Press Start to Play by Daniel H. Wilson, John Joseph Adams Page B
Authors: Daniel H. Wilson, John Joseph Adams
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remains one of Japan’s most energetic writers of both light novels and adult science fiction.
DESERT WALK
S. R. Mastrantone
Sam Atherstone had played nearly every computer game on the planet—he’d worked out the exact number not long ago and written about it on the blog that paid his bills—yet the excitement he felt when his housemate, Jamie, handed him the gray Jiffy bag that had come in the Saturday morning post caused his hands to shake so much that he couldn’t get it open, and Jamie, tired of waiting, grabbed the bag from him and opened it on Sam’s behalf.
“Is it the one?” Jamie said, holding out the black game cartridge on his chubby hand, bringing to Sam’s mind a chocolate on a hotel pillow.
Sam took the cartridge and inspected it. The slightly faded logo of
Games World
, the magazine that had given the game its very limited distribution back in 1992, was the only sign of wear. Providing it still worked, he considered it half-a-grand well spent.
He gave Jamie both a smile and a nod.
—
While Sam retrieved the Sega Master System II from a cupboard filled with ancient consoles, Jamie went around clearing away the clutter of the MSII’s modern brethren, shoving all the sleek new units and their myriad controllers beneath the huge flat screen that dominated the room.
“Right,” said Sam, crossing the room with the MSII in hand. “Your first job—”
“I already did a job,” Jamie said, pointing at the space he’d created on the floor. He sounded out of breath and his plump cheeks were red.
“Your second job, should you choose to accept it, is to get the tea in.”
“I already
did
a job.”
“No tea, no game.”
Jamie left the room with a dramatic harrumph and Sam set up the MSII while listening to Jamie’s disgruntled clattering in the kitchen directly below.
Once the wires were connected, Sam flicked the
On
switch. The pent-up anxiety that had been building for a week, ever since an anonymous gamer had contacted Sam on a forum and offered to sell him the rare game, melted away when the familiar blue Sega logo lit up the screen. He sat down on the single mattress that he slept on every night, control pad in hand. It had all worked out. It was real.
A menu appeared on the flat screen bearing the
Games World
logo and beneath, a list of six games. The game that Sam had been waiting for was the last on the list. He flicked down and selected it, the sweat of his anticipation greasing the pad.
The following screen was a pixel painting of a man standing alone in the middle of a desert looking across miles of empty terrain at a purple mountain range far on the horizon. Crude as the rendering was, Sam felt a shiver shoot up his spine and dissipate across his shoulders. Above the purple mountains were two words in bright green capital letters that were as much responsible for his reaction as the image: DESERT WALK .
At the bottom of the screen, in smaller text, were the flashing instructions: PRESS START TO WALK! Sam pressed
Start
.
Immediately the screen was filled with a yellow-pixel desert, seen from the point of view of the game’s main character. On the ground were gray-pixel stones and on the horizon were purple-pixel mountains just below a blue-pixel sky. Sam pushed the
Up
arrow on the control pad, and on-screen the character he was embodying took a step in the direction of the mountain range. The game simulated the sound of footsteps on sand,
chshh
,
chshh
,
chshh
. Other than that, it made no noise. When Sam stopped walking, the game was silent.
“I’m really playing it,” he said. “I’m bloody playing
Desert Walk
.”
He was six steps in when the screen went black.
From downstairs Jamie shouted: “I’ve got it.” Sam looked over at the blank face on the clock on his mattress side table and concluded that for the second time in the last few days, the kettle had caused a power cut. He shook his head.
While he waited for the power to come back on, Sam reached over
DESERT WALK
S. R. Mastrantone
Sam Atherstone had played nearly every computer game on the planet—he’d worked out the exact number not long ago and written about it on the blog that paid his bills—yet the excitement he felt when his housemate, Jamie, handed him the gray Jiffy bag that had come in the Saturday morning post caused his hands to shake so much that he couldn’t get it open, and Jamie, tired of waiting, grabbed the bag from him and opened it on Sam’s behalf.
“Is it the one?” Jamie said, holding out the black game cartridge on his chubby hand, bringing to Sam’s mind a chocolate on a hotel pillow.
Sam took the cartridge and inspected it. The slightly faded logo of
Games World
, the magazine that had given the game its very limited distribution back in 1992, was the only sign of wear. Providing it still worked, he considered it half-a-grand well spent.
He gave Jamie both a smile and a nod.
—
While Sam retrieved the Sega Master System II from a cupboard filled with ancient consoles, Jamie went around clearing away the clutter of the MSII’s modern brethren, shoving all the sleek new units and their myriad controllers beneath the huge flat screen that dominated the room.
“Right,” said Sam, crossing the room with the MSII in hand. “Your first job—”
“I already did a job,” Jamie said, pointing at the space he’d created on the floor. He sounded out of breath and his plump cheeks were red.
“Your second job, should you choose to accept it, is to get the tea in.”
“I already
did
a job.”
“No tea, no game.”
Jamie left the room with a dramatic harrumph and Sam set up the MSII while listening to Jamie’s disgruntled clattering in the kitchen directly below.
Once the wires were connected, Sam flicked the
On
switch. The pent-up anxiety that had been building for a week, ever since an anonymous gamer had contacted Sam on a forum and offered to sell him the rare game, melted away when the familiar blue Sega logo lit up the screen. He sat down on the single mattress that he slept on every night, control pad in hand. It had all worked out. It was real.
A menu appeared on the flat screen bearing the
Games World
logo and beneath, a list of six games. The game that Sam had been waiting for was the last on the list. He flicked down and selected it, the sweat of his anticipation greasing the pad.
The following screen was a pixel painting of a man standing alone in the middle of a desert looking across miles of empty terrain at a purple mountain range far on the horizon. Crude as the rendering was, Sam felt a shiver shoot up his spine and dissipate across his shoulders. Above the purple mountains were two words in bright green capital letters that were as much responsible for his reaction as the image: DESERT WALK .
At the bottom of the screen, in smaller text, were the flashing instructions: PRESS START TO WALK! Sam pressed
Start
.
Immediately the screen was filled with a yellow-pixel desert, seen from the point of view of the game’s main character. On the ground were gray-pixel stones and on the horizon were purple-pixel mountains just below a blue-pixel sky. Sam pushed the
Up
arrow on the control pad, and on-screen the character he was embodying took a step in the direction of the mountain range. The game simulated the sound of footsteps on sand,
chshh
,
chshh
,
chshh
. Other than that, it made no noise. When Sam stopped walking, the game was silent.
“I’m really playing it,” he said. “I’m bloody playing
Desert Walk
.”
He was six steps in when the screen went black.
From downstairs Jamie shouted: “I’ve got it.” Sam looked over at the blank face on the clock on his mattress side table and concluded that for the second time in the last few days, the kettle had caused a power cut. He shook his head.
While he waited for the power to come back on, Sam reached over
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