Zeroboxer (21 page)

“Where's Risha?” Carr asked Uncle Polly. She always came down to see him after his matches. He kept looking for
her, but she wasn't there.

“I haven't seen her for the last hour,” Polly replied.

Carr called her. Risha didn't answer. He left a message, but felt unsettled. He didn't call frivolously, and besides, she was his brandhelm; she would never ignore a call from him. What could be so important right now that she wasn't here?

After another hour, he began to get irritated and a little nervous. He wound his way through the stadium to the press box, to see if she was up there, and was immediately waylaid by Xeth Stone. “I'm here with Terran favorite Carr Luka,” Xeth said into the camera, “Carr, it's no surprise that you made it to the semifinals handily. Any thoughts on your first set of matches here on Surya? You're obviously fighting in front of a less friendly crowd—does that make any difference?”

Carr looked over Stone's shoulder impatiently. He couldn't see Risha among the media people or the officials. Too many Martians; it was usually so easy to pick her out of a crowd. “No,” he said, turning back to Stone, “when I'm in the Cube, I just shut out what else is going on out there. I know fans back on Earth are cheering for me, and the rest of the Terran team, and that's what matters. Being on Surya has been an incredible experience so far, and I'm looking forward to the rest of the tournament.”

He hoped that would satisfy the man, but Stone pinned him down with a few more questions before the bell rang for the next fight and Carr managed to escape back to the locker room. He watched the screens for a while. So far twelve Terran men and three women were still in contention. The preliminary rounds were going to take another couple of hours at least.

He knew he ought to stay until the end. Just because Risha hadn't returned his call yet was no reason to worry. She was busy with work, maybe dealing with a demanding sponsor or a new media request, and would be back soon. He was just being needy.

On the screen in the locker room, Xeth Stone said, “Here's what I want to know, Jeroan: is it too early to be calling Carr Luka one of the best pound-for-pound fighters in the whole
history
of weightless combat?”

“You know, Xeth, people love to declare sports legends early. The question you have to ask is: can the Raptor continue to perform at such a high level into his twenties and even into his thirties? Because—”

Carr shut off the screen. He waited thirty more minutes, then threw on a warm shirt and climbed through the back halls to the stadium's loading zone. Along the way, he told Scull to let Uncle Polly know he'd gone. He took the shuttle bus back out to Surya's main ring. His cuff seemed to be responding exc
eedingly slowly (some compatibility issue with the Systemnet access out here, maybe?) and it took a couple of tries to summon a taxi to take him back to the hotel.

“Risha?” he called when the door to his hotel room opened. There was no answer, and at first he thought she wasn't there. Then he walked into the bedroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her thinscreen open on her lap and her head bent over it as if she was engrossed in her work. Then she raised her face to his, and he saw that her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her cheeks blotchy, and her sudden stare laser-sharp with accusation
.

He walked over and took the thinscreen from her hands without a word. He saw a page with lines of information, but the first two words told him everything he needed to know:
Sequencing
Results.

Risha spoke in a whisper. “How could you?”

TWENTY

Y
ou
had me sequenced.” Carr felt the screen drop from his fingers, onto the bedspread. Shock and anger crawled over him in a wave of hot and cold. Had she saved a bloody towel after one of his fights? Her panties after they'd had sex? “You can't sequence someone without their permission, not without a police order. It's against privacy laws.”

“You have the gall to lecture me about what's
lega
l
?” Risha cried. “Terran privacy laws don't apply here.”

“But why? Why did you do it?”

She stared at him with parted lips, her face reddening. With a noise between a strangled cry and a bark of laughter, she flung the thinscreen at him. He didn't move; it hit him square in the chest and fell to the floor. Risha was on her feet. “Because I was serious about you! I thought we might … we might get married.” Her voice stumbled over the last word as if it were a sharp stone. She blinked fiercely. “It's typical for a Martian considering marriage to check her partner's genetic profile before signing a contract. And I would have signed fifteen years with you, Carr. Twenty, even. I was that sure.”

“And now?” His tongue felt numb as he formed the words.

She picked up the screen from the floor and read, in a wavering voice: “‘Summary: Subject is a Terran male of mixed ethnic ancestry. Physical and mental risk factors are low. Chromosomal add-ons are present. Evidence of advanced germline modification indicates physiological and/or cognitive enhancements that fall outside of standard ranges and may preclude the subject from legal status, government benefits, and
certain areas of employment
under the Bremen Accord (consult each government's laws as appropriate).'” Her fingers shook and she dropped the screen again. “You didn't think this was something you should have told me?”

His words tumbled out in a rush. “Yes, I should have, but I didn't know. The official genetic profile filed when I was born is a fake.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means a very clever splice dealer went to the trouble of designing me and hiding what I was, even from me. By the time I learned the truth, I was already fighting pro, I'd already met you … what could I do?”

“When? When did you find out?”

“When I went to visit my mom on Earth, right after the title fight was announced.”

“That was over a year ago.”

“I know.”

“So you've been lying to me ever since.” Risha's throat moved as if she were having difficulty swallowing. “I knew there was something you weren't telling me. I thought it was some issue between you and your mom, not … anything as bad as
this
… ”

He felt as though her words were carving a hole out of the center of his chest. “I'm still the same person,” he said. “I always have been.”

She shook her head, strands of black hair plastering to moist cheeks. “That person is a
lie
. I built the entire brand of Carr Luka around a story that isn't true. I told millions of people that you owed your success to natural talent and hard work, not to genetic enhancement. It's illegal for you to even compete.” The gravity of her last words staggered her like a physical blow and she slumped back against the wall, her face ashen. In a quiet, horrified voice, she said, “I staked my whole career on you.”

Hot, acid defensiveness rose and spilled out of Carr. “
Your
whole career? You might have helped tell a lie, but
I'm
the one trapped inside it. What would you have had me do? Tell me! Pull out of the title fight and go to the cops? Destroy everything you and I had worked for? The ship you set us on was flying so high, so fast, I couldn't stop it. We would have lost every
thing.”

“We will anyways,” she said, shoulders curled in dism
ay.

“No one will find out,” he insisted, though the memory of Detective Van and his mother's call pushed into his mind like ragged splinters. “My profile looks clean and no normal screening will pick up anything unusual. What you just did—sequencing me behind my back—isn't legal on Earth and wouldn't ever be
admissible evidence.”

“So you're going to keep trying to get away with it? You're
cheating
, Carr. That's what the ZGFA will decide.”

“Cheating?” He wished she'd slapped him instead. He'd barely even let himself
think
of the word, much less say it out loud. It tasted all wrong in his mouth, rancid and poisonous. “
Cheating
is when someone takes shortcuts to give himself an unfair advantage. I haven't
done
that, Risha. I put in my time and blood and sweat like anyone else in the Cube. I was born what I am, same as anyone else.”

“That's not how Terran law will see it.”

“I know that!” He took a trembling step forward, fingernails digging into his palms. He wanted to grab and shake her. “God, I know that. But I can't rip out my DNA. How can I fight what I am?”

He couldn't. Even if he could, he wouldn't want to. That was Rhystok's brilliant criminal insight. For as much as people feared the specter of enhancement, the threat of superhumans, the terrible consequences of breeding mankind, they desired and celebrated the extraordinary. Carr unders
tood this in the very core of his being.

Risha dropped her face into her hands. He reached for her, wanting, despite his anger, to pull her into his arms. For a moment, she seemed to soften, to lean into him, but then she set her jaw and pushed away, her face
grim. “You didn't choose to be what you are, but don't tell me you're innocent. You chose to keep competing after you found out, and you chose not to tell me. You never gave
me
a choice. You trapped me, the way you were trapped, and you would never have told me. Never.”

“I meant to. I did, but—” His words came out rough, as if he were choking down gravel. “I didn't want to lose you.”

Risha squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “That's not your decision.” She stumbled around him and toward the door.

He caught her by the wrist, his hand encircling it. “Don't. Please. There's more I need to tell you. And this tournament … we both know it's grown beyond being just about zeroboxing.”

She looked down at his hand and back up to his face. Her eyes were like polished opaque mirrors, already receding from him. A small, sad voice inside of him admonished,
You knew this moment would come.
On the ship, after floating together and kissing, when she'd promised he could tell her anything, he'd known this moment would come. It was every bit as painful as he'd imagined it to be.

“Let go of me, Carr,” she said.

He was much stronger than she was. She could cry and hit him until she exhausted herself, and he could hold on.

He let his fingers fall open. “Risha,” he said, “I love you.”

She left anyways.

TWENTY-ONE

H
e sha
ttered his own rule about drinking before fights. The strongest-looking stuff from the overpriced mini-bar was a bottle of some clear green Ceresian liquor as vile as antiseptic. Carr took masochistic swallows of it, storming back and forth across the room while calling Risha unmentionable names, then sat down on the edge of the bed in a stupor of regret. A barrage of hurtful, furious thoughts raced through his mind, and he pressed his fists against his forehead as if he could drive his knuckles into his brain and silence them.
She never loved you. You were just a hot commodity, the star client that was her ticket to success. You were just business to her, the way you are to Rhystok.

No! That wasn't true. She'd believed in him, worked tirelessly for him, been there for him after every fight. When they kissed, when they made love, he'd seen tenderness and passion in her eyes. She'd thought about marrying him.

But she left. When she found out you were useless to her,
she left.

A call came in from Uncle Polly. Carr stared at his vibrating cuff in a daze. Two seconds passed, then three. He accepted
the call.

“Carr, we're just about done here. We need you back. Where are you? Did you find her?”

He stood up and let his feet carry him mechanically out of the room. “I'm on my way, coach.” He ended the
call before Uncle Polly could say more.

On his way back to the stadium, he had the misfortune to be spotted by a group of half a dozen Terrans camped outside of the gravity zone terminal with signs that read,
NEED TICKETS TO WOTW!
They looked like they'd arrived on Surya with nothing but their bags and the clothes on their back and could all benefit tremendously from a shower. The Martians walking past on the terminal platform turned their faces away in distaste and gave them a wide berth.

“I think that's Carr Luka!” one of the girls hissed, grabbing her companion's arm and pointing.

“Really, you think so?” The boy sounded uncertain.

“What are the odds that there's another Terran on this d
omie station that looks
exactly
like him?”

Carr stared straight ahead, willing the shuttle bus to appear.
Please don't come here please don't come here please don't

They came up to him, as eager and tentative as kittens to
a saucer. “Hey, Carr! Mr. Luka? Is that really you?”

He turned to snap at them to leave him alone, but
before he could do so, the girl, a teenager with violet-tinted optics and sandy-blond ringlets falling around her face, grabbed her friend's arm and whispered loudly, “I
knew
it was worth coming in person! Even without tickets, it was so worth it!”

Carr clenched his jaw hard, forcing a lid onto his anger. His problems weren't their fault. Risha had drilled into him over and over again the importance of “touchpoints” with his fans, and he couldn't shake her adamant voice from his head, as much as he wanted to. “You guys here to watch the fights?” he asked.

They nodded in mute awe.

“You came all the way from Earth? How long did it
take you?”

“Ten days,” said a skinny boy wearing a Skinnwear top in ZGFA colors. “Brenn's dad works for Virgin Galactic and got us a deal on tickets to Phobos, but we hitchhiked to Surya.”

“
That's … really hard core.”

They all grinned. How childlike they seemed. They were teenagers—one or two of them looked eighteen or nineteen, around Carr's own age—but to him, they all looked like Enzo, silly with enthusiasm. This was
fun
for them, traveling all the way here, sharing in the fandom, getting close to the drama of the Cube and the fighters they'd seen in holovid. Zeroboxing define
d Carr's life, in every way, good and bad, ecstatic and heartbreaking. He'd given his entire childhood to the sport. It had made him and aged him. But to them, it was all entertainment.

Another girl, with dimples and short, spiky black hair, said, “We figured
some
of your fans really ought to be here in person, so even though it's mostly domies here, you'll know everyone back home is rooting for you.”

The older teen the others had referred to as Brenn said, “Your story, man, your whole journey, it's like, so inspiring, you know what I mean?”

The Skinnwear logo friend nodded vigorously. “Terran pride, man, all the way.”

The shuttle bus arrived, gliding into the terminal with a whoosh. “I hope I'll see you in the crowd tomorrow,” Carr said. He boarded quickly. He glanced back as the vehicle began to move and caught a receding glimpse of them. They were practically jumping up and down on the platform, talking together excitedly.

Back in the stadium's locker room, he found Uncle Polly livid with annoyance. “First that domie girl, and then you, taking off in the middle of the goddamn elimination rounds,” he growled. “A hell of a time to sneak off for some hanky-panky, don't you think? What's wrong with you? And where is she, anyways?”

“She's not here.”

“Why not?” Polly leaned in close to Carr and his eyes lit with astonished fury. “Have you been drinking?”

“Coach,” Carr said. His pained look brought even Uncle Polly to silence. “I can't talk about this rig
ht now.”

“Luka!” Gant bellowed from somewhere down the hall. “Someone seen Luka? We're bringing all the semi­finalists up on deck!”

Carr stripped down to his fight shorts, jammed his feet into his grippers, and tugged his gloves on with his teeth as he launched himself up to the stadium entrance. The president of the WCC, a heavyset man by Martian standards, with thick fingers and thin eyes, was saying, “And last but not least, the final four combatants in the expanded lowmass division … ”

Carr grabbed the guide-rail and swung himself onto the deck next to DK. His teammate had a torn ear that had been hastily patched, but he flashed a triumphant, high-wattage smile and raised his hands to the crowd as the two of them stepped forward alongside Kye Soard and the other Martian semifinalist, Yugo Macha.

Carr didn't hear much of what was said. His head felt stuffed with cotton. He scanned the rest of the deck, noting how the other divisions had shaken out. The final four in the men's midmass had two Terrans in contention, the highmass had one Terran to three Martians. Adri, looking battered and a little shocked, had made it to the woman's midmass semifinals. Six Terrans on stage, out of the thirty-two who'd made the journey.

“Tomorrow then, earthworms,” said Soard cheerfully
as they shook hands.

Yugo Macha held onto Carr's hands too tightly and leaned in with his voice lowered. He had a bony face, all jutting angles as if he had a metal cyborg skull under his dark glistening skin. “Th
e feeds, they call you ‘a Terran treasure.'” He sneered. “You worms, your time is over. You just don't realize it yet. You don't stand a chance. When you turn out be a disappointment to a whole planet, you'll wish you were never born.”

Carr felt his lips twist in a rictus of irony.
I don't need you for that.
He wished, suddenly, that the semifinal fight was right now, this very instant, so he could hit Macha in his smug domie kisser, and keep hitting him, and keep hitting him. It didn't have to be Macha. It could be Soard. It could be anyone.

Get a fucking grip.
He was off-kilter, he knew. Bringing personal crap into the Cube—that was a mistake for amateurs. “Save your breath for the fight, domie,” he said, and turned his back.

Gant gathered all of the Terran fighters together in the locker room. “It's been a hell of a day,” he said. “I saw some good, hard fights, some of the best I've ever seen. Whether you won or lost, every single one of you ought to be proud just to be competing at this level.” He paused, his eyes drif
ting over the group. There were a lot of bruised and tired faces, and Carr could tell that despite the upbeat tone of Gant's speech, everyone in the room was disappointed that at least a couple more Terrans hadn't made it to the semifinals. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day, a big crowd. Those of you fighting, get enough rest tonight. We're rooting for each and every one of you.”

There was smattering of applause and people dispersed to change, get their gear, and, for most of them, to nurse injuries and the pain of loss. There was chatter about going out to one of the few Terran bars on Surya. Carr made his way over to Gant.

“We did all right, Luka,” the Martian said when he saw Carr approach. “Could've been better, could've been worse.”

Carr nodded. “Could I get some extra tickets?”

“I haven't got that many more, but for you, sure. What do you need? Three, four?”

“Six ought to do it.”

Gant grunted. “Some family or friends of yours decided to unexpectedly show up?”

“Sort of like that.”

Uncle Polly got so angry at Risha that Carr got angry too and told him to shut up and not call her the things that he'd been calling her himself a few hours ago. Then he said he didn't want
to talk about it anymore and asked Polly what he thought of Macha and Soard's qualifying fights earlier in the day. They sat around the small table in Carr's hotel room, studying the videos. Carr was hydrating like mad, trying to clear his head and flush the nasty green Ceresian antifreeze from his veins. He had to get up every fifteen minutes to piss blue electrolyte solution. Tournaments were hard; there was no time
for repair nanos between rounds. They would get picked up in pre-fight screening.

“Soard had easy fights,” Carr said. “He's not even trying yet. But he's striking a lot more than he's grabbing.”

“Martian joints and bones aren't as solid as Terran on
es, even if they do self-remineralize,” Uncle Polly said. “Might be why he's avoiding joint locks.” He paused, rubbing one of his leathery hands across his forehead. “You already know all this. You're better off getting some extra sleep.”

Carr was silent for a minute. “Okay.”

Polly stood up and looked down at him for a long moment. “You'll be all right?”

“You're asking if I can fight tomorrow? Yeah, I'll be fine.”

“That wasn't what I was asking.”

Carr swiped the holovid off the table and raised his eyes to his coach. He was surprised to see an aching softness in the old man's eyes. Uncle Polly had been married once, though it had ended before Carr had known him. He didn't have any kids of his own, and besides his brother Morrie, he didn't talk about his family. Carr realized, a little painfully, that most of the time
he
was Uncle Polly's family. His coach's life was as linked to his as Risha's had been. Had he long ago trapped Polly in the same way he'd more knowingly trapped Risha? Was Uncle Polly angry at Risha for his sake, Carr wondered, or just resentful that she'd escaped—done the right thing—when he had not?

“I don't blame her.” Looking at his hands, Carr didn't realize at first that he'd spoken out loud. “I just didn't think it would happen this way. I thought I had time. I meant to tell her. I just … couldn't.”

Uncle Polly looked away from him for a moment. “I know how that feels
.”

“Do you think she'll come back?” Carr asked quietly.

“I don't know,” Uncle Polly said. Honest. Carr could appreciate that. “What I do know,” Polly said, and he cleared his throat, “is that I couldn't give you up. I almost did, when I learned what I going to be a part of. But I couldn't. Not when I thought I should, and not
anytime since. I don't see how anyone else could either. Doesn't matter who designed you and why.”

Carr's eyes stung. He dropped his gaze and managed to mutter, “Thanks, coach.”

“See
you tomorrow, champ.” Uncle Polly hadn't called him that since he was a kid.

When he was alone, Carr got into bed and lay with his head turned so he could look out into space. Against the backdrop of pinprick stars, Mars looked dark and dusky, like a dull copper coin he'd once seen at an antique store on Jarvis Street near his mom's apartment. His cuff told him that it was late evening, but he wasn't sure what part of Mars the station kept time with. And he had no idea what time it was back on Valtego, or in Toronto. Was his mom awake? Was Enzo madly posting to
his feed?

His bed felt large and empty, like an ancient ghost ship from the earliest days of spacefaring, long ago flung out of orbit, destined to travel beyond the reaches of civilization, into
nothingness. He slept.

When the rising tone of an incoming call played in the middle of the night, he jerked awake at once, slapping at his cuff to accept the call even before he'd opened his eyes to the dark room. “Risha?”

Two beats of heavy silence came from the other end. Carr blinked, managed to focus on his cuff's display, and realized his mistake.

“Mr. Luka,” said Detective Van. “Meet me in the lobby. I need to speak to you.”