Fhurek’s face darkened to an alarming purple. “Very well, then. I’ll do it. It’s the alien players, Zare. Kelio and the other one…Sina. If we win this game, we’re guaranteed a shot at the championship. But if that happens, those two will need to be removed from the roster.”
“What? Why?”
Fhurek smiled thinly. “Because I said so, Leonis. I have no issues with aliens myself—some of my best friends are nonhumans—but some grav-ball fans object to alien physiognomies, seeing them as giving nonhumans an edge.”
“You want to kick Frid and Hench off the squad?” Zare demanded. “They’re important members of the team! They’ve earned this!”
“I don’t want to do anything,” Fhurek said. “As center striker, it’s your job to deliver a grav-ball title for the SaberCats. But as athletic director of AppSci, it’s my job to make sure that title isn’t…tainted by talk that we had an unfair advantage. Isn’t that right, Coach Ramset?”
“I can see why misguided people might think that,” Ramset mumbled, and Zare felt his anger at the old Duros evaporate, replaced by pity. He was too scared to protest any more vigorously than this.
“That’s the right word exactly, Coach—‘misguided,’” Fhurek said. “I couldn’t agree more. It’s a shame some people feel that way. But we shouldn’t be worrying about social change—just winning that grav-ball title.”