"Boy, that Margie is something." smiled Forrest. "How would you rate her as a motivater? An eight?"
     "Eight point five to nine point five, depending on her mood." replied Mario.
     "She is some character. A walking high voltage lead."
     "You're making a gap. Shuffle up."
     Forrest moved forward pulling on his hands in the very low g spin in the hub of the station. "Not long to our turn. Five, maybe. Yeah. Five."
     "How are you going out?"
     "Low foot bounce toward D stem. Pick up some of coriolis effect when I start pulling friction and swing wide. Reel in tight for the pad and bounce over on short line to the pillow."
     "How far you going out?"
     "Depends on the launch and traffic. I'm hoping for two fifty or better."
     "I'll follow. Sounds like a gas of a landing."
     "Undershoot me, in case you get a higher angle than me. I don't want to get tangled up like yesterday."
     "Sure thing. I still say that was your fault."
     "I say we both messed up, but I'm just saying let's not do it again. Get our signals straight before we copy."
     "Okay. Move up."
     Forrest reached the request window.
     "What you want?"
     "A once around toward D stem. Foot bounce. You need the numbers for that?"
     "Nah."
     Mario leaned forward. "Copy for me. Inside track, late."
     "Watch your reel and try not to bounce first."
     "I'll be watching."
     "Yeah, and so will I. Watch yourself." The window slid shut.
     "What a wise guy!" complained Mario.
     "You'd be nasty too, if you had to clean up what he has had to clean up."
     "You taking his side?"
     "He just doesn't want to wipe up your brains. It was no slight. Calm down. He's never had to wipe us off the hub. He's just letting off steam."
     "But why at me?"
     "He does it to everybody. Get your mind on flying."
     "Yeah. They're moving through pretty quick."
     "There will be a wait for us. You can bet he's not going to let us go until everyone is on the rebound back. Now I'm going out right over the pillow. You keep it tight to the edge, but don't hit it, or he'll lock our reels. And if you go wide, cut it short. I don't want to be plowing into you while you're just stretching."
     "Yeah, yeah. I know how to follow an around."
     They found themselves first in line. Forrest looked out the hatch at the hub, seeing the walls of the sphere. Twelve openings ringed the sphere, A - L, that were used for pressure equalization for the sections of the ring. This kept the wind through the halls to a minimum, since the sections were connected only through a tiny fraction of its cross section. The stems fanned out to hold the section to the station and spread the exhaust up toward the hub, where it was collected for processing and sent back down. But it was now being used for Forrest's and Mario's favorite sport, bungee flying.
     The sport was one judged by style, much as diving and interpretive swimming or skating. The apparatus was a bit complex, but the operation was simple. One climbed into the launch tube, hands and feet pressing on the grips. The tube was retracted, then launched with air pressure. The person inside held the grips loosely but firmly pressing as long as both sets were there. When the tube reached it's maximum extension, the foremost grips retracted, and the person was launched out into the zero gravity of the hub.
     A person could go straight out, trailing a bungee line feeding from a free-wheeling spool that matched path to feed by a complex design of sensors and electronics and a braking pad for drag or controlled from the belt of the harness the flier wore. Once locked stop, could go off a trampoline-like platform for more speed from a leg push. Or one could launch off of the enormous trampoline-like pad that covered one side of the launch area. Equally large on the other side was the pillow. The pillow grabbed with a hook and loop material, the hooks on the suit and the loops on the pillow. When one hit the pillow, the ride was over. One removed the harness and carefully left the pillow, watching for falling people overhead.
     Most beginners usually went straight out. The veterans were the ones that risked the bounce launch. The around that Forrest had requested used going out at the shallowest angle possible, just over the edge of the pillow in a counter-spin direction to get the floor moving below him so that he could pick up angular velocity and arc around the far side of the sphere in a full arc, taking up line as he came in so he would gain speed and hit the pad hard for a fast and stretched landing on the pillow.
     The biggest danger was fouling cords with others that were not arcing, so most of the people had to be going inward to prevent complications. The second biggest danger came from the launch. The bounce could break bones if done improperly, and after the bounce, one had to have the right course in order not smack into something. Dragging line across the pillow on a bounce launch cost a flier distance. Flying suits had webbing between the arms and legs for guiding the path. In this instance, Forrest
would be using it for gaining the angular velocity. The more spin a person got, the better and longer the stretch on the ride around and the more powerful a landing on the pad and conversely the pillow. The ideal in power flying was to come in hard to indent the pillow deeply and need to use the reel to get out of it. Records were being strictly kept for indentation depth, a new status in brainless adventure. There were those that thought it was crude, and it was countered that some people are allergic to adrenalin.
     Forrest finally got the go ahead, and he climbed out onto the tube platform. The tube swung around and the attendant handed him his harness. "You be careful out there."
     "Launch me straight, and I'll fly to perfection."
     "Give a holler when you're ready."
     Forrest put on the harness without cogitation, a practiced habit that would have told him if something was wrong without having to think about it. He slid into the tube's side opening, feet toward the open end. He nestled into the grips, then adjusted his line down the outside of his right leg, falling out the mouth. He gave a hand signal, and the opening swung shut and the tube was lifted into firing position. Forrest calmed himself, looking at the flight as planned, each motion clear in his mind. He nodded, and pressure jammed at his hands in acceleration for a long moment, then he was flying out in open air. He came in straight on the platform, legs straight, but not locked, muscles tensed in balance.
     He hit the surface and his legs folded just the right amount and he held it until he had just the right stretch and leapt, arms going forward together to keep his webbing tight for ballistics. He glanced down at the speed indicator from the relay to the reel, measuring off line feed rate and total distance.
     At a hundred yards, he spread his arms and legs, showing more than enough speed from the bounce. It was going to be one of his best power arcs yet. He started picking up the spin, the bungee trailing in an arc as he wanted it for further transfer of energy into the swing. At two hundred yards, he started engaging the drag to begin the stretch, needing to shed speed sooner than he visualized. It was definitely going to be a hot ride.
     He grinned. At two seventy five, he tightened up and the harness pulled against the cord. He adjusted for more flight friction for faster angular momentum with his webbing and locked it at two eight five on the reel.
     The arc in the cord was coming into a straight line, and he felt the surge as it straightened. He closed his arms to his sides and left his legs half way out to keep his head in that direction. He looked up, turning back his neck to see the far side of the sphere zooming by about fifty yards away. He would have been in trouble if had gone the full three hundred on the spool. He was very close to the limits of allowed flight as he was at two eighty five. He let out a yell of thrilled exuberance.
     He watched the stems roll by, then looked for Mario, but didn't see him following. He passed three more stems and closed his legs and held out his right arm. He spun about on the axis of the still stretched cord till his feet moved in the direction of flight. Then he matched a bit over with his right arm to stop the spin, then matched his arms. He waited until he got to K stem before starting take-up on the reel, since he still had plenty of speed. As the reel pulled, his air speed increased, like with a weight on a string as it's drawn inward. The harness pulled harder and everything seemed to speed up with the pad coming up fast.
     He had the reel moving at its fastest as he came in for contact, feet perfectly aligned. He struck the surface and disappeared below normal level, his heels pressed against his hips. Then he launched back out and started immediately into a roll to go from head first to feet first. He didn't have much time at his current velocity. But he barely managed and came down onto the pillow in a perfect vertical needle landing. The lights vanished and fuzz was against his face, indication that he was inside the fold of the pillow. "A good dent." he thought to himself in congratulations as he turned on his light. He pulled out his tape measure and sent it upward. He noticed that he couldn't see an opening above him in the folds, so he just kept running it up. He felt little tugs in the fabric, indicating that people were walking above him on the surface. He ran out twelve feet and waited for a signal, tugs for up and down, but there came none. He ran it up another six feet, then the spool came out of his hand and rose almost out of his reach. He stretched and pulled it down to his feet, using his foot for below his knee. He slid the lock with his foot, then tugged toward the surface the signal to lift the tape.
     It rose and he read twenty three feet seven inches on the tape. He signaled for the tape to be pulled all the way. This was standard practice on deep dents, telling everyone to back away so that the depth would not be disturbed by people walking around above, pulling the dent upward with the force of their feet. About two minutes later, Forrest was breathing from the temporary oxygen cylinder.
     His signal went off, indicating that the area had been cleared. He stomped the surface at the bottom with his feet to retard the natural elasticity of the pillow, then activated the reel to start pulling him up out of the hole. He emerged after a long ascent to applause. Mario was sitting on the pillow. He asked him, "Where were you? I thought that you were going to follow."
     "So did I, but you got off such a good launch that they wouldn't allow me a follow. I think you broke the system record if your tape ain't lying."
     "It's what I measured."
     The judge came over and ran a ruled line down to the bottom of the dent. He called out, "Twenty three, five. A new system's record."
     Everyone but Forrest went crazy in celebration, yelling, whistling, whooping, jumping around, hugging, slapping backs. Forrest just sort of sat there in disbelief. "Me, the dent king?" he asked unheard amidst the chaos. He was hoisted onto shoulders after his harness was removed by the crowd. He was borne precariously across the pillow in the low g and placed in the elevator going down. The elevators banks were crammed with people following. He was carried all the way down and then into a large lounge where a chorus of calls for drinks to be poured erupted and was repeated with each new arriving elevator car.
     One of the judges went over to the video projector and inserted the tape of Forrest's flight for everyone to see. Forrest was called over to commentate on the playback. He took the offered microphone.
     "Before we roll this, my apologies to Mario for canceling his follow. I wondered where you were."
     "It was worth it, man."
     "I appreciate it. Okay, roll. The first indication I got that this was going to be a good one was when I made the launch bounce. I have never felt a spring out so balanced in my life. The angle was perfect, and I got just the right form in launch. Here, that was the telling moment. After that, it was second guessing my read-outs. Here, I decide that my speed is better than sufficient to start gaining some spin. Arms out, looking at the read-out from there to the point where I start to cut in drag, there. I remember saying to myself what a nice arc I had on the trailing cord. There's the squeeze, two seventy five, lock, two eighty five. Any further out and I'd have been out of the perimeter. Then it was flying smooth and wondering where my follow was. I must say it was a gas. Nice.
     "Here I start turning around, this seems quicker on the screen than in flight. I was pumped. Turn made, start reeling slowly to have the gears spinning for the real pull. There I set the hard wind, don't watch if you have a weak stomach. Solid gone below the line and out. Yeow, and hurry! Fold and fwap! That was quite a ride, let me tell you. If I seem a bit boastful to anyone, I don't mean to be. To me, the reward was the ride, not the record. It was a true gas, and I feel extremely privileged to have experienced it. Ride of my life. Something I won't soon forget."
     Forrest bowed and applause exploded. He was ushered by the mass to the bar to order a drink, being back-slapped the whole way. He stepped up and ordered and gave up the spotlight with the act. After that, it was a series of personal congratulations. It took several hours, because someone had relayed the information to the entire station by intercom, and people came to the lounge from all over, causing a waiting line outside to get in.
     Though Forrest had wanted to go out flying instead of entertaining the entire station, he realized that a record flight was not followed by another flight so soon. On an occasion like this, one ended on the high note and didn't cheapen it with an inferior following attempt. So he was cordial and humble when allowed. He did discover the esteem that went with the record. The men wanted to hog his time, and many of the women suggested getting together later that evening. His response was wait and see to each, not wanting to become the target of a heated argument by overbooking. A few he considered possibly accepting. He was noticed where he hadn't been noticed before. He enjoyed the attention, but acted toward caution, having heard stories about how sudden fame had ruined many people, though not the current holder he'd upsurped. He was ruined to begin with.
     When he was finally allowed to leave, more than five hours after the flight, Mario was still there, waiting to go with him. Forrest curiously asked if he knew who held the title of flight queen.
     "Oh, that's Bonnie Strovert. Talk about a motivater. Why, you looking for some class action?"
     "No, just wondering. Thinking about future publicity stuff. I was wondering who would be there as reigning woman's champion."
     "Oh, well, you know you beat Henry Chapman's record by better than three and a half feet. You are the first to break twenty feet. People are going to be studying that flight for years to come."
     "For the wrong reason, the landing. Tke flight was what was good, not the landing."
     "Hey, if it gets you women, don't complain."
     Forrest chuckled. "The indent king. Me. Seems odd, like, 'Me?"'
     "You'll get used to it. Ready to go?"
     "I guess. I just noticed that there are a lot of women waiting in the corridor, trying to act casual, eyeing each other like competitors. I got a feeling that a scene is waiting out there to happen. Let me think a minute on how to handle this."
     "Why think about it?"
     "Because I don't want to hurt their feelings. Women make horrible enemies. Don't tell me you never found that out."
     "Aw, Forrest, you got no problem here."
     "Maybe not, if I can find an available phone in here before I go."
     Forrest went to the bar and asked about the phones. He was directed to a free one. He made a call that took several minutes.
     Then he and Mario left the bar. The women quickly converged on him, immediately annoyed at all the other women that also did so, much as Forrest had envisioned. He asked for their attention before things turned nasty.
     "Ladies, I am overwhelmed by your attentions and invitations, but it is obvious that I can't possibly entertain so many in a single night, even as the reigning dent king. I still have to earn a living and be at my station on time when my shift begins. So I've set up an answering service. If you'd like to spend an evening with me, leave a message on it, and I'll get back to you one at a time when I find the time. I have a five message limit on the line to keep you from waiting more than a week. If it's full and the glamour hasn't worn off, keep trying until you get on the list. This way, you won't wait a month wondering where I am. If you find the service disconnected, it just means you were too slow and that I've gotten serious about someone.
     "I don't want to hurt your feelings, so I won't see anyone tonight, even though I would probably decide otherwise if there was just one of you. Were that the case, I doubt that I would refuse any one of you. I hope you forgive me not accepting tonight, but I just don't want to put any of you above the others at a time like this. I hope you will understand."
     Forrest told them the number of the answering service and excused himself and Mario, though Mario was reluctant to leave without making himself available as a stand-in. But Forrest was too quick for him and had him leaving before he could present the proposition, knowing what would happen. He suggested patience.
     "Mario, from the way you act, you became dent king, not me."
     "Oh, how can you be so glib? Man, you are the dent king, my good friend."
     "And a man is known by the company he keeps?"
     "Well, it certainly doesn't hurt. Man, why didn't you let me run your dating service?"
     "Because you would have tried to get to them before they got to me and given them all sorts of weird ideas about me."
     "Aw, man, you don't trust me?"
     "Not with romantic women, I sure don't. I don't want them showing up grumbling about the services I hire."
     "That is cold."
     "Mario, it's the truth. You are not the system's most tactful man. You like the direct approach. Fast, efficient, no wasted time. I like to waste a little time over women. I like to think down he road, rather than use them as pit stops."
     "You're just soft-headed."
     "The dent king, soft-headed?" Forrest started to laugh. "Hardly. I just look for more out of a woman than you do. But I won't stop you from dropping my name in your prowling, as long as you don't go getting dates by promising them that they can meet me."
     "Already it's going to your head."
     "No, it's not. I'm just trying to salvage what I can of my accustomed existence from this fracas. I don't want to end up being a snob or a grouch from all of this, and it won't be easy."
     Leslie saw them walking and came over to them. "I heard about your flight. I couldn't leave my station early to come congratulate you earlier. Quite a performance, I hear."
     "Oh, it was a dream. Such a glorious feeling to be flying like that."
     "I meant in the bar. Word is out that the station has a new most eligible bachelor."
     Forrest laughed. "Quasi-available."
     "Huh?"
     Forrest explained.
     "I guess I'll have to reserve time to drop by in the future."
     "Oh, I'm sure that it will die down pretty quickly. This type of fame is strongest right after the event. The hoopla wears off pretty quickly."
     "Don't be too sure. Until today, Henry Chapman was still considered a hot item on the market, and you shamed him by three feet."
     "Then I welcome him to best me and reclaim the crown. The title doesn't mean that much to me. I'm into flying more than boring through the pillow. It's the flight, soaring, arcing under tension, the tight pull and the smooth wind and the dance. That is what was important to me. It's like you paint something and everybody wants it for the signature, not for the picture. You end up not wanting to sell it. I was happy doing what I was doing. I just want to go flying, for the flights, not the landings. That's when the flight ends."
     "And the memories begin."
     "And the memories begin. Say something, Mario."
     "What?"
     "Don't let me turn grim."
     "Am I your manager? Your agent?"
     Forrest chuckled. "Thanks, I needed that. Let's three go celebrate someplace quiet, before the future catches up with us. One last night of pre-dent lifestyle for old times sake. And my first toast will be to my successor, and may he hurry me into obscurity."
     "Then we better duck fast. There's a vid reporter. In here, quick. He hasn't spotted you." Mario tugged Forrest into the store and stood guard while Leslie acted as signal watcher. Once he passed, they hurried out and made it quickly to Leslie's apartment, the closest and least obvious of the three as a site where he would likely not be found.
     Leslie straightened hastily, then offered seats. She sat close to Forrest, closer than usual. She had an excitement to her, a touch of the nervous giggles, slightly awkward,
     "Have I changed that much?" asked Forrest.
     "Kinda."
     "King pillow whacker."
     Leslie laughed and Mario snickered.
     "Nobody whacks a pillow as good as I do." he gruffed, acting punchy. "I'm hot, baby!"
     They all three broke into intense laughter.
     Forrest finally groaned his way out. "What have I gotten myself into? Press conferences. Dating list. I'll have to get a new wardrobe. Anybody got any spare credit they can turn loose of?"
     "What percentage you willing to pay?"
     Forrest laughed. "Endorsements! I like Stinko deodorant, Rocky's crunchy waffles, and Lordur's undergarments. Which is my best side?"
     "Man, you're going off the deep end. Settle down, man. Be cool."
     "Just joking, Mario. It's not wanting to face the future. Besides, I know my best side." He turned, spanking his hip. Mario and Leslie broke up again. "Lordur's fit right after a day of deep plunges." The laughter redoubled when he adjusted his underwear. "Think I got what it takes?"
     "Go for it!" blared Leslie. "All the way! Forrest designer fragrance for men and for women. The scent for the deep plunge."
     They broke into laughter until they tired. Leslie kept Forrest's attention until Mario needed to be elsewhere. He was talked into staying with talk of reporters on the prowl for him. Once they were alone, Leslie turned more romantic. Forrest had known her long and well enough that her actions made him laugh.
     "Oh, I'm serious, Forrest."
     "I know you are. That's why I'm laughing."
     "Thanks a lot."
     "You never showed interest before."
     "You were never dent king before."
     "Does it make that much difference, when it was something I wasn't particularly trying to do?"
     "Well, it's kind of like the president. You have the man and the office. As the man, we are friends, good friends, trusting friends. As far as the office, it's not going to hurt a woman one bit to be the first to sleep with the new dent king. Face it, Forrest.      You have quite a bit of action coming your way. You won't be able to turn it all away. They'll crush you if you try. So let me break you in gently, as one who knows you. Wouldn't you prefer that to a stranger?"
     "Oh, dear Leslie. You have been a good friend. You've cared about me when other's wouldn't."
     "Two way street."
     "Yes, but you made it easy. I never felt I had to hide anything from you. I fear losing that."
     "You'd probably lose it anyway as you get ripped out of your life. Being a hot man about town, you won't have much time for me. Don't deny it. It will happen. Just know that if you ever need me for anything, call me. I'll be here. I don't particularly want to ride your coat tails, but I could use a boost socially. I've been fading a bit as of late."
     "Are you sure you want to do this?"
     "I don't know a nicer man, my friend. Yeah, I do want to."
     "Okay, just making sure. Always offer a woman a way out twice. You know, I was first thinking of coming in on my rear, tucked? But the pad spring screamed needle at me as I came off the surface. I was real close to nailing it crooked and breaking my legs. I wonder how many broken legs it will take to beat my record. This is going to take getting used to. My big mistake was running up the tape measure. I should have just reeled myself out without measuring."
     "Forrest, shut up." Leslie moved into his arms and kissed him hotly. Forrest faltered a few times for brief moments, but Leslie didn't allow the diversions to survive long. She led him into her room.

     In the morning, he went to his apartment, barging past reporters that were camped out at his door. When asked where he had been, he replied, "Discovering the fringe benefits of holding the record." This perked them up, but the door slamming shut tamed them again. He dressed and groomed himself after a quick shower. He headed back through them, announcing that he was off to work where he shouldn't be bothered and that he'd announce a press conference when he could arrange for the space and the time.
     At work, all the girls looked at him differently. So did the guys, but that was more comical. Forrest preferred the humor, Leslie having removed most efficiently any thoughts he had about being alone with women. He found it hard to keep his mind on business, as much as he was distracted and reminded. Four of the women in the office asked him out to lunch. He deftly declined each offer, saying that he had to make phone calls during lunch.

     By the end of the day, he had the press conference arranged for right after work, thus giving him a reason to decline the offer of an escort home. Several offered to attend. He told them that it was a very small private gathering of himself and just the press.
     The press conference was crowded past what he expected. The reporters were armed with the details of everything that happened to him, except what happened after the bar.
     "Well, after seeing the response in the bar, which was well past what I expected, I figured that my life was about to be turned up side down, so I spent it with old friends as a farewell to things the way they were until last night. A hello, farewell sort of thing. It helped put things into perspective, taking over as what has been publicly referred to the title of dent king, and all that goes with it.
     "I am not a Henry Chapman. I am used to doing things a little bit differently. A little lower key, a little more laid back. I'm not a man that feels the need to prove himself. Yesterday's record was not one that was intended. I sought to fly, not dent. The flight was everything to me. The landing was just the punctuation mark, signifying the power and the purity of the flight. To me, the depth is an indicator of the power of the flight, not the power of the landing. Nailing the pillow is only the last act of an around. There is so much more that is being ignored. My love is the flying, the execution, the thrill. To me, hitting the pillow means that it's over, the thrill is past and turned to memory. To me, the art is power flying, not power landing. To me, it's how high and how smooth, not how deep.
     "I went out there yesterday to fly my best, not break a record. But in breaking the record, it shows that I did fly my best, and let me tell you, it was quite a ride. Everything came together just right, speed, balance, the springs, the glides. Everything just clicked, like a perfectly played piece of music. That is what I achieved, and the record to me is just verification of the flight of a lifetime."
     "Do you think anyone will ever catch you? You made quite a jump over the old record."
     "I think so. Bungee flying is still in it's infancy. Much is still being discovered and refined. I'm sure that it will fall as the knowledge of the sport increases. I hope that I contributed something to knowledge of the sport yesterday. I have a feeling that my flight will be well studied by many interested in the sport. I hope that what I have done leads to techniques that exceed what I achieved yesterday."
     "I hear you made a dating line."
     "Yes, it seems Mr. Chapman's reputation has become standard for the dent king. I hold no animosity over the way he handled his reign. I can only hope that the converse is true with him. When I entertain a woman, I like to maintain a certain level of confidence, trust, and privacy. I'm not preaching that it is for everyone. It's just the way I like to handle things concerning me.      The dating line is a limited access number, logging only five calls. Each woman I date or decide not to date is then removed from the log to make room for others.
     "This does two things. It assures a speedy response, less than a week from getting on log to seeing me, and it keeps it private unless the woman wishes to announce it publicly. It also keeps my place from getting crowded when a crowd is not wanted. And it allows for getting to know one another better. It will also allow me arrange my time so that I may keep flying regularly. I feel that everyone gets the maximum respect out of it this way, seeing how I am suddenly so in demand."
     "Has there been a first lady?"
     "Yes, but don't ask her name. She'll tell you that if she so desires. But that is her choice to reveal herself to you. I'll verify if she asks me to do so. Next question."
     "Will you try to break your own record?"
     "Not intentionally. I'll be out there paying attention to my flight, not just my landings. I may try to get more power from a flight, but not for the sake of the record."
     "How does it feel to be the dent king, deepest man in the system?"
     "A bit unreal."
     "Will you be making any endorsements?"
     Forrest shrugged. "Time will tell. I do not plan to endorse things with which I am not familiar or do not like, just for money. If I endorse something, I will mean it sincerely, though it may cost me opportunities to make money."
     "Then you plan on being expensive." The group laughed and Forrest let it slide without comment.
     "What did you think when you measured off the hole?"
     "I first thought that someone had given me a trick tape measure. It didn't really set in until I had reeled myself out of the hole and everyone started making a fuss."
     "What did it feel like in the hole?"
     "Fuzzy all over and stuck to everything."
     He drew a laugh.
     "Actually, it's a bit too snug for my taste. I like to fly.
     "Got any tips for the girls that want to get to know you?"
     "Think, be intelligent. Don't be a pushover."
     "Is that it?"
     "Oh, throw in try not to nag. I like happy intelligent women."
     "What hair color do you like best?"
     "Hair color is secondary to what's under the hair."
     "So you see every woman as an individual?"
     "I prefer to do so."
     "Henry Chapman used to sing as he'd fly. Do you sing?"
     "The hum of the bungee is my music."
     The questions started stretching for credibility, so Forrest called an end to the press conference and went to his apartment. He arrived to finds notes strewn all over the hall, some intact, some torn to shreds by later note writers. He gathered the mess and deposited them in a trash can. He placed a sign that said "Notes" on it and placed it outside his door in the hallway.
     He went inside and called his answering service and retrieved the five messages. The first was a red head that Forrest remembered from the crowd at the bar.
     "Hi, I'm Laura. I'm so glad that I called soon enough. I'd really like to get together with you sometime soon. I'm a good cook and I can do a lot of other nice things. I never get complaints."
     She grinned slyly. "So give me a call, I'll be waiting to hear from you. Please don't make me wait."
     The next was a blonde.
     "I'm Vicki, and I want you tonight. Call me and I'll give you a night you won't forget."
     "To the point." he observed. The rest were much the same, all communicating a promise of total bliss. "This is stupid. This is as bad as chat lines."
     He dialed Laura's number. She answered hopefully and smiled widely when she saw Forrest's face. "Oh, I'm so glad you called. How about a date?" She batted her eyes in a forever grateful expression.
     "Well, what do you like to do? Hard to plan a date if I don't know your likes. Tell me what turns you on."
     "Oh, you do."
     "Besides me and my new title."
     "Well, I enjoy swimming, eating out, via-matrix movies if they are good romances, solving the daily computer puzzles, and hot guys. Is that enough? I could go on."
     "What kind of foods do you like?"
     "I'm not very picky, as long as the food is healthy. I don't eat much junk food."
     There was a knock at the door. Forrest excused himself and promised to call back. The knock immediately turned to a pounding. He answered the door to find Henry Chapman.
     "So you are the glug that stole my title."
     "I didn't steal it. It was an honest measurement. And if you want it back, get out there and make a deeper dent than I did. But don't accuse me of stealing what I gained fairly."
     "I ought to punch you, wise ass."
     "Such negativism. Punch, punch, punch. Is that your solution to everything, Henry? Don't you ever try using your brain?"
     Henry threw a punch and Forrest deflected his fist into the solid wall. Henry pulled away his hand in pain and tried one with his left to the same result. Forrest dodged a kick and put Henry on the floor on his back.
     "Like I said, Henry, use your brain. You are going to have a hard time signing autographs for a while. Not that you'll have much demand for it. To be honest, Henry, I don't really care about the title of dent king. Seems rather childish to me, so much fuss over a soft hole. But men have been fussing over soft holes for centuries, so I guess it's no real surprise about it. It just seems rather stupid to me, though."
     Henry shot out his leg at Forrest, and he missed the dancing shin that was his target. Forrest nailed the back of his thigh with a solid kick. Henry screamed and grabbed his leg.
     "Okay, you seem pretty harmless now. Henry, if you really want the title back, just go to the hub and pay attention to your power flight and execution. That's how I did it, with my brain to get perfect execution. The perfect power flight and perfect landing. That's what will beat me. Not trying to smash my face. That will get you in jail if you try it again, and you know how strict they are up here.
     "As far as the title, I'm not that hot on the idea like you are. I rather enjoyed my life before the title. Now I'm finding myself having to give concessions to the image that you helped perpetuate. Hell, I'd rather that I had never had the indentation measured. It's turning out to be a real pain, and I don't really care about how deep I went into the pillow. What I care about was the flight I had, and it was beautiful, everything as it should have been and then some.
     "But all this macho crap about getting it down deep makes me want to yawn. It's juvenile, tedious, and absurd. Look at yourself. You've overinflated yourself. You're not really that hot, but you had every free girl thinking so. What would they say at how easily I disabled your ability to fight? When will you understand it's moves and not muscle that makes for a good flier? Get a life, Henry. You'll need one now. Wake up. Now, do you need help getting home? I can call you a cart if you like."
     "Don't do me no favors."
     "Henry, you didn't hear a single word I said. If you don't give me clear indication that this idea of doing me harm because I took something from you is out of your head, I'm calling the police on you and filing charges of assault. Can't you for once rise above the idiot level?"
     "You stole my title."
     "No. I was awarded your title, and I don't give a hoot about it. I wish that I had come in seat first, except I didn't have the time to do so. I just barely had time to invert for a needle, I was going that fast on the final swing from the pad. Since then, nothing has allowed to be normal in my life. I don't even like being dent king. I'm less happy about it that you are. If you really want the title back, go earn it back. Please. Take this stupidity away from me. You have my full blessings for beating me. I don't want your stupid title and the games that go along with it. It's cheap, vain, and a pain. Go win it back and quit bothering me. I can't give it back to you. Only the judges can. Now go, Henry, before the press finds you like this. Go home and think about the flight you'll need to recapture the record. Think flight, Henry, not landing."
     Forrest turned and went back inside his apartment. He watched the security cam to watch Henry get up and hobble away. He returned to the phone and called Laura. "Hi, me again. Look, I'm going to have to put you on hold a few days until things settle down a bit. Ever since I won the title, things have been a bit crazy, and I'm just going to stay at home for a while until the hoopla subsides a bit to where I can show my face in public without a major uproar."
     "I'd settle for an quiet evening there with you."
     "I know you would, but be patient for a short while. I'd rather go out with you and show you a good time. Things have been turned up side down in my life, and I need a little time to think about the things I need to be doing to get things in proper order. This is all more than I imagined. I need a little time to regain my focus and my stride. I feel the need to do that before I can give you the attention you deserve. Right now' I'd only short change you, and I don't want to do that."
     "You're not like Henry at all."
     "No, I'm not. I don't take things for granted, especially women. I believe in giving people my best, not demanding it the other way around. Not to take anything away from Henry. I'm just different from him, is all."
     "Sounds kind of nice."
     "I want people coming to me for me, not the prestige that rubs off from the title. I like honesty, to myself and the public. I don't believe in hiding the truth under a show. I have nothing to hide. So, can you hold a few days so that I can treat you properly with the dignity you deserve?"
     "I guess that I can. Actually, Forrest, I feel a bit relieved. I was 0rather dreading this until now. You seem like a nice guy."
     "Then why did you call the answering service?"
     "I guess I wanted the prestige to rub off, like you said. Being seen with the champion is social power. It makes people say yes when they'd otherwise say no. But if you are nice, then it's all the more reason to see you for the sake of seeing you. Henry was never that way. Bossy, rude, demanding of those that were around him."
     "Yes, poor Henry."
     "Poor Henry? I laugh that he is dethroned. He was a beast."
     "He is a lost soul. He tries to make up for loss of self- esteem with image and control of others. He is not happy without the crutch of the title. I would be happier without it, but Henry needed it to be somebody. I don't need to be somebody. I'm me, and that is enough for me. To myself, I already am somebody, even without the title. I don't need outside proof that I am competent. I see it in the way I live and in the way I let others live. I don't need to strut to show myself that I am a whole person."
     "I never looked at it that way. Henry never let you look at it that way."
     "Defense mechanism. Hiding his faults."
     "Do you know Henry?"
     "I've seen him often enough at the hub."
     "He's going to be sore about losing the title."
     "Yes, I am aware of that."
     "You aren't afraid of him?"
     "No. Anything he does to me will hurt his image."
     "That's not the way he'll see it."
     "I know, but I am a good teacher."
     "He will try to hurt you."
     "I can handle Henry."
     "I hope so, for your sake."
     "Henry relies on power. I rely on speed and control. He's a driller, I'm a flier. My moves are too fast for him to handle. I'll just use his power against himself. That's all I need with Henry. Look, I need to get a few things done. Let me get back to you when I see a slot open."
     "Okay. Nice talking to you, Forrest. I look forward to our date."
     "So do I. Bye."
     He switched the phone off and headed for the hub. He was quickly suited and getting in line. He was recognized and everyone offered to step aside for him. He declined, telling everyone that he'd wait in line just like everyone else. He heard abundant approval in reply. He waited and watched the flights through the window. There were several that were attempting to duplicate his flight of the day before. He saw no one get the same initial jump as he had. Nobody had a chance of coming close to the record. And on landings, he saw disaster after disaster. He saw his first broken leg in attempt to follow his lead. It didn't cheer him.
     When he got to the window, the tube director asked him if he wanted the same around as the day before. "No. I'm just going to do a yo-yo off the pad. Strictly relaxation today."
     "What angle do you want?"
     "Thirty wide enough to stay clear of the arcers? I will probably be out the for a while."
     "Yeah, thirty is wide enough. Watch the pad and stay in tight."
     "Will do."
     When Forrest got to take his turn, he got in the tube hands first and launched straight out, free lining. As he reached two hundred yards, he engaged the reel and started taking up the cord. The stretch began on the cord, slowing him and turning his path around. Once reversed back toward the launch, he used the webbing to clear the launch facilities and head for the pad. Once on path, he set the reel to take up slack line as he headed in.
     He hit the pad with a good bounce and headed back out, free spooling again with an angle of incidence of thirty degrees as was his launch, but in the other direction from the perpendicular, like a ray of light bouncing off a mirror. Using the jump and the power of his legs, he gained velocity better than the launch. He could keep this going as long as he liked, using the reel and jumps to increase his speed as fast as he liked. He wasn't out for speed.
     On his fourth ride out, he saw a second person launch for yo-yo. It wasn't until he passed the person closely that he recognized that person as Henry Chapman. Henry shouted a threat as they passed. He wanted combat. He was about to head for the pillow when he realized that the launch tube had stopped and that everyone in the hub was watching the two of them.
     He went off the pad, changing his angle slightly, realizing that Henry wanted him on the pillow as long as he was following and had a chance to land on top of him. Henry was more solid than he was, and he knew that he wouldn't gain anything with Henry dropping atop him in a power landing. He had to get the tail position before he could quit, to gain enough time to clear the pillow after landing before Henry landed, if he was not going to be spending time in the hospital. The next time inward he saw Henry with a knife trying to cut his cord. On the way in was not so bad, but to have his line cut on the way out would have him landing hard against metal. So he had to think of what he was going to do to outwit Henry.
     Two things that Forrest had going for him was his ability to think and his ability to fly. He was better than Henry on both accounts, and he had to use them to come out ahead in this grudge match. He kept changing angle and working on a straight cord on the way out. Any swing to his cord would be that much more of a chance that Henry would cut his line. He tried for speed on each jump as well as change of angle. He had momentum in his favor, having had more time out to achieve speed. He kept working on it to try to come in behind Henry. Henry would be too busy on the bounce to cut his line where he had the best access to it.
     The contest had wound through better than twenty jumps when Henry made his first cut to Forrest's cord. It wasn't deep, but it would start to unravel under the forces he was applying in the return. He had to act quickly. He watched Henry get a good bounce and come straight up his path.
     Forrest, in desperation, swerved with his webbing under tension of the cord, then let out extra line to slack. Henry reached the line and grabbed. Forrest threw a loop into the limp line to shake his grip, reeling in when the loop reached him. Not to his planning, Henry was caught in the loop. He started laughing loudly, sensing victory.
     Forrest hit the spool for maximum retrieve. The cord stretched between Henry and the spool and started him back toward the launch area on Forrest's cord. His own, still on free spool, began collecting around him. Forrest began to feel the pull between him and Henry. Henry tried to use the knife, but the constriction was by then on his arm and stopped him from cutting the line. His line was too much to fight and-cut, adding to his difficulty. Forrest was now gaining return speed, but Henry's struggles made it difficult to get a smooth path.
     He saw his opportunity and slipped out of the harness and went into free flight for the first time in his life. Now he had only his webbing to guide him to the pillow where he had to hit. To go off the pad where he was headed would only mean a return trip to the far side and a hard landing. He twisted in flight and got facing the pillow, then spread his webbing to alter his direction.
     While he was making corrections, he saw Henry land on the padded but hard surface next to his reel. The image turned his stomach with a jolt, even though Henry was wrapped in so much of his own cord that he could barely be seen. Henry then turned back to his own dilemma and strained to get as much correction as possible. He could tell that it was going to be close. The pillow came racing toward him, his trajectory too close to the inner edge for comfort. He held back his arms as far as they would go and he made contact head first and not in a straight approach.
     He set no records with the dent he made, coming far more slowly that the day before on his around and too close to the edge to make a deep indent, since one needed lots of give from the fabric from all around to get a deep indentation. The edge did not give. Forrest climbed from the pillow sore from impact, but nothing was broken. The tube director came up to him with a very angry expression plastered to his face. "What in the name of Tords were you trying to do out there?"
     "Stay alive. He was out to get me for winning the title he held. I wasn't out to hurt him, just keep from being hurt myself. How is he?"
     "Broken bones, at least. Hold on and let me ask what they found."
     He talked on his head set in a whisper. "Seems he managed to come in feet first. Both legs suffered multiple fractures, two compound. Medic team is arriving. But I ought to ban you for this."
     "He was the one with the knife. I meant him no harm. I was just trying to survive his assault. I don't go around trying to hurt people like he does. You know good and well the size of his ego. He was a sore loser. If you are blaming me for this, you are dead wrong in your logic. I wasn't out to hurt him. I was running, not fighting."
     "You used your reel like a weapon."
     "Did you want to be scraping me off the far wall? I had to in order to survive. Look at the films if you don't believe me. I came here for relaxation and a little fun. I wanted to see how many were trying the run I made yesterday. Henry came here to get me. Should I have let him just kill me? Is that what you wanted?"
     "No. But I want no fighting in my hub."
     "I agree. I don't want to fight either. But am I to lay down and die because he was a sore loser?"
     "I'll review the vid. If you are just running on it, then I won't ban you from flying. But if I see any actions of yours that are construed as fighting offensively, you are banned from here. Understand?"
     "Sure. I know what I was doing out there. I was running the entire time, trying to stay alive by out-flying him. I was trying to get enough of a lead on him to come in where I could clear the pillow before he could land on top of me. That is what I was trying to do."
     "If that's the case, I'll see it. If not, I'll see it."
     "I have no worries there, if you are a fair man."
     "I am a fair man, and don't accuse me of otherwise."
     "I'm not. I'm just stating that I was not out to get him, only avoid letting him get me. I had no reason to hurt Henry Chapman except in self defense. Had I know that his feelings were so intense, I would have avoided the hub. I am not out for trouble. I never have been."
     "Well, go on and get out of here. If it's as you say, you'll have no problem. If I find different, the police will knock on your door."
     "Fair enough." Forrest removed the flying suit and headed back to his apartment. There was a crowd waiting, mostly reporters. He stopped to give a statement when asked about the incident at the hub.
     "Gentlemen, ladies, I will state that I had no part in initiating the incident. I went to the hub for relaxation. Henry Chapman arrived with a grudge. My actions were made strictly for self-preservation. I took no offensive stance in the actions. I simply wanted to get out alive and healthy. I hold no hard feelings toward Henry Chapman. I feel nothing toward him except sympathy that he coveted the title of dent king more than anything. My priorities place the title well down the list of the things that I hold important, such as human decency and honor, which are far more important to me than any record. That was not true for Henry, I am sad to say. I intended him no harm, but he made it hard for me to survive without the actions I took. If you want more, view the vid records."
     During his speech, he noticed Leslie. He reached out to her and pulled her into his apartment, shutting the others out in the hall.
     "Some mess, huh?"
     "Yeah. Stupid thing is I'd give him back his title if I could. It's just plain stupid. All I want to do is live my life peacefully and do a bit of hub flying. I don't want the glory, the attention, or the honor. I just want a little peace of mind. At least he is out of the way. I never expected him to follow me to the hub after the incident in the hallway."
     "What's this?"
     "Oh, he showed up at my door to try and beat me up. He never connected except for the wall. I kicked him once in the leg to stop him from kicking. I told him that I really didn't care about the title, but it mattered to him."
     "Well, he's in the hospital now where he can't bother you. So you can rest easy."
     "All this because of a good flight. I'd have never made it if I had known all this was going to happen. Stupid. Only one thing that has happened since hasn't been stupid so far."
     "What?"
     "How soon they forget."
     "Oh. That. Well, yeah. That was nice. Looking for more?"
     Forrest shrugged. "I don't know what I want. Everything I enjoyed in the past is ruined. Flying, my job, everything, except you. I'm glad that you're here. I need somebody that won't climb all over my case."
     "Lots of girls would do that."
     "But I know you. I don't know them. Why would I want somebody I don't know?"
     "Lot's of men do."
     "Like Henry. No wonder men have such a bad rap."
     "I never really thought of you as a man."
     "Oh, thanks a lot."
     Leslie giggled. "Not like that, dodo bird. Let me rephrase that. I never thought of you as a gorilla."
     "But gorillas are such shy creatures."
     "You know what I mean. Did you pull me in here into your apartment to give me a hard time?"
     "No. I'm just trying to chase all this gloom away. Why do you mention it? Do you feel like being an audience? I need to play some music. I've got just the song."
     Forrest retrieved his musical keyboard and began running his fingers across the keys to loosen them up, spewing notes from the speaker. He took several minutes adjusting his mind toward playing, feeling the fingers making their moves. He selected the instrumentation and started playing through the first verse to see if his hands were shaking too much. A little concentration helped steady them. He caught the second time around singing funk to the rhythm and filling the gaps with runs on the keyboards, smiling to the effect as it came.

Well, I know it's hard, but that don't stop from trying.
I got a grin on my face, when inside, I feel like crying.
Ain't no use whining, so I'll just go on my way.
Naw, it ain't no use harvesting the bad times,
Plenty enough around here to go around.
Hey, I'd rather be smiling and passing the good times on the town.

Got to keep up the sunshine, aw, it's bound to get better.
Flash a cheery smile on some sad-sack fretter.
Ain't no use whining, so I'll just go on my way.
It ain't time to go get all forsaken,
Good times happen exactly where they're made.
So you just shuck that burden right off of your shoulder blades.

The hardest times, they happen when you always worry.
You got to loosen up if you're gonna enjoy what you got.
Just slow down and quit being in such a hurry.
You ain't gonna have no fun all tied up in a knot.

Well, I know it's hard, but that don't stop from trying.
I got a grin on my face, when inside, I feel like crying.
Ain't no use whining, so I'll just go on my way.

     He played another full verse instrumentally before singing the chorus again and repeating the first verse. He finished in a flare, smiling.
     "Feel better?"
     "Yeah."
     There was loud knock at his door, too loud to ignore. He found the pounding fist attached to a enforcer. "Would you mind coming down to the station?"
     "Is there a problem?"
     "Depends on your point of view."
     "Do I need a lawyer?"
     "Not yet."
     "Lead the way."
     Forrest gestured to Leslie to lock up and stay there. She nodded, and he followed the enforcer out the door. The press fell in behind to form an entourage. "Always a circus."
     "Pardon?" asked the enforcer.
     "Our troupe back there."
     "Oh, yeah. I know what you mean." They walked on to the lift and entered, losing the press when the enforcer barred the entrance. The press panicked, but they didn't try to enter. The doors closed and they rose to the express lanes at the top of the section. They moved quickly once on the belts, stepping inward for the faster lanes. Forrest had a habit of jumping the rollers where the end of the belt met the next. The enforcer looked at him funny as he did so, and he quit, letting his feet glide over with the slight bump it gave.
     They walked out to the slower lanes and took the appropriate exit for enforcement headquarters. They walked the short distance to the complex and entered. An employee showed him to an office. There was a man there waiting for him, his folder in hand.
     "Come in. Have a seat. I've been looking over your history and the vids from the hub. Very impressive flight you had yesterday."
     "Do you fly?"
     "Not as well as you do, but I have strapped on the bungee from time to time. You have seemed to be having trouble since you broke the record. Want to tell me about it?"
     "Nobody wants to leave me alone. Everybody is coming around looking for something to rub off."
     "You don't like the attention?"
     "Some is okay, but too much is too much. Just about everything in my life has been turned up side down. To be honest, I wish that the dent had never been measured."
     "Why do you think Henry Chapman came after you?"
     "He's a spoiled brat. Didn't want to lose his title, cause it meant that he lost his prestige that he spent so much building for his own profit. I bit into his profit machine by pulling the rug out from under him."
     "You see no problem with this?"
     "Never build your dreams on a record that can be broken in a moment."
     "And you don't?"
     "No, my dreams are much simpler and much stronger than parading around getting attention. I don't need volumes of people as long as there is good quality to life. And I had that before I took the record. I never intended to try for the record."
     "I have a tape of the encounter outside your apartment today. You handled yourself well there. You used force only enough to stop force and no more. I can also see that you did not initiate the combat in the hub. My only question was that after you had him headed toward the center, trapped in your line, why didn't you shut off the reel?"
     "Trajectory. I had to get enough motion to reach the pillow. Before that, if I had let off, he'd have cut my cord. And after, I had to get out of my harness not to be pulled off target. I only made it by a few feet. Too close for comfort. If I had done it differently, I'd probably be in the morgue right now. I didn't have time to shut it off and live. I didn't intend to hurt Henry Chapman. He intended to hurt me. How is he?"
     "Hospital report shows seven major fractures. No seeming internal injuries to the abdomen or head. Broken bones is it. He'll survive, it looks like. May not ever walk straight again. Probably won't fly again."
     "Ever since I won the title, things have happened. I wish I could turn in the title and refuse it. Get this monster off my back. People just won't treat me normally. It's like they have to have their part of me, ripping me all apart for souvenirs. Get a piece of the dent king. It's all so stupid. People that never noticed me before trying to be my best friend. Women I've never seen wanting my children. Chasing their gods of gold."
     "Might I suggest hiring a service?"
     "I don't want to do that. Except for Mr. Chapman, no one has gotten violent about anything, and I'm doing what I can to redefine what is to be expected from the title. Things should fall into place pretty quickly."
     "Well, for your sake, I hope so. We aren't charging you with anything over this incident. We'll list it as self-defense and let it go. But let's not see you down here again."
     "I'll do my best."
     Forrest left the complex and headed home.
     Leslie was still there as he instructed, but the press had gone. He closed the door and locked it.
     "Are you okay?"
     "Yeah, I guess."
     "Are you in any trouble?"
     No charges, but a warning to stay out of further trouble."
     "So, are you going to play it low key?"
     "I've been trying to all along. I will if people let me do so."
     "Well, just stay inside for the evenings."
     "Yeah. No fun for a while."
     "Who said that you can't have fun at home?"
     "Well, I don't think that I'm going to accept any dates. I'm going to cancel the answering service. They can try and meet me in public if they are so interested."
     "You're going to turn hermit? As the reigning dent king?"
     "Well, I can express my opinion as to what I think of the idiocy of adoring a man for making a hole. The entire business is absurd."
     "I don't know. People need heroes. They need the proof of identity. Otherwise, people would be bored."
     "No, they are just too lazy to apply themselves toward the things that build self-esteem. If they had it in themselves, they wouldn't need it from others. You can't help others if you don't help yourself first. I'm not saying people shouldn't show respect, but there has be a foundation of trust in oneself."
     "Not everyone is so fortunate to know these things."
     "And that is what I'm going to do with my title, work toward reversing that. Too many people in the spotlight are sending out the wrong signal about what is cool and uncool."
     "Well, that's a start. What will you do the rest of the time?"
     "Stay out of the spotlight."
     "That's dull. That's no good for you. You'll need some excitement."
     "Well, there's still flying."
     "Something closer to home."
     "Play music."
     "Can't do that all the time."
     "Write my memoirs."
     "Yuck!"
     "What else is there?"
     "Lots.
     "Like what?"
     "You are sure a dense dent king. I'm not so sure I'm honored at being the first in a long line. This may end up as a disaster to my reputation."
     "You'll survive."
     "Not at this rate. It will be forever before I get a second try."
     "Want to try for seconds?"
     "Will miracles never cease?"
     "Then again."
     "No, no. Back up one. Ahem. I thought you'd never ask."
     Forrest chuckled. "What would I have done without you?"
     "Suffered relentlessly without respite."
     "And you do it so well."
     "Nothing is too good for the dent king.;
     "You do that even better."
     Leslie laughed. "Wise guy. Are you worth it? Really?"
     "Absolutely not."
     "I don't believe a word of it."
     "Not even my friends trust me any more."
     "Yeah, sure. Write your own epitaph."
     "I've turned pessimist for the interim."
     "Just what I've always wanted." She pinched his cheek. "Goes with your song."
     "Live not for the past, but for the moment."
     "Cop out. You remember flying."
     "Shame me, will you. Is there no depth to your degradation? Is this what the dent king should come to expect?"
     "My apologies, oh king of dents, plumber of the depths."
     "That's better."
     "Shut up and kiss me, sire."
     "Do you think I'd be good at stringing broken hearts?"
     "That's what I'm saving the station from." Leslie kissed him, then pulled him from the couch further back into the house.