Basically, there were two sides to the world. There was the entire computer games software industry engaged in a tremendous effort to stamp out piracy, and there was Wobbler. Currently, Wobbler was in front.

‘Did you do my History?’ said Wobbler.

‘Here,’ said Johnny. ‘ “What it was like to be a peasant during the English Civil War.” Three pages.’

‘Thanks,’ said Wobbler. ‘That was quick.’

‘Oh, in Geog last term we had to do one about What it’s like being a peasant in Bolivia. I just got rid of the llamas and put in stuff about kings having their heads chopped off. You have to bung in that kind of stuff, and then you just have to keep complaining about the weather and the crops and you can’t go wrong, in peasant essays.’

Johnny lay on his bed reading Only You Can Save Mankind.

He could just about remember the days when you could still get games where the instructions consisted of something that said, ‘Press < for left and > for right and Fire for fire.’

But now you had to read a whole little book which was all about the game. It was really the manual, but they called it ‘The Novel’.

Partly it was an anti-Wobbler thing. Someone in America or somewhere thought it was dead clever to make the game ask you little questions, like ‘What’s the first word on line 23 on page 19 of the manual?’ and then reset the machine if you didn’t answer them right, so they’d obviously never heard of Wobbler’s dad’s office’s photocopier.

So there was this book. The ScreeWee had turned up out of nowhere and bombed some planets with humans on them. Nearly all the starships had been blown up. So there was only this one left, the experimental one. It was all that stood against the ScreeWee hordes. And only you . . . that is to say John Maxwell, aged twelve, in between the time you get home from school and get something to eat and do your homework . . . can save mankind.

Nowhere did it say what you were supposed to do if the ScreeWee hordes didn’t want to fight.

He switched on the computer, and pressed the Load Game key.

There was the ship again, right in the middle of his sights.

He picked up the joystick thoughtfully.

There was an immediate message on the screen. Well, not exactly a message. More a picture. Half a dozen little egg-shaped blobs, with tails. They didn’t move.

What kind of message is that? he thought.

Perhaps there was a special message he ought to send. ‘Die, Creep’ didn’t seem to fit properly at the moment.

He typed: Whats hpaening?

Immediately a reply appeared on the screen, in yellow letters.

We surrender. Do not shoot. See, we show you pictures of our children.

He typed: Is this a trick WObbler?

It took a little while before the reply came.

Am not trick wobbler. We give in. No more war.