Now it was the Rifleman’s turn on offense. The Citizen had stayed back during the prior plays, keeping himself out of mischief. Now he made his first substitution, bringing in one of his pass receivers. Stile exchanged one of his receivers for a pass defender. The first plays would probably be awkward, since most of Stile’s players were offensive and most of the Rifleman’s players defensive—but the longer the drive continued, the more qualified players could be brought in, at the rate of one per play. Of course the offensive and defensive lines were fairly similar, for Game purposes, so the exchange of as few as three backfield players could transform a team. All the same. Stile hoped the drive did not continue long.
The Rifleman assumed the position of quarterback. His animals lined up. The play commenced. Stile’s line charged in, but the Rifleman reacted with poise, making a neat, short bulletlike pass to his receiver on the sideline. It was complete; the pass had been too accurately thrown for the receiver to miss, too swift for the defender to interfere with. The Citizen had a net gain of eight yards. The Rifleman—now Stile appreciated how this applied to football, too. The Citizen was a superior player of this arcane game, better than an android passer. Therefore he had a superior team—while Stile had an indifferent team. Stile substituted in another pass defender—but the Citizen brought in another receiver. Stile could not double-cover. Those passes were going to be trouble! They were. The Rifleman marched his team relentlessly downfield. Not every pass connected, and not every play was a pass, but with four tries to earn each first down, the offensive team had no trouble. All too soon the Rifleman scored. Then the Rifleman substituted in his own place-kicker and let him make the extra point. The score was 7-0, the Rifleman’s advantage.
Complete team substitutions were permitted after a touchdown. It was a new game, with Stile receiving again, except that he was now in the hole. Five playing minutes had elapsed.
Stile’s team received the ball and attempted a runback. His animal got nowhere. Stile had his first down on the twelve-yard line.
It was time to get clever. If he could fool the defenders and break an android free, he might score on a single play. But this could be risky.
He set up the play: a fake run to the right, and a massive surge to the left, with every android lineman moving across to protect the runner.
The result was a monstrous tangle as stupid animals got in each other’s way. His runner crashed into his own pileup, getting nowhere, and the referee imposed a fifteen-yard penalty for unnecessary roughness, holding, and offensive interference. Half the distance to Stile’s goal line. Second down, long yardage, from the six-yard line. So much for innovation I Stile tried to complete another pass, this time to himself; maybe the Rifleman wouldn’t expect him to expose himself that way, and the surprise would work. A long bomb, trying for the moons, double or nothing.
The play commenced. Stile ducked through the line and charged straight downfield. The Rifleman cut across to guard him. Together they turned at the fifty-yard line, and Stile cut back to the appointed spot to receive the pass, and the Rifleman cut in front of him and intercepted it while it remained too high in the air for Stile to reach. “Sorry about that, friend,” the Citizen said as Stile hastily tackled him and the whistle blew to end the play. “Height has its advantage.”
It certainly did. Stile had lost the ball again without scoring. He heard the roar of reaction and applause from the filling audience section of the stadium; the Rifleman had clearly made a good play. Now Stile would have to defend again against the devastating passing attack of his opponent.
He was not disappointed. Methodically the Rifleman moved the ball down the field until he scored again. This time he passed for the extra points, and made them. The score was fifteen to nothing.
The first half of the game was finished: fifteen minutes of playing time. Stile had tried every device he could think of to stop his opponent from scoring, and had only man-aged to slow the rate of advance and use up time. The Rifleman had averaged a point per minute, even so. Stile had to move, and move well, in the second half, or rapidly see the game put out of reach. He needed a dramatic, original system of defense and offense. But what could he do?
Surprise, first. What could he do that really would surprise his opponent, while staying within the clumsy rules of this game? He couldn’t run or pass or kick the ball away—
The kick. It was possible to score on the kick. Field goals, they were called, worth three points each. Except that he had no kicker other than himself. That was only slightly better than nothing, considering his near bungle of his first attempt to punt. The moment he set up for a placekick instead of a punt, those Black armored animals would be upon him. Even if he got the kick off, even if he somehow scored, he would wind up crushed at the bottom of the pile of meat. There was not any great future in that. If by some fluke he scored several field goals, enough to win, he would still be so battered he would be at a serious disadvantage in other Games of the Tourney. It would really be better to forfeit this one; it took two losses to eliminate an entrant, so he could afford that gesture. No! He was not about to forfeit anything! If he lost, it would only be because he had been fairly beaten. Still, the lack seemed to be his best chance. A surprise punt on first or second down, catching the Rifleman with his guard down. Then an attempt to force an error, an interception, or a fumble. Playing for the breaks. It would take nerve and luck and determination, but it was a chance. Stile’s team received the kickoff. This time the ball bounced into the end zone, and was brought out to his twenty-yard line for play.
Stile called for the punt, after a fake pass. His quarter-back would simply fade back and hand the ball to Stile, then serve as interference to the ladders while Stile got the kick off.
It worked. Stile got a beautiful—for him—punt off, escaping unscathed himself. The ball was low and fast, skimming over the heads of the animals, bouncing, and rolling rapidly onward. No one was near it.
The Rifleman, playing the backfield, was first to reach the ball. But the thing was still hopping crazily about, the way an unround and pointed ball was apt to do, as if it were a faithful representative of its crazy period of history, and it bounced off the Citizen’s knee. Now, according to the peculiarities of this sport, it was a “live” ball, and Stile’s onrushing animals had the limited wit to pounce on it. There was a monstrous pileup—and Stile’s team recovered the football on the thirty-yard line of Black. A fifty-yard gain!
“Nicely played,” the Rifleman said, smiling. “I was beginning to fear the game would be unconscionably dull.”
“No Tourney Game is dull,” Stile said. “Sir.” Now he had the ball in good field position—but could he seize the opportunity to score? Stile doubted it. He simply did not have the ability to advance the ball consistently. So he would have to attempt to score from this range. That meant a forty-yard field goal. No, Stile doubted he had the power or accuracy for that. He would merely be throwing the ball away, unless he could get closer to the goal. His androids evidently couldn’t do that, and Stile himself was too small to carry it; the pass interception had shown that. This was one game where no advantage could be achieved from small size.
Or could it? These android brutes were accustomed to dealing with creatures their own size, and were slow to adjust. An agile, acrobatic man his size—why not show them some of the tricks he could do? Stile was small, but no weakling, and the androids were programmed not to hurt real people. He just might turn that into an advantage. In the huddle he had specific instructions for his center. “You will hike the ball to me—make sure you get it to me, for I am smaller than your regular quarterback—then charge forward straddle-legged. I clarify: hike the ball, then block forward and up, your feet spread wide. Do you understand?”