CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Kill him!” One of the men shouted.
Mike found the daily routine of the actual colony life mind numbing. Even after all the work was done, the men had time for themselves with little to do. They had not been provided with any liquor. There was nothing to drink but the water. Neither he nor Joe had been party guys.
A few of the men had brought along small things in their personal packs. Joe showed them chess and checkers. They showed him Hrrrm games that seemed to Mike like complicated games of chess and checkers. He didn’t get the rules and had no time to learn them.
Some of the men got together at night under the stars to sing. They found a natural amphitheater about half a mile into the plain. The sound echoed just right. Mike didn’t recognize the words. It sounded mostly like sad opera to him. Lots of screeching in minor keys. A few of them had simple instruments. One was kind of a banjo mixed with a bass fiddle, which when played softly and slowly, made a sound Mike liked. Most of the time, the music just seemed to go faster and faster. Mike figured it was all in what you were used to.
After the people he loved, music was the thing he missed most about Earth.
A few of the men had taken to playing a sort of dangerous tag with the smaller laser diggers. Mike would see them sometimes at night out on the plain. The tips of the lasers looking like sparklers in the distance. If you touched someone with the tip and didn’t make them bleed, they were it. Seemed kind of pointless to Mike, but it kept some of the men entertained.
This night, Mike had strolled up to go on the surface to look for Joe. He found him just outside the communication room which was now just inside the entrance. Besides the shouts of, “Kill him!” Mike heard loud groans and a few cheers from inside the room.
He saw Joe and asked, “What’s up?” Mike craned his neck to see what was going on.
Brux was in his large chair. He was surrounded by as many men who could fit into the room as possible.
Joe said, “Death Ball.”
Mike looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
Joe explained. “You know how you guys on Earth go crazy for soccer and football and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Death Ball is the intergalactic sport here. Everybody plays, or follows it, or cares about it.”
“You haven’t mentioned it before. Although, wait a second, Lon, the visitor with the inspection team mentioned a scene from Death Ball was part of the mural Grith is drawing.”
“That makes sense. You know that stuff you saw around the Senate chamber, that big mural with all that historical pageantry? Scenes from that and scenes from Death Ball are obsessions with artists. Death Ball is sort of a combination soccer game and gladiatorial fight to the death. Think of it as a cross between soccer and a mugging, played nearly naked. Eyes get gouged out, ears ripped off, dicks destroyed, balls gone, tits nearly wrung off.”
“You’re kidding?”
Joe smiled. “You could probably find the history of the games on some memory bank in the communication room. You could watch old games.”
“No thanks.” Watching most sports bored Mike to tears.
Joe said, “Some of the men were thinking of starting teams here. They asked me because they figured you’d decree no deaths.”
“Don’t we already have enough of a sense of danger?”
“This would be danger they have control of in ways they’re used to.”
“It’s nuts.”
“It’s us. And remember our healing is better than your healing. So lasting scars are a choice.”
“Our medical equipment isn’t as good as it should be.”
Joe smiled. “They’re willing to risk it.”
“Fine,” Mike said. “If they want to kill each other.”
Joe said, “They’ll have a good time. I’ll make them add a few rules so it’s less lethal. Maybe if we’re any good some year, we’ll have a gay galactic championship team.”
“They let prisoners play?”
“They let anybody play. Winning is everything. A few days ago the yearly seasonal playoffs started. It’s not like Earth where top teams compete in final rounds. This starts with a round with every team in it. So theoretically every team has a chance to win. Takes months and months to whittle the field down.”
Mike said, “Death from a game?”
Joe smiled. “I remember watching football on television with Jack a couple times. I was so bored. No deaths. What kind of sissy, pantywaist game is that?”
“They tried to stop at concussions.”
“They don’t know how to fix brain damage. It’s kind of like a cut lip here.”
Mike shook his head.
Joe said, “What kind of game do you think a culture would have that wants to execute or exile all gay people? Your football is based on a culture of violence. This is the ultimate extension of organized violence.”
“Why is it called Death Ball?”
“You know how on Earth you’re supposed to tackle the guy with the ball? And the guy with the ball is supposed to throw it or run with it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well here, the goal is to kill the guy with the ball.”
“People don’t really die?”
“Well, you don’t actually get points for killing the guy with the ball, but if he dies while you tackle him, you don’t get penalized either. And if he does die, your teammates love you.”
There was a loud groan from inside the room. “What happened?” Mike asked.
Joe stood on tiptoe to look over the men’s heads. “Someone just got carried off the field.” He paused a few seconds. “They think he’s going to live.”
“You know,” Mike said. “I sure got the impression you guys were all supposed to be this advanced civilized crowd.”
“Well, we are and we aren’t. Depends on who’s defining civilized. There are as many men as women players. It’s an equal opportunity death brawl.”
“Do people actually die?”
“Not that many really. Out of millions of matches, in a good year, none. In a bad year, ten. Remember people die playing football or soccer on Earth. I heard though that the record number one year for Death Ball was fifty-one, but that was a thousand years ago, and they changed the rules. The final playoff game is watched by billions and billions of people. There’s a special stadium on a planet built just for it. Over three million people see it live.”
Mike said, “Traffic must be hell.”
Joe smiled, “That’s long been figured out. You know the roads you took to the Senate hearing?”
“Yeah.”
“Like that only bigger.”
“They die? Really? You’re not putting me on. The players aren’t frightened out of their minds?”
Joe said, “The perks of being a star, being the most lethal player, or escaping the most dangerous situations are immense. If you’re the star of the championship game, you win almost enough to buy a small planet of your own, and staff it for a year. Before I left there was this beautiful what you’d call a ‘quarterback’ on one of the best teams. He was gorgeous. Is gorgeous. His name is Sku. Half the gay guys are in love with him or in lust with him. Brux had pictures of Sku before the game. He’s still a star. The other teams have been trying to kill him for six years. The guy must be in his early twenties.”
“They start playing that young?”
“If you’re any good they can start them as young as they wish. They use up a lot of players.”
“Concussions in the NFL pale in comparison.”
More groans and cheers from the men.
Joe said, “It’ll keep them entertained for hours.”
“Well, it’s something, I guess,” Mike said. “Why don’t they watch it on their own communicators?”
“Brux has the largest screen on the planet.”
Mike thought, another universal concept.
So the men had organized teams and played a so far non-lethal version of the game. Mike figured that it was a least a diversion for a few hours.