The Champion
Page 48
“Barnes, are you telling me that you don’t care if—”
“Gredok, am I in or am I out?”
The red swirled again, then faded. “You are in.”
Quentin slid off the table. “Great. I’ll let Coach Hokor know. See you later, Gredok, I’m going to watch footage of Wabash.”
He walked out of the medical facility. He should have been elated; he was happy, sure, but not as much as he would have thought. That battle cruiser was a single ship against the Creterakian navy, and it was going to burn. No question about it. The bats wouldn’t stand for anything else. How many Harrah on that ship? Five hundred? A thousand?
There was no question that the battle cruiser’s crew knew rebelling would mean their death, yet they rebelled anyway, probably to become martyrs for a greater uprising.
Such sacrifice. He couldn’t get his head around it.
Maybe he’d give it some thought later, maybe talk to Becca about it, maybe Jeanine.
And, maybe, Michael Kimberlin.
But for now, he had a job to do.
Gloria Ogawa, you already hate the Krakens. Come Sunday night, you’re going to hate us even more.
HE DIDN’T JUST SEE everything, he saw more than everything.
Quentin tried to stay calm. That was hard to do, because he felt like the universe had just opened up all of its secrets. He’d always been good at monitoring the defense as the game progressed. He looked for tells, mentally cataloging bits of data: the position of feet to the bends of knees; the way some linebackers flexed their fingers before a blitz; the tendency of Sklorno defensive backs to look away from their receivers with three eyes instead of two if they were in zone coverage; visually clocking the speed of every player and processing the rate at which they slowed down as the game wore on ... all those data points and a thousand more. He’d been good at it, sure, but this?
On the last play, something had happened ... something wonderful. He saw the entire field in front of him; not a spot or an area, but all of it, a hundred eighty degrees of full awareness. He saw the players, knew their state of exhaustion by how fast they breathed in and out, knew which ones still had gas in the tank and which ones were spent. He saw the turf itself, a hundred chewed-up divots his feet needed to avoid so he could maximize his speed.
His brain re-ran the sixty-two offensive plays the Krakens had run that evening, re-ran them all at the same time. It should have been an avalanche of information, of hallucination, a data overload that should have had him drooling and screaming in insanity, but it wasn’t like that. He processed all those plays at once, he saw the motion of his team and the way the defense moved in response. Plays weren’t even plays — they were choreographed dances: I move, you move, I step, you step.
Xs and Os ceased to exist. He saw movements as paths of light, where players were going and when they would arrive, possible branches flaming to life or fading out based on that constant I move, you move dance. He saw patterns, he saw tendencies, he saw probabilities.
Even when the defense tried to be unpredictable, they did so in a predictable way. Football wasn’t a random, chaotic clash of elements; it was science ... science with reproducible results.
A lifetime of practice and repetition and games, of endless study and analysis, it all coalesced, became a dense mass of knowledge that ignited in a Big Bang of ultimate understanding. He had transformed — Quentin had become a living computer the likes of which Petra Prawatt could only dream.
“Q?”
Becca was at his side, her helmet battered, her orange jersey bloodied. Quentin realized he’d been just standing there, staring up into the stadium lights and the stars in the night sky. There was no noise, just the humming of the universe and the voice of the woman he loved.
“Q,” Becca said, “snap out of it.”
Ju leaned in, face scowling, steam wafting up from his sweaty face.
“He’s high,” Ju said. “Like, mega-high. Nice timing, Q. Ma’s gonna be so disappointed.”
“Shut up,” Becca said. “He’s not high.”
Quentin knew he wasn’t high because he didn’t do drugs, hadn’t taken any painkillers. Had he been smacked in the head too many times? Was he crazy now, like George when the tight end was off his meds? No, not crazy, either, because the lines of power that Quentin saw, the way his mind processed so much data all at once, it worked. He wasn’t imagining this. He couldn’t explain it but it was real, and it was pure power.
Becca reached up and gripped Quentin’s facemask, gently forced him to look at her.
“Q, time to come back from la-la land. Right now, or I’ll have to call a timeout.”
A timeout? No, they needed those.
Reality slammed back home, and with it came the constant roar of the crowd. They were standing on the black-lined cream-colored field of Wabash Stadium. The Wolfpack was up by three, sixteen seconds to play in the game. First down and ten on the Wolfpack 28-yard line. Quentin had just scrambled for 32 yards. But the game wasn’t over, not yet, not until he put that ball in the end zone.
“Huddle up,” he said.
Becca pointed to her left. The huddle was already formed. Eight more Krakens were watching him, waiting, shifting in place, wondering what was going on.
“Oh, right,” Quentin said.
His heads-up display popped out of his helmet.
“Barnes! Will you stop grab-assing out there? Here’s what we’ll—”
Quentin reached up, snapped off the display and tossed it aside. He liked Hokor. The coach was crazy, but Quentin liked him. Quentin didn’t need Coach’s little voice distracting him at that moment, because (the patterns, I can still see the patterns, I step, you step) he knew exactly what to do.
“Pro-set spread-right shotgun, X streak, Y hook, Z slant-and-go. Denver, on that slant-and-go, you’re going to draw double-coverage from Gladwin and Mississauga, stay on your route — they’ve been tracking my eyes and I’ll look them both off. On three, on three, ready?”
“Wait,” Becca said. “Q, you didn’t give Ju a pattern.”
“He won’t need one.”
Ju looked confused. “You want me to block?”
“Yes, just block. On three, on three, ready?”
“Break”
Quentin lined up five yards behind Bud-O, Becca a yard to his right, Ju a yard to his left. He was aware that if he wanted a blocking back, he should have called for Yassoud, but there were glowing lines on the field and Quentin knew exactly how long this would take — the defense wouldn’t have time to get past even Ju’s crappy blocking.
Lines radiated from each and every Wolfpack player, showing Quentin where they would go at the snap of the ball.
I step, you step.
Behind black masks, Wabash faces blazed with intensity and promised violence. The black-and-white-trimmed snarling red wolf heads stared out from either side of their red helmets. Like Becca’s uniform, the Wolfpack’s black jerseys showed the marks of battle: rips and tears, blood and dirt on the red-trimmed, pearlescent-white numbers and letters, the same stains on white-trimmed red wolf head logos snarling on their right shoulders. Dirt, blood and scratches marred once-pristine pearlescent leg armor and shoes.
The Wolfpack was hungry for the win against their main rival, had to have it to stay in playoff contention.
Too bad for them.
They had lined up in the perfect defense to counter Quentin’s play, but he didn’t need to audible; he knew where the defenders would go, knew how they would react.
“Blue, sixteen! Blue, sixteeeeeen. Hut-hut... hut!”
The ball flipped back to him, glowing like a miniature sun. It hit his hands. He felt every pebble of leather, the grain of the laces. He could almost feel the air trapped inside.
Lines of power vibrated across the field, every player, every path, every possibility.
Quentin looked downfield, saw Denver angling from right to left on her slant pattern. As he’d predicted, she was double-covered by
cornerback Gladwin and safety Mississauga, but that didn’t matter ... Quentin knew exactly where his friend would run, how she would turn, how she would jump.
He locked on, watched, glanced left (Halawa on the left side, streaking downfield on a route as straight as an arrow) then right (Starcher hooking up fifteen yards downfield).
When Quentin glanced at Starcher, Gladwin, the corner, turned her shoulders ever so slightly toward the tight end, just enough to make her fall a quarter-step behind Denver at the exact moment Denver changed her pattern from a slant to a slant-and-go.
Quentin’s friend and favorite receiver cut downfield, parallel to the sidelines, burning past Mississauga and leaving Gladwin behind. The ball came out of Quentin’s hand with barely any arc, a blistering straight line that punished the air around it.
Denver’s eyestalks looked back a yard before the goal line. Gladwin saw her looking, turned back for the ball, but it was too late. Mississauga didn’t even have time to do that.
The ball slid between the two defenders, through a closing hole of bodies and tentacles that wasn’t more than a millimeter wider than the ball itself. It hit Denver so hard that she fell backward across the goal line, her tentacles gripped tightly around the pigskin.
Touchdown.
Most of the crowd booed. Ionath 27, Wabash 24, eight seconds to play with the extra point still to come.
Quentin stood there, feeling the voice of each fan, the footsteps of each player. He was a part of the universe; the universe was a part of him. He jogged off the field, a wide smile pulling at his eyes and making his cheeks rise up.
“Q,” Becca said, falling in at his left, “you sure you’re okay? Is it your head?”
“As a kite,” Ju said, falling in at his right. “I told you — so high.”
“My head is fine,” Quentin said. “In fact, I’ve never felt better.”
GFL WEEK TWELVE ROUNDUP
Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network
Home
Away
Alimum Armada
14
Coranadillana Cloud Killers
13
Buddha City Elite
35
D’Oni Coelacanths
3
Wabash Wolfpack
24
Ionath Krakens
28
Shorah Warlords
21
Isis Ice Storm
7
Themala Dreadnaughts
14
Orbiting Death
27
Yall Criminals
42
To Pirates
10
Sheb Stalkers
21
Bartel Water Bugs
17
Jupiter Jacks
14
Bord Brigands
10
Jang Atom Smashers
14
D’Kow War Dogs
17
Neptune Scarlet Fliers
21
McMurdo Murderers
7
Vik Vanguard
21
Texas Earthlings
24
With only a single game left in the 2686 regular season, there is one playoff spot remaining, two teams still to be relegated, and one division title up for grabs.
Only one title, because Ionath (11-0) locked up the Planet Division and moved one game closer to a perfect regular season, thanks to a 28-24 win over archrival Wabash (5-6). Quentin Barnes returned at quarterback after missing Week 11 with an injury. Barnes threw only 20 times for 180 yards with two touchdown passes, the second of which was a game-winning 28-yarder to Denver. Ionath coach Hokor the Hookchest used Barnes sparingly, opting instead to utilize a power running game with the twin-back assault of Ju Tweedy and Yassoud Murphy. Tweedy rushed for 112 yards and a touchdown. Murphy picked up 97 yards and a TD on the ground, along with 42 receiving yards and a touchdown reception.
The victory gives the Krakens home-field advantage for the two games of the divisional playoffs. OS1 (10-1) is a game behind Ionath, but since the Krakens beat the Death in Week 10, Ionath owns the head-to-head tiebreaker should both teams end the regular season at 11-1.
OS1 and Yall (9-2) both notched wins, increasing their momentum as they head into the post-season.
The final spot in the Planet playoff picture grew muddier. The To Pirates (6-5) lost 42-10 to Yall, allowing Buddha City (6-5) to move into a tie for fourth place following the Elite’s 35-3 win over D’Oni (0-11). Buddha City’s Week 10 victory over the Pirates gives them the head-to-head tiebreaker, which means the Elite are in the playoffs if they win next week against Alimum. To needs to win their regular-season finale against host McMurdo, and also needs Buddha City to lose to the Armada.
If Buddha City loses, To wins and either (or both) Isis (5-6) and Wabash win, it will create a more complicated tiebreaker due to a convoluted head-to-head situation. This means that Isis and Wabash are not yet mathematically eliminated.
In the Solar Division, Jupiter moved into sole possession of first place with their ninth straight victory, 14-10 over Bord (4-7). If Jupiter wins its Week 13 game against Texas, the Jacks clinch the division and secure home-field advantage for the divisional playoffs.
Texas (7-4) upset Vik (8-3) by a score of 24-21 to lock up the fourth and final Solar Division playoff spot. Vik has already qualified for the playoffs.
Even if the Earthlings lose their Week 13 game, they have beaten both Sheb (6-5) and Neptune (6-5) earlier in the season. This gives Texas the head-to-head tiebreaker.
“We’ve reached the playoffs for the second year in a row,” said Earthlings linebacker Alonzo Castro. “That’s an accomplishment, but we’re not done. Last year we lost in the first round. This year, we have to get past that.”
Relegation Watch
The two last-place teams in the Planet and the two last-place teams in the Solar lost their Week 12 outings, which means everything comes down to the final regular-season game.
In the Planet Division, Coranadillana (1-10) hosts D’Oni — the winner remains in Tier One, the loser gets relegated.
In the Solar, if Jang (2-9) wins at home against Sheb, the Atom Smashers remain in Tier One. If Jang loses and McMurdo upsets visiting To, the Murderers will survive their first season at the top and be back next year, while the Atom Smashers will fall to Tier Two.
Deaths
No deaths reported this week.
Offensive Player of the Week
Buddha City tight end Rick Warburg, who had 11 catches for 113 yards and three TDs against the Themala Dreadnaughts.
Defensive Player of the Week
Ionath defensive back Cormorant Bumberpuff, who had two interceptions and six solo tackles against Wabash.
46
Week Thirteen:
Themala Dreadnaughts at
Ionath Krakens
PLANET DIVISION
SOLAR DIVISION
11-0
y-Ionath Krakens
9-2
x-Jupiter Jacks
10-1
x-OS1 Orbiting Death
8-3
x-Bartel Water Bugs
9-2
x-Yall Criminals
8-3
x-Vik Vanguard
6-5
Buddha City Elite
7-4
x-Texas Earthlings
6-5
To Pirates
6-5
Neptune Scarlet Fliers
5-6
Isis Ice Storm
6-5
Sheb Stalkers
5-6
Wabash Wolfpack
5-6
D’Kow War Dogs
4-7
Alimum Armada
4-7
Bord Brigands
4-7
Themala Dreadnaughts
4-7
Shorah Warlords
1-10
Coranadillana Cloud Killers
2-9
Jang Atom Smashers
0-11
D’Oni Coelacanths
1-10
McMurdo Murderers
x = playoffs, y = division title, * = team has been relegated
THERE WERE THINGS MORE IMPORTANT than football. Quentin knew that now in a way he’d never really understood before. But one game from an undefeated regular season? Most of those “more important” things could wait just a little while longer.
One of those things, however — family — was easy to handle even while preparing for the game. All it took was a big old mess of delivery food and an apartment packed full of people.
John and Ju had brought Ma to Quentin’s place in the Krakens Building. Fred had come as well, thanks to Gredok living up to the promise that the man could come and go as he pleased. Jeanine just had to take the elevator up a few floors.
“Quentin,” Ma said, “how’s the head?”
He finished chewing his mouthful of spiced clickerbugs before speaking.
“Ma, I keep telling you, I’m fine.”
Her little shoulders shrugged. “You never know. I love you, Quentin, but when it comes to staying in the game, you lie just like your brothers.”
“Aw, Ma,” John and Ju said in unison.
“Shushit,” Ma said. “Anyway, I hope you’re smart enough to put your brains ahead of your football. Besides, if you can’t play, your girlfriend did a hell of a job against those punks from Buddha City.”
Becca blushed, chow mein dangling from her paused chopsticks. “Thank you, Missus Tweedy.”
“Call me Ma,” Ma said with a wave of her hand. “After the Galaxy Bowl, I think I’ll be seeing more of you. Because Quentin will be coming over for dinner at least once a week, right, Quentin?”
“Yes, Ma,” he said.
“And you two are done arguing because you realize you love each other, right, Becca?”
“Yes, Ma,” Becca said. She was still blushing, but glanced at Quentin, one of those small smiles pulling at the corner of her mouth.