It was a distant muffled sound.
Bang!
The lights flashed red and a siren wailed stridently.
‘INTRUDER ALERT STOP INTRUDER ALERT STOP INTRUDER ALERT STOP MECHANICAL ENTITY STOP ATTEMPTED FORCED ENTRY STOP’
The princeling's face blanched. ‘The spider.’
The Maintainer suddenly cocked his head to one side as if listening to someone speak. The siren stopped, the lights flicked back to green and his chair swivelled around.
‘ALERT CANCELLED STOP INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP FAT MAN STOP’
‘The Fat Man!’ Tark's eyes widened.
‘Yes, it's me again,’ said the Fat Man's wheezy voice, as his image filled the main screen. ‘Although I'm considering a new title. I thought Emperor maybe? Or Supreme Ruler? Or perhaps I should just go straight for the top and call myself the Designer?’
‘Ya can'ts do that,’ said Tark. ‘It's blasphemy. The Designers won't lets ya.’
‘Wake up and smell the microchips, you stupid boy. There
‘But you're destroying it.’
‘No. I'm re-shaping it. More than that, really. I'm no longer just part of the system. I'm
The banging from outside became more strident, punctuated by screeches.
Static appeared beside the Maintainer's chair and coalesced into the form of a man. Like Maintainer 102, he was bald with no eyebrows or eyelashes, and was dressed in white. But he was much older and his dark eyes were imprinted with a circuit pattern. He surveyed the scene, then spoke to Maintainer 102.
‘REPORT STOP’
‘GAME ENTITIES REQUESTING AUDIENCE WITH DESIGNERS STOP MECHANICAL ENTITY FORCING ENTRY STOP INCOMING COMMUNICATION WITH FAT MAN STOP ENTROPY VIRUS INITIATING SYSTEM DEGRADATION STOP’
‘REPEL MECHANICAL ENTITY STOP DISCONNECT INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP RUN ANTI–VIRUS SOFTWARE STOP’
He turned to face Tark, Zyra and the Princeling. ‘I will deal with the game entities,’ he added, in a calm voice.
‘Wots does ya mean
‘You are game entities because you inhabit the games,’ the man said. ‘I am the Prime Maintainer. I am in charge of Designers Paradise. If you seek an audience with anyone, it is with me.’
‘We ain'ts
‘Your world is an environment,’ the Prime Maintainer explained patiently. ‘The only reality is the will of the Designers.’
‘No!’ insisted Tark. ‘Suburbia's a game. The World is real. In Suburbia we is avatars. In the World we is our real selves. We comes to Designers Paradise to leaves the real world for a bits. To pretends. To be in Suburbia.’
‘A perfect place,’ added Zyra.
‘Suburbia may be your chosen destination, your goal in escaping your own environment, but for game entities originating in that environment, it is a challenge to escape. They quest to leave behind the dreary, the ordinary, the mundane, in favour of the danger, excitement and thrills provided by an environment such as that from which you originate.’
‘You mean they quest for keys and money?’ asked the princeling.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ answered the Prime Maintainer. ‘Each environment has its own rules and methods. The students in Suburbia get access to other environments by achieving a certain level of grades in their classes. They pay for time spent in these environments with saved pocket money supplemented by what they earn in after- school jobs, which are limited in number and highly contested.’
‘That ain't fair,’ said Zyra. ‘If we is game entities, why don'ts we gets to be in Suburbia?’
‘It's about providing interesting, varied and challenging structures. It's about game entities having a purpose, something to strive for. It's got nothing to do with fairness. Students in Suburbia often complain about how they need to study in order to gain access to Designers Paradise, whilst the adults of that environment merely purchase their access. It is this lack of equity that inspires them to be creative in their endeavours.’
‘Stop it!’ yelled Tark. ‘Stop it! We ain'ts game entities. We is real!’
‘Can you recall anything of your childhood?’ asked the Prime Maintainer.
‘Wot?’ Tark looked at him in confusion. ‘Wot's that got to do with anythin’?’
‘Do you age?’ asked the Prime Maintainer.
‘Wot?’ said Tark, incredulous. ‘Yeah! Of course.’
‘Are you sure? Think! Do you ever remember a time when you weren't sixteen years of age?’
Tark stared at the Prime Maintainer. Wracking his brain, he couldn't remember being any younger. He could remember countless quests. He could remember past visits to Suburbia. But, in all that time, he had always been sixteen.
‘You are a game entity. A construct. An avatar, if you will. You have no past. You exist to play the game of your environment. As reward, you are allowed time in another environment, to provide incentive to play again, and again, and again. Your function — your past, present and future — is to play the game, just as my function is to maintain.’
Tark was utterly devastated. His whole life was a lie. What was the point in playing a game over and over again, when all there was to achieve, was the ability to play it yet again? There had to be something more. He looked towards Zyra, saw the sadness in her eyes, and felt his heart lurch. He held out a hand to her.
‘I luvs ya,’ he said quietly.
She smiled wanly. ‘I luvs ya too.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘Game entities are not programmed for love. And the rules for entities at your level in your environment forbid any physical intimacy.’
‘Why?’ asked Tark.
‘Because the Designers have willed it.’
‘But why?’ shouted Tark, in a flash of anger. ‘Why have the Designers willed it?’
‘Enough!’ roared the Fat Man, forgotten until now. ‘None of this matters. Everything is about to change.’
The Prime Maintainer looked momentarily startled before he turned his attention to Maintainer 102. ‘DISCONNECT INCOMING COMMUNICATION STOP’
‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’
As the Fat Man's laughter filled the control centre, his face filled each and every screen.
‘RELINQUISH CONTROL STOP’ demanded the Prime Maintainer, returning his attention to Maintainer 102. ‘DISCONNECT STOP’
‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’
‘MAINTAINER 102 INITIATE SELF-NEUTRALISATION SEQUENCE STOP’
‘UNABLE TO COMPLY STOP’
The Fat Man chuckled. ‘I'm afraid that Maintainer 102 works for me now.’
‘That is impossible,’ said the Prime Maintainer, addressing the Fat Man for the first time. ‘I am the Prime Maintainer. All Maintainers answer to me.’
‘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
