Gamers Con: The First Zak Steepleman Novel (15 page)

But, nope, he carried on after me right to the door
itself
.

I felt him breathing down my neck—that
warm, sweaty
breath of his.

When I turned back to look at him, I was a little caught off guard.

The way that he was glancing back off along the hall, and wearing a sort of panicked expression. From the first time I’d seen Steve, I’d
not once
seen him look anything other than ice-cool . . . well, except when he’d had to take a brisk walk, of course.

As I tightened my grip on the plastic card which opened my hotel room, I noted how he’d lowered his voice almost to a whisper. And how he’d leaned into me, as if he was afraid of being overheard.

“Did you get the disk fine?”

34

“HUH?” I said, not really able to believe what he’d said.

“The disks,” Steve said, with another glance off along the hallway.

I followed his gaze, saw that he was looking over at a security camera which blinked a neon-red light at us from the end of the brightly lit corridor.

“From
Halls of Hallow
,” he said, as if he needed to clarify.

“Uh,” I said, thinking quickly, not really sure what sort of a response I was
expected
to give, then I added, “
Yeah
.”

He blinked quickly in a way that reminded me of Dad when he gets stressed. I was pretty sure, at one point, that Steve was going to reach out, grip tight to my shoulder and start blabbering in some alien language . . . maybe something about a
conspiracy
. . . it’s
always
a conspiracy.

But instead he said, “And you’ve been
into
the game?”

I shrugged. “What’re you talking about?”

Steve nodded vacantly a couple of moments. Then he proceeded to explain about the Sirocco 3000, and its capabilities, how—if we wanted—we could transport
into
games, actually be
among
the action taking place.

It was then that I stopped him dead.

Decided that this might be a good point to come clean.

When I told him that I knew
well
just what my Sirocco could do, he seemed relieved, as if he wouldn’t sound like so much of a nutcase now there were two of us.

Two
nutcases
.

“Look,” Steve said, shooting another glance over his shoulder.

I wondered if those security cameras were motion-activated.

Because, surely if they were, a whole group of security guards in some darkened room somewhere in the hotel would be locked on us right now—watching us blabbing away . . . no doubt seeking out Mr Yorbleson with extreme speed.

I wanted to say something to calm Steve down, but it didn’t seem like there was anything that
I
could say.

“You’ve got to find out,” Steve continued.

“ ‘Find out
what?
” I said.

Steve did that rapid-blinking thing of my dad’s again, and I wondered if Steve might be my long-lost brother.

We were both
tubby
after all.

“What he
wants
,” Steve said.

I thought for a second that I didn’t understand. And then I realised that he was talking about the Cloaked Figure in the game. I breathed in deep then said, “I’ve already tried—he wouldn’t say, told me that I wasn’t the one who he needed to speak to—”

“Try
again
,” Steve said.

“Why?” I said, with a shrug. “What’s the whole
point
of this, I don’t understand . . .”

“I . . . I . . . can’t
talk
about it—it’s not safe, not
here
.”

I tilted my head to the hotel room, inviting him inside where I guessed he’d have to be in any case, so that he might keep an eye on me—make sure that I didn’t phone up one of the other gamers, nothing like that.

He looked at me with bulging eyes.

I slipped the plastic card into the door, watched for the blinking green light and then let the both of us inside.

I brought the door shut, and Steve slumped down on my dad’s bed, apparently exhausted only by what he’d just said.

“I
worked
for Alive Action Games,” Steve said.

“Huh?”

Steve nodded along. “Me and Harold—we heard about it at the same time, got the chop at the same time.” He brightened just a touch, tried out a nervous smile. “We were programmers, worked on the development of new titles.”

“Oh,” I said, searching for something to say, but, at the same time, not really having anything to add to my end of the conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “your Sirocco 3000, you got it from us, right?”

I thought it over, then something snapped into place in my mind.

Yes, of course I had.

It had been a while back—maybe two years ago.

But, yes, Alive Action Games were the ones who’d originally sent it to me.

I nodded in reply.

“Yes,” Steve said, “all of you—the
five
of you—you all received the console, the same
custom­
-designed system.”

I
did
see an opportunity to butt in there, so I did.

“You mean that infrared panel on the back of it that allows you to transport into the game . . . ?”

Steve gave me another of his nervous smiles then nodded.

For a couple of moments there was a silence between us. I was waiting for Steve to pitch in with something else, but I realised that he looked just a little drawn—somewhat
exhausted
by all the talking he’d been doing with me.

“Uh,” I began, “why did you
do
that?”

Steve blinked a few times as if confused.

“You know, sending us five of those systems with
that
capability.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know—I only know
of
it . . . nobody ever really filled me in, and, in fact, I only discovered the feature a couple of weeks back, when Alive Action was on the brink of collapse.”

“Were you the one who sent us the disks?”

Steve stayed still for a long while, then said, “Yes.”

“Then surely you know what they mean?”

He shrugged. “No, I really have no idea—but I thought it best to send a copy to all five of you, to show you what I’d seen, to see if you might be able to make something of it.”

“I was the only one who figured out how to use the feature.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, “you and Alan.”

I felt a ripple pass through my chest.

Yes, that made sense, that Alan
too
had worked out how to get into the game . . . there was something else there, though, I sensed it, and I wanted it brought to the surface as quickly as possible.

I can’t
stand
it when somebody’s holding out on the full truth with me.

“How did
you
find out about it?” I said. “About Alan being in the game, I mean?”

“I just, uh,
stumbled
across it one day. It was there, on one of the computer stations, a prototype, nothing more; a quick, playable demo.”

“Guess I never got to the
playable
part . . .”

Steve continued as if he hadn’t heard my snarky reply. “And I remember seeing the
kid
there, thinking that he looked
out of place
. . . like he somehow didn’t belong at all in that game.” He paused, drew a deep breath then said, “And when I asked around the office, nobody really knew anything about the game—we were all clearing out that day, leaving Alive Action for good because there was simply no money left.”

“So you sent it to
us
because that kid seemed
strange
to you?”

Steve shrugged again. “I don’t know what I was thinking really—but it seemed the most obvious thing to do . . . I, uh, never really understood a lot of the things that went on at Alive Action, I was just a programmer after all . . . when Harold landed us the job here, working as an invigilator for Gamers Con, I thought it’d be a great opportunity to make some contacts, to maybe ask around for another job.”

I just sat there for a few moments, wondering if there was anything else for me to ask.

Then I turned and looked over at my Sirocco, and said, “So, you want me to find out what he
wants?
”

Steve nodded.

“Why is this so important—I mean, it’s not like it has any sort of impact on the real world, right?”

Steve remained stone-faced.

“Right?” I said again, this time with my tone a little sharper.

Steve looked away from me, over to the window of the hotel room. When he spoke again, his tone was dull, throbbing, almost like he was feeling sleepy or something. “When I worked there—at Alive Action—there were lots of things that I didn’t understand, things that didn’t make sense to me.” He met my eye. “Sending those special, custom consoles to you five, for one.” He sniffed a laugh. “Weird enough that it actually
works
.”

“You really know nothing else about the game—about
Halls of Hallow?
”

He shook his head.

“Then how do you think that kid—
Alan
—got himself into the game, came across in all the disks we had?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Did he never come to visit your offices, nothing like that?”

“No.”

“And you’ve got no theory about it at all?”

Steve stayed quiet for a long while, and I wondered if something had come across his mind, or if he’d decided that he’d already told me too much.

But, right when I thought he was about to excuse himself from the room, he said, “Well, actually, there is
one
thing that’s been on my mind lately.”

35

THIS TIME when I trod into
Halls of Hallow
the manky smell was almost too much for me to bear—I could hardly breathe in it was so strong.

I scouted along in the darkness, using my hands to keep in touch with the marble walls about me, to guide me towards the hall in the centre.

To where I’d know the Cloaked Figure would be waiting.

I did my best to keep my footsteps silent, not wanting to draw the Cloaked Figure’s attention to me . . . though, considering what’d happened last time, what with that thing where he’d seem to grow
huge
and consume everything with his darkness, I guessed that he had other ways—other than using his
eyes
—of seeing me.

Or anybody who stepped into his domain.

I trod onwards, listening for anything.

But there was no sound.

Only that ripping,
manky
stench.

This was the first time that I’d headed on into a game with someone to watch the TV.

When I’d propelled myself into
Halls of Hallow
, I’d left Steve sitting on the edge of the bed. He said that he’d be sure to note anything strange . . . anything that might give us the answers we were looking for.

And he also agreed to bring me out of the game if the real-world timing was getting too tight. I didn’t want to miss the next round of the tournament, after all.

I carried onwards, and soon emerged in one of the archways to the hall.

There I saw him.

The Cloaked Figure.

I held my breath.

Felt it tingle about the insides of my lungs.

The blood spurted about my veins.

But this time I just
had
to know what was going on here.

Anything else would be a dismal failure.

As I drew closer, found that familiar silvery light setting the Cloaked Figure in a silhouette, I noticed that my palms were sweaty.

I realised that I was afraid.

That, although I knew I’d be transported right back to the hotel room, I was afraid of how it might happen.

Then I thought a little more of what Harold had said—that thing about the three strikes, and that if I made another mistake then I would be kicked out of the tournament.

For some reason, this being the third time I’d entered the game, I wondered if I was maybe about to strike out somehow.

But I put that out of my mind.

Told myself that I had Steve—the closest thing to an expert on the game—standing by ready to tug me out if anything went wrong.

I was far safer than I’d been at any other point in my experiments of entering video games.

So why was I shaking all over?

I put that thought out of my mind, concentrated everything I had on the Cloaked Figure before me. Still with his back to me. And then, drawing in a deep breath, I said, “Uh, hi?”

The Cloaked Figure, just like all the other times before didn’t respond.

I skirted closer, afraid that he might do that expanding and
chilling
thing. “I’ve come again,” I said, and then looked off into the darkness, as if I might be staring out of the screen, looking directly at Steve. “I wondered if you were ready to
tell
me . . . to tell me what it was you told that other boy . . . what you told
Alan
.”

It was odd.

I noticed the echo for the first time.

Alan’s name reverberated all around.

I held my breath as if I might’ve been able to suck the sound back into my chest.

The Cloaked Figure kept his back to me.

Staring down into that dark-purple pool.

Apparently unperturbed by my words.

I waited for impossibly long seconds, sure that hours—if not
days
—had passed by.

Then I remembered Steve sitting at the foot of the bed ready to haul me out if
that
happened, and I found a little more confidence.

“Alan?” I said, “Can you tell me what I saw?”

And then I pointed off into the darkness.

In the direction which I imagined the TV screen to be.

The Cloaked Figure didn’t respond for another couple of moments, and then, just like that, he turned to me. His face still steeped in shadow, and his body still shrouded in the cloak.

I wondered if he was going to prod me in the chest again.

With that
icy
touch of his.

But he made no move towards me.

I thought I could hear—very faintly—a
gargling
sound at the base of his throat.