WorldNet: The Seventh Zak Steepleman Novel: Zak Steepleman, #7

1

The rain fell in crackling, staticlike bursts.

It scratched my cheeks.

Sent a tremble down my spine.

The leather trench coat I wore weighed me down. I could feel the laser blaster heavy at my thigh where it sat snug in its holster. The darkness stretched out all around. I reached up to my head, found the mirror-lens sunglasses perched in my hair. I gently tugged them down past my forehead and onto the bridge of my nose. As I peered out through the lenses, the darkness sharpened suddenly. It took on the form of oily objects which gradually became more solid. And then, just like that, I realised where I was.

When I gazed down at my feet — clad in ankle-high boots — I noted the pebble beach I stood upon. As I brought my attention upwards, I took in the seemingly endless ocean which was stretching away into the horizon.

All black.

As I walked, I felt the rain continue to sizzle past my cheeks. I heard it rattle down upon the pebbles at my feet. I realised I could no longer hear the skitter of raindrops meeting rocks — only the scattered splashes of it striking the surface of the black sea.

Another few steps took me to where the sea washed into the beach.

I watched on as the water dampened the toe — and then sole — of my boots.

A tremble passed through me.

But I held myself still.

Maybe it was the body I was inhabiting which helped; those lumbering, workmanlike muscles, and the steady, gentle heartbeat.

I told myself to exhale.

Then actually did so.

As I shifted back to my surroundings, I couldn’t help noticing the jet-black pallet was giving way to a kind of purple hue. Almost like the sun might be rising.

It was then that I finally saw it.

The Portal.

As always, the Portal took on the form of a ship’s dock. Nothing more substantial than a few cobbled-together wooden planks. With my vision enhanced by the sunglasses I wore, I could even make out the splinters which jutted up from the surface. The slight discoloration in the tone of black about the logs which indicated rot setting in. I thought I could smell the decomposing wood from where I stood.

Even as the question loomed over me — just how I was going to reach the Portal — I felt myself suddenly lift up into the air.

I was floating.

I didn’t fight the sensation.

I soared over the surface of the sea.

Before I knew it, I was standing on the dock.

At the Portal.

I breathed in gently, tasting the stale salt hanging on the air.

Then I looked over the door.

The door was covered in an elaborate metal contraption: medieval-style chains and other assorted, more modern, locking mechanisms. Kate had built in these innovations since me and Gerta had nailed the thing shut.

Everything looked fine.

Nothing to worry about for the time being.

I was on the brink of turning on my heel — of making my way back across the sea — when I felt a shudder pass through the ground.

I gazed down at my feet.

Saw the pebble beach I stood upon was shaking all over the place.

And then everything disintegrated.

2

Darkness gave way to overbearing, impossibly bright light.

I brought my forearm up to shield my eyes and felt the clothing I’d been wearing — the leather trench coat, the boots — peeling away from my skin. My whole body suddenly relaxed. And then, all of a sudden, stiffened again.

I felt the familiar firmness beneath my feet.

I looked down.

Took in the giddying swirls on the carpet beneath me.

And the dazzling, golden sunlight streaming in through the window.

Zak? Zak?

I heard someone saying my name as I felt myself drifting back to consciousness.

There was a firm, squeezing grip on my forearm.

Somehow that touch allowed me to return to reality with a snap.

I found myself staring into Gerta Tillens’s wide-open, watery-blue eyes.

When I looked down, I of course saw that it was her who held my forearm so tightly. The numbness gave way to a ticklish sensation.

You okay? Is everything okay?

I took in her German-accented English. Sometimes it was difficult to tell what was real and what was a dream . . . or maybe what was reality and what was virtual reality.

Rightly or wrongly I wondered if I hadn’t finally got a grip on things.

I . . . I finally said, my gaze fixed way off, in mid-air. I switched my attention back onto Gerta, seeing she had her black hair hoisted up in a ponytail. From somewhere I managed to summon a smile. Made it.

Gerta rolled her eyes. Sure did. She glanced back over her shoulder.

I saw Andrea and Florian standing nearby — looking on. The Captains of the Italian team, Death Laws, and French team, Yo-Yo Players, respectively.

Andrea was distinctive for her electric-blue hair — not natural, or at least I hoped.

Florian’s hair might’ve been blond once but it was impossible to say for sure since he had buzz cut the whole lot off, leaving only his smooth scalp behind.

Impossibly bright light flooded in through the window. I made out the outline of the Sydney Opera House. In the background, I made out the Bridge, too.

I’d almost forgotten I was even here.

That we were here, for WorldNet.

In Sydney, Australia.

Me, Florian, Andrea and Gerta had teamed up for the Intercontinental Championship at WorldNet: a team-based competition to decide the best gamers on planet Earth.

I blinked several times, trying to beat the daze which had settled in over my vision. When I tried to take a step, I stumbled. I was lucky Gerta was there to catch me.

Whoa there! Gerta said, catching hold of me.

I have to admit it was something of a physical feat that she managed to stop such a substantial hunk of boyflesh from hitting the ground.

I thanked her with a clumsy smile, and an even clumsier, "Danke schön."

It had been a long — long — flight to Australia from Europe. There had been plenty of time for Gerta to teach me some rudimentary German.

Or to try.

Deciding I was better off not moving for a while, I held my ground.

On instinct, I turned my attention onto the TV screen which continued to display the game state as it had been when I had ventured into virtual reality.

The screen was entirely black. It remained that way for a fraction of a second longer before it blinked into a grey-blue interface.

The Chat functionality sparked up.

The names of the Inside Kids scrolled across the screen as they wrote messages:

Alan.

Chung.

James.

Kate.

Mikey.

All of them were there.

And all of them wanted to know what’d gone on in-game.

I glanced about my immediate surroundings again — the hotel room which I was sharing with Florian — and then back to the screen itself.

Nobody had been able to see what I’d seen.

Kate had sent me in to investigate a strange black fog which had descended upon the Portal, making it impossible for outside observers to see what was going on. With her dad’s assistance, she had put together an item for an in-game avatar to use . . . a pair of sunglasses which would allow the avatar to see in the dark.

No prizes for guessing who ended up inhabiting the avatar . . .

Feeling the others in the room with their eyes glued upon me, I quickly tapped out a succession of responses into the PORTALS Chatroom. It was part of the server which we had already begun to establish. A server to call our own . . .

Each of our teams — my Inside Kids, Florian’s Yo-Yo Players, Andrea’s Death Laws and Gerta’s Super Gamers — had all had our own servers but we had decided, after meeting up at EuroNet, and going through what we went through, that we would be far better protected if we pooled resources. And so we had become a super clan:

PORTALS.

When the invite had come along for WorldNet — when I had been offered direct sponsorship as Captain of Inside Kids following our victory at EuroNet — I had just assumed I would pick three members from my own clan.

However, the others had thought differently.

As we had already agreed to pool resources as PORTALS, it only made sense that we might as well game together, too.

While I’m first to admit I’m sorta arrogant, I never would’ve claimed I was the best gamer within Inside Kids, but the decision was taken out of my hands.

The other Inside Kids wouldn’t allow me to have it any other way.

They wanted me on the WorldNet team, and they wanted me to take Florian, Andrea and Gerta with me. Although I protested a little, I couldn’t help thinking that a trip to Australia wouldn’t be too bad of a thing. Especially for a pasty kid as myself.

So I’d accepted.

And so here we were.

WorldNet Australia . . . representing Europe.

Once I’d got through with my report to the Inside Kids over Chat — with Kate only allowing me to go free with the assurance that I would speak with her in more detail later on — I turned my attention back to the real world.

To the three other gamers staring at me.

You guys want to go see the sights?

3

Ikicked off my trainers and ran my bare toes through the fine, sugary sand of Bondi Beach. The late-afternoon sun beamed down upon my shoulder blades and my stomach was pleasantly full from the hotdog which I’d just shovelled down my gullet.

Beside me, Gerta and Andrea were tanning themselves, lying flat on their towels in bikinis. In the sea — which seemed miles away — I could just make out Florian bobbing about on top of a rented surfboard. Although he’d been keen to tell everyone who would listen about his surfing credentials, I hadn’t yet seen him catching any waves . . .

Just behind us was Trezna Cole — the woman who had been assigned to us by our sponsors: Europa Gaming. She had met us at the airport in London where she had told us she would be our chaperone for the duration of WorldNet.

She had worn trousers every day of the trip so far which — given the heat — seemed a bit mental. She wore sunglasses which occupied the better part of her face. She had slipped her feet out of her leather sandals and — like me — was jabbing her toes into the sand. Despite being our chaperone, she had said almost nothing at all.

That was fine by us, though.

To tell the truth, all four of us had had our fill of ‘chaperones’ after EuroNet.

I had expected she might start into some sort of a chat — what with me at sixteen being the youngest member of the team — but she held her distance.

And for that I was thankful.

Swim? Gerta asked me, seemingly out of the blue.

I briefly weighed up my options. I considered slipping out of my t-shirt. It would necessitate me revealing my goose-fat flesh to the world . . . and, more importantly, to Andrea and Gerta. I could keep my t-shirt on while I paddled about in the shallows but that would really be equally as pathetic.

I shook my head.

Gerta shrugged. Then looked to Andrea.

She didn’t need to ask twice.

Both girls skipped off across the sands — giggling — as they rushed in the direction of the sea. I held my ground. And wondered what I was going to do next.

You feeling good, Zak?

My heart froze in my chest.

On instinct, I glanced back . . . to Trezna.

If I had to guess, I would’ve pegged Trezna to be in her late-twenties, early-thirties . . . not that I have ever really been good at guessing ages.

Uh, I finally managed to get out, Think so.

Trezna smiled back. "Some stiff competition — I mean, this is WorldNet."

I would’ve liked to blame the sun for making me sound dim-witted but I knew it was my social awkwardness. Uh, yeah.

Trezna nodded in the direction of the water, to where Andrea and Gerta were swimming. They dived beneath Florian’s surfboard and tipped him off into the shallows. The two of them could hardly contain their laughter while Florian fumed. They seem to be having a good time, Trezna said.

Uh-huh.

She looked about, then dropped her tone of voice, as if someone might be listening in. I was just wondering if you’d ever of me?

I turned my full attention onto Trezna. You?

Trezna Cole?

At first I thought she was crazy, and then there was a slight glimmer. A sort of creeping sensation at the back of my neck. But then the recollection — if that was what it had been — was gone. I gave her a slight smile and a shake of the head. Afraid not.

She shrugged then smiled.

Turned her attention back to the drama unfolding in the water.

Why would I have heard of you?

She continued to stare at the water before finally replying — in a voice I could hardly make out, It doesn’t matter.

4

We had just got through with the tour at the Sydney Opera House, and I was just beginning to feel the night-time humidity hitting me — not to mention the night-time hunger — when I felt my mobile vibrate in my pocket.

To begin with, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I had half thought that I’d left the phone back in the hotel room I shared with Florian. Apparently not.

There was a message from Kate.

Call me.

I failed to suppress a sigh. I wondered if things were like this with boys who had girlfriends. Kate constantly wanted to get in touch about one thing or another. Then again, I considered as I approached the railing over the Harbour, Kate had got me out of so many jams in the past that I would’ve been foolish not to listen to her.

I hooked into the Opera House Wi-Fi and called.

She picked up on the second ring.

Zak?

Yeah?

Where are you?

Australia.

Even from ten and a half thousand miles away — did I say it was a long flight? — her sigh of disapproval got through to me loud and clear.

At the Harbour, I added, reluctantly.

Can you be back in your room in — there was a rustling as she consulted something or other — fifteen minutes?

I glanced over my shoulder to the others as they ventured out of the Opera House.

Andrea and Gerta were taking a succession of selfies together in front of the famous façade. I caught Florian yawning as he followed on their heels.

Trezna, too, looked somewhat disinterested.

I turned my attention back to the call. "I did hear some noises about us going to grab pizza. Europa Gaming is footing the bill.

"Zak, can you think about something other than increasing your mass for one second?"

I thought long and hard.

Then relented.

All right. I’ll get room service or something.

Everything was set up in mine and Florian’s hotel room.

While Florian went straight off to sleep in the bed alongside, I stayed up with Gerta and Andrea, who both seemed interested in what it was Kate had to show me. To be honest, ever since they had got to know Kate they had become something like best friends. They were far more into the tech than I — or any of the guys — were. Then again, guys are mostly only interested in things which either blow up or go fast . . .

We wasted no time.

Once we had got ourselves connected to the PORTALS server, the three of us all brushed our fingers up against the infrared strip around the back of the Sirocco 3000 and we were warped off into the world of virtual reality.

. . . Or that was how I thought things would play out.

As it happened, there was a profound darkness, a gut-churning sense of extremely rapid transportation, and we ended up in a drab-looking office space.

It reminded me of when we had transported to the Giant Hill Gaming offices and, for a nasty moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if we hadn’t somehow been intercepted.

As I blinked against the obnoxious, bright-white strip lighting, I couldn’t help but recognise the chirpy voice which sounded over my shoulder.

"Good morning!"

Kate.

She had recently had her hair cut short so it bobbed about her ears. Her green eyes shone as brilliantly as usual. She wore a fluorescent pink t-shirt with a cartoon skyscraper towering beside a rundown wooden shack. The slogan splashed across the front read:

Urban vs Rural.

Fight!

I didn’t get it. Even when I managed to catch a glance at the back of her t-shirt, where the skyscraper and shack had grown arms and legs. Their hands were fitted with boxing gloves. They were preparing to battle . . . apparently.

I’d just about got my head around Kate’s t-shirt when I failed to restrain a yawn.

Kate glared at me.

What? It’s past midnight here.

Kate shrugged. Doesn’t matter, you’re back on UK time now. She gestured for us to follow. We’re in the real-world.

Thankfully, it seemed Andrea and Gerta had their wits about them. They shook off whatever dazed feelings they’d dragged with them from the other side of the world and tagged on Kate’s heels. I held back briefly then followed.

I was half expecting Kate to lead us into some grand showroom — one which would be complete with some mysterious, and powerful, new device which she and her father had knocked up in their spare time. However, I couldn’t help but notice she was simply leading us through yet more office space. There had to be hundreds of computer towers, all of them humming away in eerie, air-conditioned silence.

Welcome to PORTALS, Kate said, with a slightly smug grin.

I looked back to Andrea and Gerta, seeing the unsure, neutral expressions passing over their faces. Finally, though, they cracked smiles.

And launched themselves at Kate.

I had to admit I felt thoroughly out of place as Andrea and Gerta jabbered about a thousand questions a minute at Kate.

I was more than a touch relieved to spot Kate’s dad — Brian — emerging from behind one of the computer towers. As always, he looked as if he’d just been brought around from a deep, dreamless sleep. He adjusted his glasses and gave me a nod of greeting. Then he shifted his attention off in the direction of the giddy girls.

Pretty great, huh, Zak? Brian asked.

This place represented everything we’d striven for . . . the very reason we’d seen fit to pool our resources — to put PORTALS together. This would be the backend which would act as our server. As our home base.

And it might just save the world, too.

Always been a dream of mine, Brian said, "to be my own boss — to have my own offices. My own tech muscle."

I glanced to the dozens of computer towers — all of them humming away, almost with a sense of satisfaction. Well, you certainly have that now.

He smiled back.

I’ve never been all that great when it comes to Dad Chat.

Or any other kind of chat for that matter . . .

Once the girls were through with all the hugging and kissing,