Chapter Thirty-One
From there we spent the rest of the evening coming up with ‘rules’ for Ballyball, an ‘official list’ of things that could and could not be done. “If we have pads, we could include biting.” Boatswain suggested.
“Biting humans is how we got to this point. Plus that seems contradictory to the whole notion of ‘peace’. Besides that, we need to test out how well this works on the whole before we start including things that could cause injury. Humans would need all new armor on their necks just to be safe. My bite strength is the equivalent of one of their lions. A modified space marine with training?” I snorted and shook my head, “I did a comparison while I was bored during the trip here. Your bite strength is greater than six thousand psi.”
Every eye turned toward the dlamisan security officer, I can’t prove it now of course, but I swear he sat a little taller in his chair. A strong bite is a point of pride for a dlamisa, and when he saw Byron nod, Boatswain opened his mouth to show off his teeth. Unlike mine, his teeth were capped with a titanium tip, and his were significantly larger than mine.
He ‘flexed’ his upper body, and his neck visibly bulged, while he showed off, I explained. “Our ancestors would chase prey, stab with our forefingers to hook into the flesh, and then our teeth would latch on. After that, we would ‘shake’ the prey using our neck muscles to shred the flesh further. Aside from humans, we’re the only known species that can track prey all day. Though we do need to stop to drink unless we have something to help with that.”
Boatswain snapped his jaws shut several times in rapid succession, drawing some impressed whispers and Rebecca’s intense curiosity.
“So how do you get a bite strength like that?” She asked. She set down the spoon she was using to feed her son and approached Boatswain. She leaned at the hip so that she was facing his jaw. Military dlamisa are so large that even seated, she was eye level while standing up, and had to lean to the side to look under his jaw, her hair tumbled long and loose, swaying in the breeze that passed through the open window.
She smelled faintly of coconut, and seemed utterly fearless. Perhaps some will not find this strange, but I would remind anyone who does that the galaxy is populated predominantly with evolved prey species. And out of those that did evolve from predators, apex or otherwise, dlamisa were the most widely feared. Our predatory bodies, mine being something of an exception, always appear aggressive to more timid species. Getting up close to one of us is not something lightly done. Every instinct in the body of a prey species warns them not to come too close.
Even many predators naturally stand away.
But here?
Humans are magnificent in their utter fearlessness. True, one may make light of her coming close by way of saying she was using her reason and trusting to her personal knowledge of myself and our resident guard. But I point out that reason does not eliminate instinct, and there was no evident struggle over whether she should approach, no hint of instinctive fear of my enormous mountain of muscle and dark fur.
“May I?” She asked, her hands coming up, and after a glance down at me, and a whack of my tail against his, Boatswain lowered his head a little and let her work.
Rebecca brought her hands up and touched the underside of his jawline with the pads of her fingers. She let out an appreciative whistle as her fingers inspected long jaw.
“What?” Byron asked, a note of rare intellectual curiosity in his voice. “My boy here that impressive?”
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“Yes.” Rebecca answered, “Good god, I’ve never seen a structure like this, in most species, the jaws are connected only at the base, near the back. But in our friend here?” She straightened up and began following the muscle lines all over his snout.
“No, muscles run from front to back as well as at the base. Almost like a drawbridge, the way it coils from point to point is totally alien to this world and any species I’ve ever seen. A bite like this will go through bone like butter.” She gave another appreciative whistle and began reflexively scratching the top of Boatswain’s head.
His tail wagged at the praise and he began tapping one foot on the ground, his tongue lolling out in happiness. Praise for our bite is one of the highest praises you can offer one of our kind.
“I daresay he has the strongest single bite on our planet, at least twenty percent greater than a Nile Crocodile.” She added, and if Boatswain’s wagging tail hit mine any harder after that, I think mine would have flown off.
“Heh, I knew those chompers were strong, but not that strong.” Byron looked up and Boatswain reflexively opened his mouth to show them off again, “But that’s my boy for you, strong like bull, bite like gator.” He nudged Boatswain in the ribs, and though I didn’t get it, I gathered there was a backstory there to some conversation I hadn’t been party to.
“So, biting is definitely off the table for the rules of the game.” I reiterated, and Boatswain reluctantly nodded.
“Damn. I like biting.” He reflected.
“Me too, buddy. Me too.” William answered, and his wife gave him a dirty look which I can only describe as ‘long suffering’. Though I was not quite sure why.
“So how does a species get a bite like that? If what Bailey says is right, even he’s got a bite like a lion. Is that… natural?” Fauve asked, I winced a little inside at the way she said it. Jaw strength after all, is key to our culture, and the strength of the bite in male or female is a strong predictor of whether or not one will mate with the other.
Fauve might not have meant to say I would never find a mate, but it was quite the implication.
Still, it was an innocent question so I answered accordingly. “Most of it.” I said, “He’s had some enhancement, genetic modifications primarily, however that only enhances his already considerable strength. To be with embassy security he had to have a minimum bite strength of four thousand psi.”
Boatswain clearly didn’t mind the praise, and added in, “I can bite clean through a Zenti shell and spit it out, noooo problem.”
“So, again, just to be clear… no biting. Not until someone has come up with suitable safety gear at least.” I reiterated, and the table was filled with sage nods.
Other rules were easy, with the field’s white line boxing everyone in. One human thrower per dlamisa, one dlamisa per thrower. The dlamisa could only carry two balls at a time, his own plus one stolen from one opponent. The farther the throw, the more points the throw is worth, with one point for every three meters. If he stole a ball then the points were based on the farther throw, effectively doubling the value of the long distance throw even if they got a ball that was thrown only a short way.
Tackles were permitted, punches and kicks were not. Disrupting throws were permitted… and so the rules continued. Little by little the game evolved, up to and including how the throwers could intervene with returning dlamisan retrievers, as well as how many balls could be thrown in a match and how they would be held after retrieval.
Then, just like that… I think William said it best.
“There’s nothing left to add, and there’s nothing to take away. That means ‘Ballyball’ is perfect.”
“You know… I realize this is for science, but it honestly does sound like it might be fun to watch. Could we maybe invite a few people?” Rebecca suggested.
I felt multiple eyes on me from all directions but the wall. It seemed to run counter to the spirit of the observational study, but then… ‘Maybe?’ I could include one more variable as well.
“Yes, sure… what’s just a few people?” I asked, “I’ll probably have to have the captain there anyway, and I’ll have to have the crew there as well to see who is willing to volunteer. So what’s a few humans watching for fun?”
And just like that, I asked the dumbest question of my entire life.