Sports World

By Cassandra Morphy

The world of Pliant, known colloquially as Sport's World, isn't like most of the planets in the Terran Alliance. People don't go there to grow mana or to just make a living. They go there to make a name for themselves. To excel at the one thing that most of the people there lived for.

The Game.

But Dan didn't come to Sport's World to make a name for himself. He grew up there, lost in the economy that was built around pliant, the sport that everyone focused on. Made and lost fortunes betting on. He just wanted to live his life, without being bombarded by sports. Assaulted by the one thing that he hated the most.

Except, when the recruiter came knocking, he couldn't say no. The world wouldn't let him. Suddenly, Dan was stuck doing the one thing he never wanted. Suddenly, Dan was getting everything that he never wanted. But he would soon find out that everything wasn't enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassandra Morphy
• Release date: Sep 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005453343

Cassandra Morphy

Cassandra Morphy is a Business Data Analyst, working with numbers by day, but words by night. She grew up escaping the world, into the other realities of books, TV shows, and movies, and now she writes about those same worlds. Her only hope in life is to reach one person with her work, the way so many others had reached her. As a TV addict and avid movie goer, her entire life is just one big research project, focused on generating innovative ideas for worlds that don’t exist anywhere other than in her sick, twisted mind.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Factory

It was dark inside the factory, with just slight beams of yellow sunlight streaming through the windows that ran along the top portions of the walls. The windows distorted the color to almost brown from all the crud that had accumulated over the years. The glow from the machinery, the indicators and buttons, did little to aid in it. Machinery noises echoed off the stone walls that made up the factory floor, causing an almost deafening cacophony.

But that was normal for Dan. He was long used to the working environment, after working in the factory for almost five years. The ear plugs in his ears were a gift from his mother after his first year, meant to help preserve what hearing hadn't already been lost. His father had used them himself, in that very same factory, right up until his retirement. His death had come soon after that. Even that month of retired life was more than most saw those days.

Dan was careful as he pulled one of the balls off the line, making sure to avoid the edges of the machines to either side. On his left was the machine to inflate the balls up to industry standard. To his right was where the balls would be boxed for sale. Even as he pulled the ball out of the line, he knew that an empty box would be spit out, taking its place on the conveyor belt. The machines weren't smart enough to know not to box the empty air. It was cheaper to have the occasional wasted box than to upgrade the machine.

With the recently inflated ball in hand, Dan tossed it up in the air, testing the weight of it. The light from the window directly above him was enough to see how the ball spun, the dark pentagons becoming something of a blur in the low light. As the ball fell, Dan let it slip past him, hitting the floor and bouncing back up. It gave off a satisfying ping as it hit the cement, though the sound of it was drowned out by the machines in the room. Even without his ear plugs in place, he wouldn't have heard anything from the ball. But the cement did.

A display appeared just next to where the ball had fallen, on the cement itself. The smart paint there showed the sound wave that the impact had made, without the interference from the sounds of the machines around it. It took years of experience to read that sound wave, but Dan could rely on the analysis that popped up next to it. The pitch and volume showed within expected ranges. The ball seemed well enough made.

As the ball came back up near waist level, Dan caught it. For good measure, he flipped the ball around once more, propping it up on his finger, held aloft by only his thumb. He gave the ball a little spin, letting it dance there for a second on his finger. This part wasn't on the list of approved tests, but Dan had found three off-balanced balls just this month that the other tests had missed. The ball in his hands showed a slight wobble as the lighter hexagons reflected the light from the window all around the room. It only took him a moment, flipping the ball back and forth in that light, to see where the imbalance was coming from.

With his right hand, Dan flipped the ball over his shoulder, not looking back as it arched overhead and into the reject basket behind him. With his left, he hit the button on the inflating machine, stopping line number six. He knew that his boss would be by shortly to check on his work. But in the meantime, no more material would be wasted on that line until the machines could be recalibrated. The empty box, what had once been useless waste, was suddenly a marker for just where the balls would need to be removed from the production line.

Of course, the off-balanced balls wouldn't be thrown out. That would be too much of a waste of company resources. They would be repurposed for one of the many outreach programs they do to the local children. Donated balls that would be an easy write-off for the company. The good press did wonders for it, too. Then again, the company didn't need to worry about either of those.

The Kings 53-02-05 factory was the best ball maker in the sector. Dan liked to pride himself on the thought that they were the best ball maker on the planet, but each district had its own factory. Each team had its own factory. Only the best balls were used in the games themselves. And all balls used in games played at the 53-02 stadium were made in that factory.

With his line down, Dan started to look around at the rest of the factory. Even without inspection work to do, there was plenty that needed done in there. The QAed balls needed to be stowed. The floor needed to be swept. But when he spotted George heading his way, he figured there was no sense in trying to get any work done. It could all wait till end of shift anyway.

Hey, George said, when he came over to Dan. George had a specialized mic that he could use to be heard over the machines, through Dan's earplugs. The mic used to belong to the company, but George reallocated it for his own use. He got a lot more use out of it than any of the supervisors ever did. George was quite the talker.

Hey, Dan said back. George shouldn't have been able to hear him over the cacophonous drone of the other lines, even in the bubble that line six's offline status would have caused. But George never seemed to have much of a problem hearing Dan.

Without needing to be told anything, George headed over to the machine on Dan's left, starting to track back the issue. As good as Dan was at quality checking the balls, George was better at quality checking the machines. If one of the interface arms was off by a micron, he could just tell. Of course, this familiarity with the machines meant that George was never getting promoted past his current position, and he knew it. But he took far too much pride in the work that he was already doing.

So, are we going to the game after work? George asked, even as he headed over to the machine. He quickly checked three spots before continuing up-line, towards the previous machine. This one is the machine that sews the balls together, before being inflated. Judging by the failed ball, Dan figured this was the culprit.

Not today, Dan said, shaking his head. Even without looking at him, George nodded his acknowledgement of his response.

Why not? he asked. It should be a good one.

I've already gone to the games that I'm required to attend, Dan said.

He flinched away from his accidental use of the word. At sounding bitter about the tickets that were issued to all workers at the factory. Issued, and taxed, as part of their salary. Moreover, if they weren't used, people noticed.

Err, I mean, I'm just tired, he amended quickly, his usual excuse for not going to the games.

Should be interesting, at least, George said, obviously missing his choice of words. It's a rival match.

What? Dan asked, perking up at that.

He looked to the display over in the corner, showing the ten games that were already running. The audio for all ten games was also playing through the loudspeakers throughout the space. Even if the machines weren't drowning out the audio, it would be completely incomprehensible with all the audios overlapping each other. Some people actually like listening to the games that way, and can somehow pick out each game individually. Others opt to use a similar interface to George's microphone to listen to a specific game on their earplugs. Dan generally didn't bother to do either.

To the side of the display was the schedule for the upcoming games. They scrolled along the side of the view, just barely readable from the far side of the room. The rival matches were all flagged in red, their listings blinking as they passed by. When Dan noticed that the rival match was between Bluejay 53-05-06 and Hawk 53-05-07, he gave a heavy sigh of relief. He knew that the next rival match with the Kings 53-02-05 wasn't until the next week, but there were times when he lost track of when the weeks ended. After all, the only thing to tell the difference between the days were the games being played and whether or not he was working.

Still, Dan said, shrugging. I just want to head home. I didn't get much sleep last night.

Who can sleep with a rival match running? George asked. He laughed it off, though Dan knew that he meant it. That he would probably come in the next morning having watched the whole game in the stadium, at the edge of his seat the entire time. And with the game three sectors over, he wasn't likely to get home until after midnight.

Maybe I'll put it on at home, Dan said, offhandedly, knowing full well that he wouldn't bother. Still, that seemed enough to placate George.

Whatever, George shrugged, as he slapped the machine back together.

George hit something on the main interface, and the next ball in the line slid into place. Distracted by the conversation with George, Dan hadn't noticed anything of what the man was doing to the machine. Both of the men watched as the machine put the ball together, the seam sewing in a matter of seconds, before the single ball slid forward to be inflated. The rest of the line stood at a standstill as the one ball advanced through.

Once the ball was inflated, Dan picked it up, putting it through the same testing as the one before it. As each of the tests checked out, even the spin showing no issues, he was starting to get unnerved. He always did whenever he stopped his line, even after working in QA for so long. When he begrudgingly agreed that the ball was perfect, he placed it gently into the bin for the passed balls.

Really, I don't know how you do it, George said, shaking his head as he stared at that ball. I mean, the machine was off by three microns, but you could just tell.

Dan gave a sigh of relief before turning back to his friend. I don't know how you can tell that it was three microns, he said. I didn't see you measuring anything.

Hey, we each have our own superpowers, George said, shrugging. If only we could make a decent living with them, eh?

With that, George reached over to the power button, reactivating line six. Dan moved back into position next to the belt between the inflation and packaging machines as George typed up the report. Neither opted for conversation; George because he couldn't type and talk at the same time without saying what he meant to type and typing what he meant to say. Dan just wasn't a talker, but that seemed to work well in their friendship, with George's long-windedness filling the gap.

Before George could finish his report, Mr. Harrison came over to their line. His familiar smart clipboard was firmly in his hands, his finger sliding along it as he scanned through the alerts. Dan often joked about that clipboard, the likelihood of Mr. Harrison being buried with it, and uses that he might or might not have had with it that weren't polite to discuss in mixed company. Dan stood up straighter as his boss came over to stand next to them, though George seemed oblivious to his approach.

What do we have? Mr. Harrison asked.

George jumped at the voice, coming through both of their sets of earplugs. He quickly stuffed his pilfered mic into the large pockets that were on the front of his coveralls, though Mr. Harrison didn't seem to notice it there. His new mic was so much better than that older model.

Everything should be good now, George said quickly.

Mr. Harrison nodded, clearly hearing the man just as easily as George had heard Dan. He glanced over George's shoulder to skim what little of the report George had managed to type up so far. With another nod, he headed off once more, quickly disappearing in the low light of the rest of the factory.

Why didn't you warn me he was coming over? George asked, looking sternly at Dan before going back to his report. You know how much that guy scares the crap out of me.

Well, that's why I didn't warn you, Dan said, smiling over at him. Of course, the real reason was that he hadn't noticed Mr. Harrison until it was too late to warn George. But it was funnier this way.

Dan reached out his hand again, going to pick up another ball. Before he could grab one, though, a whistle went out throughout the space, broadcasted through the earplugs as well. He looked over at the display in the corner again, this time checking the time. Sure enough, it was already five o'clock. With a sigh of relief, he turned towards the QAed ball baskets. Maurice, the second shift QA specialist, was already heading his way, looking refreshed and ready for his own shift. Dan figured that Maurice could sweep the floors, if he so desired. All he wanted was to be out of there for the day.

Hey, wait up, George said. He quickly typed up the rest of his report, which was likely to make it barely readable. It wasn't like Mr. Harrison would read it in any detail, though. We can head out together.

Chapter Two

The Street

As the two men left the factory, the stadium stood tall over the buildings in front of them. The large sphere rose into the sky in the distance, visible from most of the sector and dwarfing all other buildings around there. The lights were running over it, though there was no game playing there at the moment. Instead, the gigantic displays that framed the sphere showed the then twelve games that were running. Fortunately, the audio on the speakers from the stadium weren't loud enough to get past the parking lot around it. But there were enough people on the street itself listening to the games that the general sound of it washed over Dan as he emerged from the building behind him.

Goooooal, one of the announcers was shouting from a radio at the bistro across the street. As four of the game displays were showing a crowd cheering and players doing their own patented victory dances, it was hard to tell just which game the three old men were listening to. The man on the left had a noticeable hump on his back from working the fields his whole life. Dan had seen the man often enough over the years to recognize him, though he didn't know the man's name.

Are you sure I can't convince you to come? George asked, as they started away from the factory.

Dan looked around the street for a moment, reorienting himself to the outside world. Even after working at that same factory for five years, even with the stadium always to the north of their district, Dan would often get lost walking down the narrow, maze-like streets of the area. The narrow streets of the district weren't designed to be navigated easily. Too many of the buildings had moved over the years, trying to get more of them in smaller spaces. Trying to avoid losing workers and services whenever a rival game went the other way.

It took him a moment to realize that they were heading east, that they were heading towards 53-05. I'm sure, Dan said, nodding, as they turned the corner on the street, coming out into a large square. At the edge of the square was a main street, heading north at a direct shot towards the stadium. When Dan glanced in that direction, all he could see was the stadium.

As the bistro fell behind them, blocking out the audio from the radios back there, the sounds of the games dropped away, being replaced by the sounds of another game. This one, however, wasn't of the professional sports leagues. For some, though, it was just as important. In fact, Dan noticed several scouts standing off in the corner of the square, gazing on at the twelve kids playing in the space.

Pass the ball, one of the kids shouted. She raised her hands over her head, trying to draw the attention of the large boy who was currently kicking the ball down the square. The girl was perfectly positioned to get the ball into the goal, and the goalie standing next to her seemed oblivious to her. But the boy kept the ball, bringing it down the field, surrounded by four other players blocking his shot.

Of course, the game that the kids were playing in the square wasn't the game that everyone played on that world. It couldn't be. Not outside of the official stadiums. But stadium time was at a premium, and no one could pay those prices. Still, their pickup game played similar, the old fashioned futbol of old. Except, with only six to a side and the smaller field, it wasn't much that either. Still, the rules were similar enough to pliant, though many of the same moves wouldn't work in the two dimensional field.

Dan stopped on the edge of the square, his eyes locked on the ball as the boy kicked it down the field. He wasn't actually watching the game, had no interest in it or the players. He just wanted to stand there for a moment, relaxing after a long day of work. George seemed to think differently though. After standing next to Dan for a moment, he glanced down at the old fashioned watch on his wrist before shrugging and heading off. He would need to hurry if he was going to get three sectors over in time for kick off.

With George heading off, rushing towards the subway station just up the block, Dan stayed there for a moment longer, his eyes flicking towards his departing friend. As close as the two were, George wouldn't like the plans that Dan had for that night. He wouldn't understand. He might even feel betrayed by it. Then again, a lot of people on that world would.

Once George disappeared around the bend, Dan glanced around the field one more time. The scouts watching the pickup game all seemed properly distracted, searching for their next big player. There wasn't an official age range for the professional teams, and most teams had at least one teenager riding the bench in any given season. But as the boy lost the ball to the other team, Dan figured that none on that field stood a chance at getting recruited.

Slowly, Dan made his way along the edge of the square. There was a walkway marked on the edge of the space, an old sidewalk from back when ground cars were a common thing on that world. The kids would have used that walkway for out of bounds, leaving the space for people to make their way around them. With one last glance towards the scouts on the far side of the space, Dan hurried along, making his way towards the next street over. Making his way towards the meeting.

Head's up, someone called out.

Dan reacted immediately, turning around in place to look back at the game behind him. Growing up on that world, with games happening all over, one needed to be ready to defend against an oncoming ball at any moment. Sure enough, one was coming straight for his head. The same boy as before, the ball hog that was likely to cost his team the win, was staring wide-eyed after it as it tumbled through the air.

All Dan had time to think at that moment was that this ball must have been one of the ones that he had failed. It wobbled as it tumbled through the air, unbalanced on the one side. That ball could have cost a professional team a game.

Dan didn't think as the ball came at him. He just moved. Before the ball got past the edge of the walkway, Dan flipped backwards. His hands went out behind him, reaching towards the walkway, as his legs came up into the air. It was a trick that he had seen played often enough in the pro games, one he had performed during his more innocent years growing up. However, he had been told it was easier to do inside the stadium. With his hands firmly on the ground, he spun in place, his feet coming around to impact with the ball. He continued with the movement, using his momentum to flip back around, coming back onto his feet right where he had started.

The ball soared through the air, heading for the goal next to him. Dan hadn't done anything to aim the ball, or think much about where he wanted it to go. Still, it came on unerringly, heading straight for the goalie, and the goal behind him. With the sheer speed of the ball coming at him, the goalie flinched away from it, shrinking in on himself as it went past. The ball slammed into the far post, the only thing that the kids had for a net in either goal. The post rang out, singing his praises, echoing around the space as all eyes turned towards Dan.

Whoa, someone said, as the entire field of kids all stared at Dan in silence. Dan just stood there for a moment, staring between the kids and the ball, wondering to himself if he had meant to hit the post dead on like that, or if it was just a fluke. He wasn't so sure.

Before he could think to move from his place at the edge of the field, the recruiters on the far side started making their way towards him. One of them was literally rubbing his hands together, as if Dan were a fresh piece of perfectly cooked steak. All of their eyes were locked on him in rapt attention. None of them seemed the least bit interested in letting him get out of there unnoticed. Unharassed. Unrecruited.

Hey, someone said behind Dan, long before any of the other recruiters made it around the field. That's quite some kick you got there.

Dan turned in the direction of the voice. There was a woman standing in the doorway to one of the apartment buildings that overlooked the square. In his hurry to avoid the watchful eyes of the recruiters on the far side of the field, Dan had missed this unassuming woman standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, looking like she belonged in that neighborhood. But as she came out of the building, heading for him, Dan noticed that the door to the building that she had been standing in was firmly closed behind her, locking her out.

This was just another recruiter, same as the rest of them.

Um... thanks, Dan said, hesitantly. He wanted no dealings with this woman, or any of the recruiters on that field. But with the other recruiters looking at him like a piece of meat, this one seemed tolerable at least. Like she might not just be looking for a body. For his body.

Not that he would have gone for that if she had been.

As she came closer, her hips swung freely in her long, lithe strides, her dress drifting out to either side. Her long blond hair swept out behind her as if on a breeze. Dan had been around long enough to know that this effect was an aspect of the necklace that she wore, the red amulet that dangled playfully in her cleavage. He tried not to look at it too long, to seem like he was ogling her, much like the recruiters behind him were ogling him.

The name is Nichole Hughes, she said, reaching her hand out towards Dan. I don't believe I've seen you around these parts before.

Really? Dan asked. He looked around the square, the same square he passed through every day on his way home... or towards the meeting that he was already late for. I'm here almost every day.

Huh, well, I guess I don't spend that much time in the area, Nichole said. Sorry, I didn't catch your name.

Oh, uh, Dan.

Dan...? she trailed off, prompting his last name.

For a moment, Dan just wanted to head off. To leave the encounter at his first name. But he had enough dealings with recruiters over the years to know that she wasn't going to leave it at that. Fortunately, this was the first time that he had one of them dogging him. Most of the time, he was just a spectator to the process.

Dan Howard, Dan said, reluctantly.

Well, Dan, which amateur team do you play for? There was no question in her tone that he played for one of them. That he wasn't a pro player, but definitely a player. There were tons of professional teams, tons of players on them, but none of them would have stooped to be in a place like that. And only a handful would be outside of their own district without an escort.

I'm... uh... I'm not on a team, Dan said. He looked around the area again, searching for a way out. A way away from this Nichole and out of that interaction. But with the other recruiters still circling around him like so many vultures, he knew escape was impossible.

With skills like that? I find that hard to believe, she said. She seemed oblivious to his uncomfortableness. Though that might have just been the nature of recruiters. You must have played in high school, though.

Nope, Dan said, shaking his head. Just in gym class. I ran track.

She nodded, as if that explained something. Whatever she was thinking, though, she left it there.

Any injuries keeping you from the teams? she asked.

No, no, Dan said, shaking his head. He would have said yes, should have said yes, but that wouldn't have kept her off of him. If he had claimed an injury, she would have dug. He knew that the only way out of there would be to feign ineptitude. Really, that was just a fluke, he said, laughing it off as he pointed back towards the goal. I've never managed to get it in like that before.

Uh huh, she said, with clear disbelief in her voice. Well, Dan Howard, we have an invitational coming up on Friday. You should come. She quickly reached into her pocket, pulling out her card. If I don't see you there, I'll come hunting for you. She laughed it off as she handed him her card, but as she eyed him dangerously, he knew that she wasn't joking.

Uh, sure, Dan said, nodding, as he reluctantly took the card from her.

Nichole winked at him as she slipped off, heading towards the side entrance to the field. The other recruiters eyed her as she passed them. She just blew them a kiss, her signal that she had already claimed him. That Dan was all but drafted into the league.

Well, crud, Dan said, as he was finally released from the attention of the recruiters. They all knew better than to try to poach him from her. Much like with thieves, there was honor among recruiters. And they both had similar motives.

Chapter Three

The Meeting

The business card lingered in Dan's hand as he walked down the street. He wanted nothing more than to toss it. To throw the card in the trash cans that were all along the sidewalk as he passed them. The last thing in the world that he would have ever wanted was to be recruited. Or worse, to actually join the elite of the professional players.

But that wasn't an option. Not for Dan, not for anyone who lived on Pliant. Instead, he focused on the road ahead of him, on the destination that he had in mind. He just had to hope that one of the others at the meeting would have a way to get him out of it.

Dan looked over his shoulder often as he walked down the street, always worried that he would be followed to the meeting. Once the square fell away behind him, and around several bends, he started to relax. The recruiters had all stayed behind, watching as the game continued. None of them had any more interest in Dan, once Nichole had recruited him.

Just a block past the third turn down the street, Dan quickly took a step off to the side, ducking into a small alleyway. He paused there for a moment, just standing against the wall, waiting, listening for people passing by him. For people following him. When no sounds came, he braved taking a peek out around the corner. Only then, only once he was sure that the street remained clear, did he slip deeper into the alleyway.

For anyone else heading into the alley, all they would have seen were the back doors to the buildings on either side of him. The old Italian restaurant that no longer had any customers and an abandoned factory.

But deeper in the alleyway, all the way at the end, tucked away behind the dumpster that was no longer used, was a small door. It was this door that Dan made his way towards. He tried to keep his footsteps quiet, but they still echoed around the small space. Even in that dark, narrow pathway, he felt eyes on him from all directions. They felt drawn towards him, towards the card that was still in his hand.

The dumpster was perfectly positioned in a way that Dan didn't need to move it to get past it, squeezing between the old, rusted metal and the stone wall next to it. Once he was back there, he was completely hidden from the rest of the alleyway. He slipped along the far wall, walking sideways as he edged closer to the door. As he did so, his hands automatically searched the wall for the hidden latch that would open it for him. With well-practiced movements, he pressed the latch in at the same time as he slipped open the door with his foot. He almost had to bend over backwards to slip in through the doorway, but then he practically fell through it and into the meeting room.

Into the secret hideout for his group.

Finally, someone called out, even as he was righting himself just inside the door.

Dan's eyes quickly adjusted to the low light of the space. The six other members of his group were all there, looking over at him expectantly. They seemed impatient for the meeting to start, despite Dan being only a few minutes late for it. Besides, it wasn't like they had much to discuss.

Oh, calm down, Mitchel, Dan said, as he came over to the long, low table that took up most of the space in the hideout. Everyone was sitting on the floor around it, other than Mitchel. The man was easily the most impatient in the group, and always opted for pacing the floor next to the table. Harry and Scarlet both flinched away from him every time that he passed by, though he had only stepped on Harry the one time. Dan was convinced that wasn't an accident, despite Mitchel's insistence otherwise.

No, I won't calm down, Mitchel said. You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.

Uh, no, Dan said.

He glanced over at the wall, the old clock that hung there. The clock was the only thing in the space, besides the small lamp in the corner, that ran off the stolen power from the Italian restaurant. Even that little drain could be enough to give them away if someone was looking for them.

I'm only seven minutes late, Dan said, pointing at the clock. Even that little difference surprised him.

Not sure why it took you so long to get over here, Mitchel said. I left right before you did. Mitchel worked at the same factory as Dan, though he was in the business offices upstairs.

Never mind that, Scarlet said. She smiled over at Dan, her freckles almost dancing in the light from the lamp as her usual dimples came out to play. Dan's heart gave a slight flutter at that smile, which was part of why she always did that. We're all here now. Let's just start the meeting, shall we?

I still don't know why we bother, Bethany said. She was sitting in her usual spot, in the far corner of the room, leaning against the two walls next to her, her arms crossed as she glared over at Mitchel pacing. It's not like anything is ever going to change.

Not with that attitude, Mark said. He reached out to Bethany next to him, patting her shoulder. I still think we should have someone run for division head next year. That would put us in a good place to change things around here.

No, it wouldn't, Bethany said. She swatted away Mark's hand before it could linger there. He was known for getting a bit too personal that way. That's one division in, what, seventy-five?

Seventy-seven, Mitchel said. Division seventy-seven is coming online next month.

Maybe we can run for division head there, Mark said.

That election was three months ago, Mitchel said. That was when we came up with that stupid idea. And Bethany is right, it wouldn't make a difference. Even if we changed things in one division, all the rest of them would still be set up the same way. Nothing would happen.

Besides, who says we'd even win? Bethany asked. No, politics isn't the solution. We'd have to get in as president of the league, and Gol Godot isn't going anywhere. Even if he did, his son is already groomed to take over. No, we're screwed on that front.

It was the same arguments that they had made every week, the ones that they could have gone through while waiting for Dan. He had already heard it all enough times to recite it himself. Automatically, he looked towards Paul next to him, knowing full well that he would be the next to speak. The next to bring up his own idea, that had been shot down a million times by the rest of the group.

Well, you all know where I stand on this, Paul said. It was far more abbreviated than he had ever been on the subject before, but they all knew what he would suggest.

Paul had joined the group from another resistance band. He was the sole survivor of the group, after they attacked the world championship game of '01, two years earlier. Despite their complete failure, and the devastation that his group underwent, he was still encouraging the group towards violence. Towards taking to the streets with guns and bombs. Dan was firmly against that approach. Not that he had a better idea.

So, no one has any new ideas? Bethany asked. Big surprise.

There's always the protests, Harry suggested. Never underestimate the power of a good protest.

Yeah, the power to get us all fired, Dan said. We don't all have skills we can fall back on. You could get a job anywhere, especially offworld. The rest of us are stuck here.

Despite his words of complaint about his lack of skills, he started to tap the recruiter's card nervously on the table. It was almost like he wanted to draw attention to it, though that was the farthest from the truth. Still, no one seemed to notice the card as they all continued the discussion.

They can't fire you for protesting, Harry said. That would be illegal.

They can fire me for not using all the tickets they 'give' me, Dan said, using air quotes for the word. The recruiter's card slipped from his hand when he did so, tumbling down in the air onto the table. Scarlet's eyes lingered on the card for a moment, but no one else paid it much attention.

Well, at least the games aren't boring, Mitchel muttered, as he continued to pace.

Dan just stared over at him with a blank expression. It was never about the game itself for most in that group. The resistance was all about the ties between the government and the game, trying to get something of a life that wasn't controlled by twenty-four players in a field. About not having to move every six months because of a rival game going bad. But for Dan, it was so much more than that.

I beg to differ, Dan said.

Alright, alright, Mark said. No need to go through all of this again. Why don't we just take a month, eh? Come back fresh and refreshed, with new ideas for how to go about this.

Nothing is going to change in a month, Bethany said.

Uh, yeah, it will, Dan said. For one, I won't live in this district anymore. Our next rival game is next week.

Nonsense, Mark said. Your boss will arrange for a new place for you to live. Or, better yet, the Kings might win.

Pfft, yeah right.

Gibson is on disability right now, Mark said, showing far more familiarity with the game than a member of a resistance group should. The Ducks are down a man. They won't have their usual skill set. That won't play well with their usual plays. The Kings could take the game if they capitalize off of it the right way. Anyone know what we'd get if they win?

It's Dan's apartment complex against the public swimming pool, Harry said. Now that would be a nice addition to the district. And it's right next to Dan's apartment, too. So, we could go swimming, then hang out. Watch the game or something.

Dan just rolled his eyes at the thought of it. He couldn't help but agree that it would be nice to have access to the pool. The place was visible from his apartment, teasing him. Especially in the hot summer months. As it was still August, he might even get use of it that next week, if things went that way. But putting that up against needing to move again, or get a new job in his new district, he'd rather just keep things the way that they were.

I'd rather get back that power station we lost three months ago, Mark said. We've been in low power mode for far too long. My eyesight is only getting worse, working by what little sunlight comes through the windows. Not like they needed the station to begin with, what with their smart pavement factory chugging out the panels. I swear, they have their entire district covered with those by now.

How often do these rival game bets come down to something they need? Scarlet asked. When the division was formed, every district had what they needed to support their team. That's the whole point of this whole stupid economy. Everything is centered around the game and supporting the team, in every sense of the word. She paused for a moment, giving an involuntary shudder, as a thought played its way through her head. Dan gave her a questioning look, but she didn't respond to it. "If it weren't for these rival games, we wouldn't need to worry about going hungry or having to move or practically being sold or