Title: Dropping The Ball
Topics: Play and Football
Words: 1500
Challenges: None, really. I invented a "fantasy" version of football, but that's about it.




DROPPING
THE
BALL


Attention. Three-minute warning. Players to the pitch. Repeat

Iris glanced up at the vox-box in the ceiling, then sank back into her stretch. Shed already warmed up, but stretching killed the tension.

The door slid open behind her. You had me worried, bud.

Sorry, Tango gasped, bustling into the room. He had her rig slung over one shoulder. Last-minute modifications.

Iris stood up. She was 58 and lean, wearing a one-piece gamesuit with pads on her knees and elbows and bulky shockboots. She was twenty-two, or so she was informed. Records were a little sketchy with streetwar orphans.

She spread her arms as Tango attached her rig, plugging in the feeds and starting the power pack. It was a regulation rig, but ESFA rules permitted modifications, and nobody modified a rig like Tango. She wasnt the most experienced on the pitch, but she had the best techie off it. Theyd known each other since the kiddie-pound, since theyd hustled their way up through the street leagues. He made the toys, she won the games.

She was going to need him, too. The qualifying heats were nothing. This was the real deal.

This was the Beckham Cup.




The village of New Beckham, abandoned since the Blight, had found a new life as ESFAs premier championship venue. It lay preserved under a mile-wide dome, surrounded by stands that seated millions, covered with scanner strips to feed the action to the gigatrons above the town. The stands were packed, the millions in attendance only a fraction of the billions watching at home.

The crowd surged as a circular platform descended from the dome, six figures standing on it. The gigatrons lit up to show each one in turn, their stats streaming across the monitors.

Iris eyed up the others. Across from her was Vish, last years champ. He was a gangboy from Jungletown, all scars and savagery, but hed been a hero with the punters ever since crippling Rush Teylor on the pitch last year. Teylor was a rich kid with more money than charisma, and when a Jungletown boy takes out a Teylor its like sweet revenge for a lifetime of social inequality.

But it was Ricky Juarez that Iris was looking out for. He stood to her left, in the most expensive gear money could design. Juarez was new to ESFA, but hed been a champion in the Jovian League. Not that he didnt have plenty of backing. Another shineboy like Teylor, slumming it with the gutter kids. No doubt his weapons would be as shiny as he was. Hed have to watch his back Vish liked sharp toys, and Juarez didnt have any scars. It was like showing Picasso a blank canvas.

She looked at the others, wondering what kind of toys they had. There was Norringtons busted face hed be carrying poppers, he always did and Miss Kitty with her whip. There was the Breuder kid, new to the pro circuit. They expected big things, if he survived his first final.

The kick-off circle was on the village green, in the center of the arena. Around the perimeter were six goal-posts, each assigned to a player. No allies, no clock, no ref, no penalties. One goal, one winner.

With a final eruption of fireworks the platform split off into six segments, carrying the players to their starting lines.




Vish reached the ball first, but not by much. As he swept it up Juarez, Norrington and Iris raced out of adjoining streets to give chase. Miss Kitty had been ambushed by Vish on her way in. The medics said shed live. Probably.

As Vish rushed down the main street, Breuder came from a side-lane and snatched for the ball. He juggled and lost it, and Norrington hit him with a tazer blast before he recovered. Juarez went for the ball, but Iris was already there. Ducking his fist, she snatched it up and sprinted away. She expected him to give chase, but he backed off. Vish lunged for her, but she drove her hand into his chest and felt the kick as her shockglove went off. Vish was hurled backwards through a shop window, tumbling across the floor in a shower of glass.

The roar of the crowd drowned out the shouts of the players as Iris stamped down with both feet, her shockboots firing. She soared upwards to land on the broken tiles of the rooftop, then slid down the other side. She dropped into the street beyond and ducked away down an alley.

As she scurried along the wall, the pickup in her ear activated. Hey, Iris. It was Tango.

Not now! she called.

Look, I Tango sounded ill. I just want to apologize

What? she snapped, turning a corner.

Its nothing personal, Iris. I want you to know that.

She stopped running. What?

It was Juarez, said Tango softly. He likes my work. Wants me on his crew. You wouldnt believe how much hes offering She heard him sigh. Only, I got a contract with you. Two more seasons. I told him, but the offers only good now, so

Iris hunkered down, hissing into the pickup. You breakin contract?

No, Juarez says it has to be legal. Said if I can cancel our contract without breaking regulations, then Ill really deserve to be on his crew.

Iris frowned. You a lawyer now?

There was a brief silence. No. Im a techie.

Iriss pulse skipped. Oh shiv. She half-rose, looking over her rig for something, anything that shouldnt be there.

Dont bother, said Tango. Explosive filament, woven through your rig.

Iris closed her eyes. Last minute modifications. She dropped into a crouch, hugging the ball to her chest. How much time?

Up to you. Tangos voice was hollow. Its on a proximity trigger.

She looked up. Proximity to wh?

Her voice trailed off, glancing down at the ball in her hands.

It armed when you picked up the ball, Tango told her. Youll detonate if you let it go.

Iris hung her head. Drop the ball and die?

The game wouldnt stop until somebody kicked a goal. Whatever the outcome, shed detonate anyway. Itd be murder anywhere else, but fatalities on the pitch were expected. This was pre-game sabotage, but the saboteur was on her own team and she doubted there was a regulation about that. Except

Inteference with the ball, she reminded him. Thats a banning offence

Interference with the balls performance is a banning offence. The guilt in Tangos voice was laced with pride. Its just the trigger. The bombs on you, just big enough to take you out. Wont damage the ball.

Iris sank back. So why are you telling me this?

Tango went quiet. Its inevitable now. And we go back, you and me. The kiddie-pound, the street games. I just thought I owed you an explan

Iris shut off her pickup. She couldnt stand to hear his voice anymore.

Her mind raced. Now what?

She heard footsteps down the alley. With a curse, she turned and ran.

The crowd roared as she emerged, sprinting across the bridge towards her goal area. She didnt know where else to run, she just had to keep possession. She wanted to scream. There were no rules about this, no way to stop the game. She was alone and the others were closing in. If she lost the ball she was dead.

Looking back, she saw Juarez on the rooftops. He wasnt following, just watching. Waiting. Damn him.

Then Norrington appeared out of the alley. His eyes were fixed on her, on the ball. He lowered his head and charged.

Iris fled across the bridge and onto the pitch beyond. There was her goal-line, and the posts behind it. Norrington was halfway across the bridge. She could turn and fight, but she couldnt risk losing the ball. She saw something in his hand.

A popper. He always carried poppers.

Wait

She skidded to a halt at the goal-line. The crowd were on their feet, bellowing for her to shoot. Norrington drew back his arm.

She activated her pickup. Tango? After the game, you and me are having words.

The popper left Norringtons hand, arcing through the air towards her.

And she jumped. Her shockboots kicked in, launching her into the air. She reached out and caught the popper as she rose, holding it at arms length. At the zenith of her jump, it went off. She felt a tingle as the electromagnetic pulse went through her, frying her rig, shorting out her equipment.

All of it.

Her boot swung out, firing the ball away from her.

She heard the crowd erupt as she fell back to earth. She saw a word flash across the gigatron above her.

G O A L ! ! !


She saw Juarez, arms outstretched, mouth wide open in a shouted protest.

Then she hit the ground hard, tumbling over the goal line in a bruised and battered heap.

When the medics arrived, she was still laughing.


THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK:

Say what you like about the hip hop culture, it's produced some really stupid hats.




~ FLAT EARTH ~
~ IN THE FLAT SEAT ~
~ BORROWED TIME ~
(Chapter 6 posted)