THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

by Scott Sigler

  “But you do this for your religion? I didn’t think you followed Purism anymore.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t good messages wrapped up in all the lies and corruption.”

  “And saving yourself for marriage is good?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “How about you tell me why it’s bad?”

  She stared at him. Her smile faded a little. “I’m not saying it’s bad, Quentin. It’s just ... well, trust me on this, not many guys in your position, in any position, would have those kind of morals.”

  So having morals, beliefs, that made him unusual? “Does that mean I’m some kind of ... what ... a freak? If you don’t want to see me anymore, fine.”

  She leaned back. “Now you’re just being a baby. Of course I want to see you. It’s just a shock, that’s all. And a little hard to swallow.”

  Maybe it was, but that didn’t make it any less true. “Do you believe me?”

  She paused, then nodded. “Yes. As improbable as it is that a specimen like you isn’t getting a planet’s worth of tail, I believe you.”

  For some reason, that made him feel infinitely better. The stress drained out of him. He yawned.

  She shook her head. “People are usually more excited to be with a rock star.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Will you stop apologizing? I think we should get you back. You’re about to fall asleep on me again.”

  He didn’t want the night to end, but he was tired. “When can I see you again?”

  “I already checked the schedule. I have time off when you’re in Wabash. How about I come watch your game against the Wolfpack?”

  “That’s Week Nine,” he said. “I won’t see you for six weeks?”

  “That’s our lives, Quentin. We’re both in demand, you might say.”

  “You don’t mind waiting six weeks to see me again?”

  She laughed, put her napkin on her plate. “Well, at least I won’t be worried that you’re fooling around with some other woman. Now, are you going to pull my chair out for me or what?”

  Quentin stood up so fast he almost tripped. He pulled out Somalia’s chair, then walked with her arm in arm out of Torba the Hungry’s.

  Transcript from the “Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show with Dan, Akbar, and Tarat the Smasher”

  DAN: And we’re back from the break. Tarat, Akbar, time to talk GFL standings. Can you guys believe the Orbiting Death is in first place?

  AKBAR: It’s early in the season. Just an anomaly.

  TARAT: It is no anomaly, Akbar. There has never been a newly promoted team that has won its first two games.

  DAN: Yeah, lil’ buddy, it’s a big deal.

  AKBAR: Again with that stupid nickname?

  DAN: Don’t you worry about it, lil’ buddy. And the Orbiting Death’s amazing start almost overshadows the start of another team, the drama-filled Ionath Krakens.

  TARAT: Dan, I will tell you that it is difficult to deal with the kind of distractions facing the Krakens. The stories about Quentin Barnes and Ju Tweedy would be enough to hinder any team, yet the Krakens are tied for first with two wins. With all the Krakens have dealt with, they still beat the Criminals. I think the Krakens might be for real.

  AKBAR: They only won because Rick Renaud got hurt. The Krakens secondary is not good — any solid quarterback will tear them up.

  TARAT: Renaud was knocked out of the game by Mum-O-Killowe. The Krakens took Renaud out and that is why Ionath won the game. They found a way.

  DAN: Well, let’s not go crowning the Krakens and the Orbiting Death as Planet Division champs just yet. We’re only two games into the season and we also have the Pirates and defending champion Wolfpack undefeated with two wins.

  AKBAR: My point exactly. The Krakens won’t beat either team unless they trade for some defensive backs.

  DAN: That’s a good point, lil’ buddy — the trade deadline is closing in. Come kickoff of Week Five, if the Krakens haven’t made a move, they are stuck with what they got unless they can find free agents.

  TARAT: Any free agents left at this point are probably not worth having.

  AKBAR: So who do the Krakens trade?

  DAN: Don Pine, of course. That team belongs to Quentin Barnes.

  AKBAR: Trade Don Pine? What if Barnes gets hurt?

  TARAT: I think the Krakens have to gamble, Akbar. Their next three games are against teams that are already having bad seasons — Coranadillana, Hittoni and Alimum. All three are winless so far. If the Krakens make a move and strengthen their backfield, they have a real chance to go five-and-oh. After that the competition gets much tougher. They have to be victorious in these winnable games if they want to make the playoffs.

  AKBAR: Yeah, sure, but do that by trading a top QB like Don Pine? Don’t they want to have a backup that’s almost as good as their starter?

  DAN: That’s why they’d trade Pine. Quarterbacks are so valuable the Krakens can get a top cornerback and another safety, maybe even three players. They just have to gamble that they get those players and that Barnes doesn’t suffer a serious injury.

  AKBAR: That’s a big roll of the dice.

  DAN: And that’s why they play the games! Let’s go to the callers and see what they think. Line two from Yall, you’re on the Space. Go!

  CALLER: They have blasphemed against the Church of Quentin Barnes!

  AKBAR: Oh no, here we go again ...

  DAN: Caller, tell us all about it.

  CALLER: The Church of Quentin Barnes was not allowed into the game at Virilli Stadium! We were banished, banished, oh cruel banished!

  DAN: Caller, that’s because you CoQB guys and the Criminals fans would have killed each other.

  CALLER: To die in service of Quentinbarnes is to ascend to the next realm! Long live Quentinbarnes! Long live Quent-

  DAN: And that’s enough of that.

  AKBAR: Thank you for cutting off that call.

  DAN: No problem, lil’ buddy! Line four from Shorah, you’re on the Space. Go!

  • • •

  SUNDAY MORNING FOUND QUENTIN at Ionath Stadium, many hours before the adoring crowd would arrive. The fog he’d seen on Wednesday hadn’t abated. In fact, it had grown worse.

  He and ten other Krakens players stood in the orange end zone, still wearing their street clothes, looking around and making short runs to test their footing.

  The fog wafted across the field. A thin breeze concentrated vapor into visible, see-through waves. He could barely see the top of the upper deck. The stadium’s twenty-two pillars vanished into that fog, as if they reached up through the clouds to touch heaven itself.

  Water vapor had been settling on the field for days. Because the stadium sat under the city dome, the field had no drainage system. When water soaked into the dirt beneath the Iomatt, it stayed there.

  “Killer Q! Here early as usual?”

  “Always, John. You ready for today?”

  John made a pffft noise with his mouth, as if the question were ridiculous. “The Killers scored a whopping total of 17 points in their first two games, Q. Their offense is ranked last. I think we got this. Hey, you were on a date last night with Somalia, huh?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Because it’s in the news, man. Wow, did she look hot. You take care of that business?”

  “Business? We had dinner.” Why did anyone care about his dinner date, anyway?

  GET DOWN TO BUSINESS WHILE THE GETTIN’ IS GOOD scrolled across John’s forehead. He smiled. “No, Q, I mean after dinner. She looked like the air might catch fire around her at any second.”

  “Oh,” Quentin said. “No, nothing like that. I went home.”

  John stared at Quentin with his patented just how stupid are you expression.

  “John, you mind if we get our heads in the game and stop talking about my love life?”

  John shook his head hard. The scrolling letters on his face scrambled, scattered, vanishe
d up beneath his hairline and down below his collar. “Sure, Q. Man, I can’t wait for some payback on these guys. We should have beat them last year.”

  John raised his right foot and pushed it down at a hard angle. The Iomatt slid along with his shoe, leaving a wet-brown streak in its wake. I PLAY DIRTY scrolled across his face. “Looks like Uncle Johnny gets to wallow in the mud. This is gonna be fun.”

  Fun. That wasn’t Quentin’s word for it. The field was soaked. It looked okay at the moment, but that was only because no one had been on it. When the game started, the field would deteriorate quickly. Back in the soupy atmosphere of Micovi, he’d played in weather like this almost every week. Poor footing would make it hard to scramble. It would slow down his receivers. Slippery conditions like this could get players hurt, cause pulled ligaments, torn muscles or jammed chitin.

  In the far end zone, the black one, Quentin saw the distant forms of Coranadillana players walking about, testing the field just like their Ionath counterparts. This field would slow down both teams, but since the Cloud Killers were a slower team, that actually helped them.

  Still, the Killers were 0-2 for a reason. They had a decent running game but a terrible passing game. Even in the mud, Ionath could win this one easily.

  Quentin called out to his teammates. “Let’s go, Krakens! Time to gear up for the game.”

  They filtered into the tunnel, kicking bits of mud and torn blue plants off their shoes as soon as they hit concrete.

  • • •

  THE ROAR OF 185,000 FANS seemed to lift the Krakens out of the tunnel, carry them through the air and drop them in a jumping, pushing, yelling pile on the sidelines. Sixty minutes of game-time to hold on to first place in the Planet Division.

  Quentin, John and honorary captain Mum-O-Killowe ran to midfield for the toss. Waiting for them were the Cloud Killer captains: cornerback Smileyberg, defensive end Jesper Schultz, quarterback Richard Read. Last season, the Krakens had traveled to Coranadillana. The Cloud Killers won the game on a Ju Tweedy fumble. Intentional, Quentin knew, although he had never revealed that secret to the rest of the team. The Krakens had been a different ball club then — they were vastly better now, they were 2-and-0, and Ju Tweedy ran his ass off on every play. This afternoon? Payback time.

  “Hey, Barnes,” Schultz said. “Ready to make it two in a row?”

  Quentin smiled. “You’re in our house now.” Schultz stood 6-foot-10, two inches shorter than Quentin, but weighed in at 530 — a 170-pound advantage over the quarterback.

  “Whatever,” Schultz said. “Records don’t matter when we play Ionath. We own you.”

  Quentin kept smiling as he turned to face the floating Harrah ref. The Krakens won the toss and chose to receive. The kickoff went out of the back of the end zone for a touchback, giving Ionath the ball on its own 20-yard line.

  The first two games of the season, the Krakens had opened up with running plays. This time, Quentin would get to show his stuff right off the bat. He knelt behind center and surveyed the Cloud Killers defense. White jerseys with light blue polka dots atop light blue leg armor. White helmets decorated on both sides with the team’s logo: blue claws ripping through a stylized yellow cloud dotted with light blue. Across the line on Quentin’s left, Jesper Schultz at right defensive end. Schultz was the team’s premier defensive player. Smileyberg and Griffith, the Sklorno cornerbacks, were also good players, but the Krakens receivers could beat them deep.

  On offense, Quentin had George Starcher at left tight end. Wide receiver Hawick lined up near the left sidelines, Milford wide to the right. Ju Tweedy and Becca Montagne lined up four yards behind Quentin and a yard to either side of him — a pro-set.

  The hungry Ionath crowd buzzed and hummed, waited for action. The field sometimes smelled like cinnamon, but that was when it was dry. Now, so wet that footprints left slowly filling puddles, the field smelled like plants that were just beginning to rot.

  “Blue ... twenty-three. Bluuuueee, twenty-three. Hut-hut!”

  He took the snap and rolled left, Becca out front to block. A few simple plays to test the field’s footing.

  The HeavyG Schultz smashed into Krakens left tackle Kill-O-Yowet, then spun off him and rushed in on all fours. Quentin watched him coming, saw Hawick going deep down the sidelines, saw George Starcher cutting to the left, saw Becca moving in for the block.

  Quentin didn’t change his path. Schultz barreled in, big hands planting on the wet, blue field, big feet driving him forward in a loping gait. He reached for Quentin, but Becca undercut him just as Quentin knew she would. For a brief instant, Quentin flashed back to last season’s fight at Chucky Chong’s League-Style House of Chow, when Becca had leveled Schultz just as the big HeavyG had been about to pummel Quentin senseless.

  That flash-moment memory vanished. Starcher was open. Quentin stepped up to throw on the run, but just as he released the ball his front foot slipped on the wet field. The ball wobbled forward, too high, too far behind Starcher. The big tight end reached back for the ball but only got a finger on it, popping it up into the air — Smileyberg snagged it, already heading the other way.

  The sideline on her left, she sprinted past the Ionath 25-yard line and headed for the end zone. Quentin reacted instantly, moving at an angle to cut her off. She cut back inside, toward the middle of the field. Quentin matched the move, turning quickly so that his back was to the sideline — he had her.

  He saw Schultz only an instant before the impact, an instant to remember that on an interception, any Cloud Killer player could block him with no worry of a late hit or a roughing the passer penalty.

  Quentin heard Schultz’s grunting roar, then a sentient tank smashed into his head. Quentin’s back hit the ground. He slid backward in a spray of moisture, right into the legs of Cloud Killers players standing on the sidelines.

  His eyes stayed squeezed shut, as he tried to cope with the initial numbing ache of such a devastating collision. Cloud Killer players lifted him to his feet. The angry roar of the crowd told Quentin that Smileyberg had taken the interception to the house for a touchdown.

  • • •

  THE KILLERS’ FRONT-FOUR DEFENSIVE LINEMEN played like creatures possessed, attacking the run and coming after Quentin whenever he passed. The field conditions helped them out — halfway through the second quarter, the middle of the field had transformed into a wet, slippery mass of blue and brown marked with nearly invisible, stained, torn white stripes. The jerseys of both teams looked more brown than anything else. Mud was everywhere — on uniforms, wedged into shoes and armor joints, caked on helmets and streaked across faces.

  The terrible footing slowed down his receivers, made it hard for them to make the sharp cuts that would get them open. That turned the contest largely into a smash-mouth running game. Ju Tweedy couldn’t make his fancy moves. He had to blast the ball straight ahead.

  Coranadillana’s offense kept grinding the ball out on strong runs and short passes. At the half, the shell-shocked Krakens found themselves down 14-3.

  • • •

  QUENTIN FINALY CONNECTED for a long pass midway through the third quarter, hitting Halawa for a 60-yard strike that put the Krakens on the Killers’ 1-yard line. On the next play, Becca bullied her way through the blockers for the touchdown. The extra point made the score 14-10.

  • • •

  THAT TOUCHDOWN EVAPORATED almost instantly. Smileyberg, the Cloud Killers cornerback, doubled as the kick returner. On the ensuing kickoff, she caught Arioch Morningstar’s kick and carried it into the clash of blockers and tacklers at about the 20. Almost walking, she weaved her way through defenders who were both fighting off blocks and trying to change direction on the muddy, slick surface. Tim Crawford had her at the 35, but his big hands slipped on her wet jersey. Smileyberg cut to the sidelines, where the footing was better and she took off. Morningstar had a chance to knock her out of bounds — she lowered her helmet and ran him over.

  Extra point good: Cloud Killers 21,
Krakens 10.

  • • •

  ON THE SIDELINES, the Krakens just felt flat. All the energy had vanished. But they were only down by 11 points. They could come back from this — Quentin would carry the team all by himself if he had to.

  • • •

  QUENTIN TOOK THE SNAP. He pushed back, to the left. Becca rushed by to block. Quentin started to reach the ball out to Ju when he saw Kill-O-Yowet, the right tackle, fold backward in a funny way and drop hard to the ground.

  A mud-and blood-streaked Jesper Schultz leapt over the fallen left tackle and landed on all fours, moving fast in the HeavyG race’s signature galloping gait.

  Schultz connected just as Quentin handed the ball to Ju. Jesper’s long arms wrapped up both Krakens players. As Quentin flew through the air, he felt the ball bounce away. He only thought about that for a split-second, because he and Ju hit the ground hard beneath all of Jesper’s 530 pounds.

  Quentin groaned with pain and with embarrassment — that hit was sure to wind up on all the highlight shows.

  Schultz’s mass kept the two Krakens pinned. They were a pile of muddy, wet, bloody sentients.

  “Quentin, Ju,” Schultz said. “Imagine meeting you two here.”

  Ju tried to push away, but his arms were pinned and he couldn’t budge. “Get off me, you big gorilla.”

  Jesper laughed. “Bet you wished you’d signed with us, murderer, instead of getting beat up in a bar fight.”

  “He signed with the winners,” Quentin grunted. “And we whipped your asses at Chucky Chong’s!”

  “Whatever, Barnes. Today, the winners are going to be us. You guys play like crap. See you both again real soon.”

  He pushed off, harder than necessary. Quentin stood, then helped Ju to his feet. They both looked downfield — their collective fumble had been picked up by Smileyberg, who had returned it for her third touchdown of the game.

  Ju pushed Quentin’s shoulder. “Butterfingers.”

  Despite the turnover for a touchdown, Quentin laughed. “Are you kidding me? That was all you, big fella.”

  “I fumble enough without taking the blame for things like that.”