by Scott Sigler
“Quentin Barnes is the real deal,” Danny said. “You have a choice to pay him before he becomes the best quarterback in the league, or after. A hundred megacredits is the before price. Based on your fur-fluffing rage, I’m guessing you don’t want to hear the after price.”
Gredok stood in his little chair. “Get out! Get out, Dolphin, and take your unproven quarterback with you!”
“Quentin, let’s go. We’ve given the Splithead plenty to think about.”
Gredok stamped a tiny foot. “There is no thinking! Come back when your contract requests are reasonable!”
“The offer is on the table,” Danny said. “If you won’t take it, someone else will. You should know, Gredok, that I’ve already been contacted by the Mars Planets, the McMurdo Murderers, the Bartel Water Bugs and the To Pirates.”
If Gredok had been faking rage before, he wasn’t faking it anymore. Quentin saw the same quiet, dangerous calm Gredok had shown just before killing Mopuk the Sneaky.
“Teams are interested,” Danny said. “Quentin will get the deal we want. It’s up to you to decide if that deal is with Ionath. We’ll be waiting to hear from you. Good day.”
Danny lowered his legs and started walking out of the chamber. Quentin stood there, still looking up at the enraged Gredok. Was all of this a mistake? Three years ago, he couldn’t have even imagined having 3.6 million. Should he just take that offer?
“Quentin!” Danny’s voice, a squealing command that would have been understood even without the vocal modifier. “Time to leave. Come with me and do not talk to Gredok without me present until this negotiation is complete.”
Gredok’s pedipalp hands curled into shaking fists. “There is no negotiation! You get out of here, Lundy, and take that ungrateful yakochat of a quarterback with you! No one tells me how to run my organization!”
Quentin turned and quickly walked out of the chamber. He stayed quiet as Gredok’s well-dressed guards led him and Danny to the elevator. The elevator doors closed.
Danny’s left hand reached into a pocket hanging from his harness. He pulled out a small fish and popped it into his long mouth. “That went pretty well,” he said after swallowing it down.
“What? Are you shucking crazy, Danny? I’ve never seen Gredok that mad and trust me, I’ve done things to make him mad. Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Relax, Human. I’ve seen him worse.”
“Worse that that?”
“Oh, sure. You should have seen him when I negotiated for John Tweedy’s last contract.”
“But, Danny, maybe I should just take Gredok’s offer. A hundred million? That’s like ... that’s too much money.”
Danny turned, sharply and suddenly. He again reached into his bag, pulled out a fish, then slapped Quentin across the face with it.
Quentin’s right hand went to his right cheek. A bit of cold wetness clung there. “Did you just smack me in the face with a fish?”
“I did.”
“Why did you just smack me in the face with a fish, Danny?”
Danny’s legs rose up until his narrowing black eyes were level with Quentin’s. In the elevator’s close confines, Quentin once again realized the Dolphin’s size.
“Too much money? Don’t you ever say those words to me again. You promised we would do this my way. You’re not backing out of that now, guy. This deal is mine, do you understand me? No one gets in the way of my deals, not even my client.”
Quentin took a half-step back, the farthest he could go before his butt hit the elevator wall. He had signed an insane Dolphin as his agent.
“Yeah,” Quentin said. “Sure, Danny, you handle the deal.”
“Good,” Danny said. His legs lowered. His eyes returned to their normal, rounded, friendly shape. “Trust me, Quentin, I’m acting in your best interests, guy. You’ll be happy when this is done.” Danny popped the face-slap fish into his mouth.
“But what if Gredok doesn’t take the offer?”
“Then you play for another team next season. Let’s go get some lunch, buddy. I’m in the mood for squid, that work for you?”
“Yeah,” Quentin said, his heart instantly heavy at the thought of wearing anything other than the Orange and the Black. “Sure. Squid sounds fine.”
• • •
QUENTIN SAT LOW in his seat, looking out the cab’s window at the streets and sidewalks of Ionath City. The densely packed, mostly red, hexagonal buildings rolled by, most of them reaching some thirty stories high to almost touch up against the city’s clear, protective dome. The view did nothing for Quentin, however, because he was worried.
“Choto, come on, tell me what’s going on.”
“I do not know, Quentin,” Choto said. “All I know is that John Tweedy told me I had to get you to his apartment as soon as possible and to keep you safe.”
“Why his apartment? If there’s danger, why not the Krakens building?”
“Again, Quentin, I do not know. My job is to keep you safe, not to debate policy with John Tweedy.”
Quentin turned away from the window to stare at the eye of his linebacker/bodyguard. Choto’s baseball-sized eye remained mostly clear, but three colors — green and yellow and dark blue — cast thin swirls across his cornea. Yellow was the color of excitement, while green usually revealed stress or anxiety. The colors weren’t exact matches with a specific emotion, they weren’t always consistent, but they did give insight into a Quyth Warrior’s state of mind. Like most Warriors, Choto loved the excitement of danger and loved a good fight, so the yellow made sense. Quentin’s safety was Choto’s responsibility, a task assigned by none other than Gredok the Splithead. Gredok was Choto’s Shamakath, his Leader. Failing a Leader was unforgivable in the Quyth culture, so being stressed that Quentin might get hurt, might get killed — that correlated with the green swirls.
But blue? Blue, as far as Quentin could tell, was the color of betrayal. Quentin had never before seen Choto’s eyes carry the color blue. Was this some kind of trap? Had Choto been bought off by one of Quentin’s newfound enemies? Anna Villani, Gloria Ogawa, the Zoroastrian Guild, maybe even someone from the To Pirates who wanted payback for Quentin not throwing games during the Tier Two season? Was Choto in league with any of them?
No. Quentin would not let himself suspect Choto the Bright. Choto had gone to OS1 with Quentin to rescue Ju Tweedy from Anna Villani, had fought side-by-side in the brawl at Chucky Chong’s League-Style House of Chow. That act could have even put Choto’s family — who lived on OS1, the planetoid controlled by Villani’s syndicate — in grave danger. Choto had earned the benefit of the doubt. Quentin would put his fears aside and trust his teammate.
“We’re here,” Choto said.
Quentin snapped back to reality. The cab pulled up in front of John Tweedy’s building. Choto got out first, looked up and down the street, scanning for danger. It reminded Quentin of a time one year earlier, following the victory parade bombing that had killed fifteen sentients. Back then, Quentin hadn’t been allowed to go anywhere alone.
Choto gestured for Quentin to step out. He did. The cab merged back into ring-road’s traffic. The scene looked just the same as it had for Quentin’s first visit to John Tweedy’s apartment. Two blue-uniformed Ki guards stood on either side of the building’s doors, blue helmets hiding their five equidistant eyes. Between them, in the open door, stood a Quyth Worker.
“Elder Barnes!” the worker called out. “I am Pizat the Servitous, do you remember me?”
“Sure,” Quentin said as he and Choto walked through the doors. “Yeah, I remember you.”
“Oh, I am flattered, Elder Barnes. That one of such importance and stature as you would recall a brief meeting with the lowly likes of me? It is truly a memorable day.”
When it came to kissing ass, no sentient in the galaxy could match a Quyth Worker.
“Pizat, is John expecting me?”
“Oh, yes, Elder Barnes! You and Choto should head right up. Mister Tweedy did say it was ur
gent and that speed was of the essence.”
Pizat led them to the elevator. Quentin took in the lobby’s finery. It was not on the level of Gredok’s private chamber, but still a grand display of wealth. John lived here, as did Don Pine. Pine, who had never invited Quentin up for a beer, or just to hang out. Outside of anything football related, Pine kept his distance.
Quentin and Choto took the elevator up. When it opened, John was waiting. He looked more wide-eyed, more hyper than usual — and his usual state was very wide-eyed, very hyper.
“Q! Wow, are you okay?” BETTER SAFE THAN SCARY scrolled across his face.
“Uh ... yeah. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Uh ... John, you saw me at practice earlier today.”
John’s eyes widened further and he nodded, as if he’d forgotten about practice until this moment. “Well, you never know, Q. We had to keep things secret.”
“John, what’s going on? Choto wouldn’t tell me anything.”
John shook his head. “He couldn’t. Once you’re inside, I’ll fill you in. Come on, let’s get out of the hall.”
Quentin followed John into suite 15-B. The short entryway led to the living room that Quentin knew was packed full of football memorabilia from John’s 11-season career with teams such as Fionas University, the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Thomas 3 Lions. This time, however, the room was dark, almost pitch black.
“John, something wrong with your lights?”
“Oh, right. Let me get that for you, Q.”
Quentin expected to see the room’s lights turn on, but instead, he saw a bunch of tiny flames spring to life in the center of the room.
Candles, their dim light illuminating the shapes of at least a dozen sentients.
“Surprise!” the combined voices called out. Quentin took a step back. The normal lights flared on, revealing a room packed full of Krakens players and staff. Virak the Mean, Crazy George Starcher, Yassoud Murphy, Arioch Morningstar, Ju Tweedy, the massive form of Michael Kimberlin and the even more massive Ki linemen.
In the center of the room, standing behind an orange and black cake decorated with the Krakens’ logo, stood the tiny form of Ma Tweedy. She wore an orange and black Krakens jacket that matched the big cake.
“Hello, Quentin,” she said. “We meet at last.”
“Ma Tweedy? What are you doing in Ionath City?”
“I moved,” she said. “Jonathan and Julius felt it wasn’t safe for me on Orbital Station One, not with that evil tramp Anna Villani angry at my Julius.”
“Ma,” Ju said, “don’t use my real name.”
“Shut it,” she snapped. “This day isn’t about you, Julius, so be quiet.”
Ju hung his head. “Yes, Ma.”
“Well, nice to meet you in person,” Quentin said. “What’s this cake all about?”
Ma Tweedy shook her head. Her bony shoulders were perpetually pulled up almost to her ears and they moved in time with her head. “Honestly, Quentin, you’re a wonderful boy, but I’d hoped Jonathan and Julius would find someone a little smarter to hang out with. All of these sentients are here for your birthday.”
“My ... birthday?” What was going on? He knew what birthdays were, of course, had been to a few celebrations, but ...
“Q,” John said. “Don’t disappoint Ma. Blow out the candles.”
“Yeah,” Ju said. “Don’t disappoint Ma.” Ju looked quite a bit like his brother John, only slightly bigger and slightly meaner. Ju wore fine clothes and kept his black hair stylish, while John seemed more at home in jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Quentin,” she said, “what’s the matter?” She was such a tiny Human, so small it made one wonder how she could have given birth to a pair of professional football players. Everyone was staring at him. Smiles were fading. All of this felt so strange. “Uh, I ... I didn’t know it was my birthday. How did you guys know?”
Ma Tweedy shook her head again. “Honey, now you’re just being stupid. We looked in the Krakens program. You act like you’ve never seen a birthday cake before.”
“Sure I have,” Quentin said. “Just not for me.”
No one spoke. Quentin felt very small. Very weird. He’d ruined this. His throat felt tight. His eyes stung a little. He wanted to leave, wanted to be alone back in his room in the Krakens building, or — even better — up in his yacht.
Ma Tweedy walked out from behind the table. She wasn’t that much taller than Hokor the Hookchest or Commissioner Froese. She stopped in front of him, looked up at him.
“Quentin, kneel down here for just a minute, honey.”
He did. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him. He felt his body stiffen, but she ignored it.
“It’s your birthday,” she whispered in his ear so that only he could hear. “I think I know how strange this is for you. You don’t know how to handle this, but all of these sentients are here because they love you. We can talk about it later if you want, but for now, stop acting like an embarrassing idiot and blow out the damn candles.”
She kissed his temple, then gave him a light slap on his left cheek. The look in her eyes made it clear he had no choice but to do what she said.
He blinked a few times. The strange feeling started to evaporate. So what if it was the first birthday party he’d ever had? Ma Tweedy was right — it was his party. And that cake looked delicious.
Quentin looked at all the faces. He realized he was looking for one in particular, but didn’t find it — Becca wasn’t there. Oh well, her loss.
Quentin picked up the knife sitting next to the cake. “Do I eat the first piece?”
“No, honey,” Ma Tweedy said. “You give cake to the guests. Cut the right side first. I made that end special for your little Ki friends. And cut slowly, I don’t want the shushulik juice to get all over my piece.”
I’M GONNA BE SICK! scrolled across John’s face. “Aw, ma! You put those gross things in the cake?”
“Jonathan, shut it! The left side of the cake is chocolate. But even if there is some shushulik juice on your piece, you’ll eat it and you’ll like it, understand me?”
John hung his head. “Yes, Ma.”
Quentin reached out with the knife, but George Starcher waved at him to stop.
“Candles first,” George said. No paint on his face this time. George looked surprisingly normal. “You have to blow ‘em out, Quentin. And make a wish when you do.”
Quentin lowered the knife. He absently counted the flickering flames — twenty of them. He lowered his head.
“I wish for a GFL championship,” he said. He smiled at the cheers of his teammates as he blew out the candles.
• • •
THE TEAM JOGGED into the locker room. Despite a grueling practice that included running and conditioning, all the players felt the excitement of the new season. Just six days in and they could already see the difference from last year. The Krakens’ passing game would be just as good as the running game and the running game was already among the best in the league.
They could all feel it, feel the tug of destiny.
Starcher continued to excel at tight end. No one could catch like him. His backup, Yotaro Kobayasho, hadn’t improved much during the off-season. Quentin might not have noticed Kobayasho’s lack of development were it not for Rick Warburg. Warburg was a different player, a better player — quicker, bigger, even a touch faster. He ran precise routes. He caught everything thrown his way. There were three weeks of preseason left, however; only time would tell if Warburg’s improvement was permanent.
Quentin walked to his locker. There, waiting for him, was Messal the Efficient.
Messal held a messageboard that trembled in his shaking pedipalp hands.
Oh, for crying out loud, what could it be this time? Had he been fined again? “Messal. You okay?”
“Elder Barnes, I am not the creator of this news. I assure you!”
“Relax, big guy, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“
Do you promise?”
Quentin sighed. “I’m not the same person I used to be, Messal. You’re just the messenger. Let me have it.”
Messal’s eye swirled with green. He handed over the messageboard.
Quentin read and as he did, his stomach dropped to somewhere just north of his ankles.
* * *
MEMO FROM THE DESK OF GFL LEAGUE COMMISSIONER ROB FROESE
To: Quentin Barnes
Subject: Disciplinary meeting regarding illegal contact with another franchise
Our investigators have learned that during the 2682 Tier Two season, you met with a representative of the To Pirates on at least two occasions. They have also learned that the subject matter of these meetings may have been discussions about intentionally losing games in order to prevent the Krakens from reaching Tier One.
GFL rules stipulate that any and all meetings with other franchises must be announced to the league prior to the meeting, so that the league has the option of providing a representative. The fact that you did not announce these meetings means you are in violation of league rules and are subject to potential fines, suspension or permanent dismissal from the league.
My ship is en route to Ionath City air space. A shuttle will land at the Krakens building in the second week of the preseason. A specific meeting time will be arranged then. The shuttle will bring you to my ship. We will discuss possible disciplinary action.
Sincerely,
Commissioner Rob Froese
Cc: Gredok the Splithead
* * *
• • •
QUENTIN LOWERED THE MESAGEBOARD. He focused on his promise not to hurt the frightened Quyth Worker.
“Messal, this is bad, isn’t it?”
Messal’s eye flooded a pure, solid green. “It gets worse, Elder Barnes. Gredok the Splithead would like to see you. I am to take you to his chamber. Immediately.”
Messal was right — that was worse. “I suppose I should skip a shower?”
“Gredok the Splithead emphasized the word immediately, Elder Barnes.”
