The four ships lumbered on towards the distant fleet. Johnny’s starship could easily outdistance the tankers, so he flew in wide circles around them, watching the radar screen.

There was an occasional zip and sizzle from Wobbler’s tanker. He was trying to take its computer apart, just in case there were any design innovations Johnny might remember when he woke up.

Ships appeared on the screen. There was the big dot of the fleet and, around the edges of the screen, the green dots of the game players.

A thought occurred to him.

‘Yo-less?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Have those things got any guns on?’

‘Er . . what do they look like?’

‘There’s probably a red button on the joystick.’

‘Not got one on mine.’

‘What about you, Wobbler? Bigmac?’

‘Nope.’

‘Which one’s the joystick?’ said Bigmac.

‘It’s the thing you’re steering with.’

‘Yeah, wipe the mustard off and have a look,’ said Yo-less.

‘Nothing on it,’ said Bigmac.

Unarmed, thought Johnny. And slow. One hit with a missile and Wobbler is sitting inside the biggest cheese in the universe. What happens to people in my dream?

Why does it always go wrong?

‘I’ll just go on ahead,’ he said, and pressed the Fast button.

There were three players attacking the ScreeWee fleet. It soon became two; Johnny had one in his sights all the way in, curving away through the smoke-ring of the explosion and heading for the next attacker so fast that he was only just behind his own missile.

It was going after the Captain’s ship, and the player wasn’t paying attention to his radar. Another explosion, already behind Johnny as he looked for the third player.

Johnny realized he wasn’t thinking about it. His eyes and hands were doing all the work. He was just watching from inside.

The third player had spotted the tankers. It saw him, turned and actually managed to get some shots away.

Oh, no. Johnny’s mind whirred like a machine, judging speed and distance . . .

He felt the ship buck under him, but he held it steady until the crosshairs merged.

Then he pressed his thumb down until a beeping sound told him he hadn’t got anything more to fire.

After a while the red mist cleared. He found thoughts slinking back into his mind again. They moved slowly, uncertain of where they were, like people drifting back into a bombed city, picking through rubble, trying to find the old familiar shapes.

There was a metallic taste in his mouth. His elbow ached – he must have banged it on something during the turn.

He thought: No wonder we make rules. The Captain thinks it’s strange, but we don’t. We know what we’d be like if we didn’t have rules.

A light flashed by the communication screen. Someone wanted to talk to him. He flicked a switch.

The face of the Captain appeared.

‘Ah, Johnny. What an efficient technique.’

‘Yes. But I had to—’

‘Of course. And I see you have brought some friends.’