Nanoweights

 
 

 Stories

 Other Writings

 Insights

 Links of Interest

 Home Page

 

 

Copyright © 2001 by Shane Tourtellotte

First published in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, February 2001


Luis shadow-boxed in a corner of the locker room, waiting for his injections. The WEB Commission inspector was taking his time, as usual. His nerves stayed steady. He trusted Biodyne to know their business, the way they trusted him to know his.

The inspector had dip sensors in all of the vials, checking the concentration of nanomachines. He waved forked fluorescent scanners over the vials one by one, to catch anything in the solutions that didn't register chemically. Evasion had been common in the early years of enhanced boxing, and had almost ruined the sport before the Commission brought strong enforcement.

Leon Gordon watched, his face dark and very serious for his age. Some corner nanotechs might try to go over the four micrograms per kilo limit, then discard the overage if they got caught. He had more pride, and more confidence, than that.

The inspector consulted a palm reader, nodded to the corner team, and walked over to Luis. He got a quick urine sample, and while the dip-rod analyzed it, he ran test swabs over Luis's skin, especially on the fists and inside the mouth. They all stayed white, and the urine checked out.

"Turn around, please," said the inspector.

He produced a pressure hypo, put it at the back of Luis's head just below the cranium, and pushed the injector. Other nanos were custom-made by the sponsor corporations, but these were mandated by WEB rules, and handled by its officials. They would work to break down amyloids, dismantle neurofibrillary tangles, repair neurons sheared apart by the force of an opponent's fists. They were the reason boxing survived in the middle of the century.

He handed Luis his robe, already inspected. "Good luck, Mister Razon."

"Thank you." He didn't offer his hand. He had learned not to long ago.


He jogged into the arena. It was a decent crowd, nearly two thousand. His was the main preliminary bout of the night, and it sounded like the women that fought before him had gotten the fans into a good mood.

Luis's opponent was there already, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He couldn't see the back of the robe, but the double-helix logos of Designer Nanotech of America wound down both sleeves. They both pretended not to notice each other.

He climbed into the ring, doing his own dance, turning in place. He lingered when the cameras had the best shot of Biodyne in stylized script on his back. He knew the routine. It was a trivial price to pay.

The bell sounded, and the ring announcer took center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, next on tonight's card, fifty minutes of enhanced boxing in the welterweight division. On my right, fighting out of the red corner: He hails from Madison, Wisconsin, with a record of forty-four wins and seven defeats, with sixteen victories by knockout, and weighs in tonight at an even sixty-seven kilograms. He is ranked number fourteen by the World Enhanced Boxing Commission. Ladies and gentlemen, Rick "Stonewall" Hadrian!"

The crowd cheered, while some would-be comedians shouted "Yo, Hadrian!" The bell clanged for quiet.

"And on my left, fighting out of the blue corner--" Some were cheering already. "--from the great city of Los Angeles, California. His record is a perfect thirty-four and oh, with twenty-six knockout wins. Weighing in at sixty-five and one-half kilos, he is the number three contender in the world. Introducing Luis "Rayo" Razon!"

The noise reached a crescendo, and kept up during the referee's instructions. Leon was ready with the hypos when Luis returned to his corner. He worked fast, injecting Luis all over: lactic acid catalyzers in the legs and arms; fibroblast stimulators in the jaw, the ribs, and the bare hands.

Eddie Weston, Luis's trainer and manager, kept a keen eye on the other corner. "They’re going heavy on his legs, kid," he said, just audible over the murmur of the fans. "They want speed and endurance, so cut off the ring early. Leon, did you give him extra in the left hand?"

Leon nodded, as he pumped swelling retarders into the eyelids.

"Use the left jab. Hadrian can't defend his right." As he spoke, he saw the opposite nanotech applying extra shots on that side. His thick, fleshy hand patted Luis's shoulder. "This guy's all yours." He stepped through the ropes just as the opening bell rang.

The fight was never close. Razon staggered Hadrian early, making his corner use both their ninety-second time-outs before ten minutes had elapsed. Whatever reserve nanos they shot into him didn't help.

Razon wore his opponent down steadily, until he broke his middle finger on a right cross to Hadrian's jaw. He tried to knock him out fast, but finally had to back away and make the crossed-arms gesture for a time-out.

Leon set the bone and injected fresh nanos to further augment the knitting. Razon favored the right hand only for a moment after fighting resumed, and it was a right uppercut that decked Hadrian for the count, nineteen minutes into the bout.

He raised his fists in the air, drinking in the chant of "Rayo, Rayo." The one bruise Hadrian had managed to raise under his ribs was already fading to a dull brown. The fighters embraced as the announcer declared Luis the winner.

One step closer, Luis thought as he returned to the locker room. One fight closer to being champion.


"I was ready for how quick he would be, Gary. I also knew from watching his fight videos that he leans the way he's about to move, so I could anticipate. Once I could keep him in one place, my better hand speed made the difference."

The Sunday morning bullet from Las Vegas to L.A. was half-full, many people returning from watching the last night's fights. Luis hoped he could mingle a little with the fans, but he had interviews scheduled straight until their arrival time. The first-class compartment had two-way video-quality downlinks, letting him talk live with sportscasters.

"Well, it was another great bout," Gary Greenberg said with his trademark enthusiasm. "When are we going to see you fight Haji for the title?"

"I'd take him on today. Maliq has been hidi--" An admonishing hand touched his arm. "Okay, he's had higher-rated fighters to face, but he can't ignore me much longer. Maybe in two months."

Greenberg wound it down, and the camera light went off. "I know, I know," Luis said to Eddie, seated by the window. "You don't want me trash-talking another Biodyne fighter, but I thought you wanted us to apply some pressure."

The shallow lines on Eddie's forehead deepened with a grimace. "You did, by routing Hadrian. You'll be number two at worst in the next rankings. Biodyne won't want to lose a rising star. They'll give us that contract extension on our terms, and that includes a title shot."

Luis nodded slowly. "If you say so, but playing hardball with them still doesn't feel right." An ungainly smile made him look even younger than his twenty-three years. "Talking about myself and other fighters is part of the game. That comes naturally, but I've got no reason to hold Biodyne's feet to the fire. I've been with them my whole career."

"You're talking about sentiment, Luis, but they're acting on business. Give them an opening, and they will exploit you." Luis stayed guarded, so Eddie looked for another opening. "Do you want the championship belt or not?"

"You know better than to ask that."

"Fine. Winning the title takes work, and not just in the ring or the gym. I've been in boxing over twenty years. I was in it before there was any nanotechnology: just me against the other guy. I know what hard work means, and I know how easily you can lose everything, even working your hardest. We have to push here. We have to stick together, too. If we do, we can be the cha--" He stopped, abashed. "You know what I mean, kid."

"I do, Mister Weston." An icon began flashing on the screen embedded in the seat ahead of him. A minute later, he was deep into another interview, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. Eddie blanked it out, watching the mountains speed past his window.


"Mister Razon, good to see you." Michael Brystoc extended a pudgy hand. "Excellent fight you had. I see your finger's good as new. Please, sit down. You too, Mister Weston."

They did, though Eddie looked like he expected the chair to bite him. Brystoc plopped back into his padded seat. Autographed photos and other boxing memorabilia cluttered his desk. The plate identifying him as an assistant manager for sports sponsorship was almost invisible behind a pair of bronzed boxing gloves once worn by Sugar Ray Leonard, reputedly.

"Let me say, Mister Razon, I'm very glad you've decided to extend your contract." He opened a drawer.

"Luis hasn't agreed to anything," Eddie said. "We want to see what we're signing first."

"Of--of--of course. It's, er, always uncomfortable when one of our fighters leaves business unattended."

"I've been busy training," said Luis, "and fighting. Besides, my contract has two fights left. I'm not going anywhere yet--" He let the word linger for a second. "-- except back to training, so I hope we can finish this today."

Eddie flashed him a thumbs-up, while Brystoc bent over to shuffle more papers. He finally produced a hard-copy contract."

"Here you go, gentlemen," he said, the words flowing off his tongue. "Legal just finished it this morning."

Brystoc didn't have a second copy on hand, so Luis and Eddie had to share. "Twelve fights," Eddie muttered. "Good." He fell silent again, turning pages awkwardly so Luis could still read what he was bypassing. "Don't see anything about a title shot."

"Oh, it's taken care of," said Brystoc.

"Whoa!" Luis took the contract away, scanning one line hard. "'Biology Dynamics, International reserves the right to assign Mister Razon to a new weight division at its discretion.' What gives?"

Brystoc kept himself unruffled. "Yes, that clause is quite an equitable compromise to avoid the, uh, impending awkwardness."

"What awkwardness?" Eddie hissed, looking ready to cause some himself.

"Why, Maliq Abu Haji. Mister Blatt and I agreed we should move you up to the junior middleweight division, so your career progress isn't impeded by him."

"He's no impediment," Luis said. "I have to beat the champ to be the champ."

Eddie stood. "Let me handle this, kid. Mike--" He relished Brystoc’s discomfiture. "Kicking my fighter up a weight class doesn't do anything for him. It sets him back in the rankings, for one. It also takes him out of his natural weight--"

"One he maintains with the help of our products."

"--and puts him in against bigger men, which is always a harder road."

Luis rose. "I'm not worried about that."

"You see, Weston?" Brystoc smiled at Luis. "Mister Razon is taking just the attitude I knew he would." He produced a gold pen.

Luis shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'll fight anybody, but welterweight's my division, and I want to stay. I want to prove myself against Haji, and I'd think you’d want that match."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's obvious. Two undefeated fighters, one the wily champion, the other the hungry young contender. It's a promoter's dream. It could be the fight of the year, for any division. And we’re both on your team, so you get all the benefit without risking anything."

Brystoc's mouth puckered, almost disappearing beneath rolls of skin. "You're wrong, young man. Having two experienced fighters with perfect records is a great asset. Why should we throw half of that away, just to keep the belt we already have? I'm sorry, but this office will not approve a fight between you and Mister Haji."

Luis couldn't make himself accept what he was hearing. "If it's a matter of location, I'll go to France, fight him before his home crowd. That doesn't bother me." "You could fight him on the moon. It still won't happen."

Luis began to rise, but Eddie stepped into the breach. "We'll consider your offer, Mike. We can take this copy, right?" he said while stuffing it into his pocket.

"Please do consider it. What you perceive now as adversity is really opportunity. I hope you'll come to see that. Good day, gentlemen."

They walked into the labyrinth of office corridors. "Should I wait until tomorrow to flip him off," Eddie said, "or call him at home tonight with the bad news?" Luis sniffed. "I don't understand people who think that way."

"Good," said Eddie.


Luis had Tuesday off, but that was a relative term. He had an inner city youth center to visit in the afternoon, and remarks to make to a civic organization at night. Three years ago he never would have imagined himself a public speaker, but he had learned to surpass such limits, at Biodyne's behest.

The appalling toll that dementia pugilistica took on many ex-boxers had nearly driven the sport into extinction, before nanotechnology revived it. With three nanotherapy companies forming the WEB Commission, and others joining later, the sport became a technological showcase for their wares. Boxers' skill and resilience highlighted the quality of those products, the same way auto racers had done for engines and tires a century before.

Enhanced boxing was the most grueling major sport in the world. Its practitioners took enormous punishment, but thanks to their sponsors' nanos, they came through with bodies healed and minds clear. When poor kids or community leaders saw Luis Razon, or any other enhanced boxer, they saw someone whom the worst of defeats could not break, in body or mind. They also saw the way that Biodyne--or DNA or Matsuhashi or ReComCon--could give them some of that indestructibility.

Luis thought it a very fair trade. Too bad other things got in the way sometimes.


"Is Leon here?" Luis asked as he walked out of the locker room. The gym was a small suburban facility shared by six Biodyne boxers, but he was the only one there that early.

"He's working with his bantamweight today," Eddie said. "Besides, you know I don’t use nanos the first week after a fight. Is there something wrong?"

"No. No, I just wanted to talk to him."

Eddie studied his fighter. "Something I can help with, kid?"

After a second, Luis flashed a smile. "Don't worry about it. What do I start with today?"

Eddie put him on strength-building exercises, the medicine ball and heavy bag. Reflex exercises had limited utility now, since nanos would change reaction times, but Eddie sprinkled in a few.

"Time!" Luis gave one last swat to the speed bag, and walked over. Eddie suppressed a glare. "You'd better tell me what's eating you, kid. Whatever it is, it's wrecking your workout."

Luis shook his head, but his resistance crumbled fast. "Do you think they'll short me in my last fight?" he blurted out.

"What are you talking about?"

"Biodyne. If I play out my contract, without an extension, they may mix inert nanos into my doses so I lose my last bout. I'll end up damaged goods, less of a prize to whoever picks me up--less of a loss to Biodyne."

"No." Eddie gripped the fighter's head in both hands. "Luis, that's stupid. Who’s been telling you this?"

"The rumors have been around for years, Eddie. I'm not a complete innocent. Besides, I've heard it from someone I trust, too."

"Who?" Eddie demanded, but Luis would not give up a name. "Listen, rumors are all they are, and stupid ones, too. Any company that got caught doing that would be drummed out of the Commission, humiliated across the world. They'd be risking billions for petty cash."

"But they--I thought you'd--"

"Thought I'd what?"

Luis shrugged. He knew Eddie's sore spot, but thought better of probing it too directly. It needed a more subtle approach.

Eddie took a step back. "All right. Have it your way. I'll break off talks with Cazzaro, and see if I can't get you a fight with Mack Jackson, or maybe Angel Uribe."

"Wait a minute. It's next fight I'm worried about. This fight's fine. I want Cazzaro."

"If you're so anxious over your next fight, you won't be concentrating on this one. I'm just changing things to compensate."

"No." Luis's hands bunched. "Jackson's ranked eighth. Uribe's ninth. I don't want to step backward. I want to face the best fighter I can, and that's Cazzaro."

"His style is dangerous to you."

"I'm dangerous to him! Not just trying to keep me perfect, are you, Mister Weston?"

His face crumpled. "That's their obsession, not mine. They want paragons to parade in front of everyone, completely unblemished. "Use Biodyne, and be perfect." It's all advertising hogwash." He stopped pacing. "You want Cazzaro, you've got him. I'll call his manager tonight, and finish the deal. As for you, back to the speed bag."

Luis took to it with gusto, convinced he had won one over his manager. It wasn't long before he realized who had manipulated whom.

Eddie didn't ask why Luis burst out laughing for no reason in the middle of skipping rope.


In the days before enhanced boxing, high-ranking contenders would regularly go three months between fights, and champions would take half a year. Luis was boxing again four weeks after his victory over Rick Hadrian.

It was billed as the battle of the top welterweight contenders, until Chuck Harper scored a decision that edged him past Luis back to number two in the computer rankings. That gave Luis's preparations a sharper edge in his last week of training. Someone had taken something away from him, without even facing him to do it. He was going to get it back, and more.

The four thousand fans at the Bradley Civic Arena in Los Angeles were almost unanimously on Razon's side. They chanted "Rayo! Rayo!" as he entered the ring, and cheered when he doffed his Biodyne robe to reveal the lightning bolts adorning his trunks. They rained boos on Cazzaro when he entered.

Luis could hardly hold himself back during the announcements, the instructions, and Leon's ministerings before the bell. He felt like rayo, like lightning: crackling with energy, straining to leap forth and strike the nearest target.

That target was Tony Cazzaro.

Within four minutes, Cazzaro hit the canvas.

Three minutes later, so did Razon.

He had burned himself out trying to finish Cazzaro early, and not even enhanced metabolism could restore him to full strength immediately. He went on the defensive for a few minutes, using his arm speed to block rather than punch. The crowd's enthusiasm settled on a low plateau, and it wasn't long before Luis wanted them back.

He went back on the attack, but Cazzaro refused to yield the momentum. For a full furious minute, they traded rapid-fire shots, as the fans roared with spiraling fervor.

When Cazzaro's right hand shattered his nose, Luis could hear the tremendous "Oh!" from them, their energy released, the bubble burst. He fought back even harder through the pain, until he heard the bell clanging frantically. He shook his head at Eddie, who still had his arms crossed for time out, but only succeeded in getting more blood to stream from his nose.

Leon was on him the instant he dropped onto the stool. A thin hypo went up one nostril, then the other, shooting coagulant machines into the ruptured vessels. His thin fingers dug into his bag for more ampules. Cartilage knitters, Luis surmised.

"Brace yourself," Leon said, before grabbing the nose and pulling it back straight. Luis opened his mouth for a scream he would not let out.

"You can't stand toe to toe with him," Eddie was saying somewhere. "His power balances your hand speed. You're giving him an even chance."

The next hypo went on the bridge of his nose, its brief pressure still painful. "I'll take an even fight any time," Luis said.

"Would you drop your machismo for one minute? Fight him so you've got the edge. Stay at long range. Lure him. Make him come to you, and be ready when he does."

Eddie's assistant sponged the blood off Luis's face and chest, while Leon finished his battery of shots with one right up the nose again. Pain receptor blockers, Luis thought, as the throbbing subsided. As long as he could think straight enough to keep up with his nanotechnician, he assumed he was in good shape.

He remembered Eddie's advice, dancing at the far edge of his range, popping Cazzaro with jabs. They would get him points on the computer judge, but not go as far with the two human arbiters. They also wouldn't do much damage to Cazzaro, but they would get him frustrated, if he didn't keep his head.

He didn't. He moved in, swinging away at Razon's nose, trying to exploit the weakness in the little time that it remained weak. Luis dodged for a while, but eventually one blow caught him there squarely. He reeled away.

Cazzaro moved in for the kill, hands lowered, and charged straight into a left hook that threw him against the ropes. Razon was on him immediately, his faked reaction forgotten. He pummeled Cazzaro until the man got him in a clinch so he could call time.

Luis was never in trouble after that. He controlled the pace, kept Cazzaro moving, got close only when his opponent let his guard down. Cazzaro tried taunts and showboating, and left openings too good not to exploit. Luis never took the bait.

Cazzaro called time thirty-one minutes into the fight. "It's those Matsuhashi nanos," Leon said in the corner. "They're weak at processing lactic acid. His legs are cramping."

"You've got him, Luis," said Eddie. "Keep your distance, and the decision's yours."

"Yeah," Luis replied, "but I want the KO. It'll send a message upstairs."

"You don't need the knockout to win."

"No--but he does. He'll come in, and I'll be waiting."

He was right. It turned into a bullfight, with Cazzaro making increasingly weary charges, and Razon maneuvering away and counterpunching. When the moment of truth finally came, his flurry of punches was too fast for most eyes to follow. Cazzaro nearly beat the count on his knockdown, but his grip on the middle rope slipped.

The crowd was soon hoarse with yelling, but rallied to start a fresh chant: "Dános Haji! Dános Haji! Dános Haji!" They wanted the champion next. Luis could only wonder if he would be able to deliver.


"Thirteen reporters have interviewed me in the last two days. They all asked when I would get a title shot. I couldn't tell them anything."

A smile dimpled Brystoc's face. "Your restraint is laudable. It keeps rancor out of the business relationship." He handed over a pair of palmpads. "I believe you'll find it rewarded."

Luis and Eddie each took one, and scrolled them down as fast as their eyes could follow. "Five fights?" Eddie muttered, a second before Luis caught the bigger change.

"You're fighting me as a junior welterweight now?"

Brystoc's smile brightened. "Van lost the title last week, and confidentially, he may be retiring. We want that belt back, and we want you to get it." A fleshy finger pointed to Luis's pad. "You'll see you're guaranteed a title shot by your third fight on that contract, provided you continue to win against ranked opponents."

Eddie nudged Luis. "You're also locked into automatic contract extensions as long as you stay champion."

"At substantially higher guaranteed purses," Brystoc countered. "That is standard contract language, Mister Razon. Your manager will confirm that."

Eddie gave a nod. "He's right about that. The contract terms aren't bad."

"I believe we have acted in good faith to meet your demands. You wanted a title fight, and you'll have it. You didn't want to move up in weight classification, so we are moving you down instead."

"You don't understand." Luis was calm, measured, but firm. "I didn't want to move at all. I want to succeed where I am. Moving me down a division--that's worse than before. It looks like I'm running away, like I can't pick on someone my own size." He slapped the pad onto the desk, clipping a framed photo. "No deal."

Brystoc raised his eyes with a well-cultivated air of long-suffering. "What exactly do you want, Mister Razon? No, I can anticipate your answer: a title fight against Maliq Abu Haji. What else is there that would satisfy you?"

Luis’s mouth lifted. "I'd gladly fight whoever's welterweight champion, Haji or not." The implication that Haji wasn't immortal set Brystoc to scowling. "Aside from that, nothing. I've had thirty-six fights, and won them all. I've earned this chance. If you won't recognize that, maybe I'll appeal to higher authority."

"I am the highest authority."

"Does John Harker Blatt know you're saying that?" Eddie piped up. "Most people's bosses wouldn't take that talk well."

"The executive manager and I consulted on this contract. He shares my opinions. This is as far as we go, gentlemen."

Luis traded looks with Eddie. "Then we shouldn't waste more of your time," he said, getting up. Eddie followed right behind.

A glance back showed Brystoc's face turning down dourly, before he began tapping at his computer. They left him that way.


There was nothing left to do, except train, fight, win, and field offers. Eddie looked forward to the bidding war an undefeated, number-one-ranked free agent would spark. Luis cared most about one bargaining criterion--but the negotiators didn’t have to know that.

Eddie rattled his head, shaking himself out of a daydream of big numbers. He was watching Luis at the target mat, a large, soft pad hanging on the wall and flashing lights. It measured response time, accuracy, and power, and so far Luis was matching his usual standard.

"Time," said Eddie, just as the mat's own signal went off. "Pretty good, kid." Luis nodded, even as he toweled his face dry. "Five minutes of moving targets next. Ready? Hey, kid, I'm over here."

"Leon," Luis said, looking over Eddie's shoulder. "I didn't think you were due in today. Paying a social call?"

Leon trudged over, his face pinched. "Guys, I--" He swallowed. "I've been reassigned."

"What!" came out in unison.

"To Ben Eunoto's camp, effective tomorrow."

"Geez, super-heavyweights," Eddie said. "They always need more of everything."

"Who’s replacing you?" asked Luis, looking strained.

"Some guy named Posey. I don't know him professionally." He looked at Luis and grimaced. "It's happening just the way it did last time."

"What is?"

Leon faced Eddie. "A fighter getting a new nanotech for the last fight of his contract. I got replaced this way on Robby Weller's team two years ago, just before his first loss."

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "You told him about that. Why did--" He stopped, as it soaked in further. "Why haven't you gone to the Commission, or the police? Can you prove this?"

"Of course I can't prove it. The corporate managers didn't tell me their reasons, and do you think the replacement nanotechnicians would admit it? If I went to the Commission, how long do you think I'd keep my job?" He held out his hands. "I have a family to support. I can't stick my neck out. I'm sorry."

Eddie frowned. "No, this is coincidence. I don't believe it."

"Why not?" Luis said. "I'd think you'd be the first to believe they could--"

Luis stopped, but there was already a twinge of pain on Eddie's face. "I would, if I thought it was in their interest. Problem is, this hurts them, too. A loss goes on their record, not just yours."

"They can afford a few extra losses here and there," said Leon. "They're looking at a bigger picture.

Eddie still shook his head. "It doesn't add up," he said, almost pleading.

Luis stepped in. "Well, we don't have to let it happen. Eddie, talk to Biodyne. Tell them we want to keep Leon in our corner. Ask them too, Leon. It's only one more fight. If they agree, our worries are over."

"And what if they refuse?" asked Leon.

"Then it's Plan B. Eddie, hold off on negotiations for a while. Don't finalize any deals until a week from Saturday."

"What's Saturday?"

"The Haji-Harper fight," Eddie told Leon. "I was going to do that anyway, just in case."

Luis smiled. "If Haji loses the belt, Leon, Biodyne will need somebody to win it back, preferably someone unbeaten for their image. They'll have to turn to me."

"You think Haji's going to lose?"

"No, but it's a chance." Luis looked at the floor. "And the wait will give me time to think of something else."


Luis had more than enough time to think.

He couldn't be sure Leon was on the money. It might be paranoia, or a weird guilt complex from his fighter losing only after he left. The facts checked out, those few Leon had. But there were always more facts.

He downloaded a decade's worth of fight and contract statistics into his home computer, and had the spreadsheet program crunch them to fine powder. In a few days, he had answers to questions he had never imagined--but not the one he wanted.

Average fighters did no worse in the final fight of a contract than in any other fight. Ranked fighters did somewhat worse, but once he filtered out the effect of rising into tougher competition, it was on the edge of normal statistical variation. Breaking the stats down by corporation illuminated nothing regarding Biodyne, though one or two competitors might stand some Commission scrutiny.

Luis gave up, his time wasted, and a definitive answer elusive. Biodyne had already refused to let Leon stay on. Now he could only wait for the Haji fight, and try to drown his worries in training sweat.


"Are you listening, kid?"

Eddie's voice came over the speakers, masking the sounds of the heavyweight undercard Luis was watching. They had both bought the boxing program, so they could watch the Haji-Harper fight and scout the boxers together.

Luis didn't answer. He was throwing punches at the air, arms pumping as fast as he could make them, breath coming in ragged draws. His eyes never left the screen.

"Luis, what's going on? Luis!" Luis finally stopped, forehead dripping, arms aching. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I--I was testing my hand speed against these fighters."

"You what?"

"I was trying to punch as fast as they do during the flurries--like that one. I couldn't manage it. Fighters who outweigh me by forty kilos, who have punched themselves out for most of an hour, are still moving faster than I can."

"Luis, they're enhanced. We're not starting you on training nanos until we choose an opponent. There's no way you can match them."

A sigh. "I know. I had it in my head that, even if my nanos were impaired, I could still get by on training, experience, smarts. I was wrong. I'm not good enough, not by myself."

"Kid, I told you to put it out of your head. You'll only end up beating yourself."

"Eddie, I can't turn my brain off. I'm not a machine." He laughed harshly. "I only use the machines … or the other way around."

"Turn off the fight."

Luis blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Turn it off, and look at me." Eddie was waiting to fill the screen when Luis minimized the fight window. "I was a good boxer fifteen years ago. Very good. If enhanced boxing hadn't come along--have I ever told you why the corporations wouldn't sign me?"

"I know," Luis said. It wasn't Ed Weston's fault the WEB Commission had banned him from enhanced boxing. It was the fault of his apoE gene, allele epsilon-4. It rendered him highly susceptible to lasting brain damage, the wellspring of bad publicity the nanofacturers didn't dare risk tapping. His career had suffocated fifteen years ago, in his physical prime. Retrenching as a trainer and manager was his only way to stay in the game.

"Well, if I had kept boxing, I would have fought for a middleweight belt someday. Go look it up."

"I did," Luis said, "years ago."

"I'm proud of my career, Luis. I'm not too proud, though, to say that you probably would have beaten me in my prime without a nano in your body, and that's with you fighting two classes below me. If you didn't have the natural ability, nothing Biodyne gave you would have brought you to where you are."

"I understand what you're saying--and I'm honored--but it cuts both ways. The nanos aren't enough, but neither am I by myself."

Eddie groaned. "Listen, maybe I can get the Commission inspectors to do special tests before the fight, verify that your nanos are all active."

"They don't like interference, in any direction."

"Well, I don't know what more I can do. I still think you're worried over nothing, but if you're determined to psych yourself out, I can't stop you. Hey, they're getting into the ring. Time we got to business."

They watched the fight as they always did, Eddie and Luis pointing out the fighters' strengths and weaknesses to each other, trading ideas for strategies. What was different was Luis, for the first time he could remember, silently hoping for Maliq Abu Haji to lose.

Biodyne fighters were teammates, and you didn't root against a teammate. He did this time, though, to no avail. Haji dictated the fight's pace, got through Harper's defenses with his trademark pinpoint accuracy, and cruised to a unanimous decision.

He listened to Eddie's post-mortem, his theory about how Haji telegraphed his right jabs, his criticism of Harper's weak defense of his ribs. Some of it sunk in, but that subsurface dread kept picking away.

"You can beat Harper," Eddie declared, and Luis agreed. All else being equal, he could, but other people might combine to take away that chance.

A fair fight. That's all he wanted.

And maybe he could get it after all.

"I've got an idea," he said, not noticing what analysis he had interrupted. "Eddie, we can look up personnel data involving other corporations' fighters, can't we?"

"Sure. They make that public. Looking for an edge on some fighter?"

"No," Luis said, smiling for the first time that night. "Just the opposite."


Angel Uribe was in the ring, waiting for him. The Vegas fans either loved Uribe's flashiness, the gold accents in his hair, the Mercury wings on his boots, or hated it. Razon didn't get as many cheers, or as many boos.

It had been an intense two weeks of training. Uribe's camp had insisted on an early date, having last fought a fortnight before Razon. That didn't worry Luis. He was always in shape, and Eddie barely needed two days to break down Uribe's technical flaws.

Luis climbed through the ropes and danced in place, looking at Uribe's face. Nothing penetrated the mask of impassive ferocity. Not even during their staredown during the referee's instructions did Luis see a glint of agitation over the long locker room inspection, or of suspicion that Luis himself had made it necessary.

Eddie had known Uribe's handlers would gladly fight the top-ranked contender, even with their number-nine man in the last fight of his contract, just like Razon. He had also known that a couple confidential words in the ears of reporters who owed him favors from way back would be enough to incite a wave of speculation.

They knew the rumors. They suspected both companies might give their fighters bad nanos. They knew this might just be the first unenhanced fight in fifteen years, an idea with gruesome fascination for many fans.

Luis had known the companies wouldn't stand for such speculation. Biodyne and ReComCon both asked for special oversight from the WEB Commission. They had gotten it. The pre-fight tests took five times longer than usual, even as the officials blandly denied anything was out of the ordinary.

It was a perfect solution. Uribe got a shot at the top contender. Eddie got his fighter's head screwed back on straight. The press got a juicy story. The commission looked good ensuring that this was an enhanced fight. Biodyne got some bad publicity--payback for their contract ploys--but they also got heightened interest for their bout, which meant more paying viewers.

And Luis got what he had wanted when he set everything in motion. He got a fair fight, an even chance. That was what the sport, any sport, was about.

The bell rang. Luis grinned as he strode forward to throw his first punch, to take his chance.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Updated: July 1, 2014.

 

This Web Page Created with PageBreeze Free HTML Editor