Batey Ascending

My first few outings to learn the tech and overcome the anti-gravity sickness led to failures. I went too fast and got out of the Sphere, I couldn’t control my angles, I couldn’t keep my eyes on the field or find the goal. I played a practice skirmish with some other hopefuls doing it for a hobby and scored on my own team.

They laughed me out as I felt the NCred slipping down my back like icy water down my neck. I just kept failing and felt like giving up. It was no good to make some kind of name for myself if all that name got me was more trouble.

I was planning on calling it quits. I reflected on it for a while as I watched a league team practice in the gym. They were good, really good, first seed and bench were both great at team play and individual hustle, and one player stood out by the way his jersey displayed his name as a hologram around him.

Fred.RTG. The center, the leader, and the captain of the Ready To Go faction that was leading the early games of the league playoffs. Since the Gibraltar was as big as the US, it made sense to categorize its regions like US states, except every single one was a megalopolis of a city that extended from end to end of the ship.

Each central area of distribution, where all the food was synthesized, took the place of a capital building or town hall. That was the center for every community and were all equidistant to one another. This is how the districts formed, cities combining together, like how Los Angeles was just like seven different named towns in the umbrella of a much larger, more famous map.

The RTG were from another Faction, another town over, with their own ideals and organization that differed just slightly from the one I was in. As same as everything was for most people, the geniuses who made things weren’t evenly distributed. Some Factions had none, others had more, and would invite them in off of the PCred of the unified populations.

I guess they were just in my Faction to style on everyone and take up the arena space for practice. And they got called out for it by a local hotshot who I tried and failed to practice with. “If you’re so good why don’t you just go practice in your own Faction?”

And that got Fred mad. So, there was a pickup game, them against us, and I say us because, honestly, why not. No one was counting Creds for the match, although some people decided to bet them. The losers would lose and not look back.

I tried my heart out that match, swallowed my spit-up and tore up the Sphere. Everything they did, I saw and copied as best I could. Before the first third was over, I managed to score the first goal since I started trying out and it felt great. All the negativity just washed away from me in that instant.

Until I saw Fred’s face. I scored on him while he was guarding. I slipped in under him, went upside down behind him and snapped the ball out of his rebound with an elbow-drop. Got it in the goal right in front of his face. I was smiling about it, I styled on him good, and that’s when I learned what made Fred a league competitor.

We got blown out 10 points to 1. My point was the only goal and they led us around in circles for the rest of the time. Nothing we did worked. They plugged their brains up to their cybernetic trackers and sent the ball on Chase after Chase, making it move so fast no one could intercept it without getting blown back.

When I was on the bench recovering, I got approached by them, in their full 15-man flank with Fred right at the center. “You’re the only one up there,” he said, “with guts enough to try and win. Even when it was impossible you were still flying and fighting after us. It’s just a shame you didn’t have a good team to back you up.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “We’re all in here for recreation now. Not practicing for games like you all are doing.” He could tell that I was still pushing that grudge forward. A pro team came up against a bunch of amateurs and were acting like big talk for winning. That made my one point feel bigger than their 10 by weight.

“Have you thought about implants?” he asked. That was when I got my first close up of the processor in his head. A plastic panel over a metal patch on the back of his head. “It automates the sensory nerves and motor functions for instantaneous reactive reflexes and assists the brain with acclimating to full 3D maneuvering. I’ve got the Cred to get anyone hooked up, as long as they’re on the right side.”

“What’re you asking me?”

“Why don’t you join us?” he asked. “We’ve got a full team now, but there’s always room for a 4th bench starter.”

If this was their way of extending a sporting hand at the end of a match, I must have missed the handshake. Couldn’t see it over their smug grins or hear a good game over them snickering over me while I packed myself up.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m just playing for fun.” I don’t know why those words pissed him off so much, but I could see it. A fire was in his eyes. Like the concept of fun itself was an insult he couldn’t let slip.

~~~