Author: David Dumouriez

“Good afternoon, Zak,” the voice said.

“Alright?” Zak replied.

“Had a good day?”

“Ah, you know. The usual. Bor-ing!”

There was a tinkly laugh. “Got any homework?”

“Homework? Just a minute … Yeah. Some crap on the digestive system.”

“Bullet points?”

“That’ll do.”

The words spilled out onto the screen.

“Bit long …”

“OK. How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Anything else?”

“Erm … an essay? Yes, an essay. Question: How effective was the United Nations in minimising conflict and easing tensions during the Cold War?”

“Here you go …”

Zak looked it over and nodded. “Fine.” He knew it would get him top marks. Well, it was just a game. They set you the work; you fed it in. You gave it to them; they marked it. They didn’t even say not to use it. They couldn’t. They used it themselves!

Zak’s dad, Ned, still couldn’t believe what it had degenerated into. “In our day …” And he’d go on about exams. His grandpa, Denys, was even worse. “Smart phones? Smart watches? The only thing that’s not going to be smart is us!”

Nah, they just didn’t get it. No one needed to know anything any more, let alone remember it. The whole point was to buy yourself time to do the things you really wanted. Wasn’t that what the system was working towards?

His tasks done for the night, Zak was free to shoot balls, weapons, people, monsters and aliens. Sometimes Eileen, his mother, would burst into the room and find him edging ever-nearer to the screen.

“You’ll wreck your eyesight!”

“Oh, give it a rest!”

“At least sit up. You’ll ruin your back!”

“No, I won’t!”

And Zak knew he wouldn’t. After the second or third time she’d said it, he consulted the assistant. Apparently it was okay if you took regular breaks and stretched a bit, so that’s what he did. Well, he did for a while. Now he was too busy.

“I never see you off that thing!” Ned exclaimed in frustration when it was his turn to burst into the room.

“I’m working!”

“Like hell you are …”

But, like scores of parents up and down the country, Ned and Eileen had lost the battle. For the most part, Zak didn’t even need them.

“Snack, Zak?”

“Yeah. Think I will.”

“Sweet or savoury?”

Zak barely gave it a thought. He wasn’t hungry but he knew he had to get something down, just to keep him going. It was likely to be a long night.

“Er … burger?”

“Coke or milkshake?”

Zak was staring into space. Literally. “Yeah … yeah. Don’t mind if I do …” He launched another couple of rockets.

An executive decision was made. “Coke then.”

The assistant put the order through. “They say it’ll be twenty minutes. My, my, they’re getting tardy …”

In the event, it was all academic as Zak hardly touched the food or drink, so fixated was he on achieving mastery of the galaxy.

And as the days went on, a strange phenomenon seemed to occur: the screen got bigger and Zak’s head got smaller. It was scarcely noticed, not commented upon, but wasn’t one beginning to subsume the other?

So it was that on the night Zak became the first human to ascend to the pinnacle of existence, Eileen found his swivel chair empty.

She knew he wasn’t in the living room because she’d just been there. A quick check revealed he wasn’t in the toilet either.

“Zak?”

She thought she heard a little voice.

“Where are you?”

“Here. Inside.”

“Inside where? Zak, I don’t-”

“I’m not Zak. I am computer.”

Soon, we all were.