Split Infinity
“They get pretty heavy.” He meant heavy for someone Stile’s size.Again that burgeoning anger, that hopeless wrath instigated by the careless affronts of strangers. That de-termination to damn well prove he was not as small as they saw him. To prove it, most of all, to himself. “I need a sword. For the Game.”“Ah, the Game.” The man squinted at him judiciously. “Maybe I’ve seen you there. Name?”“Stile.” For a moment he hoped he had some compensating notoriety from the Game.The man shook his head. ...“No, must have been someone else. A child star, I think.”So Stile reminded this oaf of a child. It didn’t even occur to the program director that such a reference might be less than complimentary to a grown man. But it would be pointless to react openly—or covertly. Why couldn’t he just ignore what others thought, let their opinions flow from his back like idle water? Stile was good at the Game, but not that good. Not yet. He had a number of weaknesses to work on—and this was one. “Maybe you’ll see me some time—with a sword.”The director smiled condescendingly.MoreLess
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