Free Gamers' Quest by George Ivanoff Page A

starfighter to the Fat Man's. It scorched the tip of his fighter's wing.
    ‘My turn.’ The Fat Man laughed.
    As Tark and Zyra watched, the Fat Man's starfighter zoomed out of view. A few seconds later it reappeared, further away, facing directly toward them.
    Zyra didn't wait for the Fat Man to shoot at them. She reached forward and hit the red button again, repeatedly. The deadly light streaked forward but was way off target.
    ‘How does ya aim this thing?’ mumbled Zyra, her hands hovering over the controls.
    ‘Nice try!’ came the Fat Man's voice.
    Light pulsed from the Fat Man's starfighter. Tark and Zyra raised their arms to shield their faces. They were thrown to one side as an explosion rocked their ship. The lights dimmed and went red.
    ‘Well, I'd say that your shields have now been destroyed. Next shot should actually do some damage to your ship.’
    The Fat Man's starfighter streaked off again. Tark and Zyra watched it through the window, not knowing what else to do. It zoomed way off into the distance, did a loop-the-loop and streaked back towards them.
    ‘He's showin’ off,’ said Zyra. ‘Before ’e finishes us off.’
    ‘Do somethin’,’ yelled Tark.
    Zyra randomly started hitting controls on the panel in front of her. With a lurch, their starfighter started to move. They lost sight of the Fat Man's fighter for a few seconds, but then he was back in view, still heading for them.
    Zyra repeatedly hit the red button but the deadly bombardment went nowhere near its target.
    Light streaked from the Fat Man's starfighter. Tark and Zyra were thrown to the floor and showered with sparks as instruments exploded on the control panel.
    ‘Your weapons are destroyed.’ The Fat Man's voice was barely audible as it crackled from the damaged speaker. ‘One more shot should finish you off.’
    The starfighter streaked away, performed a complex set of loops, twists and turns, before zeroing in on them.
    ‘We don't stands a chance!’ said Tark, sweat dripping down his brow, panic in his eyes.
    ‘Never dids,’ whispered Zyra.
    As they watched, the ship slowed in front of them and stopped.
    ‘I've got a better idea,’ the Fat Man's voice crackled through the speaker. ‘A much more creative solution.’
    His starfighter manoeuvred alongside theirs. They could just see it through the corner of the window. As they watched, metal arms extended from his starfighter, and with a jarring clang, attached themselves to their ship.
    And then they were moving. Fast.
    In the distance, a speck of light grew brighter and bigger. It was not long before it filled their field of vision, a huge blazing orb of fire.
    ‘You should start to feel the heat soon,’ said the Fat Man's voice. ‘The nearer we get to the star, the hotter it will become.’
    ‘Exit game!’ shouted Tark in desperation. ‘Exit game!’
    ‘I'm afraid that won't work,’ said the Fat Man. ‘I'm the Game Master. I set the rules. And the rules include not leaving the game till it's over. Oh, and just so you know, if you die in this game.’ He paused for effect. ‘You really do die!’
    ‘Exit game!’ sobbed Tark.
    ‘It ain't no use,’ said Zyra, her voice weak and shaky. ‘We is done for.’
    Tark ran to the door and tried to open it.
    ‘We can't just go out,’ cried Zyra. ‘We're in space. There ain't no air out there. We'll die!’
    Tark opened the door anyway and rushed through it, into another tiny room, with another door. There was a small window on that door, and through the window he could see the Fat Man's starfighter.
    Tark uselessly banged his fists onto the window, before returning to Zyra.
    ‘This ain't fair,’ said Tark. ‘If we wuz facin’ him, then at least we coulds ’ave had a chance.’ He patted the hilt of his sword.
    ‘The sword o’ light,’ said Zyra excitedly. ‘We still may haves a chance.’
    She rushed over to the door. On the wall beside it was a small control panel marked ‘airlock’.
    ‘I don't knows