A Planet for Rent by Yoss Page B

say.
    We set down on one of the two empty towers that lead straight to the playing court. We all look at the other tower and think the same thought: who will our opponents be this time?
    We’ve faced players from every race in the simulations. We know the strong points and weaknesses of every species, their tricks, their skills... but not even the best holograph can be more than a pale reflection of reality.
    As soon as the landing gear of the aerobus touches down, the hemisphere of the force field closes above us, hiding us from the public and the public from us. Gopal is the first to leap down, and half a minute later I’ve got the whole team lined up in front of him.
    Our old coach stalks back and forth in front of us, his hands behind his back and a scowl on his face. He looks more like an old general than ever. Finally he stops and sighs. Here comes the speech. I think, with a cynical sense of relief, that it’ll be his last.
    “Players!” he booms, and now he’s more like a drill sergeant, because no general would howl like that. His voice sounds too loud for his long, gaunt body.
    “I’m not going to tell you all what you already know. I’m not going to remind you how much is riding on your victory, today, right here. I just want you to think about one thing: that we’re humans. The sons of Earth...”
    “ And proud of it !” we scream, as he has taught us.
    “Good.” His smile fills our hearts with something ineffable. “Do you all know what it means to be the pride of Earth? It means that, just this once, it doesn’t matter if you were playing on opposite teams in the World Championship six months ago. Or if the countries where you were born have hated each other to death since before Contact. Now we’re all one thing: humans. And they’re all xenoids. The enemy. It’s us against them. It them or us. And nothing else matters.”
    He let out a deep sigh. “As for the rest, I hope you already know it after six grueling months of training. And if you haven’t learned it, may Allah help us.” We all smiled at the joke, added to break the tension.
    Jonathan glances at me and winks. Meaning, “The old man says the same thing every year.” Probably true, but I can’t laugh. As team captain, it’s up to me to set an example.
    “Forget defense. We’re playing to win. As the game develops I’ll be giving you instructions,” Gopal adds, and his olive Hindustani skin looks pale with exhaustion. “But don’t forget that you’ll have the last word, because...”
    “ We are the champions !” The battle cry fills our hearts with faith, and Gopal grins like an old gargoyle.
    “Yeah... What I was about to say, though, was that you’re the sorriest troop of monkeys I’ve ever seen set foot on a Voxl court. But, sure,” he winks at us, and for a fraction of a second he’s nearly Mohamed Gopal, the Delhi Wonder, once more, the first human to play in the League, “now you’ll get your chance to prove me wrong.”
    Jubilant, confident, laughing, we race off to our changing rooms. Each has his own, the door marked with his name. As always, Mvamba comes in last. He doesn’t know how to read. He waits until everyone’s there so he’ll know which is his by simple elimination. Well, some skills aren’t strictly necessary for being a good Voxl player.
    And you really don’t need to be able to read in today’s world. Computers talk, so do credit cards... Even so, the African’s illiteracy is a secret between Jonathan, himself, and me. We especially promised him that Arno Korvaldsen would never find out. The Blond Hulk made such cruel fun of the Slovsky twins for not knowing who Julius Caesar was, if he ever learned about this he’d make Mvamba the target of his taunts for months. And ridicule is practically the only thing the former aerobus driver fears. He’s so shy...
    It isn’t easy to live and play as a team. Not for anybody, especially not for the captain. My position brings lots of