THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

by Scott Sigler

  In the Solar Division, Jupiter (5-1) handed Bartel (3-3) a 28-13 beat-down, putting the Jacks back into a first-place tie with archrival Neptune (5-1). The Scarlet Fliers were off on a bye week.

  The team to watch out for in the Solar? Clearly, the Vik Vanguard (4-3), who climbed into third place and into playoff contention with a 24-10 win over the Jang Atom Smashers (2-5). Vik has won three of their last four and are off in Week Eight with a bye.

  The relegation picture is looking more and more ominous for the Juggernauts, who are the only winless team left in Tier One. The Sala Intrigue’s 24-10 loss to the Bord Brigands (3-3) puts the intrigue at 1-5, dead last in the Solar Division.

  Deaths

  No deaths reported this week.

  Offensive Player of the Week

  Wabash fullback Ralph Schmeer, who rushed for 102 yards and two touchdowns.

  Defensive Player of the Week

  Vik Vanguard safety East Windsor, who had five solo tackles, one interception and one forced fumble in a win over the Jang Atom Smashers.

  18

  WEEK EIGHT: BYE

  PLANET DIVISION

  6-0 Wabash Wolfpack

  5-1 To Pirates (bye)

  5-2 Ionath Krakens

  4-2 Isis Ice Storm

  4-2 Themala Dreadnaughts

  4-2 Yall Criminals (bye)

  3-3 OS1 Orbiting Death (bye)

  2-4 Alimum Armada

  1-5 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

  1-6 Hittoni Hullwalkers

  0-7 Lu Juggernauts

  SOLAR DIVISION

  5-1 Neptune Scarlet Fliers (bye)

  5-1 Jupiter Jacks

  4-3 Vik Vanguard

  3-3 Bartel Water Bugs

  3-3 Bord Brigands

  3-3 D’Kow War Dogs (bye)

  3-3 New Rodina Astronauts

  3-4 Shorah Warlords

  2-5 Jang Atom Smashers

  2-4 Texas Earthlings (bye)

  1-5 Sala Intrigue

  QUENTIN FELT GIDDY, excited for the call. Fred had worked hard, of that Quentin had no doubt, but the job was over. Quentin sat on a couch in his yacht’s salon. His dad sat next to him, eating a barbecued chicken sandwich that Quentin had made in the galley. Could life get any cooler than that? His father eating his cooking?

  “This is tasty,” Cillian said. “Wow, you might be as good a cook as your mother was.”

  Yes. Yes, it could get cooler. Quentin was so happy it was hard to just sit still.

  “Ship?”

  [YES QUENTIN]

  “Call Frederico Esteban Giuseppe Gonzaga.”

  [LOCATING]

  “So, Dad,” Quentin said. “What do you want to do today?”

  Cillian tilted his head up to stare absently at the ceiling, still chewing a big piece of sandwich. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his tunic sleeve.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want to tour the city?”

  Cillian shrugged. “Sure. Well, come to think of it, I do that when you’re at practice. What’s it like outside the city walls?”

  “It’s a wasteland, Dad. This planet was irradiated.”

  “But I saw ads for tours,” Cillian said. “Tourist barges that go out sightseeing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You didn’t know that?”

  Quentin shook his head. “I knew people golfed out there, in rad suits, but I never heard of tours.”

  Cillian put down the sandwich. “Son, how long have you been on Ionath?”

  Quentin worked through the math. “Well, I came for preseason my rookie year in September 2682. It’s March 2684, so ... eighteen months, Earth time?”

  “A year and a half. And you’ve never been outside the city walls?”

  “Huh,” Quentin said. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like I don’t have a life.”

  His father laughed. “I know you have a life, son, but maybe a little balance? A job like yours is special. You don’t have to go into the mines for fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. You have the option of doing something other than football from time to time, you know.”

  “Yeah, but why would I want to?”

  Cillian rolled his eyes. “That settles it. We’re doing a sightseeing thing tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’m in.” His dad probably could have suggested riding one of those horrifying giant-spider things into a Dinolition arena and Quentin would have said sure.

  [FREDERICO ESTEBAN GIUSEPPE GONZAGA ON THE LINE]

  “Cool, put him on,” Quentin said.

  The holotank flared to life, showing Fred behind his desk. The detective looked tired and rumpled.

  “Quentin,” Fred said. “What’s up? I don’t have a status update for you, or I would have sent word. I’m just getting ready to travel again. I’ve got a lead on your sister. I’m afraid I don’t have information on your father, though.”

  “That’s okay,” Quentin said. “You can stop looking for him.”

  Fred paused. “Come again?”

  “I found him. I found my father.”

  Quentin smiled and pointed to his right, to Cillian. Cillian smiled, chewing away on a mouthful of chicken sandwich. He raised his sandwich in an odd greeting.

  Fred stared, blinked. “Quentin, who is that?”

  “My dad. Cillian Carbonaro.”

  Fred’s eyes narrowed. “And you found him?”

  “Yes! Well, no, Gredok did. He called in a bunch of favors. Somehow Gredok tracked him down.”

  Quentin waited for Fred to look happy — and Fred kept Quentin waiting.

  “Quentin, you’re telling me that is your father?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Fred stared. “That’s Cillian Carbonaro.”

  “In the flesh.”

  Cillian swallowed his mouthful. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Gonzaga. Quentin is quite fond of you.”

  “How nice,” Fred said.

  “I don’t mean fond-fond,” Cillian said. “I know you’re ... uh ... gay.”

  “Dad,” Quentin said. “You should stop talking now.”

  Cillian laughed uncomfortably, then took another oversized bite of his sandwich.

  “Quentin,” Fred said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’re happy for me.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I told you sentients were following me when I was on Micovi searching for information. I think those sentients may have worked for Gredok.”

  “So?”

  “So, Gredok’s goons took all my information.”

  “Well, what difference does it make, Fred? So they took your information. You got paid for your time and if that information helped them find my dad, then everyone wins, right?”

  Fred kept staring, but he nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Are you pissed that Gredok got the job done?”

  “Something like that,” Fred said. “You, uh, you run a genetics test?”

  Quentin nodded. It was a rude question, but a fair one. Fred could be a surly, opinionated guy, but once he took a job he was on your side without question. “We did. This is my dad, Fred. Mission accomplished. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “So ... I should stop looking for him, then?”

  Quentin laughed. “Uh, yeah. Keep looking for my sister though, okay? Same rates?”

  “Sure. Happy to keep at it.”

  “Great. Fred, I know you didn’t find him and all that, but now he’s here. If your information did lead to Gredok finding my dad, than I can’t thank you enough. Can you come up and meet him? Some of the team is coming over tonight to hang out.”

  Fred finally smiled. It looked forced. “Thanks for the offer, but I fly out in an hour.”

  “Looking for my sister?”

  Fred nodded.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’d rather not say,” Fred said. “Seems my activities and accomplishments are of far too much interest to unknown parties. I’ll let you
know when I get back.”

  Fred broke the connection. The holotank dropped back into darkness.

  “He seems ... nice,” Cillian said.

  “Hardly,” Quentin said. “He’s acting like an ass.”

  “Well, but he’s ... you know—” Cillian’s voice dropped to a whisper “—he’s gay.”

  Quentin sighed. He had to remember that his father had grown up on Micovi, spent over twenty-five years listening to the hateful words of the Purist Church. Cillian was still pretty conservative. He’d get over it.

  “Ship?”

  [YES QUENTIN]

  “Get us a selection of tour companies that do excursions into the Wastes. My dad and I want to go sightseeing.”

  [SEARCHING, PLEASE HOLD]

  Cillian held up an empty plate. “That was the best damn barbecue I’ve had since I left Micovi. Think you can make another?”

  His father loved his cooking. Mister Sam would have been so proud.

  Quentin told his father to pick one of the tour companies, then walked to the galley to make him another sandwich.

  • • •

  “AMAZING PLACE,” CILIAN SAID. “I mean, this is huge.”

  They stood in the orange end zone of Ionath Stadium. The Big Eye. Quentin’s home field, the place where he made things happen on Sunday afternoons.

  The Big Eye was empty, of course. Quentin was proudly showing off the place to his father.

  “Just look at it,” Cillian said. “And everyone comes here to watch you.”

  “Well, me and the team,” Quentin said. “A lot of tradition here, Dad. You want to see the rest of the place?”

  Cillian nodded. “Sure, but what else is there? I mean there’s a locker room, I know that, but it’s just a football stadium, right?”

  “There’s a lot,” Quentin said. “Doc Patah has a full hospital under the visitors bleachers. Game can get kind of violent. And also under the bleachers, we have a Kreigs-Ballok Virtual Practice System. When there is only a couple of us, we can run drills and it looks real, looks just like any stadium in the galaxy.”

  Cillian smiled, his eyes narrowed. “Come on. You’re kidding me. Any stadium in the galaxy?”

  Quentin gestured to the tunnel that led to the locker room. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  As they walked into the tunnel, they saw Messal the Efficient walking out.

  “Well, hello Elder Barnes! May I say that you look fantastic today? And Mister Carbonaro, I hope you’re feeling well.”

  “I am,” Cillian said. “Good to see you again, Messal. Thanks again for helping get me back together with my son.”

  Messal’s eye swirled with the light green of modesty.

  “Oh, I was just an employee doing his job,” Messal said. “Gredok the Splithead is the only one to thank for such a wonderful occurrence.”

  Cillian nodded. “Sure, but thanks all the same. Hey, you run this place right? I know Gredok runs it, but between you and me, I’m guessing it’s so well-maintained because of you?”

  More light green flooded Messal’s eye. “Well, thank you for saying so, Mister Carbonaro. I, of course, only do what I am told to do, but there is such a thing as pride in one’s labor.”

  “I agree,” Cillian said. “Well, if you need any help around here, I wouldn’t mind a job.”

  A job? “Dad,” Quentin said. “You don’t have to work.”

  Cillian waved a hand dismissively — the first gesture of anything other than love and acceptance Quentin had seen.

  “I don’t need to take my son’s money,” he said. “I’ll earn my own way. Messal, just keep it in mind, will you?”

  “Of course, Mister Carbonaro! If a need comes up for you to join the Ionath organization in any capacity, I will be sure to let you know.”

  Cillian nodded. “Good enough for me. Quentin, can I see that fancy room now?”

  Messal scurried away. Quentin led his father into the stadium’s tunnels.

  “Dad, seriously, I make a lot of money.”

  “And you get fined a lot of money,” Cillian said. “I’m from the Purist Nation, Son. Just like you. I will make my own way.”

  They descended a level. Quentin couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his father. Hard work, making your own way, doing any job that needed doing if it brought in a paycheck. Independence. That was the way of their culture. His father could easily coast on Quentin’s paycheck, but that apparently wasn’t what Cillian wanted.

  They walked through the tunnel toward the VR room. As they got closer, Quentin heard the murmur of an arena crowd, the whistles of the zebes — the sounds of football filtering down the hall. Someone was using the VR room? During the off-week?

  Becca.

  Had to be her, once again practicing her quarterbacking skills.

  “Quentin, you okay?”

  Quentin turned to his father, saw the concerned look on Cillian’s face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  Cillian pointed to Quentin’s right temple. “Because you suddenly have this pulsing vein in your forehead. Are you mad or something?”

  Quentin shook his head. “No, Dad, I’m not. Come on, I’ll show you the setup.”

  They walked down the hall toward the VR room.

  Quentin was mad. But should he be? No, he shouldn’t. He could have been the one in the VR room, going through extra reps, but he wasn’t. And why should he? He was the starter. Becca had embraced her role as a fullback. And besides — it wasn’t like Becca had a prayer of taking the spot away from him. The only one who could threaten him for the starting spot was ...

  A voice called out from inside the room.

  “Red, sixteen! Red, sixteen!”

  Not a woman’s voice ... a man’s.

  Quentin walked faster, stepped through the VR room’s open doors.

  “Hut-hut!”

  Don Pine dropped back and rolled right across a black-lined, tan field. Around him, a blur of realistic holograms representing Krakens offensive players and Wabash Wolfpack defenders. Some of the players were too realistic. Don wore orange practice gear.

  A defensive end rushed in — wearing not Wabash colors, but rather the practice blacks of Ionath.

  Behind, below, above and around Don, a picture-perfect replica of Wabash Stadium. The HeavyG defensive end came in fast, smashed into the Ki right guard. The guard fell. The defensive end came over the top, then slowed, letting Don run by. Don cocked back and threw a laser. Twenty-five yards downfield, the ball hit a receiver — Mezquitic — and stuck fast.

  The fake crowd roared. The holographic players faded out, leaving Don and the other real sentients.

  “Wow,” Cillian said. “That was a good pass.”

  Quentin’s anger soared. “What the hell is this?”

  His voice echoed, but only a little, drowned out by the buzz of the fake Wabash crowd.

  Don’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. “Room, off.”

  The holographic Wabash stadium faded away, leaving the black VR walls and the floor made of black, hexagonal tiles.

  Don and the other players took off their helmets. Cliff Frost, the free-agent defensive end. Killik the Unworthy, backup linebacker. Back up right tackle Zer-Eh-Detak and the massive backup right guard Shun-On-Won. And Mezquitic, the Sklorno receiver who had been put on the inactive roster.

  “We’re practicing,” Don said. “There a problem with that?”

  Doc Patah had fixed up Don’s black eye suffered in the game against the Orbiting Death. There was still some bruising on Don’s nose, the bridge of which was covered by a stripe of nanomed tape. The blue tape all but vanished against his blue skin.

  “It’s the off-week,” Quentin said and felt immediately stupid for saying it. He was the poster boy for extra practice. Usually the poster boy, that was.

  Cliff Frost took off his helmet. The big HeavyG smiled at Quentin and Cillian. “Don’s helping us,” he said. “We don’t get as many reps in practice as the starters. I haven’t fin
ished a season yet ‘cause of all my injuries. I’m behind Michnik, Khomeni and Palmer on the depth chart, but you never know who might get hurt. If I get in this year, I want to make the most of my opportunities.”

  “And I as well,” said Killik. He glared at Quentin, not bothering to hide his emotions. His eye swirled with a touch of saturated red. “We can’t all have the advantage of being your pet project.”

  Zer-Eh and Shun-On said nothing. They just stood there. Mezquitic’s four eyestalks stared at the hexagonal floor tiles. She refused to look Quentin in the eye.

  Don stepped forward. Quentin’s hands balled into fists before he realized Don was extending his own hand, extending it toward Cillian.

  “Don Pine,” he said. “You’re Quentin’s dad?”

  “I know who ... I mean, nice to meet you,” Cillian said. They shook hands. “Yes, I’m Quentin’s father.”

  “A pleasure,” Don said. “Well, you two enjoy your day. We’re going to get back to it.”

  “Are you now,” Quentin said. He heard the anger in his own voice. “And what are you getting back to, Don?”

  Don smiled, shrugged. “Like Cliff said. You never know who will get hurt. Or who will, say, get thrown out of a game.”

  “That didn’t do so much for you against the Orbiting Death,” Quentin said.

  Don shrugged, pulled on his helmet. “There’s always next time. I just want you to feel confident, Quentin. Confident that if you can’t get the job done against Wabash, or the Pirates in Week Ten, or D’Kow or even Themala, I’m ready to go.”

  Don jogged back to the center of the VR room. The other players followed. The room again came to life, this time as a replica of The Big Eye complete with red-and-white jerseyed To Pirates holographic players.

  Quentin burned with anger. Don wanted the starting spot back. And Quentin knew damn well Don was good enough to take it, but only if Quentin played poorly. Well, Quentin would just make sure that didn’t happen. The starting spot was his, his alone, his forever.

  “Son?” Cillian said. “Your forehead is doing that vein thing again.”

  Quentin forced himself to turn away. “I’m fine, Dad,” he said, even though Cillian hadn’t asked him a question. “Let’s finish the tour.”