by Scott Sigler
“Same to you,” Rosalind said, and the image blinked out. Quentin stared at the holotank for a second.
Juuuuuust fine? What did John mean by that? Nothing, probably, just John being John.
“Quentin, we punch in thirty seconds,” Fred said. “Might want to get somewhere with a bucket. Just in case.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
Quentin stood and quickly walked to his cabin. He almost never threw up on punch-in, but the Hypatia’s carpet was expensive and he didn’t want it smelling like vomit.
26
Courage
QUENTIN BARNES HAD KILLED ROUNDBUGS with his bare hands. He’d spent days below ground in heat so intense it sometimes killed people. He’d cracked rocks and survived cave-ins. He’d fought older men to keep what was his.
He had also faced down the meanest, deadliest defenders the game of football had ever seen, met them head-on, taken the worst they had to offer and come back for more.
He had stood his ground against gangsters that killed sentients on a whim.
He had argued with a living god.
He had stopped wars, for High One’s sake.
If he had done all that, why was it so hard, so stomach-punching impossible to tell a girl that he loved her?
“Quentin, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just the ... uh ... it’s my belly is all.”
Becca gave a sympathetic smile. “Poor thing.” She reached across the small table and patted his hand. “Is it from the punch-in?”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah, must be that.”
They sat alone at the galley’s small wooden table. The Hypatia had a fancy dining room with a table that sat eight, but Quentin had yet to use it — he just didn’t feel comfortable there. The galley felt more like home, like sitting at the small table in Mister Sam’s kitchen back on Micovi.
Becca’s long black hair hung free. Her eyes looked bright and alive, and that little smile haunted the corners of her mouth.
“You usually don’t get queasy on punch-in, don’t ya know,” she said. “Only punch-out. Maybe you ate something bad. You look like you accidentally snorted a goldfish.”
Quentin’s mind seized on that comment, grabbed it as a welcome distraction from what he’d asked her here to say.
“Is that something people do on Earth? Snort goldfish?”
Becca laughed. “No, they don’t, which is why it’s funny.”
“Oh,” Quentin said. “Okay. I didn’t snort a goldfish.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s good. If you had, I was thinking we might have to have a serious talk about your substance abuse issues.”
“I don’t have any substance ...”
She’d made another joke, but he was too stressed to see it. He let out a big puff of air. He’d wanted to speak to her one-on-one. Now it was just the two of them, and he didn’t know how to move forward. What if he told her how he felt, and she didn’t feel the same way?
If you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it... stand in the pocket and get this done.
“I love you,” he said in a rush. It came out so fast it sounded like one word, iloveyou, like something Denver or Milford would say.
He’d done it, he’d said the words. He didn’t feel any better. She would shoot him down, tell him they were just having fun. He knew that’s what she would say.
But Becca didn’t say anything. She stared at the floor, her eyes wide, her mouth so tight she might never have smiled in her entire life.
Quentin felt like he would die. She was supposed to say something, anything. Why was she just sitting there?
She started to speak, then stopped. She licked her lips and tried again.
“I thought that’s why you wanted to talk alone. At least I hoped that was why. And I ... I was so excited to hear you say it, I thought I wanted to hear you say it, and ...”
He waited for her to finish, to say more, but she kept her eyes low. A lock of black hair swung down to half cover her face.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to work. In the movies, person X declared love for person Y, and person Y declared it right back. Quentin’s anxiety grew, as did his confusion.
“You thought you wanted to hear it? What does that mean?”
Finally, Becca looked him in the eyes.
“Quentin, are you sure you love me? And you don’t mean as a friend?”
His face burned — she was playing some kind of a game with him and he didn’t understand the rules or the objective.
Last chance to bail out, Quentin old boy, last chance to say, “Oh, yes, as friends, that’s all I wanted to tell you.”
No. He wasn’t going to back down now, even if that meant getting humiliated.
“I’m sure, Becca. I’m absolutely sure.”
She brushed the hair out of her face, took a ragged breath.
“Okay,” she said. “How long have you felt like this?”
Was she just going to keep asking questions?
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I know how I feel now. Ever since you arrived from the Combine, you’ve been there for me. I didn’t see it at first, I know that. I only saw you as competition. I’m a different person now. You’re everything I could want in a partner, Becca.”
Her face didn’t change, save for eyelids that blinked away sudden tears.
“You were with Somalia,” she said, spitting out the last word. “Somalia Midori. She’s a rock star. She’s beautiful. She’s a movie star now. She bought you that bike, and she’s beautiful.”
“You already said she’s beautiful.”
Becca slapped the table. “So what if I did? It’s true. She’s one of the most beautiful Human women in the galaxy. When I was there for you, blocking and bleeding for you, when I was fighting to protect you, you were with her. Why did you do that to me?”
Becca was acting like Quentin had done that on purpose. What was she talking about?
“I... I don’t know.” He shrugged, felt ridiculous even as he did it. “We just kind of ... started going out, I guess.”
Becca’s eyes narrowed.
“She used you, Quentin. You knew that, and you didn’t care because you got to be with the girl that everyone wanted.”
“Used me? What are you talking about? We went out a few times, that’s all.”
Becca wiped away tears. She crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair.
“Are you kidding me, Quentin? She was in the news because of you, because she was the arm candy of the hottest young quarterback in the GFL. Why do you think she got that movie deal?”
He started to answer, then stopped. He remembered going to dinner with Somalia, remembered stepping out of grav-cabs to an assault of camera lights. Somalia, looking amazing in one outfit after another, always smiling for reporters, always taking a few moments here and there to answer questions — and always clinging to Quentin’s arm as she did. Her band was big across much of the galaxy, sure, but compared to the media’s desperate hunger for the GFL, Trench Warfare might as well have not even existed. And when the Krakens were building, becoming a winning team, a playoff contender, that’s when the media coverage on Quentin had grown to insane levels.
Which was exactly the time he and Somalia were dating.
Becca was right.
Quentin felt like an idiot. How could he not have seen it? Somalia Midori had used him. Granted, there were far worse ways to be used, something Quentin knew all too well. Somalia had been nice, she’d been fun, but she had used him all the same.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
Becca pointed her finger at Quentin’s face.
“Don’t lie to me! How could you not know?”
He shrugged again, felt even dumber the second time he did it.
“I don’t know how I didn’t know, okay? Maybe I’m just dumb. And why are you yelling at me? I went out on a few dates with her, it’s no big deal.”
“Why am I yelling? Because you were with
her when I was the one who had your back! You were with her when I am the one that really loves you, the real you, not the pretty image on the highlights and the sports sites.”
Her chest heaved like she had just run a dozen sprints. Her fists were clenched. Quentin couldn’t tell if her heart was broken or if she was about to punch him in the mouth. Knowing Becca, it might be both.
Then it hit him, his brain registered her words: I am the one that really loves you.
“So, wait ... you’re saying you love me, too?”
Becca glared at him. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”
Stupid? What the hell was happening? Was she hearing something completely different from what he was saying?
“I’m lost here, Becca. How am I treating you like you’re stupid?”
She leaned on the table. Her wet eyes narrowed. Her expression hardened.
“You think I’m stupid enough to believe you didn’t know that I loved you? You’ve known for years.”
Quentin’s head felt empty, like he was supposed to have the right words but the right words refused to show up. But now he understood her anger — she thought he’d played with her heart, maybe even used her in a way not so different from how Somalia had used him.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“Liar. I made it so obvious.”
“Obvious? Becca, you were with John. You were engaged to him up until only a few weeks ago. How is that obvious?”
Her hard expression held for a moment, then melted away. She stared out blankly. Quentin recognized that puzzled look on her face, that feeling of finally seeing something you’ve missed all along, something that was right there but never quite registered.
“I was so sure you knew,” she said quietly. “But how could you, when I was dating your best friend?” She put her face in her hands. “I guess I really am stupid after all.”
Declaring his love for her hadn’t gone like he’d hoped, or even like he’d feared. Girls were ... complicated.
Quentin reached out, slowly, took her hands, pulled them away from her face. She let him.
“Maybe we both missed the obvious things,” he said. “But I never did anything to intentionally hurt you. I never will.”
She squeezed his hands. She looked at him with longing, and also with fear. The combined expression made one thing clear — he had the power to crush this woman’s heart, either intentionally or by accident.
Just as she had the power to crush his.
But he didn’t care.
If it ends badly, it ends badly. She’s worth the risk. My Valkyrie is worth everything.
“Becca, I love you.”
She sniffed. “I love you, too. Quentin, are you scared?”
“Terrified. I’ve never been in love before.”
He’d done it. He’d told her. And she loved him. It didn’t matter how they had reached this point, what mattered was the now of it. Now, and the future.
“I need to get away from Ionath for awhile,” he said. “I’ll see Gredok, make sure Messal is safe, then I just need to get away.”
Becca nodded. She understood, felt the same. The season had been so long, as had the playoffs, and the few days traveling to the Cloud had seemed like an eternity unto themselves.
“Come to Earth with me,” she said. “We could tour all the old football stadiums, archaeological sites and ... and maybe you could meet my parents?”
She said that last bit like she was afraid it might scare him away. If she thought that, she was wrong.
“I’d love it,” he said. “Let’s spend the off-season together.”
Becca leaned over the table, reached up to his face and pulled him in for a long, soft kiss.
It was their first kiss. It wouldn’t be their last.
27
Gredok the Splithead
QUENTIN STROLLED into the Krakens Building, which served as the franchise headquarters, housing for many of the players, and the home of one Gredok the Splithead. Dozens of ground-floor security guards smiled at him, communicating the simple message that he could go wherever he liked and no one would stop him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw contractors working on the Ionath Krakens championship display. It had once held only the Galaxy Bowl trophy from the 2665 championship, but, obviously, the 2685 trophy had to be added. Quentin wondered what artifacts would join Bobby “Orbital Assault” Adrojnik’s Galaxy Bowl MVP trophy and GFL championship ring. The ever-playing holos of Adrojnik were now blank — undoubtedly, holos of Quentin would soon play side by side with the man known as “The Saint of Ionath.”
As he headed for the elevators, Quentin looked up to the ceiling: a black dome dotted with lights representing stars with inhabited planets or stations. The stars of systems that had a Tier One franchise burned brighter than the rest, and were accompanied by the glowing logo of that team.
It seemed impossible, but the logos of the Hittoni Hullwalkers and the New Rodina Astronauts were gone. Two of the most storied franchises in history, and they had both fallen to Tier Two. The Hullwalkers’ trophy room held three Galaxy Bowl titles, the franchise had spent all twenty-seven years of its existence in Tier One, but there was no credit given for past successes.
In the GFL, nothing was guaranteed. No matter who you were, if you lost, you fell. At the end of the Tier Two tournament, a pair of teams would earn promotion, and their home stars would glow brightly above.
The burly HeavyG guard at the elevator opened it as Quentin approached, then stepped aside with a smile and a nod.
“Congratulations, Mister Barnes,” the guard said. “I’ve been a Krakens fan since I was born.”
“Thanks,” Quentin said as he stepped into the elevator. “What’s your name again?”
“Harold.”
“Thank you, Harold.”
The guard smiled wider. The doors closed, and Quentin went up.
When the Hypatia had reached orbit above Ionath, Messal had contacted Quentin — Gredok demanded a meeting. The message had been all business: Messal hadn’t mentioned if things were good or bad, if Gredok had any idea of what had happened or if the team owner remained oblivious. The Worker seemed to be alive and well, which was a good sign, but it didn’t guarantee anything. Gredok liked to play things close to the vest. Did he know about the trip to the Cloud? Was Messal busted? If so, what could Quentin do to help the Worker? At the very least, what was the fallout of Quentin’s brawl with Virak?
It was hard to think of anything going bad, though — he was the quarterback of the Ionath Krakens, a Galaxy Bowl champ, and Becca Montagne loved him. The baddest fullback in the league was his and he was hers, and everything was going to work out.
At the top of the Krakens Building, the elevator doors opened. Messal the Efficient stood there, waiting, along with Bobby Brobst, a Human bodyguard of Gredok’s
“Elder Barnes, I do so appreciate you being on time,” Messal said. “Gredok is ready to see you.”
Messal’s uniform was neat as a pin, as always. No color in his cornea. Bobby didn’t seem aggressive in the least: like everyone else, he was all smiles.
“Way to go, Quentin,” Bobby said. No anger there, it seemed — just another happy fan.
As always, several well-dressed guards from all species loitered in the top floor’s spacious lobby, and all of them beamed at Quentin.
Messal led Quentin to Gredok’s large, round, mostly dark office. Priceless works of art lined the walls, each lit up by discreet spotlights. Statues, paintings ... Quentin noticed three pieces of pottery had been added to the collection.
In the center of the room, on a throne mounted on a ten-foot-high white marble pillar, sat Gredok the Splithead. His fur and excessive jewelry gleamed under spotlights of their own, sending a clear message: for all the treasures in this room, nothing was as valuable as the owner himself.
Standing at the base of the pillar, baseball-sized eye swirling with black, stood Virak the Mean.
Uh-oh ..
. now we’ll find out how much trouble I’m in.
“Welcome home, Barnes,” Gredok said. “Your absence was annoying. Did you represent us well in Prawatt space?”
Quentin nodded. “Of course. I imagine the sales of official Krakens merchandise will go up due to the visit.”
“One can only hope,” Gredok said. “When Bumberpuff returns, I will have him work on facilitating that trade. Seeing as the Prawatt do not use Creterakian currency, it will take some negotiating, but I’m sure that race has other resources to exchange.”
The Leader’s voice rang with optimism, if not outright glee. He either didn’t realize the emotion he was showing or — more likely — was showing it on purpose.
“I assumed you would all come back together,” Gredok said. “It isn’t like you to leave early. Aren’t you always the first one to practice and the last one to leave?”
The game began. Quentin had become the quintessential team player. Not staying with Bumberpuff and the others wasn’t like him, a discrepancy Gredok would not leave unexamined.
“I am the last to leave practice, but this wasn’t practice,” Quentin said. “To tell you the truth, Gredok, the whole thing was kind of boring.”
“Boring,” Gredok echoed. “By that, do you mean you weren’t the center of attention?”
Quentin focused on his fake father for a moment, calling up enough anger at those lies to bring some color to his face, to let his heart rate kick up a touch. Just as quickly, he pushed those thoughts away — Gredok knew of Quentin’s control, so anything other than a quick burst of emotion might oversell the ruse.
Gredok’s pedipalp hands absently played with his bracelets. “You were in Prawatt space, after all, and we do have four Prawatt on the team, Barnes. It’s no surprise that species lavished praise upon its own. A shame if that came at the expense of giving proper homage to the Galaxy Bowl MVP, no?”
“Oh, please,” Quentin said. “The championship game was a team effort, Gredok — I don’t care who gets the attention.”
Quentin could sense Gredok’s delight. The Leader loved the idea that Quentin had been outshined, that such a slight might hurt Quentin’s pride. Quentin had learned that tactic from Gredok himself: the juicy detail often sells the lie.
