Phelan hopped over the sideline bench and started to rummage through a pile of equipment. Vlad slapped his stick against the bench, bringing Phelan around with his hands up to ward off a blow. "Hey, I want equipment."
"And you shall have it." Vlad pointed his stick at Emilio. "Give him yours. You are my right wing, Phelan."
"No! No need to make him give me his stuff. There's plenty here."
Vlad did not even acknowledge Phelan's protest. "Emilio, give Phelan your equipment."
"As you wish, Star Commander."
Emilio peeled off the torso vest and held it up for Phelan to slip into. "Hope it protects you better than it did me."
Phelan's green eyes smoldered. "Why are you doing this? Why do you not stand up to him?"
Emilio shook his head. "Look at me. I am thirty-two years old and I am an unblood. My career will be finished soon. It is a wonder that Vlad and the others allow me to play at all. I know enough to make way for the new generations."
In Emilio's words Phelan heard the resentment that was building as a result of Natasha's insistence at testing out to be a warrior. "But with age comes experience. Does that count for nothing?"
Emilio watched Phelan, then shook his head. "You have so much to learn, Phelan Wolf. Experience is what I give to those I teach. Here, take the vest and the benefit of my experience in this game. Remember that you are live when you have the ball, and you remain live until someone else takes it away. The Demos players will take all the cheap shots they can. The circuitry in the vest will not award points for them, but they hurt anyway."
"Got it." As Emilio unsnapped his arm guards, Phelan snaked the two straps on the torso jacket through his crotch and fastened them at his hips. He adjusted the cup so it felt comfortable, then pulled on the arm guards. Foam over hard plastic, they felt like a light exoskeleton. The gloves were still clammy from Emilio's use, as was the chin strap on the helmet.
Emilio knelt down and opened a green equipment chest. From it, he pulled a U-shaped piece of plastic. He coated it with an aerosol spray and handed it to Phelan. "Here, bite down on this and clench your jaw for ten seconds. It is a mouth guard. The spray temporarily heats the plastic so it can remold to your teeth."
"Fanks," Phelan mumbled gratefully.
"Score some goals. We are down 67 to 75. See the defenseman on the right, Quiaff?That is Carter, and he is the one who got me."
Phelan nodded and ran out onto the field. This society is so confused that good warriors get tossed aside at an age when they would just be entering their prime in the Successor States. Does their breeding program really make them that much better?He sized up his opposition and clamped down on the mouth guard. Here's where I find the answer to that question.
Vlad and the Demo's center met at the midpoint and bent down for a face-off. They pressed the backs of their nets together, and a referee placed the ball between the two sticks. At his whistle, both men struggled for possession of the ball. Vlad lunged forward, then spun off to the left. The ball popped loose on that side, and he scooped it up.
Phelan shot forward and arrowed in toward the goal. He threw a little head fake at Carter, then breezed by him. He raised his stick to catch Vlad's attention, and they made eye contact, but Vlad dumped the ball off to the attacker in the corner. As Phelan pulled himself back out to a more proper position, a pass came to the center forward, but the goalie stuffed him and Carter picked up the ball.
"Stupid ape." Phelan watched as Carter carried the ball like an egg in a basket. Most players, by working the head of the stick back and forth in a semi-circular motion known as "cradling" the ball, used centripetal force to keep the ball in the net. Carter made no attempt to stabilize the ball. Rather, he slowed his pace to let the nearest Ward attacker close with him, then he snaked the butt-end of his stick out to spear the man in his red circle.
The attacker went down clutching his chest, and foul or no foul, Phelan saw red. Instead of backing to cover his counterpart on the Demos team, he sprinted toward Carter. Phelan held his stick by the butt-end in his right hand and pulled it straight back in obvious preparation for a slashing stick-on-stick check. Given ample warning, Carter cradled the ball briefly, then pulled it back and away from Phelan.
This better work!Phelan purposely cut wide to the left, as though Carter's infantile move had somehow faked him into error. Still holding it in one hand, he let his stick rise up over Carter's head, then whipped it down hard. Phelan caught Carter's stick just beneath the head and bounced the ball loose. Dodging back right, Phelan scooped the ball into his net. Two steps further in, he planted his right foot, cut to the left and shifted his hands around for a left-handed shot.
He snapped the stick down and directed the shot at the ground less than a meter in front of the net. The ball hit the grass and skidded about four centimeters before it bounced up. The goalie's sweeping save sliced through the air a hair's-breadth behind the ball. The vulcanized rubber sphere slipped inside the goal just beyond the post.
Phelan raised his stick triumphantly in the air. Other players cheered, but as he turned around, Carter and Vlad seemed to be competing to see who could glare at him the hardest. Feeling buoyant, Phelan trotted over to Vlad. "I could have done that five seconds earlier if you had passed me the ball when I was open."
"Carter had you covered."
"Yeah, on your wish-list and in his dreams."
"You got lucky, Phelan."
"Luck's what others call talent when they have none, Vlad."
Vlad's brown eyes smouldered. "Well, we will just have to see if you are as good as you think. Get back where you belong."
Phelan took up his position for the face-off. Now if I were Vlad and I hated me as much as he does, what would I do?Phelan smiled. Yeah, buddy-pass.
Blue won the face-off and brought the ball down into the Wards' defensive zone. A couple of quick passes resulted in a shot on goal, but the goalie made the save. He passed off to a defenseman, who worked the ball up to the left wing.
As their line swept past midfield, the left wing passed to Vlad. Vlad cradled the ball for a couple of seconds, then looped it over to Phelan.
The high pass came slow, leaving Phelan no choice but to wait for it. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Carter bearing down on him. Thanks loads, Vlad.Phelan clamped down on the mouth guard and prepared himself for impact.
He caught the ball with his back to Carter. Phelan knew that nothing short of a brick wall would stop Carter from blasting through him, and he had no time to dodge. Determined to make the best of a very bad situation, the Mech Warrior ran his hands up to the head of the stick and tucked the shaft beneath his right arm. As Carter's huge form eclipsed the sun, Phelan shoved back and up as hard as possible.
Carter impaled himself on the butt-end of Phelan's stick. Cartilage cracked in his sternum and his gloves flew from his hands as his arms shot out. He hung suspended in air for a second or two, then dropped directly onto his tailbone. Croaking as he tried to suck in a breath, the big man lay on the ground with hands clutched to the blue spot on his chest.
The impact knocked Phelan forward. Cradling the ball close to his own chest, he rolled and came up with it still in his net. Vlad streaked toward the middle and Phelan shot the ball at his head. The other Mech Warrior deftly plucked it from the air and whipped his stick down and around in an underhand shot. It rocketed up and over the goalie's right shoulder to catch the corner of the goal.
"Hey, Vlad," Phelan called out. "Nice goal. We do good things when we work together."