by Scott Sigler
“Probably,” Froese said.
“I don’t have any proof that she ordered the hit,” Yolanda said. “The only evidence I have is against Joey Clark, and he’s dead.”
“I imagine she’ll be quite surprised. I was thinking you could write the article, then tell her about it just before it ran, when it’s too late for her to do anything about it. Does that interest you?”
Oh, it did. It did interest her. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said. “The offer is only valid if you finish the article tonight, so we have it for the game tomorrow.” He tapped the messageboard again. “You better get started.”
Froese slid out of the chair and started walking toward the door.
“What about Miriam?”
The commissioner turned around. “Miriam Connor is going to work for me now. Mostly on board the Regulator, but some field work when necessary.”
“But she wanted to be an architect.”
Froese smiled his red-toothed smile. “That’s not a job she’ll be doing anymore.”
“Okay, what about the Madderch chief of police?”
Froese shrugged. “What about him?”
“He’s corrupt,” Yolanda said. “He covered up evidence that would have exonerated Ju Tweedy.”
Froese shrugged again. “So write about it. Perhaps someone could show him the article right about the same time you show it to Anna? But that would require someone who can get in to see Chief Gilliland on a moment’s notice.”
Yolanda caught the hint. She looked at Whykor. “What do you say, reporter’s assistant? Want one more part of this story before you go back to working for your shamakath?”
Whykor’s eye swirled orange. “I would get to show Bob the article before it comes out?”
Yolanda nodded. “You get to ask him for a comment, but he won’t have one. It’s really just so you can see the look on his face.”
The eye now flooded a solid orange. “I find this acceptable.”
Froese pointed at her messageboard. “Get writing, Davenport.”
He turned and walked out of the room.
And then Yolanda, much like Whykor, did as she was told and got to work.
• • •
Yolanda leaned on her crutches, trying not to touch the dingy walls of Beefeater Gin Stadium’s lower levels. It was a strange feeling to be back here again and feel safe, yet safe she was. No stadium security were allowed in the area — armed, white-uniformed GFL staff had cleared out the area for the presence of Commissioner Rob Froese.
The rejuve cast on her leg tickled. Occasionally, it sent shooting pains all the way from her toes into her belly, but the docs said that was normal. She tried to manage the pain as best she could — she was grateful for it because the alternative would have been to die at the hands of Joey Clark.
She looked at the door for the tenth time and smiled. How perfect was this? The flat-black door was brand new — it didn’t seem to fit the rest of the tunnel. One the door was the Orbiting Death logo and a name.
ANNA VILLANI
The door opened. A Quyth Warrior walked out. Yet another former linebacker, this one worked as Froese’s personal bodyguard.
“He is ready for you,” said Leiba the Gorgeous. “Come in.”
She followed him into the office.
Inside was a reporter’s dream: Ju Tweedy, Quentin Barnes, Gredok the Splithead, Commissioner Froese and, of course, Anna Villani.
“You?” Anna said, more a noise of disbelief than an actual word. “But, you’re … ”“I’m what, Villani? Supposed to be dead?”
Anna recovered instantly. She leaned back in her cushy chair and waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, I’m quite sure.”
“Right,” Yolanda said. “You wouldn’t know a thing.”
Yolanda suddenly felt underdressed in her jeans. Villani wore a short skirt that showed off black fishnet stockings and six-inch red heels. Her raven-black hair was done up in glossy waves that vanished into a black lace hat decorated with a small metal Orbiting Death logo. Fingernails and lips alike gleamed metalflake-red.
Froese waved Yolanda forward. “This is Yolanda Davenport, reporter for Galaxy Sports Magazine.”
Gredok the Splithead’s black fur puffed up in anger. “We know,” he said. “She is the one who printed all of those lies about my players.”
Why was Gredok playing this game? He had given her the information that he now claimed was a lie. Yolanda wanted revenge for being played, although she still wasn’t sure why she’d been played.
Barnes just stared at her. There was hatred and anger in those eyes, eyes she wished looked at her with other emotions. She couldn’t worry about that now, couldn’t try and get emotionally involved with the subject of her biggest story ever. And since she had painted that subject in such a horrible light, it seemed unlikely that he’d want to go grab a cup of coffee together.
And Ju — he looked at her like she didn’t even matter. He had already moved on. He was a Tier One star, and Yolanda was just an annoyance.
She gritted her teeth, then crutch-walked around the desk to stand next to Commissioner Froese.
Froese smiled wide, showing his red teeth. “Yolanda has uncovered some critical information pertaining to this investigation,” he said. “She has been kind enough to share tonight’s cover story with me, right before publication. I think you’ll all find it of interest.”
Yolanda tried not to sneer. She watched Villani as Froese lifted his left hand, palm-up. A holodisplay flickered to life. His right index finger tapped at icons. Then a holotank lowered from the ceiling. It flared to life. The Galaxy Sports Magazine logo played across a loop-holo of Ju Tweedy in Krakens Orange. His bloody right hand pointed somewhere off the picture, his bloody left hand pounded his chest armor. Under the helmet, a repeating snarl of triumph. Behind him, a slightly out-of-focus sea of flat black and crystal blue.
“Hey,” Quentin said. “Is that from today’s game?”
Yolanda nodded. “News as it happens.”
“Damn,” Ju said. “I look mega-awesome.”
At the bottom of the repeating image, a headline fuzzed into clarity.
INNOCENT! JU TWEEDY CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES IN GRACE McDERMOT’S MURDER.
Anna stood. “This is ridiculous! I know the Madderch chief of police. There’s no way Ju has been cleared of charges!”
“That’s why you’re here,” Froese said. “So you can’t discuss things with the chief of police, a discussion that might impact the story.”
Yolanda felt absolutely gleeful inside. The woman who had tried to kill her was enraged. Villani’s plans had fallen apart because Yolanda had made them fall apart. Yolanda wondered if Whykor was having as much fun as she was.
“The chief is seeing the story now,” Yolanda said. “My colleague is giving him a chance to respond just moments before this goes live all across the galaxy. My investigation discovered evidence that the Madderch police misplaced evidence that not only shows Ju has an alibi for the time of the murder, but that implicates another sentient as the killer. A sentient that works for you, Villani.”
Villani sneered, then walked toward the office door. She hadn’t made it three steps before Leiba came around the desk and blocked the door, his big frame covering ten feet in a blink of an eye. His speed didn’t surprise Yolanda: when he played, Leiba had been the best in the game, maybe even better than Tarat the Smasher had been in his heyday, and Leiba was still in his physical prime. Leiba had left the game to work for Froese, a decision that still confused Yolanda. Who leaves football when they could be the highest-paid linebacker in the league?
Anna stopped. She glared at Leiba, her hands balling into tight fists.
Leiba’s middle arms spread wide, causally blocking the way out. “You’ll need to stay here for a bit,” he said. “Probably an hour, while the charges are officially dropped.”
Anna turned to stare at Ju, her red lips curled away from perfect white
teeth, her made-up eyes narrow with hate. “This isn’t over, Tweedy.”
Yolanda saw Ju smile, a gesture that filled her heart with joy. He was free and he knew it, and that was because of her work.
“I’d say it is,” Ju said. “And I’m on the cover of Galaxy Sports. All because of you, little lady. Thanks.” He turned to face Froese. “So now that I’ve been properly vindicated, can I get the hell out of here?”
“You’re suspended for one game,” Froese said.
“But I’m innocent! Yolanda’s article says so.”
“Innocent of murder,” Froese said. “Not of crossing me. I told you I’d make an example of you, Tweedy. For avoiding meeting requests by the league office, you are suspended one game and fined one hundred thousand credits.”
Ju stood and leaned forward, huge and intimidating. “But we have the Lu Juggernauts next week!”
The display didn’t phase Froese. He pointed to the door. “That’s not my problem. Out.”
Ju kicked the floor, then walked to the door. Quentin stood to follow him out.
“Not so fast, Barnes,” the Commissioner said.
Quentin turned. What now?
“I’m fining you for hitting that referee. Ten thousand credits.”
The quarterback’s jaw dropped in shock and anger.
“But that was an accident!”
“Right, because what you were trying to do was use your helmet as a weapon against a defenseless player. Would you rather be suspended for a game for that?”
Quentin shook his head. “No, I’m good with the fine.”
“And a hundred thousand for avoiding my meeting requests. Same as your teammate.”
“Come on! Ju was innocent! You just said so yourself. I don’t deserve to be fined for saving an innocent sentient.”
Froese leaned forward. It reminded Yolanda of a fighting dog leaning in to attack.
“You abused diplomatic immunity, interfered in a murder investigation, aided and abetted a known suspect, and your actions contributed to the death of an innocent OS1 citizen,” Froese said. “I could kick you out of the league forever for those things. Instead, you get a fine and end up with the best running back in the game. Now do you want to accept my judgment, or shall I come up with additional penalties?”
Quentin closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Yolanda knew that was a lot of money to the young player, but what choice did he have?
“I accept,” Quentin said. “Can I go now?”
Froese nodded.
Quentin turned his blue eyes on Yolanda. She felt herself draw in a quick hiss of breath — damn, he was so beautiful.
“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he said to her. “You tricked me into thinking you were doing a story on me.”
Could he really be that naive? “I was doing a story on you.”
“I mean a fun story. You did a hatchet job.”
Yeah, he was that naive. Guys like Quentin Barnes still thought football was a game, not a multi-billion-credit business that chewed sentients up and spit them out.
“I never told you the story would be fun,” she said. “I’m a reporter, Quentin. You knew that. You saw what you wanted to see.”
“And you didn’t correct me.”
“That’s not my job. And just because I was wrong about Ju doesn’t mean it was a hatchet job. I stand by the rest of the story.”
Quentin huffed. “Right. And how did you find out about the Pirates and all of that? Ever think you’re wrong about that, too?”
She stopped herself from looking at Gredok. The smug little Leader was probably loving this.
“I’m not,” she said. “I have my sources and stand by my story.”
Quentin shook his head. “Lady, you made a galaxy hate me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I stood by my team, and you crucified me. Has anyone thrown garbage on you for this story?”
“You’re complaining about garbage?” She pointed to her bruised face. “You think I got all of this from falling down the stairs, you ungrateful ass? Ju was already accused of murder before my first story ran, Quentin. I had nothing to do with that. And if it wasn’t for my new story, he’d still be wanted for murder. So I think I made things right, don’t you?”
Quentin again shook his head, the motion of a petulant child not getting what he wanted. “You made it up to Ju, sure. But not to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Until you do right by me, don’t bother talking to me again.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t.”
Quentin walked to the door. He stopped and looked back at his team owner. He looked at him like a friend.
“Gredok? Are you coming?”
Suddenly, Yolanda understood. Gredok had given her information that — while true — would make a galaxy hate Quentin Barnes. And in that hate, Gredok would have the opportunity to provide unflinching support. The game the Leader was running wasn’t on Yolanda, it was on Quentin — she had just been a pawn.
The Quyth Leader stood and walked to stand next to Ju Tweedy and Quentin Barnes, then turned to face the room. He looked resplendent with his expensive clothes, more expensive jewelry and his gleaming black fur. His antennae barely came up to Ju and Quentin’s hips. Standing between the two enormous humans, Gredok the Splithead looked untouchable.
“Commissioner Froese,” he said, “I told you that when Ju was found innocent, you owed me an apology. I’ll be waiting for an official memo declaring such. And Anna?”
The gorgeous, evil woman glared at him.
“Enjoy today’s victory,” Gredok said. “I will look forward to hosting you in my suite at Ionath Stadium next year.”
Gredok, Quentin and Ju walked out. Leiba shut the door behind them, then stood quietly.
Anna glared at Yolanda. If hate were heat, Anna Villani would have been a sun.
“You’ll pay for this,” she said. “No one does this to Anna Villani.”
Froese waved a hand in annoyance. “Oh, put a sock in it, Villani. Sit down.”
“But she—”“SIT!” The word came out like the roar of a monster. Commissioner Rob Froese had had enough.
Anna sat.
He pointed at her. “You’ve almost worn out your welcome in the GFL. I know how you took over the OS1 franchise. Everyone knows. That’s how things have been done in this league, but those days are almost over. Soon I will make an example of one of you owners. I’ll make that example by pulling franchise rights.”
Her look of anger shifted into one of disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I dare, I dare,” Froese said. “No more breaks for you, Villani, no more tolerance. I know that you have a business to run. I know what you are. But hear me clearly — if anything happens to Yolanda Davenport, Whykor the Aware, Miriam Connor or Barnacle Scraper, I will revoke your franchise rights. No more diplomatic immunity for your ships. That business you run? You’ll lose your primary vehicle for moving product from system to system. Do you understand me?”
Anna’s eyes narrowed with anger. “You can’t hold me responsible for natural causes. Accidents happen.”
Froese leaned forward, his eyes just as narrow. “When I said if anything happens to those people, I meant anything. If Yolanda Davenport calls me because she got a little splinter in her thumb, I will run you out of the league. I will use you to show my power to the other owners so that they obey me. There is no debate here, Villani. Do you understand me?”
Anna paused. She bit down on her metalflake-red lower lip, bit down so hard a trickle of blood ran down her chin.
“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”
Froese pointed to the door. “Good. Now get out.”
“But it’s my office!”
“Not until I leave the planet,” Froese said. “Move.”
Yolanda dared not breathe as she watched Villani stare at the Commissioner. The woman seemed like she might explode at any moment.
Anna Villani then stood and, without another look or another word, walke
d to the door. Leiba held it open for her, and she left.
Leiba shut the door.
Froese smiled. “Well, I’m glad that mess is finished.”
“You think she’ll listen?” Yolanda had wanted to say obey, but she just didn’t want to think that Froese treated everyone like a Quyth Worker.
Froese nodded. “It’s over. Her status in the galaxy is dependent upon being a Tier One owner. With that on the line, you’re no longer important to her. No offense.”
“None taken,” Yolanda said.
Froese gestured to the door. “Congratulations on a great story, Davenport. But now I have work to do. I have a guard to see you back to the shuttle.”
Leiba opened the door for her. Yolanda crutch-walked out. It truly was over.
Outside the door, a white-uniformed guard waited for her. White uniformed but with deep-black skin and braids.
“Hey, Yolanda,” said a smiling Miriam Connor. “The boss asked me to see you safely home. Ready to go?”
Yolanda couldn’t help but smile right back. “Sure thing, Miriam. Lead the way.”
“Lead? Do you mind if we walk side by side? That’s how friends do it.”
Yolanda nodded. The two women walked — side-by-side — out of the tunnels and back up to the surface.
