Analog Science Fiction And Fact - June 2014 Page 10

  "Nothing, I guess. I just got beat."

  "Each team begins the game with an energy allotment, thirty gigajoules in most professional leagues, for use in the GEM generators. The coach must select his gravity setting before the ball's GPS chip detects the snap. Net gravity on the field is simply the vector sum of the two coaches' settings and will remain constant until the play is blown dead or one or both coaches depletes his energy allotment."

  — Beginner's Guide to Football Strategy

  "I don't get it, Kat." Markus raised his voice over the blaring electrometal. "How the hell could my instincts be that far off?"

  "Let it go. Have a drink." Kat called a 'tender over. It hovered next to her on its GEM field while she punched in an order for two beers. "It was a two-gee field, with a shift in the middle of the play. That never happens. No one can blame you for misjudging the throw."

  "But that's just it. I didn't misjudge."

  Kat slid a bottle across the table. "Drink your beer and forget it. We have to prepare for Chicago this week. Coach is gonna need his Mike linebacker focused on their brutal running game, not looking back at one little mistake in pass coverage."

  "But it wasn't—oh, hell, never mind." He picked up the bottle and took a long draught. His eyes scanned the dance floor. The DJ had spun up the GEM generator beneath the floor, letting the dancers frolic in low-g. Looked like about a quarter gee. He watched a spike-haired blonde twirl high in the air and drift gracefully back down to her dance partner, her dress flaring tantalizingly.

  "Hot little thing," Kat said.

  Markus was paying more attention to the hot thing's guy, how he had to stutter-step to the side to catch her. The gravitomagnetic London moment. Perpendicular to the g-f ield, but much smaller magnitude. Most people weren't even aware of it; he'd built his career convincing fans he was a wizard by timing the deflection just right.

  Kat blew a heavy sigh. "Man, you gotta let it go. Chicago has the number one running back in the league. He's fast, especially when they dial the grav down. Nothing like the high-g power run game you're used to."

  "No worries. I'll be ready to execute whatever game plan Coach comes up with."

  "That's more like it." Kat flashed a broad smile, then downed the last of her beer. "The Wild Kat is heading out to the dance floor, maybe pick up a piece of meat."

  Markus took another sip of his beer and watched Kat tumble like a fool on the low-g dance floor.

  "The first gravitoelectromagnetic (GEM) generators were bulky and expensive, limited to space launches and military applications. As the size and price came down, they found more and more commercial uses: air travel, heavy construction, amusement parks, and even high-end automobiles. The earliest use in football was by Gabe Armstrong, then-owner of the expansion Los Angeles Pythons, who hoped to gain a competitive advantage by secretly installing fifteen GEM generators beneath his new stadium. The resulting scandal cost Armstrong ownership of the team, but fan interest peaked and soon the league was running variable-g exhibition games on the field. The modern-day football field is built with an array of one hundred high-performance GEM generators, allowing coaches fine control over the field's gravity strength."

  — GEM Fields in Sports:A Brief History

  "Okay Coach, third and short," Markus said into his throat mic. They're gonna run Mitchell up the gut."

  "Agreed." A gust of wind howled around his helmet, muffling Coach's voice in Markus's earpiece. Windy city, indeed. "I'll dial up the gee to slow him down, but I can't spare a lot of megajoules. Bring the safeties up and make sure your Will 'backer keeps contain on the outside, just in case. They're killing us with that sweep play."

  Markus signaled his players into position and watched for the snap. The ball moved and he felt lighter. Chicago's coach won the gee battle this time.

  Kat's voice shouted in his earpiece. "Sweep!"

  Markus took a step to the right, ready to chase down the outside run, but his instincts stopped him. Something about the zone blocking scheme they were using screamed deception. He turned back in time to see Mitchell leaping high over the center, soaring in the low-g.

  He risked two steps forward to build momentum, then launched himself like a missile. He felt the shock of the impact stiffen the plastiform at his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Mitchell, and his momentum sent the two of them cartwheeling back behind the line of scrimmage.

  The whistle blew and normal-g returned. No gain. Fourth down.

  Markus did a quick victory dance and trotted to the sidelines.

  "Nice play out there," Coach said. "Sealed the win."

  "Don't count your chickens, Coach."

  "They put all their GEM allotment into that play. I got three minutes to go, my offense on the field with a four-point lead, and ninety megajoules to slow the game down. They'll never get the ball back."

  "I dunno, Coach. Their D-line is solid."

  The corners of Coach's mouth dipped. "Who plucked you out of the fourth round, ignored the naysayers, gave you time to develop your skills? Now you're gonna doubt me?"

  Markus grinned and clapped his back. "Show me how it's done."

  He sat on the bench and watched the offense grind out a high-g running attack that burned up the remaining game time, just like Coach said. At the buzzer, Markus flashed Coach a wide grin and trotted onto the field with the rest of the team to shake hands with the Chicago players. He kept his eyes open for Mitchell; young guy like that deserved a show of respect.

  "Yo, Greene."

  Markus turned to the voice, Chicago's strong safety. "Good game, bro."

  The safety bumped his fist, then said, "I saw your whiff against Hardwick last week."

  "Man, why'd you have to go there?"

  "It's not like that." The safety waved his hands, erasing the thought. "I'm just saying he did it to me too, when we played LA earlier in the season. Something ain't right about him."

  Markus nodded. "I remember watching film of your game when I was prepping for the Giants. Heh, at the time, I thought you had an off game. Now, I just don't know."

  The safety's eyes narrowed. "I don't have off games."

  "It was the deflection force, wasn't it?"

  "Not nearly what it should have been at that g-level. I don't know how he's doing it, but he's cheating."

  "I don't know, man," Markus said. "I don't like calling a guy a cheater, not without some hard evidence."

  "You think the laws of physics work different for him? He have some dirt on Old Man Einstein or something?"

  "Maybe he's just better at judging the deflection."

  "You better be damn sure. You have him next week in the divisional round."

  "The gravitomagnetic force is a commonly overlooked artifact of the GEM generators. The spinning superconductor drums generate the gravitoelectric force, the force that is aligned in the up-down direction and directly influences the effective gravitational force on the playing field. The gravitomagnetic force acts perpendicularly to the playing field and is much weaker. Thus, it has little influence on the motion of the players and is commonly ignored. A ball in flight may experience a noticeable deflection from the force, particularly at extremely high or low gravity settings. Look for it next time you watch a game."

  — Beginner's Guide to Football Strategy

  "You called for me, Greene?"

  "Yeah, Coach." Markus pointed to the vidscreen. "Take a look."

  Coach frowned. "This better be big. I got a lot on my plate."

  "Just watch." Markus started the video, a clip of Hardwick making a catch across the middle. "Watch the ball."

  "Looks like low-g. Maybe point seven."

  "Yeah, so the ball should deflect toward midfield."

  "It does."

  "But not enough. And at high-g, the sideline deflection is smaller than it should be, too."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "One of Chicago's safeties suspected Hardwick was cheating somehow, and I think he's right."
<
br />   "I don't have time for this, Greene."

  "Listen to me!"

  Coach gave him a hard look. "Don't you dare shout at me."

  "Okay Coach, I'm sorry." Markus took a moment to calm himself. "But I've watched lots of film. I know how the ball's supposed to move. And it only moves wrong for Hardwick. It did when he played for the Pythons, too."

  "Look, I know the DBs always come up with some kind of cheating rumor when a receiver beats too many of them." Coach pointed at the door behind him. "And I bet the D-linemen across the hall have conspiracy theories about how the offensive line opened up the A gap so wide in Chicago. Just watch the film and make any adjustments you think you need to beat him." He stalked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Kat's head poked over the edge of the cubicle. "Man, you gotta learn to keep your head low," she said. "You know Coach is always pissy when he has to prep for the Giants."

  "Not with me. He knows I got his back."

  "Then maybe he's still pissed at you for getting torched for the winning score last time. Better make damn sure it doesn't happen in the rematch."

  "Damn it, Kat, you know I didn't get..." He saw her mischievous grin and stopped. "Real funny." He turned back to the vidscreen and loaded another clip.

  He watched the clip three times before he gave up. Huffing with annoyance, he opened a web browser and typed in a search on Hardwick. He paged through with little idea what he was looking for. There were a lot of headlines from his days at USC, of course. Pics of Hardwick in uniform, press release photos, candid shots with a few different women. One particular young woman seemed to merit a lot of media attention. Marta Fischer.

  Holy hell.

  "Hey Kat, take a look at this."

  Her head reappeared. "What now?"

  "Did you know Hardwick dated Hans Fischer's daughter back at USC?"

  "What of it? Young stud, football star, probably banged half the socialites in LA."

  "So he has connections with the guy who got rich off mass producing GEM generators."

  "So what are you saying? Fish-Co gave daddy's little girl's ex some sort of GEM cheat code? Or maybe she got her old man to stuff a couple of superconducting drums up his ass?"

  He felt heat in his face. "Seems suspicious, is all. Just forget I mentioned it." He turned his attention back to the screen.

  "Don't get too cozy. We have variable-g calisthenics in fifteen."

  He blew out a long breath. "I know what I saw. I thought you of all people would have my back."

  "I'm not saying I don't—"

  He stood, sending his chair skittering across the floor. "Save it." He smacked the door open and stormed out.

  "Gravity can be a double-edged sword. Conventional wisdom is to use high gravity to slow down a pass rush, especially against a blitz, but the cost is that it slows your receivers and makes the throw difficult for the quarterback. If you trust your line to pick up the blitz, an unexpected use of low gravity may allow your receivers to get past the defense quickly. Since the ball will hang in the air longer, the quarter-back can release the ball quicker, further frustrating the pass rush. It all depends on the specific talents of your players. There is no substitute for knowing your players."

  — The Art of Coaching Football

  As leader of the defense, Markus was on the field for the coin toss. He didn't get to call the toss; that was the quarterback's prerogative. "Tails."

  The coin toss was done in low-g; the fans screamed with anticipation while the coin took its time falling. Markus bounced with pent-up energy, drifting slowly back to the field with each hop. Let's go!

  "Heads. The home team wins the toss and has elected to receive."

  The plastiform at his knees and ankles stiffened momentarily as normal-g returned. He trotted off the field long enough for the kickoff. The defense gathered around him. "Let's go out there and kick some ass," he said. "Victory on three. One, two, three."

  "Victory!"

  The Giants' offense trotted onto the field and huddled up. Markus led his squad onto the field. He swatted Kat's shoulder on the way out. "We cool?"

  "It ain't no thing." The smile behind her face-plate was forced. Damn.

  "Cover two, deep, high-g," Coach said in his earpiece.

  "Got it," Markus said. He put his people into position to defend a pass play.

  Gravity increased at the snap, but it wasn't even enough to stiffen the plastiform at his knees. The Giants' coach must have tried to dial the gee down. Pass play.

  And here came Hardwick across the middle. Short throw, no real deflection at near normal-g, caught for a three-yard gain. Markus drilled his shoulder into the receiver's chest and felt both plastiform shells stiffen simultaneously.

  "I'll be hitting like that all day," he said.

  Hardwick waved the ball in his face and grinned behind his faceplate. "Try to keep up, old man." He trotted back to the huddle, and Markus stared heat at his back.

  A couple of high-g running plays netted the Giants a first down. Markus sucked oxy-mix through his rebreather and watched his blood O 2 levels rise. "They're going to take a shot," he said into his mic.

  "Nah. They're gonna run it down our throat until we stop them," Coach said in his ear. "Pull the safeties up into the box."

  "But—"

  "Do it."

  He waved the safeties up and set for the snap. Gravity went light, really light, and his head swam. He saw the wide receivers taking bounding strides downf ield. "Cover them deep," he shouted to his corners.

  "I'm on Hardwick's ass," Kat said.

  "Stay on his outside shoulder," Markus told her.

  "But the ball's gonna break inside at low-g."

  The ball was already in the air, sailing in a high arc over Markus's head. Taking its time. "Damn it, just trust me."

  Kat moved like a gazelle, bounding along with Hardwick. At the last moment, she bounced toward the sideline. Hardwick turned outward to make the catch, but Kat was right there to break it up. Incomplete.

  Markus braced for the return of normal-g. He patted Kat's ass as she trotted past him. "Nice play."

  She gave him a thumbs-up.

  Hardwick brushed against him on his way back to the huddle, jamming his shoulder into him hard enough to momentarily stiffen his plastiform. "Your bitch is dead if she tangles with me again."

  Markus felt heat. "You wanna say that to my face?" Hardwick didn't react, and Markus's blood boiled. He charged the retreating receiver and batted his helmet. "You got something to say?"

  A whistle blew and a yellow flag dropped to the ground.

  "Personal foul, unnecessary roughness. Number 53, defense. Fifteen yard penalty. First down."

  Damn it.

  Coach yelled in his ear. "What the hell are you doing, Greene?"

  "Sorry Coach."

  "You need to sit out for a play or two until you cool down."

  "But Coach—"

  "Sideline. Now."

  Markus swore and trotted to the sideline.

  "Take a seat and cool off."

  "Come on, Coach. He threatened Kat."

  "You a rookie or something? Guys talk shit. Deal with it."

  The crowd roared. Markus's head snapped to the field. "They're eating us alive. Come on!"

  "Then get your head out of your ass and keep your focus."

  Markus nodded. "I'm cool."

  Coach called in his next play and punched in his gravity setting. "I'll put you back in after this play."

  Markus looked to the field once more. Looked like another low-g long pass. Hardwick bounced down the sideline and Kat stayed with him, stride for stride. Then, unexpectedly, she took a tumble, falling to the field in slow motion. The stadium shook with a deafening blast of cheers as Hardwick broke free and the ball fell feather-light into his hands. The safety moved to intercept, eating five yards with each bound, but it was too late. Hardwick crossed the goal line and the crowd noise rose to the threshold of pain.

  Markus t
urned his attention back to Kat and saw her sitting up holding her knee. "Get the med guys out there!" He ran to her without waiting to see if Coach had heard him.

  He could see the pain in Kat's eyes. "It's bad," she said, grimacing. "Think I tore something."

  "What happened? Your plastiform malf?"

  She shook her head. "He did it. You were right about him."

  "Who, Hardwick?"

  "Yeah. A sudden shear force twisted my leg just as it hit the ground." The team doctor prodded at her knee and she winced. "Don't know how he does it, but the bastard is playing with the GEM forces. You were right."

  He squeezed her shoulder. "He's a dead man."

  "Just keep your cool. The Wild Kat wants a win."

  "You got it." He grabbed her hand and squeezed.

  "Now get off the field and let them wheel me out of here." She gave him a mischievous grin, but he could see pain in her eyes.

  The med staff wheeled her away. He watched with his hands balled into fists. The offense took the field, and Markus paced the sideline with angry strides.

  "Welcome to the Halftime Report. Did you expect it to be this lopsided, Johnny?"

  "If you ask me, they're lucky to go into half-time with only a 17–3 deficit. Coach Kaminski needs to make some big defensive adjustments in the second half if they're going to have any chance to win this game."

  "Right, Johnny, especially with their best corner, Wild Kat Johnson, out with a torn ACL. The rest of the defense is going to have to step up."

  "I don't see it happening, not with the Giants' Hardwick tearing up the secondary. I say the Giants win this one and advance to the Championship Game."

  —The Halftime Report with Johnny and Ted

  The locker room was quiet, the silence of a team without hope. Markus sat on the bench, chin on his fists, brooding. If only Kat hadn't been hurt...

  His explosion in the film room lingered in his mind, along with Kat's sad, forced grin at his not-really apology. If only she had believed him.

  But she had. She broke outside when he'd told her to. She wasn't the one who had lost faith. I've been a real ass.

  She deserved better than she got. He'd put her on Hardwick's radar, but failed to see the whole picture. Hardwick had the last laugh af No.I'm not letting that bastard win.