Meek looked at the men before him and the expression on their faces shaped his answer. He gulped ... gulped again. Then slowly nodded. "Sure, I know about it," he lied. They didn't look quite satisfied. He glanced around, but there was no way of escape. He faced them again, back pressed against the wall. He tried to make his voice light and breezy, but he couldn't quite keep out the croak. "Haven't played it much in the last few years," he said, "but back when I was a kid I was a ten-goal man." They were satisfied at that. V Hunched behind the controls, Meek slowly circled Gus' crate, waiting for the signal, half fearful of what would happen when it came. Glancing to left and right, he could see the other ships of Sector Twenty-three, slowly circling too, red identification lights strung along their hulls. Ten miles away a gigantic glowing ball danced in the middle of the space-field, bobbing around like a jigging lantern. And beyond it were the circling blue lights of the Thirty-seven team. And beyond them the glowing green space-buoys that marked the Thirty-seven goal line. Meek bent an attentive ear to the ticking of the motor, listening intently for the alien click he had detected a moment before. Gus' ship, to tell the truth, was none too good. It might have been a good ship once, but now it was worn out. It was sluggish and slow to respond to the controls, it had a dozen little tricks that kept one on the jump. It had followed space trails too long, had plumped down to too many bumpy landings in the maelstrom of the Belt. Meek sighed gustily. It would have been different if they had let him take his own ship, but it was only on the condition that he use Gus' ship that Thirty-seven had agreed to let him play at all. They had raised a fuss about it, but Twenty-three had the law squarely on its side. He stole a glance toward the sidelines and saw hundreds of slowly cruising ships. Ships crammed with spectators out to watch the game. Radio ships that would beam a play by play description to be channeled to every radio station throughout the Solar system. Newsreel ships that would film the clash of opposing craft. Ships filled with newsmen who would transmit reams of copy back to Earth and Mars. Looking at them, Meek shuddered. How in the world had he ever let himself get into a thing like this? He was out to see the solar system, not to play a polo game ... especially a polo game he didn't want to play. It had been the bugs, of course. If it hadn't been for the bugs, Gus never would have had the chance to talk him into that coaching business.