Shockball

by S. L. Viehl

  She wasn’t the only one. “You’d better watch your step, Reever. Her boyfriend likes to play with knives.” I finished my scan of his torso and handed him back his tunic. “And please remember, I’m fresh out of ways to repair kidneys.” I looked at the entrance, and saw the guards were talking. Without much effort I projected a link. Have you found out anything on the outcasts?

  He shook his head.

  If Rico had found them, I know one of us would have heard about it. They may have already left the tunnels and gone up to the surface. Hopefully, Joseph and the League wouldn’t find them.

  They still need a hiding place, he reminded me. Many of them will never pass as full-blooded Terrans. They’re still down here. I’ve seen signs out in the sewers.

  Why are you still going out there? You don’t know if Rico’s set up new traps. And what if you get caught?

  He pulled something from his trouser pocket—a remote device, identical to the one the chief had used to disarm the traps. I darted a glance toward the entrance and made him put it back.

  How did you get that?

  He picked up the Lok-Teel, and concentrated on it for a minute. It formed a mask in his hand. A mask of Rico’s face.

  Very clever. I folded my arms. Doing that on Catopsa nearly got you executed. What if he misses it?

  The outcasts are our only allies here; we will need their assistance if we are to escape. I will return the device tonight. He plumped up the berth linens and arranged them to appear as though someone was sleeping under them. I need you to make the tribe think I am ill and staying here for the day.

  What if someone decides to peek under the linens?

  You will keep them from doing so.

  I rolled my eyes. I always get the easy part. All right, I can probably drop a few comments about you getting a nasty head cold, and how I’ve isolated you in here so it won’t spread around the tribe. I’ll go out to the central cavern now, to get the guards away from the entrance. How long do I keep this up?

  I need at least three hours.

  I hadn’t left the alcove since the day before yesterday, which gave me an excellent excuse to stomp out of there, grumbling about claustrophobia, Reever’s fictitious head cold, and having no help. Right on cue, my two shadows followed me out to the central cavern. I surreptitiously checked my wristcom. Three hours. He’d better not lose track of time wandering around out there.

  Once I reached the center cooking fire, I made myself a cup of tea from the perennial clay pot warming in the ashes, and sat down beside the speaking rock. One of the older women was sitting with a couple of the teenagers, telling them some kind of story about a coyote.

  “—and when the Dove maidens saw Coyote’s fine wolf-skin quiver and the circles he had painted on his face, they honored him as someone of consequence and hearkened to his many lies. Coyote told them the Dove people needed no longer hunt, for with a thought he, Coyote, could make any animal lay down and die. When their hunters returned at dusk, the Dove maidens hurried into the village and told them of this wondrous visitor and what he had promised—”

  “You enjoy hearing tales about the Trickster?” Hawk asked behind me, making me jerk in surprise.

  “About as much as I like you sneaking up on me like that.” I said it without heat, though, because I was glad to see him. Until I saw his skin tone, which was almost pasty. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I am well.” Awkwardly, he lowered himself down beside me. “I have been occupied with performing the Blessing Way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A chant way, used to ensure good luck, good health, and blessings for good hope.”

  “Right.” I’d never understand religion. “You’re not doing this for sick people I should be seeing in Medical, I hope.”

  “No.” He stretched out his legs, and for the first time I saw the faintly distorted shape of his musculature. “It is customary for us to perform the Blessing Way twice per revolution. The rite ensures good hope at any stage of life for all who wish to be sung over.” He massaged one of his calves absently.

  “Are your legs bothering you?”

  He looked into the fire. “Sometimes.”

  “If you’d let me have a look at your back, I bet we can fix that, and a whole lot of other problems.”

  He laughed once. “Thank you, patcher, but no. I am used to this body. Changing it will not make me happy.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I decided not to push, finished my tea, and rose to my feet. “I have to make my rounds. Want to join me?”

  Since most of the tribe was still avoiding me, I’d gotten into the habit of visiting the various hogans to check on my current cases, and two pregnant women who were both in their third trimesters. Hawk agreed, and hobbled after me as I got started.

  Many Belts, my first mom-to-be, was doing fine. She’d put on a few pounds, but according to my scanner it was mostly baby. The fetus had dropped, and a quick pelvic scan showed her cervix already three centimeters dilated.

  “Another week, I think.” I checked her vitals and recorded them on my data pad, while the anxious father hovered at my elbow. “Want to see your son?”

  He nodded, then grinned when I showed him the interuterine scan on the display. “He has two arms, and two legs, Many Belts,” he said to his wife.

  Already an experienced mother of twin girls, Many Belts rolled her eyes at me. “Better than to see four of each, I think.”

  Kegide was hovering outside the hogan of the younger pregnant woman, and made some urgent gestures I couldn’t quite interpret.

  “What does he want?” I asked Hawk.

  “I do not know, but I will go with him.” The hunchback took Kegide’s outstretched hand and let the big man lead him away.

  My second mom wasn’t doing so well. She had a vaginal infection, and was showing signs of first-stage toxemia. I infused her with mild antibiotics and told her mother, who had come down from the surface to care for her, to keep a close eye on her fever.

  The older woman wanted to know if evil spirits had possessed her daughter, which led to a long discussion to simplify the prenatal complications and dispel both women’s fears. By the time I was done, I had passed the three-hour mark. I couldn’t stall the guards much longer. I stepped out of the hogan and bumped directly into Milass.

  “Excuse me.” I tried to go around him, but he just sidestepped to compensate. “What?”

  “Where is your gutless whiteskin mate?”

  “Sick with a head cold in Medical. Why?”

  “He was seen leaving your hogan last night.” He turned around and headed for the tunnels.

  I hurried after him. “Someone must be mixed up. Reever didn’t go anywhere.” I caught up to him. “He’s very ill and contagious.”

  Milass ignored me and kept going.

  If Reever wasn’t back, this could get ugly. I increased my pace until I passed Milass, and hurried to Medical ahead of him. When I got there, I saw the lump of linens on the berth, and my heart sank.

  Milass strode in and headed for the berth. I put myself between him and it. “He’s sleeping. Come back another time.”

  That got me pushed to one side. “Why are you so alarmed, patcher? Are you hiding something here? Or is something missing?” With a big, nasty grin, he ripped the top linen from the berth.

  Reever pushed himself up and blinked. “What is it?” he said, in an appropriately hoarse voice.

  Milass muttered something and stalked out.

  I sagged against the side of the berth. “God, that was close.” Then I saw the two round bumps sticking up in Reever’s light hair, and groaned.

  Dhreen pulled the edge of the Lok-Teel mask down from his right eye, and winked at me, then stretched back out and promptly went to sleep.

  I took my guards on another stroll, and came back after another hour of meaningless wandering. Dhreen was gone. Reever and Hawk were standing in the tunnel outside Medical, talking in low voices.

  “Pr
oblem?” I asked, giving my husband a hard look.

  “News has come. Black Otter was hurt in the game today.” Hawk nodded toward the tunnel. “Before we could bring him here, the referees had him taken to a whiteskin hospital.”

  Damn, I hadn’t been able to solve his skin problem. “They’ll know he’s a hybrid as soon as they take his uniform off.”

  “Yes. It is possible we may recover him before he is deported, but he cannot play on the team again.” He turned to Reever. “We will begin training tomorrow.”

  “Training for what?”

  “Nilchi’i‘ has been chosen to replace Black Otter as centerfield runback.”

  “What?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “No. I positively forbid it.” Hawk didn’t say a word. “He’s just had major surgery, damn it!”

  “It is what the chief orders. Identity chips are being arranged. As soon as we have them, he will join the team.”

  Hawk left. Reever didn’t say anything. Not that I would have noticed—I was too busy throwing a temper tantrum.

  “He’s nuts! That’s what he is. How can he expect you to go out there and play that demented game for him? You’ll be electrocuted the minute you step on the field!”

  That made him raise an eyebrow. “I think I can avoid incurring any penalties, Cherijo.”

  I stopped pacing. “Don’t you start overproducing testosterone on me now, Reever. That kidney may be healed, but it’s still fragile. Those reformation cells are still taking hold.” I kicked a stone. “Why doesn’t he get one of his own people to replace Black Otter? Why does it have to be you?”

  “Perhaps he’d rather sacrifice someone who doesn’t belong to the tribe.”

  I’d had enough of what Rico wanted sacrificed. “We’ll just see about that.”

  I tried to talk to the chief. I sent a dozen requests through my guards and Hawk to be granted an “audience.”

  Rico ignored me.

  When my efforts at being diplomatic failed, I tried the direct approach, and went to confront him. As soon as I got within ten feet of the chief’s hogan, my guards politely but firmly steered me away.

  “You may not go there. The chief does not wish to speak with you.”

  “Is that right? Well, the chief can go to hell!” I shouted at the hogan, hoping he’d hear me. All that got me was a fast march back to the medical alcove, and after that I wasn’t allowed even within yelling distance of Rico’s hogan.

  In the meantime, Kegide arrived every morning to collect Reever, and led him off to the surface and the practice field outside the village, to train. According to what Reever told me, there were men in the village who were veterans of the game, and they scrimmaged against the Night Horse players during each practice session.

  “Apparently the goal of the runback is to keep the sphere in motion while crossing the length of the playing field, until an attempt can be made to kick the sphere into the touchzone. Each successful touch-in awards the runback’s team four points.”

  “How thrilling. Hold still.” I cleaned a laceration on his shoulder and dressed it. “If all you have to do is kick the damn thing, why are you getting so banged up every day?”

  “Kegide plays the position of blockback. He attempts to prevent me from crossing the field, kicking the sphere into the touchzone, and also tries to take the sphere away from me.”

  “This involves knocking you down, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “God.” I saw the slight curl on one side of his mouth. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I have never participated in a cooperative athletic competition before.” He shrugged. “It is interesting.”

  “Uh-huh.” I pulled his tunic back down and swatted him on the arm. “Stop being so interested. Your kidney is more important than your success at team sports.”

  It was frustrating. Since I wasn’t allowed to attend the practice sessions, all I could do was scan him and treat whatever wounds he received when he returned from the surface. At first, Reever got battered pretty regularly. Gradually he began showing up with fewer injuries, and then hardly any at all. My insistence on scanning him was virtually unnecessary.

  What really bothered me was when he started getting interested in the game.

  “I was able to score three times today,” he said after a couple of weeks of this nonsense. “Defense prevented the village team from scoring any points at all.” He looked down at my scanner’s display. “I have found a very effective running pattern. No one was able to successfully tackle me.”

  “You’re becoming such a jock.” And I hated it, but I didn’t say that. “Stay right where you are. I’m not done checking your spinal cord.”

  “I am fine.” He pulled his tunic over his head. “I am looking forward to playing at the professional arena tomorrow.”

  Men. Give them a chance to compete as athletes, and even the brightest of them turned into instant Neanderthals.

  “Not without this.” I went to my worktable and brought back the special torso brace I’d made for him. It wasn’t much, but it would provide some protection for his abdomen. “Wear it under your uniform.”

  He fingered the padded material, which I’d reinforced with sheets of flexible plas. “If the officials permit it.”

  I could care less about the rules. “Don’t let them see it.”

  He looked at me oddly for a moment. “Cherijo, if something happens to me, I want you to leave this place immediately.”

  “Oh, sure, no problem, seeing as I can come and go as I please.”

  “Find the outcasts. They will help you.”

  “I have two mothers about to give birth, and a syphilis carrier to track down. Plus, the minute I appear on the surface, Joseph’s men will grab me,” I reminded him. “We’re stuck here for the moment. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.”

  I hoped.

  Things happened to Reever after he started playing professional arena shockball. It wasn’t as easy as the scrimmages with the surface villagers, and he always came back from every game with muscle strains, tears, bruises, and cuts. I started laying out therapeutic packs as a matter of course.

  In direct relation to his injuries, his enthusiasm for the sport seemed to grow. I found I had to constantly bite my tongue or I ended up showering him with acidic sarcasm about the supposed allure of professional competition.

  In the meantime, I kept trying to get to Rico, but he refused to see me.

  One day Reever came back with five other players needing treatment. They were all in bad shape. He walked in with three of them, carrying the other two. I performed a quick visual and had the two unconscious men put on berths first.

  “Multiple fractures, deep tissue thermal injuries, blood clots all over the place.” I scanned the other player, then tossed down the instrument in disgust and started the infuser lines. “How many penalties did they take, Reever?”

  “One had six. The other, seven. We’re all burned. Take a look at him first.” He pushed another player toward me. “He was penalized while at the bottom of a pileup. The sphere malfunctioned in his hands. It took several minutes to reset the computer.”

  “God. Look at this mess.” I relived an old nightmare from my past as I carefully scanned the player’s broken, charred fingers. “Sit down over there before you pass out.” I turned and yelled at the guards. “Get Hawk in here, now. I need some help.”

  Several hours later, I finished wrapping the burns on Reever’s hands and feet, and looked over the other players, now resting comfortably. “I’ve never seen injuries this bad before. What went wrong at the game?”

  He pulled off his jersey, which had a huge number fourteen on each side, and the name Nilchi’i‘ emblazoned across the back of the shoulder yoke. “The Gliders are trying to progress to the semifinals for the playoffs, and the teams challenging them are much harder to beat. Rico does not want the team to lose. He ordered the plays to be run, knowing we would be penalized.”

  “Why
didn’t you just refuse to play?”

  “I did at first.” Reever looked at his bandages. “Mi-lass told me that if I did not run the plays, he would come back here and use his knife to blind you.”

  I got indignant. “And you believed him?”

  “I wasn’t going to take a chance.”

  “That is good, whiteskin. Because I would have carved her eyes from her head.”

  We both turned around to see Milass standing in the entrance.

  “Come to see the damage you’ve done?” I asked, gesturing to the unconscious men. “They’re going to be out of action for a couple of weeks.”

  “If they are truly men, they will survive.”

  Suddenly, something clicked. “You were a player. That’s how you got those burn scars on your face.” Fury surged through me. “Is that why you’re forcing these men to nearly kill themselves every time they play this stupid game? So they can be as homely as you are?”

  “They will bear their scars, as I do.”

  I wanted to lunge at him, but Reever had a hold on my arm. “You’ll be bearing a few more by the time I get through with you, you little twerp.”

  “Any time, patcher.” He plucked out a blade and waggled it at me, like a taunt. “Come to see me any time.”

  I made Reever and the other patients comfortable, then pulled Hawk out into the tunnel.

  “I’m not going to stand by and keep treating these players for self-inflicted wounds. You get me to Rico so I can tell him that personally.”

  “No.”

  I wanted to break some of my knuckles on the nearest stone wall. Instead, I took a couple of slow, deep breaths. Control. That was what I needed. Control and a couple of fully charged pulse rifles.

  “Hawk. You’ve worked Medical long enough to know how serious this situation is. These men are risking their health, and possibly their lives, to win a game that is meaningless.”

  “It means a great deal more than you understand.” Hawk looked at my expression and lifted one warped shoulder. “There is much more at stake in playing for the junta than mere victory. The Night Horse are the only Native Americans competing professionally. We represent a lost ideal, we fight for ethnic recognition.”