Devon’s team was rounding the second bend of their third and final lap. After that, they would be free to score as many points as they could before the game ended. And it wasn’t even half-time.
Aiden checked the clock in his HUD: five minutes until the break. If this weren’t an official match, he would have enlisted Auxy’s help in alerting him of the remaining time by audio cue, but any usage of AIEN-ware (short for AI Enhanced) was prohibited in sporting matches.
To win, Aiden would have to think fast. First, they needed to regain control of the ball. They needed to prevent Devon’s team from gaining momentum by scoring points.
“Here’s the plan…” Aiden triggered the mini-propulsion engines in his boots, allowing him to start moving forward. “Mateo, when I tell you, raise a floor panel fifteen lengths away from behind the ball-carrier. Jukon and Juster, you run standard interference and break their formation. Natalie —”
“Uh-oh,” said Jukon.
Aiden swiveled. “Where’d she go?”
Jukon pointed. “She’s gone, goon.”
Natalie was zooming down the center of the arena, her body angled low to the ground like an ice-skater. She was going so fast that the yellow lights emanating from her boot soles seemed to leave streaks of gold on the electromagnetic field below, making a beeline towards Devon’s squad from the side.
Aiden broadcasted to the teams channel. “What the hell are you doing?”
Natalie’s reply came in short. “Getting the ball.”
In just seconds, Aiden saw his plan begin to fall apart. “Hold on — wait, wait, don’t go straight for them, don’t —”
It was too late. Devon had seen Natalie coming and organized three of his teammates into a human wall. Natalie triggered a floor panel and a ramp formed beneath her, vaulting her into the air.
But even as they continued zipping down the track, Devon’s team raised their arms over their heads, forcing Natalie to flip over the palisade of limbs as she swiped for the ziv-ball, missed, and began the inevitable descent back down to the arena.
As she fell, her body whirled like a top, one leg lashing out and striking Truck Man in the side of the head.
Instantly, a red caution symbol blared on everyone’s HUD:
Foul alert: Illegal contact detected. Handicap +1 goal to Blue Team.
Natalie twisted gracefully in mid-air, landing boots-facing on the side of the arena. Her momentum carried her skidding down the bowl of the curve, back into the middle of the arena. She activated a panel underneath her and it flipped into a slanted wall, allowing her to spin around and plant her hands against it to break her slide.
Juster let out an appreciative whistle.
“Shit…” muttered Mateo in amazement. “Denver got us a ninja.”
“What was the foul for?” broadcasted Natalie.
Aiden swore. “You can’t strike the other guys like that. Those hits aren’t allowed. You can check, you can tackle — but you can’t kick or punch.”
“The guy that hit Denver got away with it!”
“That was technically a legal tackle, if not an attempt to get the ball. You just got us a penalty, and now we have an extra goal we need to score.”
“Damn — sorry, I didn’t know.”
“I told you to wait.”
“Look, goon, we don’t have time for a lot of talking right now.”
“Then will you listen to me this time?!”
“Whatever, wire-head.”
Even as they argued, Devon’s team was barreling straight towards them like a freight train. Truck Man still had the ziv-ball floating perfectly balanced over the massive palm of his glove, but Natalie’s kick seemed to have had an effect; every now and then, the big guy shook his head like an ox trying to rid itself of a bothersome fly.
Aiden bit back a colorful retort. “Like I said, Mateo raises the ramp on my signal. Jukon and Juster — interference. Natalie, since you’re already where you are, draft behind Devon’s team. When Mateo raises the ramp, jump it and snatch the ball.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“I’ll hit the ball to you.”
“What’s stopping Devon from just passing in and out of the track?”
“Because every time you enter the straightaway of the main track, the ball isn’t allowed to leave it unless you complete the length or get it knocked out. They can go backwards on the track, but only until they backtrack to a curve can they pass the ball. And they still have to return to where they left off.”
“What about a guard trap?” said Mateo, referring to the standard maneuver of using floor panels to rise up and isolate the ball-carrier on the main track.
“Too predictable,” said Aiden. “They’re bound to have a counter.”
Devon was halfway down the straightaway now. His team had slowed somewhat, seeing Aiden and the rest bunching up ahead of them.
“Nice try, chrome-bitches,” he broadcasted tauntingly. “What’s next? Punching us until you get ten more penalty handicaps?”
It was tempting, but Aiden didn’t respond. He counted down in his head, keeping his timing. Three…two…one…
“Go,” he said, and he and the twins jetted off along the track, Aiden hunched down, his arms held close to his body to reduce drag.
Whatever Devon had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. His team slowed momentarily before Devon urged them to speed up once more. But that little pause was all Aiden needed.
He activated his accelerators, surging towards them. Devon’s cluster drew even closer around Truck Man, but Jukon and Juster were there, using accelerators of their own and smashing themselves like twin bulldogs into the pack, scattering them, driving one guy to his knees.
Devon side-stepped the dog-pile and tried to block Aiden, but Aiden pumped his accelerators again and arrowed into his legs, knocking him off his feet. Aiden dodged another guy’s wild swipe, and then he was inside the Red Team’s guard, face-to-face with Truck Man.
“Now!” he yelled to Mateo.
The big guy tried to ward him off with a beefy arm, but Aiden was too fast for him, slapping the massive palm holding the ziv-ball upwards and adding a repulsive charge from his polarity gloves to the blow, blasting the ziv-ball into the air.
A row of panels ascended behind Truck Man, shaping into a ramp, and then Natalie was there, soaring over them, one arm outstretched. The ziv-ball’s stippled surface flashed in the light and then it zipped to Natalie’s hand, locking into place inches from her palm through the attractive force of the polarity glove.
For a moment, time was frozen. Natalie hung in the air, weightless, like a circus performer on the trapeze, and then she was diving to the ground and jetting away to start Blue Team’s first circuit of the game, the ziv-ball tucked safely in her glove.
“Break!” screamed Devon at his teammates, his voice muffled behind his helmet. “Break, break, break!”
The Red Team split up, attempting to ambush Natalie at different points along the track. But she skated so fast that they couldn’t catch up to her until the last straightaway (the one they had just abandoned), and by then it was one guy standing by the side of the track, grabbing hopelessly for the ziv-ball as Natalie blew past in a vast rush of air.
Juster let out a whoop, clapping his gloved hands over his head.
“Keep running it!” yelled Aiden. “Don’t stop, run it all the way!”
Panels clanked into position ahead of Natalie as she approached, and one of Devon’s teammates sped up the side of the opposite wall, launching into a steep dive like a hawk dive-bombing a rabbit. Without breaking her slide, Natalie slipped away, one foot still poised on the glowing white strip of the track, the other extended outwards for balance — and she spun like a ballerina, the guy overshooting her and crashing down onto the floor of the arena.
“Foul!” screamed Devon. “She stepped off the straightaway with the ball!”
But the reg-AI remained silent, implicitly ruling that Natalie had in fact toed the borders of the track. Just as she crossed the finish line, completing her third and final lap for the team, the bell rang out for half-time.
--
In the large break-time booth adjacent to the arena, Aiden’s team was clamoring with exhilaration. While actual taunts with text were prohibited, Mateo sent over the public channel a series of emojis depicting red jerseys followed by turd-and-mattress symbols (roughly translating to “Red Team Shitting the Bed”). In response, Devon’s team broadcasted a slew of rude hand gestures, which was promptly flagged by the reg-AI for unsportsmanlike conduct and resulted in the benching of one member of Red Team for two minutes of the game’s next half.
In the background, Jukon and Juster were dapping high-fives in ever-increasing orders of complexity until they spilled the electrolyte dispensary onto Mateo’s lap. Aiden chucked a water canister at them and threatened to stun them with his shock gauntlet if they didn’t sit down and relax.
Meanwhile, Natalie sat in her seat coolly, drinking mineral water from the purifier station.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?” demanded Aiden. “Denver said you were a transfer.”
“I am,” said Natalie matter-of-factly. “First time I’ve handled a ziv-ball like this in my life.”
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“You still never said where you transferred from.”
“I consider that private information.”
“Well, I’d really like to know. Tell me.”
Natalie made a face. “Mmmm…nah.”
Aiden stared at her. “No amateur makes moves like that. I’ve never seen Denver do what you just did, and he’s been playing ziv-ball since he was in diapers.”
Natalie sighed. “Fine, since you’re so pressed about it…I was an aerialist dancer when I was younger. My parents thought it’d improve my body coordination.”
“I’ll say,” chirped Mateo.
Natalie rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. “Ahh, thanks buddy.”
For some reason, Aiden felt she was lying, but speculating over Natalie’s inexplicable talent seemed a poor use of time. He stood up in front of the team.
“We need to score at least two goals,” he said. “One for the penalty from Natalie’s foul. And one goal for an actual point. And ideally one more for headroom. It’s likely that they’ll complete their circuits before they start trying to get goals — we can only hold that off for as long as we can. Whatever happens, we can’t let them score one point.”
“Was that supposed to be a pep talk?” said Natalie.
Aiden glared at her. “I’m saying we need to focus.”
Natalie peered at him. “You really want to beat Devon, huh?”
“I don’t like to lose.”
Natalie put her mineral water aside and stood up to gaze at the arena through the observation plexiglass. “I’d wager on a favorable outcome,” she said nonchalantly. “Don’t sweat it, we’ll get this win.”
“I’d bet on us, too,” said Mateo, staring openly after her. “After all, we got here a new secret weapon.”
Aiden shot him a look like, You’re making moves now, seriously? Mateo just grinned, slyly gesturing at Natalie’s slim, toned figure from behind like, And you wouldn’t?
“You seem pretty sure about yourself,” said Aiden to Natalie.
Natalie turned around and cocked an eyebrow. “So do you.”
--
But as the next half played out, there collective confidence wavered. In spite of their lead and the absence of one Red Team member at the start of the second half, Aiden’s worry that his teammates had let down their guard came to fruition. Devon and Co. had regained their stride and were now playing like a well-oiled machine: blocking Aiden’s side-to-center passes with daring interceptions, foiling Mateo’s charges with carefully timed upraised panels, and performing expert acceleration maneuvers that left the twins dumbfounded to find the ball suddenly whisked out of their hands.
Even Natalie was having trouble. Though her agility was obviously superior to anyone on the court, Devon had evidently instructed at two-man guard on her at all times, and though they couldn’t stop her movements altogether, they had acclimated to her speed well enough to block her shots in the few moments she found a window.
All the while, inset into the arena wall and hanging fifteen feet up, the shining octagon outline of Devon’s goal shimmered tauntingly at Aiden.
In quick succession, nine of Blue Team’s attempts to score were thwarted. On the tenth failed attempt, they lost the ball and didn’t get it back. Aiden could only watch helplessly as Truck Man bowled over Juster and rocketed off to complete Red Team’s final lap.
“How do you like that, Huangy?” sneered Devon over the public channel. “You’re almost there, just need two more points to my one. Maybe if you get one of your buddies to boost you up, you could hop into the goal with the ball.”
As Red Team advanced, Natalie took advantage of their jubilant distractedness by using up all three of her accelerator chevrons at once: zipping by in a blur, swiping the ziv-ball clean out of the arms of Devon’s teammate, and hurling it into the goal, wiping out Blue Team’s penalty and putting them back at baseline score.
“You talking mad shit right about now,” she commented, skating casually past. “See where that got you?”
Devon snarled and threw himself back into the match.
Gameplay became dirtier. Truck Man was shoving players to the ground at maximum speed regardless of whether they held the ziv-ball or not, tossing Mateo so hard that his visor cracked. Juster retaliated shortly after by blasting the ziv-ball directly into his face, earning him a temporary suspension of five minutes, an eternity in the span of the match. Another one of Devon’s teammates began employing improvised guard traps on Natalie, lifting ramps out from underneath her and derailing her momentum.
Then Devon scored.
It happened so quickly that Aiden had to check the replay on his HUD. Three Red Team players had fanned out in a triangle information, advancing on the goal.
Mateo and Jukon, by now fatigued and not noticing the trap, charged straight into the middle of them to steal, and were left chasing the ball back and forth as the Red Team trio shot the ziv- ball at one another in targeted repulsive blasts.
“Cut them off before they get any closer!” shouted Aiden to Natalie.
She activated a row of side panels and leapt off a ramp, knocking the ziv-ball away mid-pass. Quick as lightning, Devon accelerated diagonally, hopping over Jukon’s futile tackle, and scooping up the ball. He accelerated again, flipping up panels in his wake as Natalie tried to come up behind.
Aiden, who had moved underneath the goal and was preparing a ramp to block the inevitable throw, looked up just in time to see a glowing blur shoot past him and into the goal. The outline of the octagon blazed crimson.
Aiden stared dumbly at the scoreboard on his HUD. One point for Red Team, to Blue Team’s zero.
He felt panic creeping up his throat. Time was running short, and his adrenaline-saturated brain was short on plans. He couldn’t stop the cycle of uncertainty from churning within him.
Will we lose…?
I can’t lose…
But will we lose…?
Then as the seconds wound down, Mateo surged forward, the ziv-ball crackling over his palms. With a strength born out of desperation, Mateo created a long, stumpy ramp, evading opposing players’ grabs and leaps like a seal dodging jumping sharks — and hopped off, throwing the ball as hard as he could across the arena; it bounced off the wall and ricocheted off a Red Team member’s helmet, just barely cresting the bottom lip of the goal and rolling in, lighting up the goal in blue.
“Yeah, bitches!” screamed Mateo, his fists pumping. “Whoooo! Choke on that noise!”
Devon tore off his helmet and swore, but the facts remain unchanged. It was now sudden death. Both teams skated back to their respective landing strips at opposite ends of the long sides of the field for the third and final toss-up.
Watching Devon cursing as he made his way back to Red Team’s landing strip, Aiden felt a glimmer of hope. He’s losing his composure, losing focus.
As they lined up behind the illuminated border line, Aiden turned to Mateo. “Maybe it’d be better if you stayed on defense this time around.”
Mateo, still hyped up over his most recent goal, chortled with amusement. “What’re you talking about?”
“Look at yourself. You’re in no condition for offensive plays right now.”
“I’m fine. I look good.” Mateo’s cracked visor fizzled slightly, then resolved.
“If we weren’t already short-handed, you’d be on the bench right now,” pointed out Aiden. “I’m surprised the reg-AI hasn’t pulled you out yet for equipment malfunction.”
“I can support you two,” chimed in Jukon, pointing at Aiden and Natalie. “But Aiden’s right, goon, we need someone covering the goal.”
“Fine,” grumbled Mateo. “But don’t take too long, I’ll get bored.”
In that regard, they were on the same page. Aiden knew the longer the game went on, the more likely they would lose. He felt his legs aching from pushing and balancing on his lev-boots. Looking at the big picture, and despite Natalie’s unconventional athleticism, Red Team had all the superiority advantages: manpower, expertise, and experience.
The overhead timer counted down. The buzzer sounded. The arena roared with the fiery echo of boot thrusters exploding into action.
Aiden and Juster watched Natalie zoom down the field, fire spurting thickly from her heel thrusters. Floor panels cranked into motion, ramps curled into being — Devon and one of his teammates flew into the air — but Natalie reached the center first, her body unfurling like a flower and snapping up the ziv-ball. She tore along the arena wall, Aiden close behind, etching double golden lines with his boots in a parallel course as they advanced towards Red Team’s goal.
Truck Man was trailing towards her, and with deceptive precision, he activated a series of floor panels in front of her to form a slanted wall designed to cut off her approach at the upper edges of the arena. Natalie shot the ball over to Aiden, and he skated faster, praying for time…
Wham! Devon slid in front of him, bringing up a shoulder and smashing him dead-on.
Ziv was the most versatile nanomaterial on the planet, used in everything from the bridge suspension cables to the fabric in rain-jackets. Its tensile strength, endurance, and flexibility made it ideal for all manner of applications. Best of all, it could be designed to be conductive or insulative, perfect for the game uniforms Aiden and Devon’s teams now wore.
The ziv-suits, form-fitted perfectly to each team member, had plates of lightweight ceramoware composites on the chest, legs, back, and shoulders — tough, pliable, shock-resistant — but except for the elbow/knee lev-pads, their bodies were otherwise unprotected. The standard ziv pattern used in fabric didn’t make for good body armor, and any collision or violent contact was highly dangerous.
Which is why when Devon hit him, the impact went through Aiden like a hammer. Aiden lost his balance and spun away, his body flopping below the electromagnetic field and directly onto the ground. The ziv-ball bounced away.
Devon scooped it up, for once not indulging a parting insult, and sped away. A perfectly legal check, flawlessly executed.
“Aiden, you good?” broadcasted Mateo.
Aiden tried to answer, but he felt like his stomach had caved in. With every passing second, Devon was getting further and further away. He frantically knuckled his stomach, and the air came in dribbles.
He forced himself to his knees, sliding slowly on the luminescent Latham Field, watching Devon’s retreating back. Through the fog of pain, he noticed that Devon was going slower than expected. It was sudden death, and while he was skating as fast as he could, he wasn’t going all-out.
Then it dawned on him. Devon couldn’t go faster because he’d used all his accelerators in an attempt to win the toss-up. They took minutes to recharge, far too long to be of any use now.
Aiden dragged one leg forward and planted a boot down, sliding faster. Breathe. He brought up the other boot, easing himself into a decrepit shuffle.
Across the field, Juster leapt over a ramp and tried to tackle Devon, but he easily dodged.
Breathe. Aiden activated his accelerators, the ones that had been recharging since the beginning of the second half, and the sudden burst in speed nearly took his breath away again.
Air whistled mutely outside his helmet, and he used the pain in his stomach as a tool to keep his body streamlined for maximum speed. Breathe. He caught up to Devon in seconds, grabbing wildly for the ball. Devon fell to one knee but he clung on, holding the ball close to his body like it was a precious infant.
Despite their combined weight, Aiden’s speed carried them both up the side of the arena. Juster was yelling something in excitement, but Aiden didn’t hear him. The Latham Field shimmered underneath him and Devon, flashing red and blue and gold — the ball was caught in the middle between their palms, crackling with charge — and they clutched it like it was the lode point in a fulcrum.
Breathe.
They came down hard on the sloping side of the wall, sliding down at terrific speed, still wrestling for control. Aiden swiveled his head; they were heading diagonally for Red Team’s goal. He saw Natalie and Truck Man in a dead sprint-skate behind them on either side of the main track, rapidly gaining.
“You really think you’re better than me?” snarled Devon. He twisted his body and dug his elbow into Aiden’s side. “With your money and your enhancements? Your AI helpers? I got those too, chrome-bitch.”
He sent out a repulsive charge through his gloves and shoved the ziv-ball forward, trying to catch Aiden off guard and make him relinquish his attractive grip with his polarity glove. Aiden repositioned his grip and bent in his fingers into a claw, focusing his glove’s charge.
“You’re not special here, Huang — you’re nothing without your family. You can’t take this ball. You’re nothing.”
Aiden didn’t dare say anything; he was too focused on keeping his balance as they tore across the field. But even if he could reply, he knew Devon had a point. In reality, Aiden knew that without his last name, his family identity, he wasn’t anybody notable. Never mind the wealth; all his acquired knowledge, his professional connections and aspirations, all his power came from the fact that he was the son of Harold and Mengqi Huang.
And this arrogant prick — this child, really — was running his mouth, making disgusting threats of taking it all away.
He heard his father’s voice in his ear: Or you, Aiden — picking fights over empty words?
Aiden glanced over his shoulder. The corner of the arena to the side of the Red Team goal was hurtling towards them, rising up in an unforgiving grey slope. It was a tough angle, an oblique surface. An opportunity.
He turned his boots towards the side of the rapidly approaching arena, keeping his torso angled towards Devon, so that his feet formed a straight line from heel to toe. Then, with as much control as he could muster, he sent a small pulse up the wall. Ridges began to form on the wall, a gently curving ramp…
“Let’s go for a ride,” said Aiden, and he triggered his last accelerator burst.
They exploded forward once more, locked in by the ziv-ball, but now Aiden was grabbing tightly on one of Devon’s arms, allowing Devon to hold the majority glove control over the ziv-ball between them, giving Aiden leeway to guide their course.
After all, in this moment, if Aiden had Devon, he also had the ball.
They powered up the side of the arena wall, coasted on the inverted ramp Aiden had surreptitiously created, and began curving toward its center. He and Devon were so close that Aiden could glimpse his eyes behind the tinted visor, bulging with confusion and rage.
The accelerator chevron on his HUD slowly drained to black as they climbed upward, reaching the end of the ramp. For a split second, they hung there, suspended at the peak of their ascent. Aiden’s grip on Devon’s arm loosened, dislodged by gravity.
So did the ziv-ball.
Blood rushed to Aiden’s head. He struggled to keep his bearings as the arena upended itself in a blue-and-grey swirl. Devon was scrabbling at him from somewhere to his left, howling into the air and disorienting him even more. He was upside down — the Latham Field was shimmering a faint blue above him like a kid’s painting of a sky. He saw the bright outline of the goal flash in front of him, and with both hands he spiked the ziv-ball through the octagon gate.
Instantly, a victory banner unscrolled in Aiden’s HUD, but now he could feel himself plummeting to the ground, and Devon’s panicked howls filled his ears. Without thinking, Aiden wrapped him in a bear-hug, yanking him tight. The vertigo of the moment pulled at his stomach, tickling him with a sudden giddiness, and he could hear himself laughing all the way down.