Shapeshifter Finals Part 4

"Human, I am unsure how you did that," the ref said, waving its paddle-hands. "But congratulations. And if you don't get up off your opponent, it will be a shame that you will be required to forfeit the match..."

"Huh?" Hog released the Ektra with a start and sat back on his haunches, blinking in amazement at what he had done. He stood up shakily, and extended a hand to help his opponent up off the mat.

The Ektra-woman was pouting as it rose. But after a moment, its lips quivered and reformed into a smile...and then into a beaming grin. A grin? Hog thought.

"Earth!" "Earth!" "Earth!" "Earth!" "Earth...!" A chant had started in the stands and was growing in intensity. They were banging their seats now. "Number One!" "One!" "One...!"

"WAY T' GO, HAWWWWWG!" bawled Harmin' Harmon, striding up and down the sidelines, fists in the air.

"Look at the camera, Justin--look at the camera!" His mother was practically on the mat, pointing up into the stands at his father and the fastcam.

Hog grinned weakly and looked back at the Ektra. It was still a dazzling creature, but her grin had continued to widen, bright teeth sparkling, until the grin seemed to take up most of her face. And then Hog realized dizzily that her face was slowly disappearing, leaving only the grin. And he stood, blinking, watching the grin fade last of all, until the Ektra was gone altogether. And Hog turned in bewilderment to the ref, who was looking toward the scoring table and didn't see any of it happen.

"Justin! Ask it to do that again! Your father missed it!"

Hog turned around, waving in confusion. "Say, uh--" he croaked to his absent opponent, "nice match!" And found himself thinking, Is it true? Is it really true? Did I win the tricrystal medal for Earth? The only human in history to win a tricrystal? And then the centaur-ref trotted back to him, and hoisted his hand in victory, and Hog forgot his doubts and waved triumphantly to the crowd. And when he turned, he saw a large, iridescent lizard rising up as if from the very substance of the mat and turning to shuffle away.

"Hey, Ektra!" he cried.

"Breee?" said the lizard, looking back. (We like semiconductor medals better, anyway. (I lie!) (I lie!)) it whispered in a psicry.

Hog laughed happily and patted it on the back. "Great match, guy. Next time don't be so ticklis.h.!.+"

"Breee," said the lizard. (Done well. Next match I get the home crowd, okay?)

"Okay. See you around." Hog trotted off the mat, waving again to the crowd, and fell into the congratulating arms of his mother and Harmin' Harmon. He hardly even heard their voices, or the voice of Coach Tagget...

"Drinks on me, just like I said..."

"Where'd you learn to do that sort of a thing with a woman, Justin...?"

"Donovan, just like I been tellin' you, the brain is the most important..."

But if he didn't hear what they said after that, he did hear the chants of Earth! Earth! and he could already feel the tricrystal medal glistening and breathing in his hand. And he heard a centipede voice hissing, "Kreeeepy kreeepy earthman-- sssee you nex.x.xt yearrr on Meetsssnepp Fffive, hah-hahhh! Zerrrro grrravity unlimited, suckahhh...!" Only this time Hog just laughed out loud and didn't even bother to look as he headed for the cameras, as the Vegan's voice faded back into the waves of HOG DONOVAN! HOG DONOVAN! TRICRYSTAL EARTH...!

Bye-bye Lotusflower, Lotusflower bye-bye!

Afterward for SHAPEs.h.i.+FTER FINALS

The act of writing this story brought back surprisingly powerful memories of my own wrestling days at Huron (Ohio) High School, more years ago now than I care to admit. Many elements of the story were lifted straight from my own experience. I don't think I'll say which elements; but one of my former teammates ought to recognize the hopping scene, since it happened to him.

This story was, in fact, something of a change of pace for me. I generally write novels not short stories--far future, cosmological, quasireligious hard science fiction about serious subjects. Artificial intelligence, first contact, transcendent encounters in s.p.a.cetime--that sort of thing. The last time I tried a purely humorous piece was in my prepublished days, and it was in place of a term paper in graduate school. The professor, perhaps not unreasonably, expected a more serious effort. The topic, as I recall, was something like: "Coastal Zone Management in a marine estuary system." A perfect subject for a humorous fairy tale, no? Well, it seemed so, at 1 a.m. the night before the paper was due. The professor's reaction was...quizzical. ("What the h.e.l.l is this, Carver?")

That was in...let's see, 1974.

Nineteen years later, Roger Zelazny telephoned me one Sunday morning to invite me to contribute a wrestling story to this volume. (He recalled seeing a bio that mentioned my unsavory past as a wrestler.) In so doing, he accomplished three things. No, four:

1) He got me to write my first short story in almost ten years, and incidentally to try a humorous piece.

2) He got me to reflect back upon a sport that once commanded an astonis.h.i.+ng amount of my energy and dedication, and in the process taught me a lot about life.

3) He left my wife starry-eyed with wonder: ("Roger Zelazny's on the phone! He says he's sorry to interrupt your work time, but he has a question for you.")

4) He got me out of bed.

Thanks, Roger. Here's to your memory.