Free Gamers' Rebellion by George Ivanoff Page B

to form words. But all she could do was stare.
    Ahead of her were rows and rows of unconscious children. They were lying in hospital beds that were crowded together in a long room. Each one of them was hooked up to an intravenous drip of green, nanobot-laden liquid. There were banks of computer equipment, monitors and life-support apparatus.
    They looked so much like terminal patients waiting to die.
    ‘Are they all playing the Game?’ asked Zyra, her voice a hoarse whisper.
    ‘No,’ replied Robbie. ‘They are keeping it running. Providing the background brainpower to keep the rules in place and the environments separated. They are the glue that holds it all together. They are not in our world and they are not truly in the Game either. They are in a limbo. The necessary parts of their brains are stimulated with nanobots. Everything else is held in check. They may have a fleeting realisation of their non-existence, but as far as I can tell, there is no true consciousness either in this world or the Game.’
    ‘And they’re kept like this,’ gasped Zyra, ‘forever?’
    ‘No,’ said Robbie. ‘Eventually their brains wear out.’
    Zyra lifted a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘This is horrible,’ she whispered against her fingers.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Robbie. ‘It is.’
    Zyra opened her eyes again. ‘Why aren’t they at least allowed to live in the Game?’
    ‘It would be a waste of resources,’ said Robbie. ‘If they played, they would have less brainpower to be utilised for the Designers’ purposes. And they wouldn’t last as long. There is also the possibility that they might not cooperate.’
    ‘Could they play?’ asked Zyra. ‘Could they be given different nanobots?’
    ‘In theory,’ conceded Robbie. ‘I suppose it would be possible. But the Designers would never allow it.’
    Zyra took a few steps closer to the first of the unconscious bodies. She gazed at the girl. Her breathing was so shallow, the plastic tube that fed into her mouth giving her just enough oxygen to keep her alive.
    ‘Mel!’ Zyra mouthed the name. Slowly she approached, making sure that it was her. She breathed in sharply and whirled around to face Robbie. ‘That’s Mel.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Robbie. ‘She was placed in here after questioning.’
    ‘We’ve got to get her out,’ demanded Zyra.
    ‘We cannot,’ said Robbie.
    ‘Watch me!’ Zyra reached for the IV.
    Robbie grabbed her arm and held her back. He was stronger than he looked. ‘No. There is security. And I really did mean that you cannot – you cannot just unplug someone. It has never been done before. It could damage her mind. She might not survive.’
    ‘If we leave her there, her brain will get fried. You said she might die if I unplug her.’
    ‘It’s not worth the risk,’ said Robbie. ‘If you leave her there now, we might be able to find some other way to get her out. She has not been there long. She is in no danger of dying any time soon.’
    ‘Okay.’ Zyra stepped back.
    Robbie relaxed and loosened his grip. The moment he did so, Zyra lunged at Mel. Before she could touch her, sparks erupted, pain flared through Zyra’s arm and she was thrown backwards. She landed hard on the floor. Sirens blared.
    Robbie took hold of her arm and tried to help her up.
    Before Zyra could get to her feet, security was through the door. One guard pushed Robbie aside and another two grabbed Zyra. Before she even had a chance to call out, she was being dragged away.

18: Back In

    Tark came out of the little side room into the rebels’ lab. He smoothed down the clothes he had just put on – a worn pair of grey tracksuit pants, a baggy pale blue T-shirt and some black runners.
    ‘They seem to fit okay,’ said Devon, looking up from a battered old electron microscope.
    ‘Yep,’ agreed Tark, glad to be rid of the pink shorts and lab coat. ‘They’ll do.’
    ‘Take a seat,’ said Josie, indicating a large reclining chair that looked a little like a