Controls: use the arrow keys to move and the space bar to jump. Rescue the good guys. The up arrow controls the batline on the conveyor belt screens.

Pitfall Harry: Year One

Frank Sandpiper hung his head dejectedly. "Buried," he muttered. "Buried in the desert. All of them."

"I hate when that happens," the bartender agreed. "Got any other family?"

Sandpiper looked up, startled. "What? Oh, no. My games. My Atari cartridges. All two million of them. Goddam Wayne Industries. Bought up the whole lot, then buried them in the Sonoma Desert. Strangest thing."

"Oh." The bartender looked confused for a moment. "You mean those things the kids play? Cost thirty bucks, make a lot of boops and beeps for 30 seconds, then you're dead?"

"Yeah, those. But mine are pretty good, dammit. I deserve better."

"I'm sure you do, buddy. Another?"

Sandpiper nodded dejectedly as the bartender poured another dubious yellow glass of Gotham's Best.

A young man with short brown hair sat down next to Sandpiper. A very young man. "Hey, beat it, kid. School doesn't get out for another hour, and besides..."

"I won't be long," the boy answered. "I just have something for Mr. Sandpiper."

"Hey! How do you know my name?" Sandpiper demanded. But the boy was already gone.

Sandpiper felt an unfamiliar weight in his jacket pocket. He reached in and removed a black plastic rectangle and a short note scrawled on Wayne Industries stationery.

Batman's not a people person, he read in amazement. He doesn't like publicity. But burying every last one wasn't fair to you. I love your work! I disassembled your code and made a few changes -- I hope you don't mind -- this way he'll never know. -R

Sandpiper hailed a cab as quickly as he could. Arriving home, he flipped on the TV and popped the cartridge in his own Atari 2600, rubbing his hands eagerly while he waited for the screen to warm up.

"Hey, it's my game all right! What's the kid done to it? The company wanted a superhero thing... this kid's got a jungle motif going on, vines, crocodiles... hey, this could work."

A smile slid across Frank Sandpiper's face. "Yeah, I think we can sell a few copies of this."