Author's Notes #7

Well, I didn't get far with this did I?

But I have a new resolution to help out - the creation of a sneaky and pitiable character with the initials M.C. Bratworse and I are already envisioning this character looking like Snidely Whiplash - lanky, badly permed hair, whirling a cape around pretentiously.

I can't wait to write this character.

part 2 - 2/28, Chapter 1b

[Author's Notes] This starts right after the broadcast by Nik Bloom. I didn't like how I wrote it. It's just a minor change.

Raki got the call mid-bite, as usual. Franklin already had his gear ready, because he suspected as much. The timing was just uncanny. If she got hungry during a game, before she could take 10 bites, a call would come in.

They got the details on the digibrain on the way out of the garage. Bus speeding. Suspected brake trouble. Heading for Fan Zingball bleachers. Trouble. It all just added up to that. Franklin drove, so she went to the back to ready the gear. The itenerance blared its sirens as it weaved through the fans and vehicles quickly.

Raki only chose stuff that Franklin and she would need for people able to move. Even though the digivision wasn't on, she could envision the scene. Two things could happen. Speeding bus could snap through smaller supports. If so, then bleachers would fall soon after. Or. Speeding bus into cement support. Raki winced. If so, explosion. Then fire. And smoke. Fire-weakened supports. Smoke-filled fans. Add up to bad rescues.

Franklin turned on the digivision in the cab. Nik Bloom. Sobbing. Not good. Means bus got there already. Whole force should be out for this one.

Raki wasn't sure which scenario she'd rather had. But either, rescue had to be fast. Which meant choices. She chose fast over infirm. Glancing at the screen of the digivision, she saw the second of her two probables came true. At first, the smoke from the wreck was blowing away from the stands, but the winds shifted. Escape was impossible.

She grabbed the gas masks and went up front to put one on Franklin. She put hers on; she could hear her breath from within the mask. She hated how the breathing would quicken the heart, which would quicken the breathing, which would quicken the heart and so on. She wished she could control the growing fear within her. Something was off tonight.

Franklin pulled up next to the burning wreckage and a quick visual told them everyone was either dead or behind a wall of fire. They headed to the other side of the bleachers where fans were trying to climb down off the top tiers. Raki looked out the window. The heat from the inferno threatened the integrity of the entire structure.

Screams led her to whip her head around. Another bus full of terror-filled screaming fans headed towards them and the bleachers. The bus swerved and missed the intinerance Raki and Franklin were in by inches. Both breathed out in relief. Franklin found the access tunnel that ran under the bleachers and drove through it. They could hear the bleachers straining above them under the double assault of heat and feet.

Halfway through the tunnel, a shuddering wave swept over them. The other bus must've struck. A worried look passed between the two Emergency Medical Specialists as they felt as well as heard the shock of the impact. Raki thought it looked like the entire bleachers buckled for a moment.

They emerged out of the access tunnel into chaos. The bleachers had caught on fire. Fans stumbled and climbed over fallen fans to get to an exit.

Just then, an explosion rocked the place.

*****
"F'nally!" Jimmie growled as he got to the front of the line for food and beverages. "Six beers, four dogs, three bags'a peanuts, 'n two p'pcorns. Ah know, ah know, it's frickin' 44 creds. Ah order da same thang week 'fter week, ya think y'd know me bah now." Jimmie gave what he thought was his most seductive grin and reached over the counter, "Ah know you, Ms. Deb-deb-deb who keeps alla us fed-fed-fed." He pinched the girl with a wink of his eye, as the girl squealed at the pain. A rap on his knuckles by a pair of very hot tongs forced Jimmie to jolt his arm back.

"Jimmie Cantrell! You stop sassin' the girls 'round here, or I'll call security."

Jimmie grinned. "Why, Ms. Mabel, now why would Ah sass some other ladies, while yer 'round, eh?"

"Now, that's what I'd like t'know!" Ms. Mabel stood there with her hands on her hips, holding an indignant stern look until Jimmie cracked up. She busted up as well, leaning over weakly as she held onto Jimmie's shoulder with one hand. "Lordy, lordy. One day, Jimmie, I swear I'm gonna take you up on your flirtin' and then what're you gonna do?"

Gallantly, Jimmie lifted her hand off his shoulder and kissed the back of it before letting go. "Why, Ah'm gonna m'rry yew 'fcourse."

Ms. Mabel dismissed Jimmie with a flick of her wrist as she turned to fuss at the girl serving Jimmie. "Now hurry up now, that there is Jimmie Cantrell, soon to be the Rayders' newest commentator," pointing at him.

While Ms. Mabel's back was turned, the customer behind Jimmie jabbed him in the ribs.

"Ouch! Wh' wuz that fer?" Jimmie turned to the irate man in a cowboy hat.

The cowboy sneered. "Yer s'posed t' represent us. How... how cud you flirt with that.. that thang?" He pointed at Ms. Mabel.

"Ms. Mabel's Ms. Mabel. Ain't no thang. Only means s'methang when yer meant ta. Oth'rwise ain't no thang but fun." With a tip of his cap, Jimmie nodded to the cowboy. "Yer oughta try it s'metime. Might make yer 'member how ta smile." Jimmie turned just in time to get the food from the girl. Grinning broadly at both the server and at Ms. Mabel, he took his food and left a nice tip.

Just as he was about to turn up the tunnel that led to his section, Jimmie glanced over to where the fans' teams play. He noticed a bus full of fans rushing through the lot, seemingly at the small arena and then *BOOM!* the bus hit.

Time seemed to slow. Jimmie whipped out his binoc and through them, he could see faces in the windows of the bus, mouths open either in horror or screams. Fists were pounding at the panes and some were cracked enough that a couple of fans were attempting their way through the window.

Jimmie couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. Just then, he realized the orangy things he saw flickering up into his view were flames and at that instant, he heard the crescendoing sound of an itinerance's siren. He felt hope... die when the explosion came.

An unexpected sob bubbled out of him. Around him, people stared in horror at the spectacle unfolding before them.

The fire was spreading to the stands itself. Above, the fans were stampeding with a few falling through the beams of the stands onto the fiery bus. Right above the bus, the beams buckled under the heat of the raging fire.

Someone was tugging on his sleeve. Jimmie looked over and saw a total stranger shouting at him. "C'mon! Let's go help!" Jimmie watched as the stranger ran towards the entrance, tugging at other strangers' sleeves as he went along. He was relieved to see that few others who had been tapped, actually moved. Most like him, stood stunned.

Again time slowed as Jimmie realized that people were pointing past him at the fans' Zingball arena once more. He whipped around in time to see another bus careen into the same stands. This time, he could hear screams of people as fans showered the ground near where the second bus hit. Some, on the lower levels could drag themselves away, Jimmie fancied. But he had no illusions that the ones who fell from the higher tiers had survived, or wanted to.

He saw some fans falling to their deaths, the fall barely retarding the flames engulfing them. He saw others voluntarily jumping to their deaths, rather than risk the inferno that was making its way towards all at the top tiers. In the middle of the stampeding crowd, firefighters and EMS were like salmon swimming against raging waters. They directed people to safer routes, helped fallen ones get to their feet, created safe spaces around ones that couldn't get back up.

Jimmie spotted Raki once or twice with his binoc and marvelled that she could be in the midst of all that and be able to function. Realizing he had stood there for the past 15 minutes with his mouth wide open, Jimmie opened one of the beers he was carrying and chugged it. He looked out again at the carnage.

The stands gave a sudden lurch as one of the major support columns fell in a fiery blaze. Quite a number of fans fell through to the ground, screaming to their deaths.

Jimmie couldn't look any more. He turned around and threw up on the shoes of the person standing behind him. He then ran for it.

Author's Notes #9

Oh, I had to change Raqi's name to Raki last night because it FINALLY hit me that Raqi was an analgram of Iraq and though I want the parallels to today's world as close as possible, I don't want to hit the reader with a sledgehammer. And if I DID end up using her as a symbol for Iraq, I might consider changing it back but for right now, the symbolism is too much to cement down.

So I'm changing the name.

Part 2 - 2/28, Chapter 1a

"...excitement, can't you just feel it? It's the intermission between 1A and 1B of the 1st Quint and still tons of people are milling about outside, finishing up their barbeques. 10 minutes of the game has been played, folks and yet these people'd rather hang out in the parking lot. [Nik grabs a nearby fan.]

"Sir! Can you explain to the world at large [Nik points at the camera] why you're not inside but out here?"

Fan: "Uhhh... I ain't done eatin' yet."

"And there you have it, folks! There are some things more important than the Raydars. And what were you eating sir? [Nik doesn't notice that the fan has bolted] Sir?

"Ah, what's this? There's a bus... driving at a rather fast speed. Is this a publicity stunt no one told me about? What's this? [Camera pans away from Nik to show a speeding bus. Nik's voice is heard a little fainter than before, but still clear.]

"The bus seems to be heading right for that bleacher set up for the fans of fan Zingball. In fact, a game is going on right now, which is partly why there's so many peop... OH MY FRICKIN' SHON! OH GODS! [The bus crashes into a cement pillar that's one of the primary supports for the bleachers] THAT BUS WAS FULL! [Flames start to lick at the impact area; a trail of gas runs out from under the bus - the camera does a quick close-up of the gas, then pans back to show the whole scene, including panicked fans stampeding over each other to leave.]

"OH SHON! SOMEONE HELP THEM! FRICKFRICKFRICKFRICK [The fans inside the bus are bloodied and pounding at the windows. Some are halfway out by squeezing their bodies into tight openings afforded by their pounding.] NO! DON'T JUMP! [The camera swings up to see a fan 30 stories up plummeting to his death.(even Fan Zingball can attract quite a crowd - the ones who couldn't afford to go to the real game.]

"Help... someone, please, help... [The bus exploded spraying out bits of human flesh from the fans who'd been on the bus. Screams came aloud from above the explosion as the fire and smoke caught up to the plentiful remaining fans.] nononononoo.... [Plumes of black smoke rose up from the bus as the supports buckled and strained from the heat of the burning bus.]

"THE WIND! FRICK! IT'S BLOWING THE SMOKE INTO THE BLEACHERS! [Fans were trapped in the stands by the smoke. Descent slowed into a crawl.] OH Sh* .. [sobs are heard as the camera keeps steady on the entire carnage.

Raki got the call mid-bite, as usual. Franklin already had his gear ready, because he suspected as much. The timing was just uncanny. If she got hungry during a game, before she could take 10 bites, a call would come in.

They got the details on the digibrain on the way out of the garage. Bus speeding. Suspected brake trouble. Heading for Fan Zingball bleachers. Trouble. It all just added up to that. Franklin drove, so she went to the back to ready the gear. The itenerance blared its sirens as it weaved through the fans and vehicles quickly.

Franklin turned on the digivision in the cab. Nik Bloom. Sobbing. Not good. Means bus got there already. Whole force should be out for this one.

Raki only chose stuff that Franklin and she would need for people able to move. Even though she couldn't see the digivision, she could envision the scene. Two things could happen. Speeding bus could snap through smaller supports. If so, then bleachers would fall soon after. Or. Speeding bus into cement support. Raki winced. If so, explosion. Then fire. And smoke. Fire-weakened supports. Smoke-filled fans. Add up to bad rescues.

Raki wasn't sure which scenario she'd rather had. But either, rescue had to be fast. Which meant choices. She chose fast over infirm.

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 3b

They walked in silence, Rhondi walking briskly, partially to ensure that she isn't three steps behind Tong literally as well as figuratively. Halfway there, she glanced over and sure enough, Tong had a slight smirk on his face. It was with great restraint that they managed to get to Haverhill's door without incident.

The secretary outside nodded at them to let them know they were expected and Tong gentleman-like opened the door for her to step through first. As she passed him, he whispered, "Just in case someone's in there with a gun, y'know." His grin at her glower just made her more angry.

She wasn't the only one scowling inside the door; greeting them with a deep scowl was Dirk Haverhill, who either saw this meeting as an intrusion, or he detested one or both of them. Tong closed the door behind him and took a seat beside Rhonda after she sat down across from Haverhill.

She waited for one or the other to start but the seconds dragged on with Haverhill's scowl getting deeper. Tong just looked her way, without glancing away. A few more seconds passed before Rhonda realized that Haverhill's gaze was on her as well. Fine! She decided to dispense with politeness. "Tong here wants to know why we need Khaladiff to lay low."

"Why didn't you tell him then?" Haverhill arched his eyebrow into almost right angles.

She glared at Haverhill, wishing her eyes were lasers that could bore holes into the space inside of those right angles masquerading as eyebrows. "Because, Haverhill Sir, you told me that this information is need-to-know only."
"Tong needs to know. So tell him."

"What do you mean he needs to know. The definition of need-to-know is if without this information, he cannot function in his job."

Haverhill leaned to one side to look past Rhonda at Tong, "Can you function in your job without this information?"

"No sir." was said stifling a snort.

"There ya go." Haverhill nodded at Rhonda.

She sputtered. "But Sir... Tong really has no need... I mean..." Rhonda was so pissed off she could spit right into Haverhill's eye. But again she restrained herself. This boys club that she looked in on, but could never enter, was both disgusting and immature to her; then why did she want in so badly?

"Thank you, Sir." went Tong's silky sleazy voice.

"You're welcome. Dismissed." Haverhill turned away from them and started typing into his digibrain.

Argh! There were definitely times when Rhonda just wanted to hurt these two. This whole meeting seemed almost an elaborate set-up just for an infantile little joke but that couldn't be the case, could it? Did Haverhill really want her to disclose their hidden agendas in the Central East region of the Pro-Am Zingball League?

Again, Tong held the door open for her to go through first. As she walked through, he whispered, "Any snipers?" Gods! What is it with these boys and their obsessions with military and weaponry?

They walked back to her office and fuming, she explained to Tong. "Elum's status in the Central East is that of a troublemaker because of how secularly he governs Elum and the Stinging Scorpions. Right now, the Central East is the biggest supplier of Zingball balls. The rubber, hoit, that gives the zingball its zing comes from a special tree that only grows in the Central East region and any attempts at replicating the rubber has only resulted in miserable failures."

"Haverhill has some interests in a zingball manufacturing consortium, which has been sent to scout out some land close to Ukikah. If confirmed that the soil is suitable for massive hoit rubber agriculture, then Haverhill needs to form some suitable trades that will guarantee the Raydars control of that land for the next twenty decades."

"The idea is to form a trade consolidation with Ohmir, Pajosit and Shalkirt - the three city-states that are most amenable to our forms of league rules. The rest need to be turned into some turmoil to remove them from the picture and here's where the Monoliths and its neighboring city-state Harkenal come in."

Rhonda hated disclosing such deals to Tong. She knew that he saw such transactions as merely tools to bring about his needed results - votes that ensured Braun at the ownership helm of the Raydars. Didn't he understand if that if she was able to finish the negotiations for such a deal, that it's the first of its kind to pit Khundinite against Khundinite?

With such a deal, she could ensure that the Raydars would get the best of the best hoit rubber there ever was. Plus, the right deal for imprinting a Raydars logo would probably net Haverhill a cool extra million credits a year. When Haverhill is making a lucrative secret deal, is when Haverhill is happiest, and when Haverhill is happiest is when the management of the Raydars runs the smoothest. And that is the ultimate goal of hers.

And then there was Braun.

Author's Notes #8

Well, I did something last night that I don't normally do in stories like this, but because I'm using Jer's Novel Writer, it's actually possilbe.

I skipped ahead to Part 2, 2/28 Chapter 1 and started there.

I'm now at around 9,000 but it's still slowly being ekked out. That's because I have at least 2 more chapters to finish in Part 1, maybe more. I'm going to have to careful writing.

I'm trudging onward though I'm almost 10,000 words behind and haven't hit my 10,000 word. That should happen sometime today.

Then it's off for a period of about 18 hours to celebrate my birthday - "To Kill a Mockingbird" in Long Beach: it's a play that one of my friends is in and it should be good!.

I have the new kitty sitting on my chest right now and I so dearly want to take a shower but she's snoozin' so comfortably. Yeah, I admit it, I'm a softie.

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 3a

Flicking off the digivision in disgust, Rhonda Ehrle threw the remote across the sofa until it clattered onto the floor. Angrily, she punched the number for her secretary. "Get me Tsunglei!" she barked into the digicom. Within a few seconds, Tsunglei's disembodied voice floated through the device.

"Rhondi dear."

"Don't Rhondi dear me!"

"Oh?" A slight hesitation followed. "From the tone of your voice, I surmise that you are... shall we say pissed off?"
Rhonda scowled at the way his voice trailed off in a higher pitch, to illustrate his amusement at the situation.
Tsunglei continued. "And to what do I owe this displeasure?"

No matter what she did, no matter how many honors she won, whenever Rhonda talked with Tsunglei, she felt like he was mocking her. Here she is, League Liaison, basically the face of the Raydars when it comes to inter- and intra-league transactions and contracts. And she needed Khaladiff not to be pissed off enough to meddle in some of her inter-League dealings with Elum's neighbors.

She needed the Raydars organization to stay off Elum's and thus Khaladiff's radar. Doing a full 10 minute in-depth (well, as in-depth as 10 minutes could be) segment was sure to raise Khaladiff's ire, especially since he had been anxious to keep a low profile ever since there was a report that he had wiped out an entire settlement near the Stinging Scorpions just because they supported the Faithful Monoliths.

This move of Khaladiff had angered not only the Monoliths, but also enemies of the Monoliths, for the Monoliths tended to lump most of the Khundinists city-states together and therefore would step up the fan harassment typical of Pro-Am Zingball League fans. If only members of the Pro-Am League weren't so barbaric... hmm maybe, she should start a program to introduce them to academic music! As someone once said, music does soothe the savage beast.

Rhonda snatched up a memo pad from her desk and wrote a note to herself about funding for the academic music outreach program for Pro-Am Zingball League members. Put on a charity ball to sponsor said program. Rhonda smiled as she lowered the pad; gods, she could be such a genius.

A clearing of the throat barked out of the digicom, startling Rhonda. OH! Tsunglei! She deliberately lowered her voice to give an impression of power, sex and a touch of anger. "Who gave Tessa Bloom permission to do an in-depth look at Moraffa Khaladiff?"

"Oh? was the bored reply.

Her heart beating faster as she got angrier, she repeated, "OH?"

"Tessa Bloom was supposed to have given a report about our new brewery deal. I suppose your Corey West fucked up again."

Rhonda's eyes darted about as she searched for a response. If she responded that West wasn't hers, Tsunglei would ask why did she ask him to hire West then. This was what she hated about Tsunglei Tong, that no conversation with him could ever be a simple thing. It had to be layered with meanings upon meanings, partially to muddle up the issues sufficiently that a non-answer would be answer enough. This was Tong's specialty and Rhonda's weakness. Part of Tong's disdain for Rhonda was that he claimed her approach was as subtle as an elephant's. She gave up trying to second- or triple-guess Tong, "If any outside media approaches with questions, try to distract them with something else please? There's some delicate negotiations that are going on, that we need Khaladiff to stay out of."

"Oh really?"

Rhonda could hear Tong drumming his fingers.

"Well? Are you going to inform me about the negotiations?" Tong seemed impatient.

Startled, Rhonda sputtered, "umm Tsunglei, I can't talk about them. Maybe if you go to Dirk, he'll let you know."

"Fine, I'll meet you in 10 minutes in your office. We will go see Haverhill together." *CLICK*

"Wait!" How in Shon's name did she just get hustled into taking Tong to Dirk? Damnit, damnit, damnit. Why does Braun keep Tong around? Oh she knew all the myriad of reasons but in the end, there was one reason that really mattered to Braun; Tong got him elected to be president of the Raydars and now that Braun was poised to win re-election, Tong was guaranteed not just employment, but highly-placed employment.

Rhonda pondered about the matter a little longer and decided that she'd better nip this idea of Tong's in the bud before he started saying stuff about West in front of Braun. She had to keep reinforcing the idea to Braun that she's available... Rhonda let the thought trail off before she got into trouble. She called Haverhill to let him know about their impending visit.

Sure enough, right at 10 minutes, a knock rapped on her door followed by Tong's nasally drawl. "Ready?"

She nodded as she picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her office was just three doors down from Haverhill's whereas Tong's office was one floor below. Because it bothered Tong so much that his office was located down there as opposed to Braun's, Haverhill's and Rhonda's that Braun deliberately kept Tong's office down there, despite numerous promotions and raises.

Author's Notes #7

One thing's for sure, this year's entries have MUCH longer chapters than last year or the year before. It could be that I'm currently using Jer's Novel Writer and that's why each section of each chapter is so full, but I wonder, would anyone think that a 4700 word chapter be too long? The way I'm sorting out each chapter is POV. Chapter one was told from Drew - the retired Raydars player's POV. Chapter 2 was told from his son's POV (Corey's), so it had to be that long.

It seems I'm ending each chapter with a radio/tv broadcast. That should be interesting.

Also, Bratworse HATES Corey. Calls him a whiny ass titty baby. *snort*

I'm actually trying to make Corey a tad more sympathetic, but it is hard when his char. is screaming wimpify me!

Anyway, enjoy yourself.

All of Chapter 1 is here and all of chapter 2 is here.

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."

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 2d

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."

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 2c

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.

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 2b

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.

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 2a

It took me quite some time to get to writing today. I had a hard time getting into Corey's head but I think I'm finally there. I'm trying to portray him as someone likeable, though he's somewhat spineless. But the lack of insight into Corey's character wasn't the only reason I couldn't spew out words earlier. Our new kitten, Gizi kinda was eye-catching and it didn't help that Bratworse was done with her words for the day and was playing and bonding like crazy with the kitten. But no worries, even though I did finally to hit my mark today of getting 1600+ words, the kitten has decided my lap, under the lapdesk where my laptop is, is the perfect place to conk out for the night. I guess somehow she and I bonded as well. Yay!

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.

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 1

[Author's Notes] I will be posting the entirety of the chapter and putting the links up in the sidebar so that readers can them in sequence, instead of reading the chapter all broken up like the posts are.[/Author's Notes]

"Damn! It's the end of the 4th Quint and people are leaving already?" Corey stood next to his father, Drew West as both looked onto the playing field that disguised a massacre going on. The Raydars were ahead by a score of 75 to 8, and scores of fans were leaving the stadium, in hopes of beating the traffic home.

"What do you expect? The Raydars aren't just the best in the league, but the best equipped with the newest techonologies. Now, if they were playing some good ol' fashioned neighborhood Zing, then I seriously doubt the score would be so lop-sided." Drew sighed. He could see his son's frustration since it was basically his son's job as Acting Liaison to the Fans to ensure the fans stay throughout the five Quints and use their money on Raydars related knick-knacks and food.

A slap on his back swatted the reverie right out of his thoughts. Drew turned around slowly, knowing that the deliberateness of his actions would give hesitation to any fans who assumed a familiarity that wasn't there. Unfortunately, the slapper didn't hesitate; she burst out laughing at his intimidation attempts.

"Andrew West, are you trying to intimidate little ol' me?" The grin on Stace's face was so infectious that Drew caught it immediately.

Even from a distance, the three of them stood out. Drew was a huge bulk of a man; true, he no longer had the physique he had when he was an all-star Center Defender for the Raydars for 14 years, but he wasn't far from it. Truth be told, he was just a bit proud over the fact that it's been 25 years since he's retired from Pro Zingball but nothing about his body gave away the fact that he was close to entering his seventh decade, having just passed his 60th birthday. He stood at a tall 6' 8" and weighed an even 315 pounds, and most of his bulk remained muscles instead of turning into fat.

Both of his offsprings took after their mother, and it was apparent with Corey standing next to Drew. Corey was shorter than Drew by a good six inches, and lankier by a good hundred pounds. Drew knew that his son had always tried to follow in his footsteps, even trying out for the Raydars at one point, but Corey just wasn't fast enough to be a Scorer, large and strong enough to be a Defender, nor sturdy enough to be a Protector. Therefore, when the Raydars organization, out of deference to Drew, offered an insider's job to Corey, Corey jumped on the chance. And to everyone's amazement including Corey himself, Corey was actually good at interacting with both the professionals (the team AND the organization) and the fans.

Stace was another hard-to-miss person. With her shock-white hair that's cropped short, her sturdy and strong form stood between Drew and Corey holding her own. Stace had been a fan of the Raydars ever since she was a little girl fifty something years prior, and had gotten season tickets as soon as she started making her own money. At this particular seat, she had watched the Raydars implode right before Andrew West joined the team, and cheered as Drew and his teammates brought glory and honor back to the Raydars for 14 years. After Drew retired and received his lifelong season tickets to the games as a thank you gift, he found himself seated next to Stace, who wasted no time in telling him exactly what she thought of every player. To his eternal amazement, he realized that very little got past Stace; she had been right about his particular weakness and he wished he had known her before he had retired.

Drew had tried for the first 10 years of his retirement to get Stace a job as a coach, but the discrimination he faced made him understand his daughter, Raqi (Raquel), a lot more and her decision to stay out of semi-professional Zingball. Of his two offsprings, Raqi was the one who got his athletic ability and grace.

A roar from the audience caused the three of them glance towards the playing field. One of the Raydars' Scorers, #33 had one of the balls and was heading at a fast clip towards the goals, surrounded by four Protectors. The other Raydar's Scorer, #26 also had a ball, rendering the Shooting Stars' offense moot. #26 was also surrounded by four Protectors. Drew took a closer look.

Ah, the Raydars were showing off now, hence the roar of approval from the remaining fans. Since the opposing team's offense has been rendered useless, as well as the Raydar's defense, the Raydar's offensive team was having a blast on the field, passing the two balls back and forth between the two Scorers, using the walls to do a two to three-way bank pass. Hoots and whistles would follow the trajectory arc of each ball, resulting in a weird round robin echo around the huge stadium.

With the rise of the noise around them, Drew made a face at Stace, displaying his displeasure. These types of celebrations in concert with the Raydars' showing off just proved ever more to Drew that his team no longer existed; what was left was this mockery of its former self. Yet his son reveled along with the fans, seeing their celebration as vindication of his efforts as Acting Liaison to the Fans.

Stace folded her arms and tapped her foot, drumming her fingers on her upper arm. "Where is that nephew of mine?"

A little crushed, Corey turned to Stace and to Drew's wincing eyes, seemed to whine at her, "Aww, Stace, you're not leaving before the game ends, are ya?"

Stace harrumphed. "As if Jimmie would ever let us leave before the last firework is set in the parking lot."

Drew smiled at her; Stace liked to act as if it was all because of her nephew Jimmie that they had to stay for all the parking lot revelries after a game but he knew better. He'd seen her drink guys thrice her size under the car. Corey brightened up just as someone nearby screamed out "HELP!"

All three snapped their heads toward the voice. "It's Mrs. Hongjin!" Stace cried out.

Sure enough, Mrs. Hongjin was the one who had apparently screamed, for she was waving her hands frantically. She saw that the three had heard her and yelled out, "Jiasing, heart attack!" Corey lept and scrambled over the half emptied seats to get to her as he barked an order over his shoulder at his father: "Call Raqi!"

Drew had his handheld out already and before Corey reached Mr. Hongjin, Drew had Raqi on the other end. "Raqi. Heart attack, 15 rows from my seat." A click was the answer he got.

He saw that Stace was making her way over to help out and he too, went but using a less vertically challenged route. Ignoring requests for autographs, he soon got to the fallen man and saw that Corey had started CPR already. Stace was steadying Mrs. Hongjin so Drew took crowd control. Muscling some onlookers with a little sweep of his massive arms, he moved the crowd back all the while apologizing with "Sorry, gotta do this."

By the time he had widened a large arc of the circle, Raqi and her EMT partner Franklin showed up with defibrillator in hand and stretcher in tow. The pride with which he was watching his daughter work must've been apparent because soon, he felt a dig in his ribs. Of course it was Stace, who gave a quick nod over at Corey. Drew saw the look of disappointment on his son's face and he wanted to take everything that had happened in the past four minutes back.

Drew had tried all Corey's life to make Corey know and understand that Drew loved and respected him but he could neither disguise his feelings for his daughter nor could he assuage Corey's hurt. Despite the guilt he felt, he couldn't help but admire the fluidity with which his daughter approached all tasks. Even mistakes she made, a stumble here, a drop there, would turn gracefully into an interpretation of a pirouette or arabesque. The world, compared with his daughter, waddled and stumbled through life. He had seen people just stop in the middle of walking and watch her work for minutes, speechless.

His poor son could only envy his agile sister. Through hard work, he had molded himself into a decent Zingball player - just not major league level and barely minor league. He had played for the Merlions for two years before both the organization and he decided it was mutually beneficial for him to discontinue his contribution to the team. At least that was what both said publically.

After Raqi and Franklin stabilized Mr. Hongjin, they got him on the stretcher. Pausing before Drew, Raqi asked, "Dad, could you help clear the way for us?"

"With pleasure." Without even moving his hand, just by walking through the crowd, they parted before his towering form. His sheer bulk intimidated them. He could hear Raqi behind him whispering, "I see you, Dad, you're puffing yourself up to make yourself seem bigger. I know that trick. You used to scare off my boyfriends with that trick."

Grinning with his voice but not his face, Drew whispered back, "You'd rather have more business? You know I'd hurt these fragile ones."

A poke in his back just made Drew happier.

*****
"Whoowee, did you just see that shot? That ball must've ricocheted off a helmet, a back guard, two walls before Raydars #33 scooped up the ball. The helmet belonged to Shooting Star's #86 and the back? Well, let's just say, the Shooting Stars will soon run out of official Defenders if they keep not avoiding the ricochets. Yes! They just managed to get him off the field despite the deliberateness of the Raydars playing around their medical team. And oh no, the Raydars Shooters are already lining ther replacement #91 up for shots. The Raydars seem content to leave the score at 75 to 8, and what's that I spot? The Shooting Stars are just being toyed with, folks.

Wait... waitaminnit... what's this? YES! #77 of the Shooting Stars has managed to knock one of the balls back into the neutral zone and #56 of the Shooting Stars has picked it up. He's trying to quickly reach the Shooting Star's zone, to prevent any of the offensive Raydars from further pursuit - Ah no!

#56 is down folks. A Raydar Protector came out of nowhere and walloped #56 across his stomach. I didn't even get to see which one it was, he disappeared into the pack so fast. Yup, #33 has the ball again.

One last bit of news before we go to a commercial break... we just received word that the fan who had collapsed at the beginning of the 5th Quint has been stabilized and is on his way to the hospital, thanks to the quick and efficient work of the West family. And before we take the three minute break between 5a and 5b, we want to remind you that Raydars gear are available at a store within 500 yards of you. If not, we will mail you merchandise and pay for the shipping ourselves! This is Nik Bloom, stay tuned for some important messages from our sponsors."

Part 1 - Pre 2/28, Chapter 1C

With the rise of the noise around them, Drew made a face at Stace, displaying his displeasure. These types of celebrations in concert with the Raydars' showing off just proved ever more to Drew that his team no longer existed; what was left was this mockery of its former self. Yet his son reveled along with the fans, seeing their celebration as vindication of his efforts as Acting Liaison to the Fans.

Stace folded her arms and tapped her foot, drumming her fingers on her upper arm. "Where is that nephew of mine?"
A little crushed, Corey turned to Stace and to Drew's wincing eyes, seemed to whine at her, "Aww, Stace, you're not leaving before the game ends, are ya?"

Stace harrumphed. "As if Jimmie would ever let us leave before the last firework is set in the parking lot."

Drew smiled at her; Stace liked to act as if it was all because of her nephew Jimmie that they had to stay for all the parking lot revelries after a game but he knew better. He'd seen her drink guys thrice her size under the car. Corey brightened up just as someone nearby screamed out "HELP!"

All three snapped their heads toward the voice. "It's Mrs. Hongjin!" Stace cried out.

Sure enough, Mrs. Hongjin was the one who had apparently screamed, for she was waving her hands frantically. She saw that the three had heard her and yelled out, "Jiasing, heart attack!" Corey lept and scrambled over the half emptied seats to get to her as he barked an order over his shoulder at his father: "Call Raqi!"

Drew had his handheld out already and before Corey reached Mr. Hongjin, Drew had Raqi on the other end. "Raqi. Heart attack, 15 rows from my seat." A click was the answer he got.

He saw that Stace was making her way over to help out and he too, went but using a less vertically challenged route. Ignoring requests for autographs, he soon got to the fallen man and saw that Corey had started CPR already. Stace was steadying Mrs. Hongjin so Drew took crowd control. Muscling some onlookers with a little sweep of his massive arms, he moved the crowd back all the while apologizing with "Sorry, gotta do this."

By the time he had widened a large arc of the circle, Raqi and her EMT partner Franklin showed up with defibrillator in hand and stretcher in tow. The pride with which he was watching his daughter work must've been apparent because soon, he felt a dig in his ribs. Of course it was Stace, who gave a quick nod over at Corey. Drew saw the look of disappointment on his son's face and he wanted to take everything that had happened in the past four minutes back.

Drew had tried all Corey's life to make Corey know and understand that Drew loved and respected him but he could neither disguise his feelings for his daughter nor could he assuage Corey's hurt. Despite the guilt he felt, he couldn't help but admire the fluidity with which his daughter approached all tasks. Even mistakes she made, a stumble here, a drop there, would turn gracefully into an interpretation of a pirouette or arabesque. The world, compared with his daughter, waddled and stumbled through life. He had seen people just stop in the middle of walking and watch her work for minutes, speechless.

His poor son could only envy his agile sister. Through hard work, he had molded himself into a decent Zingball player - just not major league level and barely minor league. He had played for the Merlions for two years before both the organization and he decided it was mutually beneficial for him to discontinue his contribution to the team. At least that was what both said publically.

After Raqi and Franklin stabilized Mr. Hongjin, they got him on the stretcher. Pausing before Drew, Raqi asked, "Dad, could you help clear the way for us?"

"With pleasure." Without even moving his hand, just by walking through the crowd, they parted before his towering form. His sheer bulk intimidated them. He could hear Raqi behind him whispering, "I see you, Dad, you're puffing yourself up to make yourself seem bigger. I know that trick. You used to scare off my boyfriends with that trick."

Grinning with his voice but not his face, Drew whispered back, "You'd rather have more business? You know I'd hurt these fragile ones."

A poke in his back just made Drew happier.

*****
"Whoowee, did you just see that shot? That ball must've ricocheted off a helmet, a back guard, two walls before Raydars #33 scooped up the ball. The helmet belonged to Shooting Star's #86 and the back? Well, let's just say, the Shooting Stars will soon run out of official Defenders if they keep not avoiding the ricochets. Yes! They just managed to get him off the field despite the deliberateness of the Raydars playing around their medical team. And oh no, the Raydars Shooters are already lining ther replacement #91 up for shots. The Raydars seem content to leave the score at 75 to 8, and what's that I spot? The Shooting Stars are just being toyed with, folks.

Wait... waitaminnit... what's this? YES! #77 of the Shooting Stars has managed to knock one of the balls back into the neutral zone and #56 of the Shooting Stars has picked it up. He's trying to quickly reach the Shooting Star's zone, to prevent any of the offensive Raydars from further pursuit - Ah no!

#56 is down folks. A Raydar Protector came out of nowhere and walloped #56 across his stomach. I didn't even get to see which one it was, he disappeared into the pack so fast. Yup, #33 has the ball again.

One last bit of news before we go to a commercial break... we just received word that the fan who had collapsed at the beginning of the 5th Quint has been stabilized and is on his way to the hospital, thanks to the quick and efficient work of the West family. And before we take the three minute break between 5a and 5b, we want to remind you that Raydars gear are available at a store within 500 yards of you. If not, we will mail you merchandise and pay for the shipping ourselves! This is Nik Bloom, stay tuned for some important messages from our sponsors."