I scan the stadium from the top step of the southern dugout. The Worker City side is near capacity. Across the court, the Immortal City half of the stadium contains maybe a couple thousand immortals. It’s a good showing, for Immortal City. I shift my gaze toward the northern dugout where the Jags are falling in.
Ami and I haven’t spoken since the showdown in the combat chamber that left me unconscious. My Serpent 6 has defeated her Jaguar 4 twice more since then. Neither clash required us to spar off face to face.
I sigh. If we had met under different circumstances, we might have been friends. If we both become ometeotl, what then? Will we maintain the rivalry past its purpose simply because it’s all we’ve known?
Having already finished his motivational speech, Yetic joins me on the top step. “I want you to spell me when my rotation comes up.”
“Sounds good.” I wrap my arm around his waist.
Yetic says, “I’ll block and manage the dugout for the middle third of the period before rotating in as striker. I’ll leave someone in charge of spelling you on the next rotation.”
I nod while still staring at Ami and her Jags across the length of the court. “She’s going to blow a gasket when they lose.”
Yetic squeezes me. “Any other year and Jaguar 4 would be the best. Not this year.”
“Not this year,” I repeat.
“Oh, last thing.”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you rotate back in for the final minute of the period. I want our best out there at the buzzer. We’re going to make those Jags wish there weren’t two more periods.”
Before I can respond, the voice of the announcer cuts through the stadium din. “Citizens of New Teotihuacan, welcome to week six of the best ōllamaliztli played around the world!”
The Worker City half of the stadium explodes into cheers.
After a several second delay, the announcer continues, “This week’s matchup features the top two performing barracks. Bitter rivals, the last time Jaguar and Serpent clashed in week two, a total of thirty-eight cadets were stunned while Serpent hissed out a victory 2 scores to 1.”
The crowd splits—some cheering, some booing.
“This week, Jaguar is out for revenge. But make no mistake, Serpent isn’t taking anything for granted. Now join me in celebrating 1,000 years of New Teo’s official sport as I introduce today’s team commanders!”
I slap Yetic on the back and step down into the dugout. He hovers a meter above the surface of the court and blows kisses. I’m happy for him even as I shake my head. In the underground, he was a hero. In Masa, he’s merely coupled with the captain of Serpent barracks. The demotion has been hard on his pride.
“For Jaguar, today’s commander is Ami Stormcloud.”
From inside the dugout, I can’t see if Ami is carrying on a performance similar to Yetic’s, or if she’s chosen a more sullen display. I’d guess she’s playing the part of stewing avenger.
“For Serpent, today’s commander is Yetic Goldenboy.”
Yetic zips upward and performs a series of aerobatic twists and flips. I roll my eyes every time I hear his acquired name. In the academy, it’s only used on game days. And after we graduate, we’ll leave the names behind forever. But for now, Goldenboy still evokes a thunderous round of cheers and whistles.
His role as commander will swing most of the impartial spectators, the ones who came for the other three barracks, onto our side for the duration of the game. Even if I’m unaware of the cheering for the majority of the contest, it still helps to know it’s there.
“Adjudicators, please set the clock to fifty minutes.” The announcer assumes an official tone, “Commanders at the ready.”
Yetic returns to court level. From the top step of the dugout, he salutes. I scoot further aside to make room for T’zan’s broad shoulders as he resolutely climbs the dugout steps. He cracks the vertebra in his neck and prepares to take the court for the most grueling minute of the entire game.
“Have fun in the hotspot,” I slap him on the back.
“Oh, I plan on it,” he grins. “I love game day. Don’t you?”
I nod as the announcer continues, “Activate the pelota.”
The nine pound rubber ball zips toward the very center of the court where it hovers a meter above the stone surface. Filled with a dumbed down version of the same artificial intelligence that powers the probes, the pelota is easy to manipulate, even for the weakest cadet. Throw in a couple dozen blockers doing their best to frustrate your concentration and several handlers fighting you for it, and you’ve got ōllamaliztli at its best.
I assess the readiness of my cadets. Spanning the width of the dugout, they’re riveted on me, as I would expect.
“Let the game begin!” The announcer’s voice echoes across the hushed stadium.
All at once, the crowd goes wild and T’zan leaps upward onto the court.
I wave my arms forward. The remaining members of the Serpent 49 leap onto the blocking ledge at the front of the dugout. With our heads above the surface of the court, we immediately focus all our telekinetic energy on the pelota.
The rubber ball inches in our direction. At the same time, T’zan races toward our hoop high above the western slope. As Yetic slips down into the dugout beside me, I shift a slight portion of my attention toward the Jaguar cadet charging the pelota. It’s Ami. The number on her mesh jersey glows red, indicating she’s a striker.
I’m sure she assumed she’d be facing Yetic as the Serpent striker. When she realizes T’zan is a guardian, she bares down harder on the pelota. She’ll do everything she can to score in the next minute, before the two spot hits the court.
I shift my full attention to blocking her rather than tugging on the pelota. Through the corner of my eye I see Yetic raise his hand. He says, “On my cue, block the striker.”
Sheepishly, I realize I should have waited for Yetic’s order. Since I’ve already made the switch, I continue to frustrate Ami as she draws within a few meters of the pelota.
“Now,” Yetic drops his arm.
On cue, Ami falters as if she were hit in the chest by a few dozen hornets. Staggering, she orders the pelota northward, nearer the Jaguar dugout.
“Stay on the striker,” Yetic orders. “Let T’zan guard the hoop.”
I second guess his order, but keep my focus on Ami. Already drenched in sweat, the Jag striker struggles to set her feet and focus on Serpent’s hoop.
Bullheaded and as sturdy as a mammoth, T’zan somehow continues climbing the steep slope despite the 48 Jaguar blockers no doubt focused entirely on him. I know he’s aware of Ami’s intentions. He might not be aware Yetic has left him on his own.
This first minute of the game feels like an hour when you’re the only player on the court. Of course that’s why it’s called the hotspot. Only the strongest ōllamaliztli players can endure it without blacking out. Only T’zan can climb the slope and have even the slightest hope of deflecting a striker at the same time.
“Stay on the striker,” Yetic grunts. “Make her pay for each movement.”
I focus wholly on Ami. She starts to tremble in preparation for the strike. Yetic breaths heavily, a loud rattle emanating from deep in his throat. Human manipulation is his greatest strength. Blocker would be his ideal role, except that it lacks luster.
Suddenly, Ami rotates away from our hoop. Desperate and angry, and on the verge of the two spot hitting the court, she lashes out.
The crowd gasps.
“Stay on the striker!” Yetic barks.
I obey even as I helplessly watch the pelota rocket toward our hoop. A battle cry mangled with a growl bursts from T’zan as he lunges the final step up the slope. Clenching his hand into a fist, he leaps.
The crowd chokes on its own excitement.
Without turning his head, and while defying the Jaguar blockers, T’zan punches the air near the apex of his leap. The moment before his arm fully extends, the pelota fills the air adjacent to his white knuckles. Dented by the impact, the rubber ball shoots beyond the stadium boundary and disappears out of sight.
The roar from the Worker City side of the stands is deafening.
Yetic screams over the clamor, “Two spot is going in!”
“Go!” I yell while shifting gears into the role of dugout manager. “Jacor, I’m assigning you to the guardian. Stay in his back pocket!”
“Yes, sir!” The newb jumps to. He may be a newb, but he’s singularly minded, and he’ll strengthen T’zan for the multiple strikes that will follow before Serpent sends out a striker of our own.
The new pelota zips into center court where Yetic is waiting for it. As a handler, he has a distinct advantage over Ami when it comes to controlling the pelota. While strikers can only connect with the pelota to launch a strike, handlers can latch on mentally or even hold the pelota physically.
Realizing their weakness, the Jags send a handler in their two spot. Yetic reaches the pelota first. After commanding the ball into his hand and tucking it away, he goes immediately after Ami. She manages to deflect his first pulse, but it knocks her to the ground in the process.
“Stay on the striker!” I order, now seeing the wisdom to Yetic’s strategy. He had hoped Ami would fill the Jaguar hotspot, so he could focus on eliminating her first. So far, it’s been a good plan, but planning and executing are two different things.
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