Psion Gamma (11 page)

Team 1: 5th Floor

Alanazi, Cala

Covas, Marie

Enova, Levu

Etoille, Brillianté

Ivanovich, Natalia

Nujola, Kawai

Plack, Brickert

Tvedt, Gefjon (*)

von Pratt, Parley

Yoshiharu, Asaki

Team 2: 5th floor

Ndumi, Hefani

Covas, Miguel (*)

Covas, Rosa

Otravelli, Antonio

Petrov, Ludwig

Plack, Strawberry

Reynolds, Kaden

von Pratt, Gregor

Zheng, Li Cheng

Victory: 2 Games of 3

Maximum Game Length: 90 minutes

Start Time: 07:00

*See special rules*

Kawai was absolutely right. Jeffie did have the better team. But that didn’t make the pressure go away. It would still be a close match. Her chances of winning were good, but not absolute. Not only did she have the extra player on her team, but Miguel was honcho of all three nukes.
New recruits
, she corrected herself.
Remember how you hated that name?
She finished her meal and left to put on her suit. Fifteen minutes later she marched her team into the Arena.

Almost a year ago to the day, Jeffie had arrived at Psion headquarters. In that period of time, she had played something close to fifty Games, one every Saturday. Only rarely did the Game setups repeat themselves. And she had never played one like this. Even the oldest Betas hadn’t heard of a setup like this.

“This is going to rip my arms to shreds,” Cala said when she saw the Arena.

“You can say that again,” Asaki muttered.

The ceiling of the Arena was decorated with blunted hooks big enough to grab comfortably. The special rules on the panel informed Jeffie that a small chair would be suspended on each side of the playing area. While the entire Game would be played hanging from the hooks, players could use the chair to take a two-minute rest. However, after the two minutes ended, the chair would dump out whoever was sitting in it. The first team to eliminate the other team’s players would win the Game.

“Communicate with me when you need a rest,” Jeffie told her team as they arranged themselves in the attacking formation she had chosen. “And you don’t have to rest the full two minutes.”

She divided them into two groups of four and one group of two. She put herself into one of the foursomes. Hook after hook, they made their way into the middle of the field. The two foursomes were assigned to corner individuals on Miguel’s team. The group of two, which Jeffie called her rovers, was made up of one weak and one strong player. Their job was to stay moving and assist either unit. They had to always be ready to pinch off from either group.

She felt confident in this strategy. And for good reason.

Miguel came out with his team divided into thirds. The first group of three clashed directly into Jeffie’s four and were beaten back by her group’s superior skill and larger numbers. It did not take long for Jeffie to notice that one of Miguel’s groups of three was comprised solely of the three newest recruits.

Why would he do that?
In her mind, the better strategy was to scatter the worst players throughout the groups. She ordered her second team of four to go straight at the newbies.

While en route, all the hooks moved randomly about the ceiling, and then came to a stop. The new configuration gave Miguel’s team the advantage. Four of Jeffie’s team wound up pinched between the three newbies and Miguel’s three best players. Jeffie ordered her two rovers to help them. Parley was the first to go down. He lost his grip on a bad swing. Jeffie panicked watching him fall. Even though she knew the floor would be softened for the Game, falling four floors was still falling four floors.

Brickert, who was also a part of Parley’s group, got caught sandwiched between Miguel and Gregor. Before the two rovers on her team could help, Brickert had been eliminated as well. Jeffie’s one player advantage had now turned into a one player disadvantage.

Asaki and Natalia, the last two in that group, called for help. Had it not been for the inexperience of the newbies, they would have gone down next. The arrival of the two rovers behind Miguel’s three rescued them. Jeffie’s four against Miguel’s six was enough to win that small battle. All three newbies went down, plus Gregor. The hooks scattered again. Jeffie ordered the rovers to stay with Asaki and Natalia. Miguel only had five players left against Jeffie’s eight. Her two groups of four relentlessly chased down Miguel’s remaining players. The match only lasted twenty-five minutes.

*

“Ladies and gentlemen, with tonight’s win, Team Norway advances to the semifinals to play Australia in two days,” the booming voice of the announcer called out to the exiting crowd, “Judges from the media have voted All-Territorial guard Jeffie Tvedt as the game MVP. Tvedt and Vernika Salvensen combined for forty-eight of Norway’s points. Tipoff for the semifinal matchup is 1900.”

Toting her second MVP placard and her game bag, Jeffie followed her dad to the rail to take them back to the hotel. The rest of the team had met up with their own parents to celebrate the win. Coach Tvedt, as usual, wanted his daughter in bed and resting.

“Not bad, girl,” her dad said. “You had two . . . maybe two and a half solid quarters. But you stopped attacking in the fourth. You had Mediterranea’s forward on her heels whenever you wanted.”

“That whole team was a walkover,” Jeffie responded with a flippant expression. “I’m surprised they got as far as they did. Their ball handling was crap. I figured it’d be better to not push it too hard in the fourth after we were up by fifteen.”

“Yeah, but I told you to push it, didn’t I?” her dad reminded her. “You can’t go easy on any teams in the tournament. Remember what I told you?”

“Put your foot on the throat and crush it,” Jeffie muttered as they stepped onto the rail. Her ears popped as the door sealed shut. The rail sped along through the clear tube, moving from the south of Paris to the north.

The lights of the city passed them on both sides. As always, Jeffie made it a point to watch as they went by the Arc de Triomphe. It was her favorite landmark in the whole city. Victory. The only thing that mattered. She was a winner, born into a family of winners. She allowed herself a sigh of happiness. Life was perfect right now.

“Nervous about Australia?” her father asked.

“I don’t think so,” was her answer. “Should I be . . . Coach?” She put an extra emphasis on his title.

Her dad held his trusty notebook that he always carried with him. Inside, he kept detailed thoughts about each team they played. Right now he was leafing through his notes about Australia. “You’re going to be in a tough spot on defense. I’m sure they’ll put their forward on you. She’s got a six centimeter height advantage on you. Long arms. She’s three years older, too. You’ve got to play tough if you want to get her into foul trouble early.”

“Dad, come on, we’re unstoppable. Even if she has a good game we’ve got five great players, they’ve got one.”

“They’re not a bad team, just streaky. Give them some credit.”

“Look who’s worried now! You said they’d only be a lick of trouble!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been watching them closely since the tournament started—”

“Don’t worry, Dad. We’re going to get the gold.”

“I’ll show you some stuff at tomorrow’s practice before the other girls get there,” he said, grabbing his briefcase as the rail came to a stop at the north Paris station. “In the meantime, get a good sleep . . . and don’t stay up all night talking about the boy teams.”

Jeffie saw her dad’s sly grin. “Jerk.”

*

The strategy used for the first Game had worked so well in the Arena that Jeffie only made a few small adjustments before sending her team back out on the hooks. She felt focused, poised, and ready to hand Miguel his second loss so she could call it a day.

Not surprisingly, Miguel had made some big changes. As Jeffie watched his team swing out to meet hers, she noted their approach in a phalanx formation, the tip of the angle pointing toward her team. As Miguel’s bunch made their way toward her groups, Jeffie countered, telling her groups to get in position to surround his.

Is Miguel really this stupid?

Before her best fighters could finish carrying out her orders, Miguel surprised her. His weakest players attacked Jeffie’s best, but not with feet or hand blasts.

Antonio, Strawberry, and Hefani all let go of their hooks and grabbed onto Marie, Parley, Cala, and Levu. Antonio was the one who attached himself to two people. It was a brilliant idea, and better yet, it was unforeseen. Jeffie didn’t know what to do to counter it. She watched as the additional weight of the clingers did the damage intended. Two of her team went down immediately. Marie and Parley both managed to blast Antonio’s helmet, but now, with his suit securely locked around their bodies, they couldn’t shake him. They, too, had to let go of the hooks.

This left the teams even number-wise, but talent-wise, it wasn’t close. Jeffie’s best players were gone. Brillianté and Asaki were separated from the rest of Jeffie’s team, and surrounded by four of Miguel’s. Both girls managed to take one of Miguel’s players before going down. That left Jeffie, Kawai, Natalia, and Brickert against Miguel, Gregor, Kaden, and Li.

As much as she loved Brickert, Kawai, and Natalia, Jeffie would not have picked them to be the ones left in the Game against Miguel and his oldest, most experienced players. Natalia went first, then Kawai. She and Brickert managed to take out Kaden, but Li got her from behind. She screamed in frustration as she fell . . . and it was a long way down.

*

“Listen to me, girls,” Coach Tvedt said over the booming music and cheers of the crowd. There was a stern edge in his voice. “We’re down by ten! Losing is not going to happen, do you hear me?” The team sat around him on stools wiping sweat off their faces and sipping energy drinks. He jabbed his finger into the air at the scoreboard hanging above the basketball arena. “When this game ends, we will be up by ten. At least. We’ve got twelve more minutes of play time. Vernika, get up in number ten’s face every time she shoots!” Coach put his hands in Vernika’s face as if she did not know how to follow instructions. “You’re giving her way too much space! She won’t go around you, she’s not fast enough. Maia, watch those picks. Jeffie, do you remember what we talked about yesterday in practice?”

“Yes, Coach,” she said through gasping breaths.

“Do it.”

“But—”

“Do it,” he repeated more forcefully. “We’re all counting on you. Now get it done girls!”

“TEAM!” the girls shouted.

As Jeffie and the other four starters walked back to the court, her teammates on the bench cheered them on. Jeffie eyed her defender: Laura Ruth Grimes, from Melbourne, and eight (not six) centimeters taller than her, and at least fifteen kilos heavier. And a weak right ankle.

Cheers for Norway clamored loudly in her ears as she passed the ball to Vernika, the point guard. At the top of the key, Vernika slung the ball to Maia, the small forward, who bounce-passed it back to Vernika as her defender pressed down on her. Jeffie jostled with Grimes for position to get the ball, and Vernika threw it to her. Using her long arms, Grimes reached around Jeffie and batted the ball away to another Australian player who dribbled down court.

The Australian coach signaled for them to slow the tempo to run more time off the clock. The Australian guard called the play, and glanced quickly at Grimes. Jeffie knew where the ball was going. Her conscience pleaded with her to not do what she’d been instructed. Jeffie tried to box out the larger girl, but she was too big—too powerful to defend. The guard drifted the ball to Grimes, who stepped around Jeffie to meet the ball for an easy lay-up. Without even thinking, Jeffie deftly moved herself into position. As Grimes went for the lay-up, Jeffie stepped on her right foot, pinning it to the ground. Grimes’ body elevated, her foot stayed down.

Grimes cried out in pain and curled to the floor.

Doctors and coaches rushed onto the court to treat their star player, while the Australian head coach screamed at the referee to penalize Jeffie. As she walked back to her team huddle, she felt sick and refused offers to drink anything. The referees came over to Jeffie’s dad, and said, “I didn’t see anything; we’re not calling a foul. Keep the game clean, Coach.”

While the team doctors worked to help Grimes off the court, Jeffie and the other girls talked more strategy. Meanwhile, the feeling in her stomach grew worse. She had seen that kind of injury before. Grimes might not play again for a long time.