* * * * *
Well, I did explain in the first draft exactly what was the matter with the robots, but when Chal saw it she made me take it all out because she said nobody except a robotician would understand a word of it. “All anyone needs to know is that you managed to fix them,” she said. Fair enough, but I did explain exactly what a D3536 did, just so that nobody would be confused. That was the bit that had blown in all four of the robots, you see. But Chal seemed to think they’d be confused anyway. There’s just no pleasing some people, but because she’s Chal I took it out like she said.
Anyway, I did manage to fix them. No reflection on the Rehennian roboticians; it’s not everyone who can repair a blown D3536, but if you can’t repair it you have to put a new one in and then reprogram the whole thing, and that takes ages. I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure that the programming would still be all right, but it seemed to be fine for the rest of the match except that one of the linesrobots had a tendency to shoot off in reverse rather than bothering to turn round. Still, it didn’t actually affect the way it was doing its job; all right, it was a little bit disconcerting the way it kept spinning its head round through a hundred and eighty degrees so it could see what was going on behind it, but at least it raised its flag when it was meant to, and that’s all you can ask of a linesrobot as far as I can see.
What was even better was that Italy eventually won the match two-nil, which meant Chal was over the moon, especially as Paolo Riccio came forward and scored the second goal. And because Chal and I had prevented the match from being abandoned, they decided we were national heroes and probably even planetary ones, and so we got invited to the celebrations afterwards. I’m not very good at parties, but Chal was absolutely in her element. She got to hold the Galactic Cup and someone took a holocube shot of her with it, and the entire squad autographed the back of her robe, and she had a very long chat with Paolo Riccio about football tactics that I didn’t understand a word of, and I ended up sitting in a corner with a glass of rum and paleeth juice listening to the team mascot getting extremely drunk. I’m not a heavy drinker myself, but I didn’t entirely blame him. I think I’d have been inclined to drink too much as well if my job consisted of prancing around the football pitches of a hundred planets dressed up as a Roman eagle.
And that’s about all really, except to say that next time we’re on leave we’ve got a free luxury holiday in Tuscany to look forward to, and if Chal ever wants two tickets to watch the Azzurri (which is the nickname for the Italian team, by the way – she gave me a very funny look when she discovered I didn’t know that, but I’m sure I’m not the only one) then all she has to do is ask. Right now we’re on our way to Deneb with a cargo of deep-frozen fish – well, they do have oceans on Deneb 3, but there’s nothing in them you’d want to look at, let alone actually consider eating – and for some reason I seem to be more popular now than I’ve ever been in my life. All of a sudden everyone wants to talk to me, even big Dario Feltrinelli who wouldn’t even give me the time of day a few weeks ago. In fact, especially big Dario, when I think about it. You know he even bought me a drink yesterday? Big Dario never buys anyone a drink. Well, he does now, apparently.
The only trouble is, popularity does have its price. I don’t think I’m ever going to manage to convince the rest of the crew that really, honestly, as a matter of fact, I’m still not at all interested in football…
* * * * *
About the Author
Sarah McEvoy was born in Kendal, and wanted to be an astronaut when she grew up until she realised that would mean being more sporty than she was at all interested in being. She now lives in Yorkshire with two cats and a large number of books. She has a varied range of interests including website building, baroque music, translation and needlecrafts, and every now and then she seems to end up doing something a little out of the ordinary. In 2013 this will involve directing a production of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor for Opera Seria, Manchester. She never leaves the house without a hat, and, this being England, usually also an umbrella. If there is a real-life Mars colony in her lifetime, she would like to volunteer to live in it.
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