Zyra leapt forward and slammed her hand down on the button. A streak of light extended from their starfighter to the Fat Man's. It scorched the tip of his fighter's wing.
‘My turn.’ The Fat Man laughed.
As Tark and Zyra watched, the Fat Man's starfighter zoomed out of view. A few seconds later it reappeared, further away, facing directly toward them.
Zyra didn't wait for the Fat Man to shoot at them. She reached forward and hit the red button again, repeatedly. The deadly light streaked forward but was way off target.
‘How does ya aim this thing?’ mumbled Zyra, her hands hovering over the controls.
‘Nice try!’ came the Fat Man's voice.
Light pulsed from the Fat Man's starfighter. Tark and Zyra raised their arms to shield their faces. They were thrown to one side as an explosion rocked their ship. The lights dimmed and went red.
‘Well, I'd say that your shields have now been destroyed. Next shot should actually do some damage to your ship.’
The Fat Man's starfighter streaked off again. Tark and Zyra watched it through the window, not knowing what else to do. It zoomed way off into the distance, did a loop-the-loop and streaked back towards them.
‘He's showin’ off,’ said Zyra. ‘Before ’e finishes us off.’
‘Do somethin’,’ yelled Tark.
Zyra randomly started hitting controls on the panel in front of her. With a lurch, their starfighter started to move. They lost sight of the Fat Man's fighter for a few seconds, but then he was back in view, still heading for them.
Zyra repeatedly hit the red button but the deadly bombardment went nowhere near its target.
Light streaked from the Fat Man's starfighter. Tark and Zyra were thrown to the floor and showered with sparks as instruments exploded on the control panel.
‘Your weapons are destroyed.’ The Fat Man's voice was barely audible as it crackled from the damaged speaker. ‘One more shot should finish you off.’
The starfighter streaked away, performed a complex set of loops, twists and turns, before zeroing in on them.
‘We don't stands a chance!’ said Tark, sweat dripping down his brow, panic in his eyes.
‘Never dids,’ whispered Zyra.
As they watched, the ship slowed in front of them and stopped.
‘I've got a better idea,’ the Fat Man's voice crackled through the speaker. ‘A much more creative solution.’
His starfighter manoeuvred alongside theirs. They could just see it through the corner of the window. As they watched, metal arms extended from his starfighter, and with a jarring clang, attached themselves to their ship.
And then they were moving. Fast.
In the distance, a speck of light grew brighter and bigger. It was not long before it filled their field of vision, a huge blazing orb of fire.
‘You should start to feel the heat soon,’ said the Fat Man's voice. ‘The nearer we get to the star, the hotter it will become.’
‘Exit game!’ shouted Tark in desperation. ‘Exit game!’
‘I'm afraid that won't work,’ said the Fat Man. ‘I'm the Game Master. I set the rules. And the rules include not leaving the game till it's over. Oh, and just so you know, if you die in this game.’ He paused for effect. ‘You really do die!’
‘Exit game!’ sobbed Tark.
‘It ain't no use,’ said Zyra, her voice weak and shaky. ‘We is done for.’
Tark ran to the door and tried to open it.
‘We can't just go out,’ cried Zyra. ‘We're in space. There ain't no air out there. We'll die!’
Tark opened the door anyway and rushed through it, into another tiny room, with another door. There was a small window on that door, and through the window he could see the Fat Man's starfighter.
Tark uselessly banged his fists onto the window, before returning to Zyra.
‘This ain't fair,’ said Tark. ‘If we wuz facin’ him, then at least we coulds ’ave had a chance.’ He patted the hilt of his sword.
‘The sword o’ light,’ said Zyra excitedly. ‘We still may haves a chance.’
She rushed over to the door. On the wall beside it was a small control panel marked ‘airlock’.
‘I don't knows if this'll work,’ said Zyra. ‘But it's all we's got.’
‘Wot?’
‘Puts the sword o’ light into the airlock.’
‘The wot?’
‘That room,’ said Zyra. ‘And power it up.’
Tark drew the sword, slid open the panel on its hilt and hit the recharge button. It flared into life. The sword o’ light stayed in his hands. For the first time, Tark felt like he really owned it — as if it approved of him. And now he had to let it go. He felt a pang of loss as he put it down on the floor in the airlock.
As Tark stepped out, Zyra slammed the inner door shut and poised her hand over the airlock controls.
‘I just hopes this here is the rights button,’ she said, thumbing it.
With a whoosh of escaping air, the sword o’ light was sucked out of the airlock, straight into the Fat Man's starfighter. It sliced through the fuel tank's outer casing like a knife through butter.
Tark and Zyra reeled with the shock of the resulting explosion.
‘Creative enough for ya?’ shouted Zyra as she was thrown back.
Their surroundings melted away and then they were once again hanging in the grey, crackling static. And the disembodied voice was talking.
‘Payment calculated. Access to Designers Paradise granted for sixty-three hours, seventeen minutes, three seconds. Avatars?’
Tark and Zyra looked at each other, smiles spreading across their faces.
‘Tina Burrows.’
‘And John Hayes.’
‘Game environment?’
‘Suburbia.’
Tark reached out and took Zyra's hand.
Memories came flooding back — friends, family, school, shopping … ice-cream. As these experiences solidified in their minds, it was as if they had always been there — had never been taken away.
The static dissipated — as did Tark and Zyra.
PART TWO: SUBURBIA
14: An Ideal Life?
John Hayes and Tina Burrows were standing side by side in the most mundane of suburban surroundings — uniform, weatherboard houses with neat front yards and white picket fences, clear blue sky, the scent of spring flowers on the gentle breeze, birdsong in the distance. Perfection!
‘We made it,’ said Tina.
‘Yes,’ agreed John with relief. ‘We beat the Fat Man at his own game.’
‘Oh, I hope so John. I really hope so. But I can't help worrying. After all, it was his game. What if he had a way out? What if …’
‘Shhh.’ John put a finger to her lips. ‘He's gone. It's all gone. We're here now. And this is what's real. At least for the time being.’
He stroked the back of his hand gently down her cheek as he gazed at her — with her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, her pale green eyes, her smooth unblemished skin, and the absence of any piercings. He pulled back his hand and ran it over his own face and through his thick, wavy hair. No scars. That's what he liked best about his appearance in Suburbia. No scars. That, and the fact that he was just a little taller than Tina.
Their old lives were just distant memories. Suburbia felt like their true home. It was as if John and Tina were their true selves, whereas Tark and Zyra were merely avatars.
Tina giggled as she twirled on the spot and looked down at her clean, beautiful, fashionable clothes — a white blouse, a pale blue skirt, knee-high white socks and black leather shoes with silver buckles.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, smiling.
‘Gorgeous,’ answered John, with a laugh. He was just happy that his jeans, T-shirt and runners were clean and without holes. ‘Absolutely gorgeous!’
John smiled and leaned forward until his lips gently pressed against hers. How he had longed for this moment. A simple kiss! Something they were forbidden from doing in their own world.
They slipped their arms around each other and hugged.