Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“Hey, it was just a gag!” Faber protested. “I was just blowing off some steam, they’ve had me working too hard, and anyway a few days of the trots will serve them right.”

Ray started to say something cutting, then decided Faber wasn’t worth it. Hraj spoke for him. “You’re under arrest. Come along.” Faber started to protest, a move which ended when Hraj put a hand on the pistol half-embedded in his waist fur. The investigator left with his prisoner.

Ray stepped outside the door, where Zelk had gone to escape the heavy odors. “Faber did it,” Ray said. “It was his idea of a joke.”

“Ideas aren’t his strong point.” She exhaled in disgust. “Doing that, I’ll have to expel him. And there goes the contract, and the university’s finances.”

“Maybe I can still work something out,” Ray said. “Can you tell me what a Kya court will do to Faber? Do the victims have a say in prosecuting him?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” “I think I can use that to salvage the contract,” Ray said. “Mcllvaine will cut a deal to help his nephew. I won’t commit us to anything, other than a promise to try to help get Faber out of jail and off Kya—if he lets you keep the advance payment.”

Zelk agreed to that, said good night and left. Ray went into the lobby, where the GSN team had left its equipment. He had a hunch that they had brought along their own tachyon transmitter, to broadcast the game to Earth. His hunch proved correct, and within a few minutes he had unpacked the communications system and signaled Mcllvaine’s office. When the executive came on the screen he was sitting in an office, eating a sandwich. “Bad news, huh?” Mcllvaine said, looking at Ray.

“Faber’s in jail,” Ray said. “He won’t be able to play—”

“He what?” McIlvaine snapped. He slammed his sandwich down on his desk. “Bennett, what idiot busted him?”

“Faber poisoned almost everyone in the dorm,” Ray said. “It was his idea of a joke, and—”

“I don’t care what happened.”

“He’s been expelled, too,” Ray said.

“What?” Mcllvaine leaned over his desk and glared into the pick-up. “Bennett, I’ve got a fortune invested in covering these games. If we have to dump our coverage, I’ll take it out of your hide!”

“You’d better listen to me,” Ray said, “if you want to keep your nephew out of jail.”

“Let him go,” Mcllvaine said. “A little hard time might make a man out of him.”

“He’s your relative,” Ray said in surprise.

Mcllvaine made a disparaging gesture. “I don’t need him if he can’t play. And as for you, Bennett, you’re screwed. You were supposed to keep the punk in line.”

Ray watched his plans sink. Then, like a shipwreck survivor, he clutched at the first idea that floated within reach. “Your basic idea was to catch an audience’s interest by putting a human player on a bagdrag team,” he heard himself say. “Suppose I can get another human player. Will that work? It’s better than nothing.”

“Not by much,” Mcllvaine growled. His face contorted as though he was grappling with a massive philosophical problem. “OK, it’s better than letting this whole set-up go down the crapper. Get somebody. Anybody. Just make sure it’s a great human player.” He broke the connection.

Elizabeth came down the stairs then and sat down next to him. “Trouble?”

“No more than usual.” Ray rubbed his temples. “Faber’s the jackass who poisoned everyone. He thought it was great joke. Now he’s in jail and out of Vrekle.”

“Damn.” She started massaging his shoulders. “If he had half the brains God gave any self-respecting skunk, he’d be twice as smart as he is. What will you do now?”

“I just told McIlvaine that I’d try to get another human student to take Faber’s place. He agreed to try that, so the contract lives. The question is, can we put one of the other students on the team? Will any of them recover in time?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “The doctor says they’re all going to be bedridden for several days, and shaky for another week.”

“Damn.” Ray saw the obvious solution to his problem. “How about you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a student in good academic standing. That’s supposed to be the only qualification for joining the team.”

“You’re crazy,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve never played bagdrag in my life. Plus, I have about as much coordination as a Democratic presidential campaign, and if I gain ten more pounds, I’ll qualify as a ninety-seven pound weakling.”

“You don’t need muscle to play an outrunner position,” Ray said. “They don’t do anything more than run around. If—”

“Not now,” she said.

“All right.” Ray’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten lately. “Have the kya invented takeout yet, or are we going to have to cook our own dinner?”

* * *

Ray woke up on the couch, alone. Elizabeth had gone to her room alone late last night, and Ray hadn’t wanted to push his luck. He hoped that suggesting that she play bagdrag hadn’t done something fatal to his long-range plans with her.