by Scott Sigler
Bobby took two more steps, reared a fist back.
“Stop,” Gredok said.
Brobst’s fist hung in mid-air.
“Bobby, let us hear what he has to say.”
“Yes sir, Mister Splithead.”
Brobst stepped back, let his hands fall to his sides.
Pete let out a slow breath of relief. He gathered himself, looked Gredok straight in the eye.
“Salton owes you big,” Pete said. “I don’t know how much, but I know it’s a lot. I know he can’t even pay the interest. If you were to, uh ... I guess the word is foreclose, right now, you could ... uh ... well you could make him give you the franchise to pay his debt.”
A curl of black twisted across Gredok’s cornea.
“Who is this tiny Human who speaks to me as if I needed his advice? If I wanted the franchise I would have taken it. Your operation is so pitiful, it is ... Bobby, what’s that Human phrase you use to describe something of insignificant value?”
“Chump change, Mister Splithead.”
“Chump Change,” Gredok said. “Why would I waste my precious time with chump change?”
“Because next year, the value is going to triple,” Pete said. “Quadruple. Maybe more.”
He had no idea how much, exactly, the value would go up. He didn’t even really know the current value. He was flying by instinct.
The curl of black faded away.
“I’m listening,” Gredok said.
Pete shook his head. “Oh, no, no way. You and I make a deal right now. If the information I provide benefits you, then you give me what I want.”
“Which is?”
“A three-year, no-cut contract,” Pete said. “You double my current salary. And in my contract it states two key things. One, I’m the team captain — I run the show here just like I’ve done for years. And, two, that I get approval on which mounts are bought or sold.”
Gredok stepped closer once again. His eye remained clear, but Pete was certain he could sense eagerness. The game was on, and even if this game was far below Gredok’s interest, the Leader played to win.
“You want me to offer you a contract to get information which might make me want to buy the team, but I can’t offer a contract without owning the team. That’s another Human word — your kind calls that a conundrum.”
“Your word will do fine,” Pete said. “All over the galaxy, people know that Gredok is not a sentient to be messed with. They also know that his word is gold. This information I have, Mister Splithead, I promise you, I’m not wasting your time. I’ve got inside knowledge that very few people have.”
“I do not care about your information,” Gredok said. “Bobby, this yakochat has wasted more of my time, and now I am even more upset than I was before. I believe that will require some broken bones. Start with the legs.”
Brobst reached out a hand so large it should have been attached to a HeavyG.
“Anna Villani is buying a team,” Pete shouted.
The big Human paused, hand hovering in mid-air. He glanced at Gredok, unsure of if he should stop or proceed with the beating.
“Anna Villani,” Gredok said. His voice sounded different: calmer, colder, and yet more intimidating. “Why would she buy into this worthless league of yours?”
Gredok’s emotional control had slipped. Briefly, only for a split-second, but Pete had caught it. The very mention of Villani’s name had thrown him. It had thrown Brobst as well. Pete looked back and forth between Leader and bodyguard, trying to process what he’d seen. Gredok was more powerful than Villani, higher up in the criminal underworld’s structure. From what Pete knew, Villani and Gredok weren’t fighting for the same territory. Gredok had stolen Ju Tweedy away from her. Was Gredok afraid Villani would want payback?
“Answer me,” Gredok said. “Why is that Human woman buying a Dinolition team? How much does she think she will make?”
The Leader had control again, but it was too late — Pete had figured it out. Gredok wasn’t afraid of Villani, he was worried about her, and that made sense. Her rapid ascension from thug to Tier One owner hadn’t happened because she was stupid, or because she was bad at business. Villani’s Orbiting Death was in the same division as Gredok’s Ionath Krakens — the more money she made, the higher salaries she could pay, and the bigger threat she was to Gredok’s annual quest of winning the GFL’s Solar Division and advancing to the Galaxy Bowl.
“Villani knows what I know,” Pete said. “She knows this league is going to blow up. She knows that if she gets in now, in a few years she’ll make a fortune.”
“How?” Gredok said, the word almost a bark. “How will the league make her this fortune? Tell me now, my patience is at an end.”
Bobby Brobst cracked his knuckles. He loosened his tie.
Pete was intimidated, sure, but as a man who rode dinosaurs into battle on a weekly basis, intimidation was something he could handle.
“No way,” he said. “You don’t get my info for free. Come on, Gredok — I’m offering a good deal. You’re going to have to trust me. I’m not stupid. Do you think I’d have tricked you out here if I couldn’t make it worth your time? Do you really want Villani to get a leg up on you?”
The briefest curl of black on Gredok’s cornea, then, nothing.
“If you tell me your information and I choose to not buy the Ridgebacks, then you are in quite a lot of trouble,” Gredok said. “But if what you tell me convinces me, then, yes — I agree to your terms.”
The words rushed out of Pete. He told Gredok about the upcoming network deal, all the money that would come from that. He talked about merchandizing, how it had increased year after year and was about to become a huge cash cow for the league. He talked about the efforts of team owners to lobby the Sklorno government for franchises on that species’ homeworlds. He talked about the ratings explosion that had happened in the last few weeks of the regular season. He talked about upcoming stars like Ian and Hermano, about Dar, about the way the crowd went crazy for Bess and Wee Bob. He talked about how the value of every franchise would multiply exponentially when the entire galaxy tuned in to watch prehistoric beasts battle each other.
And then, as his closer, Pete told Gredok everything he knew about Anna Villani’s efforts to acquire a franchise, now, before the cost of buying in skyrocketed when the network deal closed.
When the last words left his lips, Pete held his breath.
Gredok stared. He said nothing.
Brobst shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do.
“There’s one final thing,” Pete said.
“I do not care to hear it,” Gredok said. “You are far too optimistic about your sport’s potential. I have had enough of this. First, I will deal with you, then I will deal with Salton.”
“He’s in his office at the stadium,” Pete said. “He’s meeting with Villani’s people in an hour.”
Gredok leaned back.
“You said Villani is buying a team, but not the Ridgebacks. So why are her people coming here?”
“Because she’s going to gut this franchise,” Pete said. “And if she does, she’ll have the best team in the league. She’ll be unbeatable. If she has her way, Mister Splithead, then even if you do buy into Dinolition — when it costs far more than it does now — you won’t be able to defeat her.”
He felt sweat trickling from his armpits. Bobby’s eyes practically pleaded: come on, give him something good, I don’t want to break your legs, I really don’t.
“Mister Splithead, please,” Pete said. “Just let me show you one thing. It’s right here in Ranch Ridgeback. If that doesn’t win you over, then you do what you have to do.”
Another curl of color, but this time, a light red. Pete had spent enough with Salton the Grimy to know what that mean — respect.
“You have conviction, Pete, and I admire that,” Gredok said. “Therefore, I will reward you for your conviction with a choice. If you stop this now, you will hurt, but you might survive. If I see w
hat it is you want to show me, and it does not change my mind — which I assure you, it will not — then I will leave you with the knowledge that in the very near future, someone else will visit you, and it will be the last visitor you ever entertain. Do you understand?”
Pete nodded.
“Good,” Gredok said. “Do you still want to play your game of show and tell?”
Pete nodded again.
Gredok smoothed the fur on his lower arms.
“Very well, half-Human. Lead the way.”
Pete did. He pushed open the tack room door and stepped onto the empty training ground. Most of the dinos were asleep, deep in their pens, and weren’t visible. Sydney stood at her fence, watching, interest instantly piqued by movement, by new smells. Her arm was fixed to her chest much like Pete’s was.
Pete walked to the center of the training ground. Gredok and Brobst followed. The Human had his hand in his jacket. His eyes swiveled, looking for any threat that might pop up.
“That is far enough,” Gredok snapped. “It stinks of feces here. I don’t think we’ll wait for a visitor after all. Bobby, I have been led on quite long enough. Take care of this.”
“But Mister Splithead, we don’t know this facility,” Brobst said. “There could be witnesses.”
The Leader stamped a little foot, making his jewelry rattle.
“Then kill the witnesses as well.”
Pete wasn’t about to find out if Bobby would obey the order or not. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted with everything he had.
“Bess, come!”
From the far end of the training ground, a 13-meter long behemoth shot out of the shadows of her pen. Muscles rippled beneath her thick skin as she pushed off her left foot, then her right, quickly accelerating her 6,432-kilo mass.
“Sweet Buddha,” Brobst said, his voice a disbelieving whisper.
Bess closed the distance to forty meters. Legs pumped. Her head lowered. Her eyes narrowed.
Thirty meters.
She roared, open mouth showing her long tongue, her dagger teeth.
Twenty meters.
“Mother of all,” Gredok said. His voice sounded oddly normal, but there was nothing normal about the spots of pink that spread across his cornea.
At ten meters, Bess started to slow, big legs eating up the inertia, making the ground tremble.
She stopped, her head just one meter from Pete, Bobby Brobst, and Gredok the Splithead. Her big nose inched forward, nuzzled Pete. He patted the side of her mouth.
“That’s a good girl,” he said. He nodded toward Gredok. “Say hello to Mister Splithead. He’s going to make sure you and I stay together.”
The Tyrannosaur’s massive head turned. Nostrils opened, drew air, took in the scent of the Leader.
“This ... this,” Gredok said. “I ... cachat pelda ... shaymay polo.”
Pete didn’t speak any Quyth languages. He had no idea what Gredok was saying, but he didn’t have to know the words to read body language.
Bess’s deep breath ended. She let it loose, so much air shooting out of her nostrils it made Gredok’s fur blow back.
Gredok reached out a pedipalp, tentatively, silver bracelets tinkling. His hand froze halfway to Bess’s nose. His softball-sized eye glanced at Pete, the cornea swirling with mad colors: the pink of fear, but also yellow and light orange.
“May I?” the Leader asked.
Bobby Brobst had gone white as a sheet when Bess came rushing in. Pete wouldn’t have thought the big Human could be any more shocked, but when Gredok the Splithead asked that question, Brobst stared at the Leader, open mouthed, as if a massive dino that could eat them all in one bite was utterly inconsequential in comparison.
Pete nodded. “Sure, Mister Splithead. She won’t do anything bad unless I tell he to.”
Gredok’s big eye swiveled, dreamily, and again took in the splendor of Ol’ Bess. The pedipalp hand patted the nose, stroked the few baby feathers that remained. Gredok’s eye narrowed and the delighted colors faded. His fingers traced the scars on Bess’s skin, some old and tight, some new and pink.
“So much damage,” the Leader said.
“Yeah,” Pete said. “She’s a warrior.”
Bess snorted lightly, the air making Gredok’s eye blink. Then, without warning, her massive tongue slid past her teeth and gave the Leader one big, wet lap.
Gredok stumbled back as Pete’s heart sank: he’d been so close.
“Bess, no lick!”
The leader stood there, black fur glistening with wetness.
“Mister Splithead, I’m sorry about that, she—”
Gredok held up a single pedipalp hand; Pete stopped talking, instantly and reactively, as suddenly as if Gredok had simply turned off his ability to speak. Such power this Leader commanded.
“Your apology is unnecessary, Pete. The animal is merely being ... affectionate?”
Pete nodded fast, a little faster than he would have liked, but now wasn’t the time to worry about his pride.
“She doesn’t do that often, Mister Splithead. I think she likes you.”
Gredok kept patting Bess’s nose. Her eyes narrowed in pleasure.
“I had no idea such creatures were so ... magnificent,” Gredok said. “Sentients would pay significant amounts of money to watch such an animal in combat. Perhaps I was wrong to pre-judge your sport.”
The Leader stopped patting the T-Rex. He turned to face Pete.
“You said Villani’s representatives were coming in an hour?”
Pete glanced at his palm-up.
“Fifty minutes now, Mister Splithead.”
“I see,” Gredok said. “And how far away is Salton’s office?”
Pete pointed down Champions’ Road.
“Maybe a fifteen-minute walk.”
“Which leaves us thirty-five minutes,” Gredok said. “Tell me, would that be enough time for ... ”
Gredok’s voice trailed off. A flash of yellow orange, then the cornea was once again clear as crystal.
“Pete, would it be possible for me to take a ride?”
Bobby Brobst’s stunned expression didn’t change, but his head shook slowly. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Pete smiled.
“Sure thing, Mister Splithead. Let’s get you geared up.”
• • •
Gredok the Splithead had entered the tack room with perfect fur, nice clothes, and enough jewelry to pay for Baiman to start several new baby dinos. Now, standing with Pete and Bobby Brobst outside the door to Salton’s office, the Leader looked quite different — bits of mud and grass speckled his clothes, and his fur was stiff and sticking up in clumps, thanks to a second, far wetter lick from an affectionate Tyrannosaurus Rex.
“Bobby,” the Leader said, “kick this door in.”
“Uh, it’s open,” Pete said. “It’s always open.”
He reached to turn the handle, but Gredok’s middle hand snapped out whip-fast, locked down on Pete’s wrist.
“If you are going to work for me, you need to learn two things,” Gredok said. “First, if your opinion is required, it will be asked for. Do you understand?”
Pete swallowed, nodded. Things were changing fast, but he already knew the relationship he’d had with Salton would be very different from the one he would have with Gredok the Splithead. Salton was a wanna-be gangster — Gredok was the gangster criminals wanted to be.
When you dance with the devil, it’s he who calls the tune.
“I understand,” Pete said. “And the second thing?”
“Sometimes, practicality must take a back seat to a flair for the dramatic. Bobby?”
Bobby reached into his suit coat and drew an automatic. He raised a big foot and kicked out: the door broke in half and tore free, the two pieces flying into Salton’s office.
The Human stepped in, gun level.
“Just keep your hands right there,” he said. “All four of them.”
Gredok entered. Pete followe
d.
Inside, Salton sat behind his desk, cornea already curling with pink. In front of his desk sat two chairs: one empty, the other holding the Ki, Tee-Ah-Nok. The Creterakian Kewellen perched on Tee-Ah-Nok’s shoulder. Behind Salton stood the Quyth Warrior that had ruined the front door of Pete’s house. Pedipalp hands and middle hands both were raised, because he was the one Bobby Brobst was aiming at.
On top of Salton’s desk sat a black contract box.
“Gredok,” the grey-furred Leader said. He glanced at Pete, eye narrowing with betrayal, then back to Gredok. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to collect my debt. You are behind in payments.”
“I have the money,” Salton said. “Enough to cover the interest, and I’ll have the full amount in a few weeks.”
Gredok walked to the desk, leaving a trail of fallen bits of mud and dirt in his wake. He sat in the empty chair. “I do not think you have the money for the interest payment. I will collect in full, now.”
Salton pointed to the contract box. “I do have the money. I made a deal.”
Pete’s heart sank. They were too late.
Gredok reached out slowly. Everyone sat very still. The Leader’s black-furred hand picked up the contract box.
“So the deal is complete, Salton? If I was to give you another box, this very moment, you have the funds in your account to cover your interest payment?”
Salton’s eye blinked twice, quickly. Red-violet swirled. Pete knew that color: frustration.
“Let me finish the deal,” Salton said to Gredok. “I’ll have your money as soon as it is complete.”
Gredok nodded, that strange whole-upper-body motion of his.
“As I thought. Bobby?”
The Leader tossed the contract box into the air. Bobby’s gun fired: the box shattered into a dozen pieces that scattered across the office. The barrel of Bobby’s gun lowered, slightly, until it pointed directly at Salton.
If Gredok hadn’t had everyone’s attention before, he certainly had it now.
He pulled another contract box from his belt.
“I would rather you did not sell off the assets,” he said. “Your debt will be considered forgiven as soon as you sign over your team and the training facility.”