of Solarversia or, more simply, the Science.

  “Here she is,” Sushi said, hand up for a high five as Nova arrived at the booth. “Combinations, yeah?”

  “What happened to sticking to a balanced diet?”

  “Come on, they’re fun.”

  In the same way that conscientious governments urged their citizens to consume their ‘five-a-day’ fruit and veg, Spiralwerks urged their citizens to train regularly and stick to a balanced simulation diet, where an equal amount of time was spent on each category, give or take a percentage point. Billboards containing user generated artwork, much of it parodying government propaganda from the early 20th century, gently reminded people of the virtue of living a balanced life.

  Solos were able to display the number of hours they’d spent training in the Simulators on their bios, but Nova and Sushi had both opted to keep their stats private — Nova knew her parents would go ape if they ever knew the amount of time she’d spent playing. Burner and Jono both showed their stats, hoping that their ranks within the top 10% would intimidate some people.

  Each of the four categories contained tens of thousands of modules within it. These were the individual simulations, or sims, which lasted anywhere from two to twenty minutes. There wasn’t nearly enough time in the year for a single person to complete every single module, so players were forced to pick and choose, an exercise that had itself become part of the Science, as Solos speculated on the best order in which to structure their training.