Free Tommy Thorn Marked by D. E. Kinney

and it would launch itself back into the weightlessness of the arena.
    Now, as to the stratagem arena—it was oval shaped, 450 feet long by 250 feet wide, and completely surrounded by a grandstand that rose up over the entire height of the zero-G playing area’s sixty feet. In addition, a translucent force field, marked on the sides by evenly spaced strips of vertical light and solid multi-colored caps on both the top and bottom, marked the boundaries of the null-gravity gaming region.
    The object of stratagem was simple, really: put the dagget in the other team’s heart, a twelve-foot-wide oval-shaped goal suspended thirty feet off the lower deck of the playing area. This was done by passing, flying, blocking, or knocking off the other team’s flyers in an effort to somehow launch the dagget past the goalie, who wielded a large dagget clutch, or glove, and a small electronic shield.
    “You all set?” Tommy’s captain, an Alterian flyer, asked.
    Tommy had just latched his protective helmet, white with a large red number two, and was positioning himself to leap into the arena, fingers gripping the trust lever. “All set, Ramky.”
    The fourth-year’s full name was far too hard to pronounce, so it had been reduced to Ramky, or sometimes just Ram.
    Ramky led a Hondo team, which like other strat teams was a mixture of races. All were eligible, but it seemed not all were suited for the fast, combative game. Tommy’s division alone included a Drake named Jax; a Volarie named Stockton, or Socks; and his division leader, a fourth-year flyer from Imadall named Gamda. Not that the Hondo team didn’t have its share of Tarchein. Tommy’s team had two who started as defensive flyers, and their goalie was a very talented, and likeable, Tarchein named Atmel.
    “Here comes…Honnnn—do!
    The arena’s surrounding PA system blared the brigade’s fight song. Gigantic scoreboards positioned at each end of the stadium displayed pictures of the starting players, and the floor of the arena flashed with the team’s colors as Tommy, along with his teammates, leaped into the gravity-free air and fired their jets.
    The Vixtin team looked on from their bench area with open disdain, especially Cadet Maco, whose flying ability and knack for taking out unsuspecting members of the opposing team had earned him a starting spot on Vixtin’s defensive division. A knack that became apparent late in the second half.
    The match was tied with just two minutes left, when Tommy took a pass from Jax and headed, full speed, toward the Vixtin heart—the ten-second clock ticking in his head. Four, five—Tommy shut off his jets, pulled his legs up, and rolled to his right, narrowly dodging, then flashing by a charging defenseman, before throwing his arms back and rocketing, once again, at the Vixtin goal—seven, eight.
    Tommy was a blur as he streaked toward the Vixtin goal. Then he abruptly released the thrust lever, rotated his hips away from the enemy’s heart, and with nozzles pointing directly at the Vixtin’s fidgeting goalie, fired his jets. Now, suddenly and unexcitingly motionless, Tommy reared back to launch the dagget.
    Ten!
    But Tommy faked the shot, instead passing to Socks, who had checked up to the right of the goal. He caught the dagget, then whirled and redirected the glowing orb perfectly, burying it in the left upper corner of the Vixtin’s heart just as time expired—victory!
    The crowd, already standing, broke into a mighty roar. The entire stadium was filled with flashing colored lights and Hondo’s victory march when Tommy, both hands held high over his head, was hit by Maco.
    The Tarchein had activated his jets and, flying full speed, slammed into the unsuspecting Hondo flyer. His bulbous helmeted head cracked Tommy’s exposed ribs and knocked him, spinning, across the arena, where he finally came to rest, adrift and unconscious
    It seemed, in the excitement of the moment, that no one had noticed the Vixtin defenseman’s