by Paris Singer
Iris stood, and heading toward one of the side windows, turned and said, “I want to see. Coming?” before walking off again.
Instead of getting up I stretched and yawned. Pi’s thick elbow nudged my side a little harder than he probably had intended. “Go, dude,” he said in a low voice, slightly leaning toward me.
Feeling a little embarrassed, I stood without saying a word and walked over to Iris, who now was by the window.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the view outside.
As the vessel drifted through the green mist, a vast terracotta land revealed itself below, spreading as far as the eye could see. Tall solitary columns stood like fingers reaching up toward the stars above. Dusty mountains and hills elevated the flat desert land, along which winding cracks ran and twisted across it where once water must have run. Dark green and red plants and wiry bushes dotted the foot of each mountain, hill and column.
“It’s not bad,” I replied casually. Iris looked at me and tut-tutted, rolling her eyes and smiling before she turned back to the window.
We silently gazed at the scenery below as an enormous black cube, as large as any mountain surrounding it, came into view. With an air of distance, Iris softly began, “Seven, I—” but was interrupted by Mr. Hist’s sudden announcement.
“Everyone back to their seats. We’ll be landing shortly.” Without a word, Iris turned and went to her seat.
“What did you want to say?” I asked, following closely behind her.
“Oh, nothing. Never mind,” replied Iris, her tone now far more casual.
Soon after we sat, a loud whirring resounded outside as the vessel descended. From either side, the dark orange and green landscape gradually turned black, like dark waters steadily rising higher and higher. We entered the large cube Iris and I had seen moments before.
“Entering Malanor City,” came the tinny voice of one of the pilots over the intercommunication system. Soon, the pitch darkness gave way to bright lights of every color as various loud sounds and music filled the vessel as though they were coming from within.
“I should tell you,” shouted Mr. Hist from in front the cockpit, loud enough to barely be heard. “Malanor is known for its party atmosphere! They are also—for—their—elves!” The lower the vessel got, the harder it was to hear anything the coach said, though this didn’t stop him from trying to say whatever he tried to say before he went back to his seat.
As the vessel continued its descent, we were better able to see the vast cityscape unfolding below us. High-rise buildings dominated the busy scene, standing erect like dark stalagmites, each alive and glowing with moving images and words, rapidly alternating from one to the next, each with its own accompanying catchy music and rhythm.
Beams of light shot up in constant, colorful streams, reaching as high as the top of the cube through which we’d just entered. Soon, we flew amidst the highest of the edifices, and the bright flashing lights of the screens on the side of each completely filled the vessel as music and words blared inside. Different images depicting various advertisements, music videos, and announcements ranged in styles and pace, though all had the same model in all of them, who danced and posed in a variety of clothes. He was thin and athletic, his skin a light powdery blue, and had thick, wavy red hair whose style changed in every screen.
The longer we flew through the city, the more deafening the cacophony seemed to become. As I looked below, I saw wide brightly lit streets filled with people, all of who danced and posed like in the flashing screens on the edifices around us. Eventually, we arrived at a large flat area in the middle of which stood an enormous dome around five times the size of our own stadium. Images similar to those I’d seen on the building screens towered above. On the back left and right corners of the wide area were two raised circular landing platforms, and the vessel landed on one of them.
As the ramp lowered and then the door opened, Mr. Hist ushered us out, ensuring we all took our equipment with us. Standing on the dimly lit platform, I looked up at the gigantic stadium ahead, which looked so much bigger now than it had moments ago. Dominating the space high above were the holographic images of the Malac team—named after their race—dressed in its official team uniform, which consisted of a tight deep purple body suit with only one long sleeve, thick dark red knee-high boots. The team logo, which was printed on the shoulder of each uniform, was of a yellow star, inside which a crimson ball blazed, and had a thick line protruding from the bottom like a flower stem or tail of a shooting star. The team stood together in different, alternating action poses as they smiled with shining white teeth.
The curious thing I was beginning to realize was that they, like the model used on the screens of every building, were exact replicas of each other. Below them the words, “Our dazzling beauty shall prevail,” shone in bright yellow and purple letters. It had become customary for each known planet to use the universal interpreting system to bypass tricky language barriers, which had in the past caused a few misunderstandings and feuds between species.
“Welcome!” spoke a flamboyant voice ahead.
I looked back down and saw a tall, slim figure coming up the platform steps with his arms spread out wide at his sides. Blinking to re-adjust my eyes to the dimmer light, the details of the figure gradually became crisper. The Malac wore his thick, wavy, dark red hair brushed away from his face, which accentuated the thin-rimmed glasses he wore above his nose. He had on a slim-fitting, dark purple suit jacket and slim crimson trousers. As he walked onto the landing platform, his black pointed-tip shoes gleamed as if they sparkled.
“Welcome, friends, welcome,” he said enthusiastically with a huge grin. “I trust your trip through our desert wasn’t too dismaying. It is rather awful, you know. As you have been able to see, I’m sure, Malanor City is a lively, friendly city that is always thrilled to welcome guests such as yourselves. I am sure never before have you experienced the awe-inspiring, radiant sight of such a dazzling city.”
Despite the smooth way in which he spoke, there was a definite complacency about everything he said and every move he made. “Now,” he continued, “which one of you is Mr. Hist?”
“That would be me,” replied the coach gruffly, stepping forward to greet the Malac.
“Mr. Hist, welcome to Malanor City,” repeated the Malac, vigorously shaking the coach’s hand with both of his. “You seem to have a fine team—a fine team.” Leaning slightly toward Mr. Hist, and animatedly placing the back of his hand next to his mouth, he said, “Though I do not imagine they will make our team break even the slightest sweat.”
Taking a defensive step backward, the obviously outraged Mr. Hist protested angrily, “What did you say? You little—”
“Now, now, dearest Mr. Hist,” interrupted the Malac, playfully raising his hands toward his face. “It is all in the spirit of healthy competition. No need to be upset.”
“Yeah, well, you start minding your words then,” replied the coach, seemingly torn as to how he should react.
In one swift motion, the grinning Malac threw his arm over Mr. Hist’s shoulders as if they were the best of friends, and said, “Why of course—of course—it is all in the spirit of fun, sir.”
“Who are you, anyway?” grumbled the coach, appearing not to know where to look.
Taking a playful leap backward, the Malac announced, “Oh, but of course! Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gamal Metafrick. I am the Sphere representative, and have been given the most joyous honor of escorting you to our spectacular stadium and locker rooms, and answering any questions you may have. As such, and without further ado, I would ask you to follow me, if you would be so kind.”
With a sigh of relief that the introduction was over, Mr. Hist turned to face us, and said, “Come on, guys, make sure you have everything you need, and closely follow me. Let’s go.”
Gamal Metafrick turned swiftly on the spot and began walking down the steps of the platform a
s Mr. Hist walked behind him and then we all followed them.
“So, what do you think?” I asked Iris and Pi, who walked beside me as I took in our surroundings.
“Eh, I don’t know,” replied Pi nonchalantly. “Loud, isn’t it?”
“I know,” agreed Iris emphatically. “It’s like they’re all deaf or something! And did you notice they all look exactly the same?”
“Loads of species like that.” Pi shrugged.
“I know that, but there are always some differences, like in height or weight, but the Malacs are exact replicas of each other!”
“I guess that is a little unusual,” I agreed, wondering more about how they’d be as opponents instead of what they looked like.
“Still,” continued Iris, “it does look like it’d be a fun city to visit.”
“I wonder what kind of food they have,” said Pi, squinting seriously into the distance.
“You and your stomach,” I said, and Iris and I smiled at each other.
Soon we were all mere steps from the stadium, which up close seemed to fill the hazy darkness above us. Standing just outside the brightly lit foyer, Gamal Metafrick clicked his fingers, and the enormous see-though doors ahead slid smoothly and instantly open to the left, out of sight. He turned his head slightly toward us, and still grinning, said, “This way, please,” and walked inside.
The yellow floor sparkled, crimson and purple sparks shooting in every direction under its surface with every step we took. The purple walls were filled with stands upon which trophies of all shapes and sizes proudly stood as miniature holographic Malacs gazed praisingly around each one. Other life-size holograms of the Malac team, dressed in their uniforms, danced and posed proudly around the room, silently booing us as we walked past.
Without a word, Gamal Metafrick opened and then walked through a smaller door the same color as the walls, followed closely by Mr. Hist and the rest of the team. As Iris, Pi and I walked through it, we were met by a long, narrow hallway. As in the foyer, every step we took on the shiny surface caused multi-colored sparks to shoot in every direction under our feet. There, the walls changed color from yellow to purple to crimson, as moving images of the team posed within it.
A moment later, Gamal Metafrick stopped beside a door and turned on his heels to face us, cupping one hand in the other, smiling from ear to ear.
“Through this door,” he began jovially, “you will find the locker room where you will be able to change into your uniforms. You will find it spacious and accommodating. Automatic service operators are stationed along the left wall should you have any need of assistance.”
“Is the Malac team already in there?” asked Mr. Hist, pointing at the door with his thumb.
“Oh, goodness, no,” chortled Gamal Metafrick wryly. “No, they are kept well separate of riff-raff. They are in another wing altogether. You will not see them until the game begins.”
“Riff-raff?” exclaimed the coach angrily, raising his fists. “Listen you—”
Before he could continue, the Malac put his hands in front of his face in mock defense, and, still grinning widely, said, “I only say so in jest, sir, in the spirit of healthy competition. I refer to you as common rabble with cheeky rivalry and nothing more, I assure you.”
Those words seemed to go some way toward appeasing Mr. Hist, though he kept his left eye closed the way he did whenever he took a dislike to someone. “Yes, well, stop that.”
“Of course, sir. As you wish. The game will begin shortly, so I recommend you prepare yourselves quite expediently. When it’s time, you will be collected and escorted to the main arena.”
Looking from Gamal Metafrick to the door, and back again, Mr. Hist said, “That’s it?”
The Malac looked confused at the coach’s words, and batting his long eyelashes, stated, “I don’t understand.”
“What,” elaborated Mr. Hist, “we don’t get to see the arena beforehand? We don’t meet the players or their coach?” He had a long-standing tradition where he liked to meet and greet the opposing team before a game, shaking each one heartily by the hand. He said it promoted good, solid sportsmanship.
Gamal Metafrick threw his head back in laughter, then wiping fake tears from his eyes, replied, “Oh, no, no. There will be no need for that, Mr. Hist. No, the arena is, I am sure, like others of its kind—albeit designed to the highest of standards—and as I have previously mentioned, you will meet the team when the game begins and not before. Now, unless you have any further questions, I do believe the game will start soon, and as such, I would highly recommend your team get changed into their little uniforms. You wouldn’t wish to disappoint now, would you?” The Malac winked. Before Mr. Hist could say anything, however, Gamal Metafrick quickly added, “And I will be showing these two to their seats in the arena as, I believe, they are mere spectators, yes?”
Before the coach had a chance to reply, the Malac grabbed Iris and Pi by their wrists, turned on his heels, forcing them to stand on either side of him, and walked quickly away down the hallway and then out of sight as I heard Iris say something like, “See you! Good luck!”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, unable to know what to make of it all. From the moment we’d arrived, it had felt as though we’d quickly, and unceremoniously, been ushered through as if on a conveyor belt, as if we were some fans who had the honour of competing against their idols.
After a moment, though, Mr. Hist sighed resolutely, and said, “Come on, you heard him. The game will start soon, so you’d better all get changed.” He opened the door.
Inside, the locker room was just as the Malac had stated, and aside from the yellow and purple lockers that divided the room, it was decorated just like the foyer had been. Banners, posters and trophies lined the walls as life-size holographic Malac players posed and danced around.
As we began getting changed, laying our bags on the benches that ran through the locker aisles and steadily placing our clothes inside the spacious lockers, the automated service operators (I called them ASOs for short) which, by the looks of it, quite resembled the MOOs back at the academy, busied themselves spraying us clean.
Once we’d all changed, Mr. Hist asked us to sit on the benches and then gave us his usual speech, adding, “We don’t know very much about this team other than what I’ve already told you. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see them practicing before the game starts, which could help. Apart from that, we’re blind, so we’ll have to use all our skill and cunning to beat them, understand?”
“Yes, coach!” we exclaimed loudly in unison.
“Keep cool heads—that means you, 64—and beat them with the skill I know you all have.”
A thinner, taller service operator, all in yellow, opened the locker room door, and with a smooth tone of voice resembling Gamal Metrafrick’s own, said, “It is time to take you to the main arena. Please follow me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AS WE ALL PLACED our bags into the lockers, One walked right up to me and put his hands firmly on my shoulders, turning me to face him. “Listen, Simian, I’m only going to say this once.” His voice was a little friendlier than usual, which almost made my head spin. “I think you’re a joke, and I severely dislike you—”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t interrupt me. As I said, you make me sick, but here—today—we’re all on the same team and…Good luck. Got it?” He turned and walked away, the Morex, who’d been standing somewhere behind me, closely followed.
Turning back to close my locker, my mind was completely numb from what had just happened.
We followed the ASO out of the locker room and then down the hallway in the direction Gamal Metafrick had dragged Iris and Pi. We remained silent as we walked one behind the other, the atmosphere thick with nervous anticipation. Since we hadn’t been able to get a glimpse of the arena or the Malac team beforehand, my mind blew up what was to come to such heights my stomach hurt.
The ever-increasing sounds of cheering a
nd music echoed along the walls until we reached a pair of tall double doors where they seemed to be banging and pushing against them like some wild beast.
The ASO stopped for a moment, and said, “This way, please,” just before the doors slid silently open. The sounds that had until that moment been muffled, now exploded down the hallway as blinding, colorful lights flashed in our eyes.
As the ASO hovered on, we diligently followed as I blinked my eyes until they slowly adjusted to my new surroundings. A moment later, I saw the arena spread out ahead of me. We walked down a short, uncovered passageway on either side of which the edges of the stands rose high above like interminable walls. Coming to the end of the passageway, we stepped into the enormous arena for the first time.
The vast, circular purple floor had crimson and yellow stars scattered around. The stands ran the length of the whole arena, and rose almost to its very top. I’d never seen so many spectators gathered together in one place like that. There must have been hundreds of thousands of them, all cheering and singing to the loud music, their faces all exact replicas of each other. Sweeping my gaze from left to right across the stands, the tops of their heads resembled a field of dark red flowers. Somewhere in there were Iris and Pi, but as hard as I tried, I had no chance of spotting them.
Two huge circular platforms dominated the center of the arena with the smaller rising above the center of the larger bottom one. Two spheres stood left and right of the larger platform with a third in the middle of the second, smaller one. Both platforms were raised, the bottom one by three large metallic columns and the second by a single column running through the middle of the bottom one.
High above a colorful light show illuminated the top of the arena. Purple, yellow and crimson stars shot across in all directions, exploding in an array of yet more colors, as gigantic holograms of the Malac team dressed in the uniforms once again posed in various ways.
