by Scott Sigler
Quentin nodded and looked over his huddle. They all looked at him, expecting him to lead them.
“X-set, pulse-34,” Quentin said. “Make sure you get out of bounds.”
He broke the huddle and came up the line.
The Hydras dug in, knowing it was now their game to lose. Bilis the Destroyer crowded the line, showing blitz. The crowd’s roar grew so loud Quentin could barely hear himself call the signals. Hawick and Scarborough lined up wide to the left, Denver and Mezquitic wide to the right. Wichita again lined up over Scarborough, in bump-and-run coverage. Quentin looked to his right, to Denver. If Bilis the Destroyer came on the blitz, Denver would angle in and run a hook in Bilis’s abandoned coverage area.
“Blue, sixteeeen!” Quentin shouted, trying to be heard over the crowd’s roar. Bilis took another step forward, edging in between his Ki defensive tackle and his heavy-G defensive end.
“Hut-hut!”
BLINK
The ball slapped into his hands as the clock started ticking. Quentin dropped back, ball held high, looking for Denver’s route. Bilis didn’t blitz — instead, he back-pedaled on all fours, scurrying back to cover the short zone, right where Quentin had hoped Denver would run. Denver saw the coverage and angled for the sidelines, but she was covered. Quentin looked left: Scarborough hooked up at the sidelines, but she was also covered. Hawick ran a post — she was wide-open, no defender. Quentin planted, after only three steps of his five-step drop, and started to throw even before he saw the blur of motion coming from his left.
Nothing can move that fast flashed through his head just before Wichita, on a corner blitz, caught him dead in the chest. Two hundred eighty pounds of power moving at blinding speed knocked Quentin back like a rag doll. His helmet popped off, seemed to hang in mid-air as he was driven backwards. A pain stabbed through his mouth, but all he could think about was the fact that the ball was no longer in his hands. He turned as he fell, his naked face sliding across the grass.
He saw the brown ball bouncing on the blue Iomatt, wobbling towards the sidelines. Quentin scrambled to get up, but Wichita was much faster. She popped to her feet.
Quentin’s breath froze in his chest. All players converged on the loose ball.
But the Wichita got to it first.
BLINK
The world returned to normal speed as the whistle blew. The ref flew in and repeatedly thrust a tentacle towards the Krakens’ end zone — Hydras’ ball. Quentin’s heart sank right down out of his chest, through his legs and into the ground. It was all over but the crying. He felt a hard something in his mouth. He spit; a bloody white tooth landed on the blue field.
The game was over. A corner blitz. He’d successfully handled that same defensive tactic more times than he could count, but Wichita had come so fast, arriving perhaps two full seconds sooner than any Human corner could have ever managed. Quentin picked up his helmet and walked off the field, head hung low, the taste of his own blood salty in his mouth.
The Hydras’ quarterback took a knee on first down. The Krakens used up their last timeout. Two more knees, and the clock ticked down to zero.
Hydras 24, Krakens 23.
The sandpaper-bristle sound rose to even new heights, loud enough to make the High One himself cover his ears.
Game over. Quentin didn’t get a chance to be the hero, he was only the goat.
• • •
MANY THINGS HAD CHANGED in the course of eight centuries of football. Equipment changed, rules changed, strategy changed, even species changed. But at least two things remained constant — the feeling of the winners, and the feeling of the losers.
A noise-killing shadow seemed to hang over the Human locker room. There was almost no conversation, only the clicks and clacks of armor being removed and tossed into lockers. The shadow seemed deepest and most oppressive in front of the locker belonging to one Quentin Barnes, who sat on the bench, head hung, his gear still on.
He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Instead of doing what he was told, instead of giving the defense the chance to win the game, he’d stupidly gone for the kill and wound up losing.
Yassoud came out of the nano-shower dressed only in a towel. His right shoulder was one solid bruise, angry blue and painful purple beneath his light brown skin. He saw Quentin, head hung low, and walked over.
“How you doin’, champ?”
Quentin looked up without lifting his head, then returned his gaze to the floor. His tongue played with the painful spot where his right front tooth had once been. “Leave me alone.”
“Hey, you threw a pick, it happens.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. Hokor called a run play, I au-dibled.”
“So?”
“So? What do you mean, so? I cost us the game.”
Yassoud shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. A lot of factors went into that loss. The defense gave up ten points in the third quarter. You threw an interception. It was a team loss, Q.”
Quentin shook his head. “It was my game to win, and I blew it.”
Yassoud patted him on the shoulder. “That’s nothing a night on the town won’t cure, my friend. Let’s go out and drink away our sorrows!”
Quentin stood and started unbuckling his armor. “No thanks. I’ve got to get back to my room and study some holo.”
“Hey, man, you’ve got to take a break sometime.”
“I’ll take a break after we win.”
Yassoud gave a little smile that seemed to say suit yourself, then returned to his locker.
He was the only one that spoke to Quentin that night. The others simply ignored him.
WEEK TWO LEAGUE ROUNDUP (Courtesy of Galaxy Sports network)
Condor Adrienne continued his hot streak, throwing for 342 yards and four touchdowns as the Whitok Pioneers (2-0) notched a 26-12 win over the Bigg Diggers (1-1).
The Sheb Stalkers (1-1) put one in the win column with a 18-16 thriller over the Sky Demolition (0-2). Kicker Bernard Alexander rocked home a 51-yard field goal as time expired to give the Stalkers the victory.
An injury to star quarterback Donald Pine let the Grontak Hydras (1-1) pull out an upset win over the Ionath Krakens (1-1). Defensive back Wichita picked off a fourth-quarter pass from Krakens’ rookie Quentin Barnes and returned it for a touchdown, giving the Hydras a 24-23 win.
Orbiting Death (2-0) continues to look strong, notching a convincing 35-21 win over the Woo Wallcrawlers (0-2). Ju Tweedy rushed for 121 yards and two TDs in the win, but also fumbled three times resulting in two turnovers.
The Glory Warpigs (2-0) remained tied for first thanks to a narrow 17-14 win over the Quyth Survivors (0-2). Keluang, Wellington and Alamo each grabbed an interception as the Warpigs held the Survivors to 102 yards passing, and 182 yards total offense.
DEATHS:
No deaths to report this week.
WEEK #2 PLAYERS OF THE WEEK:
Offense: Ju Tweedy, running back, Orbiting Death. 121 yards on 23 carries, two TDs.
Defense: Wichita, cornerback, Grontak Hydras. 9 tackles, 2 sacks, 1 forced fumble, 1 fumble recovery, 1 INT, returned for a TD.
GAME THREE: Ionath Krakens (1-1) at Whitok Pioneers (2-0)
QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS
HALF-DRESSED FOR PRACTICE and head hung low, Quentin trudged into the center dressing room. Hokor had summoned him to his office. Quentin had never felt like such a failure. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Pissed it away because he still didn’t understand how fast things moved in the GFL. Logically, he understood, sure, but subliminally, at that primitive level where thought ceased and instinct took over, where split-second decisions were made, he just didn’t get it.
Quentin’s tongue played against the back of the thin plastic that lined his front teeth. Doc said it would take the rest of the day to finish growing the tooth. The working nanocytes tingled in his gums.
Was Hokor just benching him again, or was he giving him a one-way ticket back to the Purist Nation? Quentin we
nt to buzz the door, but it was already open, waiting for him like an execution chamber. He hesitated a moment, then stepped inside.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
Hokor’s pedipalp waved him in. The coach stood in the middle of the floor, staring into a holo of the Whitok Pioneers 32-14 win over the Bigg Diggers. The holo was set to one-third size, making a six-foot-tall player project at two-feet high, just a bit shorter than Hokor.
“Have a seat, Quentin.”
Quentin did as he was told. A pallor seemed to hang over his soul. He hadn’t felt this way since the orphanage nuns had caught him eating food, eating more than his share by far. He’d tried to lie his way out of it, only making the nuns’ wrath all the more severe. That had been his first public whipping, tied up in the city square, with hundreds watching as Sister Akira gave him fifteen lashes. It was the longest day of a seven-year-old’s life.
Hokor said nothing. On the field, the Diggers lined up in a three wide receiver set with a tight end and a single running back. The defense closed in, showing tight woman-to-woman. Hokor paused the game. He worked the controls so that the field spun until Quentin was behind the offensive line.
“What do you see?”
“They’re showing woman-to-woman, but I think they’re set up for a cover-two.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The right corner’s eyes are in the offensive backfield. If it was pure woman-to-woman, she’d be more concerned with the receiver in front of her.”
Hokor nodded once. “Very good. And if that was you, and I’d called a post-cross, what would you audible?”
Quentin stared at the field. His heart sank in his chest. He started to answer, then stopped, his mind suddenly blank.
“I wouldn’t audible anything. I’ve had enough audibling for awhile.”
Hokor again nodded just once. “If I put you in the game again, will you run the plays I call?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. You’re starting this week.”
Quentin stared, dumbfounded.
“Surely your backwater ears understand what I’m telling you. You’re starting this week.”
“But ... but I lost the game.”
“Yes, you did. And you lost it because you didn’t do what I told you to do. But this week, you will do what I tell you to do.”
Quentin nodded.
“Pine is out this week and next,” Hokor said. “The broken bone ruptured an artery. I don’t think you’re ready, but you give us the best chance of winning. The Pioneers have a good secondary but only a moderate pass rush — your mobility should be enough to keep you from getting sacked. We’re 1-and-1, Quentin, we’ve got to win this game! The Pioneers are 2-and-0 and very tough. I need you to run a tight, ball-control offense so we can get a lead and chew up the clock.”
“Yes, sir,” Quentin said, wondering if a man could die from excitement.
“I need a strong week of practice from you. You’re going to lead this team to a win.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. We practice here today, then it’s a two day flight to Whitok. That gives us two days of practice on the ship, and two days at Whitok Stadium. There’s a big time change, we’ll be playing late at night our time, so we need to be extra sharp. Let’s have a good practice.”
Quentin stood and practically sprinted out of the room. Starting! His first GFL start! He’d thought himself out of a job, but Hokor was giving him the reins. He’d learned his lesson — this time he’d play it Hokor’s way.
As he headed towards the main tunnel, Denver came out of the Sklorno locker room.
“I speak please,” she said.
Quentin started to ignore the Sklorno receiver and keep walking, but something made him stop. “What do you want?”
“I shame myself when we speak last. I only offer help.”
“I didn’t appreciate Pine’s sense of humor.”
“Not understand,” Denver said. “I serve, run routes and catch passes so your greatness increase. Please forgive, I mean no sacrilege, only praise. Praise for Quentin Barnes. I help make you greater?”
She was asking him again, this disgusting cricket was asking him again if he needed her help. Quentin felt the flush of embarrassed rage start to spill over him once again — then something odd happened. His mind flashed back to the Hydras game, to the last play. The sheer speed of Wichita — if he’d just thrown to Hawick the second he saw her open, would he have completed the pass? He’d waited a half-second, and that had been too long. There was no getting around the fact that he’d lost because he still wasn’t used to Sklorno speed.
His anger faded away. Denver wasn’t being rude, Denver was being honest. Quentin’s game wasn’t as sharp as it needed to be. But still, he’d figure it out, and without help from a cricket.
“Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,” Quentin said, surprised to hear his voice come out normal, not snotty and hateful.
Denver backed away, slinking back into the Sklorno locker room. Quentin didn’t know much about alien behavior, but Denver seemed like she’d just been severely rebuked for some untoward behavior.
Quentin turned and ran out the tunnel. He didn’t have time to worry about it. He had a game to win.
• • •
FROM SPACE, Whitok’s upper atmosphere looked a lime green. As the shuttle sliced into the soupy air, Quentin saw the all-encompassing cloud cover was actually a sulphurous yellow. The blazing light of the blue star at the center of the Whitok system reflected off the yellow outer atmosphere, the two colors combining for a peaceful green. That peaceful sensation faded away as the shuttle dove towards the planet: the closer they came to the surface, the darker it became. Miles-long bursts of lightning rippled through the dark sky, illuminating the ubiquitous clouds in milky-yellow explosions of light. Within minutes of the descent, all sunlight faded away, the shuttle coursing through Whitok’s perpetual twilight.
“Is it always this dark?” Quentin asked Shizzle, who fluttered about the small cabin.
“Is, and has been for the last 145 years,” Shizzle said. The little creature fluttered to a stop on Quentin’s shoulder.
“Find your own seat, pal,” Quentin said as he gently brushed Shizzle away. The Creterakian fluttered twice, then landed on the seat’s armrest.
“The Sklorno navy used relativity bombs on Whitok in 2524. They fired about fifty dense projectiles at near-light speeds. At that speed, the projectiles literally punched right through the core and out the other side. The entry and exit points alone were the sources of devastation like nothing the galaxy had ever seen, the shock-waves destroyed surface life for thousands of miles in all directions. But the projectiles also mixed up Whitok’s inner molten nickel core, and the outer layer of molten iron. That caused huge shifts in the tectonic plates. Whitok suffered decades of massive quakes and volcanoes. Gasses from the core filled the atmosphere, killing any life that survived the initial impacts.
“Whitok’s climate was forever changed. It was seventy-five years before the tectonic plates settled into relative stability. The key word is relative, mind you, because the surface is still plagued with volcanoes that reach as high as five miles into the air. Some estimate it will be another five-hundred to a thousand years before the crust settles completely and the volcanoes become dormant.”
“How come Ionath isn’t like that? The Sklorno also sat-bombed Ionath, right?”
“They did, but they didn’t use relativity bombs, which caused so much damage to Whitok that they’ve never been used again. The results even scared the Sklorno, who wondered if such destructive weapons might someday be utilized against their home-world. For future wars, they instead developed the massive nuclear bombs that were used on Ionath and Gritchlik.”
“Wow,” Quentin said. “That was awfully nice of them.”
“They are a one-minded species,” Shizzle said. “They’re part of the reason we Creterakians took over. We feared that if left to yourselves, the w
arlike races of Human, Ki, Harrah and especially Sklorno might completely exterminate one another.”
Quentin looked out the window at the blank darkness. “Save me the lecture, Shizzle. I’ve heard it all before.”
“The amazing thing is that despite the almost complete destruction of Whitok, and the fact that the planet is among the most hostile places in the galaxy, the Quyth managed to successfully develop permanent cities. Ah, we’re coming out of the clouds now — behold, the Port of Whitok.”
Quentin pressed against the view port, eager to see his second alien city. As the lightless clouds thinned to nothing, however, he briefly wondered if he’d been tricked — it looked like a smaller version of his new home. The domed downtown looked the same, and the roads radiated out in the familiar spoke-like pattern.
“It looks like Ionath City,” Quentin said.
“The Port of Whitok was built well after the success of Ionath and Gritchlik,” Shizzle said. “The Quyth’s first pioneers landed fifty-one years after the relativity bombing, but the planet’s surface was still so violent they could barely survive. It was another fifty years before they built an actual port that allowed large-craft landings, so the city is really only about sixty years old.”
The shuttle swooped down towards the huge dome. Just like Ionath City, the dome’s surface seemed to open just for the speeding shuttle. Inside the dome, right at the city center, sat a perfectly round stadium.
“It looks bigger than ours,” Quentin said.
“EA&M Stadium,” Shizzle said. “Seats 181,500, every game is a sellout. There’s no sunlight on the planet’s surface, which hinders outdoor activities. There’s not much to do, so beings on Whitok take football very seriously.”
“More seriously than Ionath?”
“Last week there were five murders involving tickets for the game against the Bigg Diggers.”
The shuttle banked a landing pad atop a building attached to the stadium. Even the buildings looked very similar to Ionath City’s. As the vehicle lowered for the landing, Quentin stared out the window at the field. Here the surface wasn’t blue, but a pale yellow with black lines and numbers. He had read up on the stadium in his effort to prepare as completely as possible — the plant that made up the field was reportedly a bit oily, making for poor traction and quickly stained uniforms.