Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 2

Corey watched his father and his sister move swiftly through the crowd and disappear into the hallway. Realizing he was holding his breath, Corey let it go with a shake of his shoulders and a roll of his head to relax the muscles. He wasn't sure if Mr. Hongjin's heart attack caused more tension in him, or watching his father with his sister.

"Keep Away, Keep Away!" The Raydars fans were chanting now.

Glancing out onto the field, he could see the Raydars playing keep away with the Shooting Stars again. A large whoop filled the stadium as a fancy ricochet almost took the Stars' Center Defender's head.

A vibration in his pocket pulled his attention from the game. Far from winding down in the 5c, the last 10 minutes of the game, the fans and players seem to be whipping each other into a frenzy. Stepping into the depths of the gargantuan hallway that ran all the way around the stadium, connecting all the rows to the outside world, he answered the phone without even glancing to see who it was. "Hello Tsunglei. Don't worry, it's all under control. It was a heart attack that just so happened to occur near me. I started CPR and then Raqi and Franklin showed up within minutes. He's on his way to the hospital with his wife holding his hand. All is well."

"Mmm." followed by silence.

Corey hated that. He could never tell if he was doing okay or well or badly with Tsunglei Tong, his boss. Tsunglei was the Vice President of Media, which oversaw more departments than ever before when Tsunglei took over. Before his tenure, the V.P. of Media only oversaw broadcast media - print, tv, radio but now Tsunglei was in charge of such operations as marketing, fan outreach, merchandising as well as re-election.

Nonetheless, he knew that Tsunglei saw something in him that no one else did, especially his father. Tsunglei was the one who had offered the job of Acting Liaison to Fans to Corey when there had been other contenders, more qualified who were in the running. Just when Corey had been questioning his purpose in the Raydars organization, just when Corey had been wondering if he should seek employment in a field far away from the Raydars, Tsunglei had seemed to magically appeared, and thrown Corey a lifeline.

When Corey had told Drew about the offer, he could see the doubt in his father's eyes lurking behind the spoken congratulations. How could he explain to his father that in this, he wasn't going to screw up, that he could feel it in his bones that he knew what fans wanted and how to give it to them. The instant Tsunglei Tong made the offer, Corey's head was filled with wonderful ideas, each building on the previous, each guaranteed to make a die-hard fan whoop with delight.

Words coming through the telephone startled Corey. Tsunglei had finally decided to speak. "Nik Bloom wants a few fans to get an in-depth interview for a new series he's working on. And Tessa Bloom has questions for you about this new contest you've concocted. I told her you'd be free to meet her 45 minutes after the game ends."

Corey understood immediately the game, and it was because of this, he felt, that Tsunglei offered him the job. He immediately responded the way Tsunglei wanted, "45 minutes?"

The smile of approval was apparent in Tsunglei's tone. "Yes, come on up here for the next 1/2 hour. Yes, I know you're going to miss the end of the game and the beginning of the festivities but this is important. We're meeting with Haverhill and Braun. Then you have 15 minutes to locate one fan at least for Nik Bloom's interviews. And then you can meet with his wife." And then not expecting any feedback nor dissent, Tsunglei hung up.

Oh shit, Haverhill? AND BRAUN? The V.P. of Operations and the owner? What the hell did they want? Haverhill's reputation was that he was one tough son of a bitch and that he'd shoot you in the face with a shotgun if you disagreed with him. And Braun? Well, Corey just thought the world of Braun. This man was the real deal, if anyone asked Corey. Braun personified who and what the Raydars were about. All the more reason to be nervous, thought Corey.

He stepped up the speed and got to the elevators just as the doors opened and out stumbled Jimmie, Stace's nephew. Jimmie threw one arm over Corey and leaned heavily against him, breathing a sour smell into Corey's astonished expression as Jimmie said, "Now, you ain't gonna leave this here game so soon, are ya, Core?"

"Umm, no Jimmie, I'm just on my way to a meeting. I'll see you out there." Corey moved his face out the way of Jimmie's breath.

"Now, ya better be there. Ah'm firin' up some mighty fine fireworks. Hey, seen mah aunt? We supposed to hook up in the 5c. Ya don't suppose she's still back at them seats do ya? Dang, that old lady just won't move from that seat. Did I tell ya that I had me a line on some seats near..."

The elevator doors closed on Jimmie's words. Saying a little prayer to the god of elevators, Corey hoped Jimmie would sober up enough to handle the fireworks. The last time Jimmie was this sloshed, Corey had to wrestle Jimmie for the controller to the firing caps. Jimmie, being only 5'6" and 160 pounds, was no match for Corey. One bloody nose later, he handed the controls willingly to Corey, thus preventing what Corey thought would've been a five alarm fire for sure.

Three floors up, he was joined by Tsunglei Tong, who nodded in greeting but said nothing else as they rode up to the 13th floor that served as Braun's headquarters. When they got to the 13th, a computerized voiced asked for the password. Tsunglei frowned as he punched it in, "I hate redundancy when it's unnecessary. True, the masses need to account for the lowest common denominator, but why should it apply here? Redundant, I tell you."

"I agree, sir," was the only reply Corey gave. He was trying to quell the queasiness in his stomach that swelled with each step he took. Though he had met Braun twice before, the honor and pride that Corey felt had not diminished in the least; in fact, it had grown with each move Braun made. Corey knew what some commentators who weren't under Raydars pay said about Braun, that he was just a figurehead and that Haverhill actually ran things for the Raydars but c'mon! Just look at ...

The set of double-doors opened automatically as Corey and Tsunglei approached. Tsunglei gave a nod of gratitude? No, acknowledgement was more accurate, Corey thought. Corey can't imagine Tsunglei feeling beholden to anyone. Is that music in the background? It was unmistakeable now, the music was growing louder in time to their steps. Tsunglei glanced at Corey. "Like that? I came up with it about three weeks ago. Kind of heightens the experiencing of vising Braun, doesn't it?"

All Corey could do was nod in growing amazement and understanding. Tsunglei was some sort of marketing genius - here was one small proof. When people were allowed to visit Braun, they had to enter through this hall. With previous owners, they went through the expense of hiring out guards to make the experience a bit more enhanced. Tsunglei hated the expense when he knew a simulation would do; hence the genius bit. Recorded music that heightened the experience was a much cheaper expense than hiring goons to look menacing in uniform.

At the end of the hall sat Braun at the head of a long table, and Haverhill on his right. An empty chair sat to the left of Braun and another one at the far other end of the long table. When they reached the nearer end of the table, Tsunglei indicated that Corey should stop as Tsunglei continued towards the far end and sat down on the left of Braun.

Corey gulped.

Whispers bounced amidst the three on the far end and finally, Haverhill said to Corey, "Sit," and Corey did.

Before anyone addressed Corey, Haverhill took something into his left hand, and with a swipe of his arm, slid an object towards Corey. Corey caught it and looked at it; it was a beer can, with the Raydars logo plastered all around the can. Corey turned it around 360 degrees and then popped open the lid and took a huge swig. With a swipe of his arm across his mouth, he grunted his approval, then said, "Give me two containers of these, and I'll make sure every fan have at least tasted it, and at least half will love it."

Tsunglei beamed at him. "See?" Tsunglei bragged to the other two who were also smiling, "I told you two that he's an up-and-comer. We didn't have to tell him a thing and he knew what we wanted." He looked back at Corey. "Do we need details?"

Corey understood that question to mean that the three of them didn't want details, they just wanted results so he shook his head no.

Braun stood up, immediately followed by Haverhill and Tong. A slight widening of Tsunglei's eyes told Corey that he needed to rise as well, and walk to the far end to pay respects. Corey almost pushed the chair back too far, but he caught it in time when he turned to walk up front. Reaching the front, Braun shook his hand and said, "Good job, Westie," and Corey beamed with pride at the bestowment of the new nickname. Haverhill just nodded at him, while Tsunglei walked out with Corey.

Corey said to Tsunglei, "I take it this should be what I'm focused on with Tessa?"

"Good boy," said Tsunglei before waving goodbye and disappearing behind a door that Corey had missed entirely on the way in.

Now to find a suitable interviewee for Nik.

Heading out into the parking lot where a lot of fans were celebrating, Corey found his pace quickening. This was the part of his job that he enjoyed the most, the interaction with the fans. Sometimes, when he was dead drunk and alone, Corey would feel guilty about the pleasure he derived from this part of the job. On those nights, his demons crept out from the darkest recesses of his consciousness to plague him with thoughts of inadequacy.

After all, he had done nothing to get the admiration and affection of the fans, except present them with the illusion that they were closer to the organization than they actually were.

It were opportunities like this that made the illusion so much easier. By having Nik interview three or four fans, ask them questions about their thoughts on the game or the starters, the fans would feel represented and heard.


Corey got to the parking lot and stopped to breathe in the barbeque fumes coming from the many grills. Was that lamb he smelled?

His appearance caused a little stir among the closest fans. Recognizing him, some fans nudged others and soon most within sight were aware that the Acting Liaison to the Fans was amongst them. He walked confidantly to the nearest set with the thought in mind that each sentence he uttered would be a screen test of sorts. Swiftly, he eliminated almost all he encountered.

Most he got rid of because they were so drunk to the point of near incomprehension, followed by moments of uncontrolled guffawing that a five second interview would be too long. Some seemed more out to gain glory for themselves like in telling him who has succeeded his father at the Center Defender position since he retired, in consecutive order then alphabetically. Some had the personality of sodden uniforms and some had such combative ones he thought about recommending them for "target dummies", people who pay for both the offense and defense to practice tackling on.

Quiet, he told himself. He mustn't slip. Some insider words just weren't meant for the public, words like "target dummy." By the time he got to where Jimmie and Stace were tossing back a few with some of the regulars, he had a grand total of two candidates for Nik to interview.

"Hiho, Corey!" came the greeting from several folks.

"Hiho back." He gratefully accepted a beer that was outstretched to him by the nearest fan. He then passed the bonfire raging inside a metal barrel, wondering how the heck so many barrels were produced each game. By the time he would came to work the next morning, the parking lot would be bereft of most things. He gave a good squeeze to Stace and then settled between Jimmie and Stace. Clinking cans with Jimmie, they hollered, "RAYDARS RULE" before taking large swigs.

Stace rolled her eyes at the two of them. Corey shrugged and said, "Old habits." Jimmie was definitely drunker than most now, but the most amazing thing occured to Corey. He realized that the more drunk Jimmie was, the more coherent and cohesive his breakdowns of the game was.

"... kept scorin', makin'games of it. Nah, it ain't ta see who cud aim fer da center y'know? Nah, they'd be aimin' for the edges man. Edges, can ya see it? Now THAT's the way ta demoralize the enemy, to be usin' them as target dummies. Don't shoot me them thar look, Corey. T'aint no one in the world who don't know that you guys call 'em that. Hell, we call 'em that. Why not? Those suckers ain't never be listening to us no how. See, it t'aint jes the shooters who'll be improvin' man. It'll be them protectors, too. I mean, didya see #33 nearly get walloped in the head? Thank Shon that Walker's peripheral vision exceeds 55°."

"Hey Jimmie, Jimmie. Jimmie! Slow down -"

"... d'fense kept - Huh?"

"- How'd you like to be on either the radio or TV?"

*SNORT* was his response in many directions.

"Serious, JImmie. You've got some strong opinions and well, you're good at this. So, c'mon."

Jimmie shuffled his feet, then shyly looked over at his aunt. Was Jimmie looking for approval or permission? Corey couldn't figure it out. Stace chuckled, and said in her backwards complimenting way, "Why not? It'll give you a chance to prove everybody wrong about you."

It seemed to Corey that Jimmie stood straighter at that suggestion. Having known Jimmie practically all his life, Corey had always thought it weird that Stace seemed to dare Jimmie either do better or fuck up, depending on how you interpreted her comments. Perhaps that was why if Stace ever bestowed upon you a direct compliment, you'd better sit up and pay attention. They were heard rarely, like a hermit thrush's mating call in winter.

Once, after a drunken mob had nearly rioted after a humiliating loss to the Hunting Royals and Corey had managed to defuse the situation with the help of free bread and Jimmie's fireworks, Stace had whispered "Good job" in Corey's ear as she passed him on her way home. The euphoria kept Corey buzzing for two months.

"S'right, Ah'll do it. Sign me up, Core, or do Ah need ta sign on a dotted line somehere?"

"Don't worry about anything Jimmie, I'll have Nik's people call you."

"Manticore Ray West, are ya shittin' me? NIK BLOOM? Ah'm gonna be talking with ol' Nik himself?"

Corey glared at Jimmie, hating the use of his full name which few people knew. Abruptly he got up, almost regretting his decision but ultimately feeling like this could be one of the most fortuitous decisions he'd ever made in his career. "I have to go meet my sister now, but thanks for doing this." Corey hoped he managed to sound sincere. He really WAS grateful; however, Jimmie's little immature jokes could sometimes be, well, annoying.

As Corey departed, he overheard Stace admonishing Jimmie, "You KNOW he hates that name. When you going to learn?" Gee thanks, Stace, he thought. You just made it that much harder for Jimmie to give up using that stupid dumbass name my father gave me.

Corey crossed the parking lot walking at a brisk pace, no longer seeking the support he got from the fans. Thirty minutes later, he finally crossed the perimeter and entered public land. Before, when the fire department and paramedics were privately funded by the Raydars, they lived on a small compound on the other end, on the other side of the stadium. However, the families in the houses surrounding the stadium complained and the city-state took over responsibilites for the upkeep of both the fire department and EMTs. Both departments moved off-premises.

Huffing and puffing by the time he reached the apartments of the paramedics, he cursed his decision to walk instead of taking the company limousine. Pausing at the doorway to his sister, Raqi's house, he could hear his father's voice getting agitated and more strident. Corey wondered if he should wait a while and figure out a response to his father's complaints or just walk in and act as if he didn't realize Drew was pissed.

Corey opted to listen in.

"... 75? Why did they finally stop scoring during the 4th Quint? I think it was the middle of 4c that they finally stopped. 4C! The last third of the 4th Quint! That's... that's...." Drew was almost spluttering at this point.

"That's unseemly?" Owen, Corey's nephew offered to his grandfather, Drew.

"That's unfair?" This one came from Raqi, Owen's mom.

Drew shook his head vigorously. "No, stronger!"

Corey used his own key on the door and walked in with, "That's obscene?"

"YES! That's exactly the word I was searching for. Obscene."

"But Dad, don't you see? There's a hardcore, diehard group of fans out there we gotta please, and to them, obscenities are what it's all about."

Corey saw the sadness behind his father's eyes. "But, Manticore, is that what the Raydars are all about?"

Bristling at the usage of his formal name, Corey shot back with, "Profits are going up."

"That's ANOTHER thing: profits. How are the profits going up? The cheap seats have seen an increase of 150% over three years and yet the luxury seats have gone down? What th -"

A clearing of Raqi's throat broke up the tightening tension, "Dinner's ready."

Corey thought about leaving right then and there, but the look in his sister's eyes beseeched him to stay. Hating himself for not being able to resist his sister's look, he took his jacket off and headed to the dining room. Drew's head was already bowed in a prayer of thanks to Shon, as was Owen's but with one difference: one of Owen's eyes was open and looking at Corey. Corey gave a stern shake of his head accompanied with a frown and Owen quickly closed his eyes to murmur "Sobeeyit" at the end of the prayer.

Both Raqi and Corey murmured "Sobeeyit" too though neither participated in the prayer; some habits were hard to stop. Just then, the front door opens and Raqi's husband Rich, walked in. "Hiho all!"

Owen got up from mid-bite and ran to hug his father. At 10, he still hadn't hit that pre-adolescent embarassment about affection yet. Corey wondered if Owen would handle puberty the way Corey did, with a girlie magazine hidden so that no matter where he was, whether it was the car, or different rooms in the house, or even in the classroom, there was one handy, so to speak.

Rich handily picked up his son and flung him into the air. Owen giggled despite himself. "Dad! I'm too old for such things!" he protested amidst bursts of laughter. Leave it to Raqi to find herself to find herself an ex-professional Zingball player with an IQ of 142. Rich had been a Protector for the Hunting Royals but had retired about 8 years ago when he blew his knee out diving against a Raydars Defender about to tackle the Shooter he had been protecting.

Nowadays, Rich wanted little to do with Zingball, especially since the woman he married was the daughter of one of the "dreaded and hateful" Raydars. Honestly, Corey felt that Rich had a lot of respect for Drew; rather, it was the organization that Rich deplored. And sometimes, Rich would meld the organization with Corey, since Corey was now "management." As usual, there was an undeclared truce that existed between Rich and Corey which meant that shop talk wasn't allowed at the dinner table.

Instead, they oftened turned on the digivision during meals and let the non-stop chatter fill in the voids that often occured during dinner conversations.

"How was work, beachums?" Raqi leaned over and pecked her husband on the cheek.

Smirking, Corey recalled the time Raqi and he were drunk, both commiserating over recent break-ups when Raqi confided to Corey that she called ALL her lovers "beachums," the local term of endearment, just so she wouldn't be embarassed if she forgot the name of her current paramour.

Rich was a freelance truck driver who worked just enough hours to qualify for medical insurance from his union. Because Raqi worked for the government, and the government only pays for insurance for dependents and not spouses, Rich thought being a truck driver would afford him the most freedom, and Corey suspected that the job provided Rich opportunities to get away from Raydars territory. More often than not though, Rich was found at home, tending to Owen's needs, leaving Raqi the latitude to go be on call as often as needed.

"Not bad, delivered a truckload of meat over to Hunting Royals terrirtory, visited Mums, - she says hiho by the way, and special hugs to you, Owen. Had to go to five different places to get my truck full. First off, it was Shirley's Quails for a couple of palettes of quails, then to McNeil's Scotch distillery..."

Corey turned his attention to the digivision which Raqi flipped on before sitting down.

The ad for the line of clothing based on simple patterns drawn by Raydars players' spouses came on. It was another one of Tsunglei Tong's genius ideas. He had asked the spouses to design, with crayons, a pattern within a 5 inch by 2 inch box, then asked for their most artistic signatures. Then he had repeated the pattern horizontally, vertically, whatever direction it would take to make what the spouse had drawn somewhat visually pleasing. Finally he created a new line of clothing with the pattern printed on a cheap line of clothing produced by a firm that Tsunglei himself was on the board of directors.

The line was marketed as a "signature" line from the players spouses. Unsurprisingly, the line was a huge hit with lower middle income families and Tsunglei was made richer every day. The spouses? They got fame... which they were happy to get. Corey marveled at how well Tsunglei understood people as to what would make them give up money and security for.

After the ad, came a special report presented by Reverend Ryker about how Shon is the one God, who made it possible for the Raydars to get their spectacular win today. Though the West family and Danvers family were believers of Shon, they didn't quite swallow the claptrap that Reverend Ryker and his type hyped. The DV was quickly muted and conversation revolved around Owen's activities for the following week.

When Rich got up to get the dessert for everyone, Corey glanced back at the DigiVision and saw that Terra Bloom was on. He reached for the remote and turning the volume back on, he listened for a second.

"... story we had for tonight will have to be put off until tomorrow. Instead, we will bring you this update on Moraffa Khaladiff, the president-for-life of Elum.

Strange, Corey thought, Tessa rarely has to put off a story. Wasn't she supposed to be doing a story on... the... new... brewery... "Oh, Frick!" he said aloud as he pushed his chair back abruptly. "I was supposed to be meeting Tessa Bloom an hour and a half ago to help her with that story! I gotta go!"

He grabbed his coat and left the housing running, followed by Rick's and Drew's laughter and Raqi's scolding voice, "Stop that... it's been a long day for him. Leave Core alone."

"...tried to interview Moraffa Khaladiff, but his people said that he was incommunicado at the moment; therefore, we are bringing you this segment about how far he fares as leader of Elum, a city-state built around the team of Stinging Scorpions, a small-time Pro-Am Zingball team. Not only as leader of Elum but also owner-for-life of the Stinging Scorpions.

"The curious thing about Elum is that though Khundin is the predominant religion just like the other city-states in the region, it is unlike its neighbors in the Central East whose governmental and religious leaders are one and the same because Elum is firm about keeping religion separate from goverment. As a result, The Stinging Scorpions' matches with its neighbors in the Central East division of the Pro-Am Zingball League, often end up bloodied and bruised. Fans of the Scorpions tend not to be as zealous about Khundinism as its neighbors' fans.

"This aloofness about religion is needed to keep the balance in Elum. Khundinism, like all other religions, had differing factions as well, and Elum, by quirks of many territorial battles over eons, has a ruling minority - the Fehstes who comprised the majority of the members in the government. The majority who lived in seeming contentment, despite their lack of numbers in the ruling class, were the Fiddhes. Most Fiddhish Khundinites who lived in surrounding city-states were usually quite fanatic about their particular brand of religion but not the ones who lived in Elum.

"Whether the peace is forcibly kept by Moraffa Khaladiff, Elum's president-for-life or whether the people choose to live peacefully is the subject of tonight's debate. But it is clear; Khaladiff does not want fanaticism in his city-state. With fanaticism, he says, comes ultimatums. When ultimatums come from two sources, in this case the city-state and the religion, then conflicts happen. To avoid conflict, fanaticism must be stamped out. [The images of Khaladiff intersperse with handcuffed and blindfolded prisoners, with rows of people in prayers, with fire, with bombs and explosions, with fisticuffs.]

"At one point, when Khaladiff had first emerged as leader of Elum 20 years earlier, the Raydars organization had eagerly supported him and the emergent Stinging Scorpions by sending food supplies and possible bylaws for the Scorpions to follow, bylaws that would give the Raydars some advantages through trades for young talent. But Khaladiff proved to have a mind of his own. He defied the region's mandate that all city-states be firmly linked with religion AND he defied the mighty Raydars in not adopting most of their suggested bylaws.

"The Stinging Scorpions have become quite a team in the Central East division of the Pro-Am Zingball League. They have now the sixth largest fan base, with 99% of Elum's citizens as fans, as well as some existing in nearby city-states. Years ago, before Russell Grant's decade of solidity when he was president of the Raydars and its surrounding territories, one of the Raydars' owners, Eugene H.W. Braun to be exact, the father of the current Raydars' owner, Gene Braun, tried to do a takeover of Elum's and the Stinging Scorpions' revenue flow. However, due to the instability of the area surrouding the Scorpions, Braun Sr., opted not to finish the job, and pulled out. Russell Grant, though he heard rumors about how Khaladiff treated his own people, chose to stay out and not interfere in a Pro-Am ballclub's decisions about its present and future.

"It remains to be seen whether Khaladiff will remain a thorn in Braun's side, calling the Raydars organization, 'a vessel of the Devil's.' As it is now, Braun has chosen to ignore this petty player Khaladiff and his team the Stinging Scorpions, with its revenue flow of 1 billion credits, as opposed to the Raydars' revenue flow of 600 billion credits.

This ends tonight's segment of 'Minor Influences of the Raydars.' This is Tessa Bloom, reporting live from Raydars HQ."