by Scott Sigler
“More than this game, I’ll tell you that for free,” Fred said, and returned to his reading.
Quentin shook his head. Some people just didn’t understand football, it seemed. He turned around in his seat and offered the chili fries to Choto.
Choto’s eye swirled with blues and violets — the Warrior couldn’t hide his disgust.
“No, thank you,” he said. Choto offered his own half-full bowl to Quentin. “Spider snacks?”
Quentin’s lip curled at the site of deep-fried tarantulas.
“I’m good,” he said and focused on his chili.
Becca eased back into the luxury box’s cushioned seats. She looked past the half-empty stands to the field below. The T3 Tourney was important, sure, but mostly to people whose business was football. For fans in general, there wasn’t that much interest in the Vosor 7 Ebony Wolves going up against the underdog Kyndal Talleies for the T3 championship. Unless those were your home teams, why spend the money to travel when you could watch the championship game on holo — especially when Chick McGee and Masara the Observant were announcing.
Becca liked fries — loved them, actually — but she was already in training for the upcoming T1 season. She was on a strict diet to facilitate lean muscle development. She also ran every morning, lifted every afternoon, did coordination development drills and just about anything she could do while away from the Krakens’ training facilities.
Quentin wasn’t that worried about his own conditioning, even though he’d gained a few pounds during the trip to Earth. So much good food there, and the two weeks he’d spent at Becca’s parents hadn’t helped. Becca’s mother cooked nonstop, serving up kielbasa, sauerkraut, fried cheese curds and a dozen other dishes that Quentin’s mind couldn’t remember but his tongue would never forget. Soon, he’d have to start training hard to shed that extra fat and get back into playing shape.
But not today, Mr. Chili-Cheese Fries ... not today.
He might as well eat; it wasn’t like he needed to pay attention to the game. He was supposed to be scoping for new talent, but the Krakens were stacked at almost every position. There was little chance any new players could make it on the final roster.
Becca, on the other hand, was watching intently. She called up the holocard of a bulky HeavyG female dressed in the Talleies’ yellow and brown uniform.
“Nancy Wolf,” she said. “An excellent fullback. She’s the reason the Talleies’ running back is having such a great game.”
“She’s an ass-kicker, all right,” Quentin said. “But with you and Kopor, we don’t have room for another fullback. What do you think of Rodriguez, the Talleies’ QB? Better than Yitzhak?”
Becca’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Word is the Ichiban Immovables are already in negotiations to sign Rodriguez.”
Quentin grunted, then ate more fries. Ichiban was Tier Two, in the Tower Conference. A big step up for Rodriguez: was he good enough to compete for a Tier Two starting position? Quentin set his bowl on the floor. He activated his palm-up display, made a note to talk to Gredok about Rodriguez. With Pine gone, the Krakens needed a solid backup QB — maybe someone behind Yitzhak or, more likely, someone young who would take the number-two spot on the depth chart while Zak stayed at third string.
“Rodriguez’s center is good, too,” Quentin said. “Maybe I’ll have Gredok look into him. I kind of have my heart set on Josh Athanas, though, that HeavyG from Kaparna. We need to find our center of the future before Bud-O retires.”
Bud-O-Shwek, the starting center, was heading into his twenty-ninth GFL season. Most Ki linemen were lucky to make it past twenty before retirement. Bud-O was solid as a rock, but he couldn’t last forever.
Becca leaned away from Quentin, glared at him.
“Get a future replacement for Bud-O and just kick Gan-Ta-Kapil to the curb? Is that what you mean, Q?”
What the hell was she mad about all of a sudden? Gan-Ta was the backup center. Twenty-two seasons in the league and his skill was fading fast.
“Gan-Ta’s had a great run, Becca, but we’re only as good as our backups. We have to increase our depth at center.”
Her face clouded over. “We’re only as good as our backups, right, Q?”
She’d practically yelled that. Fred lowered his messageboard to watch the exchange. Choto dutifully looked in another direction.
“That’s right,” Quentin said, careful to keep his voice neutral. Sometimes Becca got mad and he didn’t understand why — this was one of those times. “That’s how our business works. Is there something about Gan-Ta you want me to know?”
She held the glare for a moment, then looked back down to the field. She sighed and wiped away Nancy Wolf’s holocard.
“It is what it is,” Becca said. “Let’s just enjoy the game.”
Her voice had returned to normal volume, but it was cold, distant. She was furious with him. He hadn’t said anything wrong, at least as far as he knew.
He hated it when she was mad at him. It hadn’t happened often in the last few months they’d been together, but when it had, he’d found himself searching for a way to make her forget about it — even when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
He wasn’t going to let this ruin the day. He’d held an idea in reserve for weeks for an occasion just like this, and now seemed the best time to spring it.
“Becca, your contract is up for renegotiation, right?”
She nodded, but kept her eyes on the field.
“Gredok is paying you peanuts,” he said. “I know you don’t really care about money, but you should at least get what you’re worth. When we get back to Ionath, how about I introduce you to my agent?”
She looked at him again, maybe a bit surprised. Some of her anger faded away.
“You want Danny Lundy to represent me?”
He nodded. “Sure. You’re the best fullback in the game. You deserve an agent that will get you what you’re worth. You could meet with him, then you could decide for yourself.”
Becca stared for a few moments, as if evaluating what he had said. Then, she pursed her lips and nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “That sounds great.”
She turned to watch the game, but leaned lightly against his right shoulder. Whatever she’d been mad about, offering up Danny Lundy seemed to have made her feel better. He put his arm around her; she snuggled a bit closer.
Maybe the timing of Quentin’s offer had been a bit placating, but the intent was genuine. Becca really was the best fullback in the game — Danny Lundy would make sure she was paid as such.
29
The Blessing
THE LIMO SLID to the edge of Seventh Ring Road and stopped near the curb. Quentin sat in the back, with Becca and Choto.
Choto got out first to make sure the way was clear of danger, or at least any overzealous Krakens fans.
Quentin glanced at Becca. She looked nervous, and he couldn’t blame her.
“It’ll be fine,” he said.
Choto signaled the coast was clear. Becca and Quentin quickly walked inside. A Quyth Worker — probably the building manager — hovered in the lobby, at-the-ready just in case anyone needed anything. Choto’s glare kept the Worker at a distance.
The building was older than John’s but still very nice. Maybe three decades earlier, this had been one of Ionath City’s fanciest addresses. The place had aged well; it seemed the ideal address for a woman with three boys earning Tier One paychecks.
“Ma Tweedy’s building seems secure,” Choto said. “I will escort you up.”
Quentin turned to Becca. “Ready?”
Becca stared at the floor. “She has to hate me, Q. I’m sure of it.”
“She doesn’t,” he said. “That’s not like Ma.”
In truth, Quentin had no idea what Ma Tweedy felt. Becca had been engaged to one of the woman’s sons, had broken that off and was now seriously dating another.
Just last night, Quentin, Becca, Fred and Choto had returned from t
he T3 tournament. Quentin had delivered his scouting report to Gredok and Hokor. It looked like the Krakens would try to sign Josh Athanas or another backup center, as well as Rodriguez as the new backup QB.
With that bit of business done, it was time to tell Ma Tweedy that he was dating Becca. Becca had introduced him to her parents, now it was his turn to do the same. Of course, one of Ma Tweedy’s sons had already introduced her to Becca, which made this rather nerve-wracking.
Would Ma take it in stride? Would she support Quentin’s decisions, as she always seemed to do, or would she disown Quentin and side with her biological son? If she did the latter, he couldn’t blame her — he hadn’t meant to do it, but he’d stolen John’s girl.
“Becca, if you don’t want to go up, I’ll tell her myself. It’s okay.”
Becca thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I won’t hang you out to dry. We’ll do it together.”
She took his hand and they walked to the elevator.
THE ELEVATOR OPENED to the eighth floor — and to a massive Ki. Choto stepped out first. Everyone had known the Ki would be waiting there — Lil-A-Kewitt had once played for the Orbiting Death when Ju was on the OS1 roster, but Lil-A’s career had vanished thanks to serving served two years in prison for assault. When he got out of jail, Ma had found various excuses to hire the Ki. Ma made sure Lil-A had money and didn’t need to turn to crime. When Ma had moved from Madderch to Ionath City, she’d brought Lil-A along.
The Ki led them past empty apartments. Quentin knew they were empty, because he, John and Ju had bought Ma the entire eighth floor.
Quentin had been to Ma’s place at least a hundred times before. As with most visits, he smelled chocolate chip cookies before he even reached the door. This time, however, coming to Ma’s didn’t feel like coming home — it felt like he was about to see a judge who could sentence him to a lifetime of pain.
He knocked: the door opened immediately.
Ma was dressed in Krakens orange and black, the only colors she wore since Ju had joined the team three seasons back. Her shoulders were persistently shrugged up near her ears, and her eyes squinted so tight one might have thought the woman blind.
“Hello, honey,” Ma said. She held out her arms. “It’s been so long. Give me a hug.”
Quentin knelt on one knee. Ma was five feet tall, if that, which meant kneeling was the only way he could hug her without bending awkwardly at the waist. Ma Tweedy kissed his cheek, then held him tightly.
“Julius told me what happened in the Portath Cloud,” she said. “I’m so proud of you and your brothers, rescuing Jeanine like that.”
Quentin’s heart surged with love. No matter how much time he spent with her, he would never grow accustomed to her unconditional love and support.
“Thanks, Ma. I—oww!”
“Shush it,” Ma said. She had grabbed Quentin’s ear and now twisted it so sharply that to pull away might mean leaving it behind.
“You listen good, Quentin Barnes. If you ever try a stunt like that again without telling me first, then you might as well not come home, because if the spooky aliens don’t kill you, I will. You never go somewhere dangerous without talking to your mother first. Do you understand me?”
“I ... but Ma—”
She twisted the ear harder.
“Yes! I understand!”
She eased off on the twist, but didn’t let go. “Good. And what do you have to say for going off without telling me?”
“Sorry, Ma,” Quentin said. “We didn’t want to upset you.”
She released his ear. Still kneeling, he rubbed at it, wondered if he’d have to see Doc Patah to make sure everything remained properly attached.
“I already lectured your brothers,” Ma said. “You don’t get to decide for me if I worry about you, Quentin. That’s my decision to make, understand?”
He stood. “Yes, Ma, I understand. You talked to John? He’s back?”
She nodded with both head and shoulders. “He got in just last night.”
If John was back, that probably meant Jeanine and the others were back. Quentin hoped he could see her after this visit. He wanted to hear all about her trip to Prawatt space.
Ma looked up at Becca. “Well, girlie, you’ve got a lot of brass showing up here.”
Becca stared at the hallway floor. “I’m sorry to bother you. I should go.”
Ma held up a hand. “I like brass, girlie. Both of you get inside before the cookies get cold. You too, Choto — don’t think I forgot how much you like my baked centipede pie.”
QUENTIN FOUND HIMSELF on Ma’s living room couch, sitting next to Becca, each of them holding an oversized chocolate chip cookie and a glass of milk. The walls, tables and shelves strained under the weight of holoframes showing the three boys in action on the football field, along with lumpy sculptures, simple drawings, homemade “I love my Ma” cards and other mementos of the Tweedy brothers’ childhoods.
Cookie in hand, Quentin told Ma the story of how he’d come to love Becca. The knot in his chest hung large and painful, anxiety building as he waited for Ma’s reaction.
“So, that’s it,” he said. “Me and Becca are together.”
Ma nodded her wrinkled head.
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” she said. “Stranger things have happened.”
The knot started to ease. “So, you’re not mad?”
Ma waved her hand dismissively. “You kids and your hormones, who can keep track of what the hell is going on? It’s not like you kicked a puppy, Quentin. You’re obviously treating this girl right. Seems like you’re not tomcatting around on her — and if you do, I’ll tell you right now you can kiss that ear goodbye, because I’ll twist it right off your thick skull. You didn’t intentionally try to hurt your brother, and that’s what matters.”
Becca lowered her cookie. “You’re not mad at me, either?”
Ma walked to her. With the six-foot-six Becca seated on the couch, Ma was able to give her a proper hug.
“No, I’m not mad.” She held Becca at arm’s length. “But, I will tell you right now that if you wind up dating Julius next, that will be a pattern, not an accident, and I don’t give a damn how big you are, that will piss me off. Do you think you want to piss me off, Rebecca?”
A wide-eyed Becca shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Good girl,” Ma said.
They heard a knock at the apartment door. A heavy knock, the kind made by someone who doesn’t know his own strength.
“Ah, on time for once in his life,” Ma said. “Like my Nana Richardson used to say, if something’s got to break, the sooner you break it, the sooner you pick up the pieces.”
Quentin had a sudden sinking feeling.
Ma Tweedy opened the apartment door — there stood her son John.
Quentin stood up quickly, accidentally sloshing a bit of milk onto Ma’s carpet. Becca started to stand, then sat, not sure what to do. The situation couldn’t have been more awkward.
John stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He smiled wide. “Hey, Q, hey, Becca, good to ... are those cookies?”
“In a minute, Jonathan,” Ma said. “First, your brother has something to tell you.”
“But Ma, cookies. Q got one and I didn’t and that’s not—”
“Shushit!”
John winced. “Sorry, Ma. Okay, Q, I’m listening.”
Quentin didn’t know what to say. Ma had set this up. Better to break it so you can start picking up the pieces? What kind of logic was that?
She pointed at Quentin. “Out with it, boy. You tell your brother what you did and where things stand.”
Quentin swallowed hard.
“John, I ... I ...”
A hundred false stories flashed through Quentin’s head, anything to avoid telling John the hard truth. But it was too late for that. And, that was the kind of thing Gredok would do.
“Me and Becca are dating.”
John nodded. “I know, but what is
it you need to tell me?”
“Tell you ... no, John, that’s it. Becca and I are dating.”
John’s face wrinkled. “That’s it?”
Quentin nodded.
John shrugged. “Okay.”
He seemed fine with it. More than fine, he seemed like it wasn’t even news to him.
“But you were so mad before,” Quentin said. “In the Portath Cloud, before you hit me, you told me everything was okay, but... are you sure you’re okay with this?”
John rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Q, I was mad but it’s not like I could stay mad forever. You’re my brother, right?”
John smiled, waiting.
Quentin had dreaded this moment for months, yet it was going so smoothly. Maybe the ties of family were really as strong as people said.
“Right,” he said. “I’m your brother.”
“Exactly,” John said. “And I know Becca didn’t dump me to be mean or anything, she’s not like that.” He looked at her. “You’re not like that, Becca.”
“Uh, no, I’m not,” she said. “I don’t think so, anyway.”
“I was hurt and all, but things happen,” John said. “What’s important here is that brothers forgive brothers. Forgiveness, Q, and tolerance, and understanding and stuff like that, and—”
Ma tapped John on the arm.
“You’ve got diarrhea of the mouth again,” she said. “Quentin did what he had to do, now it’s your turn.”
“Jeez, Ma, I’m getting to it, okay? Anyway, Q, I was mad, but I ain’t anymore because I got another girlfriend. That’s what I came here to tell you. You know what Ma says about if something has to break?”
He walked to the apartment door and opened it: there stood Jeanine. John took her hand and led her inside.
“Q, you’re dating my ex-fiancée, and I’m dating your sister.”
Quentin stared. The image wouldn’t process in his brain.
John is a killer. I’ve seen him kill sentients with his bare hands.
“Dating my ... wait, what?” He looked at Jeanine.
She smiled, slid her arms around John’s big bicep. “Dating your sister,” she said.
John held up both hands in a placating gesture. The words DON’T WORRY, I DID THE MATHS scrolled across his forehead.
