CK dangled his legs off the trainer’s table and tried not to stew over his predicament. Of course Coach Costa had seen a drop off in his arm strength. His malfunctioning KIP zapped him every time he threw the ball. If only he could find someone willing to listen.
The whole situation had become a snarled mess. If he didn’t unsnarl it soon, he’d be watching this year’s season from his couch at home while listening to his father repeat the same rambling stories over and over.
Thinking of his father put him over the edge. The old man needed to be in a facility getting actual treatment for his dementia. But his family didn’t even have the money for a solid diagnosis of his father’s condition. CK’s minuscule signing bonus had been enough to pay for a few months of groceries. If only he’d been drafted in 2028, before the riots.
The trainer burst through the door holding a large negative to the light. “Well the scans don’t show any increased stress or calcium buildup from the last time. I can’t see anything wrong, but still, I’d like to gather game-speed data.”
CK rolled his eyes.
“If you don’t mind.” The trainer gestured toward his diagnostic KIP. It was a gutted version, only capable of oneway transmission without the complex biofeedback that simulated the violence of the game.
“My arm’s fine.” CK jumped down from the table. “It’s only in the fricken virtual reality that I’ve got a problem. If anyone would let me throw an actual football, I’d show ‘em.”
“That might be the case, CK, but unfortunately the game is played in VR now. If you’re gonna play in the pros, you’re going to need to play in VR. To do that, I need to get some game speed data on your throwing motion in VR. So jump up. I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir.” CK flipped off his shoes, leapt onto the rollerball surface of the diagnostic pad and flashed his best Heisman trophy pose.
The trainer powered up the machine without noticing CK’s antics.
The EM field buzzed to life around the quarterback and a blank practice field emerged slowly in CK’s awareness. He slapped his chest twice and a football shot straight into his outstretched hand.
“Okay, now show me what you got. Remember, I need game speed, so try to imagine you’re in a do or die situation.” The doctor’s voice echoed within the virtual reality as if it were the voice of God.
“That won’t be hard.” CK prayed to God his arm would do what it was supposed to. Dancing on his feet, he took a three step drop and rocketed the ball at his mental target for a five yard slant. Next, he threw one into the flat. His arm seemed to be working without a hitch. Emboldened, he threw a post route and then one down the seam like earlier in the morning.
“That should be enough. Thank you.”
The field and the football disappeared just as CK was preparing to fake a handoff. Instead he stepped off the deactivated KIP and wobbled as he readjusted to being suddenly back in the screening room. “Geesh, doc.”
“My bad.” The trainer helped CK back to the table. “So how did it go in there? Everything feel fine? Not that you would tell me if it didn’t.”
“Everything was perfect.”
The trainer narrowed his eyes.
“No, seriously. The arm felt good. I swear, it’s not me. It’s my KIP.”
“Maybe.” The trainer scrawled some notes onto his tablet. “Gotta be at least a few bugs to work out of a system that complex.”
CK slapped his thighs. “So I’m good to go right? Coach Costa said I needed to check in down here before coming to practice. But he didn’t say I couldn’t practice.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll review the data you gave me when I get the chance. I’ll let you know if anything pops up.”
“So no news is good news?”
The trainer nodded. “In the meantime, you might as well put in a request for a systems check on your KIP.”
CK snorted. “You know what, doc, I think I’ll do that.”
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