by Scott Sigler
Then the ground came up and said “hello,” making an instant Quentin sandwich: the bright yellow, black-lined field on one side, 530 pounds of defensive end Jesper Schultz on the other.
Quentin lay there for a moment, his head spinning from the double impact, and heard the long booooo of the Cloud Killer crowd. He laughed — a halting thing, interrupted by stabs of dull pain.
“Good one, Schultzie. Is that—” Quentin winced at what felt like a broken rib “—the best you can do?”
Schultz stood up and pulled him to his feet. The big HeavyG gave Quentin’s helmet a friendly slap.
“Come on, Barnes — you didn’t think you’d get out of this game completely untouched, did you?”
Quentin fought to keep his face neutral, even forced a smile. Maybe it was two ribs.
“I dared to hold out hope.”
Schultz glanced at the scoreboard. “Well, looks like you finally got us.”
The touchdown pass to Denver had put Ionath up 31-10, soon to be 32-10 after Arioch Morningstar kicked the extra point. With only five minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, Quentin had just put the game out of reach. The jinx was over: after three losses against them as a starter, he had finally beaten Coranadillana.
“Hey, Schultzie, you know that’s the first time I’ve been sacked this year?”
Jesper smiled. “Aw, look at you, trying to make me feel better. Such a nice little guy you are. Good luck this year.”
“You too,” Quentin said and jogged for the sidelines, his eyes already scanning for Doc Patah.
• • •
QUENTIN! QUENTIN!
He pointed at a familiar face.
“Jonathan Sandoval, Net Colony News Syndicate,” the man said. “You finally beat Coranadillana. What was different this time, as opposed to the last three seasons you lost to them, and does this mean the path is clear for Ionath to go undefeated?”
Quentin laughed and leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly as the motion tweaked his cracked ribs. Doc Patah’s nerve block had taken away some of the pain, but not all of it. After the press conference, Quentin was due in one of the Touchback’s rejuve tanks for a three-hour session to repair the bones — first, though, he had to answer stupid questions like that one.
“Undefeated? Come on, Sandoval, can’t you just let us enjoy tonight’s win?”
The Human reporter didn’t let up. “So are you saying you don’t have confidence in your team? Are you saying that Ionath can’t go undefeated?”
At one point or another over the last four years, Quentin had wanted to punch each and every reporter that covered the Krakens. The same faces every week: Sandoval, Yolanda Davenport, Kelp Bringer, Pikor the Assuming, Kinizzle, Ron-Do-Hall ... if they weren’t asking a ridiculous question that exposed their lack of real football knowledge, they were fishing for that nugget of manufactured controversy.
It had worked on him when he was a rookie, but he wasn’t a rookie anymore.
“We take our opponents one at a time,” he said. “Next week we face the Yall Criminals, an excellent squad. If we don’t prepare properly, they’ll beat us — that is the only game that matters right now.”
Sandoval sat down. Maybe he’d carve up Quentin’s words to find some new meaning, maybe not.
Quentin! Quentin!
The multi-headed monster never stopped squawking for more. Quentin saw a Creterakian dressed in a black bodysuit with bright images of bouncing cherries moving on it. The cherries were being chased by what looked like a yellow pie missing one slice, except the slice opened and closed like it was the pie’s mouth. Where did that species find such horrid clothes?
“Kinizzle,” Quentin said. “Go ahead with your question.”
THE QUYTH WARRIOR PUSHED HIS WAY through the packed bar. Pushed gently, so as not to cause an alarm or bring attention to himself. Even at the other end of the establishment, he could hear the screaming of a drunk Human.
“So then I says to her, but I’m not an apple, I’m a stick figure!”
Marik recognized the man — John Tweedy. The sentients surrounding John roared at the punch line. Marik the Covetous didn’t find it funny at all — not that he had ever understood Human humor. He hated Humans for their lack of hygiene, poor education and primitive, superstitious beliefs, which remained popular a full millennia after science had carried the species to the stars. And their little faces with those tiny little eyes: Humans were the most disgusting race in the galaxy. Except for Whitokians, of course, but that was a given.
Coranadillana had several bars that catered to Quyth customers, but could the targets have gone to one of those? Oh no, of course not — the smelly Humans usually congregated with other smelly Humans, hence their presence in a bar designed for their smelly kind. There were a few Harrah, though. Some were bar employees — flying drinks to tables and returning with empty mugs — but most were football fans wearing orange and black backpacks or trailing ribbons of the same colors.
Fans of the Ionath Krakens had taken the place over for the night.
Marik worked his way to a wall and put his back to it, scanning the crowd. His sources from Ionath City said the target rarely went out after home games and almost never when the Krakens were on the road — but if he did, he went out with the overly loud, overly obnoxious Tweedy brothers. If the target was anywhere on Coranadillana, he would be here.
A barrel-chested man suddenly jumped up on top of a table. The table wobbled, but the orange-and-black clad fans surrounding him quickly steadied it. Marik recognized this Human, too: John’s brother Ju, who also played for Ionath. He ran the ball, or threw it, or maybe kicked it — Marik didn’t know a damn thing about football and didn’t care to learn.
“Time to sing,” Ju said, raising his glass. Beer sloshed out of it, splashing down on those who had kept him from falling on his face; they didn’t seem to care.
“Come on, everyone,” Ju said. “Let’s sing My Girl from Satirli 6!”
“Satirli 6!” John Tweedy screamed, then hopped up and down. “Good song!”
Behind Ju and the fans surrounding his table, Marik saw an impossibly thick HeavyG raise a glass and shout in joy. The man’s head came up to Ju’s shoulder; it took Marik a moment to realize the man wasn’t also standing on a table — the massive sentient was just standing.
“Identity check,” Marik said quietly. “I think this one is a bodyguard.” The J-plant concealed beneath a fake sheet of chitin sent the request to his partner. Marik closed his eye, then squeezed the eyelids tighter once, twice, a third time: that activated the scanner embedded in the contact lens covering his cornea. He opened his eye and stared at the big sentient, who looked almost as drunk as the Tweedy brothers, and was singing that awful song just as loud.
His partner’s voice came back through the J-plant, so clear it sounded like the Leader was standing only an inch away.
“Marik, you obviously didn’t study the research you were assigned,” said Turon the Ugly. “You are supposed to know all Krakens players on sight. That is Tim Crawford, a defensive tackle.”
Marik wished Turon were right next to him, so he could grab that sensitive spot between the little Leader’s pedipalps and just squeeze. Maybe twist a little as well, remind Turon who was the bigger and stronger of the two.
“I do not need to do the research,” Marik said. “That is why you are here.”
“Do not forget your place, Marik. Is there any sign of the target?”
Marik hated Leaders. Turon wasn’t his shamakath, and Marik didn’t have to take his orders. Still, he scanned the packed crowd, looking for the target. He saw another oversized HeavyG — not as large as Crawford, but far too big to be just another bar-goer.
“Target check,” he said, staring at the man.
“That is Josh Athanas,” Turon said. “Look at the size of him ... he is 228.6 centimeters tall ... Crawford is almost 240. I know we have some large sentients in our organization, but those two look like giants.”
“They are giants,” Marik said.
Pro football players were so massive, seeing them in person made one doubt one’s own eye. Marik was used to being the biggest sentient in the room almost everywhere he went, yet his antenna stubs wouldn’t even come up to Crawford’s sternum.
Marik finished scanning the crowd.
“No sign of the target,” he said. “Has anyone else reported in?”
“Negative,” Turon said. “He must have left right from the stadium and gone up to their team bus. There is no point to continuing this exercise. You and the others may leave. I will book travel for next week.”
Marik’s eye swirled with black; he knew, because the contact lens reflected it, let him see what was normally invisible to him. He tried to calm himself. This trip had been wasted, but hopefully they would get their chance at Yall.
GFL WEEK THREE ROUNDUP
Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network
Home
Away
Alimum Armada
14
Jupiter Jacks
17
Bartel Water Bugs
17
Buddha City Elite
13
Wabash Wolfpack
24
D’Oni Coelacanths
10
Coranadillana Cloud Killers
10
Ionath Krakens
32
Isis Ice Storm
21
Texas Earthlings
20
Orbiting Death
35
Yall Criminals
7
To Pirates
35
Themala Dreadnaughts
10
Bord Brigands
14
D’Kow War Dogs
13
Vik Vanguard
35
Jang Atom Smashers
12
McMurdo Murderers
10
Shorah Warlords
28
Bye Weeks: Neptune (2-0) and Sheb (1-1) did not play this week.
Week 3 ushered in an upset and possibly a changing of the guard, as OS1 (3-0) stunned Yall (2-1) by shutting down the league’s most-productive offense. The Orbiting Death held the Criminals to a single touchdown in the 35-7 rout.
“They’re good, but they had to come to the Black Hole,” said Death signal-caller Condor Adrienne. “Here, everything changes. Our house, our rules.”
Adrienne put in a solid 22-of-33 passing performance for 243 yards and two TDs, but it was rookie running back Danté Diener that ruled the day. Diener ran for 125 yards and three scores.
Renaud had been flying high coming into the game, but the Death defense held him to just 207 yards passing and no TDs. The Criminals’ only score came on a reverse to receiver Concord.
The win keeps OS1 tied for first place in the Planet Division with rival Ionath (3-0). The Krakens hung a 32-10 defeat on host Coranadillana (0-3). Ionath faces Yall in Week 4, while the Death have a bye. A win over Yall would put Ionath a half-game up and give them sole possession of first place.
Bartel (3-0) took control of the Solar Division with a hard-fought 17-13 win over the Buddha City Elite (2-1). Water Bugs running back Robert Shonfelt picked up 104 yards on 20 carries, including both of Bartel’s touchdowns.
Texas (2-1) fell out of first place in the Solar thanks to a 21-20 upset at the hands of Isis (1-2). The Ice Storm fell behind 20-0 in the first half but scored three touchdowns in the fourth quarter to pull ahead.
Deaths
No deaths reported this week.
Offensive Player of the Week
D’Kow War Dogs running back Daniel Carrus, who rushed for 205 yards, including a 95-yard touchdown run, in a losing effort against the Bord Brigands. Carrus broke six tackles on the long TD run, including a pair of collisions that knocked two Sklorno defensive backs out of the game.
Defensive Player of the Week
To Pirates rookie defensive end Johnny Mushet, who had three sacks and a forced fumble in the Pirates’ 35-10 win over Themala.
37
Week Four:
Ionath Krakens at
Yall Criminals
PLANET DIVISION
SOLAR DIVISION
3-0
Ionath Krakens
3-0
Bartel Water Bugs
3-0
OS1 Orbiting Death
2-0
Neptune Scarlet Fliers
2-1
Buddha City Elite
2-1
Texas Earthlings
2-1
To Pirates
2-1
Vik Vanguard
2-1
Wabash Wolfpack
1-1
Sheb Stalkers
2-1
Yall Criminals
1-2
Bord Brigands
1-2
Alimum Armada
1-2
D’Kow War Dogs
1-2
Themala Dreadnaughts
1-2
Jang Atom Smashers
1-2
Isis Ice Storm
1-2
Jupiter Jacks
0-3
Coranadillana Cloud Killers
1-2
Shorah Warlords
0-3
D’Oni Coelacanths
0-3
McMurdo Murderers
IT WOULD TAKE TWO AND A HALF DAYS to travel from Ionath to Yall. Hokor scheduled the Touchback to depart on Tuesday afternoon. That gave the team Friday for a full-contact practice at Tomb of the Virilli Stadium, home of the Criminals. It always helped to get a feel for the field prior to game day. They would practice at the stadium on Saturday as well, but that was just a walk-through, as no one wanted to get dinged up before Sunday’s clash.
The Krakens returned from Satah, home of the Cloud Killers, on Monday evening. That made Tuesday morning a mad scramble to take care of any planetside business before the Touchback departed. Quentin had shuttled down for a nice family breakfast with Jeanine, John, Ju and Ma Tweedy (Ma had been kind enough not to ask about Becca, thankfully), then come right back up again.
Two hours before departure, Hokor called Quentin to his office on Deck Eighteen to address something urgent.
“Urgent” meant Gredok was involved.
Quentin strolled into Hokor’s office. He expected to see Coach and Gredok, but there was one more sentient present — Danny Lundy, sports agent extraordinaire.
Coach sat behind his tiny desk, as usual, wearing his tiny Krakens ball cap. Gredok the Splithead was in his cushy corner chair, black fur gleaming almost as brightly as his gem-studded platinum jewelry. The Dolphin stood in front of Hokor’s desk, off to the side, leaving one chair open for Quentin.
“Hey, buddy,” Danny said. “So happy you could join us.”
Quentin looked from Danny, to Hokor, to Gredok.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
Gredok’s glossy fur fluffed up slightly, briefly, then lay flat. While there was no color in his cornea, Quentin sensed the team owner was in a positive mood, if not outright happy.
“Well, Barnes, it seems we face an unexpected complication,” the crime lord said. “Danny Lundy says his quarterback client demands a trade.”
Quentin looked at the Dolphin. What was Danny trying to pull? Gredok had won the battle over Quentin’s contract, and that was that.
“I didn’t tell you to talk to Gredok,” Quentin said. “My contract is fixed and I’ll live up to the terms.”
Danny’s head bobbed up and down. The office lights reflected off his wet rainbow-colored skin. “Easy, guy — I’m not here to talk about your contract.”
And then Quentin understood.
“Yitzhak wants out? I know he’s still pissed, but he’s number two on the depth chart and he’s getting playing time. That’s way more than he had last year, Danny. And if he leaves Ionath he’ll lose all of that sponsorship money
. Did you explain that to him?”
The Dolphin shook his head from side to side, flinging a tiny bit of wetness onto Hokor’s little hat. The coach didn’t seem to notice. He just sat there, his eye swirling with threads of dark blue.
“Wrong again, pal,” Danny said. “I’m not here for Goldman, either.”
Quentin was getting tired of this game. “You don’t represent Haney, and that’s all the quarterbacks we have on this team, so you want to get to the point?”
“You missed one, buddy, one who isn’t on the depth chart. And if my client can’t play quarterback? Then she wants a trade, and she wants it immediately.”
QUENTIN KNEW THE COMPUTER was announcing his presence, but he didn’t care — he kept pounding his fist against her door.
“Becca! Open up!”
She knew why he was there. If she thought she was going to hide in her room and not talk to him, she had another—
The door to her quarters slid open. Quentin stepped inside.
Becca stood by her holotank, arms crossed, eyes burning with frustration.
“I gather you’re not here to congratulate me on taking one step closer to my dream?”
“You know damn well I’m not,” he said. “Why did you go over my head?”
“I didn’t go over your head, you arrogant ass, because it’s not your franchise. I asked my agent — who you introduced me to, by the way — to negotiate in my best interests.”
She was going to pretend this was all business?
“It’s my team, Becca. And I told you no.”
She threw up her hands. “Since when do you get to tell me what to do? You aren’t the one that pays my salary, Quentin. I’m a grown woman and I will do what’s best for me.”
“We all need to do what’s best for the team, not for ourselves.”
She glared at him, her lip half-curled into a sneer.
