Multireal by David Louis Edelman

company. A proper company, one run
in accordance with the laws of the Meme Cooperative. A company that
can earn the number one slot on Primo's honestly, through hard work.
    "Natch won't survive this, Jara. You can't change that. What you
can change is whether you go down with him."
    With that, Lieutenant Executive Magan Kai Lee gave a bow and
strode off into the fog. He seemed small enough to be swept away by
the rainstorm. Rey Gonerev, Ridgello, and Papizon followed seconds
later, leaving Jara sitting alone in the courtyard with a mug of tepid
nitro. It was only after several minutes of doleful reflection that Jara
realized Magan had not actually asked her to do ... anything.

    9
    Soccer was mainly an indoor sport in the Mid-Atlantic, especially
during the wintertime. The regional L-PRACGs had a longstanding
deal with the Environmental Control Board to accept the bulk of the
season's snowfall in exchange for mild spring rains, and none of the
politicians were willing to jeopardize that just to play soccer outdoors.
    Still, finding an indoor field to use for practice and demonstration
was more difficult than Natch had anticipated. The eastern seaboard
was awash in soccer stadiums large and small and all sizes in between,
but few of them had a secure MindSpace workbench on the premises.
As luck would have it, Natch found one a short tube ride away in
Harper. He strode on to the field with Quell, Horvil, and Benyamin
close behind. Then he stood for a moment in the center of the field,
hearing the roar of a crowd that was still nine days in the future. Excited
fans, stupefied drudges, indignant Patels: he could hear them all.
    Quell, meanwhile, was busy removing the tight metal collar from
around his neck, which Natch supposed was only prudent for a game
of soccer. He wondered if he should keep an eye out for any Council
officers who might cite the Islander for failing to wear the uncomfortable contraption while in connectible territory. But Quell seemed
unconcerned. He pinned a small, coin-shaped device to his lapel.
Natch remembered seeing the device once before-a functional
replacement for the connectible collar, almost certainly illegal. Natch
shrugged. They were all here in the flesh this morning, so there were
no multi projections for the Islander to miss. Besides, why should
Natch care if Quell chose to skirt stupid laws?
    The Islander grabbed a ball from the cart and crouched in front of
the Harper Bulldogs' net like a professional goalie. "Okay, Benyamin,"
he said. "Since you got the short end of the stick last time we tried this, I'll let you be on the winning side." He tossed the ball underhanded at
the younger apprentice, who had positioned himself for a penalty kick.
"Possibilities loaded up?"

    "Yeah," said Ben, a wicked gleam in his eye. "All ready to go."
    "Then let's see what you've got."
    The two fiefcorpers squared off for a moment. Ben spun the ball in
his hands like a gyroscope while Quell gave him a fierce stare. Then
suddenly, Benyamin let the black-and-white sphere drop and lashed
out with his right foot. The ball rocketed through Quell's arms and hit
the net with a solid whuff.
    "Good shot!" shouted Horvil from a bench on the sidelines.
    Quell, undeterred, flipped his long pale ponytail over one shoulder
and tossed the ball back onto the field.
    Natch stood at midfield watching like a dispassionate referee as
Benyamin nailed shot after shot through the Islander's hands. Inept
kicks, clumsy kicks, sophomoric head butts, all sailed effortlessly into
the goal despite Quell's best efforts. Ben flushed with satisfaction. The
Islander seemed to be enjoying himself too, in spite of the humiliation.
    After a dozen such plays, the Islander finally tucked the ball in the
crook of his elbow and stepped out from the net. "So that's pretty
much the same demonstration we did before," said Quell. "A collaborative MultiReal process. Benyamin activates the Possibilities program,