The Highest Frontier (49 page)

Jenny rushed to the door but it would not open. “Tom!” She pounded the door with her palms. “Tom, open up! It’s not true, it’s not—”

In her toybox, Tom’s window went blank.

*   *   *

Jenny was devastated. She spent the night waking and crying, then drifting into troubled sleep. The next morning she could not get out of bed. Yola called at last, frantic over her missing the required optional practice. “Jenny, what on earth’s wrong?”

“Feeling sick,” she muttered.

“Well, for heaven’s sake get better. You’re our secret weapon.”

Jenny half smiled. “I know.”

“Get plenty of sleep, remember.”

She lay on her back, watching the blank ceiling. The depth of loss swept over her again. At last she blinked for the mental.

The Monroe smiled as usual, her eyelids fluttering. “Jenny, you’ve been doing
so
well.”

“How can I get him back?”

Monroe pointed an exquisite finger. “That’s for
you
to find out. First, love is always a puzzle. But you can work it out.” Her words trailed off in song. “I’m through with love … I’ll never fall again … For I must love you or no one…”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jenny turned over and back to oblivion.

The next time she roused, it was an EMS call for a grandmother on a farm near the Ohio River. Out the farmhouse window in the afternoon light chorused peepers, while Jenny stroked the woman’s hand and let Charlie take the scanscope readings. Afterward she checked the readings to make sure. “Good job,” she told him.

Charlie beamed. “Hey, maybe I’ll amount to something.”

“Sure you will. You and Tom were great knights, remember. Saved the day.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be a knight again, at the castle.”

The Castle Cockaigne; the great Feast of Fools, the Kearns-Clark twins had promised at midseason. Wednesday next week, just before October Break. Jenny looked forward to it; she’d even looked into her costume. She’d planned on going with Tom. The thought of Tom nearly brought tears again, but she bit her lip and squeezed shut her eyes.

Once the patient was stabilized at the Barnside, Jenny walked home with Charlie. “What’s got into Tom?” Charlie and Tom were best friends, she knew. “Why won’t he answer? He even did that painting—”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Then what’s he mad about?”

Charlie shook his head. “He thinks he’s not good enough for you.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Like a soap toyworld. Look, I’m the judge of that. He will come back, won’t he?”

“Jenny, I’m sure he’ll come back.” Charlie added in a low voice, “And if he doesn’t, there’s other guys.”

She patted his arm. “Thanks, Charlie, you’re a good friend.” Still, she felt hollow inside.

Then suddenly angry. What right did Tom have to make her feel like this—after making up to her for weeks. How could a random-born
chico
just flip a switch like that? That no-good Y chromosome.

*   *   *

After checking all her wisdom plants in Reagan Hall, completing Roosevelt’s plans to build a canal in Nicaragua or Panama, and reviewing Coach’s report on the Angels team, Jenny got to bed early enough. Deep into sleep, she was woken once again. To her surprise, it was Yola.

“No EMS—I turned it off,” she objected sleepily. What was Yola doing this late Saturday, with the shuttle to Rapture leaving early Sunday?

Yola looked distracted. “I can’t get him down, and Dean Kwon can’t either. Can you try?”

A Bulls sophomore was stuck atop the cloud ladder, eyes glazed, with a “lost in the toyworld” look. His name was Fritz, one of the dozen Fritzes she knew. He yelled unsteadily, “I’m going to ju-ump!”

By the time Jenny got there, Travis Tharp and three other maintenance men, plus half the Bulls club members, were gathered around the ladder, staring up. Dean Kwon gave Jenny a look. “He’s got relationship issues.”

“Why me?” insisted Jenny.

“You’re the better talker,” said Yola. “I can’t talk at him; I’m too mad.”

“Why not his bros?”

“They tried already. He just climbed higher.”

“Can’t the medibot get him?”

“They’re afraid he’ll jump.”

Jenny searched the name and opened a window. A freckle-faced guy, kind of pale, with eyes unfocused. She blinked for the old talk-them-down script; it had been a few years. “Hey, Fritz,
amigo.
I’m coming up for a chat, okay?”

“Go away.”

“Okay,
amigo,
but first can I hear your story? Please? Just the two of us, okay?”

No response. One foot after another, Jenny climbed, shivering in the nighttime breeze. Out in the dark called an owl, a long echoing call, the kind of owl that feasted on peepers. Climbing the cloud ladder at night, with a medibot hovering ominously near, was not where she’d ever planned to be.

“Go on,”
encouraged Yola.
“He’s let no one else that close.”

At last she neared the rung of his feet. His arms cradled the ladder like a
novia.
“She’s gone,” he whimpered, voice slurred. “She won’t come back.”

“Hey, I know how you feel.” Jenny opened the scanscope; if he let her snap it round his ankle, he would sober right up. “Hey,
amigo,
may I just fix your foot,
¿por favor?
”

Waiting it out, he finally came to and was coaxed to climb down. In the corner of her box, Jenny checked the time. Three
A.M.
—just ten hours till jump ball at Rapture.

40

Jenny got out Sunday morning with four hours’ sleep; just soon enough to scarf down some amyloid from her printer and catch the shuttle below. Her head throbbed, but her toybox woke her up when she started to nod. As she filed onto the anthrax lift with her teammates, she avoided looking at Coach at all. Slumping into a seat, she strapped herself down and willed herself asleep again.

The next thing she knew, Fran was nudging her awake. Nearing the Rapture spacehab, Coach gave their final prep talk on the opposition.

He jabbed a finger at the virtual cage hovering in the aisle. “Here’s their center, Number Seven.” A player appeared, like a finger doll. A young man with snub-nosed face and straight blond hair precisely cropped beneath his slancap.

Yola murmured, “Immaculate Conception.”

Jenny frowned, and Ken elbowed Yola in the rib. They could see Coach was in no mood for jokes.

“Number Seven has the highest scoring percentage. Yola, you keep on him.”

“Right, Coach.”

“Downside for Number Seven: To keep his percentage high, he stays down in the cap zone; never tries for a three-pointer.” Coach jabbed again. Another player, broader shoulders, legs a bit splayed. “Fran, you’ve got Number Twenty-one. He’s their outside shooter.”

“You bet, Coach.”

Down the list of players, until at last the goalie, Number 13. “Number Thirteen didn’t give up one goal in his last three games.”

Charlie raised a tentative hand. “This sounds dumb, I know, but, like, where are their
chicas
?” Division rules mandated an even ratio on the team.

Coach nodded. “As some of you recall from last year, Whitcomb maintains the largest roster allowed, including women. But they never field them.”

“Paulines all,” explained Yola. “You’ll see them on the bench.”

Charlie’s face scrunched, as if trying to grapple with a tough problem. “I know I’m just dense, but where I come from the uber-Christians are, like, ‘chivalrous’ to women. How do they cope with women players?”

Coach pursed his lips, weighing his choice of words.

Fran and Yola smirked at each other. “We’re just pagans,” said Fran. “We don’t count.”

At that Coach frowned. “Enough already. Tough players deserve our respect, no matter what. But believe me, expect no chivalry.”

Kendall let out a breath. “Believe me, we won’t.”

“Goalie Thirteen,” reminded Coach. “He deflects every shot, no matter how fast. How to get past this guy.” His fingers drummed on the clipboard. “Our only chance is surprise.”

Everyone looked at Jenny.

Yola reflected. “I don’t know, Coach. When they find out…”

“No chivalry doesn’t begin to describe it,” finished Kendall.

“I’ll do it,” said Jenny. “For the team.”

*   *   *

Rapture was a more recent spacehab, built twenty years after Frontera. Twice as large, with a double-thick hull, it had solved substratum overflow and other engineering problems that dogged the older spacehab. As Jenny came up from their entry, her eyes winced in the unaccustomed summer-level light. Twice as bright as the Frontera daylight she’d grown used to, it consumed ten times the power. At the far end of the hab, the casino complex was built as a scale model of ancient Jerusalem, from the Pool of Siloam to the Golden Gate, with the temple arising on the original hill. The Holyland Hotel and Worship Center.

“Holy smoke,” muttered Charlie.

Grinning, Yola punched him in the side. “Wait till you see their cheerleaders.”

The cloud ladder would take forever, Jenny thought. But in fact, there was a motorized amyloid stairway to heaven. In two minutes they were up in the clouds, looking out upon the gleaming rooftops of Jerusalem. The clouds pulsed in artful patterns of white and gold, like the edge of God’s robe.

An enormous crowd was gathering all around the cage. It was the usual regulation size, but the audience tube was set farther out to accommodate a greater number of seats. Nearly every seat was full; an astonishing home turnout. To her relief Jenny located the small brave contingent from Frontera with a Great Bear banner. The Kearns-Clark dad wore a bear suit. As Frontera’s team arrived, he stood up on his seat and growled.

Trumpets blared and echoed from the distant farmlands. As the fanfare soared, angels began to arise from the cloud. Gigantic robed forms, white with gold-edged wings, the virtual spectacle grew till it nearly filled the hab.
“Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth.…”
Their song pounded in Jenny’s ears.

“Cheerleaders,”
texted Yola.

The Bears this time wore purple with white stars. The Angels, half again as many as Bears, came out in white trimmed with gold, and their three coaches wore white suit and tie. Women players sat on the bench, bonnets over their slancaps. A priest led the team in a prayer circle.

“Hey Ken,”
texted Charlie,
“won’t Coach give us a blessing?”

“He won’t,”
returned Ken.
“Separation of church and game.”

“We’re sunk,” groaned Charlie in Jenny’s ear.

The national anthem; the hovering choir sang it beautifully. Everyone paused to listen. For a moment, Jenny had a prickly feeling that the audience, team, and angels were all part of one something.

At long last Yola faced off with Number 7. The sudden hush took her breath away. Even the heavenly host was still.

The game got off to a good start. Fran and Yola zigzagged all the way down the cage and got in some fancy passes, and David got a straight shot to the goal. David had practiced shooting like crazy all week, and his hard work paid off.

Except the ball did not go in. A straight fast shot that would have been a sure thing in their past two games veered off at nearly a right angle. Just before Number 13, the ball had turned and bounced around the cage, picked up by an Angel who headed back and scored. The crowd erupted in cheers, the loudest crowd Jenny had ever heard.

After another two misses, Coach called time-out.

“Coach, what do we do?” demanded Ken. “That guy’s an animal.”

“Listen,” Coach said. “We’ve learned two things. First: No easy shot will get past Number Thirteen. Second: Their defense is lazy, figuring why bother. Once we do penetrate, we’ll make good.”

“Send in Jenny.”

“Too soon,” said Coach. “Jenny’s shot would do no better; and they’d have time to adjust. For now, just hammer them the best you can. Tire them out.”

The rest of the half was grueling. Jenny went in for a few minutes, just to zigzag and get the feel of the cage. But her teammates got nowhere slanning, and there were laughs and catcalls whenever they tried. They wound up twenty to zero.

As the halftime bell sounded, Jenny slumped to her feet, tired and disoriented, just wishing she were home. But somehow there was a change in the air. The audience members strained from their seats, looking this way and that, exchanging short questions.

Then it happened. Two-thirds of the audience simply vanished. Where individuals had occupied seats, there were left purses, drink containers, shoes. But the people were gone. The remaining audience cheered and raised their arms. “Praise the Lord!”

“Rapture,”
texted Yola.
“See, the audience wasn’t really that big.”

Above the distant Jerusalem rose a great light and the figure of the holy destroyer. Bolts of lightning streaked from the clouds. A bolt hit the temple with a blinding flash. The temple cracked asunder, the sound reverberating the length of the hab.

As the thunderclaps faded away, Coach tapped Jenny on the shoulder. “You know what you’ve got to do.”

Jenny’s lip twisted. “Yeah, I know.”

*   *   *

As Jenny entered the cage, the score was twenty to zero, the crowd clapping cheerfully, expecting a rout. Staying near the midline, she crouched low, trying to look smaller than she was. Her Angel guard gave her a disdainful look, wondering why she held back instead of helping her poor teammates defend their goal. Finally he left, and helped score another goal.

As the goal was scored, and the ball turned over, the Angels sent in a new goalie; a first-year, obviously to give him a bit of experience against this hopeless team. Yola saw too, and she shot the ball to Jenny. The Angels were falling back, when Jenny slanned. For a moment everything else vanished; then she poured all her mental energy into moving that ball all the way down the cage, as fast as it could go. She closed her eyes, then hurriedly she opened them. The ball was nowhere in the cage.

“Five points for the Bears.” The score for a goal from the midline.