THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

by Scott Sigler

  Gredok stared at Quentin. The owner was probably looking for some tell, some sign that would betray Quentin’s motivations, but Quentin wasn’t a rookie anymore and this wasn’t a crazy situation like that contract negotiation with Danny the Dolphin. Quentin had learned how to control himself, how to put on a poker face that not even Gredok could see through.

  “All right,” Gredok said. “Barnes, you may go. Hokor and I will inform you of our decision.”

  Quentin nodded, then walked out of Hokor’s office.

  • • •

  QUENTIN SAT IN HIS QUARTERS on the Touchback, waving through the Hittoni roster on his holotank. The Hullwalkers were 0-and-3, but the Cloud Killers loss provided ample evidence that records didn’t really matter.

  The Hullwalkers defensive secondary was young and inexperienced. They had rookies at safety and left cornerback, while strong safety Sharapovo was in just her second year. Their veteran right cornerback, Livry-Gargon, was a force to be reckoned with, but she would be locked on Hawick. Milford and Halawa would draw coverage from the rookies, which meant either of them could have a huge game.

  On top of that, the Hullwalkers were ranked twentieth out of twenty-two teams against the run. Quentin could rely on Ju’s legs, knowing that the passing game would be wide open if and when the Hullwalkers committed to stopping the ground game.

  The visitor alarm buzzed.

  “Who is it?”

  [GEORGE STARCHER AT YOUR DOOR]

  Quentin rubbed his eyes, checked the time display. He’d been buried in study for the last ... four hours? Time flew when you were focused. He moved through the roster to call up the Hullwalkers linebackers. They would be covering Starcher most of the game.

  “Let him in.”

  George walked into the room, his face painted pure red. His eyes blazed wide and white. He was carrying his towel.

  “Heya, George. Come on in.”

  George took one step in, then stopped, shook his head. “I ... I should not invade your domicile.”

  “Okay, no invasion necessary,” Quentin said. “What’s a domicile, again?”

  “Your apartment, your place of residence, your personal connection to the land of slumber and dark-mist that allows your soul to reside on many planes of existence.”

  “Oh. Right. That domicile. Okay, whatever. Come on in, man.”

  George shook his head again. “I came to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  George closed his eyes and looked down.

  Quentin understood.

  “For dropping the ball? George, that was last week. Don’t worry about it.”

  “But I lost the game.”

  “We lost the game, buddy. There were a dozen plays that could have gone either way. We’ll get it back in tomorrow’s game. The Hullwalkers can’t stop you. Make it up to me then.”

  George looked up, stared. “Then, you don’t want my towel?”

  He offered the orange-and-black plaid cloth. Quentin looked at it, saw how it was streaked with not only red but other colors, remnants of Crazy George Starcher’s bizarre face-painting habit.

  “Uh, thanks, but no,” Quentin said. “You keep it.”

  George stared, then smiled a little. He turned and walked out. The door automatically shut behind him.

  “They don’t call you Crazy George for nothing,” Quentin said quietly. He walked back to his couch and continued studying the linebackers. Any one of them could have a standout performance, blitz and beat the blocks, knock Quentin out of the game. Kitiara Lomax, the middle linebacker, he was the most dangerous. Despite his team’s three losses, Lomax was having an All-Pro season. He’d actually picked up speed in the off-season — the data showed he’d gone from a 4.2 forty-yard dash to 4.0. Quentin had to memorize everything, prepare for anything.

  The visitor alarm sounded again.

  “George! I don’t want your towel!”

  [RICK WARBURG AT YOUR DOOR]

  Warburg? Quentin sighed. This couldn’t be good.

  “Let him in.”

  The door opened. Rick walked in. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that had to be a size too small.

  “What do you want, Warburg?”

  Rick looked at Quentin, then at the holotank. “Lomax?”

  Quentin nodded.

  “You know he ran a four-flat in the off-season?”

  Quentin paused, then nodded a second time. It wasn’t like Rick to know that level of detail.

  Rick gestured to the open space on Quentin’s couch. “If you’re studying the Hullwalkers, can I join you?”

  “No,” Quentin said. “No, Rick, you can’t join me. What do you want?”

  Warburg’s eyes narrowed. “I want to talk to you about throwing me the damn ball.”

  Quentin shrugged. “I hit the open player.”

  “Like hell you do. I was wide open against the Killers and you ignored me. You got sacked instead of throwing to me.”

  Quentin yawned and leaned back. “I don’t remember.”

  “You remember everything.” Warburg took a deep breath and let it out slow. This was hard for him. Good.

  “I need catches,” he said. “Look, I’m in a free agent year.”

  “So you’ve told me.”

  “I need the rock. I worked my ass off for this season. I’m not asking for anything special, just hit me when I’m open. I mean, not passing to me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Makes sense to me. Maybe you have Hokor fooled, but I see right through you.”

  Warburg’s hands balled up into fists. “Right through me? What are you talking about? I want off this team and you want me off this team.”

  “You want that to happen? Then you get over yourself, you bond with your teammates.”

  “That’s against Purism!”

  “Then to hell with Purism!”

  The words were out of Quentin’s mouth before he even knew he was saying them. Was that how he felt now? He still believed in the High One, but he didn’t practice Purism anymore — did he have the right to pass judgment on others who did?

  Yes. He did have that right. Because Purism was wrong.

  Warburg smiled, an evil-looking thing full of helpless rage. “No matter what the Sklorno think, you are not god, Barnes. You’re just an orphan miner.”

  “Oh, is that what I am?”

  Rick shook his head and held up his hands. “No, sorry, that’s not what I mean. I just mean that you don’t get to decide people’s lives and—”

  “Hit the road,” Quentin said. “This conversation is over.”

  Rick fell silent. He stared with a hatred that Quentin easily matched. Quentin lifted his right hand and pointed at the open door. Warburg’s lip curled briefly into a snarl, then he turned and left.

  The door shut behind him.

  “Computer,” Quentin said. “No more visitors. I have to study.”

  [YES, QUENTIN]

  Quentin sat on his couch and again started waving through the Hullwalkers players, refreshing his knowledge, memorizing new stats and trying to forget about Warburg’s words.

  You’re not god, Barnes.

  • • •

  THE SHIPYARD WAS EVERYTHING Quentin dreamed it would be. He’d seen the stadium from a luxury box, as a spectator. Now he was here to leave his mark, to take his glory, to step onto the bluelined, snow-white turf as a competitor and leave as the victor.

  The announcer called the Krakens onto the field. As he and his teammates ran out of the tunnel, orange away jerseys blazing bright against the white field, he heard the now-expected chorus of boos. It lacked the intensity of what he’d faced on Yall. Was his bad-boy stigma wearing off, or did they just not care as much in a place like the League of Planets? Or, more likely, a half-filled stadium didn’t generate as much noise as a full one. The Hullwalkers had yet to win a game this season. The home fans didn’t seem interested in coming out to watch their team get beat yet again.

  Quentin ran to the sidelines with his
teammates. He pushed away the thoughts of Hittoni’s record. The Krakens had prepared flawlessly with hard practices and after-hours study. Ionath had put in the wrench-time needed to make sure the Hullwalkers dropped to 0-and-4.

  • • •

  QUENTIN ROLLED LEFT, searching for targets. Like any scramble, his first instinct was to look for Starcher, but Crazy George couldn’t get open. Starcher had played poorly all game. Quentin had hit him only twice, once for 3 yards and once for 7. Not having George automatically find the open spot felt like playing without a hand.

  Hawick hadn’t broken off her route and Halawa was covered — no open receivers. Quentin tucked the ball and turned upfield, his feet gobbling up yards. He ran straight at Starcher, knowing the big tight end would see the run, turn and block his defender.

  But George didn’t see it.

  The Hullwalkers linebacker caught Quentin off-guard, laid him out. Quentin hit the ground, lost his wind. As he waited patiently for his breath to return, he was grateful he hadn’t fumbled. George was having an off game.

  “Barnes!” Hokor’s face popped up in his heads-up helmet holo. “What’s going on out there?”

  “Starcher,” Quentin said after the first delayed breath sucked haltingly into his lungs. “He’s ... off. Send in Kobayasho.”

  “Warburg is next on the depth chart.”

  Quentin slowly ran back to the huddle. “Yeah, Coach, but I think Kobayasho can get open better against these linebackers. Send him in.”

  “Your call,” Hokor said, then his fuzzy face blinked out.

  The Krakens were up 21-10 halfway through the third quarter and seemed to have the game in hand. Quentin had picked the Hullwalkers’ young secondary apart with touchdown strikes of 82 yards to Halawa and 11 yards to Becca. Quentin’s feet had also done their thing, carrying him for 52 yards rushing, including a 17-yard touchdown run.

  Now the Krakens just needed to avoid any mistakes, anything that might let the Hullwalkers back in the game.

  He reached the huddle. “George, you’re out.”

  Starcher’s eyes widened. He looked to the Ionath sidelines, saw Kobayasho running on. George then turned back to Quentin, an expression of hurt on his face. “You’re taking me out?”

  “For this drive,” Quentin said. “Take a breather, get your head in the game. Go.”

  Starcher’s gaze fell to the ground, then he jogged to the sidelines. Quentin didn’t know why the man seemed so ... devastated. It was just for a couple of drives.

  Kobayasho reached the huddle, a confident smile blazing across his bleach-white face. He was ready to play.

  Quentin clapped his hands three times. “Okay, boys and girls, we’re up by eleven. They’re keying on Ju, so we need to keep working the short passing game. Just stay focused, execute, we go home with a win. I-formation, X-wheel, Y-in, Z-post, play-action on three, on three. Ready?”

  “Break!”

  • • •

  LATE IN THE THIRD QUARTER, the Hullwalkers got back in the game the wrong way — with an injury. Hullwalkers QB Jeremy Osborne dropped back under pressure from Krakens defensive tackles Mum-O and Mai-An-Inkole, but Osborne was luring them in for a screen pass to HeavyG running back Simorgh Dinatale.

  Dinatale used her blockers, put a neat move on John Tweedy, then ran over backup linebacker Killik the Unworthy and headed for the end zone. Krakens cornerback Berea closed in fast, dove at Dinatale’s feet. Dinatale cut toward Berea, her armored knee smashing into the Sklorno’s helmeted head, snapping the head back as already-limp eyestalks trailed behind.

  Dinatale ran in for a touchdown, cutting the Krakens lead to 21-17.

  Berea didn’t get up.

  When Doc Patah floated out with the medsled, Quentin knew the Krakens had lost a starting cornerback and now had a serious problem.

  • • •

  THE SOLUTION TO THAT PROBLEM? Just hold onto the ball. The Krakens chewed up most of the fourth quarter with a grinding running game, using Ju, Yassoud and Becca to hammer along for 4, 5 and 6 yards a carry. On a third and goal from the 6, Quentin ran a pro-set naked boot right. The defense bought the fake — he jogged into the end zone for the touchdown.

  Extra point good: Krakens up 28-17.

  • • •

  QUENTIN SLID HIS HANDS under Bud-O-Shwek. Ju was only a half-foot from Quentin’s right shoulder, Becca Montagne only a half-foot from his left. Kobayasho at right tight end, Warburg at left.

  The Victory Formation.

  One more snap to finish the game.

  “Hut-hut!”

  The ball slapped into Quentin’s hands. He dropped to one knee, heard the refs’ whistles, then watched the final 15 seconds tick off the scoreboard. Most of the Hullwalker fans had already left — the place looked nearly empty, save for a couple of thousand orange-and black-clad crazies celebrating in the stands.

  The Krakens had bounced back from their loss to the Cloud Killers. At 3-and-1, they were still only a game out of first place. The win didn’t come without questions, however. George hadn’t been himself and if Berea was out for next week — or longer — the defensive secondary was in a lot of trouble. Quentin wasn’t that worried about Crazy George, who had proven himself time and time again last year. As for the secondary, maybe a trade to bring in another cornerback?

  He thought of Hokor’s desire to trade Pine. That would do the trick. It would bring in key defensive talent, but it would also reward Pine for his horrible actions. No way. The secondary would straighten things out. Quentin would put in extra practice time with them and make sure of it.

  Pine would never start again. Ever, for any team.

  GFL WEEK FOUR ROUNDUP

  Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network

  BYE WEEKS: Themala Dreadnaughts, Bord Brigands

  AND THEN THERE were three — three undefeated teams, that is.

  The Neptune Scarlet Fliers (4-0) took sole possession of first place in the Solar Division with a 35-0 annihilation of the Texas Earthlings (0-4). Neptune quarterback Adam Guri threw for four touchdowns against the depleted Earthlings’ secondary, which has lost three starters to injury in recent weeks.

  Jupiter (3-1) fell out of the undefeated ranks, dropping to the Yall Criminals (2-2) by a surprisingly lopsided score of 52-24. The game marked the return of Criminals QB Rick Renaud, who missed two games due to a vicious hit by Krakens defensive tackle Mum-O-Killowe. Renaud threw for four touchdowns and ran for another as he got back into the hunt for league MVP honors.

  In the Planet Division, both the To Pirates and defending champion Wabash Wolfpack remain at 4-0. Wabash avoided an upset, edging out the tough Lu Juggernauts (0-4) by a score of 17-10. The Pirates had an easier time of it with a 28-7 win against the Orbiting Death (2-2).

  Ionath recovered from last week’s upset with a 28-17 road win at Hittoni (0-4). Krakens running back Ju Tweedy rushed for 135 yards on 20 carries, while quarterback Quentin Barnes scored all four Ionath touchdowns — two in the air and two on the ground. The win puts Ionath in a tie for second with the Isis Ice Storm, who won a tough 23-17 back-and-forth game against Coranadillana.

  Is it too soon to start thinking about relegation candidates? Not if you play for Hittoni or Lu, both of which are winless at the bottom of the Planet Division. In the Solar, the winless Earthlings have company with D’Kow and Sala, both of which are 1-3.

  Deaths

  No deaths reported this week.

  Offensive Player of the Week

  Yall Criminals quarterback Rick Renaud, who went 24-of-30 for 342 yards and four passing touchdowns, as well as running in one touchdown on a 5-yard scamper.

  Defensive Player of the Week

  Orbiting Death linebacker Yalla the Biter, who had seven solo tackles and two sacks in a losing effort against the To Pirates.

  15

  WEEK FIVE:

  ALIMUM ARMADA

  at IONATH KRAKENS

  PLANET DIVISION

  4-0 To Pirates

  4-0 Wabash Wo
lfpack

  3-1 Ionath Krakens

  3-1 Isis Ice Storm

  2-1 Themala Dreadnaughts (bye)

  2-2 OS1 Orbiting Death

  2-2 Yall Criminals

  1-3 Alimum Armada

  1-3 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

  0-4 Hittoni Hullwalkers

  0-4 Lu Juggernauts

  SOLAR DIVISION

  4-0 Neptune Scarlet Fliers

  3-1 Bartel Water Bugs

  3-1 Jupiter Jacks

  2-2 Jang Atom Smashers

  2-2 New Rodina Astronauts

  2-2 Shorah Warlords

  2-2 Vik Vanguard

  1-2 Bord Brigands (bye)

  1-3 D’Kow War Dogs

  1-3 Sala Intrigue

  0-4 Texas Earthlings

  Excerpt from Earth: Birthplace of Sentients

  written by Zippy the Voracious

  From Chapter Three, Oceans Alive, Oceans Dead

  The first intelligence augmentation of cetaceans resulted in one of history’s most storied scientific failures. In 2098, the work of Brock Bietz produced four long-beaked common dolphins (Delphinus capensis) that showed strong indications of sentience. What began as a possible landmark achievement ended in tragedy, however, when the four dolphins began attacking Human researchers in an apparent attempt to escape the research facility and enter the open ocean. A short-but-brutal battle ensued. Three of the four dolphins died, as did nine Humans, Bietz included. A lone survivor filled the facility’s water with poison, killing the only remaining dolphin.

  The dolphins’ sentience was never proven. Blame for the disaster fell on Bietz and his shoddy research procedures. The field of cetacean sentience augmentation lay mostly fallow for fifty years, until Bietz’s son, Albert, picked up where his father had left off.

  Dr. Al Bietz developed several advances that built on his father’s genetic work. One of his key strategies was in speech, modifying the dolphins’ sound-producing ability as well as creating translation hardware and software that allowed Human-compatible speech.

  Albert’s twenty-year program came to fruition in 2167, when he declared that his project had achieved true dolphin sentience. Albert called the species Delphinus albietz. He named his three test subjects Huey, Dewey and Louie. In dramatic form, he held a global, interactive telecast, inviting reporters to interview the three male albietzes. In that interview, it became quickly apparent to any but the most dedicated denialists that Huey, the “spokesman,” was no computer graphic, no puppet, but rather an intelligent, clever, self-aware being (Huey also repeatedly declared a fondness for salmon over halibut and showed a proclivity for telling mildly humorous jokes about bird droppings).