The Galaxy Game by Karen Lord Read Free Book Online Page A

I can see what your skill is like.’
    Rafi swallowed. It wasn’t obvious, but yes, he swallowed. ‘Yes, Coach.’
    We walked to the Wall.
    ‘Don’t you need grav-bands?’ Rafi asked.
    ‘Not for this. It’ll keep me at your speed.’ I stopped to shuck off my mantle and tunic and unstrap my sandals. ‘Don’t worry, Moo. He’s not really looking for skill. He’s looking for potential. Do what you can.’
    I ran up the Wall to the first level, testing its responsiveness with an exaggerated bounce of my toes. ‘Come on, Moo! Don’t be timid!’
    He leapt up, using his banded hands to pull himself into the first level. He stood there for a while, perpendicular to the horizon, and raised his hands tentatively, feeling the varying drag of the new gravity.
    ‘Level two!’ I urged him.
    I turned and dived over and upwards to the next level, landing in a practised roll. He tried to follow but balked instinctively and fell hard on his neck and shoulders. He and I spent a few seconds cursing and laughing, respectively.
    I stopped laughing. ‘Level three.’ I kicked out, twisted sideways and landed in a careful crouch. Rafi gave me a pained look.
    ‘Think of it as spinning through a ninety-arc,’ I encouraged him.
    He tried and fell. Scrabbling for level two on his way down meant that he fell again, upwards, and smacked his nose and chin painfully.
    ‘Moo, if you’re falling, let yourself fall. Trying to hook on to another level at this stage will only bring pain. You let the bodycatcher take you, sit out your penalty behind the Wall and start again.’
    He rubbed his face, nodded and looked to level three with determination. This time he managed it, though his landing was beyond clumsy.
    ‘Level four is a one-eighty. Pay no attention to the horizon. Simply dive.’ I showed him. He took it with fair ease and I smiled, hoping the coach had seen that if nothing else.
    ‘Five is a two-seventy. If you try to do it as a ninety, you’re guaranteed a fall. Watch closely.’ Wallrunning means knowing which approaches will work and which ones will dump you in the bodycatcher. It’s not just surfaces and angles.
    Rafi did it, but it was a struggle. Was he tired already? ‘Only two more levels. You could do them later.’
    ‘No,’ he panted. ‘Might as well try to finish.’
    The last two were another two-seventy and a tricky one that could be a ninety or a two-seventy, depending on your orientation. Rafi fell trying to reach the last level, which I thought was a very good effort. I told him so as he writhed feebly in the grip of the bodycatcher below. He was too worn out to curse me, which I appreciated, especially since the coach was walking towards the Wall again and might have heard it.
    ‘Not bad,’ said he, offering a hand to pull Rafi vertical.
    I bounced down the Wall, graceful as a mountain goat, in the time it took the coach to get Rafi’s limbs untangled and his brain to understand which way was up.
    ‘When do you want him ready?’ I asked.
    ‘No more than a day or two. Make sure he can handle each level, then turn him over to us.’ His grin went wicked. ‘I can use a booby. These boys are getting complacent.’
    *
    Weekdays were exhausting, with the full crush of resident and daily students passing through the corridors. Serendipity did not join them. Most of the older children came to the Lyceum already registered in a standard curriculum administered via slate or handheld. Students learned as they pleased, at their own pace and in their own environment. The Lyceum staff did not have classes; some teachers sent their lessons directly to slates, others occasionally held demonstrations for the finer points of practical work, and for the subjects which required hands-on experience they took apprentices and assigned them to their workshops.
    Serendipity went to a few of the demonstrations. She would often slip in quietly after the start of the session, take a seat at the back and avoid contact that way.