by Scott Sigler
“Well, I’ll be,” Yassoud said. “Gredok seems to like those HeavyG girls.”
Quentin turned his attention back to the ramp. There stood a chiseled HeavyG woman wearing number 24. He recognized her chocolate skin, dirty-blond hair and blue eyes from a game he’d watched not that long ago — Nancy Wolf, from the T3 championship game.
A fullback? Gredok had signed a fullback?
Nancy walked down the ramp, which started to close behind her.
No one else was coming out?
“Rodriguez,” Quentin said. “Where’s Rodriguez? Where the hell is our third quarterback?”
Yassoud shrugged. “Just Athanas and Wolf, it seems. Hey, Q, you going to date this one as well?”
“Shuck you, Murphy.”
“Because if you’re a big spender, I’m your teammate, too,” Yassoud said. “I like Italian food and long walks on the beach. Bring me flowers, who knows where the night might end.”
John tried to hold back a laugh: he failed.
Quentin glared at them. “You can both jump into the Void.”
He would welcome her as a potential teammate, regardless of the real reason she’d been on that shuttle: Gredok wanted Nancy to replace Becca at fullback, so Becca could become the backup quarterback.
Over my dead body. That’s not going to happen no matter what head games Gredok wants to play — we’re not putting the best fullback in football on the damn bench.
Becca, Kopor the Climber and Pete Marval walked out to greet Wolf. At six feet and 415 pounds, Kopor was the second-largest Warrior on the team, behind only Shayat the Thick. Kopor had almost a hundred pounds on Becca, but couldn’t touch her speed and athleticism. His dark-gray-striped light-gray carapace was unique among all the team’s Quyth Warriors. While Kopor was a clear second-string to Becca’s first, he was also significantly better than third-string Marval.
Quentin felt bad for Wolf. She was obviously older than he was by a few years and had scars that spoke of a life in lower-tier football. She probably thought this was her dream come true, her shot at the big time.
I hope you enjoy your three weeks of preseason, because Becca is staying right where she is — come the final cut, you’re out of here.
The team would practice on the Touchback, part of the welcome-to-the-club process for the rookies. The team would also sleep on the Touchback that night, the rooks settling into their new on-ship quarters. Tomorrow morning, everyone would head back to Ionath City for practice at the stadium. After that, Quentin could take his concerns directly to one Gredok the Splithead.
And oh, what fun that conversation would be.
QUENTIN STORMED INTO THE LOBBY of the Krakens Building. A thick-chested Quyth Warrior guard held up a pedipalp hand as if doing that alone would make any sentient stop and listen. Quentin ignored him, just walked on by. The Warrior seemed confused, even looked at his hand for a moment like it was some magical talisman that had suddenly and inexplicably lost its power.
The almost-completed championship display didn’t catch Quentin’s eye, nor did the glowing stars in the black ceiling above. Those things didn’t concern him.
Quentin reached the elevator. The ever-present security guard — Harold — was there, the last barrier between Gredok’s high-rise office and the world beneath.
Harold stepped in front of the elevator doors, blocking Quentin’s path.
“I’m sorry, Mister Barnes, but you can’t go up. Gredok doesn’t want any visitors.”
Harold was a big man. Huge, even, at least by normal standards. But at six-foot-four and three hundred pounds, he looked like a child compared to Quentin, who was eight inches taller and eighty-five pounds heavier.
“I’ve got nothing against you,” Quentin said. “That’s why I’ll give you four seconds to get out of my way. You’ll have to hurt me to stop me, and if you succeed, you’ll have to explain to Gredok why you injured his starting quarterback. But what will probably happen is that you won’t succeed. Instead, you’ll be searching through puddles of your own blood trying to find your missing teeth.”
Harold put on his best I will hurt you scowl and glared up. “Mister Barnes, there’s no need to—”
“One,” Quentin said.
Harold didn’t even wait for “two.” He stepped aside, held up his wrist and spoke into it. The elevator door opened.
“Go on up, Mister Barnes,” Harold said.
Quentin stepped inside.
“GREDOK, JUST WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing?”
The black-furred Quyth Leader stared down from his high throne.
“I am building a team that will defend my title,” the Leader said, as calm as ever.
His title? The words infuriated Quentin. Had Gredok bled across the galaxy’s football fields?
The Leader’s clear eye stared down without a trace of color. Seeing such composure made Quentin realize he’d lost control. He shoved down his feelings of anger and frustration: emotions were what Gredok wanted, so he could use them to manipulate.
Quentin took a slow breath.
“We talked about this,” he said. “I told you we needed a quarterback.”
Gredok’s left pedipalp hand casually fondled a pendant made of platinum and a deep green stone.
“We can talk all you like, Barnes, but personnel decisions are mine to make. You have proven to be quite durable — I have every faith that you will make it through the season in one piece. If you do not, we have Goldman ... and we have Montagne.”
“Becca is a fullback,” Quentin said. “Or are you completely unaware of your players’ positions? If you need to be tutored on the basics of football, Gredok, I’d be happy to give you a lesson.”
Gredok ignored the jibe. “Goldman can’t lead us to victories. But you already know that, Barnes, because in the Galaxy Bowl, you are the one that put Montagne in over him. And tell me honestly — do you think Rodriguez is better than she is?”
Quentin started to say yes, but stopped. Becca’s size, strength, toughness, knowledge of the Krakens offense and players, her accuracy in the short passing game ... Rodriguez was good, but she was better. Gredok knew that. Quentin would have known it, too, if he’d ever stopped to really think about it.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I need her in the backfield with me, not on the sidelines holding a clipboard,” Quentin said. “She’s the best blocker at her position in all of football.”
“I would never waste her talents,” Gredok said. “She is our starting fullback and a backup quarterback, which gives me excellent value for my money. So you see, I do not need Rodriguez after all — I need a fullback capable of filling in for her in case you get hurt and Montagne takes over your starting spot.”
This whole charade was about one thing: showing Quentin that despite the Galaxy Bowl MVP, despite the GFL championship, this was Gredok’s team — Quentin was just an employee.
He pointed a finger up at the Leader.
“None of this will matter, Gredok. As long as I’m healthy, I’ll take every snap at quarterback, and I will stay healthy.”
“I should hope so,” Gredok said as he leaned back in his throne. “Because if you can’t play football, you’ll be of no use to me.”
It wasn’t enough for Gredok to be the boss and make the decisions; he also wanted to remind Quentin that when football was over, there were still markers to be paid.
About that point, at least, Quentin couldn’t agree more.
“That’s true,” he said. “And if I can’t play football, then by the same token you would no longer be of use to me.”
Gredok sat forward again, sharply this time, his fur instantly puffing out.
“Did you just threaten me? Me? You worthless Human, do you have any idea who you are talking to?”
Quentin concentrated on not smiling — his last comment had taken Gredok out of his game. Quentin ran his left hand over his hair, from forehead back, mimicking the Quyth gesture of subservience.
; “I would never threaten you.”
A promise isn’t a threat, you little pip-squeak.
“Gredok, I understand you wanting to get maximum value for your money, but you’re missing something. Becca is better than Rodriguez and Yitzhak, but she’s not better than me. If she’s getting reps at quarterback, she’s not focusing on her job of protecting me — that means she could miss something, and I could get hurt. Can Becca win you a couple of games? Maybe. If I go down, can she bring you another Galaxy Bowl? No way.”
The Leader’s fur fluffed one more time, then lay smooth.
“You have a point,” he said. “Fine, Barnes — if you want a quarterback, I do have a trade offer on the table. Trevor Haney, backup for the New Rodina Astronauts. It seems Haney doesn’t want to drop to Tier Two and is willing to restructure his contract to league minimum in order to avoid that.”
GK Parish was the Astronauts starting QB. Quentin hadn’t seen Haney play. Parish was a serviceable quarterback, at best — the Astronauts had won just one game all season, which was why they had been relegated.
“If Haney is behind Parish on the depth chart, that doesn’t say much for his skill.”
“You want a backup,” Gredok said. “Haney has four years of Tier One experience in that role. And he’s only twenty-three. Hokor thinks he’s a good fit. I’ll have our breakdown footage sent to your room.”
“Who do the Astronauts want for him?”
“If they don’t trade Haney, he has a Tier Two opt-out clause, so they either move him or he sits out the season and they get nothing for him,” Gredok said. “So for a solid backup quarterback, all they are asking is a kick returner — they want Mezquitic.”
Mezquitic was the last of seven receivers on the Krakens roster. She had returned kickoffs and punts for Ionath before the rookie Niami took over the job. That put Mezquitic on the practice squad; she didn’t even dress for games. She was a good teammate, a hard worker and an eight-year veteran — and none of that mattered, because depth at quarterback was more important than anything she brought to the table.
But if you let Gredok move Becca to quarterback, keep Nancy Wolf at fullback, Mezquitic could stay on one more year, maybe two.
No. That was a consideration based on emotion, on loyalty. In Tier One, the margin for error was horribly small. Any improvement to the roster could mean the difference between winning and losing — that outweighed emotion and loyalty.
“I’ll check Haney’s footage immediately,” Quentin said. “But Hokor knows his players. Start the trade process, Gredok. I’ll yell if I see any problem.”
“Very well, Barnes,” Gredok said. “Shall I inform Mezquitic of her demotion to Tier Two?”
Gredok and his damn rhetorical questions. The crime lord already knew Quentin’s answer.
“I’ll tell her,” Quentin said.
He turned and walked out, leaving the tiny Leader to stare at his back.
You’re right, Gredok — someday my football career will end. When that happens, you and I are going to settle up.
Quentin had no doubt that day of reckoning would leave one of them dead. But for now, he’d said his piece and got what he wanted — time to put the power battle behind him.
Two weeks of preseason remained before the opening game against the Isis Ice Storm. Quentin would be ready. His Krakens would be ready.
Gredok’s little games could do nothing to derail that.
QUENTIN ALL BUT DRAGGED HIMSELF into his apartment. He’d just come from the Sklorno section of the Krakens Building, where he’d given the bad news to Mezquitic. As a member of not only the Krakens, but also the Church of Quentin Barnes, she hadn’t taken it well. He’d left her a quivering, vibrating mess lying on the floor, with Hawick, Denver and Milford to see her through the initial round of grief.
He fell more than sat on his couch. He needed a few minutes’ rest, a few minutes to himself. Watching Mezquitic’s reaction had been the kind of thing that drained one’s soul.
His doorbell chimed.
[REBECCA MONTAGNE, AT YOUR DOOR] his room computer said.
Even better than a few minutes to himself ... a few minutes with Becca.
“Enter,” he said.
He slid to his right to make room for her. Maybe a movie or a show — he wasn’t up for Madden just then — or some basic couch cuddling where they both put their heads back and fell asleep together. That would be just the thing.
Becca walked in, but she didn’t sit down. She stood there, hands on hips, staring at him.
“I just heard the news,” she said. “Nice of you to tell me first.”
“Tell you what?”
“About the trade, Quentin. About you blocking me from playing quarterback.”
Quentin groaned. “Oh, come on, Becca. Not now, okay? I’m not in the mood for this.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not in the mood to talk about my goals and dreams? How am I going to get reps at quarterback with both Yitzhak and Haney here?”
Was she putting him on? He was exhausted from a day of practice, then position meetings, then arguing with Gredok, then watching footage on Haney, then seeing Mezquitic destroyed by the news of the trade ... he really didn’t have the patience for this crap right now.
“Becca, you’re our fullback. You need to focus on that.”
She jutted her chin out defiantly. “All my life I dreamed of being a Tier One quarterback — that’s still my dream.”
“Being an All-Pro fullback and getting a Galaxy Bowl ring aren’t enough for you? Your team isn’t enough for you?”
She looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not like that. Of course those things matter, but I did my job. I was the best fullback I could be.”
“What do you mean was? You’ve got five, maybe even ten seasons ahead of you if you stay healthy. Don’t you get it? You could be a Hall of Famer.”
He saw her lower lip quivering in frustration. She hated to cry. Like him, she hated having any part of her she couldn’t control.
“I don’t want to be a Hall of Fame fullback,” she said, her voice thin and tight. “You of all people should understand that. You of all people should understand me — I want to be a quarterback.”
“So we’re back to that again? You want my job?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Any athlete worth her salt wants to be the starter, but I know I’m not good enough to take the job away from you. You’re the best in the league, maybe the best that’s ever been. I don’t know if I’m good enough to start for a Tier One team, but I am good enough to be a backup, and that’s what I want — I’ve earned my shot.”
Quentin huffed. “Don’t be so sure. There’s more to the position than you think.”
She glared at him, rage twisting her features.
He felt stupid, wished he could take those words back — he had completely belittled her accomplishments as a Tier Three quarterback, where she had led her team to a title.
“I see,” she said. “I’m smart enough to block for you but not smart enough to actually run the offense?”
“Becca, come on, that’s not what I—”
“I know what you meant, Quentin. Maybe better than you do. You don’t want me to achieve my dreams. You want to keep me right where I am.”
He blinked. What the hell was she talking about? She’d won a Galaxy Bowl; how was that stopping her from achieving her dreams?
“I don’t want to keep you from anything.”
She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand, then walked to the door. Becca was a warrior, as on-the-field tough as anyone Quentin had ever met, yet at that moment it was clearly all she could do to keep herself together.
Becca tapped her sternum.
“When it really mattered, when the title was on the line, you put the ball in my hands, not Yitzhak’s. Since you know I’m better than he is, I have to assume the reason you’re stopping me from playing where I want to play has nothing to do with football skill at all.”
/> She left without another word.
Quentin stared at the door, unsure of what had just happened. What mattered was where the team needed her, not where she wanted to be. The team needed her at fullback — run-blocking for Ju, protecting Quentin, and catching the ball as a constant threat on screen passes. Becca was as big a piece of the championship puzzle as he was.
Almost as big, anyway.
The bottom line was that everyone had a role to play, and Becca was selfishly putting her needs above the team’s. Had it been anyone else, he would have said as much, would have given her a serious verbal ass-kicking, but how could he do that when he was dating her?
Being romantically involved with a teammate complicated things.
She would calm down. Together, they had won a championship. If she didn’t rock the boat, they had a great chance at a second — maybe even a third.
Quentin nodded. Becca would wise up. She was tough, she was smart, and she was usually selfless. The Krakens offense wouldn’t be the same without their All-Pro fullback kicking ass and taking names.
Becca would realize that soon enough, and then things would go back to normal.
32
Preseason Week Three
Transcript from the “Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show with Dan, Akbar, and Tarat the Smasher”
DAN: And we’re back! Now, I know you might be a little disconcerted with the advertisement you just heard, but we love our sponsors.
TARAT: I do not share that sentiment, Dan.
AKBAR: Yeah, Dan, for once I agree with Tarat. I mean, the Church of Quentin Barnes, advertising on our show? Isn’t that some kind of conflict of interest?
DAN: Akbar, is it a conflict of interest when you get paid for this job?
AKBAR: Well, no, but—
DAN: Then it’s not a conflict of interest — but if you want to complain about the sponsors who are the reason you get paid, little buddy, then it will become one. And fast.
AKBAR: Ah, I see. I guess don’t have a problem with it after all.
