After the Second Fall

Laying on her back, still in shock, Rosie assessed her condition. Her throat was hoarse from screaming, she couldn't lift her arms at the moment, and she was fairly certain she had strained a muscle in her abdomen. Focusing her eyes, she looked up at Pip, who seemed awfully proud of himself. "That was a good start," she rasped, "but your technique could use a little work. We'd better keep practicing... but not tonight. Wouldn't want to wear you out for tomorrow."

Pip just smiled and pulled her up onto his chest as he laid down. "Goodnight, Gorgeous," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Sleep well."

The next morning Pip woke alone, as expected, given that Rosie had early rounds most days; he was still smiling as he went to find Maggie. He was fortunate to locate her as she moved between appointments.

"Hey, Maggie," he called. Turning at the sound of her name, her whole face came alive when she saw him. Dropping the bag she was carrying, Maggie ran down the hall and jumped into his arms, except she didn't quite make it given how tall Pip was. Instead, Pip reached down and caught her, lifting her up to give her a good morning kiss. "Missed you last night." Maggie's already broad smile widened further.

"Rosie wasn't enough for you then?" she teased. When he didn't rise to her ribbing, she asked, "What's up? It's usually me coming to find you."

"Actually, I need your opinion," he started. "You didn't see Rosie yet this morning?" When she shook her head, he continued, "Director Collins wants me to get a tattoo." Maggie's eyes lit up, excited at the prospect. "The thing is, it's pretty... intense, and I wanted your opinion before I say 'yes'."

"Aw, Pip -- thank you for thinking of me, but Rosie's the one whose opinion matters."

Pip shook his head vehemently. "I know you see this whole First-Second thing as being important, but you're both my girls. I don't think I can intentionally treat you differently, so I'm not even going to try."

Maggie's smile faltered and her lip quivered. "Thank you, Pip, that means a lot to me." She took a deep breath. "What is the tattoo?"

"I'd like to show you, actually. Director Collins had them draw it on me so that you and Rosie could see."

"Wait, she knows about Rosie and me? Why?"

"She was there when I met Rosie, and kind of helped push us together. I just told her about you yesterday when this tattoo thing came up."

"Pip, I swear to the Lord, if you keep saying such sweet things to me, I'm going to jump you here in the hallway. Just show me the design already."

Pip set her down and pulled his shirt over his head, feeling self-conscious again. Whatever Maggie had been expecting, this wasn't it, and her sharp intake of breath let him know that fact. Quickly recovering, she walked slowly around him, admiring the detail. When she completed her circuit she looked up at Pip. "It's perfect: Direct Collins is brilliant." Pip raised his eyebrows, so she elaborated. "Somehow, it's dark and light at the same time. It's just... breathtaking."

"Thanks, Mags."

"Do you want me to find a stand-in for my next appointment? I would love to spend some time exploring it in detail."

"No, you go ahead," he said chuckling. "I have to go back to the guy who is going to do this thing. They made is sound like it will take all day."

"I don't doubt it. Rosie and I will come see you this evening; you're probably going to be pretty sore."

"Yeah, probably. Thanks again, Maggie."

With a last kiss she floated back down the hallway, retrieved her bag, and disappeared around the corner with a parting wave.

That night Pip did seem to hurt all over, but he managed to get to sleep with the aid of anti-inflammatories and some tender care from the ladies. Even better, Max gave him the next two days off from training to heal.

With his new look, Pip noticed people in the Complex -- and even other Adams -- staring, much more than before. They all knew what had happened in the fight with Ranger, and the aggressive haircut and ink seemed to solidify the image of a dangerous man in their minds. Pip found himself alternating between liking the attention and dreading it, sometimes strutting with his chest out, and other times slouching beneath a hooded overshirt. Even then he stood out, not quite tall enough to be an Adam, and yet bigger than everyone else. The solitary nature of his life started to weigh on him in his downtime. Adams were almost exclusively loners: who wanted to make friends with other Adams that you might be asked to kill? And yet, how could a man relate to him? Pip began to see the value in the PET ladies, and depended heavily on Rosie and Maggie to keep his mood from dipping too low. Even so, they had other responsibilities, as did he, so he was often by himself.

Laying in bed, battered from an especially brutal workout that Max had devised, Pip started to daydream. In particular, he thought about what he wanted in his life, and from his life. Glory, fame, family -- what was it that drove him?

The next day, following a staged workout in which Director Collins' team recorded video after video, he approached the woman herself. "Excuse me, ma'am? I would like to speak with you for a short while, if you can spare the time."

Director Collins couldn't help but smile at his formality. "Yes, Pip -- how may I help you?"

"Actually, ma'am, I'm feeling pretty stifled here in the Complex. I'm not exactly sure how to frame this, but all I do is fight and recuperate. It's a little surprising to me, but the work with you has been a nice change." Director Collins nodded in acknowledgement as he continued. "I don't feel like my life is my own, and that bothers me."

"How so?" she asked, turning serious.

"I tried to think of what motivates me -- why I do what I do. All I could come up with is that this," he opened his arms, indicating the courtyard and surrounding buildings, "is what I was made to do, so I do it." He paused for emphasis. "It's my purpose, and I accept it, but I feel like there should be more to me than just trying to kill opponents one at a time."

The Director was concerned: Adams were always most satisfied in the Arena, squaring off to determine who was stronger, faster. Pip really was an oddity, and she was not certain how to appease him. "I'll be honest, Pip, I don't know what to tell you. I understand what you're saying, but I'm not sure what we can do. I assume you have something in mind?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. I would like to try new things, and see if any of them really... speak to me." Lilith raised her eyebrows questioningly, but didn't say anything, giving Pip time to continue on his own. When he did, his tone was wistful. "I read books, watch programs, and I can't really relate to any of it on a personal level. Athletics, sightseeing, meeting new people -- none of it." He took another steadying breath before continuing. "I'm going to die in the Arena, Director Collins, maybe sooner than later. I would really like to find who I am before that happens."

The gears of Lilith's mind turned, creating, evaluating, and subsequently rejecting ideas in quick succession. "You know, this could actually work for us," she said, although her latest idea was still only partially formed. "Give me a few days and let me work out some possibilities. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely," Pip said grinning.

It actually took nine days and dozens of conversations before Lilith was able to work through the minutia. At the end of it, she thought Pip would be pleased, and was excited to break the news. Walking with John toward Pip's room, she said, "How should we do this? Do you want to tell him?"

"Nope. You're the one that did the work, take the credit. He'll thank you for it forever."

"You're that sure he'll like what we have planned?"

"Definitely, but to be honest, I think he would go for almost anything to break the monotony of this place. I told you he was different. Besides, do you remember how much fun he had when we took the race bikes out?"

"Don't remind me. If he gets hurt during one of these outings, I think the Executive Director is actually going to kill me."

"So why do it?" asked John, genuinely curious.

"It's too good an opportunity to pass up," she replied guiltily. "I was going to hype him up and show him off in controlled environments, but to do it in real, uncertain situations will go over much better with the public. People will actively want to know what he's doing; it will become the main gossip subject for men and women alike -- it really is perfect. So long as he buys in, of course."

Pip was ecstatic at the prospect of the plan Lilith laid out, wanting to get started immediately. However, due to the need for logistics, security, and other details Pip didn't really listen to, it wasn't until six days later that Pip and John rode out of the back entrance of the Complex, once again on their race bikes.

Chapter 11

"I'll be honest, John," said Pip as they stood outside Rieckenburg's Central Ballsport Stadium, "I'm a bit nervous."

"How is that even possible? You kill people for a living, and you're scared of a bunch of guys half your size?"

"No, I didn't mean them; I've never done this kind of thing before. What if I'm not any good and let Director Collins down, or mess up her plans?"

John shrugged, "Sure, that's a possibility, but I don't think it's very likely. Besides, you told the Director that you wanted to live a fuller life, and what's life without risk, right?"

"Yeah, okay. So how does this work?"

"It's pretty simple. Ballsport is played on a pitch, and it's square, with about twenty of your paces on a side. In the center of each side is a net that's about three paces wide. The goal is to keep the three opposing sides from putting a ball into your net, while you try to move it into theirs."

Pip nodded his understanding. "So me against three others?"

John laughed, "No, Pip. This is a team sport with twelve members on each team. Some of them stay back near the net to keep the ball out: these are called defenders, or the defense. The rest are called attackers, or strikers, or just generally the offense."

"What will I be doing?"

"We'll talk with the team's coordinator, but I think probably defense to start. I'm a little concerned that you'll kill somebody if you're on the attack."

"You can fight?" Pip asked, confused.

"Not as such, but there really aren't many rules, so anything shy of actually punching or kicking someone intentionally is acceptable. For example, you can throw yourself into your opponents, and it's fine. Anyway, don't worry about the details just now. I am surprised that you haven't seen a video of this before."

"Never really took an interest," Pip replied, "since it didn't seem like something I'd be able to do. I mostly only follow the news reports to see what is going on outside the Complex. Other than that, I might have heard about a few of the team names, but that's it."

"Third Quarter West?" Pip shook his head. "Not surprised. They're the newest team -- about five years old, I think -- and definitely the worst. I am pretty sure they've been the first or second team eliminated in each of their matches."

"Eliminated, as in death?" asked Pip, hoping it wasn't that severe.

"No, sorry; I keep forgetting the terms don't necessarily make sense without context. When another team puts the ball into your net, your team forfeits the match. That's what eliminated means here."

Still feeling unsure, Pip walked into the stadium with John. The structure itself was constructed from concrete with a brick facade on the side with the main entrance. There were seats on each side, rising up several rows, which would allow more than two thousand spectators to witness events. The pitch was set below the level of the first row of seats, and was as John described, with solid walls on all four sides, broken only by a double door behind each net. Just inside the wall closest to where they entered was a middle aged man holding a white ball. Upon seeing them he waved, and the two started over.

Reaching the wall in front of the lowest seats, Pip barely hesitated in hopping over and into the arena. The drop was about the same as John's height, but Pip squeezed time just before he hit to make sure he landed softly, causing the man's eyes to widen. John, somewhat less confident in his ability to land gracefully, took the stairs leading to the corridor opening behind the net.

"Hi, Paul," he said upon reaching the two. "Don't mind Pip -- he's just showing off."

"No worries," the man replied in a gravelly but cheerful voice. Paul was short and stocky compared to most men, with a lopsided nose and an uneven grin. He was missing part of his left ear and favored his left leg when they began to casually walk around the perimeter. "I didn't really think they was serious when they told me how big you'd be," he said, addressing Pip. "I'm glad you's on our side."

Over the next two bells, leading up to a team practice, Paul filled Pip in on the finer points of the game. Pip found the entire experience fascinating, especially that men put so much effort into a contest without significant consequences. Much like his own training, there were specific techniques to use for attacking and defending, as well as counter techniques to respond to opponents. An additional parallel was that the contestants were frequently hurt during matches, sometimes seriously. Given the depressed economic state of Rieckenburg and the overall food situation, a significant injury could mean that a particular player might not be able to work for some time afterward. All of this for a small monetary reward and what Paul called 'bragging rights.' Pip's inquiries on this topic amused and then frustrated the man, so Pip gave up trying to understand the 'why,' instead focusing on the 'what.'

The start of practice brought the expected awe, usually accompanied with a colorful curse. At John's urging, Pip used the Effect to keep from injuring anyone, instead softening hits or avoiding them altogether. When it ended, Pip's new teammates were genuinely excited about the upcoming match; in addition to the clear advantage of his size, Pip was obviously the most athletic player on the field on the basis of speed, quickness, and strength.

In addition to learning the rules and basic strategies of what was a fundamentally simple game, Pip's abilities while using the Effect increased demonstrably in a remarkably short time. Having to keep track of multiple players simultaneously while also working as part of a team was entirely new to Pip; doing it while time was moving at a slower rate tested him, and it took most of the first bell until he started to anticipate properly. He also started developing what might have been called a sixth sense -- if his ability to manipulate time hadn't already filled that role -- in that he could almost feel when someone was behind him.

Riding back to the Complex, Pip wasn't any more talkative than usual, but John could tell that the young Adam had enjoyed himself: his body language said he was relaxed, and the corner of his mouth kept turning up, either reflecting on some incident during the practice session or looking forward to the upcoming contest. Either way, Pip looked comfortable with himself, which had not been common in the recent past.

All it took, John reflected ironically, was for him to have the opportunity to beat up on smaller men. John immediately regretted this thought as unworthy of Pip. After all, Pip had beat up a bigger Adam recently, and didn't take any joy from that whatsoever. No, it was likely the sense of comradery that had already started to develop by the end of the practice; John had actually had to intervene when Pip tried to accept an invitation to accompany the team back to a bar in the Third Quarter.

Three days later, John was once again sitting with Lilith to watch Pip perform, this time as part of Third Quarter West. Pip's team stood barefoot, dressed in scarlet, but not uniformly, as each player had chosen what to wear. Most had on long shorts and sleeveless shirts, while Pip and several others had opted to go shirtless. For Pip, this was actually Director Collins' suggestion, a clear attempt to draw attention to him.

Directly across the pitch was a team in gray called VTE, short for Vigorous-Tenacious-Enduring; the lack of color denoted that they were a mixed squad, with members from throughout the city. On the left were Rieckenburg Q2, dressed in dark blue, the reigning champions. On the right, also from the Second Quarter, was Center Second dressed in light blue, Q2's chief rivals. It was obvious, even to a casual fan like Lilith, that the members of Pip's team were not generally as large, nor as disciplined, as the members of the other teams. On the other hand, the men dressed in scarlet looked confident and had an energy about them that the other teams lacked. Small wonder, really, given that Pip stood at the front. With his imposing size and incredible musculature, accented by thin scarlet bands around both arms and a third around his forehead, as well as the huge black tattoo, he looked truly frightening.

Looking at the four corners of the pitch, Director Collins reassured herself one final time that her media team was in place to capture the game. Like most of them, this match would be broadcast live; however, the addition of the Complex's Public Relations team would make this a more professional looking event for viewers not in physical attendance.

As the head referee and his four assistants walked onto the pitch, the crowd came to life, shouting for their respective teams. Fully at the stadium's capacity, the noise was something that she had only previously heard during particularly raucous protests some ten years before. Lilith felt a thrill rush up her spine and down her arms, and instinctively sat forward in her seat while grabbing John's knee.

John frequently attended these games and was not so affected, but he did smile at Lilith's anxiety. "He'll be alright," he said, patting her hand. Lilith nodded, but didn't remove her hand, which tightened when a whistle blew to start the game.

Contrary to John's prediction, Pip started as an attacker and raced across the pitch. With his longer legs and superior athleticism, he reached the ball first, but rather than reaching down to pick it up, he kicked it forcefully with his bare foot without breaking stride into the face of the closest gray shirted opponent, who immediately dropped backward, stunned. While the rest of the players were watching the upward path of the ball, Pip hurled himself sideways into a wall of gray, taking three players over backwards in a tangle of limbs. By the time Pip got back on his knees, his teammates had shown up and were actively tackling the standing gray shirts that had rushed forward.

Meanwhile, the dark blue squad picked up the ball and rushed toward the gray net, sensing a chance to quickly eliminate an opponent. They formed a six man wedge with the ball carrier in the center of the back row. Their light blue rivals soon joined in, swelling the wedge size to eleven. The man at the front, huge and dark, bellowed what could easily pass for a war cry as they crashed into the gray defenders. The entire crowd gasped as the gray team was driven back into their net, despite their best efforts. When it became clear that the ball had indeed entered the goal, the head referee blew his whistle.

While the assistant referees rushed over to untangle bodies, the crowd continued to cheer; even the fans cheering for the gray side applauded the valiant defense. When it was sorted, three men still laid on the pitch, too injured to rise. Stretchers quickly came into the arena to carry them off. As the gray team filed out, three more men exited the pitch nursing injuries of their own. The two blue teams were brought back to their full compliments by substitutes; no one from Pip's new team had been injured significantly during the first exchange.