The Starter

by Scott Sigler

  • • •

  WITH A HEAVY HEART, Quentin walked through the insane colors of the Touchback’s Sklorno section. He’d heard that the Sklorno saw a wider range of the spectrum than Humans, and also saw far greater detail in each color. A jersey might look “red” to a Human, but to a Sklorno, that single shade could look like twenty or thirty unique colors. The Sklorno knew they saw more than the other species, and were constantly trying to communicate the splendor of their natural vision to the other races. That was the reason, presumably, for the atrocious uniforms of the Sklorno League in Tier Two, as well as those of the Alimum Armada, the Yall Criminals and the Chillich Spider-Bears.

  This part of the ship looked vastly different than the simple, subdued tones and/or orange-and-black patterns of the Human, HeavyG and administrative sections. Maddening patterns of electric colors covered everything: blues, purples, reds, yellows, greens, oranges. Some colors were so thick and dark they looked nearly black, others were so bright you couldn’t really look right at them without squinting. Such was the oddity of the Sklorno — clear bodies with no color, yet they surrounded themselves with a living and incestuous palette.

  The colors did little to lift Quentin’s mood. Yesterday, he’d had to say goodbye to a teammate. Today, time to say goodbye to two more. Aka-Na-Tak was dead. Shun-On-Won was a bust. The Krakens had no running game. Something had to be done.

  Quentin walked to Scarborough’s room. He’d called ahead, asked Denver to be there. Denver, of course, had squealed with delight — as an official member of the “Church of Quentin,” Denver would probably do just about anything Quentin asked.

  He reached the oblong door to Scarborough’s quarters. Quentin hung his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t too late to let Coach Hokor handle it. Just five minutes ago, Coach had said it wasn’t Quentin’s job to deliver such news. But Coach was wrong — Quentin’s voice was the final decision, he would live with the consequences.

  He lifted his head, squared his shoulders, then took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. He knocked on the tall, narrow door. He meant to knock three times, but the door opened after only two and his knuckles whiffed on empty air.

  Scarborough stood there, shaking. Behind her, Denver bounced up and down, left and right, emitting unintelligible chirps of glee, or, maybe, of rapture. At least Scarborough could stay mostly still. The maturity of her age, perhaps.

  “Quent... Quent... Quent...” Scarborough said. She was too excited to pronounce his name. Her desperate intensity made him feel even smaller, even more like a backstabbing scumbag.

  “Quentin Barnes!” Denver screamed from behind Scarborough. The younger wide receiver — just nine years old — started bouncing off the left wall, then the right wall. “Quentin Barnes Quentin BarnesQuentinBarnes!”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Quentin said. “Denver, please calm down.”

  “Calmdowncalmdowncalmdown!” Denver said.

  “Scarborough,” Quentin said. “Can I come in?”

  “Quent...” she said, then turned and grabbed Denver, shoving the younger player further into the apartment. Quentin followed them in. The door shut automatically behind him.

  He looked around, realizing that this was the first time he’d been inside a Sklorno’s quarters. It had been such an accomplishment just to practice with them, to let them help him grow as a quarterback — actually socializing with them? Well, that would have been too much, too soon. Once again his mind reeled at how much he’d changed in such a short time, and how those few short months actually felt more like a dozen years.

  A mad amalgamation of colors coated the apartment walls. Patterns, textures, solids, stripes, dots... there was no beginning and no end. Combinations ran from the wall to the floor, or the ceiling to the walls. Some of it might have been art, Quentin didn’t know. Whatever the thought process behind the colors, the insane combination gave him an instant headache.

  The high ceilings made him feel short, a nice break from many parts of the ship where he had to duck his head. He followed Scarborough through the hall into what must have been a living room to find not only Denver waiting, but also Milford, Mezquitic, Richfield, Stockbridge, Tiburon and even the massive Awa sisters, Wahiawa and Halawa. None of the Sklorno could sit entirely still. The younger ones didn’t even bother trying, just jumped up and down, bodies with transparent skin showing the black skeletons and fluttering hearts beneath.

  He’d come to have a talk, and wound up at a church revival. His soul shriveled up a bit more. For the Sklorno, anything he had to say held the importance of life or death. Denver and Scarborough’s friends had come to watch, to celebrate whatever glorious piece of information that Quentin was to bestow on the two.

  But he wasn’t here to bestow glory.

  “Ladies,” Quentin said. “I appreciate you all being here, but I need to speak to Scarborough and Denver alone.”

  Milford fell to the floor, maybe passed out, Quentin didn’t know. Tiburon shook so violently that her raspers unraveled and started flinging drool all over the apartment. Quentin turned his head and held up his hands to block the spray.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “That’s enough. Everyone but Scarborough and Denver, out now, please.”

  The muscular, long-legged bodies started filtering past him down the hall and out of Scarborough’s quarters. The Awa sisters carried Milford. Tiburon managed to make it on her own power.

  Quentin heard the door hiss shut, leaving him alone with Scarborough and Denver, alone with a legendary receiver and the talented youngster that Quentin had met at the Combine. Here it was, not even halfway through his first Tier One season, and he had to say goodbye to both. They waited, each looking at him with four eyestalks that twitched in anticipation. He wanted to change his mind, but he couldn’t — the future of the franchise rested on this decision. Time to get it over with.

  “I have some... bad news,” Quentin said. “You’ve both been traded.”

  Quentin would always remember that moment, remember the instant that through Scarborough’s translucent skin he saw her blood stop flowing. The All-Pro receiver swayed for a second, then slumped to the ground.

  Denver’s four eyes looked at her, then swung back to Quentin.

  “Quentin Barnes Quentin Barnes,” Denver said, her big feet prancing in place. “We have been trained in what?”

  Quentin watched Scarborough, wondering if he should call Doc Patah.

  “QuentinBarnes!” Denver said. “Trained in what QuentinBarnesQuentinBarnes.”

  There, a flutter. He actually saw Scarborough’s oddly shaped heart restart, translucent blood once again course through her body. Her tentacle arms pressed against the floor and she slowly pushed herself up to a kind of sitting position, folded legs all askew.

  Denver looked from Scarborough back to Quentin. “Trained in what QuentinBarnesQuentinBarnesQuen—”

  “Stop,” he said. Denver froze stiff, her only movement coming from the eyestalks that swayed like Medusa’s living snake-hair.

  “Not trained,” Quentin said. “Tray-ded.”

  Even the eyestalks stopped moving. “Traded?”

  Quentin nodded. “Yes, both of you. To the Jupiter Jacks.”

  Scarborough passed out again.

  Denver started to shake. “CoachHokortheHookchest thinks I am unfit to catch the holy passes of QuentinBarnes?”

  “No! No, Denver, you are totally fit to catch my holy... uh... to be a key receiver for us. Hokor doesn’t hate you, and anyway, he’s not making the decision alone.”

  She trembled. She stared at him with four sad eyes that had never looked more Human. “Then... you... you also want to trade us?”

  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then nodded. “It’s also my decision, Denver. It’s what’s best for the team.”

  “But... what have I done to bring about the wrath of QuentinBarnes?”

  “Nothing,” Quentin said quickly, shaking his head. “No, Denver, you and Scarborough bo
th, you are amazing receivers. It’s just that we have that hole at right guard and if we make this trade—”

  “My life is over!” Denver screamed. She shook violently, every inch of her clear skin shivering. “I am not worthy of catching the holy passes! Oh my QuentinBarnes why have you abandoned me!”

  “Denver, it’s not like that, really, you...”

  His words trailed off as Denver started sprinting and jumping around the room, throwing herself into walls and furniture. Scarborough rose again, briefly, looked at Quentin with her four eyestalks, seemed to register his presence, then fell flat a third time.

  “Quentin Barnes Quentin Barnes Quentin Barnes!” Denver screamed, sprinting around the room at top speed. “Quentin Barnes Quentin Barnes!”

  They were devastated. He had done this to them. They would both flourish in the Jupiter Jacks’ pass-happy system, yet Quentin had never felt so low in all his life.

  The apartment door opened. The other Sklorno members of the Krakens rushed into the room, running to Scarborough, catching Denver and dragging her down, holding her still. There was much screaming, squealing, and crying. It reminded Quentin of a funeral back on Micovi, of blue-clad mothers wailing in anguish over lost sons and daughters.

  He felt a tug at his left sleeve. He looked down to see Coach Hokor.

  “Hawick called me down here,” Hokor said. “She knew what was happening when you sent the rest of them out of the room.”

  Quentin looked back at the wailing pile of Sklorno. “Coach, what do I do? This is crazy.”

  “Just leave, Barnes. The Sklorno have to grieve.”

  “Grieve? But... but it’s just a trade, they still get to play.”

  “Barnes, do you believe in your High One?”

  He nodded, unable to take his eyes off Denver and Scarborough. “Yes, of course.”

  “What if your imaginary friend... excuse me, what if your god came down from the sky and told you he was ashamed of you, he was banishing you to some other galaxy so he would never have to see you again.”

  “But Coach... you and I are not gods.”

  Hokor pointed a pedipalp at the Sklorno. “To them, we are.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Defining it as crazy doesn’t make it any less true, Barnes. Now come on, leave them be.”

  Quentin took one more look at his teammates, both current and newly former. No, it didn’t look like the grief of a funeral... it looked worse than that.

  Heart heavy with regret, he followed Hokor out of the apartment. Maybe they shouldn’t have made the trade. Football was the most important thing, and the franchise was the focal point of all things football, but such anguish, such heartbreak.

  Denver and Scarborough would never fully recover, and for that, Quentin had no one to blame but himself.

  • • •

  QUENTIN STOOD in the docking bay, waiting for the visiting shuttle to open its side door. The orange-and-black Krakens shuttle had left, ferrying Denver and Scarborough out to the Jupiter Jacks team bus just a click away. Parked in its place was the gold-, silver-, and copper-colored Jacks shuttle.

  As with any event welcoming a new player, most of the team stood in the docking bay. This time there were more Ki than normal; the entire offensive line writhed in a big ball some twenty feet to Quentin’s right. Yassoud walked up and stood next to Quentin.

  “Sorry to see Denver and Scars go,” he said. “But I ain’t gonna lie to you, Q, it’s about time we got some blocking.”

  Quentin sighed and nodded. While Yassoud was correct — the blocking had been horrible on the right side — sometimes a running back had to create, had to make something out of nothing. If that was a talent Yassoud had, he had yet to show it.

  The shuttle’s side door lowered slowly to rest on the docking bay deck. Moments later, Quentin saw a man walk out.

  “Whoa,” Yassoud said. “I mean... whoa.”

  Quentin played professional football, and as such, he had ample experience being around some of the biggest sentients in existence. Aleksander Michnik and Ibrahim Khomeni, the Krakens starting defensive ends, were both giant blocks of flesh at 525 pounds and nearly seven feet tall. Those two were big even by HeavyG standards, but this man? Quentin had trouble even getting his head around what he saw.

  Michael Kimberlin had to duck a little to step out of the shuttle, and when his huge feet clonked down the ramp the sound echoed through the landing bay. His feet were the size of Quentin’s whole foreleg, and his forelegs were the size of Quentin’s thighs. Kimberlin reached the deck and just stood there. He wore a satiny Jupiter Jacks team jacket: copper-colored body, sleeves in silver with gold piping. On his right breast, the Jacks logo: a black-lined, eight-pointed, gold-and-silver star with a black letter “J” in the middle. He had a big silver and gold duffel slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey, Q,” Yassoud whispered. “Fifty bucks says that guy is over six hundred pounds.”

  “No bet,” Quentin said. “I know you looked it up.”

  “And how would you know I did that?”

  “Because if you don’t know the answer, you bet twenty. If you know it, you bet fifty.”

  Yassoud looked at him. “I have a tell?”

  Quentin nodded.

  “Damn. Kimberlin weighs six-fifteen.”

  Quentin stepped forward and had to look up. This man, this massive, HeavyG man, was a full foot taller. Quentin actually felt small. He extended his hand. “I’m Quentin Barnes.”

  Kimberlin adjusted the duffel bag and shook Quentin’s hand. “Ah, the boy wonder. You ready to get some work done?”

  “I’m ready to be able to stand up and throw the ball.”

  “You just make sure that when I give you that time, and I will, that you complete those passes.”

  Quentin looked down at his hand, which had vanished inside Kimberlin’s, and wondered: Is this what normal people feel like when they meet me?

  He looked up again. “I have to say, you are the biggest Human being I’ve ever seen.”

  Kimberlin’s eyes narrowed. “How about you watch what you call me, Quentin,” he said quietly. “We Homo pondus are not Human.’

  “Sorry,” Quentin said. The HeavyG were always so sensitive about their race.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “After you meet the team, I’m happy to show you to your quarters.”

  Kimberlin smiled. “I’m offensive line, Quentin. I sleep where the offensive line sleeps.”

  The big man stepped past Quentin. Kimberlin quickly and politely met all that wanted to greet him, nothing more than a smile, a handshake, and a nod. When he finished, he walked to the pile of Ki offensive linemen. Most people, including Quentin, would have stopped about three feet from the pile. Kimberlin did not stop. He dropped his bag and walked into the pile, letting his body lean up against the Ki. Quentin saw a few limbs touch Kimberlin, then heard a strange, unified grunting from the masses of vocal tubes. The Ki ball broke up into individuals that scuttled out of the docking bay, Kimberlin walking with them.

  “Nasty,” Yassoud said. “He’s going to sleep in the Ki jungle? That is disgusting.”

  “That’s unity,” Quentin said. “It’s what we need, ’Soud.”

  “Maybe that’s what you need. Me? I need a beer.”

  “No, what you need is to practice. I’m going to the VR room to run routes with the Awa sisters. Halawa’s our new number-three receiver, and I have to get her up to speed. Come and join us.”

  Yassoud stared at him. “We just finished team practice, man, and you want to go work out some more? Forget it.” Yassoud walked out of the docking bay.

  Quentin waved at the Awa sisters. They ran to him, not as crazily and dutifully as Denver would have been, but Quentin had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before they exhibited similar behavior.

  “Are you ladies ready?”

  Neither sister shivered or shook, but twitching eyestalks betrayed their excitement.

  The thre
e of them headed for the VR room.

  GFL WEEK FOUR ROUNDUP

  (Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network)

  With the season one-third complete, the To Pirates are making a bold statement that this is the year for their sixth GFL championship. The Pirates (4-0) doubled up on the Ionath Krakens (1-3) 42-21 to remain undefeated.

  But the Pirates aren’t alone in lossless land — D’Kow moved to 4-0 with a win over the Jang Atom Smashers (1-3) and the Isis Ice Storm (3-0) stayed perfect coming out of their bye week thanks to a 31-0 drubbing of the Themala Dreadnaughts (1-3).

  New Rodina (3-1) suffered its first loss at the hands of the Yall Criminals (2-2). The Lu Juggernauts (2-1) also put their first in the loss column, falling 17-14 in overtime to Coranadillana (2-2).

  At the bottom of the Solar Division, only two winless teams remain — the Vik Vanguard (0-3) and the Chillich Spider-Bears (0-3).

  Deaths

  Chillich Spider-Bears quarterbacks Jason Houghton and Nelson McClintok, both of whom died on clean hits from Sala Intrigue defensive tackle Gum-Aw-Pin. This is the first time in the history of the GFL that one player has killed two members of another team.

  Ionath Krakens offensive right guard Aka-Na-Tak, killed on a clean hit from To Pirates linebacker Bob Merrell.

  More news out of Ionath, GFL Commissioner Rob Froese ruled that Shorah Warlords cornerback Huntertown’s death was a clean hit delivered by Krakens wide receiver Halawa.

  Offensive Player of the Week

  Cloud Killers kicker Shi-Ki-Kill, who was 5-for-5 in field goal attempts hitting from 54, 53, 48, 37 and 14.

  Defensive Player of the Week

  Ryan Nossek, defensive end for the Isis Ice Storm, who had three sacks on Themala quarterback Gavin Warren.

  WEEK FIVE: WABASH WOLFPACK at IONATH KRAKENS

  PLANET DIVISION

  4-0 To Pirates

  3-0 Isis Ice Storm

  2-1 Lu Juggernauts

  2-1 Wabash Wolfpack (bye)

  2-2 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

  2-2 Yall Criminals