THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

by Scott Sigler

  Quentin stripped off his shoulder pads and chest armor, aware that Yassoud was slowly approaching.

  “Murphy, leave me be.”

  “Come on, Q. Don’t be like that. Practice is over. Let’s head out for a beer.”

  Quentin turned on him. “Leave ... me ... be.”

  Yassoud chewed on his lip, searching for the right words. There weren’t any.

  “Practice hasn’t been good,” he said quietly. “Quentin, I know you’re hurting, but it’s affecting your game. It’s affecting the team.”

  Quentin shrugged, then started on his shoes and leg armor. “Maybe it’s not me, ‘Soud. Maybe we’re just a bad team.”

  “Shuck that, Barnes. We’re two wins from the playoffs. We can beat Themala, we can beat Vik, but you have to get your head back in the game.”

  Quentin pulled a towel out of his locker, wrapped it around his waist. “That what you think, Murphy?”

  Yassoud nodded.

  “Yeah, well, you and about twenty others. And you’re all wrong.”

  For the last five days, his teammates had tried to talk to him before and after practice. He’d ignored them. They had tried to talk to him at meals, so he started eating meals in his Krakens building apartment. Then they tried to visit him there, an endless procession of friends that wanted to help him. Well, they couldn’t.

  Maybe his sister could. But he had no idea where she was. Why didn’t she come to him? Why didn’t Fred? Quentin could go looking, but where? His best bet was to keep doing what he’d always done, keep playing football — if they wanted to find him, they knew where he was.

  “Yassoud, just do your job. When we play the War Dogs, do your job and we’ll be fine. Don’t tell me my business.”

  “Oh, but you can tell everyone else their business? You’re the only one that can correct people?”

  Quentin shrugged. He wasn’t going to debate it. He walked out of the Human locker room and headed for the Ki baths. At least there no one would try to talk to him.

  • • •

  QUENTIN FORCED HIMSELF to stay under the surface in water so hot it stung his eyes through his closed eyelids. Water this hot probably wasn’t all that healthy. Something long and big and dangerous swam by, the swirling current reminding him that he was a guest here, that this was not his world. Probably Mum-O, the adolescent’s way of trying to reassure Quentin that the Ki stood behind him now and forever.

  When Quentin could hold his breath no longer, he let his head slide above the surface, exhaled a slow breath, then drew one that was even slower. Two backstrokes took him to the bath’s tiled edge.

  Quentin put his arms on the tile, let his feet float free in the black water. So dark in here. A high spout dumped a stream of hot water on his head. He let it splatter, breathed through an open mouth.

  He opened his eyes to stare at the packed ball of big Ki bodies, slowly twisting and writhing together at the pool’s center. Low lights played off of wet skin, the thousands of enamel pebbles that dotted it. Black eyes, snake-like bodies, hexagonal mouths — the multi-headed demon of a child’s nightmares.

  The Ki wasted little time with words. That was what Quentin needed right now — silence.

  So, of course, it was words that spoiled the moment.

  “Quentin?”

  Rebecca, on the other side of the pool. “Leave me be,” he said.

  She swam around the pile of Ki, careful to keep her chin on the water. She knew her nakedness made him uncomfortable.

  “Quentin, can I talk to you?”

  “No,” he said, “you can’t.”

  She paused, uncertain. That expression on her face — she was hurting for him. Well, he didn’t care.

  “Quentin, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but—”

  “Then don’t speak, Becca, and that won’t be a problem, now will it?”

  He saw her eyes narrow a little, harden a little. “Do you remember the little talk we had here last year?”

  Quentin sighed. Why couldn’t everyone just stay out of his face? “Yes, I remember.”

  “You told me to get over it,” she said. “I killed a sentient and you told me it was part of football.”

  “It was,” he said. “That has nothing to do with my situation.”

  “Quentin, we’re so close! What can we do to help you?”

  He felt his anger rising. He started to speak, but the sound of a small woman’s voice beat him to it.

  “You can get out, girlie. I need to talk to Quentin.”

  At the room’s entrance stood John Tweedy and his mother. John looked uncomfortable. Ma Tweedy looked the same as she always did, dressed in an orange and black Krakens jacket, shoulders up at her ears.

  Quentin’s face turned red, but he didn’t move — couldn’t a guy take a bath in private?

  Ma Tweedy pointed at Becca. “You, girlie—” she pointed to the entrance “—get out.” Ma Tweedy waited. Wide-eyed, Becca swam to the pool’s edge and climbed out. Quentin looked away, partially out of respect, partially out of embarrassment.

  He heard wet feet pattering on the tile floor, then the hiss of the door.

  “Sorry, Q,” John said. “Ma said she had to talk to you.” Quentin shook his head. “Ma Tweedy, this really isn’t the place for—”

  “Shut it,” she said. “And all you linemen. Out.”

  The ball of Ki squirmed a little faster. Mum-O slithered out of the pile, his twelve-foot-long body creating a serpentine wake as he swam toward the edge. He slid out of the water and rose up, arms spread, mouth open wide. He leaned in until his face was inches from Ma Tweedy’s.

  John took a step forward, hands clenching into fists, the look in his face showing he thought the situation had suddenly spun out of control. Ma Tweedy reached out and grabbed one of Mum-O’s speaking tubes. Mum-O flinched and let out a little squeal as she twisted it to the side. Quentin had a vision of Ma Tweedy grabbing the ears of misbehaving John and Ju.

  “Out,” she said, using her free hand to point to the door.

  She let go. Mum-O stared at her, rubbed at his vocal tube. Then Sho-Do-Thikit said a few syllables. All the Ki slithered through the water toward the door. As they left, Ma Tweedy turned to John.

  “And you,” she said.

  “But Ma! Quentin is my friend.”

  Ma Tweedy pointed to the door. John mumbled something, then turned and walked out.

  She turned her squinty gaze at Quentin. “Okay, Son, let’s talk. Time for you to grow up.”

  Fantastic. Now not only did his teammates think they had the right to correct him, so did this woman that he barely knew.

  “Ma Tweedy, I’m already grown up. I don’t need a lecture.”

  “You’re not and you do,” she said. “Age don’t mean crap. That man lied about being your daddy and that’s terrible.”

  Hearing those words stirred up the pain of betrayal, made it fresh again.

  “You were wronged,” Ma Tweedy said. “So what? You think you’re the first person to be wronged?”

  Quentin dipped his face into the water, hoping the heat would chase away his tears. He popped back up. “Ma Tweedy, please leave. I’m naked in here. If you don’t go, I will.”

  “You’ll have to work on your threats, boy,” she said. “A naked man is something I might have seen a time or two before. In case you didn’t notice, I have kids. Their conception wasn’t immaculate.”

  Quentin blinked in embarrassment. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t going to get out of the water.

  “John told me you’re phoning it in during practice,” she said. “You’re a grown-up, are you? The biggest game of your career is in three days and you’re acting like a child that’s had his favorite toy taken away.”

  “A toy? He told me he was my father.”

  She nodded, a full-body motion that resembled the nod of a Quyth Leader. “Okay, so I’m not so good with analogies. Or metaphors. Or is it similes? Whichever, I can never tell them apart. The point is, what was done
to you is just that ... done. You can walk around like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs, or you can step up and be the man your teammates need you to be.”

  “Right,” Quentin said. “I need to win games for an owner that tricked me into signing a contract.”

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she said. “Your millions aren’t enough for you?”

  “Now you sound like my fake father.”

  “Just because he was fake doesn’t mean he was wrong. Quentin, you’ve worked hard to get where you are. I know how much you’ve sacrificed, because my boys have sacrificed a lot as well. John more than Ju, but still. When you were getting your ass kicked all over the galaxy last year, did you roll over and quit?”

  He stared at her. Was she going to tie Sarge Vinje to football? They weren’t the same.

  “You didn’t,” she said. “You’re not answering me because you already know where I’m going and you know I’m right. You fought. You didn’t just take it. You didn’t quit. Gredok and that nasty man hurt you. They tricked you into thinking you had family. That ain’t right. But you need to wake up, boy. You do have family.”

  “Who? My mysterious sister who showed up for five minutes and now won’t contact me?”

  Ma Tweedy shook her head, a motion that moved her whole body just as much as nodding did. “No. She’s got her reasons, Quentin, but I’m not talking about her. You have family because you have me.”

  Quentin had to look away. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that. He couldn’t face her because he knew those weren’t empty words — she meant it.

  “My sons would probably be dead if it weren’t for you,” she said. “Now they’re both happy. You have them working harder than they’ve ever worked before and trust me, they worked hard. My children are better people because of you, Quentin. For that, I love you like my own. Some people get a mom and a dad. Some don’t. You can either embrace the life you have, or you can be a baby and piss and moan about what you didn’t get.”

  He sniffed, quietly wiped away tears. “Right,” he said. “What’s next, you telling me the choice is mine?”

  Ma Tweedy laughed. “You think I’d leave that choice up to you, Son? No. The choice is mine.”

  Hers? What in the Void did that mean?

  “You will eat with the team again, every meal,” she said. “You’ll be in your room by seven, study from seven-thirty to ten, in bed at ten-thirty, you understand?”

  Who did this woman think she was? “But you can’t—”

  “You’ll get up at five, like you used to do. And John tells me you’re playing a lot of hologames?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “No more until the season is over,” she said. “You’ve got studying to do. Ma Tweedy is going to keep you on the straight and narrow until the playoffs are over, then you can wallow in self-pity like a pig in the mud.”

  “Listen, you can’t—”

  “I’ll be checking in on you five times a day,” she said. “If you’re not where I tell you to be, when I tell you to be there, I will show up at practice, walk right into the locker room and give you a piece of my mind in front of all your teammates.”

  Quentin’s eyes widened. That would be beyond embarrassing. “You wouldn’t. You’re not my mother.”

  “I would and I am. From now on, I am. You’re a good kid, Quentin. A little on the sensitive side, I won’t lie, but you’re okay. I’m taking over. That’s that. Get out of there, get dressed and be back in your apartment in the Krakens building in twenty minutes. I’ll be waiting to make sure you start out right. Understand me?”

  Quentin stared, shocked. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m going to help you through this, son. Whether you like it or not. Now, what are you going to do about this tight end situation?”

  Now she wanted to talk football? What was next, the weather?

  “Uh, well, you know, I guess George is going to have to step up.”

  “Can’t step up if you got no feet,” she said. “You have an asset you’re not using. Warburg.”

  Quentin shook his head. “No way. That racist can’t help us.”

  “Not if you don’t throw him the ball, you sanctimonious jackass. What’s the matter, don’t you want to win games?”

  Quentin blinked. “Of course I want to win.”

  “Then I guess you better wake up, Son. If you want to win, you need to use all the tools you have.”

  Don Pine had basically said the same thing. Had Quentin been wrong? “I guess I could throw to Warburg.”

  Ma Tweedy huffed, a mannerism that sounded just like her much bigger son. “And if you were him, would you catch it? Would you help someone who’d treated you like dog crap stuck in your shoe?”

  Quentin started to say of course I would, but he checked himself — he wouldn’t throw the ball to someone he didn’t like, so what was to say Warburg would catch a pass from someone he didn’t like.

  “He wants a contract,” Quentin said. “He’ll play hard.”

  Ma Tweedy shrugged, a tiny gesture for a woman whose shoulders were already up near her ears. “If I was you, I’d make sure of that.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “You own what you did. You apologize.”

  Quentin shook his head. “No way. I’m not apologizing to him.”

  Ma Tweedy stared, then nodded. “All right, I guess your mind is made up. Your beliefs are the most important thing? I’ll support that, Son. And here I was thinking winning was the most important thing to you. Well, you learn something new every day. Now, get dressed. It’s time to study.”

  She walked out, leaving Quentin alone in the dark, alone with the hissing sound of spraying water.

  Alone ... with his thoughts.

  • • •

  QUENTIN ENTERED the Blessed Lamb. A chorus of Quentin! greeted him the second he walked through the door. He smiled, nodded at the welcoming faces. Humans, one and all. Other races simply weren’t encouraged here.

  An all-Human establishment. Sitting at the bar, holding court, was the tall, wide, muscular form of Rick Warburg. Such a surprise. Rick sipped a beer, stared at Quentin.

  Quentin took a deep breath, then let it out in a cheek-puffing huff. Time to take his medicine. He walked up to the bar.

  “Rick,” Quentin said. “Can I join you?”

  Warburg raised his eyebrows, then mockingly looked down at either side of his chest. “Well, I don’t see an extra set of arms, Quentin. Are you sure you can slum with a lowly Human like me?”

  The other patrons laughed. They thought it was a joke, not Rick ridiculing Quentin’s choice to treat other races as equals.

  “Yes,” Quentin said. “I’m sure.”

  “Don’t want me to turn blue?”

  Quentin gritted his teeth. He’d forgotten Rick’s hate wasn’t limited to just other species — Humans with the wrong color skin counted as well.

  Quentin looked at the other patrons. “Guys, mind if Rick and I have a little space? We have to talk some football.”

  Heads nodded quickly, as if the other patrons were in on some holy mission — Elder Barnes and Elder Warburg had to discuss spiritual matters.

  Quentin sat on the stool to Rick’s left. Rick kept staring. Quentin signaled to Brother Guido behind the bar. “Beer?”

  Guido quickly filled a mug. To have two Krakens in his bar at the same time? It was better than mounting a giant holosign on the city dome that says The Blessed Lamb is the place to be for Nationalite Ex-Pats just like you!

  Quentin took a long drink. He had to steel himself for this. Eating crow was not one of his strong suits.

  “Well?” Warburg said. “If you’ve come to give me a lecture on species interaction, that we’re all one big, happy, galactic brotherhood, I already gave at the office.”

  “Not here for that,” Quentin said. He set the mug down. “I came to apologize.”

  Warburg’s
stare slowly faded into an arrogant smile. “Oh, I see. Now that you realize Crazy George is actually crazy, now you want to throw me the ball. Am I right?”

  Quentin searched for a way to spin things, to justify his actions, but he didn’t search long — there was no justification. Now, when he needed something, moral posturing was no longer an option.

  “That’s right,” Quentin said. “I was wrong.”

  Rick turned, stared at the mirror behind the bar. He took a drink. “You say you’re wrong only because you need me. If you didn’t need me, you’d still think you have the right to sabotage my career.”

  “I admit I thought I had that right,” Quentin said. “But I don’t. I acted ... well, I acted like I was High One, like I could pass judgment on you. That was wrong, Rick, and now it’s biting me in the ass.”

  Warburg slowly turned. His hard stare seemed to soften a little. “When I did get in, I played my ass off. You knew that.”

  Quentin thought back to the game against the Lu Juggernauts, when he’d completely ignored a wide-open Warburg. Had Rick stood there and pouted? No. Rick had come back to block, knocking out a linebacker and springing Quentin for the winning touchdown.

  “I know,” Quentin said. “I chose to be blind. But that’s over. You need me and we need you.”

  “It’s a little late for this, don’t you think?”

  Quentin shook his head. “It can’t be. For two reasons. First, you collect a paycheck to play for the Ionath Krakens. We need to beat D’Kow, Themala and Vik to make the playoffs for sure. We need to win out.”

  Warburg huffed. “If someone didn’t have daddy issues, we’d probably be in second place, not fifth. I was open against the Pirates, too.”

  Daddy issues. Rick wasn’t going to make this easy. Not that Quentin deserved easy. “That game is over, Warburg. We move on. We have the War Dogs in two days.”

  Rick nodded. “You can just turn it off like that? Put the Pirates game behind you like nothing happened?”

  “I already have. The past is the past. We can’t change it. All we can do is worry about today and plan for tomorrow.”

  Rick started to talk, then seemed to think it over. He drained his beer, signaled to Brother Guido for another.