Future Sports by Jack Dann & Gardner Dozois

Author:Jack Dann & Gardner Dozois [Dann, Jack & Dozois, Gardner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780441009619
Amazon: 0441009611
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2002-06-25T04:00:00+00:00

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The Hope Dome was older than the players. Led by Miami, a consortium of cities had built that gaudy glass and carbon-fiber structure out on the continental shelf. Its playing field lay nearly fifty meters beneath the water’s surface, and rising ocean levels combined with the new generation of hurricanes had caused problems. One of the bowl officials even repeated that tired joke that it was hope holding back the Atlantic. But then he winked slyly and said, “Don’t worry.” He unlocked a heavy door next to State’s locker, revealing an enormous room filled with roaring bilge pumps whose only purpose, he boasted, was to send a river’s worth of tiny leaks back into the sea.

In contrast to the palacelike Dome, the playing field was utterly ordinary.

Its dimensions and black earth and fluorescent-fed grass made it identical to a thousand other indoor facilities.

The day after Christmas, and both teams were given the traditional tour of the Dome and its field. To help extract the last greasy drama out of the blandness, Tech was still finishing its walk-through when State arrived. On the field together, with cameras and the world watching, the teams got their first naked-eye look at one another. And with a hundred million people waiting for anything, the two Heisman candidates met, and without any fuss, the two politely shook hands.

The Wildman offered Theresa several flavors of surprise.

The first surprise was his appearance. She had seen endless images of man-child, and she’d been near plenty of 1-1-2041s. But the running back was still impressive. There was bison in him, she had heard. And gorilla. And what might have been Siberian tiger genes. Plus something with an enormous capacity to grow bone. Elephant, perhaps. Something in the shape of his enormous head reminded her of the ancient mammoth skulls that she’d seen haunting the university museum.

The second surprise was the Wildman’s mannerisms. A bowl official, nervous enough to shiver, introduced the two of them, then practically threw himself backward. But the boy was polite, and in a passing way, charming.

“We meet,” he grunted. “Finally.”

Theresa stared at the swollen incisors and the giant dog eyes, and telling herself not to stumble over her tongue, she offered her hand and said, “Hello,” with the same pleasant voice she used on every new friend.

The Wildman took her hand gently. Almost too softly to be felt.

And with a thin humor, he said, “What do you think they would do? If we got down on our knees and grazed?”

Then the third surprise said, “Alan.”

And the fourth surprise added, “You’re just joking. Aren’t you, son?”

Parents weren’t normally allowed to travel with the players. But the Wildes appeared to be the exception. Theresa later learned that they accompanied him everywhere, always. Pulling her hand out of Alan’s giant hand, she offered them a smile, and the mother said, “How are you, dear?”

The father offered, “I’m an admirer.” His right hand was plastic. Lifelike, but not alive. Retrieving his hand, he added, “We’re all admirers, of course.

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