Herculanium (29 page)

The Celestial Bear Basketball Arena slowly came into view as the helicopter descended below the fog, an ornate building decorated with spanning arches and numerous glyphs that resembled crushed neon spiders. Upon landing on the structure’s exclusive helipad, Preston immediately grabbed Jayna by the arm and led her to the platform balcony. He had never seen so many pilgrims and worshippers gathered in the basketball Mecca. Thousands upon thousands were already streaming into the building below them, drawing an audience of near-Biblical proportions inside its high walls.

Preston raised his hands in triumph and screamed at the top of his lungs, trying in vain to drown out the noise of the crowd and the whirring of the helicopter blades behind them. This was going to be his world again to conquer, and he was going to be their god. Fate had brought him here, he convinced himself, and his destiny could not be denied. Jayna shared his enthusiasm by wrapping her arm over his shoulder and giving him an encouraging half-embrace. They both waved to the oblivious crowd before finally being escorted down inside the belly of the Arena.

There was a sense of precariousness as they descended on escalators to their court-side seats, an almost crystal fragility to the ambience of the arena. A skeptic at heart, even Preston was overwhelmed by its sheer status and energy, where standing still meant being humbled to one’s knee for being on such hallowed ground.

He stared at every nuance of the building with an unflinching smile. From the faces of spectators killing time, to the towering rafters overhead, to the crumpled napkins sitting on top of trash receptacles, the familiar feel of basketball came flooding back to memory. The hardwood ping of a ball being dribbled in the near distance brought him full circle. Even while riding the towering escalators to the floor of the arena, he didn’t need binoculars to know what was transpiring on the court below.

With each passing row, Preston could feel the rough texture of a basketball slowly being chiseled onto his palm.

“Where are you going, Preston?” said Jayna with alarm. “Come back here! I have our seating assignments...”

But her protests fell on deaf ears. Preston sprinted down the escalator in leaps and bounds, skipping steps while weaving in-between fans looking for their seats. She was forced to do the same, occasionally shoving people and their snacks aside to bridge the distance.

Preston ran through a small barricade of security guards upon reaching court-level, prompting a chorus of screams and whistles and a minor scuffle. Jayna strode on the court with a near-indignant confidence and authority, raising her military badge high in the air.

“He’s with me,” she said while staring down the guards. “He has full clearance. Back to your posts, gentlemen.” The personnel looked at each other in confusion, then returned to the court’s security perimeter.

She was about to dress Preston down with a fire and brimstone speech on protocol, but quickly refrained. Preston stopped running and stood on the court in a wondrous daze, unsure of what to do or say.

“Welcome home, old boy,” she whispered. “I hope this was what you were looking for.” She stayed her distance, letting him soak in the atmosphere.

There was a glow about the court, an almost dream-like veil that separated it from the stands and made it a world of its own. Watching the players go through their warm-up routine was like seeing mythological gods at play. In a surreal display of technique, grace and power, the athletes dribbled, shot, and dunked the ball in ways Preston had never seen nor imagined before. Their dribbling was geometric and mathematically-complex, almost as if running on an invisible grid around their bodies. The men and women shot the ball from unbelievable distances with marksman-like accuracy, making any measurement of distance virtually insignificant. The dunks were monstrous and acrobatic, almost gymnastic in flair, yet raw in power and execution. When leaping high in the air, they had the most majestic hang-time he had ever seen.

These athletes were quite fit, easily towering over the tallest players of Preston’s time. Perfect specimens of the ideal physique, their delineated muscles flexed with both bulk and tensile strength, rippling with every gesture and motion. Players wore chest and shoulder pads beneath a form-fitting body suit that terminated at the triceps and thighs, accented by knee and elbow pads for added protection. Some wore dark goggles over their eyes, while others wore full masks that covered the entire face. Along with shoulder stripes, collar pins indicated each player’s position and rank within the team. The player’s name and number was textured boldly on the back of the uniform.

Preston took one step forward to approach the players, but he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder and stop him in mid-step.

“Sorry, champ,” said Jayna, “but you can’t play with the lads and lasses just yet. We’ll see if we can talk to them after the game. Promise.”

“I can’t believe I’m here, Jayna,” he said with wonder, basking beneath the arena lights. “I never thought I’d see basketball again. This place is magic.” Preston raised his hand in greeting at some of the players, and they responded in kind with a wave and a smile of acknowledgment.

“I feel like I’m in a…in a…” He couldn’t quite place words to his feelings. He also couldn’t stop staring at the hundreds of retired jerseys and championship banners hanging above them.

“Don’t bother explaining,” she said. “I can tell what you’re trying to say just by looking at your face. I’ve had that feeling once or twice, believe you me. It’s grand.”

“The place and the players look the same,” he observed, “but different at the same time. I can’t explain it. There’s something about their movement.”

“Ah, yes,” she said with a smile. “First of all, look at their shoes.” Jayna did her best to gesture at the closest player’s shoes without drawing his attention. Although shaped like a standard athletic shoe, the footwear was constructed of different overlapping segments that bent and twisted as a single unit. With each step and directional change, small independent parts seemed to rotate and adjust in place, continuously compensating for the player’s movement.

“Those footwear units they’re wearing are some of the most advanced inventions in the world. Not only can you change directions on a dime, special shock and suspension frames on the heel and ankles also allow you to jump nearly forty percent above your highest best. The hydraulic circuitry hidden in the heel units alone were classified military secrets for years.”

“Space-age shoes,” said Preston in reflection. “I wish I had those in my time. I could’ve dunked over everybody.”

“They needed to develop the shoes, because it was getting too easy to dunk the ball. With the increased quality of life, people just got taller and taller. As a result, they’ve had to raise the hoop a good seven feet to compensate for the height and reach differential.”

Preston stared at the towering hoop nearest to them. “People can dunk that high? You have to be a fucking giraffe just to touch the net.”

“No doubt,” she said. “But these athletes are some of the best in the world. With or without the shoes, they can turn tricks most of us can only dream of. They’re probably the best in history, the best there will ever be.”

Preston quickly turned his head to face her, then rolled his eyes. “When we played this game,” he said smugly, “we didn’t need fancy shoes to win. We did everything the old-fashion way: through hard work, skill and sweat. We were the baddest mother-fuckers on the planet, the most talented bastards in the history of Mankind, past, present
and
future. Not only would we give these chumps a run for their money, we’d beat them at their own game, without tricks.”

“Come now, Mr. Jones,” said Jayna with joyful sarcasm. “You must be back at the ocean where we picked you up, or maybe at the hospital where I met you. You’re obviously still delusional if you think players from your era stand a chance against these blokes.”

Her once melodious British accent quickly turned ugly with each condescending note.

“It’s obvious you don’t have a clue about basketball,” he defended, “because if you did, you would know I was right. You wanna bet on it?”

“Will you keep your voice down?” she said. “You’re drawing attention to us. We’ve caused enough commotion to Security. Come on; it’s best we be off to our seats. The game is about to start.”

He didn’t want her opinion to ruin his moment of wonder. It took nothing away from his love of the sport, nor the marvels of its advancement. He figured he would cut her to the quick another time. At the moment, however, a joyous reunion was the order of the day. They walked off the court as the players disappeared into their respective tunnels.

It was a curious feeling having to sit in the stands to watch the game. He was used to being on the court, center-stage, leading his team to victory while basking in the crowd’s adoration. Waiting for the game to start, his hands and feet couldn’t stop twitching in place, out of instinct and training.

Preston stretched his hand forward when the arena went dark, then slowly retracted it to touch his nose. He could sense Jayna sitting beside him, but that was the only fact he was sure of. The court had disappeared, as did the seating and the towering escalators that lined the entrances. Despite the murmurings of the crowd, the entire arena was pitch-black, solid as if everything was underwater. The visiting team had just been introduced with little fanfare, and it was the home team’s turn to be presented.

“Don’t even think about blinking,” said Jayna from the darkness to his right. “You’re not going to forget this.”

A resonant heartbeat began to echo from the arena speakers, pulsing louder and deeper, before morphing into the sound of a basketball bouncing on a wooden floor. Static-ridden audio clips from past interviews of the team’s star players played unassumingly in the background, fading in and out from different corners of the building. Light began to emanate from within the jerseys and banners hanging high above the court, flashing like lightning behind iridescent storm clouds. In a single breathtaking dissolve, the darkness phased into a giant shattered prism, dividing the entire ceiling into alternating planes of light and color. Images appeared on the multi-level surfaces, showcasing players and championships of times past. In the most impressive display of holography Preston had ever seen, the marquee players came to life as literal giants on the court, hovering in stories-tall footage of their most spectacular shots, blocks and dunks. A rock guitar melody, accompanied by a hip-hop bass riff, acted as the team anthem to energize the crowd into a frenzy.

Preston stood up and reveled in the gigantic images swirling above him, raising his hands to heaven in both praise and disbelief. He had never seen the view from under a giant’s shoe prior to a dunk, nor stared at the monstrous iris of a player giving an interview. The entire arena was deafening, with the bass anthem so resonant that it caused his eyeballs to quiver in place.

Jayna tapped him on the shoulder, smiling with her hand raised in a thumb’s up position. He acknowledged the gesture by mimicking it in return. He then shook his head at her with a grin, expressing his disbelief and enjoyment at the fanfare and graphics of the pre-game ceremonies. They both laughed at one another for hopelessly trying to communicate over the mountain of noise around them.

Ending in a crescendo of music and imagery, the light show slowly subsided. The planes of light began to fade alternately across the arena, giving way to darkness and an elevated platform lit only by a single spotlight.

“Yes,” said Preston with conviction, pumping his fist up and down. “Now we watch the game.”

“Easy, tiger,” said Jayna. “They have to introduce the referees first. Nothing happens without them. They’re as much celebrities as the players are.”

“They’re only calling the game, Jayna, to enforce the rules of the sport. You’re telling me they do something more?”

“No, you hit it on the head. Their role is not only to enforce the established rules, but to also make sure the spirit of the game is properly…displayed.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Walking across the platform, a dozen referees were introduced one by one, as if they were a team all to themselves. Each referee’s statistics was even displayed on the massive scoreboard overhead.

“What does enforcing the ‘spirit of the game’ mean again?” he repeated.

“It means the referees are God on the court. Don’t fuck with them or they’ll throw the game, victory or not. They’re as much a part of the entertainment as the players are. They make viewing the game more interesting with those shoulder-harness cameras they wear. We can see everything they see on the floor, especially for those critical calls.

“Believe it or not, they even have their own following. As with anybody, if you make them look bad while they’re doing their job,” she said with a tilted glance, “well, let’s just say it will be a shocking experience.”

Wearing the traditional pinstripe shirt beneath the shoulder harness, each referee also had what looked like a baton dangling on his belt.

“What’s with the stick on his waist?” asked Preston. “Are these guys refs or policemen? It feels like we’re watching pro-wrestling.” He could feel the distinct weight of several fans staring him down in irritation.

“Keep your voice down,” Jayna repeated with alarm and caution. “Basketball fans are the most rabid fans of all. You never know if you’re sitting by a group of hooligans or not.”

“Hooligans?” Preston couldn’t contain his amusement. “Well, at least they’re into the game. Where would we be without our fans, right?”

“That’s the spirit. We’ve only had seventy fan-related deaths last season, markedly down from the previous season of one hundred fifty-one. We have better security now against arena burning and player-stalking.”

He continued to look forward, afraid to ask if he had heard her correctly. Basketball was a clean, wholesome sport, he told himself, played with nothing more than skill and courage. These ‘oddities’ in the rules must just be on the surface; they will work themselves out to be the game he cherished.