THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

by Scott Sigler

  One fist-sized bullet had lodged in the clear material. A big bullet surrounded by cracks.

  Cracks that were growing.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, then flipped to his hands and knees and started scrambling for the door.

  He made it only a foot before he heard the crunching crack of the window giving way. He started to slide backward, yanked by the hand of a wind-god. Quentin threw his body forward as if he were Hawick diving for a pass. His fingers locked on the edge of the firing platform.

  Hurricane wind lifted his feet up behind him, his body a straight line pointing right at the six-inch-wide hole. He couldn’t breathe. If he let go, he’d slam into that hole. He was far too big to fit through — the pressure would pull on any soft part of his body exposed to the Void. His innards would squish out into space.

  The klaxon.

  The hissing.

  Captain Kate yelling.

  The gun cabin door clanged open. Quentin looked up, eyes watering from the air racing past his face and saw Mum-O, Crazy George Starcher right behind him, decompression wind making their clothes flap madly about their bodies.

  Starcher put a foot on either side of the door and grabbed Mum-O’s rear legs. Mum-O compressed, the accordion-like thing the Ki did just before they expanded and knocked the crap out of an opposing quarterback.

  This is an odd time for a cheap shot. I hope Coach makes him run laps.

  Mum-O expanded, shooting into the wreckage-strewn room. Multi-jointed arms reached out. Quentin had a blurry vision of the horror holos back home on Micovi, the ones that painted the Ki as murderous demons, then strong arms wrapped around his chest and shoulders and he was flying, but the right way toward the door and not into space.

  Quentin felt the arms squeeze tighter. He hit hard against the corridor, heard a slam of a door closing, then the spin of an airlock wheel.

  The wind vanished.

  He felt the deck under his butt. He blinked, opened his eyes.

  Crazy George Starcher. Right behind George, the five-eyed face of Mum-O.

  George grabbed Quentin’s shoulders and gave a little shake. “Quentin! Are you okay?”

  Quentin’s head bobbled.

  George shook him again, harder. “Quentin!”

  Quentin batted George’s hands away. “Starcher, knock it off! I’m okay!”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “What’s new?” A deep gash ran the length of Quentin’s thigh. His blood oozed out, ran onto the deck. “Uh ... can you guys help me get to Doc Patah?”

  Mum-O pushed George aside. The twelve-foot-long Ki picked Quentin up and placed the Human on his back. Quentin felt a lurch, then wrapped his arms around Mum-O’s chest and held on for dear life. The Ki tucked multi-jointed arms and legs to the side and slithered down the corridor like a giant snake.

  • • •

  “QUENTIN, SIT STILL,” Doc Patah said. “Your injury is minor and I don’t have time for this.”

  Quentin braced himself as Doc Patah applied two metal clamps to the five-inch gash in his left thigh. The Harrah put the pair of devices in place, then activated them both. The clamps pinched, pressing together the edges of Quentin’s torn skin. Blood surged up as the clamps locked down, then the flow stopped. Doc reached a mouth-flap into his backpack, brought out a tube and squirted the contents on the cut.

  “Nanocytes,” he said. “The gel allows them to flow in around the clamps. The cut isn’t deep enough to merit anything else. We just need to stop the bleeding.”

  With that, Doc flapped away, shooting across the room to a table that held Shun-On-Won, the backup offensive right guard. Black blood covered Shun-On’s chest, with more flowing out every second. Doc’s tentacles slid right inside the wound, wiggled for a moment. The trickle of black blood slowed, then stopped. Shun-On wasn’t dead, but from the looks of things he wasn’t that far away from it.

  Quentin glanced around the infirmary. Hokor was there, unconscious on the table, wires connecting him to beeping machines. Why had Coach left the dining deck? Tried to help, like Quentin had? Doc Patah paid no attention to him, so Quentin assumed Hokor was fine.

  A Human woman sat on a table, her left hand wrapped in a bloody blue bandage. Red blood stained her orange uniform. Quentin remembered her from his tour with Captain Kate. Sayeeda was her name, maybe. Something like that. Her eyes were squeezed tight, but she sat very still, bravely dealing with the pain while she waited her turn.

  With a flash of guilt, Quentin suddenly realized why Doc Patah had stopped treating Shun-On long enough to check Quentin’s thigh injury — prioritization. Shun-On was a backup lineman. He wasn’t as important as the franchise quarterback. What if Shun-On died because Doc Patah stopped long enough to make sure Quentin’s injury wasn’t as severe? And Sayeeda, no matter what her injury, would have to wait until all of the football players had been treated.

  Doc Patah’s order of treatment was simultaneously abhorrent and perfectly logical. Even while under attack, while dying, the Ionath Krakens were about winning football games.

  At least Sayeeda was alive. On another table, Quentin saw a Quyth Worker-sized body covered by a sheet. He hoped it wasn’t Pilkie. And in the corner of the room, George Starcher sat on the floor, his head in his hands. Next to him was the trash can that held the remnants of Killik the Unworthy.

  The klaxon alarms ceased.

  “The last fighter has disengaged,” said Captain Kate over the sound system. “We out-ran their support ship. However, we have suffered some engine damage, which we need to repair immediately. We can’t go back the way we came, or we’ll run into the same support vessel. We will have to tack back at angles to the Sklorno border. We’ll move at full burn while we repair engines, but our tactical speed is down to about eighty percent of max. The punch-drive will not be recharged for another six hours. Hold for orders.”

  When she stopped talking, the ship sounded eerily quiet.

  Mum-O-Killowe stood next to Shun-On’s table, staring at his wounded Ki teammate, watching Doc Patah scramble to save a life.

  Some of Captain Kate’s words finally registered.

  “Wait a minute,” Quentin said. “We’re tacking back to Sklorno space? If we’re not in Sklorno space, where in the Void are we?”

  George looked up. “The only other thing in this sector is Prawatt territory. So I guess we’re there.”

  “You mean we’re in Prawatt Jihad space?”

  George thought, then nodded, then put his head back in his hands.

  The speakerfilm crackled. Captain Kate was back.

  “Barnes, Starcher, Mum-O-Killowe, Kimberlin, report to the bridge,” she said. “All other footballers, get your damage-control assignments from Messal.”

  Quentin stood, tested out his leg. He knew he shouldn’t be moving on it, but he’d played hurt enough times to know that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to second-guess Captain Kate. She was probably the only reason they were all alive. Until this was over, he would run the plays that she called.

  “Mum-O,” Quentin said. “Come on, we need to go to the bridge. George, get up. Let’s go.”

  Mum-O scuttled over. George stood and picked up the trash can.

  “Uh, George?” Quentin said. “I think you need to leave Killik here.”

  George stared for a moment, then looked down, as if it surprised him to see he’d picked up the can at all. He lowered it gently, the bottom clinking slightly as it came to rest on the floor. Killik’s foot was still sticking out of it.

  “I knew you not well,” George said to Killik’s remains. “But if the spirits that guide the firmament are so inclined, the power of the Old Ones will let me mightily whip the asses of all that were responsible for this transgression.”

  George nodded once, then followed Quentin and Mum-O out of the infirmary.

  • • •

  QUENTIN, MUM-O AND GEORGE entered the bridge. The place radiated a lethal calmness. The seven sentients already here were focused on a life-and-
death situation, where any mistake could be disaster.

  The four bridge crew members sat at workstations below the large, holographic Touchback. They talked to each other, pointing to various parts of the hologram that glowed red. The crew’s cool demeanor impressed Quentin — they were all probably excellent poker players.

  Kate stood in the center of the bridge, talking to Michael Kimberlin and Messal the Efficient. Kimberlin held a messageboard that showed a small holographic Touchback. Kate pointed and each time she did, Kimberlin nodded. The three of them struck quite an image — a towering, 8-foot-tall HeavyG, a normal-sized Human woman and a 3-foot-tall Quyth Worker.

  She waved Quentin and the others over. Her eyes drifted down to his blood-soaked pants leg. “How bad is it?”

  Not are you okay? Not what happened? Captain Kate only cared about one thing — could Quentin still get a job done?

  He shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m here. What do you want us to do?”

  She inclined her head toward Kimberlin. “He’s going to walk you back to Gun Cabin 6.”

  “It’s destroyed,” Quentin said.

  “Then make it un-destroyed,” she said. “Whatever it takes, get the room repaired. The fighters didn’t hit the cannon itself. The three of you are going to have to wear pressure suits. Seal off the corridor. Kimberlin will walk you through that process, then I need him on the engine decks. Starcher, you get in that gun cabin and figure out how to get the room re-pressurized.”

  George nodded. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  “We’re in a bad spot,” she said. “We’re pretty far past the Prawatt border. We have to get out of here.” She was calm, but clearly worried. Her body language told Quentin there was more to the story.

  “Do the Prawatt know we’re here?”

  “Probably,” she said. “The only question is how long will it take them to reach us. We don’t have military-grade sensors. We wouldn’t even know they were here until they were right on top of us.”

  Something out past the bridge’s large windows caught Quentin’s attention. Something out there ... moving?

  “Get the gun fixed,” Captain Kate said. “There’s a small chance the pirates will re-engage us before we can reach Yall and Creterakian protection. We may have to fight again. Messal, take that damage control list to the galley and make assignments as you see fit, got it?”

  “A brilliant plan, Captain Cheevers, I doubt anyone could do better regardless of—”

  “Cut the brown-nosing,” she said. “Kimberlin, get back to the upper engine deck as soon as you can. We need a pair of smart hands up there.”

  Quentin stared. There was something moving out there. A dot of light? He squinted, trying to focus on it. Was it one of the fighters?

  “I understand,” Kimberlin said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  One of the bridge crew stood up suddenly. “Captain! We’re being jammed, random noise all across the spectrum. We’re blind.”

  Kate ran to her chair. “We have to run for it. Correct course to go straight for Sklorno space.”

  There was a chorus of yes captain, but Quentin didn’t really hear it. All his attention stayed locked on the thing out the window. The light. No, multiple lights. Almost as if the stars were ... moving.

  “Uh ... Captain?”

  “Not now, Barnes! Go fix that gun!”

  “Captain, I don’t think that will matter.”

  Kate looked at him. He just pointed out the bridge’s wide window.

  Kate saw, then sat back in her chair. “Crap,” she said. “Well, that’s it, folks. We’re screwed. Boys, forget the long-range stuff, scan the damn thing that’s right outside our window.

  The moving lights grew a little larger, filled the entire view, blocking out the stars that stayed fixed in space. Quentin almost asked Kate why they didn’t run anyway, but that was before the window flashed and holographic information danced across the crysteel. The info showed the other ship’s distance and size.

  “Uh ... that’s a really big ship, isn’t it?”

  Captain Kate laughed. She stood and walked to a workstation. She seemed to be in no hurry.

  Kimberlin leaned in, talked quietly. “It is big, Quentin. As big as it gets. We’re looking at something very few people see.”

  “Which is?”

  “A Prawatt capital-class warship,” he said. “The largest known vessels in the galaxy. If I were you, I’d enjoy it.”

  “Enjoy it? Why?”

  Captain Kate reached the workstation and pressed a button. “Attention, all sentients on the Touchback. We have been overtaken by a Prawatt warship. If we’re lucky, we will be boarded within moments. Everyone should stay where they are and make no effort to defend the ship. Our only chance is to pose no threat, hope we get a chance to explain ourselves. If we don’t get that chance, well ... it’s been real shucking nice to know ya.”

  She released the button. She walked back to her chair, dropped into it. She reached beneath the chair and pulled out a glass bottle. Kate unscrewed the cap, then took a long sip of some brown fluid. She looked utterly defeated, resigned to whatever might happen next.

  “Why enjoy the view?” Kimberlin said. “Because this is it for us.”

  He looked out the window to the sprawling mass of the Prawatt ship.

  “History speaks for itself,” Kimberlin said. “Sorry, Quentin, but I’m afraid that we’re all going to die.”

  From UBS Sports

  * * *

  Tragedy mars title game as Themala takes GFL Championship

  by PIKOR THE ASSUMING

  VIRILLIVILL, YALL, SKLORNO DYNASTY — Deaths are a part of football, as we all know. For the second time in three seasons, the Grim Reaper plucked away a Jupiter star in the middle of the sport’s biggest game.

  Themala won its first GFL title with a 28-24 win over the Jacks at Galaxy Bowl XXVI, held at Tomb of the Virilli stadium. The team celebrated the win, as they should, but those celebrations lost some luster in the face of the death of Jupiter quarterback Shriaz Zia.

  Zia led his team to a 21-0 advantage. It looked like a Galaxy Bowl shutout until midway through the third quarter, when Zia scrambled left due to pressure from the Dreadnaughts front four. Instead of sliding, Zia tried to pick up a few extra yards by taking on a tackle from linebacker Tibi the Unkempt. The hit severed Zia’s C4 and C5 vertebrate. He was carted off the field and declared dead in the stadium hospital.

  With Zia out of the game, the Jacks could not move the ball. To close the third quarter, Themala scored on a Galaxy Bowl record 88-yard run by running back Don Dennis.

  The Dreadnaughts entered the fourth quarter down 21-7. Quarterback Gavin Warren hit wide receiver Keflavík for a 42-yard strike, then five minutes later, hit Dennis on a simple screen pass that turned into a 68-yard touchdown reception.

  With the score tied at 21-all, Jacks returner Luxemborg ran the ensuing kick back to the Dreadnaughts’ 11. Backup quarterback Steve Compton couldn’t advance the ball any farther, so the Jacks settled for a field goal that put them up 24-21 with 2:17 left to play.

  * * *

  “I’m mad as hell. We had that game wrapped up. Now my quarterback is dead and we have to start all over.”

  JT MANIS OWNER, JUPITER JACKS

  * * *

  Following a touchback, Themala started on its own 20. The Dreadnaughts then proceeded to drive 78 yards for a first-and-goal on the Jupiter 2-yard line. With five seconds to play and no timeouts, Themala coach Smitty Halibut opted to go for the win instead of kicking the tying field goal.

  “I said to my team, I said, screw it,” Coach Halibut said. “We had the momentum.”

  The unexpected decision proved fortuitous. Warren dropped back and found fullback Zach Mann all alone in the end zone for the winning touchdown.

  “I’m mad as hell,” said Jacks owner JT Manis. “We had that game wrapped up. Now my quarterback is dead and we have to start all over.”

  The Jacks couldn’t move the ball,
true, but the Dreadnaughts did run roughshod in the second half of what will surely go down as the biggest defensive collapse in Galaxy Bowl history.

  “Hey, their defense didn’t die,” Don Dennis said. “Those are the same guys who held us scoreless through two-and-a-half quarters. I’m sorry Shriaz is dead, but we scored twenty-eight points in the second half of the Galaxy Bowl. We owned them. We wanted it more and we took it. Vini, vidi, vici, we be the champs.”

  Themala finished the regular season at 9-3 for the second year in a row. Including playoff games, the Dreadnaughts are 22-7 over the past two seasons. ■

  * * *

  From the Ionath City Gazette

  * * *

  Krakens bus, entire team missing

  by TOYAT THE INQUISITIVE

  YALL, SKLORNO DYNASTY — The Touchback, team bus for the Ionath Krakens football franchise, has gone missing following an attack by an unknown force.

  The ship had arrived in far orbit around the planet Yall in the Sklorno Dynasty. The Krakens players were there to attend Galaxy Bowl XXVI. Details are scarce, but reports indicate that an unknown fighter craft attacked the Touchback as soon as it came out of punch-space. Preliminary investigations seem to show that the Touchback fled this attack by crossing the Prawatt border.

  “We are proceeding with caution,” said the Creterakian Empire regional admiral. “We cannot go in after them. The Prawatt would consider that an act of war. We are trying to implement diplomatic communications, but so far our efforts have been ignored. The Prawatt remain in total communication blackout, as they have for decades.”

  Heightened tensions between the Prawatt and the Sklorno Dynasty have not helped efforts to find the Touchback’s whereabouts. Last year, a Sklorno vessel was destroyed near the border, killing 40,000 sentients. There is some suspicion that the perpetrators of that deed are also responsible for the attack on the Touchback.