by Scott Sigler
DAN: I thought so.
TARAT: Dan, I made a significant income during my days as a player, and I also generate revenue from my independent reporting. Therefore, I am not as dependent upon the relatively meager amount you pay Akbar and me.
DAN: Come on, Smasher — if someone pays our rates, we’ll probably bring them on as a sponsor. And if they pay triple our rates? Well then, I’m the kind of guy that likes to make that happen.
AKBAR: Triple our rates? Now I really don’t have a problem with it.
TARAT: Akbar, you lead a shallow existence. Dan, does it not strike you as concerning that the Church of Quentin Barnes has that much money? The CoQB didn’t even exist five years ago, and now it is the fastest-growing organization in the galaxy.
DAN: Smasher, we weren’t all born as six-foot-four, three-hundred-pound athletes.
AKBAR: With extra arms.
DAN: Exactly, with extra arms. What I’m saying, Tarat, is that it’s great you have some moolah stashed away, but this amazingly fantastic show we run is a business. Our job is to build a big audience that companies will pay to reach.
TARAT: You should stop to ask what message those companies want to deliver, Dan. The CoQB is trying to expand beyond just Sklorno and appeal to the other races. Is that good for the game of football?
DAN: Tarat, with all due respect, I’m moving on to a related topic. Speaking of Quentin Barnes, I think we need to discuss the brilliant roster management of Gredok the Splithead.
AKBAR: Brilliant? Seems a strong word, Dan, unless you think trading a washed-up kick returner for a second-string quarterback is brilliant.
DAN: I’m not talking about the Haney for Mezquitic trade, Akbar, you idiot. The Krakens won the Galaxy Bowl, and guess how many starters they lost to free agency?
AKBAR: Um ... none that I can think of.
DAN: Exactly! We’re talking about the defending GFL champs, here, and Gredok has the entire team locked up this season except for Becca Montagne. Mum-O-Killowe, Barnes, the Tweedy brothers ... everyone else is under contract. Because of this, the Krakens return an unprecedented twenty-one starters, and that’s not counting Montagne. If Gredok signs her? That’s twenty-two — every starter on offense and defense will be back.
TARAT: That is unheard of. Has that ever happened before?
AKBAR: No, it hasn’t. Every championship team has had to fill at least a few holes.
TARAT: My sources say signing Montagne shouldn’t be a problem.
AKBAR: I don’t know about that. She’s an All-Pro making league minimum, and she just picked up Danny Lundy as her agent. He’s going to grind Gredok into the ground.
DAN: Yeah, Tarat. This is free agent week, which means a lot of teams are going to try and sign her away from the Krakens.
TARAT: Normally you would be right, but my sources say that — unlike my Human co-hosts — Montagne is interested in something more than money.
DAN: Oh, I smell another Tarat scoop! Do tell, my linebacker legend, do tell.
TARAT: My sources say that Quentin Barnes is no longer courting actress and singer Somalia Midori. He is now courting Becca Montagne.
AKBAR: What?
DAN: Holy moly! You heard it here first, sports fans.
AKBAR: Wait a minute. Wasn’t Montagne engaged to John Tweedy? They had that whole sappy proposal during a home game and everything.
TARAT: Now it seems that John Tweedy is dating Quentin’s sister, Jeanine Carbonaro.
DAN: Woah! Tarat, how did you get this story?
TARAT: My sources are confidential, Dan. If I told you, then other reporters might find out and try to take those sources away. Other reporters like Yolanda Davenport, who did not break this story.
AKBAR: You can’t let a single scoop go without rubbing it in Yolanda’s face, can you, Tarat?
DAN: The Smasher, still competitive as ever.
TARAT: A good rivalry compels individuals to work harder and be better at their jobs. Today, I am better than Yolanda Davenport. This makes me happy.
DAN: Well now that the story is out, let’s go to the call-in lines and see what our listeners think about it. Caller one from Satah, you’re on the space, go!
CALLER 1: Longtime listener, first-time caller, Dan.
DAN: And we love ya for it. What’s your take on this?
CALLER 1: It’s ridiculous. It’s going to cause nothing but problems. I mean, if the Wrecka dates someone on the defense, that’s fine, but an offensive player that’s on the field the same time she is? What happens when the Wrecka accidentally-but-on-purpose misses a block so Barnes can get lit up?
TARAT: Montagne is a professional, caller. I doubt that she would do such a thing.
DAN: We’ll see how the kissy-face backfield works this year. If my wife could miss a block or two when she gets mad at me? I wouldn’t be alive to do this brilliant show, that’s for sure. Let’s get more feedback. Caller two from the freighter Mondo Gonzo, you’re on the space, go!
WHEN QUENTIN HAD STEPPED off the shuttle from the Combine back in his rookie season, he’d been greeted by Don Pine and Yitzhak Goldman. It was a Krakens tradition: the other people at your position welcomed you to the team and gave you the tour of the Touchback.
Now it was Quentin’s turn to welcome a new QB to the team.
“Obviously, this is the practice field,” he said. “Any questions?”
Maybe Quentin was a better quarterback than Don Pine, but the older man was clearly a better tour guide.
Trevor Haney shook his strange head. “Nope, I’ll be ready to go. What about a Kriegs-Ballok? Y’all got one of those brewbies?”
Quentin didn’t know what a “brewbie” was, but apparently it was some slang from Trevor’s home city. Or maybe it was something new from popular culture at large, which Quentin paid no attention to.
He glanced at Yitzhak, wondering if the word meant anything to the older man. Zak shrugged as if it had been a decade since he’d bothered to keep up with slang. So far, he hadn’t said anything other than “hello.” For this tour, Quentin was on his own.
“The VR field is on the eighteenth deck,” Quentin said. “I’ll show you the locker room and training room first, then we’ll take a look at it.”
The whole affair felt stiff and overly formal. Uncomfortable was the best word to describe it, which was no surprise — anything that involved Yitzhak felt uncomfortable.
Quentin led Trevor out of the orange end zone and into the Touchback’s central tunnel. Not far in, he descended the flight of stairs that led to Deck Zero. Trevor and Yitzhak followed.
Quentin wasn’t racist, but Trevor was hard to look at. His parents must have had serious bucks, because they had custom designed his skin pigmentation. Much of Trevor’s face was black. Not brown like Quentin’s skin, or a dark chocolate, like that reporter Sandoval, but rather the literal meaning of the word. The area around his eyes, though, running to and including his ears, was white. And not the pinkish-tan that some old people still called white, but a total lack of color, even whiter than Yitzhak or Yotaro Kobayasho. Maybe Haney’s parents were in a cetacean worship cult — at least that would explain why they’d made their son’s color pattern resemble a killer whale.
At six-foot-seven, Haney was three inches taller than Yitzhak, but almost six shorter than Quentin. He was an amphib, a genetically engineered Human native of New Leekee. His overly long fingers gave him a natural grip on the ball. His long feet, however, made for an awkward running gait. He was a decent pocket passer, but couldn’t scramble to save his life.
At the bottom of the stairs, Quentin turned aft and walked toward the locker room, which was directly under the practice field. The locker-room door slid open with a soft hiss. The three quarterbacks entered the central area, the round room where the team gathered to go over strategy on the holoboard that stood in the room’s center. Benches, lockers and equipment bins lined the walls. Open entryways led into the Human, Quyth Warrior and Sklorno areas on the port side, the Ki
, Prawatt and HeavyG on the starboard.
“Coolaush,” Haney said.
Quentin glanced at Yitzhak, who continued to look disinterested in the whole thing.
“Coolaush,” Quentin said. “What does that mean?”
Trevor laughed. “It means good, old man.”
“Old man? I’m a year younger than you are.”
Haney shrugged. “So says the calendar. No offense, brewbie, but I get the feeling you don’t go out much.”
Well, that was true. Haney was chronologically older, but the black-and-white-skinned man seemed like... well ... he seemed like a kid.
“Old man” Yitzhak said. “Funny — that’s what you called Pine when you first got here, Barnes.”
Zak finally spoke, and that was all he had to say?
“Come on, Haney,” Quentin said. “We’ll show you how to work the VR room.”
They walked aft. At the end of the locker room, the door slid open — half left and half right — to another corridor. Quentin gestured to an entryway on the left, one much wider than those of the species-specific dressing rooms.
“This is the training room,” Quentin said. “You’ll meet Doc Patah soon enough.”
“He good?” Haney asked.
“If by good you mean will be keep you on the field when you get hurt, then he’s coolaush.”
Quentin smiled at Haney, waited for him to smile back.
Haney pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re not using the word right, man.”
Yitzhak laughed, a derisive tone.
Quentin felt ridiculous.
“Come on, let’s get this done,” he said.
The long corridor ran another forty yards or so, taking them past the black end zone above. They took the lift up in silence.
“I’m surprised,” Haney said. “What with you guys winning the Galaxy Bowl and all.”
“Surprised,” Quentin said. “At what?”
Haney gestured around him. “This ship. Your team bus is bittlesore.”
Quentin stared at him, not understanding.
“Bittlesore,” Haney said again, as if the word would explain itself the second time. “It’s all old and beat up, a piece of crap. Look at this lift.”
Quentin did. He’d never noticed it before, but the lift walls were scratched, dented, painted over in several places.
“The Touchback works fine,” he said. “The Astronauts have something better?”
Haney nodded. “The Astros team bus was new three years ago. State of the art, man, all coolaush to the exponential.”
Fifteen minutes into this new relationship, and Quentin was already sick of the slang.
The lift reached the eighteenth deck, stopped and beeped, but the doors didn’t open. Quentin heard a grinding sound.
Yitzhak sighed. “This again. Computer?”
[YES, MISTER GOLDMAN] came the voice from the lift’s speakerfilm.
“Notify Captain Kate the aft lift is stuck. We need an override.” He looked at Haney and shrugged apologetically. “If something hits the outer door to the deck, it can jam, then the lift won’t work. Just be glad it happened when we got here so we didn’t have to use the stairs.”
Haney shook his head. “Bittlesore, man.”
The lift doors made that grinding sound again, then slid open.
“Not bad,” Yitzhak said. “Last time I was in here for ten minutes.”
Quentin stepped into the small landing area. He pointed to his left. “That’s the admin offices. Any payroll questions, anything you need, either ask Messal or just come up here.”
Haney nodded. “Got it.”
“VR room is this way,” Quentin said. “Come on.”
They walked right. Just past the elevator was the door to the emergency stairs. Quentin wondered if that would be the better way to go back down — he didn’t want to be stuck on an elevator with Yitzhak for even one minute, let alone ten.
The high-ceiling corridor’s orange walls matched the black and white carpet: matched as far as Krakens colors went, anyway. As he always did, Quentin glanced at the holoframes covering the walls, showing the Ionath greats from years past. He saw the familiar holoframe of Bobby Adrojnik. And on the other side of the hall, Quentin saw something new — a holoframe of him, smiling wide in his tattered orange jersey, holding up the Galaxy Bowl trophy in one hand and the MVP trophy in the other.
“Nice,” Haney said. “That’s definitely coolaush. Get it now?”
Quentin smiled. “Yeah. I think so.”
Maybe the new guy would fit in after all.
“Come on, Haney,” Quentin said. “Time to show you how we do things. Have you memorized every player on the Ice Storm’s defense?”
Haney huffed. “Yeah, right. Not falling for any of those pranks you play on rookies, old man, but nice try.”
Ah, this was going to be fun. Soon that sarcasm would be shoved right down Haney’s throat. He would wear the Orange and the Black, but only after he learned to do things the Ionath way.
STARTERS WERE BACK at every single position, or had been, until the news came earlier in the week — starting strong safety Davenport had gotten herself knocked up.
It happened from time to time across the league, had even happened to the Krakens two seasons ago with Standish, also a defensive back. When a Sklorno became pregnant, her body changed dramatically — like Standish, Davenport’s career was over.
John and Hokor didn’t seem too concerned, though. Second-year player Niami had been signed as a cornerback, but had been moved to backup strong safety last year. Hokor was confident in her abilities as the new starter.
With all starting positions locked up and the Krakens very close to the salary cap, Coach Hokor hadn’t invited any big names to try out on free agent day. Still, there was always a chance to improve backup talent, so the coach brought in a dozen unsigned players to see if any could make the Ionath roster.
There was no pressure on the starters, but it was a different story for the second- and third-stringers. Hokor had invited linebackers to compete for the backup spots against Shayat the Thick, Samuel Darkeye and last year’s rookie, Pishor the Fang. He’d also brought in defensive backs to possibly take backup positions away from Breedsville, a Sklorno, and Luciano Cretzlefinger, one of the strangely named Prawatt. Finally, he’d invited in a few receivers to compete with Richfield, who at twenty-two years old probably wasn’t going to make the final roster. A shame, really, after putting in fourteen seasons with the Krakens, but she just didn’t have the speed or the leaping ability anymore.
Quentin threw passes to test the prospective defensive backs. These players had been dropped from their Tier One or Tier Two rosters, or were Tier Three players hoping for a lucky break. Granted, sometimes you could find an undiscovered gem on free agent day — as the Krakens had done with George Starcher — but there didn’t seem to be a Starcher-level find in the current batch. Defending against high-caliber receivers Denver, Milford, Halawa, Tara the Freak, Cheboygan and Hawick, and against pass-catching running backs Yassoud Murphy and Becca, the hopeful free agents didn’t stand a chance.
Quentin only threw for about fifteen minutes. That was how long it took to see that none of the invited defensive backs could stop a good Tier One quarterback. Once that was established, Quentin turned the passing duties over to Yitzhak and Trevor Haney.
Throughout the preseason, Yitzhak had been playing well — for him, at least. He seemed more focused, delivering his passes much harder than he had in prior years. The man seemed perpetually angry; Quentin couldn’t blame him.
With Quentin nearby and Hokor above in his floating golf cart, Zak completed most of his passes but gave up two interceptions to a free agent named Dimitrovgrad. Throwing skeleton routes with no linebackers or defensive ends trying to take your head off was one thing: doing it for real was another. If Quentin went down and Yitzhak came in, the Krakens would have to rely on Ju Tweedy and the running game; Yitzhak just didn’t have the skills
.
Unfortunately, Trevor Haney wasn’t any better. He was new to the offense, so it would take him some time to adjust, but at that moment Zak had firm control of the number-two spot on the QB depth chart.
Haney had solid arm strength, which was good, but questionable accuracy and poor decision-making abilities when it came to throwing into coverage. The main advantage Haney had over Yitzhak, though, didn’t involve football skills, it involved years. Zak was thirty-three years old, heading into the declining skill and speed that came to all Humans around that age. Haney was ten years younger, just a year older than Quentin. Once Haney learned the offense — and if Quentin and Hokor could help correct those other problems — he might provide several years of valuable service to the Krakens.
Quentin watched Haney throw; stopping him every few passes to give advice on how to best target the Krakens receivers. When Quentin did that, sometimes he noticed Yitzhak glaring hatefully. And Yitzhak wasn’t the only one — if Becca’s eyes had been lasers, Quentin would have been a smoldering stump.
She wanted reps at quarterback; she wasn’t going to get them. Not now, not when Quentin had to make sure Yitzhak was as ready as he could be, and at the same time bring Haney up to speed. Quentin wanted to talk to her about it, but she’d avoided him since their argument following the Mezquitic/Haney trade a week earlier.
Quentin watched Haney take a snap and drop back, black and white hands holding the ball high near his right ear. Haney tracked his receivers in their orange jerseys, who were shadowed by the white-uniformed free agents. Milford planted and came back on a hook route. She was open, but Haney waited a second too long, giving a free agent Sklorno DB time to step in front and pick off the ball.
Becca would, have made that pass.
The thought jumped unbidden into Quentin’s head. He glanced at her, saw her in her orange uniform, watching, a smirk on her face.
From the floating golf cart, Hokor screamed an obscenity about Haney’s heritage. Quentin walked over to Haney and started explaining to the man what he’d done wrong.
33
Preseason Week Four
THE PRESEASON ENDED, and with it came goodbyes.
