TWELVE

Outside, the sun was shining down on the withered grass and cracked sidewalks, warming the moist air that rolled in from the south off the surface of Lake Ontario and over the tall, honeycomb-stacked waterfront condo buildings. It didn’t seem proper for everything to look so bright when his life had just had a black-hole-heavy pallor dropped over it.

Carr started walking, to nowhere in particular. His cuff flashed a silent alert message—he was near his personal daily data capacity. Too many messages, posts, and Systemnet hits streaming in all at once. While he’d been inside his mother’s apartment, discovering the criminality of his existence, Bax Gant had announced that the Raptor would be challenging the Reaper in a New Year’s Day showdown to determine the ZGFA Lowmass Champion of the Universe.

He walked faster, as if he could escape the vaguely sick feeling settling in his gut.

Fighting Henri Manon for the belt would be breaking the law. If his enhancements were discovered, he’d lose any title he ever won and be banned from ever participating in another sanctioned competition. It was illegal in almost all countries on Earth to knowingly hire someone with non-therapeutic genetic modifications, so career options were limited. Not that there was any other job he could imagine wanting. He would have to leave Greater Earth orbit, exile himself to one of the outer stations, maybe ship out to the asteroid belt.

His breaths were growing fast and shallow. He forced his feet to stop for a minute so he could pull himself together—it wasn’t going to happen. No one had found out so far, and no one ever would. Mr. R had been confident.

Picturing the man with the smooth face and silver tongue made Carr grind his teeth. He was not a tool. He was more than just a ripening cash cow for his unscrupulous creator. He was—what the hell was he?

His cuff brought up a priority incoming call and his receiver played its familiar rising chime. He glanced down at the display. Risha. Suddenly, his knees felt weak. If only he could magically pull her through his cuff, bring her to him right now. She was always so quick and competent, able to think her way around anything. He accepted the call.

Before he could say a word, she said, “Prepare to be impressed. The fact that the fight was announced while we’re still on Earth is perfect. I have your first interview lined up for tonight, in public, right on the Harborfront. Eason is getting the word out on the Systemnet and we’re going to have a massive crowd of fans. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to rush-order pop-up holovid ads to go up all over the city tomorrow. Still working on your schedule. How was the visit with your mother?”

Carr closed his eyes, mentally reeling. Disastrous, actually. About that … “Err, fine. It was fine.”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Risha was breathless with excitement. “Bran Merkel called me directly to say that he’s assigning more people to our team. At least one for on-planet promotions and another for Systemnet marketing.” She paused. “Your cuff signal is moving around slowly. Are you walking somewhere?”

“I’m just … checking out my old neighborhood.”

“When can you be back at the hotel? I have a long list of things to run you through.”

“Risha … ” He didn’t even know how to begin. Hey, guess what, of all the shitty luck … No.

“Have to go; the city venue coordinator is calling me. Can you be back in ninety minutes?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Carr.” His name on her tongue was rounded and full. “See you soon.” She ended the call. A tight band of tenderness and panic squeezed down around his chest.

He realized that his aimless walking had carried him several blocks, to a familiar corner. Enzo’s apartment building. He’d forgotten his promise to catch up with his friend.

Carr crossed the street. A small crowd was gathered on the sidewalk in front of the plain, three-story brick building: a handful of neighborhood children of varying ages, a few curious adults, and a camera crew. With surprise, he recognized the back of Marc’s head and lengthened his strides to reach him.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

The man startled and whirled around. “Carr, you’re here,” he exclaimed. “Perfect. We’re getting the local media to precede the event tonight with personal testimonials.”

Carr saw, then, that Enzo was in the center of the crowd, talking to a reporter and a cameraman. “Yeah, I’ve known Carr since I was seven years old. Basically, he’s my hero. I’ve watched every one of his matches about a hundred times. He’s the best zeroboxer ever, but he’s not stuck up at all. He’s a really nice guy and super down-to-earth.” Enzo’s clothes looked too big on him, and he blinked too much behind his cringe-inducing glasses, but he glowed like a dwarf star. “In fact, he’s an even better friend than he is a fighter.”

A lump lodged in Carr’s throat.

Enzo’s mom was standing on the steps of the apartment building, watching. Her face looked different, too thin and taut for her age and body—she’d had some nanosculpting done. She leaned her hips on the railing, her arms crossed, her jaw working over a piece of gum. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with a languid mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Carr regarded her as a man might regard a large rat sharing his dungeon cell. She had nothing to do with his problems, but he could loathe her anyways. He took several steps forward before the kids at the edge of the crowd noticed him.

“He’s here,” someone called, and the next thing Carr knew, he was surrounded by people all talking at once, taking pictures, jabbing their cuffs to record and transmit optic feeds, asking him for autographs. Marc helped position the cameraman as the reporter pushed to the front.

“Carr,” the reporter shouted, “how does it feel to be here in your home neighborhood on the day your championship fight is announced?”

He looked at the crowd, the cameras. Unreal. The whole day was unreal. “Words can’t describe it.”

“Your mother still lives right here, where you grew up, doesn’t she? She must be very proud of you.”

“I owe everything to her.” Painfully true.

“In just this past year, you’ve been credited with exploding the popularity of zeroboxing,” the reporter continued relentlessly. “What do you think about that?”

“I don’t know if it’s me so much as more Terrans discovering just what zeroboxing is. I’m glad if I’ve helped make that happen.”

The reporter started to blurt another question, but Carr shook his head and broke free. Enzo’s mother straightened away from the railing, her eyes widening as he took the front steps in a couple of bounds and stopped directly in front of her.

“Ms. Loggins,” he said. The overly sweet smell of her perfume filled his mouth with a nasty taste. He lowered his voice so he couldn’t be overheard. “You have to take Enzo to get his eyes fixed. And his lungs too—they have gene therapy for that. Look at him, will you? He shouldn’t have to be like that.”

She looked him up and down, one side of her mouth curling in affront. “You think you can come right up and lecture me, do you? Just ’cause you’re famous now? You’re still the same neighborhood brat to me, Carr Luka. In case you don’t know, those things cost money.”

“If you saved up the money, instead of—” He bit down.

She wagged a painted purple nail at him. “You want to talk about money? I just bet my last two paychecks on you.” She sniffed loudly, as if this was his fault. “So you better win now, you hear? You want to do us favors, you win that fight.”

Carr had never hit a woman, but he would have liked to give Ms. Loggins a smack to send that piece of chewing gum flying out from between her scornful lips, right in front of the camera. Wouldn’t that be a publicity stunt to end all. He spun around and went back through the crowd, ignoring the reporter and making for Enzo, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, still yammering into the camera. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You want some ice cream?”

Carr ordered double-scoop sundaes for both of them, then kicked himself. What was he thinking? The biggest fight of his life was in two months and he had to cut mass—he couldn’t eat ice cream. The cold, sweet spheres of mint chocolate chip sat in the bowl, taunting him, promising relief from heat and emotional turmoil. For a mad second, he thought Screw it. Screw the fight, screw everything. He jammed a spoon into the top scoop. Then he pushed the bowl toward Enzo and got himself a glass of ice water from the dispenser.

Enzo nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and dove into his sundae. “You can’t stay long, huh?” he said, glum.

Carr shook his head. “I’ve got two days full of whatever the marketing gurus tell me to do, and then it’s back to Valtego.”

Enzo sighed. “I wish you could stay longer. It would be amazing if I could bring you to school.”

“For show and tell?” Carr scoffed, then turned serious. “How is school?”

“S’okay.” Enzo studied his reflection in the spoon.

Carr didn’t believe him; a kid with an inhaler and glasses was begging to be tormented. “You remember what I told you about kids giving you trouble, right?”

“Never look scared, and keep fighting even if you’re getting thrashed. Hit them hard when their guard is down, and keep hitting even after you think you’ve won.”

“And go for the face. You bloody someone’s face, half the time the fight goes out of them.”

Enzo brightened. “Last month, Ronny Briskus pushed me into a wall and said my mom was a nutty bliss addict whore, and I cracked him in the mouth, just like whack. We were both sent home, but I gave him a bloody lip.”

Carr was inclined to agree with Ronny Briskus, but he reached across the table and shoved Enzo’s head affectionately. “Good for you, little man.”

The boy grinned over a big spoonful of ice cream. “So have you checked the net chatter yet? The Reaper is already trash-talking you.”

“Yeah? What’s he saying?”

“Here, let me see if I can find it.” Enzo scrolled quickly through his cuff display. “He says, ‘I never heard of the kid until last month. Zeroboxing has gotten so popular, I guess they’re looking for underwear models to put in the Cube.’”

Carr nearly choked on a swallow of water. “That’s a good one. What else?”

“He goes, ‘I’m gonna start the new year nice and easy, by taking out the garbage.’ Oh wait, here’s one more: ‘Do you think this poor sucker knows what my last name is?’”

Listening to trash-talk about oneself was a weirdly satisfying sort of masochistic foreplay, Carr decided. Like asking someone to poke you with a twig, over and over again, so you could ride the anticipation, the buildup toward the climactic moment when your fist finally met his mouth. Ahhh … .a persistent problem suddenly solved. If only all things were so simple.

“Manon is a jerk.” Enzo finished one sundae and started in on the second. “I saw this old clip of him totally cussing and shoving some fan around in a bar just for talking to his girlfriend. Then his girlfriend tries to stop him, and Manon starts cussing her out in public too. He’s the guy people love to hate. It’s going to be so awesome when you lay the smackdown on him.”

Carr was silent for a moment. “You know, things don’t always go the way you plan. Sometimes, when you least expect it, they get screwed up.”

Enzo looked up with as much solemnity as Carr could imagine on the freckled face of an eleven-year-old with glasses. Then he set his spoon down. With utmost seriousness, he said, “I know you can do it. I believe in you, Carr.”

“I know you do.”

Enzo squinted, as if to say you don’t get it. “You know, my personal feed, it used to have barely any followers, not even my own mom. Now it’s totally lit up. People I don’t know, from places like Russia and Luna and Pax Lagrange Station, are like … well, look.” He tapped his cuff display and turned it around so Carr could see a long comments stream:

ur feed rocks

hey I am so addicted to zeroboxing too. Luka is my fave

omg you are as big a fan of Carr Luka as me

holy shit I cannot wait for this title fight. Reaper is mean but Raptor’s got so much grace it’ll make your dick hard

And on and on.

“See?” Enzo said. “It’s not just me. I know it’s your dream to win the title. It’s sort of embarrassing to say this, but it’s my dream too. Only you’re the one doing it.” He nodded gravely. “It’s called ‘living vicariously.’”

Carr saw his future split in two like a cracking mirror. In one version, he did his best to pretend today never happened. He went on to fight for the championship. Win or lose, he returned to the Cube, again and again. He woke up next to Risha in the mornings, and when Enzo was old enough, he found him work on Valtego. He made peace with his mother and Uncle Polly and didn’t think about or speak of the twenty percent of his earnings that regularly disappeared from his bank account. Every night before he slept, he thanked the stars for a day in which Mr. R, a police officer, or a ZGFA testing official didn’t show up—and he asked for another.

Or … he could refuse to be played by that bastard splice dealer in nice clothes. He could, in Future Version B, take Mr. R’s “business” straight to Genepol, the law enforcement arm of the International Commission on Genetics. The man had been running his scheme since before Carr was born; who knew how far and wide it extended. If Carr turned himself in, maybe there was a chance Genepol would go easy on Sally and Uncle Polly. Maybe they would even let him work near Earth, if not on it. He could no longer compete of course; that would violate Terran law and principles of fairness.

This second Carr—someone he didn’t recognize—gave up the title fight, gave up everything, let down Risha, Enzo, Uncle Polly, Gant, and all the fans he’d met and those he hadn’t, and never set foot in a Cube again. Unless it was with a tour group.

Carr’s jaws snapped down on an ice cube. It shattered under his teeth.

Enzo was saying something. “Carr, did you hear me?”

“What?”

“Don’t you have to go? You said you had to leave in an hour.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.” He stood up. “Hey, why don’t you come with me?”

Enzo jumped to his feet. “Really?”

“Sure. My first big interview is at the Harborfront tonight, so you ought to be in the front row, right? You can hang out with me until then, and I’ll send you home afterward. I’ll even introduce you to my girlfriend.”

“Holy crap, you have a girlfriend?” Enzo’s eyes widened like an owl’s. “Is she, like, super hot? She is, isn’t she?” He looked down at himself, smoothing the front of his rumpled shirt, and his voice took an uncertain turn. “She’ll think I’m just some annoying kid.”

Part of Carr still writhed under a heavy weight that he suspected was there to stay, but he smiled. “No way. You two would totally get each other. You’re both hyper-energetic, opinionated know-it-alls who say exactly what’s on your mind.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? This day keeps getting better!”