Fair Game by Alan Durant Page A

friends but I couldn’t get back into my old life. I’d been happy to spend my days at the X-Dock before I went to jail. We’d played on the simulators all day and tried to think up new virtual games. But when I came back it all seemed so empty, pointless, a waste of time. I wanted action, exercise. Iwanted to play football. My friends just laughed at me when I told them.
    â€œWhy would anyone want to kick a pig’s bladder?” they said. They thought the whole idea was ridiculous. They thought I was nuts. Maybe I was. A year on Penal Colony 156 was enough to turn anyone crazy. But I didn’t feel crazy. I felt full of life and energy. I didn’t want to spend my life sitting in front of a screen. I wanted to get out in the open air, to play a game with physical contact. I wanted to play proper football.
    I was bored. Every day was dull as dull could be. I even started to wish I was back in prison. I thought of Danny and the others on the Penal Colony, playing football, and I envied them. Why was everyone on Earth so boring? Why didn’t they want to get out and play, like me? Surely, I thought, there must be other people who felt the way I did? I sent out some blogcasts asking if anyone was interested in playing real football. I said what fun it was and what good exercise, too.
    I looked up some sport organisations on the net. There was one called ‘Real Sport’. I called them up on my videobox. A young guy answered. I told him about my interest in playing real football.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘real football’?” he asked.
    I laughed. “You know, kicking a ball around a pitch. That kind of real football,” I said.
    He looked at me like I was mad. “You call that real football?” he said with a smirk.
    â€œYeah. I’ve played it before. I’d like to play it again.”
    â€œWhere exactly did you play?” he questioned.
    I told him. His smirk slipped and turned into a scowl. The videobox went blank.
    These organisations said they were into real sport. But they weren’t. Well, not my idea of real sport anyway. They were just betting syndicates. Gambling was run by the state.
    Private gambling was banned. But there were lots of illegal gambling sites and clubs. You could bet on anything if you wanted to. Betting on virtual sporting contests was a big thing. To some people, sport was only real if you had a bet on it.
    I hated gambling. My dad had lost all his money gambling. We’d been poor as hell for the last couple of years before the plague came. We had to keep moving because Dad owed money to gambling gangsters. I went to bed every night scared that we were going to be killed in our sleep. It was almost a relief when the plague came. At least the fear was over… We all got sick. I thought we’d all die. The others did, but somehow I survived.
    It was after the plague that the state took over gambling. They started their own betting system. It made me angry. I hated gambling and I hated the state for encouraging people to do it. I swore I’d do something about it. And, eventually, I did. I hacked into the system and planted a virus I’dcreated. It caused havoc. In the end, they traced it back to me. But I didn’t really care. I’d made my point. I hadn’t expected to be sent to Penal Colony 156, though. That had been a bit of a shock.
    I’d just about given up on ‘real sport’ organisations, when I got a call. I couldn’t see the caller’s face because the room he was in was dark.
    â€œIs that Billy Balentine?” he inquired.
    I told him it was.
    â€œI hear you’re interested in playing some real football?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I nodded.
    â€œCome and see me tomorrow at ten,” he said. He gave me the address and rang off.
    Maybe things were looking up at last, I thought.

CHAPTER 3
TWO ENCOUNTERS
    The man called himself Gull Reeves. He leaned across the desk