Overdrive (4 page)

With nothing to
lose, Logan made the call.

◊

This was the bit
Tarquin Compton-Burnett, AKA the Chocolate Avenger liked the best. Standing in
a Unamuno’s premiere Snareball arena surrounded by a million cheering fans was
a high unlike any other. Of course the rush he felt had nothing to do with the
27 illegal substances coursing through his blood stream.

He raised both
hands into the air, one holding a stun cannon, the other a Field gun. The fans
of the “Death Skippies," or the Skips as they were affectionately known,
went wild. Standing 6’7’’, with glowing ebony skin, a silver head cap over his
bald scalp, and clad in only a leopard skin G-string, Tarquin knew he was an
impressive sight. The Death Skippies for whom Tarquin was the leading goal
scorer, were now second in the table, a position that was greeted with vigorous
celebration by their fans. Tarquin could see a group of them getting into the
swing of things by having an impromptu orgy down near the front of the stand.
Tarquin waved. Those that had any free limbs waved back.

He looked around at
his home ground. The arena was a kilometer in diameter, still probably the
largest Snareball arena ever built. Fully enclosed and capable of seating more
than a million people, it was quite an experience to be in the crowd, let alone
be playing on the field. His ten team mates looked as hyped as he felt.
Smiling, Tarquin looked up into the face of his 14’ Kangaroo mount standing
next to him. His Kangaroo looked back.  “Whatya reckon Bob. We gonna win?” Bob
looked unconvinced and started industriously scratching a flea with a forepaw. 
Tarquin shrugged. What did you expect when your mount had only slightly higher
than animal intelligence.

Bob and the other
10 Kangaroos standing next to their riders, were of course a product of Genetic
Engineering. Based on the giant
Procoptodon
which lived in the late
Tertiary period of Earth, they had been modified specifically for the
gladiatorial arena. The GE’d version of
Procoptodon
was larger, slightly
more intelligent and had a significantly larger pouch. In addition, they were
equipped with their own AI to enable their riders to link with and control
their mounts.

Trumpets sounded
heralding the imminent arrival of the opposition – The Tumultuous Transgressors
or TT’s. Tarquin watched as they filed into the arena, greeted by a rapturous
uproar by their fans. The TT’s rode upon GE’d versions of Wombats. The Wombat,
an Indigenous Australian mammal from old earth, resembled a small squat bear
that walked upon all four legs. Unamuno’s version, like the
Procoptodon,
was
specifically bred for the arena.  Using Earth’s early Pliocene
Ramsayia
Lemleyi
as a template, these wombats stood 8’ at the shoulder and weighed
well over a tonne. Although built like a tank, the huge mammal could turn on a
surprising burst of speed when required.

The TT’s were
currently No.1 in the Gladiatorial standings, a position the Skips envied and
could succeed, depending on the outcome of this game. Tarquin looked across at
his adversaries and was not filled with an overwhelming feeling of confidence. The
TT’s were at the top of the table for good reason. They had proven their
superiority in both skill and sheer bludgeoning power time and again. The last
time the TT’s and the Skips had met, the Skips had lost by 5 points. Feeling
nervous, Tarquin distracted himself by making adjustments to his pouch harness.

One of his
teammates, Trevor McKeown, also known as the Rampant Exterminator, strode over
to where Tarquin was standing.

“Have you heard Tarq?,"
asked Trev.

“Heard what?”
replied Tarquin, still making minor adjustments to his pouch harness and trying
to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“About the board
of enquiry stupid."

Tarquin paused in
his adjustments. He didn’t need to hear this right now, right when his total
concentration was required for the upcoming game.

“No. I don’t find
out until after the game, but you’ll be the first to know, apart from the
gutter press and 5 billion Snareball fans. Thanks for your concern.” Tarquin
studiously avoided looking at Trev and concentrated on removing a burr from one
of Bob’s foot pads.

“Hey don’t mention
it. Thinking of your health and well-being at all times." With that, he
walked back to his own Kangaroo. Trev wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box,
sarcasm evading him with ease.

Just another thing
to worry about, thought Tarquin. He was currently being investigated for match
fixing, and although hotly denying the accusations, Tarquin knew he was in deep
shit. Sadly, because it was true. All he’d done was thrown two games;
specifically missed three goals, on purpose, and now his career was on the
verge of being destroyed. And all he’d received from this was a lousy 100,000
Galactic credits. Admittedly, it was small change for a Snareball player, but
your average Joe Citizen received less that that in their yearly salary. A
stupid thing to do in hindsight, but he now had to realize that he may never
play Snareball again. Could be worse, he thought. At least they haven’t found
out about the illegal drugs he was using.

His reverie broken
by the pre-start siren, his AI reported that he had 1 minute to saddle up.
Jumping into Bob’s pouch, he connected his pouch harness, checked his weapons
and formed a link between his and Bob’s AI.  Opening a link to his team-mates,
their collective AI coordinated team tactics, assigning starting positions and
re-defining individual objectives. One of two strikers, Tarquin was on the wing
and guided Bob to his designated zone. Surprisingly secure in his harness,
Tarquin hardly felt the great bounding motions of his Kangaroo, capable of
leaping 10 meters straight up and 40 meters horizontally.

The starting siren
sounded. The 3’ oblong game ball hovering in the centre of the arena, released
from its holding field, dropped to the ground. The object of the game was to
snare the ball using field guns, fend opposing players off with your stun
cannon and deposit the ball in their net, situated at opposite ends of the
arena and 10 meters off the ground.

Eleven giant
Kangaroos, the same amount of Wombat’s and 22 fully focused and mostly illegally
hyped Snareball players charged towards it, making almost enough noise to drown
out the screaming fans in Tarquin’s ears.

The main advantage
that the Skip’s had over the TT’s was the greater maneuverability possessed by
their Kangaroo’s.  This Tarquin used to his advantage, arriving at the ball
marginally before that of an opposing player. Firing his field gun, Tarquin
snared the ball in a field, simultaneously commanding Bob to leap straight up.
Looking down, Tarquin’s targeting graphics superimposed themselves over his
vision, confirmed a target lock on the opposing player. Using his stun cannon, he
fired a three shot burst. One connected on the rump of the Wombat which
staggered slightly. Giant Wombat’s were exceptionally stun resistant. Three
hits were normally required to incapacitate them for up to 20 seconds. Bob and
the other Kangaroo’s would be in the same state after one direct hit.

Landing, Tarquin
sent Bob on an evasive sideways maneuver, narrowly avoiding the volley of stun
shots coming from the opposition. His AI, graphically displaying player
dispositions under one eyelid, reported that one of his team mates was open.
Without looking, Tarquin fired the Snareball in that direction, sent Bob in a
somersault and fired a barrage of wild stun shots at the charging Wombats. A
stun bolt slammed into Bob in midspin, hitting him on his forepaw and narrowly
missing Tarquin’s head. The Kangaroo, unable to compensate with the additional
spin, landed awkwardly, face planted and then toppled over onto its side.
Tarquin, struggling to remove himself from his pouch harness, watched
helplessly as a Wombat charged up.

“Oh fuck."

The Wombat came to
a halt, stomping on Bob’s hind leg for punctuation. There was a audible
cracking sound and the hapless Kangaroo roared in consternation. In
retribution, Bob bit back, chomping on the rear leg of the monstrous Wombat
standing above it. The Wombat replied by stamping down again on Bob’s leg.
Thankfully, any response by Bob was silenced by a stun bolt hitting him directly
in the head. The TT player leant over his saddle and looked casually down at
Tarquin.

“Hello there.
Looks like you’re out of the game, Choco nuts."

“That’s Mr. Choco
nuts to you," replied Tarquin surreptitiously trying to slide his stun
cannon into some form of shooting position.

“Whatever. Good
night," the player said, pointing his weapon in the direction of Tarquin’s
head.  Instead of shooting, the player toppled off the back of his Wombat and
lay prone next to Tarquin. A Kangaroo bounded up containing Trev, the Rampant
Exterminator.

“Thought you might
need a hand," he said, smirking down at Tarquin.

“No, no. Had it
all under control." Tarquin finally succeeded in popping the straps of his
harness and clambered out of his slowly reviving Kangaroo. Even now a recovery
team was heading towards them to remove the injured animal. A group of naked
fans, somehow getting over the arena’s barriers and hotly pursued by security
were running around the recovery team. Two naked fans were carrying what looked
like a large beer dispenser between them.

“Thanks anyway.
Can you give us a hand for a sec?," Tarquin asked, indicating the
stationary Wombat. Trev ordered his Kangaroo to bend over, whilst Tarquin used
it to get on the back of the large furry mammal.

“What are you
gonna do?," inquired Trev.

Tarquin looked
around the field. The Skips were still attacking, despite being one man down.
The action seemed to be centered around the TT’s goal.

“Not sure yet.
Help me turn this Wombat around."

Trev used his
Kangaroo to slowly push the Wombat in a full circle so that it was facing in
the direction of the TT’s goal. Tarquin climbed up to the Wombat’s neck and
placing his weapons on the mammal’s back, searched around for the animal’s AI
surgical interface. Finding it, he picked up his Stun cannon and switching it
to its lowest setting, placed the barrel of the weapon against the interface.
Discarding his Field gun, Tarquin used his other hand to get a firm grip on the
Wombat’s fur.

“See you soon Bob,"
he said, looking down at his slowly reviving Kangaroo,

“Right," he
said, turning to Trev, “you provide us with some covering fire while I kick
start this beast."

Trev nodded, and
Tarquin, turning back to his gun, fired it directly into the interface on the
Wombat’s neck. The response was immediate and explosive.

The Wombat, its AI
control programs disrupted and in a state of shock, disorientation and no small
amount of anger, charged back towards its on goal line with Tarquin riding
shotgun and griping on for dear life. The recovery team for Bob, a few naked
fans and their attendant security guards, scattered as they rapidly moved to
avoid getting trampled. Trev kept pace, ready to employ his stun cannon.

Two of the TT’s,
pre-occupied with defending their own goal, were dropped off the back’s of
their Wombat’s before they knew what hit them. Tarquin and Trev were firing
almost continuously as they rapidly neared the arena wall and the TT’s goal.
Tarquin’s Wombat slammed into another Wombat, dislodging both riders and
sending the mounts tumbling in the dirt.

Rolling, Tarquin
hardly saw the massive leg of a flailing Wombat as it swung around, hitting him
squarely in the head. With the roar of the crowd still in his head, Tarquin’s
vision faded as he lost his battle with consciousness.

◊

He came to in the
teams medical facility. Bright lights were in his face. His irises darkened to
compensate. Three figures were bent over him. Two of them he recognized. One of
them was his current girlfriend and Snareball groupie, Sharon. Blond, buxom and
not much in the way of brains. The other was the team physician, Dr Edmund
Voltaire, a short, stocky serious faced man with closely cropped brown hair.

“What happened?,"
he croaked.

“You lost,"
Sharon said brightly.

He groaned. So
much for the teams win bonus.

Dr Voltaire spoke
up. “You have a concussion Tarquin. No strenuous activities for the next few
days and lay off on the partying.” As an after thought he added, nodding his
head in the direction of the man Tarquin didn’t recognize, “This is Mr. Dryden.
He’s with the board of enquiry."

Tarquin looked at
the man. Typical looking petty bureaucrat dressed in a severe looking suit with
nondescript features and very little expression on his face. With no preamble,
the man addressed him directly.

“Good day Mr.
Compton-Burnett. As Dr Voltaire has stated, I am with the board of Inquiry.”

Here we go,
thought Tarquin. He feigned disinterest by rubbing his sore head and smiled up
at Sharon, who returned his smile with enthusiasm.

“Recently,"
he continued, “allegations have been made, directed at you Mr. Compton-Burnett,
of trying to influence the normal outcome of certain Snareball games. To whit,
you have been accused of match fixing.”