Chrome crashed and sparks flew. The Chelsea hooker kicked the ball back and Manfred grabbed it, accelerating in a blur. Just before the Aston flyhalf careened into him, he fired the ball off to the Chelsea flyhalf with cybernetic thrust. Then the opposing flyhalf was on him, an almost illegally high tackle sending their metalbodies flying right, such that the wing had to watch out for them. They crashed and fired off again, tearing chunks of nanosod as they scrabbled to position.

Manfred was a scrumhalf, the quintessential multitool position in a game of multitool positions. He made tackles like a prop, supported rucks like a center, ran like a wing and even kicked in a pinch. Cybernetic rugby had changed a lot of the game. It was faster, more flexible and demanding–also more popular–then traditional rugby. Where games like football and soccer had struggled with cybernetics and how the chrome changed game dynamics, rugby had only improved. With a mere seven players per side, cybernetic enhancements had opened up new pastures of strategies and allowed the players to shine, instead of bogging the game down in a eleven v. eleven chrome slogfest. Because each individual was pivotal, rugby had also become a factory of fame–and infamy.

Manfred burst through the gate to support the ruck, slamming into his prop whose body went loose and then solid with the new force transference technology. Manfred's feet dug into the ground, straining and pressing. Then the ruck moved forward with a jolt as his momentum transferred and two more players crashed in next to him for good measure, getting the ball out just in time. The Chelsea wing caught it and dashed off in a spray as the scrum disentangled.

Colton and thousands of others watched the game through Manfred's eyes, feeling the shoving and battering his body took, and the strange sensations of his cybernetic limbs. Brain pumping with adrenaline, Manfred–and Colton–dashed forward with exhilarating, unnatural speed, three hundred pounds of metal and rugged flesh flying for the try line like a freight train. It made Colton feel like a god. Then the flyhalf made the tri for Chelsea and holographic confetti exploded. Chelsea cheered and rallied, Manfred slapping the flyhalf on the back. The announcer boomed a string of breathless exclamations. Sweat and oil dripped off Manfred, the sound of heavy breathing and taste of electricity.

Seventy five minutes later the match concluded 29-17, Chelsea triumphant. Colton opted not to return to his avatar, instead watching through Manfred for the postgame as the up-and-coming star shook hands with the Aston players, grinned at their good-humored jabs. Then it was all adulating supporters and gabbing interview.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Manfred." Said a reporter. "That concludes our coverage of today's Chelsea-Aston game. An exciting start to the British Royal League, I'm sure we can all agree..."

The carbon and organiplastics withdrew and Manfred's lurid worldview gently (but jarringly) faded into Jukes' dim room of stim chairs. Shaking with excitement, Colton took long deep breaths before standing, trying to calm himself. A good number of other spectators left Jukes as Colton did, most of them young, and the dwarf and troll waved the small crowd off pleasantly without even a breath of Mine Cave Adventure.

"Oogh." The troll winked.

Stumbling out still somewhat disoriented, the light of the late afternoon streets seared his eyes, even though the streets were shrouded in long (familiar and identical) shadows. Only four thirty but the winter sun always sank too early. It must be ten degrees cooler and darker than Granview Stadium. A group was chatting about the match and Colton joined them in the streets as they recounted plays, only drifting off once they reached the bar. He was strictly teetotal now, a decision he'd made when Charlotte had joined him as a member of Brendan's legally dependent revenue sources.

The adrenaline high of the game faded and the world fell back into view as Colton walked down the quieter streets, avoiding crowds and working his stiff legs. You always felt stiff after the stim chair. The jittery excitement of the match had successfully pushed his melancholy to the side. Only Iapetus and dreams of Britain swirled freely in the v-child's mind.

Britain.

Britain was a soft powerhouse–that is to say a cultural powerhouse–and it exerted cultural pull much the way Japan had in past centuries: loudly, omnipresently and to an immense but only semi-explicable and certainly overly-discussed effect. According to popular media opinion, part of Britain's appeal was that the congestion, cybernetics and cutting-edge mix of old and new made London-2 a kind of substitute for flooded Tokyo. The success of British culture programs had also led to a revitalization of the nation's social mechanisms, which in turn had made for better citizens and a more attractive culture–supposedly. But what really separated London-2 from say, Dubai or Hong-Kong? It must've been something less explicable, an ephemeral aspect that went back millennia ago to the very roots of British civilization. An inscrutable spark scavenged out of time by the populace to shine and light fires until the future day it faded back into history, a little larger in the cultural memory.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

As for Japan, after the worst of the flooding and plagues, it had sunk back to the fringes of global awareness, turning inward and gestating. Visiting Japan was like trespassing on an abandoned mansion: the building was well-known in the neighborhood and attracted interest from the adventuresome, but ultimately lived in the shadow of its past.

The intangible allure of Britain, homeland of Iapetus with its popular rugby, strange technology and fetishized boarding schools, had drawn Colton in. Now Colton wanted to go there–but mostly he wanted to leave here. The cookie-cutter buildings, the dull and dampened people...

If Iapetus hadn't given him a location in Britain, Colton wouldn't have been sure if he was running away or moving forward. The airlock door thumped shut and he turned in a circle and unzipped his pockets, welcoming the cool, clean arcology air.

–––––––––––––––

Charlotte, with her brown hair in curls, stared at him quiet and thoughtfully. Her face was an attractive medley of features, more feminine than his but not unlike his. In the past two weeks SolSys had reviewed all the AV data of the children in front of them, and were undoubtedly paying close attention right now. "How was the game?" She asked.

"Fine." Colton pulled out his bedroll and sat awkwardly on it. The childlike aspects of his face were beginning to fall away as he grew, the jaw stronger and face longer. "Manfred did well. He's who I watched through. The match was a good start to the season. The pregame was odd though. There was an announcement in the concourse talking about an artificial intelligence on the moon. Apparently the British think one of their AIs, called Iapetus, is building a base on the moon with nanobots right now."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. She had a folding desk where her bed laid at night. She sat cross-legged on the floor before it. "That sounds illegal. The kind of thing the UN would shoot down, which reminds me. Last week one of the investigators asked if I thought the missiles we wanted to see were launched to shoot down a military, moon-bound artificial intelligence."

"Funny, I also remember a question along those lines."

"Not funny." She frowned, tapping the desk with her hand. "Worrying. I wonder if it's true. Couldn't be because the investigators wouldn't have given us such specific, accurate information, but if it was true it would explain the media silence on why the missiles were launched. Beyond 'defensive measures,' that is."

"I'm sure the powers that be will tell us more when it's safe for them to. I'm just glad to be able to leave the arcology and live in peace." Said Colton mechanically.

"Unless they pull you back for questioning because of this." Charlotte supplied. "Of course, doing so might lend legitimacy to what you saw. It would be saying that message was more than a random advert."

"Right, it would be very suspect if they brought me in. It would all but confirm that there is an AI named Iapetus on the moon."

"Or it could be that what you heard was false, just something a criminal injected into your communication stream."

"But why would they do that?" Colton didn't like wrenches thrown into his dialogues.

"It's called being an unwitting actor for a reason. The logic behind the manipulations can be quite arcane and subtle." Said she.

Before Colton could reply there was a knock at the door and Brendan barged in. The father scrunched his nose up. "Colton, have you been outside again?"

"Yeah, I caught the rugby match."

He sighed disapprovingly. His own fond memories of watching sports as a youth had taken place inside the SolSys arcology. "Remember to cleanse when you come back. We've talked about this before: the airlock doesn't get rid of the smell. Do it for your sister's sake, at least–the stink in here is unreal."

"I don't mind." Said Charlotte amiably. Colton smiled in his head

"Then do it for me please. The smell gets everywhere." He looked weary, dark lines etching his face. Working the night shift does that to people, tires them out more than a day shift will because their body can never really switch day for night. Over the years that wear had eroded Branden. He stared into the distance quizzically now, which was how he changed gears. "Sorry, I didn't come in to scold you. Just wanted to say goodbye before heading off to work..." He looked off. Kchunk went the gears.

"...Colton, don't sit on your bed like that. It damages the mattress."

"Sorry." He got off the bedroll and put it away, sat on the floor.

"Right. As I was saying." Kchunk. "I'm off to work but I want to thank you two for everything you've had to put up with over the last two weeks. I know it's been hard but you've both helped our arcology immensely. Is there anything special you want me to pick up, to celebrate that it's all over?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Just come home as early as you can." She got up and hugged their surrogate father.

He smiled and his lines faded just a bit. "Colton?"

"No, thank you."

"Alright," said Brendan. "You two get to bed early. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Love you dad." Charlotte gave him another squeeze and saw him off at the door.

"Bye." Colton saluted sloppily.

"Love you too. Take care." Brendan took his leave, thumps in the kitchen and then at the door. It clicked closed.

"He tries." Said Charlotte.

Colton nodded and laid out his bed wordlessly. Charlotte went back to homework at her desk and Colton snuggled into bed, slipping into sleep and plunging into cold dreams.

"And you do smell." Murmured Charlotte. She turned off the bedroom light and moved into the kitchen.