Page 45 of Mongrels United
“So have it playing.” Nash’s voice was low and smooth as honey. “I won’t object.”
Grady cleared her throat, turned the pad over with a touch of relief. She really wasn’t a huge fan of the game, but it was Kailash’s team, so she did like to monitor the game from the corner of her eye.
She connected to the in-house network AI and generated the big screen that she used at her desk. The AI channeled the game feed to the screen.
Nash moved his chair around the little table so he could see the screen just by lifting his head. Grady had to mightily resist the need to do the same. She could see the screen just fine from here if she turned her head to the right. It would do. They were supposed to be working, after all.
She ignored the screen and the soft sound of crowd noises and the AI commentator enthusing about the Buccaneers’’ hot prospects for bagging another win tonight, which would put them on a par with the currently season leaders, the Dreamhawks.
Nash smiled. “This is the Buccaneers’’ eighth game. Hawks have only played seven. We’d still be ahead, technically.”
Grady looked up briefly, her attention snagged by Nash’s complacent tone, then paused to study the screen. “Wow. There are a lot of people there!”
Nash shook his head. “There’s empty seats everywhere.”
“Scattered among occupied seats, yes,” Grady said. “Last time I saw a game, there were a few people scatted among the empty seats. For a tankball game, this is a record crowd.”
“A record crowd would be beyond capacity,” Nash replied, his voice rumbling comfortably. He used a tone that said he knew what he was talking about. “Time was, games were standing room only.”
“Fine. A record crowd for this season.” She rolled her eyes. “Shall we get on with this?”
“Sure.” He sat forward. “What do I do?”
Grady swiped at her pad. The screen generator in the middle of the table threw up a small screen in front of Nash, and a virtual keyboard. “You can access the births & deaths registry, just there.” She pointed. “It won’t let you look into the files, but you can see who was born in any one year, and what district they lived in.”
“And the date on the right-hand side is the date of their death, if they’ve passed?”
She nodded. “Sort by date of birth, then district as a secondary sort.”
He got busy, his fingers moving with unexpected grace over the keyboard. “And start with anyone who was an adult…in what year?”
“Let’s start with the year you were born,” Grady said. “We’re pretty sure your father was using Bellish by then.”
Nash frowned at the keyboard.
“What?” Grady prompted.
“It’s just…if hewasfeeling like a fake—like he said he was, when he died…then being handed a child, something that only the best people on the ship are given, then it must have ratchetted the guilt sky high.”
Grady nodded. “If he made any slips that someone would have noticed, it was likely around that time, when he was under enormous pressure.”
Nash looked at her, his eyes silvered ponds of deep emotion. “You’d already figured that out. That’s why you suggested my birth year.”
The siren that announced a legal goal sounded from the screen showing the game.
Grady turned her head quickly to catch the score, and sighed, disappointment touching her.
“Buccaneers’ goal, three minutes into the game. Not a good sign,” Nash said.
Grady returned her attention to the pad. “First name?” She kept her tone sweet.
Nash just grinned, and studied his screen. The smile didn’t fade.
Five minutes later, the Grey Team scored.
Chapter Nineteen
One hundred and ten minutes later, the Grey Team lost 2-1 in a second overtime period.
