Web Site Story (8 page)

Kelly stared about the room and Kelly's jaw hung slack.

'I think,' said Kelly, her jaw now moving again. 'I think that you possess a very great many computer games.'

'Yes,' said Derek, his head nod-nod-nodding. 'Over ten thousand. A lifetime's collection. They date back to the 1970s. I'm really an Atari man. I've got an early Atari 2600 Video Computer System and the '86 compact version.'

'You haven't got an Odyssey have you?' Kelly asked.

Derek was taken slightly aback by Kelly's question but carried on.

'Sure. I've got the Magnavox Odyssey, an absolute classic. It was innovative, first home game system they released. But the Odyssey II…'

'49-key pressure-sensitive keyboard, 1978. Pure genius.'

Derek looked oddly at Kelly. 'They just don't compare with the Atari in my eyes. I've got the 5200 too.'

'Who, Pam
[5]
? What about Candy and Colleen, did you ever manage to get your sweaty mitts on those two lovely ladies?'

'Well the 5200, Pam, is really just a stripped-down Atari 400, Candy, solely for game-playing. As for Colleen, the Atari 800, of course she's here, but she was always too expensive to take out.'

'Boxed and stored?'

'Dust-free storage environment along with the Atari 7800. Only the best for my girls. So what do you think?'

Kelly stared at Derek.

And Derek stared right back.

'I think it's incredible,' said Kelly. 'I mean, well, I've never seen a collection like this before. I'm absolutely knocked out. You don't by any chance have adventure?'

'Warren Robinette, Atari 2600 VCS, 1979.'

'You mean Warren "Easter Egg
[6]
" Robinette, he was the catalyst for all the cheats and hidden stuff. He was the one who got the ball rolling back in '79.'

'Well, that was Atari really. It was their policy that prevented the designers from getting any sort of recognition in the game or in the packaging. The designers were bound to rebel.'

'But moving an invisible "dot" to above the catacombs with the bridge and all the rest. Trust a twelve-year-old to find that one out.'

'Robinette thought he'd really get busted for that, but the gamers loved it. Atari couldn't help but add hidden features in nearly all its new games from then on. He was the start of the Easter Egg phenomena.'

Kelly whistled. Women don't generally whistle as a rule. Some do, when they're really impressed. Or when you do that special thing to them. And most women will only let you do that special thing to them once, anyway.

Kelly whistled again. 'I've surely misjudged you, Derek,' she said. 'You may be a spineless wimp, no offence meant…’

'None taken, I assure you.'

'But I never had you down as a collector of twentieth-century console games.'

'You approve then?'

'God yes.'

Derek grinned. 'Brilliant,' he said.

'Do you have canyon bomber, Atari 2600 VS, 1978?'

Derek grinned again and pulled a cartridge from his shelf. 'Of course I do,' he said.

Kelly said, 'Can I touch?'

'Certainly you can.' Derek passed the precious thing in her direction. And Kelly ran a finger lovingly across it.

'But this must be worth a fortune. It's a compilation of those arcade coin-operated machine classics canyon bomber and depth charge. Now that was a marriage made in silicon heaven.'

'Yes, yes,' said Derek. 'I got it in a car boot sale.'

'No, you never did.'

'You can play me at it, if you want. Can you play?'

'Can
I
play? I can play them all. I spent my first ever wage packet at the Museum of Video Games in Penge. Ten hours on kaboom!'

'Oh yeah, I've got that here somewhere. Larry Kaplan game… 1981.'

'Based on avalanche in the arcade. Totally addictive, you could be there for ever if allowed. Kind of like tetris in that respect.'

'I know where you're coming from, I assure you,' said Derek.

'Money well spent. Although my mum thought I should have given her some of my wages. Mothers eh? What do they know about video games?'

'Damn all,' said Derek. 'My mum thinks they're stupid.'

'Because she's never played night driver.'

'
You've
played night driver.'

'Rob Fulop, 1979, Atari 2600 VCS. Only 2K of programming you know.'

'Also famously featured in the video-arcade sequence in George A. Romero's
Dawn of the Dead,
of the very same year.'

'Like I didn't know. I snapped that one up pretty damn quick. I got paid the second week too. And the third. My mum never got any room and board though. Eventually she said that I'd have to go out and make my own way in the world. As I had enough qualifications, I went off to uni. Studied computer tech.'

'Don't tell me what's coming. You got access to their games archive.'

'Downloaded the lot into my PC. I've got 700 games on CD.'

‘I’ll bet you haven't got this,' said Derek. And he did some furtive lockings both ways before dropping down to his knees.

'What are you doing?' Kelly asked.

'You'll have to stand back. I have to lift the carpet.'

Kelly stared. 'Derek,' she said. 'You appear to have a floorboard with a combination lock on it.'

'So would you,' said Derek. 'If you had what I've got.'

'Oh no,' said Kelly. 'Don't tell me you have a copy of…'

'I have,' said Derek, twiddling the combination.

'You don't have. I don't believe it.'

Derek lifted the floorboard and brought out a metal box. He fished into his shirt and displayed the key that he wore on a chain around his neck.

And then he opened the box with it.

'Behold,' said Derek. 'impossible mission.'

Kelly's eyes widened. 'No,' she said. 'No, I thought that this was just a myth. No.'

'Yes,' said Derek. 'Yes indeed.'

'Oh my God,' said Kelly. 'But this is the Holy Grail that game-collectors dream about finding. What system does it run on?'

'It's for the Atari 7800,' said Derek. 'And it's in its original case, as you can see. And I have the game guide. And I know where the Easter Eggs are.'

'Is it the early or the late release version?' asked Kelly.

'It's an early one,' Derek said confidently.

'And have you reached the deadlock point?'

'Deadlock point?' said Derek. 'Are you kidding?'

'You mean you
have?
What happens?'

'No,' said Derek. 'I mean I
haven't.
I haven't played this. This isn't for playing. It's for owning. It's for, dare I say this? Yes I dare. This is for gloating over. I wouldn't play this game.'

'But,' Kelly stared at the original case. 'What if it doesn't work?'

'It would work,' said Derek. 'I paid a fortune for it. It would work OK. But it's too precious a thing to actually play. That would be like sacrilege somehow.'

Kelly stared now at Derek. 'You paid a fortune for it,' she said. 'And you've never dared to play it.'

'I wouldn't dare,' said Derek. 'What if I broke it, before I got to the deadlock point?'

'But what if it doesn't work? What if it doesn't run? What if it's a fake? Or a later version without the deadlock point?'

Derek nodded slowly. 'My thoughts entirely,' he said. 'Which is one of the reasons I've never played it. What if it is a fake? I have faith in it. The way Christians have faith in Christ. But what if there was suddenly some proof available, some unarguable proof that Christ didn't exist? That he never existed? And you could give this proof to a Christian, all packaged up in an original case like this one. What would you, as a Christian, do? Would you open the case? Or would you refuse to open it and go on believing in Christ?'

'I'd open the case,' said Kelly.

'But what if you didn't want the existence of Christ to be disproved? What if you wanted Christ to exist?'

'Hm,' said Kelly. 'If I wanted it more than anything else in the world, then I suppose that I wouldn't open the case, original or not.'

'Exactly,' said Derek. 'Which is why I'll never play this game. I own it. It's a collector's Holy Grail. I believe in it totally. As long as I never slot it into the console, then it remains the centrepiece of my collection and I can believe in it totally.'

'Let's play it,' said Kelly.

'No way!' said Derek. 'No way at all.'

'All right,' said Kelly. 'You go out of the room for half an hour and I'll play it.'

'No way
at all
!
'

'Ah,' said Kelly. 'But I might
not
play it. I might just look at it.'

'You'd play it,' said Derek.

'But I wouldn't tell you. I won't tell you whether I did play it or whether I didn't. Whether it works or whether it doesn't. I promise I won't tell you anything.'

'No,' said Derek. 'What if you played it and you broke it?'

'You'd never know. You'll never play it and I'll never tell you, it will be exactly the same for you as before.'

'Oh no,' said Derek. 'Because you'll know and I'll know you know.'

‘I’ll give you money,' said Kelly.

'No,' said Derek.

Kelly chewed upon her Cupid's bow. 'I'll er…'

'Er?' said Derek.

'I'll give you a blow job,' said Kelly.

'You'll what?'

'I will,' said Kelly. 'If you let me play.'

Derek dithered, but it did have to be said, although only to himself and only to himself when alone in his room, that Derek had never actually had a blow job.

'Well…' said Derek.

'You'll have to wear a condom,' said Kelly. 'But I
will
give you a blow job.'

'Right here and now?'

'Afterwards,' said Kelly. 'After I've played the game.'

'And what if it doesn't work?'

Kelly looked at Derek. It would be so easy. And so so cruel.

'Whether it works or not,' she said.

Derek looked at Kelly. Here she was, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. And she was here in his bedroom and she was prepared to give him a blow job, if he let her play one of his video games. This was heaven, wasn't it? This was joy, joy, happyjoy.

Happy Happy Joy.

But.

Damn it.
But.

But this was
his
game. This was his Holy Grail of games and
this
game,
owning this game,
owning the very concept of
owning this game,
this was his. It was something of value. Something that mattered, something that he cared about. Not everyone could understand a principle like that. Most men would just say, 'Go for the blow job, are you mad?' But collecting games was Derek's life. And things that mattered, things that had value, that deserved to be respected, that deserved respect, you didn't mess with things like that, you didn't devalue them. Not if you really cared. You didn't sell them out.

Derek looked once more upon Kelly. That body, those breasts, that face, that mouth.

'No,' said Derek, shaking his head. 'I won't do it. No.'

Kelly looked at Derek, and then she slowly smiled. 'Derek,' she said. 'You have just passed up the blowjob of a lifetime.'

Derek sadly nodded his head. 'Yes, I know,' he said.

'But,' said Kelly. 'In doing so, you have made a friend for life.' And she put out her hand to Derek. And Derek shook that hand.

Derek didn't know quite why he shook it. Well, perhaps he did, but he smiled with some relief as he shook it, and shook it firmly, did he.

So to speak.

'Well,' said Derek, when all the shaking was done. 'That was very stressful. And I'm glad it's over. Would you, er, care for a game of pong?'

'Oh God yes!' said Kelly.

'Then be prepared to have your arse most well and truly kicked.'

'Boy, by the time I'm finished with you, you won't be able to sit on yours for a week.'

'You reckon?'

'I reckon.'

'Let's play.'

As Kelly didn't get back to her digs until after five in the morning, she lay rather longer in bed than normally she would have done.

She didn't raise her blondie head until half past ten, which didn't give her much time to get showered and dressed and breakfasted before she met up with Derek at eleven.

She had arranged to meet him in the saloon bar of a Brentford pub called the Shrunken Head.

Starting off the day in a pub might not have seemed to many people the right and proper thing to do. But then many people wouldn't have known, as Derek did, and as Derek told Kelly, that in the corner of the saloon bar of the Shrunken Head there was an original Space Invaders machine in fully working order.

And, as they'd come up even in the previous night's playing of pong, a decider would have to be played. So why not play it out upon this very machine?

'Why indeed not?' Kelly had said.

Kelly's breakfast plate was puce, as was the tablecloth it sat upon. Kelly's landlady, Mrs Gormenghast (daughter of the remarkable Zed and sister to Zardoz, the ornamental hermit, who lived all alone in a tree), stoked up the fire in the front sitter, where Kelly sat late-breakfasting. Mrs Gormenghast wore a pucely hued jumpsuit of a type which has happily gone the way of the split-knee loon pant and the Beatle wig. Not to mention the stylophone.

As if anybody would.

Kelly wore a simple summer frock of turquoise blue. It had no buttons to loosen, which given the fire's heat and all the closed windows, didn't help in the ever-warming atmosphere.

'Is that fire really necessary?' Kelly asked, as she mopped at her brow with a puce napkin.

'It keeps the Devil out,' said Mrs Gormenghast. 'Always keep a fire in your hearth and you'll never have to fear the Devil. My late husband used to say that. He knew what he was talking about.'

'Was he a preacher man?' Kelly asked.

'No, he was a coalman.'

'How do you get your fried eggs so puce?' Kelly asked.

'It's an old Indian trick, taught to me by an old Indian woman trickster. Puce is the colour of at-oneness. Did you know that if you take every single colour there is, about an ounce of each and mix them all together in a big pot, a very big pot obviously, the end result will be puce. Explain that if you will.'

'I can't,' said Kelly. 'But I suppose that…'

'You can split light with a prism, can't you?' asked Mrs Gormenghast.

'As far as I know,' said Kelly.

'Invisible light, it contains all the colours of the rainbow.'

Kelly nodded.

'So how come, if you mix all colours together in a pot they don't end up as an invisible transparent liquid?'

'Well…' said Kelly.

'Yes, that's easy for you to say. Well, well, I'll tell you why, well. Because prisms don't tell all of the truth. Nothing tells all of the truth. Nothing and nobody. The ultimate colour of the universe is puce. Mrs Charker down the road is of the mistaken belief that it is pink. Naturally, I respect her opinions, even if I know they are wrong.'

'Ah,' said Kelly. 'That would be Mrs Minky Charker, wife of Big Bob Charker who was in the bus crash.'

'That's her,' said Mrs Gormenghast. 'Her husband was carried off in The Rapture, I've heard. Not that it makes any sense to me, I've been keeping the Devil out of my fireplace and painting my house puce for years. If The Rapture's on the go, I should have been amongst the first of the blessed to be carried off to glory.'

'Perhaps it's happening in shifts,' said Kelly.

'Probably,' said Mrs G. 'God knows his own business best. The world can all go to pot at a moment's notice, my late husband used to say, but as long as you're all stocked up in nutty slack, you'll always have a welcome in your hearth. That man was a saint. It was a shame the way he met his end.'

Kelly didn't ask.

'Don't ask,' said Mrs Gormenghast. 'By the way, did you hear what happened to that nice Dr Druid at the cottage hospital, last night?'

'No,' said Kelly. 'What?'

'Raptured,' said Mrs Gormenghast. 'One moment he was giving an internal examination to a young woman suffering from verrucas, the next up and gone. I'm going to keep this fire well stoked today. I don't want the Antichrist coming down my chimney. And I shall be keeping this jumpsuit on indefinitely now. I want to look my best when my turn to be Raptured comes.'

'Dr Druid too?' said Derek. 'You really have to be joking.'

He was, as now was Kelly, in the saloon bar of the Shrunken Head. Derek had been there since half past ten, practising on the Space Invaders machine. He was chums with the barman. The barman had let him in early.

'I'm not joking,' said Kelly. 'I just heard. Dr Druid's vanished too. A young woman with verrucas saw it happen.'

Derek scratched at his head. 'There is something strange going on, isn't there?' he said.

'I really think there is,' said Kelly.

Derek now scratched at his chin. 'All right,' he said. 'I am supposed to be covering the annual over-eighties backwards walk between Kew and Richmond along the Thames towpath today. But I think it's a foregone conclusion, that old sod who had me with the Runese the night before last always wins it. I suggest we go to the cottage hospital and follow this thing up.'

'I think that's exactly what we shouldn't do,' said Kelly. 'I don't think we should go anywhere near the cottage hospital.'

'Why not?'

'It's just a theory.'

'I thought we were friends now. Tell me.'

'All right,' said Kelly. 'People are vanishing. Literally disappearing. The first one we know of is this Malkuth off the bus, after him go Periwig Tombs, Big Bob Charker and Malkuth's mum, off the bus, then goes Dr Druid. One after another. Like a disease which is being passed from one person to another, perhaps.'

'There's no disease that makes people vanish. Get real.'

'No disease that we know of, perhaps.'

'No disease. Period.'

'Period,' said Kelly. 'Your aunty said that. People are vanishing and it's all on the police computer. It all leads to Mute Corp Keynes. The black hole of cyberspace. This is somehow related to the country's computer system.'

'I can't imagine by what logic you can possibly draw that conclusion.'

'That is because you are a man, Derek, and I am a \voman.'

'That is no argument at all. Are you calling this woman's intuition?'

'Do you have any theories?'

'The Rapture?' said Derek.

'I thought not. Let's go to your house. I only need about half an hour on your home computer.'

'Er, no,' said Derek. 'My mum will be up. She doesn't like me bringing ladies into my room.'

Kelly gave Derek one
of those
looks.

'We could use the computer at the
Brentford Mercury.'

'I thought it wasn't unpacked. And I think you'll find it's now at the police station.'

'You heard about that, did you? Not much slips by you. But I have my own workstation. I'm not a Luddite like Mr Shields.'

'Then shall we go?'

Derek glanced towards the Space Invaders machine. 'There is that matter of the deciding game,' he said.

'Best out of three. But then we definitely go.'

Derek had his head down as they walked along the High Street. He'd pushed Kelly into best out of seven, but she still just kept on winning.

It was another joyous day. The sun swelled high in the clear blue sky. Birdies called and twittered. There was something about the High Street, however, that didn't seem altogether right.

'Is it early closing day?' asked Kelly. 'An awful lot of shops seem to be shut.'

'Well, it is,' said Derek. 'But they shouldn't be shut this early.'

'Ah,' said Kelly, pointing. 'Look at that.'

Derek followed the direction of the elegant digit. On the door of Mr Beefheart's hung a simple note. 'Closed,' it read. 'Family awaiting The Rapture.'

'Oh dear,' said Derek. 'Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.'

'I think perhaps that we should be grateful for that.'

'Grateful?' said Derek. 'Why grateful?'

'Because it's infinitely preferable to a great black plague cross.'

'God, you don't think it will come to
that,
do you?'

'I don't know. Let's hope not.'

'Well we're here. The
Mercury's
offices seem to be open.'

'Then let's get right to it.'

Up the stairs they went. Kelly insisted that Derek led the way. Not because she didn't know the way. But just because she didn't want him looking up her dress.

No receptionist sat in reception.

'I hope Dettox hasn't been Raptured,' said Derek. 'She's the only one who ever makes me a cup of tea.'

'Do you know what,' said Kelly. 'I've never made a cup of tea or coffee for a man in all of my life. And I have no intention of ever doing so.'

Derek smiled. 'There's an old saying,' he said. 'A beautiful woman doesn't have to know how to change a tyre. Or something like that. I'm not being sexist of course. Oh, hold on, what's happening here?'

'Where?' Kelly asked.

Derek put his finger to his lips. 'There are people in Mr Shields's office. You can make them out through the frosted glass partition. I can see a fuzzy pink shape and a fuzzy red one and a large fuzzy Mr Shields-looking one.'

'Nothing unusual in that, surely.'

'Are you kidding? Mr Shields
never has
visitors. I don't know how you ever got through.'

'Dettox offered to make me a cup of tea. What are you doing?'

Derek was beckoning. 'Come with me quickly, to my office.'

Kelly shrugged and followed.

Derek's office was a dire little room that looked out onto a blank brick wall. There were no signs here of Derek's private obsession. Just a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet and a Mute Corp 4000 word processor. And a telephone with a voice broadcaster attachment jobbie. Derek picked up the receiver, tapped out several numbers then dropped it into the voice broadcaster attachment.

'What are you doing now?' Kelly asked.

'Being nosey. I took the liberty of installing a bug in Mr Shields's office. It helps me keep ahead of him and not get sacked.'

'Very enterprising.'

'Ssh,' said Derek and listened.

Kelly shushed and listened. She heard first the voice of Mr Shields.

'I'm sorry,' said Mr Shields. 'But I don't think I quite understand what you're talking about.' His voice sounded fierce. It didn't sound very happy at all.

'It is very straightforward,' said the voice of one of his visitors. 'My companion and I represent a multinational corporation. My card.'

There was a pause.

'Oh,' said the voice of Mr Shields. 'I see,
that
organization.'

'That
organization, yes. They don't come any bigger, I'm sure you'll agree.'

'I'm very busy,' said Mr Shields. 'Perhaps this could wait until another day.'

'No,' said the voice of visitor number two. 'Our organization never waits. It gets things done at once.'

'Not here it doesn't,' said Mr Shields. 'This is Brentford.'

'Exactly!' said visitor number one. 'This
is
Brentford. Which is why we are here.'

'I've told you that I don't understand and I still don't.' Mr Shields was still keeping it fierce. The voices of his visitors were, however, calm.

'Do you know what data reaction is?' asked visitor number one.

'No,' said Mr Shields. 'And neither do I care.'

'It is what keeps our organization at the cutting edge of technology and everything else. Our mainframe scans the world for data. It assesses, it assimilates, it correlates, it sorts the wheat from the chaff and then it makes informed decisions.'

'Have you been sent by head office?' asked Mr Shields.

'Our organization owns head office,' said the voice of visitor number two. 'It owns the newspaper.'

'But you can't close it down. You can't touch it. I have a contract for life.'

'We have no wish to tamper with the way you run this newspaper. We have merely come to inform you of the organization's plans for the borough, so that you can play an active promotional role.'

Mr Shields made grumbling sounds.

'Data reaction,' said visitor number two. 'The mainframe received a sudden inrush of data from this borough, the evening before last, at precisely eight minutes past eight. Much of it was jumbled nonsense. But some of it was pertinent and of commercial value. Regarding something called Suburbia World Plc. Does this mean anything to you?'

'No,' said Mr Shields in a voice both fierce and puzzled.

'No-one has ever spoken to you about Suburbia World Plc?'

'No,' said Mr Shields. 'Never. What is it?'

'A theme park,' said visitor number one. 'It concerns turning the whole of Brentford into a suburban theme park.'

'What?' went Mr Shields.

'What?' went Derek.

'What?' went Kelly.

'
Your week in Suburbia World Plc would not be complete without a boat trip to Brentford's own Fantasy Island.'
Visitor number one spoke in a curious tone, as if he was a voice-over to a web site commercial.
'See the creature of myth
that once inhabited this enchanted realm in the dream world
days of the magic distant past. Take a safari through the wildlife sanctuary and rare bird reserve of Allotment World
. You have to picture the images, sweeping aerial shots of the borough, taken from a helicopter. This will be big, very big.'

'But that's outrageous!' The voice of Mr Shields reached a level of fierceness beyond any as yet known to Derek.

'It is,' whispered Derek. 'It well and truly is.'

'Nevertheless,' said visitor number one, in a voice as calm as ever it had been. 'These concepts are now the property of our organization.'

'Hold on! Hold on!' The voice of Mr Shields was accompanied by the sounds of his chair being pushed back. 'You just stop right there. You said that your mainframe thingy received this information. That someone fed it into a computer somewhere.'

'It entered the databanks.'