The Starter

by Scott Sigler

  “Hey, Q,” Don said quietly. “Why wasn’t Ju in the first shuttle?”

  Quentin shrugged. “Maybe Hokor wants him to put in a few solid games first.”

  The truth of the matter was that Quentin had specifically asked Hokor to put Ju on the second shuttle. If Ju was having delusions of grandeur, keeping him off of the first shuttle would help show him his place.

  Two Quyth workers pushed a gravsled out of the shuttle.

  “No explosives, no weapons.”

  The Leader in charge of the customs inspection waved the Workers out of the ship. “Good, now we can get out of sight and back into the compound.” His pedipalps twitched in a strange way, and a touch of pink swirled across his cornea.

  Quentin leaned over and whispered to Kimberlin. “The customs inspector looks nervous.”

  “I’m hardly surprised,” Kimberlin said. “Apparently, the Sklorno think that Quyth Leaders are even more scrumptious than the bats.”

  Quentin felt his eyes widen. Cannibalism was one thing, but where did this sentient-on-sentient predation end? “What about Humans? Where do we rate on the taste-o-meter?”

  “I’ll tell you if you like,” Kimberlin said. “But I assure you, it’s not a ranking that will make you deeply trust your teammates.”

  “I thought you said knowledge was power.”

  “Most of the time, it is. But sometimes, Quentin, ignorance is bliss.”

  Quentin decided to take Kimberlin’s word for it.

  A Sklorno approached. This one did not have armor. Instead, she wore robes of orange and black that covered her clear skin from eyestalks to thick toes. Quentin saw an image on her chest, some kind of ceramic plate showing a Human face.

  When she stopped just in front of him, he recognized that face.

  Because it was his.

  “Quentin Barnes,” the Sklorno said. “I am the High Priestess of the Church of Quentin Barnes. It is my holy honor to welcome you to Alimum.”

  Quentin opened his mouth, but no words came out. The High Priestess of the Church of Quentin Barnes? What could he say to that? Should he say anything at all? This was madness... a church dedicated to him?

  She jumped, just once, just a few feet. “Quentin Barnes?” Don leaned forward and looked to Quentin’s left. “Hey, Mike, you want to help him out a little?”

  “High Priestess,” Kimberlin said. “The Godling Barnes has decided to forego speech. He is deep in contemplation, and has asked me to speak on his behalf.”

  Quentin looked from the Sklorno to Kimberlin, who just raised his eyebrows in an expression that said do you want me to bail you out, or not?

  Quentin did. He turned back to the orange-and-black-clad Sklorno and nodded.

  “High Priestess,” Kimberlin said. “The Godling Barnes must prepare for the game. He wishes to be left alone. He is honored by your presence, High Priestess, and bestows upon you the thoughts of many passes and many catches.”

  Even with the heavy robes, Quentin saw her shiver. She walked backward, bowing over and over again.

  “That should take care of it,” Kimberlin said. “I believe you will be left alone for the remainder of your stay. Unless, of course, you want to leave the heavily guarded, armored, and secure stadium facilities so you can go out drinking with your pal John Tweedy.”

  “No,” Quentin said quickly. “No, I think I’ll stay in the compound.”

  “Good idea,” Kimberlin said. “Just follow me.”

  They walked across the pulsing, glowing floor toward the lifts. Quentin saw another robed Sklorno, this one dressed in gold, silver, and copper.

  “The Jupiter Jacks,” Quentin said, nodding to the Sklorno. “What’s up with her wearing those colors?”

  “A teammate of yours first played upper-tier ball for the Jacks,” Kimberlin said. “Recognize the face on her chest?”

  Quentin did. It was the face of Don Pine. All of this was just too surreal. Maybe next season he would explore a Sklorno city, but for now, heavily guarded, armored, and secure stadium facilities sounded just right.

  He headed for the lifts, wanting nothing more than to get to his room, get a meal, and lose himself in preparation for the upcoming game against the Alimum Armada.

  • • •

  THE BALL BOUNCED ALONG the turquoise field, the fumble’s path unpredictable and panic-inducing. Quentin dove for it, thought he had it when his hands hit blood-streaked leather, but the ball squirted from his grip and sailed into the air. He started to scramble up for it, but a Ki lineman drove into his ribs and smashed him to the field.

  A slew of orange-jerseyed, black-helmeted Krakens and blue-jerseyed, white-helmeted Armada players hit the bouncing ball at the same time, hiding the brown spot in a moving mountain of angry sentients. Pinned to the ground, Quentin watched as zebes flew in, whistles blowing madly, trying to pull players off the top of the wriggling pile.

  Quentin waited, his heart in his chest, the knee of a Ki buried in the small of his back. Down 24-14 early in the fourth quarter, they’d had a sustained drive rolling along right up until Ju Tweedy fumbled.

  The whistles blew again and the zebes pointed downfield — pointed the wrong way. Armada’s ball.

  The Ki lifted off Quentin with only a little extra push. Quentin climbed to his feet, picking chunks of turquoise-colored grass out of his facemask as he walked to the sidelines. The home Alimum crowd roared and performed their tradition of the “flag pass,” handing multiple white flags from sentient to sentient as fast as they could, always to the left, so that a dozen or more of the white banners seemed to race around the stadium.

  Quentin reached the sidelines and turned, praying to High One that the defense could make a stop. The Krakens were only down by ten points. It wasn’t over. If they could get the ball back, they had a chance to win it.

  • • •

  A TWEEDY HAD LOST the ball, and a Tweedy got the ball back. Quentin had watched John Tweedy playing possum all game, pretending to be a little slower than he actually was, even letting Armada QB Vinson Nichols complete some short passes when John could have knocked them down. That was just how John played the game, thinking in terms of four quarters as opposed to one play.

  The Armada had recovered Ju’s fumble, then marched twenty-two yards, slowly chewing up the clock. With 5:32 to play, Nichols dropped back and threw what should have been a safe hook pattern to tight end Mark O’Leary. That was when John finally turned on his top speed. He dove and extended, his outstretched hands just an inch or two in front of O’Leary’s. John intercepted the pass and fell to the ground, giving the Krakens the ball.

  Quentin felt that adrenaline stab of momentum, of possibility. He ran out to huddle with his offense. They had a first-and-ten at their own 37-yard line, down by ten points, 5:16 left in the game.

  Hokor’s face appeared in the heads-up holo.

  “Barnes! We have time to win this, but we need yards fast. Single back, spread set. Do what you do.”

  “Coach?”

  “Audible from the line,” Hokor said. “No-huddle offense, you make it happen.”

  Quentin felt a rush of pride. Game on the line, the Krakens needed two scores, and Hokor was handing over the reins. The team would run a play, return to the line without huddling, then listen as Quentin called the plays from behind center.

  The spread set put three wide receivers on the field: Hawick, Milford, and Halawa. He also had Crazy George Starcher at right tight end, and Ju Tweedy in the backfield.

  Quentin’s mind slipped into an automatic mode. He hit Hawick on an out-pattern for eight yards, throwing the ball just out of bounds where only she could catch it. The next pass, he hit Starcher over the middle for fifteen, then Halawa on an inside slant for ten.

  On the next play, Quentin saw the blue-jerseyed Armada defense bunching in.

  A blitz.

  “Green, eighteen flash!” Quentin called, audibling to a screen pass. “Green, eighteen flash! Hut-hut!”

  He dropped back
five steps as his offensive line gave one hit, then pretended to let the defense beat the blocks. Four Armada Ki linemen scuttled toward him, as did a Quyth Warrior linebacker and the Sklorno left cornerback. Quentin kept backpedaling, looking downfield, then at the last second turned and threw the ball to his right where The Mad Ju was waiting. Ju hauled in the light pass. Kimberlin and Vu-Ko-Will had run to the right as soon as they’d let their defender past, and now moved upfield to block for Ju.

  It was a thing of beauty and savagery. Quentin’s play had caught the Armada flat-footed. Their blitz left few defenders in the defensive secondary. Those that we still there tried to reach Ju, but had to go through Kimberlin and Vu-Ko because they were just too big to go around. Ju practically jogged, not going full speed, running just a bit behind his blockers. A linebacker tried to crash in, but Kimberlin laid him out flat. The cornerback drove in, trying to go around Vu-Ko’s outside shoulder. Ju used that exact instant to turn on the jets, brushing past Vu-Ko’s inside shoulder, then sprinting up-field. The safety tried to catch him at the ten, but The Mad Ju just bowled her over, then slowed down and actually walked into the end zone.

  A perfectly called play, perfect execution. Arioch Morningstar’s point-after made the score 24-21 in favor of the Armada. Three minutes and forty-two seconds left in the game. Now all Quentin could do was wait and see if the Krakens D could get the ball back.

  • • •

  SOME THINGS WERE just not meant to be.

  The Krakens did not get the ball back. Armada quarterback Vinson Nichols put together a sustained drive that slowly chewed up yards. Three third-down conversions kept the drive alive. The Krakens burned through their time outs but couldn’t force the Armada to punt. Quentin could do nothing but watch as Nichols lined his team up in the victory formation for the final play, then took a knee to let time expire.

  Someday, someday, Quentin wanted to be the one taking a knee to end the game.

  It had been a great contest, possibly the Krakens’ best overall team effort yet. Quentin shook hands with the other players until he reached Nichols.

  “Nice game, kid,” Nichols said. “You’re putting together a heck of a team.”

  “Thanks. Heck of a team, sure, but not good enough to take you guys yet.”

  Nichols shrugged. “I’m not looking forward to playing you next year, that’s for sure. The Mad Ju was a great add; he killed us tonight. When he gels with your offense? Ionath will be hard to beat.”

  “Yeah, he is looking sharp.”

  “It’s just turnovers,” Nichols said. “Your interception and his two fumbles. If you guys clean up the turnovers for the last four games, you might win enough to stay in Tier One.”

  ...his two fumbles...

  “Hey,” Nichols said. “You okay? You’re spacing out on me.”

  Quentin blinked and gave his head a quick shake to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. Great game, man. See you next year.”

  Nichols smiled and slapped Quentin’s shoulder pad. “You better win two more games, brother, or I won’t see you next year at all.”

  Nichols jogged to the tunnel. The remaining crowd saw him leaving the field and gave a hearty cheer. He waved his helmet at them, then was gone.

  Quentin started the walk back to the visitor’s locker room.

  ...his two fumbles...

  The knock on Ju Tweedy had always been that he couldn’t hold onto the ball. Fumbles happened, to some guys more than others. Against the Armada, Ju had rushed for eighty-seven yards and a touchdown, and caught three passes for forty-three yards and a second score. A great game, by any standard. But Ju’s words back in the VR room rang through Quentin’s head.

  As long as we keep winning, the team will keep following your lead, right?

  A win against the Armada would have made the Krakens 3-and-4, tied for last with the Yall Criminals. Instead, the loss made the Krakens 2-and-5, once again in sole possession of last place.

  Last place... was that where Ju Tweedy wanted them to be?

  GFL WEEK EIGHT ROUNDUP

  (Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network)

  With almost two thirds of the season in the books, it’s still anyone’s game in the Solar Division. The New Rodina Astronauts (6-1) claimed sole possession of first place with a 28-13 win over the Bord Brigands (5-2). The Brigands now find themselves in a three-way tie for second with the Scarlet Fliers (5-2), who topped the Chillich Spider-Bears 44-10, and the Jupiter Jacks (5-2), who beat the Vik Vanguard 38-34 on a last-second pass from Shriaz Zia to Denver.

  Over in the Planet Division, the Isis Ice Storm moved back into a first-place tie thanks to a 44-14 drubbing of the Jang Atom Smashers (1-6). Isis caught up to the To Pirates (5-2) who were off on a bye week.

  The relegation alarms are starting to sound. Jang now finds itself right on the Solar relegation bubble occupied by Chillich (0-7) and the Vanguard (1-6). Ionath (2-5) is at the bottom of the Planet Division, with the Yall Criminals (3-4) and the Hittoni Hullwalkers (3-4) just a game above.

  Deaths

  No deaths reported this week.

  Offensive Player of the Week

  Isis quarterback Paul Infante, who threw for 341 yards and two touchdowns against the Jang Atom Smashers.

  Defensive Player of the Week

  Cian-Mac-Man, defensive tackle for the Lu Juggernauts, who had four solo tackles, two sacks and a fumble recovery in a 17-14 win over the Mars Planets.

  WEEK NINE: IONATH KRAKENS at CORANADILLANA CLOUD KILLERS

  PLANET DIVISION

  5-2 To Pirates (bye)

  5-2 Isis Ice Storm

  4-3 Alimum Armada

  4-3 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

  4-3 Themala Dreadnaughts

  4-3 Lu Juggernauts

  4-3 Mars Planets

  4-3 Wabash Wolfpack

  3-4 Hittoni Hullwalkers

  3-4 Yall Criminals (bye)

  2-5 Ionath Krakens

  SOLAR DIVISION

  6-1 New Rodina Astronauts

  5-2 Bord Brigands

  5-2 Neptune Scarlet Fliers

  5-2 Jupiter Jacks

  4-3 D’Kow War Dogs (bye)

  3-4 Sala Intrigue (bye)

  3-4 Shorah Warlords

  2-5 Bartel Water Bugs

  1-6 Jang Atom Smashers

  1-6 Vik Vanguard

  0-7 Chillich Spider-Bears

  Excerpt from “Sky Gods: The Ascent of the Harrah”

  by Zippy the Voracious

  Chapter Four: The Givers

  The year 2432 will always be remembered as the time that everything changed for the Harrah species. It was in that year that the Givers descended through the thick atmosphere of Shorah to land on that planet’s icy surface.

  The Givers brought with them technology that stunned the tribes of Shorah, technology that was several centuries ahead of what the Harrah had themselves developed. By the time the Givers departed in 2448, they left the Harrah with the greatest of all modern-day technologies — gravity manipulation and the punch drive, providing the Harrah the ability to explore the stars on their own terms.

  But was that technology given to the Harrah too soon?

  When the Givers arrived, the Harrah were a tribal-oriented race. Two centuries later, little has changed. Tribal culture still forms the structure of the system’s government. The Yashindi are currently the Accord’s ruling tribe. Below them, each planet is ruled by a specific tribe, and underneath that, specific tribes rule each population center down to the smallest of towns. A tribe may never rule more than one area, city, or planet at a time. Promotion to larger management areas or demotions to smaller ones are a common part of Accord politics.

  The Grand Tribe Master of the Yashindi is the Accord’s official figurehead, a position comparable to the President of the Planetary Union, the First Scientist of the League of Planets, or the Emperor of the Ki Empire. However, the Grand Tribe Master’s decisions are not law — all decisions must be approved by a majority vote of the five planetar
y tribal leaders. Before those leaders can vote, they in turn must get approval for their decision via a vote by the tribal leaders beneath them, and they must get their vote approved from the tribal leaders beneath them.

  As you can imagine, this means it takes a long time for the Harrah to make decisions on anything.

  While far from a democracy, this painfully slow process has produced historically prescient choices, including the bold intergalactic political moves that resulted in the acquisition of the planets Satah and Lorah from the Whitok Kingdom and the Planetary Union, respectively.

  For all the benefits of this extrapolated tribal culture, however, there are also significant drawbacks. Power is still largely determined by strength. If a tribe wants to move up in rank and acquire a larger territory, it can do one of two things — wait for the tribe above it to vacate a territory by moving up and hope that the ruling powers grant advancement, or it can just wipe out the tribe above it and assume control. These internecine battles are a way of life in the Tribal Accord, continuing to this day despite efforts by the Creterakians to stamp them out.

  In the Tribal Accord, a family rules by force, cunning, guile and brutality. Successful warlords hold massive amounts of power. Tribal alliances form, shift, break, and re-form on an almost yearly basis, which makes it impossible to tell who is firmly in control and who is next in line. Vendettas are never forgiven. Many transgressions are payable only by blood, and often by death.

  So, let this be a warning to all who travel to the Accord — do so at your own risk. The sky cities are a key part of intergalactic commerce, a popular tourist attraction, and a growing force in the Galactic Football League, but the wrong thing said at the wrong time to the wrong Harrah — or even just wearing the wrong colors — and you could end up on the bad end of a flaying hook.