by Jacob Gowans
“Coach, they’re playing so physical, and they’re not getting called for it,” Jnomu, the starting center, explained. “When we do the same thing, we get called on it almost every time.”
“I don’t care! Box them out. Hook their shorts if you have to. You’ve got to shut them down! This is it girls. This is the game. You will not get another chance!”
*
Brillianté and Asaki moved in to cover Miguel’s team’s chair after Marie and Kawai. So far, both teams had only lost one player apiece: Strawberry for Miguel’s team, and Natalia for Jeffie’s. That was fine by Jeffie, she could afford to lose one player for each of Miguel’s. Her strategy was starting to show some promise. Miguel’s team had been cut off from their chair for over twenty minutes, and the fatigue was becoming quite apparent. While Jeffie’s team followed her instructions, Miguel ordered everyone on his team to meet in the middle of the Arena, surrounding Jeffie’s team.
Seeing the trap, Jeffie ordered all her players to meet Miguel’s in the middle. So far that day, most of the action had played out in carefully controlled skirmishes between small groups, but now, in the middle of the Arena, everything exploded into an all-out brawl.
“Don’t let his little leeches grab onto you again!” Jeffie shouted into her com.
I am not going to lose this. No chance. Tvedts are winners.
*
Back and forth like a ping-pong match, the lead exchanged between Spain and Norway. With only two minutes left, Norway held onto a one-point lead, and retained possession of the ball.
“Slow it down, Vernika,” Coach Tvedt screamed from the sidelines.
Like a well-oiled machine, the five Norwegian starters moved the ball around the court. Jeffie tried to lose her defender, Raquelle, but the girl was like a rubber band. The further Jeffie got from her, the faster Raquelle snapped right back. Jnomu set a low screen for Jeffie, freeing her up to take a pass. With two quick steps she put up an easy lay-up. The crowd roared its approval.
“Three point lead for Norway!” shouted the announcer.
Jeffie felt the fervor of the crowd and knew her moment had come. The championship was hers . . .
After two quick passes, the ball was in the hands of Raquelle, Jeffie’s Spanish opposite. Raquelle backed up on Jeffie, leaning her weight into her to scoot closer to the basket. Then she shifted her weight back and forth in attempt to shake off Jeffie. When that did not work, Raquelle threw an elbow into Jeffie’s stomach. Jeffie took the blow and hit the wood, waiting for the whistle. Raquelle, meanwhile, turned to the hoop for an easy bucket.
More cheers from the crowd. Jeffie’s dad yelled from the bench. “You don’t call that a foul? How can you not call that?”
With sixty-five seconds left, Norway had the ball and a one-point lead.
“Freeze it! Freeze it!” her dad yelled.
In an arc around the circle, four of the girls passed the ball around, running time off the clock, always careful to keep it out of range of Team Spain. Vernika tossed the ball to Jeffie, but gave it too much air. With forty seconds left, Raquelle darted out from the key and smacked the ball down court, racing after it before it went out of bounds. She recovered the ball just inside the sideline, ran ahead of the stunned Norwegians, and laid the ball gently off the backboard, into the hoop.
The Spanish fans went crazy.
“Time out!” Jeffie called. “Time out!”
*
Marie, Cala, and Jeffie were the only survivors of the dogfight left on her team. Still tangling with them were Miguel, Li, and Kaden from the other. Each were paired off: Kaden against Cala, Jeffie kicking and blasting at Li, and brother Covas trying to knock off sister Covas. She had no further instructions to give her team. All her attention was focused on Li. The numbness in her hands and shoulders had spread through her arms except for the occasional sensation that a thousand pins were poking through her flesh.
She flung her legs up in the air in another attempt to blast Li’s helmet or hands. Anticipating her move, he swung his own legs up, and wrapped them around her waist, catching her in the horizontal position and trapping her legs against his chest.
That was stupid, Li.
As he yanked down, trying to pull her off the hooks, she lifted her body higher, hooking her ankles over his shoulders. Realizing how close she was to deactivating him with a foot blast, Li stopped tugging and released his legs and one hand, to put distance between them. Before he could get his second hand back on a hook, Jeffie wrapped her leg around his shoulder, and wrenched as hard as her muscles would allow.
“Bye bye, Li!” she called out in her most friendly voice, though she doubted he could hear her.
Her next closest target was Miguel. He was still fighting it out with Marie not far from where Jeffie hung. Rather than using their legs, the siblings were going at it with one hand apiece trying to wrest the other’s hand from the hook or get a palm on the other’s helmet. It reminded Jeffie of when she played chicken on the monkey bars with her brother as a young girl. Marie wrapped her arm around Miguel’s waist, and her leg around his leg. Miguel craned his head around to see Kaden finishing off Cala, and with a pleasant voice, shouted to Jeffie, “Good luck!”
In one swift movement, he reached his free leg around Marie, who had just gotten the leverage she needed to pull him down. He released his grip on the hook, and clutched Marie over the shoulder. Marie tried to hang on and shake her brother off as Jeffie raced over to help, but Miguel reached up, seized Marie’s helmet, and gently blasted. Marie’s muscles tensed, and she free-fell to the ground with Miguel still gripping her tightly.
He shouted in gleeful triumph. As he fell, the sound of his voice shrunk until Jeffie could barely hear him. Focusing her attention onto Kaden, she swung out to meet him.
Crunch time, Jeffie.
*
“Crunch time, Jeffie,” her dad told her during the timeout. “The refs are letting you play physical, so you give it right back to that girl. They won’t call a foul on the last play unless it’s a blatant charge. Hold the ball out, bring your elbow down, move right around her.”
With thirty-five seconds on the clock, Jeffie in-bounded the ball to Vernika and sprinted down the court to receive the pass. Vernika rocketed the ball across to Maia. Like a beehive in synchronized motion, the defense shifted toward the ball.
Fifteen seconds.
Maia took two dribbles and bounced it back to Vernika, who immediately tossed the ball to Lise, the other forward. The defense collapsed around her, and she dumped the ball off Maia, who gave it back to Vernika.
Seven seconds left.
Vernika passed the ball around her defender and over to Jeffie, who caught it and backed up against Raquelle. From only a few meters away she looked into her dad’s eyes—her coach’s eyes—and saw him give her the nod.
Three seconds.
For an instant, she saw the gold medals around her teams’ necks, and made her choice.
Twisting her body around, she jammed out her elbow and jumped for the hoop. She did it so perfectly it looked like Raquelle had simply gotten in her way.
Two seconds.
Her elbow caught Raquelle in the stomach as she turned her body with her pivot foot. A whoosh of air left her defender, and she doubled over.
One second.
Jeffie released the ball and watched it go. The ball circled around and around the hole, and then dropped through.
The buzzer rang.
The Norwegian team leapt into the air, screaming and crying. Norwegian fans leapt to their feet in the stands. Jeffie’s teammates attacked her with hugs and screams.
“You did it!” Vernika yelled. Jeffie could see her dad running toward her, clipboard thrown aside.
“That’s my girl!” her father yelled as she was lifted into the air.
Atop her team’s shoulders, she felt like the whole world was beneath her. She looked back and saw Raquelle still on the floor and gasping for breath. Her teammates and coach we
re helping her to her feet. Jeffie realized she’d caught the girl right in the plexus and knocked all the air out of her.
“That’s my girl!” her father yelled again, even louder.
The medal ceremony took place right after the game. Australia, without its star player, had lost in the bronze match to the Territory of Oceania. Jeffie stood in the center of her team on the tallest platform covered in red carpet, with the Spanish team on the right, and Oceanians on the left. The judges came and placed the gold medal around her neck. She’d waited for this moment—dreamt about this moment—since she was six.
As the NWG anthem played, most of the Norwegian team cried. Not Jeffie. Her father would never have let her hear the end of it. All three teams stood in the sign of respect with the left hand tucked behind the back, and the right hand over the heart.
Raquelle stood on the very end of her team’s platform. About halfway through the ceremony, she bent over and threw up, clutching her stomach and crying. Jeffie looked down at the gold medal swaying softly against her red and blue jersey. It was not as shiny nor as pretty as she’d imagined.
*
Of all the players to be stuck fighting, why did it have to be Kaden?
With her aching limbs ready give out any minute, Jeffie had to make this quick. Kaden was stronger than her; his arms were much bigger. He moved in close, oozing confidence in his ability to end the Game in his team’s favor.
“You’re not taking my victory away from me,” she grunted through her teeth.
Then she lashed out with a swift kick to his solar plexus. Rather than taking it, Kaden swung his body backward in a tremendous display of his strength. Using his momentum to carry him forward, he gripped his legs around her like a vice, and pulled. Jeffie resisted with everything she had left, squirming her hips and torso to give him less grip on her, making him work just as much.
Kaden let go with one hand and shot a blast at her helmet. In such close range, Jeffie had no choice but to use her own hand to shield. She felt their two opposing energy forces pushing against each other like two magnets repelling them. If she didn’t get her other hand back on a hook in a few seconds . . .
Apparently Kaden was in the same boat. He jerked his hand back up to grab a hook, and Jeffie did the same. She also managed to pull herself up and wrap her feet onto Kaden’s chest until they were both almost completely horizontal. Before she could send a foot blast at his helmet, Kaden released his grip on her with his legs. As he pulled away, Jeffie kicked him savagely in the side, then blasted his chest with her feet. The noblack suit absorbed most of the blow, but Kaden was rocked back, his hands fumbling to keep his grip.
Jeffie knew she could win it right here with a well-placed kick to the groin. The suits could take a lot of impact to protect the Betas from hard falls, but they could only do so much for some areas of the body. Technically there were no rules, but still . . . she knew it was totally wrong.
Kick him in the groin! Coach Tvedt told her. You want to win, don’t you?
She saw herself applauded by her peers for winning her first Game as honcho. She tasted victory in all of its sweetness.
Tvedts are born winners. It’s in our DNA.
She saw herself with a gold medal around her neck.
But instead she reached out to blast his helmet.
Seeing the danger, Kaden rolled his body up between his arms in a neat flip. His head was now completely out of reach for her shot. He let go of the hooks and jumped on her. Still off balance with only one hand supporting the weight, her grip slipped off the hook and she tumbled. In the air, they fumbled around until their hands locked so neither could blast the other’s helmet. As the suit sensed her rapidly increasing velocity, her helmet clamped over her face, muting out the stream of swear words she shouted all the way down.
“A draw!” she stormed in the cafeteria during dinner. “A stupid . . . freaking . . . draw!”
“Let it go, will you, Jeffie?” Kawai requested matter-of-factly. “At least you didn’t lose.”
“Besides,” Natalia added, “No one wins their first turn at honcho.”
Jeffie refused to be consoled even though the day was almost over. In her family’s case, being a winner also meant being a terrible loser. It did not bother her in the least that her friends were exasperated with her mood.
“It’s true,” Asaki said, overhearing them from her table with Brillianté and Rosa. “I didn’t win my first—in fact, I don’t think anyone has. Even Al. It just takes time. But you were really good.”
“That’s right,” Kawai agreed.
“How can—?” Jeffie tried to finish her sentence, but the words caught in her throat. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t believe this!”
Almost everyone looked up to see what she was shouting about.
“What?” Natalia’s eyes were wide with bewilderment as she spoke. “What’s the matter?”
“Sammy! Sammy is the matter! He did it. He won his first time as honcho. How can you guys have already forgotten that?”
No one said anything, everyone just looked at each other.
“I haven’t forgotten, Jeffie,” Brickert said solemnly. He swallowed hard as he spoke up, but his characteristic red spots weren’t there. “He was honcho against Marie and Kobe. You were on his team. So was Natalia.”
“Did you hear what you just said?” Her voice rose in accusation at everyone but Brickert. “Do you guys even listen to yourselves?”
“I’m sorry,” Kawai said. “I didn’t mean to downplay what he did.”
“What he can do, you mean to say, right?” Jeffie said even louder. “You all act like he’s dead! ‘Was my best friend.’ ‘Downplay what he did.’ You even act like what he did wasn’t special.”
“We all loved Sammy,” Natalia quickly offered. “He was great. No one said he’s dead.”
“You guys all act like he was some sort of god,” Antonio declared from across the room. He was a tall kid, about as tall as Sammy. His jet-black hair was trimmed close on the sides with a long wavy style perfectly in place on top. He had a confidence in his hazel eyes perhaps only Kobe or Al could match. He put up his hands when she looked at him. “I don’t mean to disrespect him. I’m sure he was good, but I’m good, too. Hey, I might even be better. Who knows, right? No reason other people can’t do just as well as he did here. Right?”
Everyone in the room turned to watch Jeffie. On their faces she saw expressions of fear and caution. Kawai and Brillianté looked ready to pounce if things turned ugly. She ignored them all. Slowly, she placed her hands flat on the table and stood up. Cold fury flooded her veins as she faced Antonio with no desire to hide her emotions. He did not look nearly as confident under her glare.
“He. Is. Sammy. You have no clue what you’re talking about. There will never be another Sammy.”
She turned and left, heading for her bedroom. Once around the corner, she heard Brickert. There was no kindness in his voice, either.
“I’ll tell you, Antonio, you’d better run it by one of us before you try to speak to her again.
8. Dilemma
February 17, 2086
ALPHA HEADQUARTERS shared little resemblance with its Beta counterpart. While Psion Beta was just a single building, Alpha was a sprawling campus built to house and support thousands of Alpha operatives. That included the Elite, Psion Alphas, Ultra Alphas, and Tensai Alphas: Anomalies Fourteen, Fifteen, and Eleven.
Exercise and training facilities claimed their own spaces, and other small structures housed things like the food courts, recreation areas, and shopping centers. Each Alpha had his or her own comfortable but efficient personal living quarters. Some lived alone, some Alphas preferred having roommates, and others were married with families. Housing occupied almost a fourth of the total area. The rest of the property was dedicated to work: mission planning centers, hangars, weaponry stations, simulators, intelligence stations, and a transportation hub.
Before landing on the airstrip, Co
mmander Byron called for a small ground car to meet him. He’d never actually lived at Alpha, but he had no problem finding his way around. After all, years ago he had designed most of the layout, and more recently he had helped Albert move into his new quarters.
The scenery was a frosty one. The roadways were clear, but the trees still bore heavy snow and most of the grounds were pure white. The air carried a clean and fresh scent which Byron let drift in through the half-opened window of his one-man vehicle. The quiet droning of the car’s electric motor allowed his thoughts to stray ahead to what he wanted to say to his son.
He drove along at a slow pace. Several Psions going about their business waved at Byron, but he hardly noticed them. After a five minute drive, he pulled up to number seventy-two and rang the bell.
“Come in,” his son’s voice shouted from behind the door.
“Hello,” Byron called out as he entered.
“I’m back here in the kitchen. Just grab a seat.”
Byron looked around at Albert’s living room. Each Alpha received the same basic furnishings for their quarters, but Albert’s place looked drastically different. Over the walls hung blueprints and floor plans from the Rio factory, designs of various explosive devices, and mission timelines. Across the coffee table lay open books, each with a title describing something to do with Albert’s mission.
Byron sighed as he sat down on the couch. On the mantle over the fireplace, he saw what he had been looking for: a small holo-pic of Albert and Marie, almost unnoticeable amongst all the paraphernalia surrounding it.
Albert entered from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. A steady dripping came from the kitchen sink, each drop making a small plop! The noise grated on Byron’s nerves, bringing back horrible memories of being down in the sewers. Even his heart rate picked up noticeably.
“Hungry?” Albert asked his father, shaking the commander out of his reverie of bad thoughts.
“No,” Byron said. “Thank you, but I ate lunch before I came.”