The Sky Drifter (21 page)

Another reason I hadn’t told the coach was because I wanted the time to think. I wanted to mull over what I’d do, how I’d get him back. If I’d told Mr. Hist the truth that option would have been taken from me. It would have been out of my hands.

As soon as the queasiness was gone and my head had stopped pounding, I stepped outside the players’ box and looked up at the screen. Part of me just wanted to see One pummelled into the ground while the other hoped he’d win, for the sake of the team.

The game must have only just begun, because he and Altec were still only sizing each other up. All of a sudden, Altec closed his hand into a fist and brought it to his throat, running his thumb across his neck.

In response, One gave a loud, sarcastic laugh, which could be heard over the speakers around the arena, and spat, “You’re pathetic.”

Altec squinted, and cocking his head slightly to one side, replied, “What did you say?”

“You heard me. You’re as pathetic as the rest of your team. You’re nothing more than sad,
pathetic
show-offs starved for attention. You make me
sick
.”

His face filling with deep malice and resentment, Altec spoke in a tone so cold, so sharp as to rival One’s. “Who do you think you’re talking to, filth? Don’t you realize? You’re all just here to entertain us. You’re our play-things—our toys. You’re walking, talking jokes.
Now,” continued Altec, pressing the button on his glove, releasing his light chain and metal ball, “shut that disgusting hole you call a mouth and stand there like a good little toy while I beat you to death.”

“Big mouth for such a—” Before One could finish, Altec rushed toward him at incredible speed and swung his crimson ball directly at his chest. As One narrowly dodged this attack with a dive, the ball crashed against the sphere with such force it dented it. Poised, and in a defensive stance, One released his own light chain and ball, and spat, “Exactly what I expected from a being as
pathetic
as you. You’re
below
me.”

A
ltec brought his index finger to his lips as he grinned, and said, “Shhh.”

All of a sudden, both competitors rushed at each other. Altec sent his light chain streaming upward before he rapidly brought his ball crashing back down in an arch. Almost simultaneously, One somersaulted just above the arch, landing behind his opponent, and spun quickly on the spot, sending his ball rushing toward Altec, who was already sending his own hurtling back toward him.

With a near-deafening
‘clang
,’ both metal balls collided violently with each other, sending sparks shooting from between them. Flipping and rolling away from each other, the competitors re-grouped as they decided how next to attack.

As the game went on, I felt revived and energized again with deep frustration setting in as I watched One competing. I turned to look at the Morex, who was also watching the screen, but decided not to say anything. He (or she) would never openly admit to having helped One poison my drink, grunting and shoving me instead. No, I’d have to confront One in person. It was between him and me.

As the violent game above went on, the opponents seemed evenly matched, both having a similar array of strong, precise attacks and agile defense.

“That’s it! That’s it!” guffawed Altec, grinning from ear to ear. “Now you’re being a
good
little toy!” He continued his unrelenting attacks.

Evading Altec by somersaulting off the sphere, One crouched on one knee at a distance from his opponent, and spat, “Tell me, Malac, is your mother just as ugly as the rest of you?”

As the arena filled with angry yells, boos, and hisses, Altec stopped in his tracks and briefly stood silently with his arms by his sides, his expressionless face turned to the floor just ahead of him. It was as though a dark aura had suddenly enveloped his body.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s lack of attention, One made a dash toward Altec, who remained motionless, and jumped high into the air, swinging his light chain in a wide, vertical motion, bringing the metal ball streaming down toward his opponent.

Just as the speeding ball was about to strike Altec’s head, with quicksilver speed he rapidly crouched and spun around so he stood behind One, reached inside the top of his glove, pulling something shiny out of it, and rammed it hard into the side of One’s torso.

The next moment appeared to be in slow motion as they stood there, the vast arena falling into a deafening silence. All of a sudden, Altec pulled out the sharp weapon from One’s side, which dripped with his blood, as the latter fell limply to the floor.

NOTHING HAPPENED
for a moment as the entire arena seemed frozen with shock. I saw Mr. Hist shout something as he bounded up the stairs toward the sphere, shortly followed by an ASO. Perhaps out of morbid entertainment, the screens stayed on, panning on One’s motionless body as his blood dripped from the sphere onto the platform below. I far from liked him, but seeing him like that, I felt a fear for him I couldn’t have anticipated.

All of a sudden, Mr. Hist reached One and rapidly knelt beside him, utterly distraught. As the ASO arrived shortly after, the coach moved swiftly aside and let it scan One’s body. It focused a single red beam where One had been stabbed, and a gelatinous goo of the same color covered the deep wound.

As all this happened, Altec calmly walked out of the sphere and down the steps to the arena floor, all the while retaining a look of numb indifference on his face. Walking toward his team’s players’ box, Gamal Metafrick emerged from within it and then grabbed Altec roughly by the arm before rapidly pulling him inside.

Soon One was brought back into our players’ box on a mobile stretcher with the coach walking closely beside him, looking extremely upset. “All of you,” Mr. Hist commanded sternly, “get your things. We’re leaving.”

An immediate low murmur erupted from the other players as I walked over to stand next to One, his plain white mask still on his face. “What did the ASO say?” I asked the coach, who rooted through his bags and threw things around as though he searched for something. When no reply came, I asked again, “Coach, what did the—”

“He said he’ll be okay,” snapped Mr. Hist, throwing a container back into one of the bags. Just as he said that, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to me and repeating in a calmer, softer tone, “He’ll be okay, but he was lucky. If that boy had aimed a little higher, or the ASO had taken a little longer…” The coach rubbed his hand down his face and sighed again, then looked at me, and said, “Come on, get your things. We’re getting out of here.”

Just as he spoke those words, Gamal Metafrick entered the players’ box with a mock-sheepish grin on his face. “Mr. Hist,” he began with his usual smooth tone of voice, “can I just—”

“And what do
you
want?” barked the coach angrily.

“Now, now,” resumed the Malac, rubbing his hands together, “there is no need to be like that, sir. Altec has been thoroughly reprimanded and feels dreadful about the whole thing.”

The coach marched right up to Gamal Metafrick’s face and said in a low yet threatening tone, “Give me just one reason I shouldn’t smash that smarmy face of yours right now.”

I’d never seen Mr. Hist that upset, which was quite a surreal experience.

You could tell the Malac tried hard to suppress his anger at the coach’s threat as he replied, “Now, now, we’re all adults here, and we all know the dangers the game of Sphere presents to its competitors—”

“Last I looked,” interrupted Mr. Hist angrily, “Sphere was
not
a game of sharp weapons used to stab opponents with, Mr. Metafrick.”

“A terrible, isolated incident, Mr. Hist. One that will not be reproduced.”

“That’s completely right,” agreed the coach assuredly, “because we’re leaving. Come on, guys!” He turned and walked away from the Malac.

“The thing is,” persisted Gamal Metafrick, “you
cannot
leave, Mr. Hist.”

“We
can
, Metafrick. We can and we
will
.”

“Not if you want your team permanently disbanded, Mr. Hist.”

Walking up to the Malac once again, a now furious coach growled through his bushy moustache, “What are you blathering about?”

“You see, we have a contract that clearly stipulates the game—being an official one—comes to a natural conclusion. Failure to adhere to this would incur the stiffest of penalties, sir, namely the disbanding of your team and a rather steep fine, I can assure you.”

Mr. Hist seemed to be choking on his words as he stared furiously at the Malac.

“Let me play,” I said suddenly.

“Ah, see?” began Gamal Metafrick suavely. “Here’s a player who understands the value of a contract,” He continued to gleefully rub his hands together. “Well done,” he added, turning to face me.

“Don’t talk to me,” I snapped, causing his grin to falter. “Coach, let me play,” I repeated.

Mr. Hist continued staring at the Malac a moment longer, then turned his head and frowned. He walked over to me, and in a low voice said, “Come here.” He walked past me, and headed farther along the players’ box. I followed him until he stopped out of ear-shot of Gamal Metafrick.

“Seven, if you think I’m going to let you, in all good conscience, face that boy after what he did to One, you’ve got another thing coming. I’d never forgive myself if something like that—or worse—happened to you.”

“There’s no way they’d let Altec back in the sphere without making sure he didn’t have another hidden weapon.” Just as the coach made to speak, no doubt to try to change my mind, I quickly added, “Besides, you heard him—if we don’t play, the team will be disbanded, and none of us wants that.” Mr. Hist was visibly torn, his brow frowned as his gaze darted left and right. I continued to press him. “I can take him, coach, I know I can take him. The only way we’re going to get even is to beat them.” I knew how corny that sounded, but it seemed to do the trick, because with a look of renewed energy on his face, Mr. Hist finally agreed to let me face Altec.

He turned abruptly toward Gamal Metafrick, and cried, “Get your player ready!”

***

The air felt heavy. The crowd was divided between murmurs and cheers. I wondered where in that vast sea of faces Iris and Pi were. I wondered what they felt and what they’d say if we had the chance to speak. Instead, Mr. Hist walked beside me as we headed up the first set of stairs toward the highest sphere. He spoke continuous words of encouragement I couldn’t hear through my intense focus on the game ahead. Somehow, however, Altec’s name made it through, and I saw the coach nod to my right where my opponent had just walked out of the players’ area with Gamal Metafrick, who stepped toward the stairs with him.

For once, I was first to make it to the sphere. After a few more words of encouragement, Mr. Hist went to stand on the platform just outside it. Soon after, the coach shot looks of contempt at the two Malacs as Altec stepped inside the sphere and Gamal Metafrick planted himself right next to the coach as if they were good friends.

No chance of that—pretend or otherwise—with my opponent and me. As soon as Altec was in the sphere, he paced from one end of it to the other, his gaze fixed on the floor just in front of him, as though he were a wild beast or something. He could have been doing cartwheels for all I cared, though. The only thing I wanted was to make him hurt.

As soon as the loud chime sounded, Altec stopped and faced me. We sized each other up for a moment until, all of a sudden, he raised his fists in front of him. The fire that burned inside me now also sparkled with excitement. He wanted a fist fight, and I was more than happy to oblige.

Without a second thought, I reached up and took my helmet off, tossing it aside. I wanted to beat him, but I wanted to do so fairly. I put up my own fists, and we took up offensive stances as we walked slowly toward each other. As soon as he was close enough, Altec immediately threw a fast round kick to my side, but missed, while I counter-attacked with a straight kick to his gut, which also failed to connect.

We danced around each other, both poised for attack, until I threw a quick flurry of punches at his face, followed by a knee to his side, only managing to make the latter hit him. Altec responded with a series of jabs and uppercuts of his own, finishing with a swift straight kick to my chest, winding me.

Without a moment’s hesitation, my opponent rushed toward me and proceeded to send a succession of punches and elbows at my face and sides while I held my arms up defensively, doing my best to block his attacks. All of a sudden, Altec grabbed the back of my head and brought one of his knees crashing against my forehead, sending me plummeting to the floor.

The crowd, now more assertive, burst into howls of adoration and encouragement for Altec, who complacently raised his hands above his head as if declaring himself the victor. This gave me more than enough time to compose myself and get back up on my feet.

Our game continued as it had begun, neither of us willing to let his opponent get the better of him as blow after blow caused our bodies to heavily bleed and bruise.

My body ached, screaming at me to stop punishing it. Never before had it been so violently attacked. My right eye had begun to close soon after Altec had hit it with a powerful hook. I wanted to stop, but I knew I wouldn’t—I’d never stop. I’d fight that guy for as long as my limbs could move and I was conscious. I thought of my teammates, and even of One. This guy with a red crest of hair and thirst for violence wasn’t going to get the better of me—of us.

I looked at him, at his face. A glint of savage pleasure glinted in his eyes while his permanent grin taunted and mocked an opponent he saw only as just another play-thing. From somewhere inside me, the same blazing fire I’d started with burned once again as my heart wildly beat with adrenaline. Altec, with an energy that seemed interminable, rushed once again toward me, twisting his body and drawing his fist right back, ready to bring it screaming forward into me.