LIFTER by Crawford Kilian

Author:Crawford Kilian [Kilian, Crawford]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Ace Science Fiction Books
Published: 1986-07-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

I DIDN’T SLEEP well that night. The last twenty-four hours had been too eventful, and my mind kept racing from the fight with Jason to the collision with Al Suarez to the first glimpse of Pat lifting off the bed. Or maybe I was asleep after all, and just dreaming; at one point, I know, I did have a flying dream and woke to find myself solidly in bed. That was a relief. The Effect might need a theta state to get you started, but you couldn’t lift in your sleep.

The Saturday dawn was grey and drizzly. I was up even before Melinda, and made myself some oatmeal for breakfast. As usual I read the paper as I ate, but for once I started with the sports section. It was mostly about the game, and featured a big photo of me lifting over the San Cristobal tackler, with a caption that read something like: “Terry High back Rick Stevenson rockets over San Cristobal defender en route to 5 touchdowns. Terry High Saints look good for the Central Conference title if they can take San Carlos next week and beat Calaveras the week after.”

The story itself made me feel uncomfortable. I was used to reading about myself on electronic bulletin boards, where I generally appeared under the nom de guerre of Doctor Dork, but here was a story with my real name in it, and all kinds of corny writing about how fast I was and how San Cristobal looked as if they were standing still. Not on the field, they hadn’t! Apparently I’d also set a record for yards gained in a single game.

It even spent a paragraph on Al Suarez and the other guy, Scott Smith. Suarez was in Santa Teresa General with undetermined internal injuries, and Smith had torn cartilage in his right knee. The story didn’t spend a whole lot of sympathy on them.

After finishing the paper, I just sat there in the kitchen and looked at the rain oozing out of a dull sky. Eventually Melinda came downstairs and snatched the paper off the table. Before she’d finished reciting the purpler passages, the phone rang.

It wasn’t Pat; it was some guy I didn’t know, a Terry High alumnus (class of ‘54) who said he was really proud of me and keep up the great work. I thanked him and hung up, and the phone rang again. It was the manager of a sporting goods store downtown who said he just wanted to congratulate me on a fine job, and anytime I needed sporting goods he’d give me a fifteen percent discount. I thanked him, and hung up, and the phone rang again.

“H’lo?” I barked.

“Wow,” Pat said. “What’s the matter with you today?”

“Oh, hi. I’m sorry. I just got two calls back to back from people I never heard of, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. How are you?”

“Ready to go if you are.”

“I’ll be over before you know it.”

“Goody.”

Leaving the phone off the hook,

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