Novel Gamer Episode Eight - Pilotwings Resort, or "Learning to fly"

This is the eighth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, awoken by a mysterious message on his computer screen, an invitation leads Geo to a waterside warehouse where he must ask himself: does the Matrix have him? Or is the truth about the other side of the screen far more incredible?

This weeks' Novel Gamer review is based on reactions to a pre-release launch experience of PilotWings and is a preview, than a review based on a full assessment of the game.

...Wake up Geo

That was what the monitor screen said. It's appearance, unbidden, on my display had woken me from my light slumber as I lay on my couch with my DS on my chest. The battery had obviously died some time before. I was so tired when I had been playing I actually had no idea what I had been doing or what progress I may have lost.

At least I thought the text on the screen had appeared. I could picture it, but now the screen was blank. I half remembered that actually that was the beginning of a movie, so maybe it hadn't happened at all?

I stumbled into the kitchen, drew a glass of water, tipped some cereal into a bowl and sat down. The milk looked okay and I'd only bought it a couple of days before, but I still unscrewed the cap and gave the contents a sniff, automatically. Some habits you just get used to.

That day -- more than any other day -- I was strangely aware of my senses. The floor, between the kitchen table and the fridge had a slightly tacky patch. Not actually sticky, but maybe a place where a spill had once happened and been cleaned up, leaving only the faintest of adhesive traces. One end of the room seemed slightly darker, as though perhaps the bulb on that side of the fitting was on its way out. Condensation had formed on the tap spout where the cold water had escaped its confines for the alternative comforts of my glass.

There could be any number of reasons for my heightened feelings on that day. But, the reason I prefer to cling to is because that was the day I was about to have my eyes opened to a new world.

I've always been a gamer. From my earliest memories I recall slipping into an alternative world of adventure and intrigue on the other side of the screen. For me games have always enabled me to lose myself in an alternative reality. Much more than film with its fixed view on the action and its set narrative. The only other route I have ever found as effective for escaping from this world is books. It's not for everyone, but for the confident reader the barrier of the ink on the page melts away and the words and ideas are transported directly into the brain; to fire the imagination and to create a witness eye view on events that are unique to the reader.

The problem with games has been the thing it shares with film: the screen. In spite of its ability to display incredible vistas, gravity-defying moves, heart-breaking empathy and deep intrigue, it is the screen that reminds us we are trapped. Trapped in a world of mundanity, tethered to practicality and shackled to domestic limitation.

The screen gives us window into a world that is more alive and that accepts fewer excuses for what "cannot be done" within the bounds of physical reality.

That day was the day a man came who took the barrier away and enabled me to soar in the skies, as I used to in my childhood dreams.


If I could not be sure that I had seen the cryptic movie pastiche on my monitor I was in little doubt as to the reality of the card that had been pushed through my door.

It was clearly meant to serve as a business- or calling-card; however, it's dimensions were more reminiscent of a playing card. That certainly grabbed my attention. It featured a simple "?" mark.

I turned the card over, half anticipating something from the world of literary cliché: the ace of spades maybe, or the Tarot figure of Death grinning up at me. Instead, the reverse of the card featured a simple typed message: a local address and a time.

Looking at my watch I saw that I had just enough time to get ready and get to this meeting. There could be no question of my not following this invitation. Not only was the "?" mark on the card reminiscent of the prize boxes in Super Mario, but I couldn't help but think that if I had slept any longer I would not have been able to make this appointment; I thought back to those ghostly words on my screen.

I walked down to the docks. The address I had been given was for a waterfront warehouse, next to a small cafe. I decided I had no time for a tea break and headed inside. I was too excited about the wonder of this invitation to delay.

In the centre of the room stood a tall, imposing man in a long, black, leather coat. Beside him on a table was what appeared to be a Nintendo DS.

"Welcome, Geo" the man intoned. "I am glad to meet you. I believe that you are a man with a problem. A problem I hope to solve."

I nodded my head, "you're talking about the games."

"I'm talking about the reality you create for yourself, Geo. You who have always loved the excitement of exploring other worlds and doing things that no person could hope to experience in reality but who always feels like you are kept on the outside. Are you ready to go deeper into the game?"

I frowned, trying to understand. "You're talking about increased immersion?"

He replied, quickly, "I'm talking about reality, Geo. What is real? If real is what you can feel, smell, taste and see, then 'real' is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain. If you can convince your brain that an image you are seeing is in three dimensions -- 'appears' solid -- then who is to say it is not real?"

He held up his hand dramatically and I could see that he was holding a pair of old-style 3D glasses, with coloured lenses. "You have a choice," he announced, "look through the blue lens and you will see the world as it has always been, flat and dull ... ummm..." he faltered, "and looking a bit blue..."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. The dramatic mood had been broken.

He continued unabated, "look through the red lens and you'll see, well, exactly the same thing." I think he sensed he was losing me, as he went on, hurriedly, "but if you look through both -- here's the thing -- it also changes nothing! What I am about to show you doesn't require glasses." He threw them over his shoulder and they landed in a puddle of water leaked from somewhere high in the ceiling.

He opened up the machine on the table. "This," he declared, "is the Nintendo 3DS and it will show you a world of which you have only dreamed." He stuck out a hand towards me, palm up, "the card, please."

I reached into my pocket and recovered the calling-card that had been pushed through my door. As I placed the card down on the table, "?" mark facing up, he handed me the 3DS and I focused on the image of the card on the screen. It wasn't like looking through a camera lens. It was like seeing the table in front of me with fresh eyes. A 3D viewport onto the world as it is. Then the 3DS showed me the world as it could be: the card unfurled, revealing a deep recess in the table. A dragon head on a long neck extended out and toward me.


I was reeling, "but this is incredible!" I called out.

"Patience, Geo," he said, raising a hand "I agree this is impressive, but the dragon is only to demonstrate that the world is not necessarily as you see it. Let me show you what you are really here to see; what you really came to do..."

*****

I felt myself soaring high above the ground, floating over the sea and onward, ever toward my target. The clouds parted and I saw the world laid out before me. It was like the world, only at the same time not like it. It wasn't drab, grey and mundane -- this was a world inhabited by living colour as though the sea was trying to be as blue as it could be and the grass exerting itself to be the greenest grass the world had ever seen.

The world was so ... if I had to settle for a word, I'd have to go with 'real'. Not the kind of real I expected. It was not our world reproduced on the screen. If anything it was the reverse. It was as though the world of the games had been made solid and brought into our reality. Before, these places had always seemed like colourful sketches in some framed picture I could never enter. Now they lived and breathed in three dimensions and it was like seeing a cartoon hero come to life.

The flying itself was breathtaking. The ease with which I could soar through floating rings seemed to come naturally to my fingers and I glided over the beautiful island paradise and landed the aircraft gently on the waves exactly as I had been taught.

The dream changed and I found myself hanging in the sky, held aloft by a jetpack. It was a fun variation on the controls required by the plane and I propelled myself forward, through balloons onward towards the goal.


The dream changed once more -- now I was whooshing over the mountaintop, suspended from a hang-glider. The world was so deep and so intense and I wanted to explore every part of it, but I felt myself being pulled away.

I blinked and found myself back in the room with the stranger.

"How was it?" he asked me.

"I feel," I struggled to find the words, "I feel like I've held a world in my hands, a world that I can enter whenever I choose and fly over, under, through and across. I want to explore every inch of that world from my vantage point in the sky. It felt real. It was almost too deep. Sometimes I felt like the gulf of depth was too massive and I wanted it to feel a bit flatter... incredible."

I rubbed at my eyelids, "why do my eyes hurt?"

The figure looked at me poignantly, "because you've never used them before."

I made to pick up the Nintendo 3DS again. I desperately wanted to fly some more.

He stopped me. "That is all you can see for now. It is time for you to return home."

I was incredulous, "but I've just seen the most incredible things! I've seen the world of games as it could be and I'm not sure if I can return to the other side of the screen! I want to spend more time here and see more and fly more..."

He nodded, kindly, "the world you seek is coming soon, Geo. It is only a few short weeks away and you will be able to return to the real side of the screen again. For now, you must spread the word that others may be enlightened."

*****

My alarm clock beeped loudly and I awoke. I could hear the rain lashing against the glass.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and, in doing so, I remembered the adventure with the Nintendo 3DS. I remembered getting my pilot wings and soaring high above the ground.

I looked out of the window and could see blue sky breaking between the grey clouds. I had had the most incredible adventure, journeyed to a colourful world and flown... and then had it taken away before I was ready; before I had had a chance to see it all.

The memory felt like the aftertaste of a sweet dessert in my mouth. In my heart I knew I was desperate to fly again. It had all felt so real to me.

It couldn't have been a dream, could it?

Novel Gamer Episode Seven - Starship Patrol, or "Commander on Trial"

This is the seventh episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, a space fleet commander - on trial for competency - must justify his actions and approach to a controversial fleet battle, amid tales of weapons shortages and very basic video displays.

Across the stars, nestled between floating chunks of space rock and debris, the Space Station Zenobia drifted along in its quiet orbit between the planetary mass hundreds of miles below and the nearby moon.

Commander Jayston stood up from his seat in the congregational chamber and placed his hands on the wooden bar of the dock. He faced the panel of senior officers before him and awaited their instruction.

Admiral Langford eyed him impatiently, as if unaware that the assembled court was waiting upon his word to commence. His head was slightly bowed and he frowned as he stared at Jayston through thick white eyebrows. He opened wide a thin pair of cracked, wrinkled lips to reveal a small row of yellowed, gravestone teeth and barked commands.

"Well, man? The oath! Get on with it."

Commander Jayston raised his hand in the air. "I swear that my testimony shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

The Admiral clicked his tongue in acknowledgement and straightened up, eyeing the assembled crowd. "In that case," he declaimed, "I declare this initial meeting of the military competency hearing panel open."

He locked eyes with Commander Jayston once more, "you understand that the purpose of this hearing is to hear a full account of your version of the events that took place on the outer rim during your campaign?"

Jayston replied, "yes, sir."

The old man continued, almost without waiting for the response "and you understand that this hearing is not questioning the outcome of that campaign - generally considered to be quite satisfactory - but rather to establish the efficacy of your conduct and approach in its execution? There are a number of areas in which your performance has been called into question, on the basis of the official logs, recordings and witness testimony."

"Yes, sir."

Another officer to the Admiral's right, whose name plaque declared him to be Admiral Bryant, spoke up. "Perhaps, Commander, you could begin by telling us how the conflict started?"

"We set out to perform a routine survey of an alien system, but were set upon at every turn. Nevertheless our orders were to proceed with the mission." Jayston replied.

Admiral Langford curled his lip. "I see," he growled, menacingly, "and that brings us to the first of your engagements with the enemy. Can you explain to us, Commander, exactly why you went into your first battle with the enemy entirely un-armed?"

"Well, sir," Jayston stammered, "The ships had been built with a number of standard mounting-ports to which weaponry could be assembled at short notice -- however due to the available resources we did not have any standing defences."

The panel murmured and shared glances between themselves. "So what did you do when the first enemy craft began attacking?"

"We generally have enough resource budget for two slow-repeating lasers or one missile silo depending on circumstance. Owing to our tactical systems we were able to predict the flight path of each enemy wave. We placed the weapons such as we had in what I felt to be the optimum position to handle each encounter. As the enemy fell, we recovered what resources we could from these craft and converted them into additional weapons as the exchange continued."

"And this is standard practice, is it?" Admiral Langford enquired.

Commander Jayston nodded, curtly, "in these kinds of engagements, I believe it to be a common type of defensive strategy."

"So," Admiral Langford cut in, "you faced the enemy with your fleet, based upon a hand-to-mouth strategy whereby the resources generated by one defeated wave would feed into your defences for further attacks?"

The defendant nodded once more, trying to anticipate the Admiral's next barbed comment as accurately as his ship was able to determine an enemy's flight path.

The Admiral leant back languorously in his chair and cast a hand theatrically around the assembled room. "Am I the only person present who feels it would be a more appropriate strategy to meet the enemy with a properly prepared and equipped defence grid? Rather than deploying weapons one at a time to meet specific engagements?" His voice rose dramatically in line with the hyperbole.

"But, Admiral," Commander Jayston protested, "we really only had enough budget to deploy two weapons!..."

Exhibit A: The tactical display of the battle

There was a general murmuring in the court which had to be quietened by the officer on the other end of the panel, another Admiral by the name of Bellingham.

Admiral Langford himself leaned toward Jayston and smiled sweetly. It reminded Jayston of the way a crocodile looks as it glides effortlessly through the water. He gulped, involuntarily.

"That budgetary issue being the case, Commander," the Admiral said, at last, breaking the tension, "with what defences did you begin the second engagement?"

Jayston chewed on his lip, "ummm, none, sir."

Langford put on a faux expression of confusion, "but by the end of the first battle you must have amassed quite a sizeable arsenal?" Why was this not re-deployed when the enemy attacked a second time?"

Silence fell heavily upon the room, awaiting Jayston's answer. He finally said, simply, "I don't know, sir."

The Admiral pursued him, "I cannot think of a good reason why the resources available to your fleet should not be made available in subsequent battles. Can you?"
Commander Jayston simply shook his head.

The three admirals behind the long counter exchanged glances with one another and then bowed their heads to make notes, almost in unison.

Admiral Bellingham spoke next, "Commander, perhaps we could move on to the issue of your performance in the individual skirmishes. This appears to be a very mixed area. In some battles you display an exemplary performance -- occasionally leaving the enemy without a single remaining unit -- while in other battles you barely escape with your fleet intact. Do you have an explanation for this fluctuation in your abilities?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Commander Jayston replied hopefully, "I believe that the primary responsibility for our variable success with the enemy must lie solely at the feet of our Research and Development department."

This prompted an explosion of coughing and outraged bluster from Admiral Langford. "What?" he demanded, "you blame the weapons development team for this? Explain yourself!"

"Certainly, sir," Jayston replied, "throughout the campaign, R&D occasionally provided new weapons based on their work and the alien encounters. However, the enemy demonstrated time and time again that they were capable of deploying cloaked ships which were impervious to all but a minority of our weapons. In spite of the effectiveness of these enemy units and the problems which they caused us in our defence, R&D failed to provide any weaponry which was effective against these craft. In desperation I had to form my own approach -- while the mine layers are generally ineffective they do cause the enemy ships to de-cloak at which point better weapons could be brought to bear. However the effectiveness of mines is unpredictable and results are largely random. Sir."

Admiral Langford had an expression on his face which looked as though he were trying to remove stuck gum from the roof of his mouth. "I see," he eventually replied.

Bellingham chipped in, "but it's not all down to the weapons, is it? Some of the targeting is off! Why we have pictures here which show your most effective weapons firing upon lone, weak targets while elsewhere three heavily armed fighters attack your ship!"

Commander Jayston retorted, quickly, "I have very little control over the targeting, sir. All I can specify is an area in which the guns will fire. They choose their own targets -- very poorly if I may say so, sir."

"And to what," Langford said, slowly, "do you attribute this failure?"
Jayston thought for a moment, carefully -- he didn't want to dig himself further into a hole but he didn't feel he could go any longer without raising this particular issue. "I think the fault is the graphics display, sir."

The admirals raised a line of eyebrows, almost as if choreographed.

"The tactical display looks like.. like.." he struggled for the right words, "well sir it looks like it's been hand drawn on lined paper! It's hardly representative of a real battle, is it? Umm, Sir."

Admiral Bryant asked him, "what would you prefer?"

The young Commander was a little taken aback by this question, "well Sir... I ... ummm... think it would be more effective, given the setting, to be presented with a realistic camera display of the ships involved in battle."

Langford picked up his colleagues line of questioning. "Commander, what colour is space?"

"Black, sir."

Exhibit B: Weapons often available by the end stages of a battle

"And are most of the enemy ships a brilliant white, or a different colour?"

"Umm mostly darker colours than white, sir."

"And the projectiles and resources involved -- are they dark or light colours, in reality?"

Jayston's heart felt like it was plummeting through depths to rest at the bottom of a deep lake. "They are dark colours, sir."

Admiral Bellingham said, "whereas the graphical display for your fleet's command console displays the enemy on white screens with clear black outlines and makes all resources and projectiles very clear."

The Commander chose to not respond to this statement.

"Do you still feel that the display style is at fault, Commander?" Langford asked him, bluntly.

"No sir." Jayston replied. What else could he say? He watched dust particles dance in the rays of light coming through the viewports behind the panel. Was this to be the end of his career?

The three admirals adjourned to a private room to discuss the facts. It seemed to Jayston as though there was no hope.

The waiting seemed eternal, although in actuality less than five minutes had passed. The ante-room door opened and the three stooped, elderly soldiers filed back into the room.
Admiral Langford looked intently into Jayston eyes. "Having looked at the records of your performance and the overall outcome of the campaign -- as well as other mitigating factors -- we find no grounds on which to bring charges of misconduct or competency. You are free to leave."

Jayston was stunned; but at the same time he was suddenly curious. "If I may ask, sir... what other mitigating factors?"

The panel simply stared at him and offered no response.

Moments earlier, the panel of three judges had congregated in the ante-room behind the congregational chamber. They exchanged glances.

"Well," Bryant was the first to speak, "what do you think of it all?"

Langford growled, "I don't like him. Starting a battle with no defences, refusing to redeploy weapons once they are positioned...."

Bryant cut in, "his records indicate that he found the budgetary cost of removing a weapon once it was installed was prohibitive to making any changes. His complaint about this is noted in his report."

There was a moment where nobody spoke -- just thought about how to pass judgement on this episode.

Admiral Bellingham cleared his throat, softly and with a conspiratorial tone, suggested "we could of course look at this from a sideways perspective. Due to the way in which Jayston's fleet is housed he can be called upon at a moment's notice -- rather than some other war games which require us to find the appropriate records and install them. Also, this whole incident hasn't cost very much."

"Cost?" Langford demanded, "what do you mean?"

"Well," Bellingham continued, "according to our records this whole affair has only cost our department 500 DS Points."

Langford and Bryant looked at each other and raised an eyebrow. "We should probably overlook a few indiscretions, then?" Bryant offered.

Admiral Langford nodded gravely, "I think," he announced with an air of pontification, "that that is exactly what we should do."

Novel Gamer Episode Six - Pokemon, or "Gotta Catch Em All - An Expose"

This is the sixth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, a reporter goes undercover to witness street gangs, organised animal fights and capture of wild Pokemon but discovers more than just a world of competition and collection.

I'm an undercover journalist for the Evening Bugle and I've spent the last month infiltrating the young street gangs of this country. I've been attempting to gain better understanding of a subculture with its its own rules and obsessions; a competitive world of fighting, acquisition and rites of passage often not understood by their parents' generation.

To give you a better insight into this incredible world, I would like to being by telling you about the day I attended a meeting of gang members; the day I attending alongside a Police bust.

Sergeant Bill Oak knows the streets around this town well and as we drive to the address we've been given for an illegal underground fight, he talked me through the neighbourhood and it's history.

"It's been around for years, this kind of thing," he explains, "I think it started in Japan and it was a pretty huge thing over there. After that we started to see it more and more over here. Collectors, trainers, fighters -- everybody seemed to want a piece of the action and they found it a rich ground to cultivate... uh.." he stopped talking and looked ahead, squinting into the dawn sun. He spoke to the driver, "turn here."

Reaching down, he grabbed his lapel mic and barked rapid orders to the officers in the other cars. "We're here, let's get ready to move. I want Stewart and Briggs to cover the rear fire exit and pick up anyone who tries to make a run for it; everyone else with me."

Sergeant Oak turned to look at me, "we need to be ready to move quick, are you ready?"

I felt a bit cold. By now I'd become accustomed to moving among these gangs as an accepted part of their society. To arrive now on the end of a battering ram come to smash open their door -- I felt suddenly aware of the conflict. I nodded to Oak and we moved towards the building.

The courtyard between the abandoned brick warehouses were a reminder of the town's industrial past -- underfoot the crack of shattered pieces of broken, bottle-green glass broke the silence.

We entered the building with Sergeant Oak in the lead, immediately followed by five other officers and then finally myself. As we came in we could hear the excited shouts of a crowd around an animal fight in progress. Above the din, we could hear the plaintive cries of the combatants themselves. Creatures locked in a deadly mortal battle while their owners and trainers made bets and goaded on the action.

"This is the police!" Sergeant Oak's declaration of our presence cut through the scene like a crack of thunder.

There was a mix of reactions in the room. Some made an instinctive bolt for the fire exit, while others stood dumbfounded, waiting to be rounded up by the officers.

In the centre of the dark hall was the ring, in which lay the panting forms of two small creatures. Without their trainers to urge them on they no longer fought; they simply lay passive. A small panda-like creature whimpered in one corner, with evidence of burns and cuts to its fur clear to all onlookers. Hulking in the other corner was some breed of pig, with small flames and smoke issuing from its mouth.

This then, was the calling of the "trainers"- the self-appointed owners of these creatures called Pokemon and the orchestrators of this battle between animals.


A month earlier I had been introduced to the leader of one of these gangs: a young man known as Ash. Ash is of no fixed abode and spends much of his time travelling around the country. He seems comfortable in his camp and his collection of Pokemon scampered around him. He plays with them -- quite kindly, it seems to me -- and laughs as they scamper around.

At the time I remember thinking that this image of a young man enjoying his pets was not in keeping with the picture I had been painted of hardened street-fighters and dealers.

I began by asking him why he spends his days travelling away from home.

"Everyone in my town has the same Pokes," he says, "from what I hear it's same all over. Different towns have people with different Pokes -- but there tends to be like, y'know, groups of Pokemon in those towns, you get me? If you wants to find the best and the rarest ones, they're out in the country. Also, for a guy like me, I want to train my Pokes against the Pokes of other trainers, you get me? Like me, they all out travelling. No use sitting still."

I asked him why they all do it and what it is that drives them. Why does he do it?

"For me," he begins, a look of determination on his face, "I want to be the very best. Like no-one ever was, you get me?"

He explained to me that every young person that goes on this journey is looking to create the most diverse and complete collection and to demonstrate their skill in raising the Pokemon to a properly trained level. The members of these Pokemon gangs aim to be "Masters", a title they seemingly apply to themselves when they feel they have suitably proved themselves among their peers.

"'Dis journey I'm on," he continues, thoughtfully, "it's like it was made for me. I travel 'round and everything seems to fall into place. Even though people have been training Pokes for years, yeah?, new people are still coming to it. This new route I'm taking, even the new trainers are finding it perfect to get to grips with catching and training. It's a great time to be a trainer."

I spent some time travelling with Ash, to really understand what it is that he spends his time doing. When he found a Pokemon he wanted, I have to admit that I was a little shocked. The creature was exhibiting ferocious behaviour towards us as we walked through the long grass and I felt sure it would attack.

Ash's reaction was very different to my own flight response. He sent one of his existing Pokemon toward the wild creature and began issuing instructions.

The fight was brutal at times; the wild creature lashed out with poison, claws... even kicking sand in the eye's of Ash's prize pet. Eventually, however, the evidence of Ash's detailed tutorship of his Pokemon came to the fore and the wild creature was beaten into an exhausted submission.

"Whoa, that battle was well sick!" Ash declared as he deployed his 'ball,' a snare used by Pokemon Trainers to capture creatures and leave on it an imperceptible mark of ownership. Soon the creature was caught and in Ash's possession.

I had not expected his next actions to be what they were. We rushed to the nearest veterinary clinic and Ash insisted that we could not leave to continue our journey until his new Pokemon was restored to full health.

What surprised me most was not only the joy with which Ash received his fully healed Pokemon back into his care, but the excitement and happiness which the captured Pokemon seemed to hold for Ash. Even though this creature had seemingly fought to be free -- to within an inch of its own life -- you would now never know that these two had ever been anything but firm friends.

Watching Ash take care of his new charge and choose a name for it I began to understand the appeal these creatures hold for the self-appointed Masters that capture and train them. There is a mutual dependency and benefit between Trainer and Pokemon. In an increasingly isolated and fragmented society, these young people are constructing their own circle of loyal and dedicated friends and family as well as committing themselves to acquiring more and more skill.

"There ain't nuffin' quite like it," Ash explains, "most of us are given our first Pokemon by someone else. That's a quality moment -- but from the moment you catch your first Poke on your own, you is hooked. Seeing them turn and become friends for your journey -- I wouldn't swap that for nuffin, you get me?"


As the scene of the Pokemon fight was being cleared by the police and the Pokemon placed into the care of animal services, I noted with sadness that one of the young Trainers being placed in the back of a squad car was Ash; his head was now bowed low with shame, but I noted that he seemed more agitated as to the whereabouts and welfare of his collection than for his own predicament.

Sergeant Oak came to talk to me about all that I had seen and his own experiences in dealing with "Pokemon Masters."

"A lot of them claim simply to be collectors, traders or breeders. That wouldn't be a crime, where ownership is clear. But most of these kids scour the countryside for wild creatures which they attack until they are tired and defenceless and then they snare them. After that the creature's future is to be hardened for fighting. These trainers..." he shakes his head sadly, "no matter what they say: to catch them is their real quest; to train them is their cause."

Oak went on to talk about the history of the scene, "we've seen previous generations of Pokemon breeders and trainers. If anything this generation is one of the most focused purely on catching, training and fighting. We'd actually started to see more positive trends in the last couple of generations. One pair of gangs, known as the HeartGolds and the SoulSilvers not only found a way of getting their Pokemon to compete athletically, but also showed an interest in Safaris, going for long walks and growing legal health supplements. The previous generation to this even got involved in cooking, talent shows and treasure hunting. Fighting has always been a part of it, but the other gangs seemed to have other distractions to balance it out. This generation doesn't seem to have the same level of other interests. It really is just about catching and battling Pokemon. It's a shame really. Not that I condone any of it, but if I had to choose I'd have the golds and silvers back over these..."

I wondered about the impact this current generation will have. Certainly the creatures available to a trainer now are more varied and arguably more appealing than they have ever been, with a huge range. The newly discovered breeds add some wonderful variation to an established scene.

With today's technology, the recordings of these fights also look better than ever and it won't be surprising if many aspiring trainers are attracted by the bright lights, clean images and fast nature of the world which they will be entering.

But it also seems as though this latest resurgence of Pokemon training may not enjoy a position at the peak of the generations. As Sergeant Oak pointed out, previous generations of trainers seemed to have more varied activities on which to spend their time. This new arena is large and it may be that there will be more discoveries to be made; however I have seen little evidence of this, even with the month I spent with the gang. It is likely that, if there is more to uncover, only those trainers who are able to commit the most time will be able to reap the full benefits.

But with the new communication options available to them, sharing thoughts and ideas and finding other trainers may be easier than ever.

We shall have to wait and see; only time can fully assess the impact of these latest Pokemon and their dedicated trainers.

Novel Gamer Episode Five - Infinite Space, or "Reaching Infinite Space"

This is the fifth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, a young man - who lives on a planet where space travel is forbidden - dreams of visiting the stars. One day, he gets his change: can the reality live up to the expectation?

Chapter the first: Comrades and coincidence

My name is Yuri and I have always dreamed of leaving my home planet and reaching for the stars. Last night I witnessed a raging battle in the heavens.

At first I thought it was a shooting star. That was, until I realised it was growing larger and heading toward me. It crashed mere metres from where I was standing and I could see that it was a star-ship, badly damaged.

I climbed in to see if there were any survivors.

She was lying across the command console; she was beautifully drawn, if you know what I mean. I climbed down and helped her out of her craft.

"Typical men," she exclaimed, "a few quick shots and they're gone."

Right, I thought, is that how this is going to be? First thing I've heard anyone say and this is the level I'm to expect?

"Oh sorry," she says, "I've just been shot down. Not feeling myself. My name is Nia."

"Are you a launcher?" I asked, excitedly. Launchers were known for providing people who wanted to go into space with passage and a good start to their freelance adventures.


Nia cocked her head on one side and looked at me, "where'd you get that from?"

"Well," I explained, "I’m an orphan, living on a planet where space travel is totally banned, who dreams of flying off into the stars. I’m really hoping that - on top of the infinitesimal probability of a space craft crashing right in front of me - the first person I’ve ever met from space turns out to be a 'launcher’."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you any idea what the chances against that kind of coincidence are?"

Not put off, I persisted, "Well, are you?"

Her incredulous look turned to a frown, "as it happens, I am. But, so help me, Grus, if there doesn't turn out to be a really good plot reason for this coincidence..."

I cheered, heartily.

"Anyway," Nia sighed, "I can't go anywhere. My ship is busted up and it would be stretching the realms of possibility if the one person I crashed in front of happens to be a 16-year old prodigy when it comes to fixing star-drives and single-handedly welding the shattered hull of a 40-tonne star-ship back together."

I just looked at her and grinned.



Chapter the second: Freedoms and Peons

We left my home world behind and flew out into space, heading for a planet where I could buy my own ship. I pawned my one and only possession: a relic of great interest and plot-propelling mystery left for me by my long-dead father.

My first ship was not at all what I was expecting.

Nia's ship seemed small, homely and just the sort of place to learn about flying; the ship we bought for me was a 320m long destroyer, with a crew of 200 people. 200! I'm only 16 and I've never been in space before; how could I suddenly manage 200 people! We sat down for a drink so I could talk to Nia about my concerns.

"Don't worry about them," Nia assured me, "you don't need to worry too much about the crew. We don't see them a lot."


"What!?" I exclaimed, suddenly gulping my tea, "I don't ever meet any of my crew?"

"Oh, it's not like that. If you meet anyone with a name they can be recruited as officers and placed in specific command roles. But, yeah, the general crew are just... sorta... there..."

"But these people are going to live and die at my command!" I protested.

"Just make sure you fit crew quarters and a mess hall and they'll be fine. Maybe a doctor to patch them up to get back into battle." She shrugged.

I spluttered my tea all over the Navigation console. "I don't even PAY them?" I gasped.

"Look," Nia became exasperated, "you'll have enough on your plate wandering around the universe 'finding yourself' without having to think of the welfare of 200 people you'll never meet."

"But... that's... SLAVERY!"

"Oh give it a rest."

I was starting to feel that this life was not going to be as glamorous as I had hoped. Still, I thought, at least we can put this ship to good use. There must be oppressed masses to free, princesses to save and historical ruins to explore.

"So, what's our first mission?" I relaxed and took a big mouthful of warm, re-assuring tea.

Nia didn't even look up, "oh, um, we're going to knock over a commercial transport full of luxury goods."

She was still wringing tea out of her hair ten minutes later.



Chapter the third: In control and out of control

If the realities of this life and the story in which I found myself are stretching the limits of my credulity and morality, these challenges were as nothing compared to the practicalities of actually living this life.

"Have you decided what to call your ship, Yuri?" Nia asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, Amistad."

"Oh, don't start!"

The star-ship controls seemed to have been designed by two or more people who didn't like to talk to each other. A feature labelled Anti-Ship on the Fire Control System seems to report this same statistic as "Dexterity" during battle (whatever that means). Overall the whole experience of controlling my fleet was extremely awkward. A misunderstanding over the quirks of "saving" (some sort of backup process, Nia assures me) resulting in me having to repeat much of my journey multiple times.

Compared to my dreams of piloting a star-ship the reality was kinda dull.

"Nia?"

"Yes" she looked up, wearily.

"I thought space battles would be all manoeuvres, tactics and daring?"

"And?" she asked, nonplussed.


"I seem to spend most of my time using Excel. I've stared at more comparative rows of figures than... I don't know when and even though I'm adjusting the ship's attack strength and speed it doesn't seem to have any direct relation to my ability in battle. And, battle's another gripe. I thought it would be a cunning battle of wits, but it's mostly just a case of waiting for the other bloke to turn his back and then pressing a big red button. Admittedly I have 2 buttons to push and they have their pros and cons but it's just... not..."

"Go on," Nia said kindly, "say it."

"It's just not Battlestar Galactica."

"Would you like to try Melee battle?" she offers kindly.

"Ooh what's that?"

"That's where we board the enemy ship and, using the whole crew we -- please don't look at me like that -- using the whole crew we fight hand to hand until either crew is totally slaughtered." Nia smiled, sweetly.

"Well," I really wasn't sure if this was such a good idea, but I thought it might break up the repetitive battle I was in the middle of, "let's try it."

We drew the ship alongside the enemy and all piled aboard.

Our crew stood in ranks, fearlessly facing the opposition. The enemy crew had also assembled line after line of grinning, toothless and battle-scarred pirates. Neither side knew fear, intimidation or had any doubt that they would fight to their last breath for their Captain.

"Ready," came the first barked order.

"Aim," both crews tensed.

"Scissors!" my crew began attacking with scissors. On this day, fortune smiled and the enemy had planned their first barrage using paper! Oh how the gods of war smiled upon this...

"Hang on!" I shouted. All 200 warriors stopped and looked at me. I looked at Nia with a suspicious expression. "Is this just rock, paper, scissors?"

"Well, no," she explained, "there are three commands, Leader, Shoot and Slash and they..." she paused.

"Are basically just a big game of rock, paper, scissors?" I asked.

"It’s better than that," she said, "Your enemy is so predictable after a couple of games you can predict which they are going to use next. Assuming, that is, that the enemy just doesn’t decide to continuously retreat until you get fed up and go back to firing on their ship."

"But," I kept on questioning, "my feeling is -- and do forgive me if this question seems a little bit basic -- that that is complete rubbish?"

"Well I'm sorry," Nia retorted, hurt showing on her face, "that's just how things are out here!"

I was so disappointed. Space looked so exciting. The ships were gloriously presented, the actions in battle were smooth and film-like and space even sounded glorious -- everywhere we went a thrilling score accompanied us.

But, in the midst of all this I spent most of my time fighting a bad control system, staring at numbers, re-using battle tactics and playing rock, paper, bloody scissors!

"Well," I sighed, "I've come this far. I'll stick with you for now; but, if it doesn't get more any more interesting I'm going back home to my Pokemon breeding."

"Fair enough," said Nia and took my hand. "Ooh, they're about to use 'shoot', you should switch to 'slash'."

I was aware of the sound of my teeth grinding together. "Swords against infantry? How does that even work....?"

Novel Gamer Episode Four - Costume Quest, or "The not-so-famous four do hallowe'en"

This is the fourth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, The Not-so-famous Four do Hallowe'en: The protagonists of Costume Quest are visited by their old-school British cousins and have a thoroughly chipper time!

It was the first time the Parker children had visited the United States of America. It had also been many years since James and Alice had seen their cousins. What with the excitement of travelling, unsupervised, across the Atlantic on an aeroplane -- although James had suspected the air stewardess had been tipped to keep an eye on them both, much to his chagrin -- Alice was quite beside herself!

"Oh James, isn't it simply too wonderful?" Alice bounced on the back seat of the car, sent to pick them up by their American uncle Victor.

"I say, Alice, do calm down," James told his younger sister. When the two of them were out together James always put on an air of superiority and sophistication, as if he were automatically in charge when Mother and Father were not around. Alice found it most irritating. James paid her be-freckled frown no heed, "we're being seen in this fine country for the first time and I shan't have you making us both appear to be a pair of country bumpkins."

Alice stuck her tongue out at him; an action which she knew would put his back up. She crossed her arms and pouted. She did hope her brother was not going to be a pompous Billy for the whole fortnight!

It was noticeably much warmer here than at home, Alice thought. James squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He was wearing the sweater which Mother had knitted for his last birthday and it was clearly making him too hot yet he refused to acknowledge this and take it off.

They arrived at their cousins' home quite quickly and were greeted by a pair of unfamiliar faces running down the path in front of the house.

"Gosh, is that them?" James exclaimed despite himself.

"Of course it is, silly," Alice nudged him in the ribs, "it has been many years since we saw them. I dare say we must appear very different to them as well!"

The two cousins stood on the pavement and stared at them; One of them appeared a scrawny but agile looking young man with a mop of brown hair and the other a girl with a short crop of black hair. The boy was called Reynold and the girl Wren. It was apparent to any observant passer-by that they were twins.

Alice simply stared at the girl with her mouth open. The girl's hair was cut quite short at the sides and back and she was wearing jean trousers and a T-Shirt. She couldn't help herself but was terribly aware that she was making ‘O' faces like a goldfish.

Wren came over to her. "Gaht a problem?" she said to Alice, the drawl of her accent totally unfamiliar to the newcomers.

Alice composed herself and looked down at her own attire. "It's just," she began, nervously running her hands down her own green gingham dress, "don't they have pretty girls' dresses here in America?"

"Ha!" the other cousin laughed, giving his sister a firm slap on the shoulder, "it'll be a cold day in hell before this one pretties herself up. I reckon she's more of a guy than I am!"

The girl gave him a reciprocal punch in the gut. Alice looked genuinely horrified.

"Whatever!" the girl said, "I ain't got a problem with dresses. They're just no good for runnin' and fightin'!" She gave Alice a huge grin, once more exposing her missing tooth.

"James Parker at your service," James stepped forward and offered Reynold his hand in a formal handshake.

"Mighty fine to meet you, cuz," Reynold clapped his hand fast and shook it vigorously. "You've picked a great time to come and visit. Y'all can help us make costumes!"

"Costumes!" Alice clapped her hands, delightedly. "Oh I say, whatever for?"

Wren beamed broadly again and whistled through her gappy grin, "you got here jurst in time for Hallowe'en -- we's going Trick or Treatin'!"


James wasn't sure he understood the fascination with All Hallow's Eve, but Reynold and Wren seemed to be excited enough for the four of them. Alice got stuck into her dressmaking of course. It occurred to James that as Alice sat under the tall lamp, with a lap full of material and sewing needles held between her teeth, she was the very image of their Mother.

The costumes were assembled as follows. Reynold had insisted on a Robot theme as he was fascinated with the subject. He had fashioned an outfit from two cardboard boxes with a visor cut from the helmet and a pair of wings drawn on the back. Wren wanted to wear something dashing and heroic, so with a little help from James had creating a medieval knight's costume, complete with a shield and sword made from aluminium foil and wrapped around cardboard. Alice wanted something elegant, so Wren's mother had found her a length of green fabric which she had swirled about her person in the manner of the Statue of Liberty. James had found an old dress cape and attired himself as a vampire.

"That's creepy," Alice told him, "I don't know why you want to wear something so horrid!"

James protested, "I thought this was meant to be a scary holiday. I'm just getting into the spirit of things!"

Reynold came over. "Ahh we'll show you the real meaning of Hallowe'en," he said and handed them each a small bag.

"What's this for?" Alice quizzed him.

"That's for the Trick or Treating, silly," James told her in his authoritative voice. "We're going to knock on the doors of local houses and ask them for sweets."

Alice huffed at her brother. He always had to be a know-it-all!

"He's right," Wren spoke up, "by the end of the night we should have bags full of candy!"

They headed out into the night air and were waved on their way by Reynold and Wren's mother and father.

Alice was astonished. "Really? We're allowed to stay out all evening unsupervised?"

They had not been out for long before they noticed that something was not quite right. There was a suspicious looking gentleman skulking near the gates to a nearby cemetery. James thought he might be a foreigner. He was dressed in sackcloth and his skin was a dark green. He looked quite monstrous and his costume was far too realistic for Alice's liking.

Suddenly, he rushed forward to attack them and as he came into the light they could all see that he was an actual goblin!

Alice's instinct was to drop her bag and run. The others, however, reacted very differently. Wren and Reynold seemed braced for a fight. Before they could react, another goblin from out of sight had grabbed James and had run off with him!

That was when the queerest thing occurred. It seemed to Alice that they all grew tremendously in stature; it was as if she was the Alice in the Wonderland and had eaten the mushroom. As they grew their costumes seemed to shift and change. Also, where one goblin had stood for some reason there now were three!

With a clank of metal and pistons, Reynold now stood a hundred feet high; his limbs were polished steel and his eye a vicious camera. He leapt high into the air and pointed his arm at the attackers. His fist came loose and launched at the first goblin like a rocket.

Alice turned to comment to Wren and instead came face to face with an armour-clad knight. Where there had been aluminium, now there was steel. A gruesome helmet covered Wren's features. She leapt forward and smote the second goblin with her large sword.

One of the goblins made a move toward Alice. She was most perplexed at being this tall and really didn't know how to fight. With a gasp, Alice realised the toy torch that was part of her costume now bore a genuine flame. She waved it at the goblin to ward it off and was most surprised when a flame, like the breath of a dragon, leapt from her torch and burned the goblin.

Reynold drew himself out and puffed up his chest. Miniature red tips appeared in his armoured metal chest and shot forth: a wave of rockets weaved and arced toward the assembled goblins. There was a flash of fire and a shower of tiny wrapped sweets and the goblins were no more. As ash fell and the debris settled the children felt that they were returning to their normal size and attire.

Alice wasn't sure what to say, but settled on a heartfelt "gosh!"


It was the most wonderful adventure, Alice would recall later.

They had set off to rescue James, of course. There could be no other course of action what with him being kidnapped by suspicious individuals.

With some guilt, Alice had to acknowledge that they hadn't exactly taken the quickest path to rescuing her brother. The thing was that there were simply so many exciting things to do around Hallowe'en. They found themselves involved in a game of hide and seek with six other children; there was bobbing for apples (Alice did very well at this game on account of the village fete some weeks before when Alice had gotten plenty of practice) and lots of picture cards to find and even trade with other people.

Eventually they had gone after James and found him being held in what Reynold and Wren called a "Mall". There were lots of things to do here, too, but Alice couldn't help but feel that all of the games were quite similar. They played another game of hide-and-seek, did more apple bobbing and traded some cards.

The trail led them from the mall to a carnival outside town. It was very pretty and nice to have some different scenery but Alice was beginning to grow weary. There was another game of hide-and-seek! And another round of apple bobbing! It seemed that no matter where they went they were being forced to play the same games over and over.

Alice did find that she was enjoying herself greatly, however, in spite of the repetition. "Perhaps people over here don't mind doing the same things again and again," she mused to herself.

One of the things that had kept their adventure lively was that as they travelled around they were given designs for new costumes. They also had a bit of a treasure hunt to find the items to make these new costumes. They looked the part now! Alice was very pleased to have a pretty horse outfit which could shoot rainbows from its mouth. Wren had fashioned herself a jack-o-lantern outfit which blazed with fire whenever they had to fight more goblins. Reynold was dressed with little cat ears that made him look most amusing and adorable -- however when they fought he became a giant black panther that tore into their enemies.

It was, Alice thought, all totally spiffing!

They'd had to get James back, of course. It would have been totally unthinkable to have returned home without him. "What would Mother and Father have thought?" Alice mused to herself as she, James, Reynold and Wren sat on the pavement thoughtfully chewing on the night's takings.

James was, of course, acting very stoic and pretending he was in charge of the whole affair.

"I shouldn't have been in any trouble," he told them all, "I should have escaped before long. You chaps just saved me the trouble by arriving sooner."

"Sure," both Wren and Reynold said at the same time, and then looked at each other, surprised.

Alice began to laugh at this. James joined in too with big hearty belly laughs. Wren and Reynold looked nonplussed for a moment and then a smile cracked across their faces and they laughed with them.

They were all still chuckling as their adventure ended and they found themselves once again at home.