by Yoss
As if all this didn’t make Voxl difficult enough, our suits also pick up velocity when they bounce against floors, walls, and ceilings, though not as terribly quickly as the ungraspable voxl. Largely because at the outset of the game, the gravity in the court is turned down to 0.67 g, the normal value for Centaurians, and that slows the action down a bit.
You can see why one journalist said that a Voxl match, especially a match played by novices, looks a lot like a madman’s notion of how planets move through the solar system.
The scoring system isn’t very rational, either, at first glance. The match ends when one team accumulates eighteen points. But the points don’t accumulate one at a time. No, that would have been way too easy and too boring for the sadistic Centaurians.
The first goal, by either team, is worth six points. The second and third are five each. Fourth, fifth, and sixth, four points. The seventh and eighth goals are worth three. After that, if neither team has won yet, the remaining goals are worth one point each, with a win requiring a two-point margin.
Games rarely go into single points. The system is conceived so that the stronger team, the one that can prove its superiority and dominate the first four goals, will leave the other team on the field in the shortest time possible. Or, as they used to say where I come from, “Adiós, Lolita de mi vida!”
Nor is it very easy to score a goal. The Mayas may have thought that it was nearly impossible to propel the rubber ball on their tlachtli, using only their knees, hips, and elbows, through the high stone hoop barely wider than the ball itself, but if they’d seen Voxl they would have thought their game was child’s play.
There are only a handful of rules. You can touch the voxl with any part of your body, but there is no hoop or goal posts or anything of the sort. You make a goal by sending the voxl on a triple rebound between two opposite walls (including floor and ceiling) without any interference from the opposing side after the last touch from the player who sets it in motion.
And doing that, again, is anything but easy.
When you also take into account the fact that the concept of fouling or rough play doesn’t exist in Voxl, you’ll have a better understanding of the true purpose of the forcefield armor suits. First and foremost, they keep the players’ backbones from being shattered into a thousand pieces half a minute into the match. The suits have the curious and highly useful property of possessing a large moment of inertia. In addition to their tendency to act like a compact mass whenever hit by an external impact. That is, when a 650-pound Colossaur falls on top of you going a hundred miles an hour, you won’t be inexorably pulverized; instead, you will “merely” be sent flying slowly in the opposite direction...
Even so, injuries happen all the time. And that’s where the sub comes in, to take the place of the wounded guy while the medical monitor fixes his sprain, dislocation, or broken bone with its orthopedic machinery, making him good as new with a nice dose of custom drugs and regenerative synthetic hormones.
The bell rings again. It’s coming. Any moment now...
There it is!
The size of a human head and tinted a vivid green, the voxl materializes against the immaculate white of the court. The League team uniforms are magenta blurs, racing to capture it. We’re bolts of pink-and-blue lightning, out to stop them. Bursts of color, putting the spectators’ visual agility to the test as they try to decipher the tangled web of our nearly supersonic movements.
Mvamba picks up speed by bouncing off the Great Dane’s stomach. Kowalsky and the two Cetians use the Colossaur’s huge shoulders to do the same. The Slovsky twins flank the walls. Yukio bounces off of me, and I set off spinning across the floor almost frictionlessly, aiming to sweep opponents aside and intercept the voxl.
The Colossaur smashes into Mvamba, rolls over him, and keeps going. Mvamba is swept aside like a feather, spinning erratically. Arno tries to cut off the ogre from Colossa, but is unable to contain him. Bad. Oh, better: the Slovsky twins run into the Cetian clones and dominate them. Yukio gains control, and the first bounce is ours...
But Kowalsky jumps and avoids my sweep. He goes after Yukio, runs into him, uses the momentum to get off the ground. Very bad. He reaches the voxl after its second bounce and sends it sideways. One bounce, two... One of the Slovskys (I can never tell them apart) intercepts and dominates it. Our bounces. One, two,... The Colossaur steps in. Arno tries to stop him, but a half turn and a twist neutralize him, and the third bounce is ruined. He’s strong, this Colossa kid.
Now he’s dominating. One, two... I’ll stop this...
But here comes Tamon Kowalsky, slipping between Yukio and me and separating us. Very talented... Three.
First goal goes to the League: Six to zero!
They’re good, they’re the best damned players I’ve ever met. I call time and coach my players.
“Now it’s their serve. Dangerous,” I warn them over the audio system. “Arno, you underestimated the Colossaur. You’re no match for his strength, one on one. Yukio and Mvamba, take care of that ogre. Play him for speed. And you, Great Dane, neutralize that renegade. As if your life depended on it, Korvaldsen. Twins, good play, guys—keep doing that, but don’t get cocky. Those clones are real treacherous.”
Voxl on the visitors’ side. It touches the floor, shoots off. One of the Cetians controls it, a Slovsky intercepts. But doesn’t dominate, lets it get away. The Colossaur, confused by Yukio and Mvamba. Arno corrals Kowalsky against the ceiling. Here’s my chance.
I jump in and capture it. Dominate it, and here goes the bounce: one, two... My guards forgot about the Colossaur’s tail. It flicks me aside with a skillful backslap and I mess up my own goal.
Now it’s a Cetian with the voxl. Kowalsky blocks me, but the Slovskys jump in. One bounce.... The twins are fast, they snatch it before the second rebound.
They block the Colossaur’s back and pass it to Yukio, who makes a breakaway. He’s our lightest player, our swiftest. One, two, thr... Kowalsky blocks it at the last second, goes into a secret pass, and now the Colossaur has it. He’s too slow, he’ll have to pass it to one of the others. Arno?
The Blond Hulk gets there on time, sets his weight and inertia against the giant xenoid’s, and spoils his pass. Voxl out of control. Jan Slovsky traps it at low velocity, bounces against the ceiling. He’s magnificent. How did he capture it?
I stop one of the Cetians. This is going well. The Slovskys: one, two, thr... Kowalsky, again! The worst thing is, the twins are following the same playbook their father created for that renegade when he was captain of the Hussars. That won’t work.
Now he rebounds, evading Mvamba. This Tamon is a thorn in my side. Lev Slovsky joins in, his brother supporting him from behind: the renegade can’t escape the pair of them. They’re like one mind in two bodies... Shit, he tricked them! He wasn’t trying for a goal. He passes to a Cetian who’s not guarded. I try to get there, but... Floor, ceiling... Yeah, I have time...
Ohhh... The Colossaur hurls Mvamba, blocking my way. Floor again: that’s three. Hell and damnation.
Second goal to the League: Eleven to zero!
I call time again.
“Captain, I suggest you switch tactics.” Gopal’s voice is cold. He only calls me “captain” when he thinks I’m not doing it right. But what more does he want? “Be creative: they’re expecting twins against clones and for you to go for the goal. Kowalsky is the real danger; have the Slovskys stop him, and leave the clones to the African and the samurai. Your skill against the Colossaur’s brute strength, and that leaves Arno free to go for the triple rebound. He can do it.”
“We’ll see,” I reply, a little skeptical. It’s a risky formation, but it might work. I’m not sure I can handle the Colossaur. Nearly three times my weight, and besides, that tail... But, nothing ventured, nothing gained. End of time out.
There’s the voxl, on their side. They head out, intendi
ng to hold to the strategy that’s already given them an eleven-point lead. They hesitate for an instant when they notice our changed lineup. What were you expecting, weirdos? Humans must be the only animals who will trip over the same rock twice—but never three times.
The twins completely cancel out Kowalsky on the second rebound. Good for their morale: seeing that they can take on their idol. Mvamba and Yukio are keeping pace with the clones, the voxl is left unguarded, and the Colossaur can’t decide between the Dane and me... Perfect, he’s going for the one with more body weight.
Arno doesn’t even try to keep the voxl; he passes it to me, and the ogre pivots and comes after me. He’s not going to have enough time. Kowalsky tries desperately to get out the trap. But the Slovskys have learned their lessons well; they’re impenetrable.
Sheesh, this Colossaur is fast for his size. He’s almost on top of me already. Now, the surprise: when the magenta mound reaches me, I pass to Arno. Who’s totally free. The Colossaur is on top of me... I curl into a ball to protect myself, while I glimpse Arno out of the corner of my eye controlling handily. This is going to be a rude awakening.
One, two... pain. The impact twists my back, something seems to break. I scream. Darkness. And from far away, over my headphones, my team shouts victory.
Black, everything black and hot.
Goal for Earth!!! Five to Eleven!
Time out: Daniel Menéndez, Captain of Team Earth, out for injuries. Substitute Jonathan Henderson joins play.
“That was a brave play. Even suicidal, I’d say. Like trying to stop a charging bison. You were lucky to get out of there alive,” Gopal’s voice comes across the void.
He’s proud of me, old man...
I emerge from unconsciousness for good when he claps me on the shoulder. The electrodes of the medical monitor are tickling me. I can’t feel my legs, but that’s nothing new.
“Four?” I ask with a smile. My mouth feels woolly.
“Not that bad, just three broken vertebrae. I told you, you were lucky to get out alive. A couple of minutes in the defracturing machine and back into the game with you. You still have a good induced regeneration quotient. It would take Arno twice as long to recuperate—he’s really abused his body.”
“I take pretty good care,” I sigh, relieved, trying to sit up and watch the holoimage of the game that’s monopolizing the former Delhi Wonder’s attention. But I can’t manage. It hurts too much. “What are they doing now?”
“Arno’s leading them, they’re trying to do the trident,” Gopal explains, lost in thought. It isn’t so easy to take in the whole picture of the game from outside. “Don’t wriggle so much. Now you’re getting a hundred milligrams of regidrine. Daniel, that play turned out well, but we can’t repeat it. I have to protect them.” He looks away from the hologram and smiles at me. “You’re the best captain I’ve ever had. None of the others would have sacrificed like that for a goal. Facing down the Colossaur by yourself was crazy.”
“But it worked,” I smile. That’s it; it’s on his conscience, since he’s the one who suggested it to me. “And it was my decision, not your fault.”
“Obstinate as ever. The first time I saw you, I knew you were the sort who’d never stop till you made it,” he says, not listening to me. “Oh, Daniel, if the rest of the team had your heart...” He watches the holoimage and clicks his tongue, disgusted. “Look, they made them fall for the old shell trick... Mvamba still has lots to learn. Nobody’s going to keep them from letting the League score another goal.” He looks at me and sighs. “Ready, champ?”
“Let’s go,” I answer; I’m ready. I can feel my toes again.
He helps me suit up a second time. “This time, try leaving the Colossaur unguarded... If you can block his passes, all his strength won’t do him any good. Good luck, champ!” he sends me off with a pat on the back.
I return to the court at the same time the announcement comes over:
The League scores the fourth goal of the game. Scoreboard: Fifteen to Five. The captain of Team Earth is back. Substitute leaves the court.
Yes, Gopal was right: once they let them form the shell, they could kiss that fourth goal goodbye.
I gather the team around me.
“Hey, let’s not let it get us down. We can do better, am I right? Gopal thinks we should leave the de-shelled giant unguarded.” Skeptical whistles. “You’re right, it’s crazy. So let’s just pretend to do it,” I crack my knuckles enthusiastically. “At the moment of truth, let’s have the twins against the Colossaur, Mvamba and Arno against the Cetians, I’ll take on Kowalsky, which leaves Yukio free to score. And, heads up, a little bird told me that if the shell worked for them last time, they’ll most likely try the cross next. That’s what the Hussars always did, remember?” Confident laughter.
That’s my team.
Like I’m a fortune-teller. They try to fake us out by starting off with the trident (copycats!), but then they form the cross. Kowalsky up the side, one of the clones up the middle, the other on the other wing, the Colossaur bringing up the rear.
Mvamba and Arno play against the Cetians, the twins pretend to be confused and leave the Colossaur behind, unguarded. Kowalsky shoots forward and here he comes, handling the voxl. He’s going to pass it, he can’t resist the temptation. Now!
The switch-up. The Slovskys stop the magenta mound practically cold; I’ll never get tired of saying it, those kids have talent. Arno squashes the ex-captain of the Hussars into a corner (I’ll have to kiss him for that steamroller move). I control one clone, Mvamba mixes it up with the other, and now Yukio has the voxl.
My samurai feints behind the Colossaur’s back (yes, he’s already cut free, a couple of two hundred-pound humans can’t hold 650 pounds of xenoid for long) and gets one bounce... Mvamba and the twins in a scrum with the giant, while I’m practically doing somersaults to block the clones. Kowalsky gets away from Arno (too slow and heavy to hold him) and rushes over, but Yukio screams “Banzai!” and wraps him in the serpent’s embrace. The voxl moves on its own, from inertia. Two... The third rebound is completed right in front of the Colossaur’s nose. Timed to the fraction of a second. I’d give half a million credits (if I had them) for his helmet to go suddenly transparent. A look of surprise, of rage, of both?
How do you like that, Gopal? In the end, we did leave him unguarded.
Earth scores the fifth goal of the game! Nine to fifteen!
We scream like crazy and hug in a frenzy. The magentas look at us without moving. They must be burning with anger.
Kowalsky comes over and turns off his helmet. His broad whiskers stick sweatily to his cheeks. He smiles. No fury, all pro. “Hey, kids, chill—it’s just a game.” He comes even closer and whispers to me, “But put a move on, mestizo,” he nearly spits the insult in my ear. “Win or lose, I make more in one day than you do in a year. I’m in the League, get it? Something you can only dream of. Don’t forget: I already made it to the top.”
I don’t answer, and he turns his helmet back on.
A crude psychological trick, insulting me. Yes, I’m mestizo—my skin is the color of café con leche, I can’t deny it. In pure logic, it would be stupid of me to feel insulted by what he said. But there was such contempt in his words...
Something is burning inside me.
Want the voxl, renegade? We’ll give it to you, but good. Let’s see if the guys in the League know how to lose.
I call my team over.
“Okay, they’re asking for it. Let’s drive them crazy with the tunnel. We’ll start by pretending to lose control right away, at the serve, and throw them off guard. And we’re going to erase those six points they’re up on us. Because, what are we?” I shout this last question.
“The champions!” they reply in unison.
Nothing in the universe can stop us now.
I pretend to mess up my control of t
he voxl and send it flying away from me at an odd angle, gaining velocity. They fall for it like fools, all chasing after it.
So Yukio easily reaches the other end of the court. And when a Cetian goes after the rebound, the line already has the field split down the middle. Arno crushes the clone, whose pass to Kowalsky goes wide. Lev Slovsky takes it, and there you have the tunnel effect: Slovsky—Mvamba—me. And Yukio, protected behind the wall of bodies, open for the goal. One, two... The Cetians crash into Jan Slovsky and me, Kowalsky tangles with Mvamba, and... What are they doing? But Arno isn’t even part of the play! The Colossaur is rushing at him full speed! Shit, no...!
“Arrgghh!” The Blond Hulk’s scream of pain blasts through the headphones. He didn’t have time to turn off his vocoder...
Sixth goal for Earth!!! Thirteen to fifteen! Defensive back Arno Korvaldsen injured. He leaves the court. Substitute Jonathan Henderson takes his place. Both teams past the ten point mark, pause for half-time.
The paramedics cart off Arno Korvaldsen, mercifully unconscious. His enormous back twisted into an impossible knot, his limbs convulsing. The doctor looks at me and shakes his head. He won’t get over this.
Sons of bitches, giving us the goal so they can take out our defensive back. It’s a diabolical strategy. Jonathan doesn’t have the weight it takes to be an effective substitute for the Blond Hulk. We’ll have to reconfigure the whole squad.
The Slovkys, helmets already off, look on in astonishment as they carry the Dane off the court. Apparently they believed he was simply indestructible. They’re deeply shocked—and so am I. Injuries in Voxl are as common as sweat. But ones as serious as this are pretty rare.
The magenta but unmistakably human silhouette of Kowalsky comes up to me. He turns off his helmet, smiling sarcastically.
“Poor old Dane, he hurt his widdle backsy. They shouldn’t let the elderly play with us, the best guys in the League, no matter how big they are. Sometime unfortunate accidents happen... This is Voxl, mestizo. Let’s see how well you do now without your defensive back, Latino.” He turns his helmet back on and leaves.
