Zyra pushed past them and strode down the tunnel. It twisted and turned for some time before ending in another mirror. She held out a hand to touch it, and it slid back revealing a control room. The most massive, complex control room imaginable.
They stood before a curving bank of screens and panels and buttons and switches and flashing lights that appeared to be made up of different technologies. Cogs and gears rested in amongst circuit boards and fibre-optic cables; electrical energy crackled along wires beside steam vents; holographic displays appeared along side television monitor screens and dot-matrix printers. It was like being inside a vast, improbable machine.
And in the middle of it all was a high-backed, white chair.
And seated in the chair was a young man dressed in white.
He swivelled around to face them. He was bald and had no eyebrows or eyelashes. And his eyes were the most piercing, icy shade of blue they had ever seen. His white clothes sagged on him, accentuating his gaunt figure.
Zyra took a step forward. ‘Um, who are ya?’
‘MAINTAINER 102 STOP’
Zyra stopped, taken aback by the young man's manner of speaking.
‘Things is happenin’,’ she said. ‘Bad things. And we is ’ere ta talk ta the Designers. Ta asks for their ’elp.’
‘INTERACTION WITH DESIGNERS NOT POSSIBLE STOP’
‘Just tell ’em we is ’ere,’ said Tark.
‘NO STOP’
‘Wot does ya mean?’ asked Tark.
‘DESIGNERS NONEXISTENT STOP’
‘Wot? But they created all this, didn't they?’
‘YES STOP DESIGNERS PARADISE CREATED BY DESIGNERS STOP PURPOSE FULFILLED STOP CEASED TO EXIST STOP’
‘But how can Designers Paradise exist without the Designers?’
‘MAINTAINERS STOP’
‘Wot?’
‘MAINTAINERS STOP’
‘I don't gets it,’ said Tark.
‘I think I do,’ said the princeling. Then he took a step forward and spoke to the young man. ‘Clarify situation.’
‘DESIGNERS DESIGN SYSTEM STOP MAINTAINERS MAINTAIN SYSTEM STOP’
‘And you're one of these Maintainers?’
‘AFFIRMATIVE STOP MAINTAINER 102 STOP’
‘Well then, Maintainer 102,’ said the princeling. ‘You've got a problem. The system is breaking down.’
The chair swivelled around, and the Maintainer's hands flew at an incredible speed over a set of controls that hovered in the air just in front of his chair. Numbers flashed across the screens. Then the chair swivelled around again to face them.
‘AFFIRMATIVE STOP ENTROPY VIRUS STOP’
‘Well, wot's ya gonna do abouts it?’ asked Zyra.
‘MAINTAIN STOP’
‘Maintain what?’ asked the princeling. ‘If the virus continues, there will be nothing to maintain.’
‘MAINTAIN VIRUS STOP’
Bang!
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 are no Designers! At least, not any more. There are only Maintainers — glorified janitors and administration staff — maintaining a stagnant system. A system that is crying out for change, crying out for someone to give it direction.’
‘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 becoming the system.’
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 game entities?’ queried Tark. ‘We is tryin’ ta gets out of this damn game.’
‘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 game entities,’ said Zyra. ‘We is people. Real people. From the World.’
‘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.’