"And guess what?" said Casey. "The three guys you’re stuck here with right now? All three of us got screwed over because of you."
Thal looked at the other two men standing around him. He hadn’t recognized them before, but now he realized that their faces were as familiar to him as Casey’s.
"Not that there are any hard feelings, of course," said Casey. "Right, guys?"
"Absolutely," said the dark-haired man with the sunken eyes.
"Definitely," said the man with the shaved head and goatee.
"Thank God for that!" said the hippo. "They had me worried for a minute there!"
"Forgive and forget, I always say," said Casey, right before he and the other men started pounding the hell out of Thal Simoleon.
*****
"Wow," said the priest just before he punched Thal in the face. "I’ve never hit a god before."
Suspended spread-eagle from the ceiling by chains, Thal stared blankly at the scrawny priest. He wasn’t the first person to enter the white chamber with the intention of striking him; he wasn’t even the first priest to do so.
In the months since Casey and the others had beaten him half to death and sold him to the man who kept him here, a seemingly endless parade of people from all walks of life had walked through the door and used him as a punching bag.
Usually, they told him why they did it. A lot of them were still angry because he’d lost the World Series for the Bio Threats. Some were fans of other teams, avenging his victories over their favorites. Some had lost money betting on games because of him...or investing in Thal Simoleon memorabilia that had become worthless the minute he missed that fateful pitch in the Series.
Some--the priests, especially--wanted to lash out at a fallen god. Some just did it for the novelty, so they could tell others and gain some minor notoriety in their circle of friends.
And some, he thought, no matter what reasons they gave, just did it because they wanted someone they could hurt with impunity. Who could complain if someone took a shot at the man who’d lost the Series for the Bio Threats...the man who’d become the equivalent of Satan himself in the eyes of the fans?
No one. Even if Thal’s torture chamber had been in the middle of Bio Threats Citydome Center for all to see instead of hidden away in a desert compound, none of his visitors would have been faulted for pummeling him.
He was meat.
"This is for betraying your flock," said the priest, hauling off and throwing a fist hard into Thal’s belly. "And this is for letting me worship you as a false god." The priest swung again, this time cracking Thal’s nose.
"That’s gotta hurt," said the pink hippo, who unfortunately hadn’t left Thal’s side for a moment since the World Series debacle. "These priests sure have a lot of pent-up aggression, don’t they?"
The priest swung again, landing another punch in Thal’s gut. The chains rattled as Thal rocked back and forth from the force of the blow.
As the priest continued to pound him, Thal let his mind drift the way he always did during the worst of the beatings. Though he was genetically engineered, he wasn’t unbreakable or impervious to pain; the only way he had managed to survive so long was by distancing his thoughts as much as he could from his body.
As the priest hammered him, Thal cast himself back to his childhood in Citydome Godcrèche. He remembered days under the hothouse sun, running and throwing and hitting the ball under the watchful eyes of trainers and coaches who were the only parents he’d ever known. Back then, living among the other genetically engineered test tube children, he hadn’t even realized that there were such things as parents in the world. He had thought that his life was perfectly normal, because it was the only life that he had ever known.
He hadn’t realized that most people had parents and couldn’t run twenty-five miles an hour or throw a ball two hundred miles an hour or jump twenty feet into the air to snag a pop fly. He hadn’t realized that most people weren’t claimed at birth by sports teams, assigned a player number before they could walk, and driven every day of their lives to perfect their skills so they could someday win a World Series championship. He hadn’t realized that there was more to live than winning at any cost.
This was something he hadn’t realized until the long hours he’d spent hanging in the white chamber. The long hours with nothing to do but think.
At first, as the people came to beat him, he had felt sorry for himself and blamed himself for what was happening. If he had only been a better player, he had thought, he would have won the World Series in spite of the Choker and he wouldn’t have ended up in the white room. If only he had been smarter in choosing a Choker techie to do business with, the hippo wouldn’t have come after him in the first place. Things would have turned out differently, he had thought, if he had done better, gone further, fought harder.
As time went on, though, he had changed his mind. In each new face that entered the white room, Thal saw hatred and bitterness and weakness and craving. He saw the true faces of the fans he’d played for all those years...saw the true impact he had made on their lives. Finally, he understood what the endless dance of victory and defeat was really all about.
Before his fall from grace, he had thought he was one of the lucky few who were running the show...winning games, breaking records, raking in money, lording it over the fans who were his subjects. Now, he knew the truth about who was in charge.
He had always been a puppet and the fans the puppet masters, moving him to suit their twisted fantasies of greed and lust and power and revenge. When he had failed, they had failed, and they could never forgive him for that.
So he had to go on suffering until he died...which, unfortunately, his owner would not let happen anytime soon.
"That’s enough, Father Focus." The voice of Mr. Montage pulled Thal back from his drifting place, forced him to reconsider the pain wracking his damaged body. As always, Montage stopped the customer before he could kill Thal...which, if left unchecked, was exactly what Thal thought the customer would do.
Father Focus threw one last punch into Thal’s groin, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That’s what you get for betraying the faith," said Focus, jabbing a finger at Thal. "I only wish the other gods could see you now. Trey Heartshock and Gavin Autopsy would grant me a thousand indulgences for this holy work I’ve done in their names."
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Montage, turning Focus by the shoulder and leading him toward the door. "You’re a true defender of the faith. On your way now."
As Focus left the white room, shepherded by one of Montage’s burly aides, Montage closed the door and walked back to Thal. "How’s my main attraction holding up?" he said, scanning Thal’s injuries through narrowed eyes.
"Bring on the next contestant!" howled the pink hippo, but Thal said nothing.
"You’ve made a lot of money for me," said Montage, squinting at a particularly nasty bruise on Thal’s stomach. "It will be a shame to see you go."
Thal peered at Montage through blackened, swollen eyes. "Go?" he croaked, wondering if Montage had changed his mind about letting someone kill him.
Montage sighed. "We’ve had such wonderful times together, Thal," he said, "but it’s time for you to move on. You’ve been sold."
"Sold?" said Thal.
"To a woman," Montage said with a wink. "An heiress. She paid a great deal for you. Claims she has always had a thing for you."
"Whoopee!" said the hippo. "Thally and the heiress, sittin’ in a tree, kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee!" The tiny red parasol was back, and he twirled it at Thal as he sang.
"Thing?" said Thal.
"Ah, yes," said Montage. "I believe your new posting...oh, dear, that’s funny, isn’t it, posting...I believe your new posting will prove somewhat more pleasurable than the one you are about to take leave of!"
*****
After their latest lovemaking, Paradise Whippoorwill held Thal in her arms and gently stroked his hair. He knew what she would say before she said it, just as
he had known every move the beautiful blonde heiress would make in bed and exactly how long she would take to come.
He knew all this even though he had been her property for only six weeks.
"You feel better, don’t you, Thal?" she said softly. "I’m good for you, aren’t I, my love?"
Thal nodded. "Yes you are," he said, though it wasn’t true at all. They had had the same conversation hundreds of times; he knew enough by now to say what she wanted him to say. Keeping her happy was important.
It was important because Paradise had a remote control under the skin of her left wrist. If she was unhappy, she could make the device her surgeon had implanted in Thal’s skull shoot out bolts of pain...or melt his cerebrum into clam chowder.
So happy was good.
"You know what brought us together, don’t you?" said Paradise.
"Fate," said Thal, though the true answer was "money."
Paradise sighed. "That’s right," she said. "We were meant to be together. I knew it from the first time I saw you play on holovid. I could just tell you were the one for me."
"Yes," said Thal, wishing that she would just shut up. He had heard it all before from other women, the same
self-deluding pile of crap. He was grateful to her for rescuing him from the white room, but he was sick of hearing her dreamy professions of everlasting love.
If she had really loved him, she probably wouldn’t have put the control device in his head.
"I watched you from afar for all those years," said Paradise. "I saw you break the home run record and the RBI record and win the playoffs and the World Series. I even met you in person and got your autograph, and you didn’t know at the time that we would be together someday."
"I had no idea," said Thal.
"But you had a feeling," said Paradise. "You knew I was special."
"Absolutely," said Thal, though he had no memory of ever meeting her before the day she bought him from Mr. Montage.
The pink hippo, sprawled out on the big bed alongside Paradise, sniffed and pawed at a tear. "How romantic," he said. "I’m gettin’ all choked up."
"You had all those other women," said Paradise, "but I was always in the back of your mind. I was always in your heart. And when you needed me most, I was there for you, wasn’t I?"
"You were there for me," said Thal.
"In your darkest hour," said Paradise. "And now we’re making a life together. A fresh start."
"A fresh start," said Thal.
"I love a happy ending!" said the hippo. "I can’t believe how much love I feel for you guys right now!"
"You’re the man of my dreams," said Paradise. "And I’m the woman who will make your dreams come true. When you make your comeback, I’ll be right there beside you every step of the way."
"I’m a lucky guy to have someone who loves me like you do," said Thal, though he knew she didn’t really love him at all. Sometimes, he wished that she did, because maybe then he could have enjoyed his captivity.
But he knew better. The only thing she loved was the fantasy she expected him to play out.
He was the fallen champion who only needed the love of a good woman to regain the heights. The flaws and failings that had kept her from finding true love before were wiped away in his presence...and in turn, she would redeem him for the misstep that had laid him low in the eyes of the world.
Though he could have any woman he wanted, he would choose her. When he took to the field again, she would bask in his reflected glory, and all would know that her love was the force behind his rebirth.
He could have been hollow inside, and it would have made no difference to her. As long as he played his role as she expected, she would be happy.
Like the people who had cheered him and then come to beat him in the white room, Paradise saw him as a puppet. He existed solely to act out her fantasy.
Thal didn’t hate her the way he’d hated the people in the white room, though. She bored him, she treated him like a housepet, she kept a remote control in her arm that could turn his brain to goo...but mostly what he felt toward her was pity.
She had money and beauty and comfort, but she was the one who was empty. She was the one who had to live through someone else.
And he felt sorry for her.
As miserable as he was with her, he even felt sorry for her for dreaming of his making a comeback. It was the one thing, he knew, that he could never do, no matter how much she wanted it or how many times she shocked him with the brain implant.
But she would have to find out the hard way.
*****
Stepping out on the field was all it took.
It was only a minor league game, the Anthrax Scare versus the Letter Bombs, in a town on the opposite end of the country from Bio Threats Citydome. It was only an exhibition, and Thal’s appearance wasn’t even publicized. His real name wasn’t even on his jersey.
But the fans recognized him as soon as he set foot on the turf. As he jogged to the outfield, glove tucked against his chest, they leaned and squinted and pointed, and a murmur rose from the stands. As the voice on the P.A. system announced the first batter, the murmur grew to a rumble and then to a roar.
Before the first pitch could be thrown, people were hurling food and shoes and batteries in Thal’s direction. Before a single player could run the base line, fans were pouring onto the field in a crashing, screaming wave headed straight for Thal.
For a moment, he stood there and watched the approaching surge, wondering if he might be better off letting them tear him to pieces. It was something he had considered often in the weeks leading up to the game, for he had known how the fans would react and had thought it might not be a bad thing to let them put an end to him.
But the closer they got, the less he wanted to die. He was miserable, and he had no reason to think his life would get better, but he feared death...at least the ugly kind of death that was bearing down on him.
Plus which, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He didn’t want to give them the cathartic and reassuring ending that they demanded of his story.
So he pressed the control pad in the brim of his hat, and an escape hatch opened beneath him. Paradise had paid to install several such hatches in the field for just such an occasion...though Thal knew she had never expected that he would actually have to use one. She had never lost faith in his comeback.
As he slid down the tube, listening to the mob pound over the ground above him, he wondered how she was reacting to the way that comeback was going.
*****
To her credit, Paradise Whippoorwill stood by her man...at least for a while.
She set him up again in a minor league game, this time in Japan, but the results were the same. Next, she staged a private exhibition with a hand-picked crowd of supposed Thal Simoleon boosters...but it turned out the boosters were bashers at heart, and Thal again had to flee for his life. Then, there was the ill-fated game without an audience, in which the umpires and groundskeepers took it upon themselves to uphold the tradition of trying to kill Thal.
But all of this, Thal discovered, was not a bad thing.
"I’m no good for you," Paradise told him three weeks after the last comeback attempt had failed. "I’m holding you back."
"Uh-oh," said the pink hippo. "This sounds familiar."
Raising her left arm, Paradise showed Thal the tiny scar on her wrist. "I had the control device removed and destroyed," she said. "You’re free. I cancelled the wedding, too."
Thal nodded, afraid to say anything that might make her change her mind.
Tears ran down Paradise’s cheeks. She hadn’t done her hair that morning, and it hung raggedly around her face. "Oh, Thal," she said, her voice quavering. "You have such great things ahead of you, but I know now that you can’t accomplish them with me in the way. I’m nothing but bad luck for you."
Though he could have told her truthfully that his misfortune wasn’t her fault, Thal kept his mouth shut. For one thing, he didn�
�t care what she thought, as long as it got him away from her.
For another thing, he knew she didn’t really believe a word of what she was saying. She just wanted rid of him, like the rest of the disappointed fans.
He had failed to fulfill her deluded fantasy, and now she wanted him gone.
"Here," she said, handing him a slip of paper. "A job, if you want it. I can’t just send you out there without a way to make a living."
"Sure you can!" said the hippo.
"Thank you," said Thal, taking the slip from her.
"The chauffeur will drive you to the interview, if you’d like," said Paradise. "I know you have to keep a low profile."
"Thank you," said Thal.
"Goodbye, my love," said Paradise, lightly touching his face with trembling fingertips. "Remember me! Remember what we shared!"
"I will," said Thal, and he thought he should have hated her more than ever because she didn’t mean a word she said.
But instead, he felt more sorry for her than ever.
*****
As Thal was ushered into the murky sub-basement where he’d been one time before, he grew steadily angrier. Until now, the events of the past months had seemed to be random, the products of unfortunate chance.
But the fact that what he had been through had brought him back here seemed too coincidental to be the result of luck. It was just too perfect that he had come full circle like this.
Someone must have been pulling his strings...specifically, the long-haired man at the workbench in front of him: Javier Thwart, the master of artificial intelligence and targeted induced multisensory hallucination.
Javier Thwart--known also as King Thwart and Superchoke--the man who had designed Thal’s pink hippo.
Thwart glanced up from his work at Thal’s approach and smiled, gray lips tugging up the footlong strands of the mustache that fell from the corners of his mouth. The mustache and pointed beard were in the style worn by oriental villains in old movies...but Thwart had given them his own touch, coloring each with rainbow stripes descending from red to violet.
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