The Shearfall Arena, its bright lights emitting like a star in the galaxy, tricking those foolish enough to think that this place supports life. No. This place is a wandering graveyard in the syndicate, any who come here seek to master death or profit from it. 

This is where the note said to meet. I look around and see the hundreds of displays showing thousands of different games and sports across the galaxy. But I am only here for one reason, then I spot it on one of the monitors, Grav Attack, the sport that almost made me famous. If it weren’t for the Blades choosing me to make an example.

They told me to lose the match… but I was young, overconfident. I won and they came to correct me. I figured they’d just rough me up, but they wanted to make an example. They cut my glide membrane, made it so I could never reclaim my honor. 

Finally I see the Grav Attack field, an enormous three dimensional space filled with floating debris in the zero g field. Storage containers, boxes, even trash, acting as obstacles to the competitors. 

Two of them start at their own end, then I see Pikke. He’s grown larger since the last time I saw him, could make him clumsy if he hasn't been keeping up his practice. The lights fill the space blinking from red to green, as the buzzer announces the start of the match.

The ball is shot into the center of the arena, as Pikke launches himself to scoop it up in his curved basket glove. Both competitors twist their bodies around trying to adjust their trajectory. But Pikke is keeping his arms tucked in, going at a faster pace. 

In one motion Pikke rolls and throws the ball through the largest yellow ring on his competitor's side. One-Nil. They reset back to their corners as they are counted in for the next set of play.

The next set of play starts and Pikke again rushes to the ball, but the opponent has now picked a defensive posture. He tries to block the scoring area, Pikke needs to be clever. A storage container passes between them and Pikke grabs a lump of trash. Quick as he can, he bundles it up into a ball about the same size.

He jumps out from behind the container, and throws the garbage ball, just wide enough that the competitor needs to move. As Pikke is twisting backwards, he opens arms wide so his sails catch the air and stops his spin, lines up his second shot with one of the small red rings. The score is now Four-Nil.

I notice that neither have oxygen on, which means there's atmosphere in there. I remember back to how the game used to be played, in the vacuum of space. The membrane was just a radiator to prevent the blood from boiling. There weren't any brakes, no one could steer, it was just two pirates fighting for salvage rights. 

I grab a seat near where he will leave the arena and I watch the rest of what should be a pretty quick match.

I see him make it to Ten-Nil and then it's like he switches: slowing down, falling for obvious bluffs. He allows it to get to Ten-Ten. And then he switches back on, I peer around the arena to see if I can spot the blades. I don't see anyone stand out, but then, they weren’t always obvious. 

The match takes almost the full time, as Pikke finally wins Twenty One-Nineteen. 

I stand at the entrance to the locker room and wait for Pikke to notice me as he walks past. He doesn’t look up, like he’s ashamed. Finally I shout “You could have been a bit more consistent! You're better than that.”

He looks up with anger, prepared to defend himself. Then he sees that it's me. “Narri? Is that really you?”

“Yeah kid. I got your message.” I hold up the paper I was sent. He motions for me to stifle it and follow him. I stow the paper and hop the railing to follow him into the locker room, my long arm lowering me below the frame before I let go.

I follow him into the locker room and he proceeds to a locker in the back. “So what was all this about?” I ask him, “Seems like you are dealing with something.” 

I look around trying to find any of their old enforcers. Seeing no one, I look back at him, now completely drained of all his youthful exuberance. “It’s my girlfriend, Rallo. She is working as my manager; she got me this tournament.” He hands me a picture of the two of them together. “That was taken by one of the Arena’s photographers as we arrived.” 

They look happy, two Zorai. Both celebrating their arrival in the tournament, I notice a mark on the picture near her neck. Red ink bleeding through from the back. 

I flip it over and see the threat. “We’ve taken Rallo. If you want her back unharmed, then you’ll follow our instructions.” signed The Crimson Blades. 

"I got that three days ago and that's when I sent you the invitation.” He looks back into his locker. “This morning, before the game I got this.” He hands me another photograph. 

This one with Rallo tied to a chair. On the back “Win by less than Three. Or we clip her sails.” Clip her sails… It's the same words they used for me. I look down at my hands and feet seeing the scars where my membrane once connected. 

No… That won’t happen again. I won't let it.

“It’s good you called me.” I look back at him, handing him the pictures. “You just keep following their instructions. I’m going to go speak to the promoter.” 

I walk out of the locker room and towards the promoters office, before I walk in I see a group of large Gravari standing watch outside the door. I attempt to proceed undeterred, they drop their oversized hands in front of me, blocking my path.

“I just need to speak with the promoter.” I say without looking up.

“Once he’s done with the boss.” they say without even looking down at me. I decided to take a look at the guards. Gravari, their massive ursine frames are perfect for body guards. I step back and take a seat just watching them for a while.

They are obviously working for Crimson Blades. Wonder if these guys are responsible. Can't worry about that right now. Need to focus on my plan.

Eventually a well dressed sarthari comes out tipping his hat back to the promoter as he leaves, the Gravari follow him. I am able to make my way into the promoter's office.

A stressed Kheltasi is pacing back and forth his exosuit wearing lines into the floor. I knock on the door and he turns around completely startled. “What do you want?”

“I want to compete.” He looks at me and just starts to laugh.

“Why would anyone want to see an old disabled Zorai struggle against real players?” He makes a fair point. I just look back at him holding my ground.

“I was one of the best players in my generation. I think people want to see a redemption story. There's an atmo in there. That means I can compete.” I see the two tiers of play, amateur and professional. “And I promise you, I can win. And that will bring in an audience.”

He sits down in his chair and strokes his lower jaw. “I could maybe get you in as a wildcard slot. What’s your name?” He grabs a pen and begins searching for a specific piece of paper amidst the mess of loose paper.

“Narri Swiftwing.” It was my name back in my competition days, back when I had the tattoo’s on my sails.

He lets out a chuckle and stares at my arms and legs. “There is no chance you are the Narri Swiftwing. You don't even have a membrane…” He proceeds to write it down, while shaking his head. “If you want to make a fool of yourself, I might as well make some money while you do it. I’ll start you off on the Amateur, prove yourself and you move up.” 

Good, let them underestimate me. I head to the pro shop and look around for a basket glove that I can use. I found the cheapest glove, a set of straps, and a helmet. I spend the five credits and then walk out, to see a small Lutra looking around.

When he catches sight of me he scitters over. “Narri?” He looks me up and down. As if trying to match me to the description he was given. Clearly he was told about my injury. “You’re competing in the next round of matches. I’m supposed to show you your locker.”

He turns around and runs off, I follow slowly. He turns around after charging forward and stops to wait for me. Looking more impatient with each stop.

Eventually he sets me up in the same locker room as Pikke. I don’t see him anymore. Doesnt matter, time to put on the show. 

I put my hand around the basket grip, the expensive ones use a comfortable grip. This one was wood, it might wear, if the glove gets loose. I grip it tight and feel the wood creak from lack of use. 

I shove the glove between my knees and begin to wrap the leather straps around my wrist, forearm, and the glove, to hold everything in place. 

They have some practice balls and I take a few seconds to refamiliarize myself with the weight of everything. 

Scooping the ball up in my glove I look around and see no one else in here. I let the ball loose with a powerful swing of my arm, feeling the ball as it swings all the way to the end of the curved glove and whips with such dangerous speed.. 

In less than a second, it slaps into the wall and bounces right back toward me. I adjust my hand and scoop it back up in the curve. I let out a little smile. This should be fun.

“Returning after a severe accident that left her out of the game. Our next competitor hopes to prove that you don't need glider sails for Grav Attack. Let's see if she can back up her words. NARRI SWIFTWING!!” 

I  pop the helmet on my head and proceed to the arena. The Amateur arena was clearly not as well watched. But I do spot those Gravari guards standing outside of a door at the top of a far set of bleachers, carved into the rock itself. I enter the arena and see my competitor. Some confident kid, the smile grows wide on his face as he catches sight of me. 

As I climb the wall and get myself into position I watch as the ball is shot into the arena and the lights change from red to green. 

Once the light flashes, I spring with my legs and shoot myself as fast as I can. I check out of my peripheral and see the kid thrown by my speed, he twists his body trying to act like a kite. Trying to block my shot. 

In one motion I slide my glove up my side and scoop the ball up. The kid is expecting me to stop. Like every other Zorai can, but I speed past, slowed down only by the atmosphere. 

As I get past him he struggles to alter his momentum, having stopped in the middle of the arena. I spring off the large container and end up directly behind him.  I whip the ball toward the three point ring and I hear it slam against the back wall.

My momentum throws me backwards into him. I hear him shout, as I spring off of him back towards my staring position. “Thanks for the stop, kid!” I see the look on his face change to one of complete shock. 

The next round starts and he picks a defensive posture. I start springing around, and when he’s not paying attention I whip the ball off the ceiling, trying to get the angle right. It slaps off the wall with a deafening sound. And I realize I’m off by a few feet.

Distracted by the sound, and disoriented by the echo. He tries to locate where the ball is going. I hit into a container behind me and brace myself taking a few moments to try and figure out where the ball will be. The blinding speed of the ball makes it almost impossible to locate. But as the air speed begins to slow it down. We both catch sight of it.

He’s closer and he tries to launch himself. But it's coming closer to the center again thanks to a bounce, he ends up chasing the ball as it races ahead of him. I again launch myself in the trajectory of where it’s going to be. I scoop it up just as quickly on the end of the glove. 

The look on his face changes again from determination to fear, as I whip the ball again back toward the three point hoop. Again, it shifts slightly in the atmosphere, and goes into the yellow hoop instead. Getting me two points.

I flip backwards towards the starting position a bit dizzier. I shake my head out of it and focus again as the ball is shot into the arena. I begin adjusting my aim to compensate for the slight shifting with the air. 

We finished the game Twenty one - Nil. The kid leaves embarrassed as he heads back towards his side of the lockers. I shoot myself back toward my exit and I see Pikke standing there with his mouth agape. 

I walk past him back into the locker room as he follows, I hear the cheers start to fade as I unwrap the glove from my arm, I toss my gear into my locker and I take out the single pouch I brought with me. “That was impressive.” Pikke says to me, flabbergasted that I could show up another player like that.

“You thought that just because I was a coach, I couldn't play?” I turn around. “I’m playing like the original Zorai would play! I may not be able to play in a vacuum, but I can play when there's oxygen.”

“No, of course not. Why’d they put you in the Amateur?” He smiles at me. “I remember how hard you used to push me. I still know how fast you played. before…” The smile fades as he looks down at his own sails, I see a tattoo that he didn't have before.

“When’d you get that one?” I point at it, noticing it’s much fresher. 

He gets a smile on his face like he’s proud to show it off, before the smile fades. “I got this when Rallo and I first arrived at Shearfall. She designed it.” I look closer at it and spot a Grav-Ball Glove and a Data Spike crossed in the shape of an X, but encircling both was a hoop of blood red ink.

Just then a loud sound came from the hallway, both of us turned around and saw one of the Gravari standing there. “Boss wants to see you.” Pikke steps forward but the guard raises his large hand, and points to me. “Her. Not you.” 

I look back at Pikke and signal that I'll be okay. I follow the enormous guard, doubling my pace to keep up with him. As he climbs the stairs and opens the door to the office, I step in and I’m staring at the Sarthari as he finishes a lavish meal.

He watches me walk in and gestures towards a very lavish chair opposite him. “You’ll excuse me. I’m just finishing my lunch.” 

I climb into the chair and drop myself down before him. “You’re quite impressive!” He taps on his desk in a rhythmic fashion with one hand while dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Going Twenty One-Nil in your opening match. How long have you been playing Grav Attack for?”

He’s trying to figure out where he can press me. “What is it that you wanted to see me for?” I ignore his question, “I was just about to grab my winnings.”

“Really? My guards tell me you were speaking with Pikke.” He tilts his head to try and read my reaction. “Promising young boy. And a fine athlete! What did he have to speak with you about?” I refuse to give him an inch. I just look around his office noticing the pictures of past champions.

“We were just discussing strategies. We knew each other long ago, when I was still active. What is it you wanted to see me for?” I return back to my original question.

“When you were active… You certainly seem active enough. You’re a skilled player. It was incorrect of the booking agent to place you in the Amateur Tier. Despite your… disability.” He's trying to shame me.

“It’s only a disability for Zorai, I can still play. Whether that's against amateurs or professionals I can still beat them.” Confident in my own skills I stare back at him defiant against his words.

“And that brings me to my point. You are disrupting a well oiled machine here. The people here pay for entertainment. They want close games! They want to see people struggle! They want the story!” He’s trying to get more animated to show me how passionate he is, but I can see though it its a facade meant to trick anyone that looks.

“The Blades do love a spectacle. No matter who's putting on the show, if you don't control it, then you need to snuff it out.” I watch his demeanor shift as he realizes that I know his affiliation.

“Good, you know who we are. Then you know what we are capable of.” Trying to sound tough.

I just raise my arms up to show him the visible scars from where my membrane was cut. “Yes, very familiar. The thing is. You can only act out that threat once. After that, you have nothing.” 

I stand up. “Thank you for advancing me to the Professional Tier. I’m going to enjoy the rest of my night and prepare for my match tomorrow.” As I walk out the door I hear him tapping on his desk and muttering to himself. 

As soon as I’m clear of their door I head over to collect my winnings. 

He was too relaxed to have victims anywhere he couldn't reach them. They must be somewhere near his office. I look around waiting in line to see the book keeper, spotting a set of vent shafts that oxygenate the entire asteroid. 

If I can get in there then I could probably make it to where they are keeping Rallo. Each step I formulate more of the plan. Once I get them out I need to have Pikke waiting for us so we can be ready to run.

I make it to the counter, “Winnings for Narri Swiftwing.”

The Starforged counts out the winnings quicker than I am able to track and hands me the 100 Credits. Enough for two tickets out of here. Good.

I go off to find Pikke and hand him the winnings, He’s standing by the Arena just watching the others compete. I tap him on the shoulder and he tenses up and flinches in my direction. “You’re okay.” He embraces me, “I thought they would have…”

I cut him off. “We don't have time. I think I know where Rallo is. But I need you to be ready to leave when I come back with her.” He looks surprised. “Can you do that?”

His face wrinkles as he hears the words. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get Rallo back. And then you are going to return to your old life.” I drop the bag of credits into his hand. “Use this to get tickets out of here, and wait for me behind the Book Keeper’s shack.” 

He just nods back at me in response. I turn away and prepare to sneak through the arena. I spot several more of the vent openings, trying to find one that is close enough to the ground for me to climb into.

I spot the best vent and climb the walls to reach the opening. Crawling through the ducts, I’m near where the Blades boss is. This is close, I explore every opening nearby and eventually I see her, she looks just like the picture Pikke showed me.

I quietly remove the cover from the vent and place it inside the ducts. I drop down and her face looks to be in total shock. “Are you Rallo?” I whisper. She just nods in response. “I’m Narri, Pikke’s old coach. I’m getting you both out of this.” She gestures to her hands behind her back. 

I move around her and see she is tied to the chair. I quickly untie the ropes and gesture for her to follow me. Jumping back up into the vent, she follows me. 

Silently we make our way back to the vent entrance I came through. Pikke is standing there behind the shack nervously looking around. I look around and wait for a moment where few people will notice us. 

We exit the vents and regroup with Pikke. He and Rallo embrace as he looks at me mouthing the words “Thank you.” 

“No need to thank me. Just get out of here and go back home. I’ll try to handle the Blades from here.” I’m just relieved to see the exuberant young boy I coached so long ago. That I don't notice until it’s too late. 

A flash of silver and Rallo has put Pikke between us. She presses a knife up to his membrane. “So you're the Zorai that the boss was talking about. Impressive, I’ve never seen a Zorai without glides play the game.” She gets a smile over her face as if she's enjoying this.

Pikke is stunned into near silence as she continues. “You lose the match or Pikke loses his sails!”

“You wouldn’t. You’re a Zorai. You know the pain and shame that comes with it.” I try to reason with her decency. But she just pulls her arm tighter around Pikke’s neck. I see him wincing from the pain.

“Oh I would. We had a good scheme going and all it takes is one disabled old lady to ruin it. We need to make sure others don't get any bright ideas.” She begins backing up with Pikke towards the Boss’ office.

“Fine. Just don't hurt him.” I’m desperate to prevent what’s about to transpire. 

“See, it’s that simple. Do that and you can have your student back.” She yanks him up the stairs and I’m left to think about what I can do. Grabbing my head I fall to the ground from the pure shock of the situation. 

By the time I feel myself come back to consciousness, I’m sitting in the locker room wrapping my glove around my forearm. With the words ringing in my head. Just lose.

I hear my name being announced and I stand up and head into the arena. Preparing to make myself look like a fool. 

I climb the ladder and ready myself in the start position. I look around the arena just trying to orient myself. I take a stance with my free hand on the bar, crouched and ready to spring. 

The ball is shot into the center of the arena and the lights begin flashing red to green. I delay myself half a second before springing toward it. If he’s a real pro, he will take the advantage. He does. Good. Maybe it will be less embarrassing to lose.

He scoops the ball up and uses the atmosphere and his gliders to swoop behind me. A skilled maneuver. I twist my body and watch as he whips the ball into one of the red rings. 

Three - Nil.

I spring off the container and back towards my starting position. “Impressive move.” I say to my opponent. 

“You don’t need to go easy on me.” He smiles back at me. 

“Good. Been a long time since I had a real challenge.” I’m almost happy for a moment, then I remember the words still echoing in my head. Just lose. 

I look around and spot the VIP box. Pikke is there, with Rallo. We lock eyes for a moment, both of us feel the stress and humiliation.

The ball is launched and I spring off as fast as I can, scooping the ball just a second before him. He stops himself with his sails and tries to block. I spring around and whip the ball into the nearest yellow ring. 

Three - Two.

Maneuvering back to our starting positions. I look again at Rallo, another smile forming on her face growing, alongside the sinking feeling in my stomach. 

The ball is launched again and I spring again as fast as I can. He’s quicker, but one of the containers is floating between us and my rings. 

He tries to swoop beyond me again, but I flip myself feet first and steer myself like a missile toward him. I knock his legs with mine and we both go spinning. 

I grab him with my free hand and yank him backward, as we swap positions. The momentum pulls the ball from his glove and I scoop it back up. I flip again and watch as he floats useless with nothing nearby to bounce off. I aim for a red ring, before the words ring out again in my head.

I adjust my arm to delay the release missing by inches. It slaps off the edge and bounces at a lateral angle to the opposite end of the arena.

We’ve both run into surfaces and sprung off. I slow myself again. And watch as he whips the ball into the red ring.

Six - Two.

Jumping back to our start positions, I spot Pikke again, now reaching into the bag. I see for a moment and watch as he pulls out his glove. 

Genius, she's distracted. If he can aim it right, he could knock her out. 

The ball launches again and I delay myself, deciding to play defense. I watch as he tries to aim himself. It only takes a moment, but he telegraphs his shot. I jump towards the red ring and scoop the ball up before it hits. 

I pull my arm back to its maximum, aim towards where they are sitting. With all my might I whip the ball as hard as I can, the echo is loud enough to shake the containers themselves as it bounces across all three walls.

Before it reaches the center of the arena again, we both try to maneuver ourselves towards it, but he's able to swoop and it gets him closer. 

He scoops it up and without even looking whips it toward the rings, It ends up in the yellow ring. 

Eight - Two

I feel the wood grip slightly give as we return to our starting positions. 

The ball is shot into the arena again and I see he’s starting to get winded from moving around so quickly. The lights change and I spring in as fast as I can and scoop the ball up. 

Twisting my body I look towards his goals and see him floating between us. I try to angle it right and whip the ball off the floor. It goes into the green ring.

Eight - Three.

Back at the start position I look back at the VIP area, hoping that he’s gotten away. But they’re both sitting there. Rallo’s focus is now being pulled towards the arena. Pikke has pulled out his glove entirely, this next shot will need to be a good distraction.

Another shot into the arena and we both struggle to grab it first, both of us now sore from the sheer physicality of the match so far. I’m too slow, he grabs it and I can only watch as he whips the ball towards the red ring.

Eleven - Three

Alright, this time I will make it. The ball gets shot and I whip it again, as hard as I can into the wall. The echo nearly deafens us both. He takes the advantage and grabs another three points. The strike further weakens the grip and I feel it wiggle more in my hand.

We get back to our spots and I look back at the VIP box. I don't see either of them. Maybe he got away. 

Doesn’t matter, I need to stick to the plan. Even if he did get away. If I win, they’ll just find us again. 

The next three starts are a blur as I watch him rack up point after point. Seventeen - Ten. I continue to look around, I see Rallo now doubled over in the VIP booth. Good, he did get away. Now to find him. 

I close the spread as I search for Pikke, getting it to Twenty - Eighteen, before I locate him. Then I finally see him, close to the glass, right by my exit. 

He tries to tell me to push through and win the match.

But… I can’t. 

Otherwise, we’d be trapped. Forever.

The ball shoots in and he rushes towards it. I float between him and the rings, when I see him telegraph his shot again. 

Diving towards it, I scoop it and try to whip it again at the wall. But as I do the wrap begins to unravel, I try to swing, but the glove is loose on my arm. I feel the grip give way in my hand. 

I lob it right back into his glove. He scoops it and slams it into the large green ring. 

Twenty One - Eighteen 

We meet in the middle, shaking hands before springing off each other back to our own sides. I return back to Pikke. “Why didn’t you win? You could have taken him.”

I just shake my head. “Some things are worth more than pride.” I put my arm around his shoulder as we both walked towards the transport. “We need to leave.”