The Rookie

by Scott Sigler

  “I don’t need any help,” Quentin said coldly. “I’ve learned to figure things out for myself.”

  Pine’s smile faded, just a little, then returned as he shrugged. He waved another man over. “Suit yourself. Let me introduce you to another Krakens’ QB, Yitzhak Goldman.”

  Yitzhak stepped forward and shook Quentin’s hand. At 6-foot-4, he was very short for a quarterback. He had the bleach-white skin of a Tower Republic native of the planet Fortress, along with equally white hair and eyebrows. The only things of any color were his deep black eyes. The irises were just as black as the pupils, giving the man an eerie, haunting stare.

  “Welcome aboard,” Yitzhak said.

  Quentin simply nodded. He’d seen Yitzhak play last year when Pine was out two weeks for knee replacement. Quentin had been less than impressed.

  Through the flurry of meet-and-greet, a strange creature crawled forward. Quentin couldn’t help but take a step back — he’d never seen the like before. It resembled a Quyth Leader, or Warrior, or at four feet tall maybe something in-between. It had only one eye, which was much smaller than a Leader’s or a Warrior’s. The creature’s pedipalps were long, almost three feet long, and so thick they seemed like Human arms. It smelled like onions.

  The creature reached out with one of the pedipalps and gently tried to take Quentin’s bag. Quentin turned his shoulder, pulling the bag slightly away. The demonic-looking creature made his skin crawl, but he concentrated on staying his ground, dead-set against repeating the embarrassment he’d felt when he hit the deck at the sound of Swizzle’s flapping wings.

  “What’s the matter?” Pine asked. “Pilkie here will take your bag for you.”

  “Pilkie?” Quentin said, never taking his eyes of the creature.

  “It’s okay, Quentin,” Yitzhak said. “You look tense.”

  Quentin looked at Yitzhak, then at Pine, then lifted the bag-strap off his shoulder and set it down on the deck. Without a sound, Pilkie grabbed the bag and walked towards a door at the edge of the landing bay.

  Pine laughed. “You okay, boy? You act like you’ve never seen a Quyth Worker before.”

  Quentin shrugged. “I haven’t.”

  Pine and Yitzhak laughed, then stopped when they realized that Quentin wasn’t kidding.

  “Sorry about that, Quentin,” Pine said, clapping Quentin on the shoulder. “I forgot you’re fresh off the Purist Nation. Come on, we’ve got a position meeting in twenty minutes. Hokor handles the quarterback meetings, and trust me, you do not want to be late.”

  “So are there any other kinds of Quyth?” Quentin asked. “I’m getting kind of tired of surprises.”

  “Just the females,” Yitzhak said. “But there’s none of those onboard. Females are sacred in Quyth culture. No non-Quyth are even supposed to lay eyes on them. Females never leave their home planets.”

  “Can we see the field?” Quentin asked.

  Pine nodded. “Right this way, kid.”

  A central tunnel, large enough for heavy equipment, ran from the flight deck all the way to the other end of the ship. The tunnel, with its arched ceiling and curved walls, acted like a main highway — every thirty feet or so, smaller tunnels branched off at right angles, leading into the ship’s numerous sections. Quentin followed Pine straight down the main tunnel, until it opened up into the huge space that was the Krakens’ practice field.

  The clear dome revealed the black expanse of space. Thousands of bright sparks glittered; the stars of the Milky Way Galaxy. Ten yards or so past the end zones and sidelines, the ship’s decks rose up eighteen levels high.

  They walked onto the field, entering at the orange end zone. The surface had some give and felt a lot like the Carsengi Grass that covered most Purist Nation fields, but he could tell this was artificial. Hundreds of flat, circular, white creatures, each the size of a pancake, moved around the field. They moved slowly, but quickly scooted out of the way of approaching feet.

  “I think you guys need to call an exterminator,” Quentin said.

  “Those are clippers,” Yitzhak said. “This is nanograss, self-replicating mechanical cells that grow constantly to give us a good practice surface. The clippers are little robots that keep the nanograss at a constant height.”

  “They ever get underfoot?”

  Yitzhak shook his head. “Naw, they steer clear of anything that moves.”

  As they walked past the 50-yard line, Quentin noticed that the white disks cleared out in front of them, then closed in behind as the Humans passed by. He looked around, trying to take it all in — this is where his destiny would start.

  Just past the black end zone, the three men stepped aboard a lift. Pine pressed a button, and the lift rose swiftly to deck eighteen.

  Quentin followed Pine down the hall. The orange walls complimented the white and black carpet. Most of the diverse furnishings — two seats each for the varying body styles of Quyth, Ki, Sklorno and Human — were also done in orange-and-black. The high ceiling allowed Human and Sklorno alike to pass in comfort. Holoframes covered the walls, showing great players from the 23-year history of the Ionath Krakens. Most holoframes, of course, depicted players or scenes from the Krakens’ Tier One Championship of 2665.

  That had been the franchise’s heyday, back when quarterback Bobby “Orbital Assault” Adrojnik put together three fantastic seasons, culminating in the ‘65 title, a 23-21 thriller over the Wabash Wall. After that game, Adrojnik died in a bar fight under conditions most called “suspicious.” Krakens fans blamed Wabash supporters, or possibly even the Wabash owner herself. Gloria Ogawa, who had founded the Wall in the GFL’s inaugural season of 2659, was a known gangland figure in the Tower Republic and had not taken the loss well.

  “This deck holds the Krakens’ corporate offices,” Pine said. “Communications with the league, archiving, marketing, network relations, stuff like that.” Pine looked at the famous holoframe of the smiling Adrojnik, held aloft by two Ki linemen, raising the Championship trophy high in one hand.

  “Is that what you’re going to be kid?” Pine said quietly. “The next Adrojnik? The future of this franchise?”

  Quentin shrugged. He’d never seen Adrojnik play. Sometimes you could score pirated games on Micovi, or on Buddha City, but for the most part the old historical GFL stuff just wasn’t available.

  Pine grinned, looked at Quentin, and continued down the hall. “Yep, you could be the savior. What are you kid, twenty-one? twenty-two?”

  “Nineteen,” Quentin said.

  Pine’s eyebrows rose up. He looked at Yitzhak, who let out a low whistle and shook his head.

  “Nineteen,” Pine said. “Kid, you play your cards right you could have a great career ahead of you.”

  “Of course, that’s what the press said about Timmy Hammersmith in 2678,” Yitzhak said. “And Crane McSweeney in 2680, after Hammersmith washed out in just two seasons.”

  Pine smiled and nodded, looking at Quentin the whole time. “Yeah, that’s right! But McSweeney didn’t last much longer. He might have developed into something big if he hadn’t died in the season opener against the Wallcrawlers in 2680. Rookie QBs just don’t seem to fare too well around here.”

  “It seems veterans don’t fare too well, either,” Quentin said. He wasn’t going to put up with this rookie bull — he was no normal rookie, something they’d all find out soon enough. “They brought you in to finish the 2680 season, didn’t they, Pine? Two seasons at the helm, and the Krakens are still Tier Two.”

  Yitzhak stopped and turned to face Quentin. “Hey, now you’d better watch yourself, rookie, you don’t -”

  Pine held up his left hand to stop Yitzhak, cutting the shorter man off in mid-sentence. Pine’s smile was no longer friendly, but that of someone who looks down on another.

  “That’s a good point, Quentin,” Pine said. He held up his right hand. On his ring and index finger were two thick, golden rings, each set with dozens of sparkling rubies. Championship rings from 2675 and 2676. At
the sight of the rings, Quentin felt his soul roil with pure envy, greed, and flat-out desire.

  “You can have all the good points you want, rookie,” Pine said. “But until you prove it out on the field, it’s all talk. Until you’ve got one of these -” Pine wiggled his fingers, letting the rubies catch the hall’s light — “I suggest you keep those good points to yourself.”

  Quentin smiled graciously, flourished, and gave a half-bow. “Whatever you say, pops.”

  Pine’s smile briefly faded to a glare, then he continued down the hall. Quentin felt the competitive fire building inside his brain. He couldn’t wait to get out on the field. He was the future of the Krakens, not this washed-up has-been. He’d learn what he could from this old man in the next week, before the old man got used to his new position: benchwarmer.

  They turned into a large room, about fifty yards in diameter, with a clear dome open to the star-speckled blackness of space. The floor consisted of a silvery grid of small hexes, each only a centimeter or so wide. Just inside the door sat a long rack of footballs, built on a tilt so the balls would roll down and stop at a catch at the end.

  “What is this?” Quentin bounced on his toes, feeling the hexes give slightly under his feet.

  “This is the sim-room,” Pine said. “State-of-the-art in football technology.” He walked to the end of the rack and picked up a football. The other footballs rolled down the rack to fill the space.

  “The Kriegs-Ballok Virtual Practice System,” Yitzhak said. “Gredok had it installed during the off-season.”

  “Ship,” Pine called. “Grontak Stadium, night game.”

  The clear dome shimmered with flashes of blue and silver, then it was gone, instantly replaced by a bright purple sky arching over a massive stadium. The room’s sound went from echoing silence to the sudden cacophony of 165,000 fans, mostly Quyth, screeching in their spine-rippling equivalent of a Human cheer.

  Quentin spun around, suddenly disoriented by the purple sky, the thousands of fans swinging black, teal and white banners and flags, the steady, subdued roar of a crowd waiting between plays. A blazing sun hung almost directly over head, and a blue moon ringed with light red hung suspended in the southern sky. It was all so real. The floor shimmered as well, and then the hexes were gone, replaced with millions of the flat blue plants that made up a Quyth playing field, complete with white yard markers.

  “Krakens, first-and-ten,” Pine said. “Boss-right set, split left, double-hook and post.”

  More blue and silver shimmers flashed in the air, this time only ten feet from where the three men stood. Ten players dressed in Krakens’ uniforms materialized and moved to the line of scrimmage: the scurrying waddle of huge Ki linemen, the loping, graceful strides of three Sklorno receivers, the natural gait of the Human tailback and right end. The players moved like the real thing, although they were all slightly translucent. Their uniform colors seemed blurred by a slight blue haze.

  A computer voice echoed through the chamber.

  [DEFENSIVE SELECTION, PLEASE]

  “Random,” Pine said as he walked up to the line, crouched, and held the ball in front of him as though he were ready to take a snap.

  Another flash preceded the sudden appearance of players clad in the black, teal and blue colors of the Glory Warpigs. Quentin’s awe over the technology faded away. His strategic mind took over as he watched the holographic Warpigs players line up in a 3-4 with man-to-man coverage.

  “Red fifteen, red fifteen,” Pine called out, barking out the signals so he could be heard over the crowd. Quentin felt his heart rate increase and the rush of adrenaline pump into his veins — he’d never seen anything like this. He could feel the stadium shake as the crowd’s intensity increased.

  “Hut .... HUT!”

  Pine dropped back five steps, then planted and bounced a half-step forward. He stood tall, looking downfield as his Sklorno receivers darted out, tightly covered by the Warpigs defensive backs. Pine threw the ball a split second before the right wide receiver suddenly cut back towards the line — a timing pattern. The receiver raised her long arms to catch the ball — it went right through the hologram, skipping and rolling down the field. The players vanished, although the crowd and the crowd noise remained.

  [PASS COMPLETE. A GAIN OF SIX YARDS. SECOND AND FOUR]

  Pine walked back to Quentin, who couldn’t stop himself from constantly looking around. “What do you think, rookie?”

  “This is incredible. Is this where we practice?”

  Pine shook his head. “No, we practice on the main field. But this is where you do your position work, and drill for each week’s game. This way you can practice sets over and over again against holographs that are just as fast as the opposition’s defensive backs. Practice squad players aren’t as much of a challenge.”

  “Can I give it a try?”

  Pine grabbed a football and tossed it to Quentin. “Be my guest. Let me set it up for you. It’s second-and-four, what do you want to run?”

  Quentin smiled. “I want to go deep.”

  Pine smiled — that condescending smile again — and nodded. “Wide set, snake package, double post. On two. Defense, cover two with woman-to-woman under.”

  “You mean man-to-man.”

  “The Sklorno are females, remember? Woman-to-woman. There you go, kid, I made it easy for you.”

  The players materialized and ran to the line. Quentin walked forward, eyes wide with wonder. He crouched below the center as his eyes scanned the defense. The reality was such that he recognized Warburg at tight end, Scarborough at wide receiver, Hawick in the slot, two yards in and one yard back from Scarborough. He didn’t bother to look, but he knew a life-like image of number 47, tailback Mitchell Fayed, would be right behind him.

  “Hut ... hut!” The line surged forward. It sounded similar to a real line crash, but was just a bit stale and echoey. Quentin dropped back five steps, planted and eased into his standup, ball at the ready.

  He watched the holo-Scarborough streak down the right sideline. The man-to-man (woman-to-woman, that is) coverage quickly fell behind. Just as the safety started to pick up the route, Quentin reared back and let the ball fly. It sailed through the air in a perfect, arching spiral, a brown missile framed against a bright purple sky. The ball looked on the money, but the safety moved faster than anything Quentin had ever seen on a football field.

  “Damn it,” Quentin whispered as the holo-safety blurred in front of the holo-Scarborough, leapt twelve feet into the air, and reached for the ball. The ball continued down the field, bouncing off the flat leaves, but Quentin didn’t need the computer to tell him the results.

  [PASS INTERCEPTED]

  “Why’d you guys have to rig this? Quentin said. “You think that’s funny?”

  “Rig it?” Pine said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh come on, you saw how fast that safety closed. Nothing moves that fast.”

  Pine and Yitzhak looked at each other, then started laughing.

  “Welcome to the GFL, backwater,” Yitzhak said. “You’re going to love it here.”

  Quentin glared. If they wanted to play stupid games with him, he’d show them. “Let me try that again.”

  “Why, so you can fail again?” Hokor’s voice caught him by surprise. He turned, an unexpected sense of trepidation in his chest, as if he were a teenage boy caught in the middle of masturbating.

  “End simulation!” Hokor barked. The tiny Quyth Leader marched towards Quentin as the field, the fans, the stadium and the players vanished, replaced by the clear dome and the sparkling stars.

  “Barnes, what in the name of your primitive, backwater gods was that?”

  Hokor’s fur seemed to stand on end, making him look thicker than normal. Quentin knew that was some instinctive reaction, evolutionarily designed to make Hokor look bigger, therefore more dangerous, but in reality it just made him look fuzzy, like a stuffed animal. Still, his voice had a tone of command Quentin’s previous coach
es had never possessed. Or, perhaps more accurately, had never used, at least not on him.

  “That was an interception, Coach,” Quentin said calmly.

  “Why did you throw it?”

  “Well, I thought I had Scarborough on the streak.”

  “You thought? You thought? Don’t you know who the Warpigs’ safety is?”

  Quentin assumed it was a rhetorical question, but Hokor seemed to wait for an answer. Quentin shrugged. “Nope.”

  Hokor’s pedipalps quivered with anger. “You don’t know who it is, but you threw the pass anyway? You didn’t know that the Warpigs’ picked up Keluang in free agency?”

  “Keluang?” “I thought he, I mean, she, played for the Hullwalkers, in Tier One.”

  “Well now she plays for the Warpigs!” Hokor’s furry body shook with anger. “You stupid Human, you don’t even know who you’re playing against and you just blindly throw into coverage.”

  Quentin smiled. “Take it easy, Coach. How am I supposed to know who’s on what team right now?” Quentin saw Pine and Yitzhak duck their heads in an effort to conceal their grins. Yitzhak hid his face in his hands and slowly shook his head.

  “It’s your job to know,” Hokor said coldly. “You are a quarterback for the Ionath Krakens. We will not make it to the Tier Two tournament and therefore back into the glory of Tier One if my helpless quarterbacks don’t know everything there is to know about the opposition. You must be punished for this error. You will report to me after practice. And by tomorrow, you will know the defensive roster of all nine teams in the Quyth Conference.”

  “By tomorrow? Come on, Coach — I figure that out on the field. Nobody knows all that stuff, nobody except sports reporters.”