Now playing 20th century Pac-Man is great, as antique human activities go, but after a few months, it starts to get old.
But the Destroyer was addicted. He said he felt a kinship with the hungry yellow circle, though he shared no physical similarities with the game’s protagonist.
He empathized with a creature whose only goal was to devour everything, advance to another level, and then devour everything again.
The Destroyer played using voice commands, because the station’s Administrative Mind didn’t trust him enough to give him a cloud to interact with the computers.
A cloud to help him play cards was as far as the Administrative Mind was willing to go.
And, in about thirty-five minutes, it’d become obvious that the Administrative Mind shouldn’t have even done that.
“We didn’t ask you to join us,” Jeska said, through gritted teeth. “You can play Pac-Man by yourself.”
“But I want the thrill of victory,” the Destroyer said, managing to make a complaint sound inspiring. “There’s no point in eating ghosts, fruit, and white dots if you can’t do it faster than someone else.”
“We’re … not … play…ing … Pac … man,” Anderson said.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll play poker.”
“We’re … al…read…y … play…ing,” Anderson said.
“You all cheat anyway,” he said.
“You cheat more than us!” Jeska said.
There was a pause.
“I’m better at it,” the Destroyer said.
“He … is … better,” Anderson said.
“Shut up,” Jeska said.
The poker game continued in silence for a half hour, except for the occasional snap, snap, snap of Prnei’s habitual tentacle flicking.
The Destroyer’s poker-playing cloud was now only five minutes away from finishing the weapon.
