‘You can't get rid of me that easily,’ said the Fat Man. But there was a worried look in his piggy eyes.
The metallic spider forced its leg further through the tear in the wall. The appendage flailed about, knocking into screens and controls, tangling in wires. Tark, Zyra and the princeling retreated to the opposite end of the room, next to the Prime Maintainer.
‘Do it!’ said Zyra. ‘Please!’
‘I'm … I'm not sure,’ stuttered the Prime Maintainer. ‘There could be other effects.’
‘Will we still have our memories?’ asked the princeling.
‘I don't know,’ said the Prime Maintainer.
‘Wot abouts the rules?’ asked Tark, glancing over at Zyra. ‘Will the rules be the same? Will we still not be allowed — ’
‘The rules will remain,’ said the Prime Maintainer, seemingly pleased to have found a certainty to cling to. ‘They are part of the original design. They are constant. Without rules, there would be anarchy. Without observance of the rules, there would be uncontrolled change. The Fat Man has transgressed and look what has happened. Everything is falling apart.’
They all jumped as the spider forced another leg through the tear. With two legs in the room, it was able to rip apart an entire section of wall. It screeched in triumph.
‘Well, ya is about to lose all ya rules,’ shouted Zyra.
‘There will be new rules,’ said the Fat Man. ‘My rules!’
The spider forced it head, jaws gaping, into the control room.
‘No,’ said the Prime Maintainer. ‘There are only the Designers’ rules. They must be maintained, at all costs. I must maintain. That is my function.’
He got down on his knees before the main control panel. For a moment, Zyra thought that he was about to pray to it, but instead, he slid back the front metal panel.
‘Reboot,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Restore the environments so that the rules may be obeyed once more. So that harmony returns.’
A coil of sticky metallic web shot from the spider's open maw, catching the Prime Maintainer's foot. Like a slab of meat he was dragged from the control panel towards the jaws of the metallic beast. Zyra took out her remaining knife and set to work hacking at the web. The Prime Maintainer scrambled forward as soon as he was free. The spider shrieked as it retracted what remained of its web.
‘There are weapons in there!’ The Prime Maintainer pointed to a panel in the far wall, which slid open. ‘I will bring help.’
Zyra and Tark made for the weapons, only to be blocked by one of the spider's legs.
The Prime Maintainer closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. Three swirls of static coalesced into the white-clothed figures of Maintainers.
‘Oh no you don't,’ said the Fat Man with a snarl.
One of the grey, sizzling shapes burst before it became solid. The other two solidified.
The Prime Maintainer gasped as he opened his eyes. ‘My control of this environment is weakening. I cannot summon further assistance.’
‘Environment?’ asked the princeling. ‘You mean to say — ’
He did not get the chance to finish. One of the spider's legs knocked him to the floor.
The Prime Maintainer was now pulling wires from the bottom of the control panel. ‘This may take a little while,’ he called. ‘MAINTAINERS TO DEFENSIVE POSITIONS STOP’
The two Maintainers stepped forward and raised their right arms, each of which was cloaked in a bronze gauntlet from fingertip to elbow. Bursts of static exploded from their hands and streaked towards the spider. As each static burst impacted, the spider became momentarily insubstantial, taking on a static-like, ghostly appearance. But each time, it was quick to solidify again.
With the spider distracted, Tark and Zyra made it to the weapons — small, stubby metal truncheons. They each took one, with Tark grabbing a second in his other hand.
‘Oi!’ shouted Tark to the princeling, who was staggering to his feet. ‘Makes yaself useful.’
He threw across the truncheon. The princeling caught it and turned to face the spider, anger blazing in his eyes. He held the truncheon out in front of him, wondering how to activate it. He squeezed the handgrip and a bolt of energy sizzled out of the end. It hit the spider, scorching its metal plating, but doing little else.
Tark and Zyra were still staring at their own truncheons in confusion.
‘Point it,’ shouted the princeling, ‘and squeeze the grip!’
Both Tark and Zyra followed the princeling's instructions and fired at the spider. But again the weapons inflicted scorch marks only.
The Maintainers fired their gauntlets. The spider wavered. The princeling fired again.
‘Wait!’ called Zyra. ‘We's all gots to shoots the one spot. The Maintainers first, then us.’
The Maintainers looked to the Prime Maintainer for confirmation. He was still shoulder deep in the control panel. ‘CONFIRM STOP’ came his muffled voice.
‘Where do we aim?’ asked the princeling.
‘The head,’ shouted Tark eagerly.
The spider was now trying to squeeze its bulky abdomen into the room.
The Maintainers stepped forward, took aim and fired together at the spider's head, firing repeatedly. Tark, Zyra and the princeling also fired. The three bolts of energy struck the spider's head within milliseconds of each other. The mechanical arachnid froze. A faint vibration, starting at its head, spread throughout the length of its body. Then, without warning, it burst apart. The two Maintainers caught the impact and dissipated into static nothingness, their gauntlets dropping to the floor.
Princeling Galbrath dived for cover behind the Maintainer's chair, while a dismembered spider leg knocked Tark and Zyra off their feet, their truncheons skittering across the floor.
‘Got it!’ said the Prime Maintainer, holding up two cables, one in each hand. Their frayed ends sizzled with energy. ‘This will shut down the system for five minutes at which point it will reboot.’
‘NO!’ shouted the Fat Man.
‘You has lost!’ crowed Zyra, staggering to her feet.
As attention was focused on the Fat Man and the Prime Maintainer, Princeling Galbrath stepped forward and scooped up one of the gauntlets.
‘No,’ he said, his voice cold.
All eyes turned to him and the gauntlet that was now aimed at the Prime Maintainer.
‘You try to reboot the system, and I'll neutralise you.’
‘No you won't,’ said the Prime Maintainer.
‘I've disposed of more family members than I care to remember,’ said the princeling bitterly. ‘Do you really think I'm going to be concerned about killing you?’
‘Buts why?’ asked Tark, startled by the princeling's betrayal.
‘Environment!’ said the princeling. ‘The Prime Maintainer called this place an environment. That means that it's just another one of the games. This isn't real. It's just another game. A game that I intend to win.’
‘But you won't win,’ said Zyra, pointing to the Fat Man. ‘He'll win!’
The princeling turned to the screen and the image of the Fat Man. ‘If I stop him,’ he gestured to the Prime Maintainer, ‘what do I get?’
‘Anything,’ blustered the Fat Man, desperate to regain control. ‘Anything your treacherous little heart desires.’
‘My own personal Suburbia,’ said the princeling. ‘Somewhere that I can live out the rest of my life the way I want it. Where no one can hurt me. No games. No treachery.’
‘You have my word,’ said the Fat Man. ‘Now shoot him! Shoot him!’
The princeling fired. The Prime Maintainer dissolved in a burst of static, the cables dropping to the floor. The princeling turned to face Zyra and Tark.
‘Ya gonna shoots us too?’ asked Zyra, incredulous.
‘If I have to.’
Tark eyed the two cables, weighing up his chances of getting to them before the princeling shot him. Zyra caught his eye, then looked at the other gauntlet lying on the floor. Tark looked down at it. It was fairly close. He could probably get to it, if only he could distract the princeling.