by Scott Sigler
Extra point good, tie game, 7-7.
• • •
QUENTIN ROLLED OUT to the right. Chaka the Brutal blitzed again, reaching for him. Quentin, a left-hander, switched the ball to his right arm. His left forearm then shot out, smashing into Chaka’s helmet. The blow knocked Chaka’s head back, making him stumble. The Quyth Warrior linebacker grabbed Quentin’s arm as he fell, pincers raking deep gouges through Quentin’s Koolsuit and into his skin.
Trailing a stream of fresh blood, Quentin switched the ball back to his left hand and raised it to his ear, ready to pass, as he kept moving toward the sideline. Ryan Nossek tossed Vu-Ko-Will aside like 600 pounds of trash, then closed in.
Quentin saw all the moving parts as one unified dance — he knew Nossek would hit him, but that the hit would come a moment too late because Hawick had a half-step on her defender. Quentin planted his feet, bounced forward and fired the ball. His blood had spilled onto the cool, brown leather — as the ball spun, it sprayed off a whizzing stream of red droplets. No sooner had it left his fingertips than the HeavyG defensive end hit him in the chest, driving him to his back.
Quentin let out a half-cough, then calmly waited for his breath to return.
Hoooo, that sentient could hit hard.
“Hey, rookie,” Nossek said, so close to Quentin that only their facemasks marked the distance. “How’d that taste?”
The crowd roared in a way that meant only one thing.
“Tasted like a sixty-two yard touchdown pass,” Quentin said. “And I’m not a rookie anymore.”
Nossek stood and lifted Quentin like a rag doll, setting him gently on his feet.
“Good pass,” Nossek said. “See you again, real soon.”
“I’m having company? Heck, Ryan, I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
• • •
AT THE HALF, THE KRAKENS led 14-10. Doc Patah worked on Quentin’s torn arm. The locker room felt electric. A year ago, the Ice Storm had pounded the Krakens in the first half. Back then, it had almost been an apples-to-oranges comparison — one team destined for the playoffs, the other that didn’t really deserve to be in Tier One at all.
But not this year.
The Krakens dominated every aspect of play. Quentin was 7-of-10 for 146 yards, with another 56 yards rushing and a touch-down on the ground. Ju Tweedy had carried the ball 10 times for 39 yards. Aside from the one hit on the touchdown pass, Quentin hadn’t been touched. Chaka the Brutal kept blitzing, but he couldn’t get past Becca Montagne’s blocks fast enough to catch the fleet-footed quarterback. Only one half into the season and already Quentin’s instincts told him that he could count on Becca to block her player every time.
Defensively, the Krakens weren’t playing as well, but they had only given up 10 points. Ice Storm quarterback Paul Infante had put in a quality performance, but nothing spectacular — 11-of-20 for 112 yards and a touchdown. Quentin had concerns about what would happen when the Krakens faced off against a premier quarterback like the Pirates’ Frank Zimmer, the Criminals’ Rick Renaud or even — as much as he hated to admit it — the Orbiting Death’s Condor Adrienne. He would worry about that later. All that mattered now was the win.
One game at a time.
• • •
LATE IN THE THIRD QUARTER: Ionath 14, Isis 10.
Quentin dropped back and planted, standing tall, so close to the end zone he could smell the orange paint. Late third quarter, second and goal on the Ice Storm’s 7-yard line.
Chaka the Brutal blitzed yet again. Quentin’s first instinct was to scramble, but Becca was responsible for picking up that blitz so he kept his feet planted. Chaka sprinted in, reached out, desperate to get the sack and change the course of the game.
Sure enough, Becca drove her shoulder pad into linebacker’s midsection. She had been surgical with her blocks for the entire game, applying just the right amount of force in just the right direction to take defenders out of the play. This time, however, she must have seen that Chaka wasn’t watching her — she hit him so hard she bent him in half, drove him back, a highlight-reel hit that left her standing and him lying flat.
Quentin checked through his receivers.
Hawick: covered at the back-left corner of the end zone.
Starcher: covered on a hook route to the right.
Halawa: late on her break for an out-pattern, she wouldn’t be open before Quentin had to scramble.
The defensive line attacked his blockers. The pocket closed in around him.
Quentin calmly turned back to face the middle of the field. Becca had done exactly what she was supposed to do — block the blitzing linebacker, then run to where the linebacker had come from.
She was standing one yard past the goal line, all alone.
Quentin threw a light pass. No need to gun it when a receiver was that wide open. Becca caught the ball.
The Wrecka’s perfect execution put the Krakens up by two scores. Extra point good: Ionath 21, Isis 10.
• • •
MIDWAY THROUGH THE FOURTH QUARTER, the Ice Storm threatened to cut the lead to four. They advanced to the Krakens’ 12-yard line, but lost the ball when Mum-O-Killowe broke through the line and hit Paul Infante, forcing a fumble. Ibrahim Khomeni recovered the ball for Ionath.
Quentin led his team onto the field. He didn’t throw a pass for the rest of the game. The Krakens ran the ball over and over, grinding out the clock. Ju Tweedy carried on first down for five yards. On second, Yassoud Murphy swept right, picking up seven and a first down. And on it went. The Ice Storm defense was too tired to stop the Krakens’ punishing ground assault. Ionath chewed up four minutes of clock by running Ju, Yassoud and Becca. Jay Martinez — the third-string running back — even came in for a pair of carries. By the time Isis did force a fourth down, the Krakens were on the Ice Storm’s 17-yard line.
Isis had used up all its timeouts. With only 1:12 to play, Arioch Morningstar kicked an easy field goal to put the Krakens up 24-10.
• • •
THE SCORE REMAINED 24-10 as the clock ticked down to zero. Awash in the amazing feeling of winning the opening game, of defeating a playoff-caliber team, Quentin led his team onto the field to shake hands with the Isis players.
After giving Infante, Chaka, Nossek and the other players the proper post-game respect, Quentin looked to the sidelines. Actually, he looked past the sidelines, to the screaming, orange- and black-clad fans lining the stadium’s bottom row.
That’s what this was about, really. The fans. They paid for his salary, they paid for this stadium. Without them, Quentin couldn’t enjoy this dream of an existence. When the Krakens lost, the fans were crestfallen. When the Krakens won, life could not be any better.
He ran past his team’s sidelines, past the benches, past the used-up, bloody nanostrips, past discarded, cut tape, past the equipment racks and the med benches, ran to the head-high wall and reached up to the fans. He high-fived hands, pedipalps, tentacles, multi-jointed arms. He jogged, the wall on his right, happily slapping whatever appendage the sentients reached down and offered. Like at the end of last year, he was aware of Ju Tweedy running along right behind him, John behind Ju, the three of them followed single-file by the rest of the Krakens players.
The crowd ate it up, screaming in adoration. To cheer for your team was one thing. To be acknowledged by the players? That was almost more than the typical fan could comprehend.
Quentin made a full circle of the field before he headed to the tunnel. It was time to celebrate, time to enjoy the payback, a strong start to the long season. Tonight, he and his teammates would revel in this feeling, absorb how much they had improved.
That was tonight. Tomorrow, the victory would mean nothing. Tomorrow, they would start to prepare for the Yall Criminals.
Because the Krakens weren’t Tier One’s doormat anymore.
Now? Now the Ionath Krakens were the team to beat and they would take all comers.
GFL WEEK ONE ROUNDUP
Cour
tesy of Galaxy Sports Network
WEEK ONE SEEMED TO VALIDATE the centuries-old saying, “And that’s why they pay him the big bucks.” Rick Renaud lived up to his record-setting contract with a record-setting performance, notching a new single-game passing yardage record with 452 in the Yall Criminals’ 44-10 drubbing of the Themala Dreadnaughts (0-1).
“New team, same story,” Renaud said after the game. “Right now, I feel like I can take whatever I want, whenever I want it.”
Renaud will try to take more of the same in Week Two when the Criminals (1-0) play host to the Ionath Krakens (1-0), who started strong with a 24-10 home win over the Isis Ice Storm (0-1). Krakens’ quarterback Quentin Barnes put in a strong showing of his own, going 17-of-25 for 252 yards with two passing touchdowns and another score on the ground.
Defending GFL champion Wabash Wolfpack (1-0) won a back-and-forth 42-34 thriller over the Hittoni Hullwalkers (0-1). Fullback Ralph Schmeer continued the red-zone dominance we saw in last year’s playoff run, rushing for touchdowns of 1 and 4 yards as well as catching a 3-yard pass from quarterback Rich Bennett.
The Orbiting Death (1-0) landed a 17-6 Week One shocker on the Lu Juggernauts (0-1). This is the first time in eight seasons that a newly promoted team won its opening game. The Texas Earthlings (0-1), the other promoted team, lost 48-10 to the New Rodina Astronauts (1-0).
Deaths
No deaths reported this week.
Offensive Player of the Week
Yall quarterback Rick Renaud, who threw for four touchdowns and no interceptions in a 28-for-33, 452-yard performance.
Defensive Player of the Week
Coranadillana defensive end Jesper Schultz, who had six solo tackles, two sacks and a fumble recovery in the Cloud Killers’ 28-10 loss to the To Pirates.
12
WEEK TWO:
IONATH KRAKENS
at YALL CRIMINALS
PLANET DIVISION
1-0 Ionath Krakens
1-0 OS1 Orbiting Death
1-0 To Pirates
1-0 Wabash Wolfpack
1-0 Yall Criminals
0-1 Alimum Armada
0-1 Coranadillana Cloud Killers
0-1 Hittoni Hullwalkers
0-1 Isis Ice Storm
0-1 Lu Juggernauts
0-1 Themala Dreadnaughts
SOLAR DIVISION
1-0 Bartel Water Bugs
1-0 Bord Brigands
1-0 Jupiter Jacks
1-0 Neptune Scarlet Fliers
1-0 New Rodina Astronauts
1-0 Sala Intrigue
0-1 D’Kow War Dogs
0-1 Jang Atom Smashers
0-1 Shorah Warlords
0-1 Texas Earthlings
0-1 Vik Vanguard
QUENTIN HUMMED THE TUNE to “My Girl from Satirli 6” as he worked his technique. It was all in the wrist, really. There was no real sky above, but in his imagination the light came from an afternoon sun filtering through the overcast, soupy atmosphere of Micovi — not from the artificial lights that blazed through a screen of Ki vines and trees. He had few happy memories from Micovi. It felt good to channel the times when he had been in control, when he had excelled at a skill few people truly possessed.
Most of his Ki teammates relaxed in long hammocks or rested on the ground, studying holos of purple-and white-clad players from the Yall Criminals. A few, however, watched Quentin’s every motion. The big, bad Ki linemen seemed transfixed by his actions.
They were halfway through the trip from Ionath to Yall. The team’s morale ran high. Seeing IONATH KRAKENS at the top of the Planet Division standings generated a burning sense of pride in the players. Five teams were 1-0. Ionath was listed first only because of alphabetical order, but that didn’t matter — they were on top.
That pride made the team’s practices even better. They were taking a zigzag path to Yall, which meant a three-and-a-half-day trip. Normally, the shipping lanes specified a two-and-a-half-day trip — half-day from Ionath to Chillich, which took them into Sklorno Dynasty space, then one day each for the punches from Chillich to Chachanna and Chachanna to Yall. That lane, however, meant they popped out in the same area where the Sklorno shipping tragedy had happened, where 50,000 souls were lost. Lots of Creterakian military activity in that area, tight travel restrictions and the cause or culprits of the disaster had yet to be figured out. So instead, Captain Cheevers took them from Chachanna back into Quyth Concordia space to a dead planet called Waypoint. From Waypoint, they would do a one-day punch that would bring them out on Yall’s far side, away from the area of the disaster.
As Captain Kate sailed them along this slightly longer route, the Krakens banged away on the practice field, preparing for the major showdown with the Criminals. All games were equally important, granted, but the Criminals were 1-0 and tied for first. They also had quarterback Rick Renaud — the highest-paid player in league history. The defense couldn’t wait to get its hands (and pedipalps, and multi-jointed arms, and tentacles, and teeth) on Renaud who — by virtue of his huge contract — had become a big-game trophy. To sack him, to put him out of the game, that was to gain the attention of a galaxy.
After that day’s practice, Quentin had announced he would prepare a meal for the Ki players and for anyone else who wanted to join. Location: the forested clearing in the Ki offensive players’ quarters. The Ki, after all, had given him the hospitality of sharing their dinner. Now he would do the same for them. Called out in front of the entire organization, the Ki could do little but accept the offer.
Mum-O-Killowe, Sho-Do-Thikit, Bud-O-Shwek, Michael Kimberlin and John Tweedy stood near Quentin, watching him work the spatula. All seven HeavyG players were there, which wasn’t surprising — the big fellas never passed up a meal. Becca was around somewhere, but as long as she kept her distance, Quentin didn’t mind.
Only one Quyth Warrior player had come. It wasn’t hard to figure out why — Quentin had insisted that Tara the Freak be there. Where Tara was, the other Warriors were not. Tara stood off by himself, as usual, but at least he was there. Most of the team’s twelve Human players milled about, waiting to eat. Even Rick Warburg was in attendance, although Quentin suspected that was more for the Purist Nation-style food than for the company.
Don Pine was nowhere to be seen.
Shizzle fluttered over and perched on Mum-O’s shoulder, also peering down at the strange device Quentin had rolled into the Ki offensive quarters. Shizzle wore a yellow bodysuit that showed animated, flapping images of smaller Creterakians, also wearing yellow bodysuits.
Mum-O’s triangular lips curled. “Griha re krolla mej.”
Quentin looked up and smiled. He still didn’t understand the Ki language, he never would, but the more he got to know his teammates, the more he could imply meaning by tone, context and situation alone.
“What is this, you ask? This, my big, frightening friend, is called a grill. It is what one uses to properly barbecue.”
Quentin flipped one of the twenty burgers sitting on the metal rack, then turned the two dozen pieces of chicken sizzling with orangish-red sauce.
John pointed to a burger in the middle, which happened to be the largest one. He glared at Mum-O.
“Mine,” John said. NOBODY TOUCHES DADDY’S FOOD played across his face tattoo.
Mum-O stared at the grill, then grunted something barely audible. Quentin laughed — had a Human mumbled something to the same effect, it might have been I don’t know about this.
“Shizzle,” Quentin said. “Out with it. What did the great Mum-O-Killowe say?”
Shizzle flapped his ugly wings, adjusting his position on Mum-O’s shoulder. “The Great Mum-O-Killowe wants to know what you are doing with that ... that ground-up meat.”
“Cooking,” Quentin said. “I am making everyone hamburgers.”
A wisp of smoke breezed across Mum-O’s face. The big creature’s lips curled and he leaned back a bit. He grunted something short and to the point.
“The Great Mum-O-
Killowe says you are ruining the animal flesh,” Shizzle said. “He said cooking is for elitists who over-complicate things to make themselves feel more important.”
Quentin laughed. “He said that? Really?”
“The Great Mum-O-Killowe is quite eloquent,” Shizzle said. “You are surprised?”
Quentin flipped the row of burgers again. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“How ironic,” Shizzle said. “You complain about sentients calling you a stupid jock, I believe is the phrase you use, yet you think the same thing about a Ki because you don’t understand his words.”
Quentin hated to be corrected, but Shizzle was right. “Yeah, Shizzle. I did think that.” Quentin turned to face Mum-O. “Oh, Great One, I sincerely apologize for my hypocrisy of underestimating your smarts.”
Quentin bowed, then stood up quickly, flicking the spatula as he did. A glob of greasy meat-fat flew off the end, landing on Mum-O’s arm.
The humongous Ki reared back, his black eyes widened. He looked amazingly similar to a giant-sized arachnaphobic HeavyG who suddenly found a hairy spider crawling on his arm.
“Sholl trubol! Sholl kegante!”
Mum-O scrambled backward, his arm held out and away from him. Shizzle flew up high, choosing discretion and altitude as the better parts of valor. Sho-Do-Thikit scuttled over, grabbed Mum-O’s arm and wiped it clean. Quentin didn’t know the Ki equivalent of red-faced embarrassment, but whatever it was, Mum-O had it in spades.
John Tweedy clapped in approval. “Awesome! You boogered him.”
“John,” Quentin said. “Boogered him? This is really a phrase you use?”
“Not just a phrase, Killer-Q. Boogering is a great way to show your love. In fact, I think I’m going to go booger my brother right now.”
