“You dirty, no-good sack of droona dung! I ought to tear your arms off for what you’ve done to Tirix and Caspi!” Clyde, being a large Andor, was not easy to restrain. Akhal dusted himself off and walked back over to his team with fire blazing in his eyes.
“Clyde, we still have a game to win. That’s why we’re here, and the best thing we can do for Tirix and Caspi right now is beat these guys,” Crix said as he tried to refocus his anguished teammate back into the game. Clyde’s body shook with adrenaline and twitched with fierce anger. He could not stop staring in Akhal’s direction.
Crix understood how Clyde felt, but he also understood the importance of remaining calm and focused. He learned many years ago, living amongst the Andors as an outsider, how to choke back the emotions and move forward with life. Haflinger told him to keep his head down, wait, and to keep control of his desire to use the power that was inside of him. Today, he used this skill to get his team focused and be the leader they needed to win the game.
“Crix, how the heck are we supposed to do that now? We’re short a guard once again,” Clyde snapped while scowling back across the concourse.
Crix stared at the ground as if he was in a deep thought. “I have an idea. Give me a moment. I’ll be back.” He sprinted off to the maintenance tiers, leaving his team guessing at what he had planned. Clyde was exasperated and flapped his lips as he exhaled.
“Well . . . hurry! The match will resume in fifteen minutes, player short or not!” Clyde shouted. Thinking about Akhal, he started to pace like a predator that was waiting to kill its next meal.
Crix found Kerriah and Krath watching the events unfold from the lower maintenance tier.
“That was brutal; is your teammate okay?” Kerriah asked, though it was difficult to hear her as the air gusted up from the powerful vortex. Then, for a moment, he could not help but notice how striking she was as she stood there at the edge of the tier. Her hair was tousled from the wind with her milky white cheeks and emerald eyes peeking through her jet-black hair as it lay across her face. The exquisite site sent a tickling sensation fluttering through his heart. He was mesmerized.
He shook his head as if to release himself from a trance. “Caspi should be fine, though he won’t be back in the game. Kerriah, I need to ask a favor of you.” Crix paused to feel out the tone of her reply before asking.
“Sure, what do you need?” Kerriah responded, intrigued.
“I need a guard, and one I can depend on.” He was not sure what it was that tugged at him to ask this of her considering the danger involved. Her reply was expected, yet it still took him off guard.
Her eyes widened. “Wow! I’d love to, but I don’t know anything about this crazy sport you guys are playing! I’ll likely do you more harm than good.” She was always interested in trying new things.
“Normally, I would agree with that statement, but there is something about you.” He stopped and started again, but more deliberate, more careful. “You just seem like . . . like, there is nothing you wouldn’t excel at.” He shook his head again and rolled his eyes. “What am I thinking? I shouldn’t be asking you to participate in something so dangerous just for the sake of winning a game. I apologize for even mentioning it!” He turned to walk away, placing his hands on his head in a state of confusion over why he even asked.
“Wait!” she stopped him. “I can help! I want to help. You’re right. The whole time I was watching you down there, I was feeling this strong desire to participate, and the more I watched, the more it looked familiar to me. That’s how things have been for me my entire life. I’m just surprised that you noticed.” Kerriah looked at Crix with pure joy and amazement. She was elated that he understood.
“I knew it! Okay, are you sure? You just saw what happened to Caspi. It can be hazardous to your health.” She nodded with perfect assuredness behind her eager smile. “All right! All you need to do is keep Akhal and his guards off me. Let’s get you suited up. We haven’t much time.” Then, over the loudspeakers, the announcer called out a ten-minute warning before the game resumed.
Krath watched Kerriah walk away with Crix and chuckled to himself. He then crossed his arms and had a smug smile across his face. “These guys must be nuts.” He snorted and nodded his head, referring to Kerriah’s previous statement.
***
Near the team staging area, Crix approached Tirix, who sat upon several wooden crates. “We need your uniform. We have a substitute guard to replace Caspi.”
Tirix glanced over at Kerriah and rolled his eyes. “You have to be kidding me! Akhal is going to eat her for lunch.”
“You have to trust me on this, just let . . .”
Tirix interrupted him before he could finish. “Ha! She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t get killed in there, and then you can have that weighing on your conscience as well.”
He hopped down, reached behind one of the crates, dragged out a faded black bag, and then shoved it toward Kerriah. “There you go. It’s likely going to be a little loose on you, so roll the sleeves and legs up as tight as you can. And that’s all the advice I got to give.” He then hobbled grudgingly away. The announcer called out the five-minute warning.
“Quickly, you can slip this over your clothes. I’ll meet you at the vault,” Crix said.
“The vault?”
“It’s the rim of the vortex tunnel where we tight line ourselves in for the jump!” he shouted as he was walking away, hurried in his steps. They did not have much time left. He needed to inform the team and officials about the new player. She hastily fitted into the jumpsuit the best she could, giving its large size to her smaller frame. With her sleeves and legs rolled and belted as much as possible, she looked like a little girl that was wearing her father’s clothes. She hurried back over to the vault as she heard the countdown finish for the game to resume. Crix and his team unsnapped just before she reached the vortex opening, and they were off as the game started once again, this time with a player short.
Kerriah was unwavering. She charged forward, grabbed a quorum stick from a nearby rack, and dove straight into the vortex without a thought or view below. She boomed past the two sentries that were hovering stationary, guarding the team’s batons. Staying in the center and pointing her body in a diving position to maximize velocity, she was able to see Crix and Clyde ahead in the distance, although they vanished from her sight as they entered the blind zone and into the blackness. She tried to tap her comm unit in her helmet to announce her entry, but it failed to respond and instead threw out some static feedback.
As she entered the darkness, she sensed a presence swoosh past her. Then the air pressure suddenly shifted, catching her off balance, and sent her slamming down into the protective iron grate at the base of the treacherous blind zone. Beyond this grate, the Andors believed, was the unknown source of the vortex winds; these powerful air gusts generated from somewhere far below. This protective gate had kept players from disappearing into the deeper tunnels. For a few seconds, the pressure was so intense that she felt like her body was going to pull through the bars. Then, almost as quickly as the unyielding pressure restrained her, the airstream pushed outward again, releasing her from its oppressive grasp. She soared upward until she could see a peek of light from TZ Five’s vortex entrance far above.
Kerriah was strategic in her movements and observed her teammate’s tactics. Clyde aggressively used his quorum stick and pushed hard against one of the opposing guards, and further up, Crix bounced from wall to wall in an attempt to throw off their sentries. The walls of the cavern, though jagged with sharp rocks, optically melted away from the speed of her ascension. She kept her aim on Crix with a deep, intense focus. She figured out that the trick to rapid ascension was to time the upward air gusts, and then to flatten out her torso to capture the strong winds.
Kerriah started to feel as though she might figure this game out when one of the opposing team’s guards smashed his quorum stick into the side of her head. The immense shock echoed through th
e inside of her helmet. Her eardrums cried out, and dark spots filled her vision as she flew back and glanced off the cavern wall. The guard stayed on her, swinging at her from both sides of his quorum stick and following through with a miss and a jab to her chin, whipping her head back. She fought to remain alert and conscious. He flipped around her with the agility of a dancer; it was obvious that he was a seasoned veteran of this sport. She rebooted herself and continued forward.
Kerriah looked up and noticed a ledge that jutted out of the cavern wall and twisted like a hook. Seeing this overhang, she intentionally hugged close to the wall while the TZ Five guard was right at her heels. He took one reckless swing at her in hopes of knocking her into an uncontrolled spin. He missed.
Kerriah felt the wind gust around her body, but she had no fear, only focus. She was perfectly calm. She continued to head directly for the overhang at high speed. Then, she used her leg strength to kick away from the wall, just narrowly avoiding a nasty collision with the rocky protrusion. However, the guard’s overzealous pursuit caused the fast-approaching overhang to go unnoticed, and he plowed directly into it, smashing his helmet and shattering his visor. Dazed, blinded, and vulnerable, he withdrew himself from the game.
In the tunnel below, Clyde swiftly dispatched his opponent and shot up to assist Crix. Crix snatched the opposing team’s baton and bolted down the center of the tunnel with the two sentries following him and gaining speed. As they flew past, Clyde and Kerriah converged on the sentries and promptly took them off Crix’s tail.
Far below, Akhal, who now had Gear’s baton clasped through his belt, was on his way up from the blind zone when he noticed Crix coming back down. Both Crix and Akhal passed one another within the Vortex Two tunnel, and each returned their captured batons to the score pole above their respective tunnels. Over the loudspeakers, the announcer stated each team secured the first of the two batons—a tied score.
The game continued. As both players descended into the tunnels, Akhal and Crix found themselves facing each other. Akhal took a wild swing with his quorum stick and connected with Crix’s chest. The powerful blow sent him sailing into the unforgiving rocky wall. The air left Crix’s lungs and his strength melted away. Dazed, he dropped his quorum, and his body wilted deeper into the cavern before he could recover. The attack packed an unusually vicious punch.
Next, Akhal jetted out after Kerriah. Awaiting his arrival deeper in the tunnel, she gripped her quorum stick in a defensive posture. As he approached, he swung violently in her direction, but her reaction time was remarkable as he swung and thrust to no avail. Akhal kept missing his target. He was enraged. She noticed that his efforts appeared somewhat labored. It was as if his quorum was heavier than normal.
Something is different.
At that moment, he swooped back, swung through in a downward chopping motion, and though she blocked his attack, her quorum stick surprisingly snapped into two sections.
“How, what . . . ?” she stated. Then, his pear-shaped end connected squarely on top of her helmet and sent what felt like a bolt of electricity all the way through her spine. With a dented helmet, Kerriah was briefly stunned.
Watching from above, Clyde—after dispatching the other guard—soared through the wind gusts toward Akhal to assist Kerriah. He whipped his quorum stick over Akhal’s head, and then against his throat. Clyde pulled him back just as Akhal was about to swing a finishing strike on Kerriah. Then, Akhal squirmed to one side and performed an illegal underhand swing to Clyde’s crotch, forcing his release. Akhal began swinging wildly in the appearance of one that has taken this event far beyond just a game. Clyde was able to block one of his attacks with his forearm; he then buckled over in pain, grasping his crushed limb. Akhal had broken his arm with one strike.
Kerriah, holding two ends of a broken quorum stick, remained hovering at a safe distance. She chimed in over her comm-equipped helmet; the blow from Akhal’s quorum stick must have got it working again. “Something’s different with his quorum stick.”
In a growling yet cringing tone, Clyde responded, “It’s weapon’s grade. The bastard is trying to kill us.” Clyde was livid.
Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, Crix regained his strength, and then dove down to catch his quorum stick before it became lost in the blind zone. “We need to call off the match. They’ll be disqualified,” he replied.
“No! I want him to feel this defeat and not squirm out of it over his cheating. Crix, finish him. My arm’s broken, but you can win this still.” Clyde’s tone was stern and resolute. He painfully made his way to an offshoot.
Kerriah continued to keep a safe distance from Akhal, who had a depraved look on his face. In spite of this, her response was surprising. “Crix, he’s right. We can take this guy. Secure the last baton; he’s mine.” She focused on his quorum stick and calculated his next move.
Come on, boy. Take your best shot.
Impressed by Kerriah, Crix smiled and pushed past them, cutting skillfully through the center of the vortex with amazing speed. This grabbed Akhal’s attention, and he turned in pursuit of him.
“Big mistake!” Kerriah shouted just as another reverse gust from the vortex pushed out with perfect timing for her attack. With an aggressive pounce onto Akhal’s back, she shoved the broken end of her left-hand quorum stick into the bottom rim of his helmet and twisted herself up and over his shoulders, prying the helmet from his head. She then mercilessly smacked him with the right-hand quorum stick. He let out a whimper, and then withered helplessly, all the strength and motion removed from his body.
Akhal flailed like a sheet of paper rippling through the wind. A sucking gust pulled his body down into the bottom grate located in the blind zone. The TZ Five sentries gave up protecting their now baton-less base and took hot pursuit of Crix. Even though they noticed, they completely dismissed the peril of their team’s leader. Crix had virtually no time to secure the baton before the arbitrator paused the game due to Akhal’s lack of consciousness. As Crix made his way up to secure the win, he noticed that there was no call to stop the game and he felt something . . . something calling him downward. At that moment, he turned, taking a diving position back to the bottom grate.
Kerriah followed through, keeping their sentries from coming back at Crix. As Crix approached the grate, he opened his arms and legs wide to slow his descent. He dropped his quorum stick, which disappeared into the blackness below. The faded view of Akhal’s limp body pressed against the iron grate like a broken doll meant one thing. The arbitrator failed to see that he had lost consciousness before he entered the blind zone. It was clear that his bare head had slammed against the heavy grate as streams of blood poured down across his face. Crix grabbed Akhal’s limp body and secured him around his arms.
“What are you doing?” Clyde called out over the comm as he attempted to watch from the nearby offshoot and was trying to figure out why they had not won yet.
“As awful as Akhal is, I cannot allow him to die here so we can win this. We’re better than that,” Crix answered.
“You’re never going to be able to get back up the vortex carrying him. Just call for a stinking line, and they’ll just be disqualified.”
Crix disregarded Clyde’s plea and attempted to make a push out of the blind zone. He tried repeatedly, but each attempt resulted in him slamming back down against the old iron grate. He managed to strain back up to a knee as the vortex sucked him back down. His body became frozen against the downward pressure. His muscles began failing, along with his nerves, from fighting the harassing, thunderous boom of the air passing through the grate.
Maybe Clyde is right on this. The only way to save Akhal is to call for a line and let us take the disqualifying loss. I know, though, we can still do both. I have to try.
Crix attempted to make another push for the surface, awaiting the next reverse pressure flow to give him the upward pop needed to free him from the oppressive grate. Then it came. The deafening hum turned to a barometric swoosh f
ollowed by a mighty belch. The pressing downward force turned to weightlessness, and then a sudden pop upward. He struggled to maintain momentum from the outward air pressure when he felt a push against his feet.
Kerriah gave a needed assist—just enough to get him moving upward again. Crix, elated, flattened his body out as much as he could to maximize the push from the continued upward gust. The weightless effects took greater hold as he neared the middle of the cavern and the pressure balanced out. Somehow, against all probability, he managed to make one more push to reach the top, and then attach Akhal to an extraction line. Victoriously, he latched the second baton to the capture bar of his team’s base, forming what the Andors referred to as the dual of clubs.
Clyde and Kerriah emerged from the vortex cavern as the crowd above roared with excitement. Kerriah ran over to Crix and gave him a quick, firm hug.
“You did great! I honestly didn’t think there was enough force to carry the extra weight of both of you, even with the push I gave you. But you did it!”
Crix took a small step back. He appeared pale and drained. “No, me either.” He dropped his head, not looking as joyous as those around him did.
Then Clyde ran over and slapped Crix on the back with his good arm. “This is my guy! Victory is ours!” he roared as he pranced by the other team, his arm extended and pointing at them in a gloating manner. Crix remained quiet.
He observed Tirix sitting up by the crates. A smile had fought its way upon his face, and he painfully struggled up to his feet. Crix lifted his head and nodded toward his friend. Tirix nodded back. Crix’s heart filled with hope again that they could always be pals. He then walked away from the crowds, struggling with his thoughts.
Age of the Marcks Page 9
