Robofootball: Doublespin
Chapter 55

Things did not go so well for the Boston Bombers the following week on October 4, 2020. The Bombers finished a mediocre 5-7 in 2019, but eventually would improve to 6-6 this season, but would still miss the playoffs. They had invested in a few Gen 3 players including a new quarterback, but mostly fielded a lot of Gen 2’s players as starters, a solid upgrade from mostly Gen 1’s from the 1st season. The game was delayed an hour as it was going to be played outdoors at the Bomber Stadium. Thunder and lightning was moving through in an easterly direction and fortunately, would not swirl back. The robots were expected to play in all weather conditions as football players once did; nevertheless, lightning was the only condition that pulled them off the field. A couple of sweeper-like ground units had been struck prior to the 1 p.m. start time, although they were grounded much like an automobile, the surge fried and froze some of them in place like ice sculptures.

A little after 2 p.m. the game began with the Robocat kicker blasting the ball through the uprights for a touchback. It was gusty but the wind was behind the Robocats to start the game. After the very first miscue kick in the very first game, the controller had the Kettering-designed kicker functioning optimally. In 2020, it seemed that defense was harder to play. Quarterbacks were difficult to get to because they pitched or threw the ball quickly, and rarely ran. They were too valuable to take the abuse of a normal running back as they were always the most expensive machine on the field.

Jess was no exception. Just the prep time alone that Dr. Hobson had to do to prepare him for game time was a nightmare. Luckily for Hobson, Reynolds would have him whisked back to Hobson’s lab where assistants could at least change his waste bag, monitor his vitals, set him up with new fluid nutrients, change his small oxygen canister, and replace any damaged sensors. Hobson gave his staff minimal information about his in-the-field little testing experiments. Naturally, the armor was removed at the respective stadium prior to shipment back to the lab. On the field, Jess was not allowed to run, simple as that. He stood several feet back from the center in a perpetual shotgun, and either pitched the ball to an Ichiro-controlled running back, or threw it rather quickly during a pass play. Handing off was a bit awkward during an exchange in general in the RFL. It required extreme coordination between two controllers, so pitching became the norm as it was much easier. Hobson had all he could do to perfect the throwing programming and he was still making adjustments to it in the 3rd game.

Living up to their namesake, the Bombers managed 3 first downs on 5 plays with two 8-yard passes mixed in with some 5 yard runs. Then, as true to that name, they hit a 50-yard bomb that was timed perfectly by the Gen 3 quarterback and a Gen 2 receiver. It was easy to throw to a specific spot, and all the receiver had to do was get there at the right moment. The receiver had gone vertically up the field to the right goal post and then broke across perpendicular or horizontally to the right end zone marker where the ball was thrown perfectly. The corner defender was only a second behind while the safety had not gone deep enough to help out. It also seemed that the wind and rain had stopped specifically for that one play, and it would be the only offensive TD for the Bombers in the entire game.

Although the thunder and lightning had passed, the gusty wind and rain did not. The game would drag on for 4 hours because of constant malfunctions. Even in 2020, moisture and sophisticated electronics did not mix as the rain drove its watery way into any open crevice or orifice that a player exhibited. Antwan caught a 12-yard pass and was sandwiched between a corner and a linebacker. The corner had his legs but did not let go, but not on purpose. The corner shorted out with Antwan’s prosthetic legs firmly within its grasp. To add insult to injury, the linebacker on his chest rose to get up, but fell back down again. After 3 times, Antwan’s cussing and swearing under his breath was loud enough to light up Reynolds’ monitor like the fast teletype at the New York Stock Exchange. By the time the sweepers came to remove the defenders, Antwan’s left prosthetic leg had snapped a joint and he had to be carted off the field too by the Robocat sweeper crew.

Jess didn’t fare much better. The field was saturated despite the drain system. The artificial turf or carpet slickened, and since the overall rigidity of the players was much harder compared to their former human counterparts, depressions and even rips or tears started forming in the field surface. Puddles began filling the depressions while ridges perfect for tripping materialized in the tears much like concrete in the winter when it contracted. On a pitch play, Hobson swung Jess’s body motion left to pitch the ball; however, given some of the limitations of the monitors and wet cameras, he did not realize that Jess’s body was standing in a small puddle when he caught the snap from center. As a result, Jess’s body slipped and went down hard just as he was releasing the ball to the running back. Ichiro expected the ball at his player’s waste level but was unable to react in time as it ricocheted off his player’s ankle and bounced toward the scrimmage line where the usual ferocious blocking, banging, and clanging was going on.

“Fumble!” Was shouted loudly in both team control rooms as there was a mad scramble for the ball. Hobson, in the heat of the moment, not considering the safety of his odd quarterback creation, maneuvered Jess toward the ball. Ichiro naturally did the same and the two collided head-to-head, and both went down hard without either getting a hold of the ball. By that time, every lineman and his brother from both teams jumped in the melee followed by two of the Bomber linebackers who were relatively close since they had been dogging Ichiro’s #22. There was fighting, clashing and clawing that led to a giant ball of mechanical limbs and heads that first looked like several monstrous pythons intertwined in some weird sex orgy. When the dust settled, it looked more like a giant sphere or cube in a scrap yard after several cars mixed with appliances and pole lamps had gone through the compactor.

The numerous malfunctions and lost limbs took the sweepers 18 ½ minutes to clear out after numerous trips back and forth. When they got down to the ball, the defensive nose tackle was laying on what resembled a nice golden or dark brown buttermilk pancake as the ball had been flattened. Possession was awarded to the Bombers and they would get a field goal out of the replacement ball to take a 10-0 lead. Jess was taken off the field too as several sensors in his throwing arm had been crushed, plus, for some reason, he smelled real bad. Both Reynolds and Hobson left the control room as their substitutes came in to control the backups. Ordinarily, if Reynolds had to make a trip to the locker room, he would call Antwan since no one else would work Antwan’s control board other than Reynolds. Of course Antwan’s commands were quite simple, but at this particular time, Antwan had already been brought in because of an injured leg. When the alternate #18 and #7 Robocat clones came on the field, the crowd would not know it, only Reynolds.

Midway through the 2nd quarter, the locker room was a mess or more of a cluster-fuck as Reynolds would call it. Both Yuri and Doc Holliday were up to their necks with over a dozen malfunctioning players. The two would be putting in some 18 hour days over the next week to fix the players for next week’s game. The visitor quarters were not that big, not even half the size of those at the Silverdome; nevertheless, they met the minimum guidelines that the league had set for size, barely. There were only a couple of offices with just one private bathroom. When Reynolds walked in, he heard Antwan cursing while dragging his bum leg around the office.

“Son of a bitch,” Antwan was saying, frustrated since he couldn’t balance himself to remove his armor.

“Here, let me help,” said Reynolds. Reynolds pulled out his own power drill and began undoing the long Phillips head screws that held much of Antwan’s outer armor plating panels about his backpack-like inner over-the-head harness frame. Antwan had only managed to get his head gear off that had more snaps than screws.

When Reynolds freed up Antwan’s good left arm, Antwan said, “Thanks man, lemme have that gun.” Antwan was able to take it from there, but as he was undoing his leg armor, Hobson strode into the private office area with Jess stretched out on a gurney-like hand cart, one used by the sweepers.

“What the hell?” Hobson actually voiced the words as he looked at Antwan then back to Reynolds, “I thought…”

“Hush, shut the door behind you,” Reynolds commanded. Hobson did so.

“Human,” Hobson said. “Is he the only other one?”

“Yes,” Reynolds replied, no need to deny it now with the cat out of the bag. Later, he would feel a little relieved. He had so many secrets, and trying to keep them all balanced from who knew what or nothing at all, had been trying to say the least. “Hobson, meet Antwan, Antwan, this is Dr. Hobson.”

“I’ve seen him around, just don’t know him,” said Antwan. “What’s with the dude on the stretcher? Wait,” Antwan hobbled over for a closer look. “That’s #18, our quarterback, he’s a, he’s a dude? Like me?” It was Antwan’s turn for surprise as he was putting 2 and 2 together hoping to get 4.

“I think I’ve seen you too,” said Hobson, “Packing things up in the office last week?”

“Let’s go inside further,” Reynolds interrupted as he slipped behind Hobson, peaked outside the door, then locked it. “Damn, what’s that smell?”

“I think his waste bag broke in that pile-up,” Hobson said matter-of-factly as he pushed the gurney forward. “Is my equipment in here?”

“Yeah, go in the next room,” Reynolds pointed to the only other office present. There were just two office rooms and a bathroom that were segregated from the main room where Yuri and Holliday were frantically giving out orders as if they were in a trauma center. By the time the game would end, both teams would barely be able to field a full functioning team of 11 players using backups, special teams, and defenders playing on offense and vice versa. With a lot of key players out with the exception of the Bomber Gen 3 quarterback, the Robocats would lose a close one, 17-14 after 2 second half running touchdowns by the nifty play of Ichiro. It wasn’t quite enough as the Bombers were able to return another fumble after the Robocats had to bring in their old Gen 1 quarterback when Jess’s cloned backup went down too. The Gen 1 had thrown a backward pass over the head of his receiver and bounced right into a defensive corner’s bread basket. The corner made it to the Robocat 16 and the Gen 3 QB for Boston was able to connect on a TD pass for the only Bomber score in the 2nd half. The field had become such a disaster that it was difficult if not nearly impossible to move the ball.

“May as well come in too,” Reynolds said to Antwan as he followed Hobson into the office room which was empty with the exception of a lone desk and chair.

“One of you want to help me with his armor?” Hobson inquired regaining his somewhat arrogant uppity snide tone.”

Reynolds looked at Antwan, “Are you done drilling?”

“Just a minute,” said Antwan, “Can you get the ones on my back?”

“Yeah sure,” Reynolds started buzzing the screws off around Antwan’s shoulders near the neck. By that time, Hobson had his own screw gun and was working on Jess when Reynolds came over to assist.

“You finish,” said Hobson, “I’ve got to get my equipment out.”

“Okay,” said Reynolds not all that happy taking orders when he was used to giving them.

Antwan leaned on the desk for support given that his left prosthetic leg would not bend properly. He watched in fascination as Reynolds undid the armor on the man on the cart while Hobson was unpacking all sorts of portable medical diagnostic equipment along with a very sophisticated laptop computer. Little did he know that the computer could communicate with a CPU implant within the man’s brain via an antenna disguised as a hair in his head. It would blow his mind that all bodily muscle movements could be controlled by that same CPU.

Hobson booted it up and was pounding the keyboard furiously like a monkey typing Shakespeare’s sonnets, “Vitals look good, blood pressure 110 over 68, oxygen levels acceptable, fluid intake marginal, heart rate steady, ah, here it is,” Hobson was mumbling to himself as Reynolds removed the last of Jess’s body armor. Antwan stared at the pile that was much like his own – full length leg coverings that hooked in at the shoe or ankle level below, and the hips above; a 2-piece torso section, front and back that hooked into the hips and then at the neck above; a full helmet with visor that went completely over the head like one of those diver helmets that clipped into the neck and shoulders, only it had the appearance of a human-like robot face. Then there was the inner sub frame that it all screwed on to. It was all very much like his own if only slightly smaller in dimensions, but after all, it was custom fit.

“Shit!” Reynolds said as he observed the dark brown cess pool of a stain dripping down the padding on Jess’s left hip.

“As good a reference as any,” Hobson commented. “Like I said, his bag must have burst in that big pile-up. I’ve got a spare here,” Hobson produced a fairly thin plastic composite that was in turn fitted within a Kevlar padded frame. It could stop a bullet from penetrating the bag but more than 2 tons of pressure from being on the bottom of a 15-robo-player pile had been too much. The same Kevlar padding lined the armor of both Jess and Antwan’s exterior suits.

“Damn, he’s just a kid,” said Antwan. “Did you put him out? Was he a soldier too?”

“No, not really,” said Reynolds. “He was a high school quarterback, a good one. He got hit so hard in the head that it put him in a coma.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“The dude is in a coma?” Now Antwan was really confused.

“More in a managed stasis,” Hobson jumped in as he unhooked the bag that had burst and slipped the new one in. “Can you get some paper towels, maybe a little water too?’ Hobson was speaking to Reynolds.

Reynolds was holding his nose, “Yeah sure Doc,” glad that Hobson was doing the dirty work. He strode over to the bathroom and it was no fun cleaning up human waste, but he was a made man. In his younger days on the way to his capo promotion with the Verlucci’s, he had to so some dirty work, cleaning up and disposing of dead bodies, as long as confirmations were not necessary on the victims. There was a little occasional roughing up work too and it was not uncommon for the perp in the hot seat to piss or crap his pants, and this moment with Jess reminded him of that.

“I knew it,” Antwan muttered aloud.

“Knew what?” Reynolds inquired.

“I saw it in his eyes last week, when his visor came up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they weren’t lit up like the cans out there.”

“You were a soldier?” Hobson asked, not really one for small talk, and, he had to admit, Reynolds had done a pretty good job keeping him a secret, like Jess.

“Lost my legs and right arm in Afghanistan,” Antwan said matter-of-factly.

“I see,” Hobson looked closer observing the prosthetics including the damaged left leg joint. That was one reason the disguise worked apparently worked so well; the legs and right arm of Antwan were little different from the robot counterparts.

“Hmm, so you act on your own on the field, no programming I assume?” Hobson recalled that he was so busy trying to maneuver Jess in the millions of possible combinations that he failed to notice that the man sitting next to him in the control room, Reynolds, did very little indeed with his #7 receiver.

“Yup, Reynolds types in the play and it comes through my helmet as a voice command,” Antwan said.

“I see,” said Hobson as Reynolds retuned with a load of towels, some wet, some dry, and a wastebasket too in order to aid in cleaning Jess.

“I hope you all keep this a secret,” Reynolds somewhat hissed in his no-nonsense you’ll-be-swimming-with-the-fishes otherwise tone.

“No problem man,” said Antwan.

“Doc?” Reynolds asked.

“I don’t see a problem. In fact, this should work out okay. Mr. Antwan here can communicate with you directly, correct?”

“Yes, he can,” said Reynolds, “His return voice commands come through in English on my computer.”

“Good. Then he can keep a close eye on your Mr. Robinson here, right on the field.”

“Yes he can,” said Reynolds, “How about it Antwan?”

Antwan was somewhat lost in thought as he hobbled over to Jess’s cart for a closer look.

“Antwan?”

“Oh yeah, sure boss, I can keep an eye on the kid. How does he er how do you…”

Hobson interrupted, “Implant sensors and a central control unit within the brain that control all physical motor function.”

“You can do that?”

“That’s somewhat rhetorical don’t you think?” Hobson said snidely. “This is already the 3rd game. Speaking of sensors,” Hobson went on as he had been typing on his computer continuously, “I’ll have to take him back to the lab in Ann Arbor. I can’t fix the ones that control his arms here.”

“All right, we’ll pack him up for shipment,” said Reynolds. “Can you get your street clothes on?” Reynolds directed his attention to Antwan.

“Yeah I think so,” said Antwan, “It’s just one leg that’s fucked up.”

“Good,” said Reynolds.

“I have seen you around the team haven’t I?” Hobson broke in.

“Yes you have,” Reynolds broke in. He’s listed as an assistant coach. He helps with moving the injured players once we get him into civilian clothes. On fact, you can probably use him to help Jess from now on if I’m not available.”

“The kid’s name is Jess?”

“Yes Antwan, meet Jess Robinson, your quarterback,” said Reynolds.

It would take awhile for it to sink in, but the more he thought about it, the more confused Antwan became, and the more questions he would have, but they would have to wait for now. Likewise, Dr. Hobson would be interested in a closer look at Antwan’s prosthetics, but now was not the time as he had to tend to Jess.

“If my mother put on a helmet and shoulder pads and a uniform that wasn’t the same one I was wearing, I’d run her over if she was in my way. And I love my mother.”

Bo Jackson

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