W. Thompson: Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“I’m here to see Faber,” Ray said. “How is his playing?”

“The terror from beyond the ozonosphere?” The coach shook his head in what seemed like amazement. “Reek Hard’s the best offensive player I’ve ever seen. Point him at a goal line and he’s unstoppable. Just watch him.”

Ray watched as the teams shoved and ran their way through several more plays. He could make nothing out of the plays and Faber’s activities; sometimes the teams dropped the bag and began to push one another around, and sometimes a group of kya stampeded over the bag, pushing away the players who carried it. At other times most of the players stood around while a few of their teammates ran back and forth and talked with one another. “Who’re they?” Ray asked the coach.

“The outrunners,” Znayu said. “You don’t know the game?”

“It’s new to me,” Ray admitted. “Could you give me a few pointers?”

Znayu sniffed agreeably. “Being the brains of each team, the outrunners coordinate plays among the three teams. Maybe in one play the Grass-scents will think they can do better if they work with the Tree-scents against the Flower-scents, and maybe in another play the Grasses like their chances against the other two teams in combination. During the plays they watch the other teams and tell their teammates what the opposition is doing. Then—stench! Stench!” The coach trotted onto the field and began to berate one of the teams over a technical foul.

Ray watched the outrunners as the play was repeated. He decided they looked like members of a herd, guarding the flanks to warn their compatriots against predators. They stayed out of the actual crush of the plays, although opposing players sometimes positioned themselves to block their view of the action. Maybe I am learning something, Ray thought.

The coach called a break and the players went to the sidelines. Ray went to where Faber was refreshing himself from a water bucket. “We have a problem,” Ray said in English. “Nyquist just told Dean Zelk about your grades in Colorado.”

“He did?” Faber swore. “I told Uncle Dick this wouldn’t work.”

“ ‘Uncle Dick’?”

“Richard McIlvaine. He owns the Galactic Sports Network. I’m named after him,” Faber added proudly.

“Oh.”

Faber nodded. “Anyway, the NCAA put the heat on the school about grades, like anyone really expects athletes to waste their time studying, and all the reporters were saying how everyone oughta go to jail, so Uncle Dick suggested I transfer before the weenies did something bad, like expel me, and he thought maybe I should come here, because I wouldn’t take any heat if I got off-planet, and anyway he wanted to see if there was an audience for alien sports, and putting me on a bagdrag team would maybe help make me look good back home. Or something like that.”

“I see.” Ray felt his head ache. “Dean Zelk told me she’ll expel you if you don’t get good grades in the next exams. You won’t be allowed to play if you don’t get good grades in the next exams. You won’t be allowed to play if you don’t get excellent grades.”

“Uncle Dick won’t let anyone push me around like that,” Faber said.

“Don’t count on that,” Ray said. “Zelk won’t let anyone push her around, and—”

Ray was the one who got pushed around, as Faber planted his hand on his chest and shoved. Ray sprawled on the grass as Faber stomped away from him. For a moment he was angry enough to jump up and fight Faber, but the thought of the inevitable outcome brought him to his senses.

Besides, he knew a better way to handle Faber.

Ray went to the embassy after his meeting with Faber. Delores kept him waiting for several hours before admitting Ray to the communications room. At least they can’t prohibit me from making calls, Ray thought; the UN required the embassy to give all UN citizens equal access to its t-radio system. Ray made several calls to agricultural associations before he found one which seemed interested in doing business with the kya. Ray made some tentative arrangements with the company, then placed a call to Richard McIlvaine.

McIlvaine answered with a cranky noise. “Any idea what time it is?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Ray began, “but Earth and Kya are in different time zones.”

“Kya? This about my nephew?”

“Yes,” Ray said. “Your nephew is in trouble at Vrekle.”

“What? Richie’s a good kid. How can he be in trouble?”

“He isn’t studying,” Ray said, “and somebody told the dean that his grades were inflated at Colorado—”

“That’s a lie,” McIlvaine said. “Richie studied hard. Anyway he had nothing to do with it. The board of trustees arranged the whole thing without telling the players.”

“I’m sure they did,” Ray said, “but now the problem is at Vrekle. Richie won’t be able to stay in school, much less play bagdrag, if he doesn’t improve his grades right away.”

McIlvaine growled. “We’ve got a contract,” he said. “If that alien school sticks it to me, I’ll sue.”

“They’re within their rights to expel your nephew,” Ray said. “But I may have a way to straighten this out.”

Mcllvaine grunted in annoyance. “Talk.”

“Your nephew doesn’t like it here. He’s rooming with some grad students, and there’s a lack of potential girlfriends—”

“Tough,” McIlvaine said. “Nobody’s making him hang out with a bunch of poindexters, and if he thinks I’m going to ship him some broads, he’s nuts.”

“It would help if you made that clear to him,” Ray said. “Call him and let him know he’s stuck here if he doesn’t make the team.”

Mcllvaine grunted thoughtfully. “Might work. You’re not as dumb as I thought.” He broke the connection.

So far, so good, Ray thought. The next step would be to get someone to tutor Faber. Ray got up and left the radio room. Delores was waiting outside the door for him. “Are you through making trouble now?” she demanded.

“Trouble?” Ray asked. “What trouble?”

She eyed him coldly. “You don’t care what impact you have on the kya, just as long as you make a profit.”

“I don’t think I’m hurting the kya,” he said. “Has it occurred to anyone here that they aren’t stupid? Maybe they know their needs better than we do.”

“And maybe we know when something is dangerous,” Delores said. Her thin, red Mohawk enhanced her angry appearance; Ray found himself thinking of a buzz saw. “Has it occurred to you that we might be looking for a way to give them modem technology without disrupting their society? But you can’t make a profit that way, can you? Now get out of here!” She strode away from him, denying him the last word.

Dissatisfied, Ray took the bus to Vrekle University. When he got there, his notepad told him that Elizabeth was attending a class on medieval kya history. Well, he told himself, there are some things a man has to do for himself. Fight his own fights. Own up to his own mistakes. Ask decent, normal people to work with Faber. He couldn’t ask Elizabeth to do the dirty work for him.

A pair of students sat in the dorm’s lobby as they worked over a portable computer. One of them was Grace; the other was a young, overly-handsome man who sat next to her as though he was her boyfriend. “Jack’s been helping me with my research,” Grace said. “The kya have a dozen major schools of economic thought, but none of them use the same terms or measurements. Our translation program has been having fits.”

“It’s running now,” Jack said. “And the data-reduction puts everything on the standard curves. There’s even an analog to the Kondratieff cycle. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”