It's a Wonderful Speccy
By Jon Hyde
Lightning flashes overhead. Seconds later, the ceaseless crashing of the rain on the tin roof in eclipsed by the louder explosion of the thunder. The hut continues to cower under its failing shelter, the single window spasmodically illuminating the ground outside as the bulbs inside flicker. The rain continues to pelt the roof, some drops making their way through to the wooden floor below. I glance up in time for a drop to catch me in the eye. Flicking the water aside, I sigh and return my gaze to the contraption before me. Sitting below the single bulb in the ceiling, now smoking from the water on it, it looks harmless enough. A box, probably a meter square with arrows pointing to the open side. Its shadow lengthens and contracts as the bulb flicks in and out of existence. I take the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and look at the times new roman 10 text; it gives me the address of the hut and commands me to use the box inside. Normally I would be suspicious of such an arrangement, but the YS3 logo in the top right corner tells me there is no question as to if: the question is when. I look out of the window as another bolt of lightning illuminates the surroundings with tremendous intensity and sets a tree alight. The thunder rolls instantly and I decide to take my chances. Gingerly, I open the lid of the box and climb inside, squeezing myself around the flashing lights and glowing cables inside. As I close the lid, the bulb finally fails and the hut is covered in darkness again. The glow from the devices inside the is enough for me to see my hand in front of my face… except it has four fingers. I am suddenly aware of heavy breathing behind me, and I turn just in time to see an elderly man's face illuminated as the next bolt of lightning strikes the box. He smiles back pleasantly and I about to question him, but the machinery leaps into life. Lights flash, the box is plunged into a deep red and I lose consciousness.
I come to lying on my back in a deep green field. The grass bends to the might of a terrible gale and I sit up slowly. I rub my head lightly to try and relieve the clanging noise which occupies my consciousness. Slowly it subsides, and I look around. In fact, the grass I thought to be a field is actually more of a garden, and only about two metres square. Towering above me is a huge, dark skyscraper. It is black, only interrupted by the weak lights which self-consciously illuminate certain rooms. Inhuman shadows lurch across the glows with such movements that I have to look away. On either side of the skyscraper are row upon row of houses. Or at least, they used to be. They, too, are black with torn curtains hanging out of the broken windows. Bits of windowsill wave in the wind which whips my hair in all directions. Only the neon street lamps every ten metres along the buildings allow me to see anything, for the sky is completely overcast. I cannot see the moon behind any cloud. I struggle to my feet, trying to find my balance against the gale. I look behind me to see the same scene which greets me everywhere but straight ahead: the desolate houses. Hunched people trudge along the paths by the houses, eyes fixed on the street below. I spin around to see the skyscraper again: it consumes the landscape and my focus. As I try to pick out any features except the windows, I sense a presence to my right. I turn to see the man from the box.
"Clanging gone yet?" He has to shout to be heard above the gale. I nod slowly. "Wondering who I am?"
"I don't need to know, right?" I ask; I've seen this movie before. He raises and eyebrow and I say it again, louder. The wind robs most of the sound, but enough makes it to the man. He laughs.
"Heck, no. My name's Jeff, and you, my friend, watch too much X-Files." I smile with embarrassment. He smiles grimly at me, grey hair blowing in the wind, trenchcoat pinned to his sides by his hands in the pockets. "No," he says more quietly, turning to face the building, "you need to know everything. They all do." I am about to ask for clarification when he turns back to me. "Follow me." He takes off at a surprisingly fast pace, and I jog a couple of steps to catch up with him. We quickly navigate around the skyscraper and onto the street. The flagstones are uneven, some broken and I have to step carefully I avoid falling. Without looking back at me he disappears into one of the houses. I follow him, getting inside just before the door shuts. I take a few seconds to catch my breath and accustom myself to the atmosphere without the wind. I look up to see Jeff checking the windows; he seems satisfied and pulls one of the rickety chairs up, sitting down. I look around at the plaster on the walls, the damp, the other, slightly less dodgy, chair. There is no furniture, but a switch on the wall. I look to the ceiling to see a bulb hanging by its cable, and flick the switch. It explodes in a shower of sparks, so I turn it off again.
"Are you done?" Jeff's tone betrays a hint of impatience, so I take my place opposite him on the other chair. "We don't have much time, Jon." He waves his hand when I start to ask how he knows my name, and I fall silent again, listening. "OK, the facts: it's 1999." He acknowledges my surprise. "This isn't your 1999, though," he continues. "In this 1999, the Spectrum was never invented. An unknown assassin took Sir Clive out before he could get the design blueprints to the factory. Consequently, video games never really took off; Atari all but killed the market with their VIC 20, but without the support of the Spectrum the NES couldn't rescue the public's interest. Nintendo went bust fifteen years ago. Arcade machines are dotted here and there, but there are no games in homes and those that there are have little imagination or appeal. The public computer industry died twelve years ago."
I stare at him incredulously. "Hang on… Manic Miner?" He shakes his head sadly. "Jetpac?" He is stone-faced. "Not even Ant Attack?" He shakes his head again. "What about Dizzy?" His expression drops. I can bearly find the words to ask a final time. "Advanced Lawnmower Simulator?" There is no reply, but from what little light there is I see a tear slowly trickle down his worn face.
"Computer are only used by the government, who understand the potential of the microchip for evil without games to show the other side: cybernetic implants keep the populous under control. They haven't dismissed computers as glorified type-writers and entertainment like your leaders have. These… people… are under no pretensions. They…" He breaks off suddenly. I snap back to the present and listen with him. I can hear nothing above the gale outside, but Jeff can. He gestures for me to go behind a jut of wall. I obey, and he rests his hand inside his coat. And it happens.
The door flies off its hinges, and I see a figure, only two red eyes visible above dark material which covers the face. The body is covered by black leather body armour, gloves and military boots. Its movements are somewhat erratic, mechanical. It has a gun in one hand, and starts towards Jeff. He pulls a shotgun from his coat and lets rip into the figure. The smoking carcass crashes to the floor. He leaps to his feet and turns to me. "Come on!" he shouts, and freezes as he turns back. I have just reached my feet and also halt, looking around the jut of wall. There is another figure there, but this one moves more normally. It has halted in the doorway. Punctuated by crackles, it speaks in monotone.
"Harrison… what a surprise. I have found you at last. You will come with me." Jeff levels the shotgun again, but is too slow. A bright green beam tears through his body and he collapses. "You cannot resist. You never could. You will be useful to…" It looks to its left in surprise as I level the shotgun at it. "Who are you?"
I allow myself a moment before pulling the trigger. "I'm the mystery guest." The shotgun kicks as it fires, perforating the form in front of me. It staggers, but remains standing. My next shot removes its head, which bounces and rolls into a corner, sparks flying. The body struggles for a moment, writhes, and collapses next to the other. I quickly kneel down next to Jeff and left his head. Blood trickles from his mouth, and his eyes are glazed. He struggles but is too weak to lift himself up.
"Hey," I say, supporting him, "watch it: you're badly hurt. Come on, we've got to…" He shakes his head.
"I'm not going anywhere," he manages, reducing him to a coughing fit. It eventually finishes and he looks across at the two bodies. "Heh, nice shot." His smile melts as he looks up at me, face drawn. "You've got finish it," he whispers, "or we're doomed." I nod. "Find the others, you've got to…" he coughs again. Recovering, his gaze focuses on me. "I told them we would do this… they're expecting you. Follow this And be quick." He pushes a crumpled piece of graph paper into my hand, following it with my eyes. By the time I look up from it, his eyes are blank. I whisper a prayer as I close his eyelids and fold his arms across his chest.
I kneel for a while longer, and time passes. I don't know how much. The gale continues outside, debris banging in its wake. I eventually stand again, using the shotgun to help. I take the scene in afresh and am sickened by the destruction at my feet. The waste of it all strengthens my resolve to finish what Jeff started, to find the others and free this world. I cast one last glance at Jeff, look at the instructions on the paper and head out into the storm. About fifty yards down the street, the house I was in explodes. Flames lick the sky and throw my shadow way in front of me. I follow it.
Erm... crikey.Back to
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