by Scott Sigler
He crossed the goal line, and the world blinked back to real time with a rush of deafening sound. He tossed the ball to the floating Harrah ref, then knelt and plucked a few blades of black grass. He sniffed deeply — smelled like a sappy pine tree. Hawick and Scarborough arrived suddenly and leapt on him hard enough to knock him over.
“Touchdown, Krakens, 62-yard run by Quentin Barnes,” the loudspeaker blared amidst the crowd’s boo and the hiss of Quyth Workers scraping in derision. Quentin laughed and pushed aside Hawick and Scarborough. He stood, only to be knocked down again, this time by Fayed and Kobayasho.
“What an excellent run!” Fayed screamed at him, his facemask smashed against Quentin’s. “A much better use of energy than punching me in the face!”
Quentin managed to stand amidst friendly-but-hard slaps to his head and shoulder pads. He ran to the sidelines and was engulfed by teammates. They seemed energized as if they were up by four touchdowns instead of down 24–14.
“Barnes!” Hokor screamed in his headset. “What was that? I called a dive!”
“Sorry Coach,” Quentin said. “I thought you said QB draw.”
“You dirty, lying Human! Run the plays that I call!”
“Yes, Coach. Got ya.”
The long touchdown run was like the harbinger of doom for Orbiting Death. Two plays later, John Tweedy came free on a linebacker stunt and put the first really solid hit on his brother Ju. The ball popped free, wobbled on the ground, where Shayat the Thick smothered it. The Death had the lead, but something intangible had changed hands. After a pair of passes to Kobayasho, Fayed scored on a 15-yard run to cut the lead to 24–21.
In the fourth quarter, Quentin dissected the Death secondary as he knew Pine should have done, hitting Scarborough for two TD passes. Ju fumbled one more time, setting up the second TD strike to Scarborough, but the wrecking-ball running back couldn’t be completely stopped. He scored on a long 44-yard run that left John Tweedy on his rear and put Shayat on the sidelines for the rest of the game.
When the final gun sounded, Quentin had led the Krakens to a 35–31 win — 28 of those points coming in the second half.
• • •
THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE difference between a 1–2 locker room and a 4–2 locker room. Players laughed and joked and shouted. The Pioneers had lost again, were now 4–2, and still had two games to go without their star quarterback. The Glory Warpigs had soundly whipped the Woo Wallcrawlers 24-6 to move to 5–1 The Krakens were now only one game out of first had to go head-to-head with the ‘Pigs in Week 8.
A conference title was no longer a fantasy — they were three wins (their own) and one loss (by the Pioneers) away from winning the championship.
Every Human took their turn coming up to Quentin and giving their respects.
“You’re a stone-bred monster!” John Tweedy shouted, hugging Quentin with his powerful arms.
“Huge comeback, kid!” Yitzhak said with a massive grin, tousling Quentin’s hair as if he were a little boy. Quentin pushed Yitzhak’s hand away, but laughed along with him.
Everyone wanted to congratulate him. Everyone, it seemed, except Donald Pine. Pine’s ham-sandwich fixated buzz had worn off just as the fourth quarter ended. He sat alone in front of his locker, still dressed in his soiled uniform, his head hanging in his hands. Quentin felt a pang of pity for the man, but he chased that thought away — Pine made his own bed, and if sleeping in it sucked, then that was the breaks. Quentin had kept his secret, and even that was more than Pine deserved. It didn’t matter, the Krakens were 4–2 and almost — almost — in control of their own destiny.
WEEK SIX LEAGUE ROUNDUP (courtesy of Galaxy Sports network)
The Quyth Irradiated Conference standings saw a major shakeup this week. The Ionath Krakens (4–2) crawled another thin notch higher in the standings with a 35–31 upset win over Orbiting Death (4–2). The Krakens continue to show no continuity at quarterback, as this week veteran Donald Pine was ineffective while rookie backup Quentin Barnes led the team to a come-from-behind win.
The Whitok Pioneers (4–2) seemed to be walking away with the conference title, but without star quarterback Condor Adrienne they lost their second straight game, this time 24-8 to the Grontak Hydras (3–3).
First place now belongs solely to the Glory Warpigs (5–1), who thrashed the Woo Wallcrawlers (1–5) by a score of 35-3.
The Sheb Stalkers (4–2) remained in contention with a key 1714 win over the Bigg Diggers (2–4). Arkham, All-Pro cornerback for the Diggers, notched her tenth and eleventh interceptions of the season. She leads the Quyth Irradiated in interceptions for the season, well ahead of the Warpigs’ Toyonaka, who has eight picks so far this year.
Sky Demolition (0–6) still can’t find a win, this time losing 3210 to the Quyth Survivors (3–3).
DEATHS:
Shak-Ah-Tallo, offensive guard for Quyth Survivors, was killed on an illegal hit by Yalla the Biter. Yalla has been suspended for two games.
WEEK #6 PLAYERS OF THE WEEK:
Offense: St. Petersburg, wide receiver, Glory Warpigs, hauled in 12 catches for 162 receiving yards and three TDs.
Defense: Kitiara Lomax, linebacker, Bigg Diggers. 9 tackles, 1 interception.
YASSOUD, OF COURSE, wanted to drag everyone, non-Humans included, out to the nightclub district. Quentin put a stop to it, saying the team had to stay sharp in a dangerous place like The Ace — and after beating the Orbiting Death, many of the city’s residents would have been most happy to mess with an Ionath Kraken. Instead, most of the team headed to “The Dead Fly,” a laid-back bar owned by Choto the Bright’s family. Choto’s family shut the bar down for the impromptu private party. Quentin wanted the team to stay together — most came along, although Pine wanted to be alone, and Quentin wasn’t going to argue with him.
Liquor flowed, which Quentin didn’t mind as long as everyone stayed inside. The quarantine angered Yassoud and Tweedy, but Choto backed up Quentin’s desire to keep the team off the streets. Quentin started feeding Yassoud and Tweedy beers, and after six or seven the two stopped complaining and started enjoying the night.
While drink was in plentiful supply, food was another story.
“But you are hungry,” Virak said to Quentin. “There is nothing wrong with this food.”
Quentin worked hard to keep a straight face as he stared down onto a tray covered with fried critters that looked a lot like foot-long centipedes, only not quite as appetizing.
“I don’t think so, those look like…”
His voice trailed off as Choto the Bright walked up, a gin-and-tonic in hand, his eye a hazy shade of orange. Choto’s family had made the food, and Quentin could only imagine Choto’s reaction if he called it “crap.”
“It’s fine to eat,” Yitzhak said. He reached out and picked up one of the fried critters by a long front leg. He dangled it over his mouth, biting off a two-inch chunk. “Just bio-mass, perfectly digestible. Quyth and Human digestive physiology are quite compatible, you know.”
Virak and Choto stared at Quentin, obviously waiting for him to eat. He gingerly reached out and picked up a critter by its leg, as Yitzhak had done. He held it in front of his eyes, his stomach simultaneously growling with hunger and churning at the thought of that thing in his belly.
“Eat!” Choto said. “Is good!”
Quentin lifted the thing to dangle over his lips. He opened his mouth and started to lower it, when Virak’s phone buzzed loudly. Pretending to be polite, Quentin set the critter down as Virak answered the call. The Quyth Warrior’s eye changed from orange, the color of happiness, to pitch black almost instantly.
“What’s the matter,” Quentin said as Virak put the phone away.
“Donald Pine is in the hospital. He has been attacked.”
• • •
QUENTIN WALKED into the room not knowing what he’d see. He didn’t want to feel guilty — he hadn’t been the one to gamble up a huge debt and start throwing games, after all — but when he saw
Pine in the hospital bed he couldn’t stop waves of the nasty stuff from washing over his soul.
Pine was resting at a 45-degree angle, his bandaged head up high, both legs immersed in the pink liquid of a rejuvenation tank. A large, enamel-white, tube-like machine hid most of his left arm. Light-blue bandages covered his forehead and his right cheek.
The hospital room would have seemed large were there fewer beings in it. With three Ki linemen, John Tweedy and Mitchell Fayed present, Quentin could barely see the walls.
“Hey, kid,” Pine said. “Great game.”
“Thanks,” Quentin said automatically.
“I watched it on tape. Seems I wasn’t in much of a condition to watch it live.”
“Yeah,” Quentin said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Tweedy’s brow seemed larger than ever. SOMEBODY’S GOTTA PAY scrolled across his forehead in black letters. “We’re gonna find the sentients that did this,” he said in a low growl. “Nobody messes with our quarterback and lives.”
The Ki linemen — Sho-Do-Thikit, Kill-O-Yowet and Bud-O-Shwek — grunted in monosyllabic agreement. Quentin had a brief image of wandering into a dark alley and facing Tweedy and the linemen. He shivered at the thought, then pushed it away.
“Virak, Kopor the Climber and Shayat are out looking for the culprits,” Fayed said. “They think it was someone from the Bigg Diggers, trying to soften us up for next week. Virak thought it could be the Glory Warpigs, seeing as it might be us or them for the championship, but the doctors say your injuries may be healed by that time.”
“Too bad for them,” Tweedy said. “Our number two can win games just like our number one, eh boys?”
Fayed nodded, the Ki’s made their one grunt, they all looked at Quentin with pride.
“I need to talk to Quentin,” Pine said. “Alone. You guys give us a minute?”
The five Krakens players filtered out of the room, leaving Pine to stare at Quentin.
“I haven’t had a hit of sleepy since my Tier Three days,” Pine said. “I’d forgotten what a great trip it is. You ever hit that stuff?”
Quentin shook his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Pine said. “Wonderboy would never touch a drug like that, eh? Well, at least he’d never take a drug like that. But I’ll bet that if he wanted to, he could get his hands on an extra-large dose.”
“It’s not my fault you’re in here, so don’t try and guilt me out,” Quentin said, although he was about as guilted-out as one could get. He should have known better than to leave Pine alone when Mopuk’s goons would be looking for revenge.
Pine nodded. “I know it’s not your fault, kid.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “They messed you up pretty bad,” Quentin said finally.
Pine shrugged. “Not so bad, really. They didn’t want to mess up their investment. Notice they didn’t touch the right arm, and they didn’t touch the eyes. Hell, if rehab goes well, I’m back in the lineup in two weeks.”
Quentin looked up and down Pine’s body. The man had been in surgery and then in a hospital room for three hours. With the speed of modern medicine, the fact that he still looked so rough was a testament to the beating he’d taken. Mopuk’s men had probably cut on him for quite a while.
“Don’t think this guilt trip is going to go over on me,” Quentin said, mustering far more conviction than he felt. “I’m keeping the starting spot this time.”
Pine nodded slowly. “Maybe. Maybe, kid.” He looked away. “I guess I’ve messed things up pretty bad. If I don’t start… well… I guess I’m not much use to them anymore.”
Pine wasn’t begging for his starting spot, just talking out loud. Yet the sentence hit home to Quentin, even more than the injuries, even more than his own run-ins with Mopuk. Pine owed money. As long as he could throw games, he was an asset to Mopuk. If he wasn’t starting, if his career was on the way out, well, Mopuk would have to do something about the debt. Quentin had seen Stedmar Osborne deal with enough fixers and loan sharks back on Micovi to know what would happen. If Pine wasn’t playing ball, he was a good as dead.
“I’ll take care this,” Quentin said.
Pine looked hard at him for a few seconds. “Stay out of it. This ain’t your business. You did the right thing, taking me out of the game. We’re still in the playoff hunt, thanks to you. I brought this on myself. You get involved, you’re just going to get messed up.”
“I can’t let you go alone on this, Pine.”
The veteran laughed. “You can’t? Why not? You hate my guts. You’ve wanted me out of the picture since your first day with the team. Well, now you’ve got what you want, so just let it be. I don’t want to destroy two careers with my stupidity.”
“Can we go to Gredok?”
Pine looked away. “He’ll kill me faster than Mopuk would. Gredok finds out I threw his games, I’m dead. Hell, I guess it doesn’t matter, I’m dead one way or another.”
Quentin nodded once, then walked out of the room. Outside, Tweedy, Fayed and the linemen were waiting. They started to talk, but Quentin held up a hand, silencing them.
“Call a team meeting, immediately. Get everyone, especially Shayat. Tell Choto to clear out the Dead Fly, we’ll meet there. No coaches. Hokor and Gredok can not know.”
“What’s this about?” Fayed asked.
“Just trust me,” Quentin said.
“What about Virak?” Tweedy asked. “He’s one of Gredok’s bodyguards, totally loyal to him.”
“Get him, too. And tell him not to say a word to Gredok, that I’ll explain later. Tell him our playoff hopes hinge on his silence.”
• • •
QUENTIN WALKED into the Dead Fly bar. He saw a sea of familiar faces (or what passed for faces) looking back at him. There were no other patrons in the place, only Krakens.
“This better be good,” Virak said. “Gredok does not like secrecy.”
“He’s not going to find out,” Quentin said. “No one is going to tell him. No one is going to say a word about this… this stuff, to anyone. That’s the way it’s going to be. Got it?”
Quentin looked around the room. There was no sign of dissent. He’d called all these players together, and they’d come. They looked back at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Quentin realized that his on-field performance had elevated his status amongst his teammates. At this moment, he was their leader.
“Shayat,” Quentin said. “How much merchandise can you get your hands on?”
“I’ve already got my load,” Shayat said. “All I can carry.”
“I didn’t ask that. What if you had more carriers? Say, forty-three other carriers, how much could you get then?”
Shayat looked at Quentin, then around the room, his eye shifting to a translucent red of surprise. “A lot. Enough for everyone.”
“What is this?” Virak said. “You want us to smuggle drugs?”
Quentin nodded. “That’s right. All of you. As much as you can carry.”
A cacophony of shouting questions filled the room. Virak and Choto’s eyes turned deep blackish-green.
“Shut up!” Quentin’s voice exploded in the small room, creating instant, stunned silence.
“Pine owes money,” Quentin said. “That’s why he was beat up, because he can’t pay. We’re his teammates. We’re going to pay off his debt. Everyone does it, no exceptions, and no one talks.”
The statement left a sea of stunned faces.
“This is serious,” Virak said. “Gredok ignores individual efforts. It’s one of the benefits of being a player. The amount is insignificant compared to what he ships on the team bus. But the whole team smuggling? That’s not something you ignore, Quentin. That’s not being enterprising, that’s being competition. Gredok doesn’t like competition.”
“We don’t do it, Pine’s a dead man,” Quentin said.
“That’s no reason to lie to Gredok,” Virak said. “He is our Shamakath.”
“He’s your Shamakath,” Quent
in said. “Donald Pine is the Shamakath for the rest of us. He’s the team leader. So you’ve got to make a choice.”
Virak’s eye swirled from blackish-green to purple, a visible mark of his confusion.
“Virak,” Quentin said, “do you want to be a bodyguard or a Tier One football player?”
Virak said nothing. Quentin continued. “Without Pine, our chances of making the playoffs are pretty dim. Even if we don’t make it, it doesn’t matter, he’s our teammate and we’re going to help him. We either do this, all of us, together, or Donald Pine is dead. We can’t go to Gredok, you all just have to trust me on this. Now, does anyone want to back out?” He asked the question, but his eyes and demeanor clearly said that no one would be allowed to back out.
And no one did. Except Rick Warburg.
“Forget this,” Warburg said. “I’m not putting my career on the line for Pine.”
Quentin glared at him. “Yes you are, Warburg. You’re in.”
“No way. I’m not going through this for a blue-boy, and neither should you. It’s a sin to help Satan’s children.”
“He’s not a blue-boy, you idiot. He’s your teammate.”
“I collect a paycheck. I don’t have teammates, not from other races. I thought you were my teammate, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Yeah,” Quentin said. “I guess you were.”
Warburg stared at him for a few seconds, then walked out of the bar, head held high.
“Anyone else?”
None of the other players said a word. Maybe it was their love for Pine. Maybe it was Quentin’s will. Maybe it was both.
“Good,” Quentin said. “We’ve got three hours before the Touchback leaves. Shayat, make it happen.
GAME SEVEN: Bigg Diggers (2–4) at Ionath Krakens (4–2)
QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS
THE SHUTTLE BANKED DOWN to the customs platform and into the express lane reserved for diplomats and foreign dignitaries. The team filed out and stood single-file on the yellow waiting line. Three Quyth Workers dressed in the white uniforms of the Quyth System Police slid hoversleds into the shuttle. The hover-sleds were loaded with the typical weapon- and explosive-scanning suites.
