Space Demons Read online

  About Untapped

  Most Australian books ever written have fallen out of print and become unavailable for purchase or loan from libraries. This includes important local and national histories, biographies and memoirs, beloved children’s titles, and even winners of glittering literary prizes such as the Miles Franklin Literary Award.

  Supported by funding from state and territory libraries, philanthropists and the Australian Research Council, Untapped is identifying Australia’s culturally important lost books, digitising them, and promoting them to new generations of readers. As well as providing access to lost books and a new source of revenue for their writers, the Untapped collaboration is supporting new research into the economic value of authors’ reversion rights and book promotion by libraries, and the relationship between library lending and digital book sales. The results will feed into public policy discussions about how we can better support Australian authors, readers and culture.

  See untapped.org.au for more information, including a full list of project partners and rediscovered books.

  Readers are reminded that these books are products of their time. Some may contain language or reflect views that might now be found offensive or inappropriate.

  GILLIAN RUBINSTEIN

  SPACE DEMONS

  We has found the enemy and they is us.

  To Matthew, Tessa and Susannah

  1

  ‘Go on, Andrew, have a go!’ Ben was tired of playing by himself. He knew the sequence of the game too well. It was no longer a challenge playing against the computer. But if two people played against each other, the game was more unpredictable and more fun.

  ‘Can’t be bothered,’ Andrew Hayford said. He was lying on his bed leafing through a Mad magazine. ‘I’ve played it too many times. It’s boring.’ He threw the magazine down on the floor, got off the bed, and walked across to the window. ‘Everything’s boring,’ he said, looking out moodily at the rain that was sweeping across the gardens and streets outside. ‘I wish it would stop raining. This winter seems to be going on forever.’

  ‘Do you want to do anything else?’ Ben asked. A slight, fair-haired boy, he was smaller than Andrew and a few weeks younger. He and Andrew had been best friends in an unquestioning sort of way ever since they had started kindergarten together. They were now in the last year of primary school.

  ‘There’s nothing to do!’ Andrew said, turning round from the window. The friendship was not an entirely equal one. Ben Challis liked and admired Andrew, but Andrew tended to consider Ben as a sort of useful side-kick—he called all the shots and Ben invariably went along with whatever he wanted. As a result, Andrew did not always treat Ben very well. This was one of those times.

  ‘You might as well go home,’ he said. ‘Go and play your own games on your own computer.’

  ‘I never get a chance to get on it,’ Ben said. ‘Darren’s always using it. He thinks he’s some kind of hacker!’ Darren, his brother, was fifteen and at high school. One of the reasons why Ben put up with Andrew bossing him around was because he was used to being bossed around by Darren. He got up from the computer. ‘All the same, I suppose I’d better go. It’s getting dark.’

  ‘Yeah, you don’t want to get mugged in between here and Forsyth Avenue!’

  There was a slight note of scorn in the way Andrew said this that annoyed Ben. He looked at the other boy and found himself wondering, not for the first time, why they were friends. He shrugged his shoulders, not rising to the jibe, and said, ‘Well, see you at school tomorrow.’

  ‘School!’ Andrew said in disgust. ‘Of all the boring things, that has to be the most boring!’

  They walked down the stairs together. At the bottom Andrew grinned at Ben, crossed his eyes hideously, and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

  Ben grinned back—he could never resent Andrew for long. No one could. He was an astonishingly good-looking boy, with a charming and confident manner that attracted people effortlessly. An only child, he had never known any hardships or setbacks, and everything came easily to him. He had a cheerful and fearless nature, and he believed the universe existed largely for his benefit. Lately, though, it seemed to be letting him down. He felt as if he were stuck in some sort of limbo: bored with primary school, waiting to go to college, no longer a child, not quite a teenager. He was either too old or too young for everything. Books, games, television programs that six months ago had been enthralling and exciting now seemed boring and pointless. He had played all the games, read all the books, seen all the programs … done everything, and he was still only twelve!

  He closed the door behind Ben and walked through the large house to the family room at the back. His mother was in the kitchen that led off it. When she saw Andrew she called out, ‘Dinner’s ready. Has Ben gone home?’

  ‘Yeah, he just left.’

  ‘He was a bit late leaving,’ Marjorie Hayford said, looking out of the window. ‘It’s practically dark. I wish he’d get himself off earlier.’

  ‘Mum, he’s not going to be abducted between here and Forsyth Avenue!’

  ‘Kids do get abducted, you know,’ she said, lifting the lid off the casserole she had just taken out of the wall oven. She poked the meat inside it experimentally with a fork. ‘I think this is done.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Andrew said, leaning over the work-top to smell the casserole, ‘but not very often, and not kids like Ben.’

  ‘Why not kids like Ben?’ Marjorie asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Andrew said. ‘He’s just not the type. Are you going to serve that stuff up or not, Marjorie?’

  ‘Don’t call me Marjorie,’ she scolded. But secretly she liked it, and she was smiling as she ladled meat and sauce onto his plate. He was such an attractive boy and so charming. A faint fear crept over her that he was the type that might be abducted. As though he could read her thoughts, he looked up and smiled. ‘And don’t worry about me. I can look after myself.’ He took a mouthful of food and said through it, ‘What time’s Dad going to be home?’

  Dr Robert Hayford had been away for a week at a medical conference in Osaka. Andrew had hardly missed him. He never saw very much of him anyway: as far as he was concerned, his father might just as well have lived in Japan. Dr Hayford worked at a big teaching hospital in the city and was both dedicated and ambitious.

  ‘He should be back soon. He was going to get a taxi from the airport,’ Marjorie answered.

  ‘I hope he didn’t forget to get me a present,’ Andrew said.

  His father had not forgotten. Practically the first thing he did when he came through the door was to open his briefcase and take out a small packet. ‘There you go, Andrew!’ he said, handing it to his son. ‘The very latest in Japanese technology. That should keep you quiet for a while.’

  ‘Oh, fantastic,’ Andrew exclaimed. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  He tore off the wrapping paper eagerly. Inside was a box containing a computer cartridge. On the box there was an exciting-looking picture of a spaceman in a shining white suit, back to back with a rather sinister individual dressed entirely in black, and with black, spiky hair. From the side of the picture facing the spaceman another black figure advanced, similar to the first, except that its hair was cut in a punk-style mohawk. All three characters held cylindrical black weapons from which fiery orange tracers were flashing. Across the picture, in purple and black letters, blazed the words ‘Space Demons’. Down the side and along the bottom were a lot of Japanese characters neither Andrew nor his parents could understand.

  ‘It’s excellent,’ Andrew said in delight. ‘No one else will have this one! Ben’ll go insane!’ He looked at it lovingly. It was much more than a
present from an overseas trip: it was a status symbol that would arouse envy and admiration in his friends.

  ‘I’ll go and try it out right away,’ he said.

  ‘Have you done your homework?’ his mother asked.

  ‘I can do it in the morning,’ Andrew assured her.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to do your homework before you go on the computer?’ his father said.

  ‘I just want to try out the new game, Dad. I haven’t got much homework, and I’ll get it done in the morning, I promise.’ Andrew was turning on full charm, eyes wide open, face alert and smiling.

  ‘Is he really aware he does it?’ Marjorie thought. ‘Or is it quite unconscious?’

  Whichever it was, Rob was no more proof against it than she was. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s fine by me, as long as it gets done. You’d better get off to bed good and early, though.’

  ‘When I’ve had a go at the game,’ Andrew said.

  His father reached out and ruffled his hair. ‘Don’t stay up too long.’ The look of pride on his face was replaced by one of annoyance as the click of a lighter and the sharp smell of smoke announced that Marjorie had lit a cigarette.

  ‘How many have you had today?’ he asked. His voice was cold.

  ‘I haven’t counted,’ she answered shortly. ‘Not more than five or ten.’

  ‘Five or ten!’ he exploded. ‘That’s a damn sight too many! For heaven’s sake, Marjorie, you’d given it away for a year! Why on earth have you started again?’

  ‘I just happen to enjoy it,’ she said. ‘You do things you enjoy. I don’t consider ten cigarettes excessive. I can certainly afford it.’

  ‘It’s not a question of money,’ Rob retorted. ‘It’s a question of health!’

  ‘I’m perfectly healthy. It doesn’t even make me cough.’

  ‘You’re a doctor’s wife!’ he said angrily.

  Andrew decided it was time to leave the room. They were both talking more loudly than they needed to, and he didn’t want to be there when they started shouting. He realised with a feeling of dismay that the week his father had been away had been peaceful—there had been no arguments, and his mother had been relaxed and happy. As soon as his father had walked into the house, tension had walked in with him.

  He went up the stairs thinking about this, but by the time he reached his room he had decided to forget it. He looked instead at the box in his hands. It promised to be something exciting. He opened it and took out the cartridge. ‘You had better be good!’ he said to it.

  He was in for a disappointment. There were no instructions apart from the Japanese writing on the box, and Andrew couldn’t work out what the point of the game was. It looked beautiful enough. The screen was a brilliant shade of blue, and a wonderfully shiny space rocket rose from the earth towards distant stars. Moving the joystick to the right made the boosters detach and fall away, and then the little cone-shaped module that remained sailed off the screen. The process repeated itself. Nothing Andrew did made anything else happen at all.

  He heard a door bang downstairs, and heavy footsteps came up. His father stood in the doorway of his room. ‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

  Andrew turned towards him, instantly noticing and deciding not to notice at the same time that his face was hard and angry. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘It seems really weak—and yet I’m sure it’s not. It must do more than just this.’

  ‘Professor Ito said it was the prototype of a new sort of game—something he’s developing for fun. I think I told you before what a genius he is. He said it was a bit tricky to get the hang of, but he thought you’d be interested to have a shot. I rather sold you as the expert.’

  ‘You have a go,’ Andrew offered. ‘See what you can make of it.’

  ‘I haven’t got time right now,’ Rob said. ‘I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make, and then I must get some sleep. It’s been an exhausting week, and the flight was pretty tiring too. I’ll have a look at it later, okay?’

  He smiled as he said it, but the smile could not mask the rejection. Andrew did not really mind: he had not expected anything else. ‘Okay,’ he said, going back to the game.

  He tried to consider the problem logically. ‘You must have to do something to extend the game, or get a new screen,’ he thought. ‘And since the only thing I’ve got any control over is when the boosters fire, it must be something to do with that.’

  He tried firing them at several different points as the space rocket soared diagonally across the screen, but the degree of accuracy was not great enough. Engrossed in the problem now, he took off his digital watch and put it in front of him on the computer console, setting the seconds to flash up. He went through the game again, firing the booster after one second, after two seconds, after three. When he got to six his efforts were rewarded. As the boosters fell away, the game gave a high-pitched shriek, the screen changed to violet, and asteroids of deep purple, mauve and amethyst began to bombard the silver space module.

  Evasion was the only defence. The module responded accurately to the joystick, but it did not seem to have any means of destroying the asteroids. After several attempts, however, Andrew found that the asteroid bombardment followed a set pattern, and he could avoid destruction for longer and longer periods, getting higher and higher scores. It was quite entertaining, and he loved the moment when the violet screen flashed up and the silver module stood out against all the different shades of purple, but he felt there must be still more to the game. So far it had not been very different from dozens of other games he had played—and where were the promised space demons?

  He was now scoring 8000 or more. Downstairs the phone rang. ‘Gee,’ he thought, ‘Dad’s just got back from overseas and they can’t leave him alone for a moment. I’ll never be a doctor when I grow up.’ He heard the TV being turned down, and his mother called up to him, ‘Andrew! Bedtime!’

  ‘Okay,’ he shouted back. But to himself he said, ‘I’ll just try for 10 000 before I go to bed.’

  He didn’t have to get to 10 000. Not quite. Watching the score out of the corner of his eye as he kept the module dodging the asteroids, he saw it reach 9876. At that moment the screen flashed three times, ‘Almost as if it’s winking,’ Andrew thought, and he had a brief, chilling impression of the intelligence behind the game.

  The screen changed colour again, violet giving way to pink. The asteroids were exploding, and the fragments were turning into something else—into little dark, black-haired figures with black weapons in their hands. They came pouring across the screen like alien and menacing insects. Before Andrew had time to manoeuvre the module out of their way, they blew it apart in a red and orange flash, and the deep blue of the original screen returned.

  It had all happened so quickly that he could hardly believe he had seen them. He sat and gazed at the screen, amazed. He had a feeling that this was still only the beginning of the game. Now he had seen the space demons he could not wait to see them again, and to find out what happened next. Excitement hit him like a fist in the pit of his stomach, making him grin, making his eyes sparkle. Life suddenly seemed much more interesting. He re-set his watch and began to play Space Demons again.

  2

  The day after Andrew Hayford’s father had brought Space Demons back from Japan, Elaine Taylor was doing the splits on the floor of her room. Not her room, but the room she was sleeping in, just as it was not her house but the house she and her father were living in. Even her clothes—lying in piles on the floor since the only piece of furniture in the room was a bed—were not her clothes but op shop bargains and hand-me-downs from friends. She rolled over on her stomach and bent her back until her feet touched her head. ‘Owning anything new is against Dad’s principles,’ she thought bitterly, looking at the clothes. Upside-down they looked shabbier than ever. The only thing that was all hers and that she could feel proud of was her own body. She sat up an
d put her right foot behind her neck. Ouch! She was a bit stiff this morning. With all the excitement of moving into a new place she had skipped her work-out session for a couple of days, and her muscles were complaining.

  ‘Elaine!’ her father shouted from the end of the house. ‘I’ve put the kettle on. Do you want a cup of tea before you go?’

  She unwound herself and shouted back, ‘Yes, I’m just coming!’ Getting up from the floor, she put on a jumper, jeans and sneakers, pulled her hair free from the sweatband that had been holding it back from her face, and plaited it in a single plait that hung down her back almost to her waist.

  ‘I think I’ll get my hair cut,’ she said when she got to the kitchen.

  ‘What for?’ her father said. ‘It’s nice.’ He had the same sort of hair, dark red, thick and wavy. His was long too, down to his shoulders, and he had a lighter, sandier beard.

  ‘It gets in my way when I’m working out.’

  David Taylor shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘It’s your hair,’ he said. ‘Cut it if you want to. It’ll always grow again.’

  ‘Typical,’ she thought. ‘He never minds at all. He doesn’t mind about anything. Nothing I do matters to him.’ She studied him critically as he made the tea. The teabags looked tiny in his huge hand. Ginger hairs sprang vigorously from the back of it and grew thickly up his arms, curling round the red-and-blue tattoo that disappeared under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Most of the time she accepted him unconditionally as her dad, and loved him, but now and then she saw him from a distance, with a stranger’s eyes, and he worried and irritated her.

  ‘Boy, what a hulk!’ she thought. ‘I’m not surprised Mum took off! I wish I could.’

  He swung the teabags deftly from the cups to the sink and looked across at her. ‘What’re you dreaming about, Elly?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, with a twinge of guilt. They never talked about her mother, who, two years ago, had suddenly disappeared. Her absence left a great hole in Elaine’s life, like a spiked trap dug in the ground: for most of the time she could circle successfully around it, but occasionally she stumbled into it, to be impaled yet again.