Gamers' Challenge

by George Ivanoff

  ‘How does ya know about Zyra?’ Tark’s voice rose.

  ‘Wot is these viral things?’ His hand slipped down to the pouch with the stars. ‘And who the hell is ya?’

  ‘We don’t have time for this now. I’m a friend and

  I’m here to help you. But we need to get to Zyra.’ Tark did not move. His muscles were tense andrigid. He eyed the stranger, ready to fight if necessary.

  ‘Please!’ said the man. His hood shifted a little and Tark saw violet eyes staring out at him, pleadingly. ‘I promise that I will explain everything once I am sure that Zyra is safe.’

  3: Explanations

  The monks’ chanting voices filled the Temple of Paths as they knelt on the flagstone floor. Every now and then, one of the monks would prostrate himself, heavy brown robes pooling on the floor around him, before returning to his knees and his chanting. The head monk, robed in red, knelt on a raised area at the end of the Temple, his cowled head just visible behind the altar. Brocaded drapes of bronze and purple hung on the wall behind him.

  A row of television screens on sconces, each displaying the image of flickering candles, lined the two longer walls. More screens hung from the ceiling joists, displaying nothing but static. Between the joists of the vaulted ceiling and the sconced screens, four booths protruded from the wall like opera boxes, each with a Designers Paradise logo - the letters DP intertwined in a silver and gold swirl.

  Eyes closed, breathing rhythmically, Zyra stood in one of the booths. She inhaled deeply and slowly placed her hands on the wooden railing. As her eyes snapped open, she jumped over the edge, somersaulted and landed in a crouch just in front of the raised area where the altar stood, the monks oblivious to her presence.

  ‘I still gats it,’ she said.

  She glanced up nervously at the screens displaying the static, and then took off down the aisle of chanting monks, picking up speed and heading for the huge double doors at the front of the Temple. Her footfalls resonated on the heavy timber and iron door as she propelled herself into a back-flip, landing in another crouch. She jumped to her feet and headed back down the aisle to the altar, this time cartwheeling and somersaulting between the monks. A final jump, and she landed on the altar in front of the chanting red robed monk, producing two throwing stars. With a double-handed throw, she flung both of them across the room. They thudded into the wood of the door, just as it began to open.

  ‘Oi!’ called Tark, poking his head through the gapand glaring at the stars. ‘Watch it, will ya?’

  The monks rarely did anything other than chant; their eyes were either closed or fixed firmly on the altar. The doors were not in their line of sight, so Tark could usually come and go as he pleased.

  Zyra jumped off the altar and sauntered down the centre of the Temple, chanting monks on either side of her. She pulled her arms behind her back to stretch her aching muscles.

  ‘Gots ta keep in practice,’ said Zyra, as Tark stepped into the Temple.

  ‘Yes, once you’re no longer part of the game, youneed to keep up your skills so they don’t fade away.’ Zyra’s knives were in her hands by the time thehooded man stepped into the Temple.

  ‘It’s okays,’ said Tark, as he closed the Temple door, ‘he’s with me.’

  Zyra didn’t lower the knives. Her eyes were fixed on the stranger.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tark. ‘He can sees us.’

  ‘Greetings, Zyra,’ said the hooded man, bowing slightly. ‘It is so very, very good to see you.’

  As he took a step forward, Zyra moved to blockhis path, knives pointed threateningly at his throat. The man stopped. He slowly lifted his hands, palms out to show the absence of weapons, and drew back his hood.

  He had long white hair, pulled back into a ponytail, a neatly trimmed beard and wild violet eyes. He smiled and the creases around his eyes deepened.

  ‘I am here as a friend,’ he said, studying Zyra. Zyra squirmed a little under his intense gaze.

  There was a distinct air of familiarity about him. Zyra was certain they had never met, and yet she couldn’t help feeling that she almost knew him. But that was not a reason to drop her guard.

  ‘Who is ya?’ She didn’t lower her knives. ‘How comes ya can sees us?’

  ‘These days I call myself Tee,’ he answered. ‘I am like you. I no longer play the Designers’ game. Like you, I cannot interact with anyone who is part of the game. And I have much to tell you.’

  ‘Why shoulds we listen to ya, old man?’ demanded

  Zyra.

  Tee winced. ‘Not so much with the old, please. I’m not even fifty.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Zyra smirked. ‘Old!’

  Tee sighed. ‘I have information that you need and equipment that can help you.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Tark took a step to stand next to Zyra.

  ‘He’s gots weapons that works on ‘em static things.’ Zyra’s eyes lit up and she lowered the knives alittle.

  Tee looked around the Temple at all the chanting monks. ‘A strange place you’ve decided to make your home.’

  ‘This ‘ere’s the only place the static leaves us alone,’ explained Tark.

  ‘Interesting.’ Tee raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it just the main area or the entire building?’

  ‘The whole place,’ answered Zyra.

  ‘In that case,’ said Tee. ‘I don’t suppose there is a quieter room in which we can talk?’

  Tark and Zyra nodded. Tark led the way through the monks, to the left side of the altar. He pulled aside a drape to reveal the door leading into the vestry. Sheathing her knives, Zyra followed, watching Tee warily as she went.

  Tee assessed the room quickly. ‘You live back here?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Tark planked himself down onto one of the mattresses. ‘None of ‘em monks eva comes back

  ‘ere.’

  ‘And it’s quieter.’ Zyra leaned up against the table, keeping her eyes glued to the stranger. ‘Them monks neva shuts up. All days. All nights. Chant, chant, chant.’

  Tark produced the three remaining apples he had stolen. He tossed one to Zyra, one to Tee and bit into the third.

  ‘Is that alls ya got?’ Zyra glanced at Tark.

  Tark shrugged and then stuck his thumb out towards Tee. ‘Gats interrupted.’

  Zyra narrowed her eyes and glared at Tee. ‘So it’s yar fault.’

  Tee held up a gloved hand in a placating gesture.

  ‘Actually, it was a VI. What you would call a ball of static.’

  Zyra took a thoughtful bite of her apple, chewed, swallowed, and then spoke. ‘Okay, old man, ya saids ya had stuff to tells us. Well, we is listenin’. So, starts talkin’.’ She pointed to the mattress next to Tark.

  Tee sat himself down. ‘Where to begin?’

  ‘Starts with the static balls.’ Zyra lifted herself up onto the table and sat cross-legged. She took another bite of her apple and looked down at Tark and Tee. They looked similar, she realised. Same height. Similar faces- though Tee’s was lined with many extra years. Same intense, violet eyes, but Tee’s seemed wilder. And while Tark slumped, Tee sat upright. He had a confidence that Tark lacked, even while sitting on an old mattress.

  Tee rubbed his apple on his sleeve and looked upat Zyra. ‘Always have to have the higher ground,’ he muttered.

  ‘Wot?’ demanded Zyra.

  ‘Nothing.’ He looked back down at his fruit, took a deep breath and started talking. ‘Okay, the static balls. You’ll have noticed that they appear to be the same sort of ... well ... static, for want of a better word, that makes up the Interface between game environments. I assume you’ve been in the Interface?’

  Tark and Zyra both nodded as they continued to eat.

  ‘Well, it’s as if bits of the Interface have leaked intoour environment and become intent on ho
micide. The theory is that they are like viruses - a spreading infection. Hence the name Viral Interface, or VI for short. Every time they consume something, they gain power and grow. I’ve even seen one ball split into two after consuming people.’

  Tark swallowed hard, the apple not wanting to go down.

  ‘People?’ Zyra had stopped eating, her fruitdiscarded. ‘Wot people? We’ve neva seen ‘em attack anyone other than us. No one else even seems ta notice ‘em.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Tee looked at his apple again, shifting it from one hand to the other. ‘You see, there are other people who have refused to play by the Designers’ rules.’

  ‘People likes ya?’ said Tark, his eyes alight with excitement. ‘People that can sees us? People we can talks ta?’

  ‘Do you think you’re the only people ever to defy the Designers? Yes, there are others. Many others. People have been breaking the rules and living without actually playing the game for as long as the game has existed.’

  Tee noted the surprise in the eyes of both Tark and Zyra.

  ‘We call ourselves Outers. We’ve got a communityset up on the edge of this environment. We established it after the VIs showed up. Those things consumed many of us before we found a safe place. Since then, we’ve been working on fighting them and ...’ Tee paused for a moment, apparently lost in thought.

  Tark and Zyra glanced at each other.

  ‘You would be most welcome to join us,’ Tee said, finally.

  ‘Why shoulds we?’ asked Zyra. ‘We is safe ‘ere.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tee. ‘Yes you are. And I’m intrigued that the VIs leave you alone while you’re inside the Temple. I assume it has something to do with the Oracle. But what happens when you step outside?’

  Zyra looked away. Tee reached into the small quiver attached to his belt and pulled out a crossbow bolt, its tip static-grey.

  ‘This bolt has been charged with the substanceof the Interface.’ He held it up. ‘One of these can substantially weaken a VI. A second will destroy it.’ He returned it to his quiver. ‘And we have other weapons.’ He paused. ‘But there’s more than that. We are working on things. Big things. Things that could shift the balance of ... of everything.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Now, tell me about yourselves. How you discoveredthe Temple as a haven. How you survived.’

  Tee looked expectantly from Zyra to Tark and then back to Zyra.

  It was unnerving the way Tee kept watching her. There was something odd about it.

  ‘It started with a kiss,’ said Tark, smiling up at

  Zyra.

  Tee also smiled. ‘It always does.’

  And suddenly it struck her. Family! It was a family resemblance. With both Tark and Tee smiling at her, it was so incredibly obvious. A sameness differentiated by years. It was like she was looking at father and son. Could that be it? Could Tee be Tark’s father? She marvelled at the thought. When they had been playing the game, the notion of parents had been irrelevant, had never even crossed her mind. Yet now, here was this strange man who looked like Tark

  - who might be his father.

  ‘Things changed,’ continued Tark, shaking away the smile. ‘We couldn’t talks ta people no more. Or touch anyone. No one could sees us. It wuz likes we wuzn’t there.’

  ‘Like ghosts,’ added Zyra.

  ‘And in a way, you are ghosts,’ said Tee. ‘You are no longer part of the game. You are irrelevant to anyone in the game. To them, you do not exist.’

  ‘The weird things wuz, there were some things we couldn’ts touch,’ said Tark. ‘Anythin’ the games people wuz usin’.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Tee. ‘Anything that is actively in play is off limits to us.’

  ‘And thens ... suddenly these balls of . .. these VIthings shows up.’

  ‘And we starts runnin’,’ said Zyra.

  ‘And they is chasin’ us,’ said Tark.

  ‘And we is runnin’ past the Temple.’

  ‘And some dude is comin’ out of its.’

  ‘And I thinks maybes the Oracle can ‘elp us,’ said

  Zyra. ‘So we runs through the closin’ door.’

  ‘But them VIs, they don’t follows us,’ said Tark. They were both panting now, as if having run thewhole escape all over again.

  ‘And was the Oracle of any help?’ asked Tee.

  ‘Nah.’ Tark shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t even talks taus.’

  ‘And now I can’ts even leave the Temple,’ complained Zyra. ‘As soon as I goes out, them things are onta me.’

  ‘They is more wrapped up in Zyra than me,’ said

  Tark.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Tee tugged at his beard. ‘I think I can help with that.’ He dug in his pockets and pulled out what looked like two stickers. ‘Here. Put these on.’

  ‘What is they?’ asked Zyra, taking one and turningit over in her hands.

  It was a soft, opaque plastic square with a plain white paper backing on one side.

  ‘Medical patches that have been adapted,’ heexplained. ‘We found a whole batch of them in a disused hospital. Each patch contains a very small amount of static from the Interface. If you look closely, you can see it.’

  Zyra brought the patch up close to her face. Through the opaque plastic, she could just make out a little churning greyness.

  ‘The patches slowly release a minute amountinto your body,’ continued Tee. ‘Having a bit of the Interface running through you seems to confuse the VIs, hiding the wearer from them. It won’t stop them if they’re close by, but it will prevent them from homing in on you.’

  Zyra looked suspiciously from the patch in her hand to Tee. He pulled back one sleeve to show the patch stuck to his arm, just above the wrist.

  ‘Wear one of these and you can leave the Temple.’

  Tark grabbed the second patch from Tee. Pushing back the sleeve of his tunic, he yanked off the backing

  paper and slapped the patch onto the underside of his wrist.

  ‘They don’t last for long,’ said Tee, peeling the patch off his arm and getting a new one from his pocket. n hour at most.’ He stuck the new one a little further up his arm. nd don’t put them in the same place twice in a row. They get itchy.’ He pulled his sleeve down again and stood up, stretching. ‘Now, I think it’s time I took you to meet the Outers.’

  He opened the door, swept back the drape and stepped through into the Temple, expecting Tark and Zyra to follow.

  Zyra stared at the patch a little longer. ‘Leaves the Temple, huh?’ she whispered. Then she peeled the backing off her patch and stuck it onto her right cheek.

  ‘Why’d ya do thats?’ asked Tark, getting up off the mattress.

  ‘Easier to gets it off quick, if needs be.’ Zyra jumped down off the table.

  Tark raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘In case he’s lyin’,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh.’

  Zyra pointed an accusing finger at Tark. ‘Ya is too trustin’. We has only just met ‘im. He could be anyone.’

  ‘Who?’ Tark shrugged.

  ‘I dunno,’ Zyra snapped. 1 I is sayin’, is that we needs ta be careful.’

  ‘Okay.’ Tark held up his hands defensively.

  ‘Woteva.’

  Tee stuck his head back in through the doorway, stared at Zyra, then looked over at Tark. ‘Bring along any food and weapons you may have.’ Again, he glanced at Zyra, before disappearing back into the Temple.

  ‘He’s a bits weird, ain’t he?’ Zyra stared at the door.

  ‘This comin’ froms the one with a bit of plasticstuck to ‘er cheek,’ said Tark, gathering up the weapons.

  4: The Outers

  Zyra glanced around nervously as she walked through the City with Tark, following the mysterious stranger taking them
to meet the Outers. They had used the monks’ old robes from the vestry, packing up the food and weapons into three bundles that they each carried over their shoulders.

  Tee’s patches seemed to be working. Theywere almost at the edge of the City and had not encountered a single ball of static. Yet Zyra still didn’t trust him. The way he kept looking at her was unnerving. And he wasn’t giving them the full story she was sure of it. And then there was the fact that he looked so much like Tark. Could he be Tark’s father?

  ‘Oi, Tark,’ Zyra whispered, shifting her pack from one shoulder to the other.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Notice anythin’ about the ways he looks?’ Zyra indicated Tee.

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Don’t ya thinks he looks kinda familiar?’ she persisted.

  Tark stared intently at the back of Tee’s head for alittle while before answering. ‘Nah.’

  Zyra exhaled, long and loud. Tee glanced back at them over his shoulder and smiled. Tark smiled back.

  ‘I don’ts trust ‘im,’ Zyra hissed.

  ‘Why?’ asked Tark.

  ‘I just don’ts.’ Zyra swiped at her hair, trying to keep it back. ‘He coulds be leadin’ us inta a trap.’

  ‘But then why woulds he gives us the patches?’ Tark tapped his cheek knowingly.

  ‘Lullin’ us inta one of ‘em false senses of security.’ Zyra scowled. ‘Then, when we least expects it -’

  Tark shook his head dismissively. ‘Ya knows, sometimes ya thinks too much.’

  They continued in silence, Zyra brooding over Tark’s acceptance of Tee at face value. Zyra’s mood was matched by the dark, overcast conditions.

  Reaching the edge of the City, they passed a gang of mutants lurking in the shadows of a partially collapsed building, the glint of their mirrored shades winking from beneath their hoodies. It looked like they were rifling through the pockets of a couple of dead travellers. None of them so much as glanced in the direction of Zyra and her companions.

  Zyra eyed them cautiously as she passed. If Tee could see her and Tark, she reasoned, it was possible they might encounter others who could as well- others who might not be as apparently benign as Tee.