Quentin opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. “Come on Coach, he’s just a lineman. All I have to do is avoid him, I don’t need to know anything about him.”
Hokor’s pedipalps twitched, just once. He pointed to the sidelines. “Start running.”
Quentin groaned. “For how long?”
“Ten laps.”
“Come on Coach, that’s crap!”
The pedipalps twitched, and this time kept twitching. “You’re right, that is crap. Twenty laps.”
“What? You just said ten!”
“Did I? I thought I said it thirty. Yes, I said thirty.”
Quentin clenched his jaw tight. He felt helpless, out of his element. Hokor held all the cards, and would until Quentin took over the starting spot. Quentin’s mouth closed into a tight-lipped snarl. Hokor stared at him another five seconds, until Quentin jogged to the sidelines and started doing laps around the field.
* * *
Post patterns? Crossing routes? Woman-to-woman coverage? If you want to elarn more about the passing game, hear the author explain the basics at http://www.scottsigler.com/passing101.
* * *
HOKOR THE HOOKCHEST sat in the control room mounted a hundred feet up from the practice field end zone. A dozen small holotanks lined the big window that looked out onto the field. The holotanks let him watch any of his players at any time, wherever they were in the ship.
The Ki slept together, as was their custom. They looked like a pile of legs and long bodies. The Ki section of the ship consisted of four large rooms — the communal room, the feeding room, and sleeping rooms for offense and defense, respectively. He visited their communal room at least four or five times a season. It was decorated with multi-colored mosses and various slimes he was told were plants. He’d entered the defensive room once, and only once, because the place stank like a combination of rancid meat and animal offal. Ki family units slept together. It wasn’t sexual — he’d heard stories about the Ki mating season, and had no intention of ever witnessing such a brutal display.
He made the offense and defense sleep separately — they had to face off against each other in practice every day, and when they all slept as one big family unit, they were far too civil to each other. He needed violence and aggression on the practice field. It was the only way to prepare the team for the weekly war against the other GFL squads.
The Sklorno were deep into their morning worship. There were thirteen of the beings on the team, seven receivers and eight defensive backs. Even after ten seasons of coaching, the Sklorno still seemed so bizarre to him. They worshipped strange things, like trees, the clouds on certain planets, works of literature, and — strangest of all — quarterbacks and coaches. Three of the veteran receivers were high-ranking members of the Donald Pine church. Another two, both defensive backs, worshipped Frank Zimmer of the To Pirates. He didn’t know what the rest worshipped, and didn’t care, as long as it didn’t complicate football.
He rarely checked up on the Quyth Warriors. He saved his spying for the sub-races. Warriors deserved the right to come and go as they pleased.
Eleven of his thirteen Humans were in bed, sleeping away. Ibrahim Khomeni, the 525-pounder from Vosor-3 was, of course, eating again. Hokor wondered how those heavy-G Human worlds maintained any economy at all, considering how much their subjects ate. Between Khomeni and Aleksandar Michnik, also from Vosor-3, they daily consumed enough food for ten normal-G Humans.
But while Hokor kept tabs on all of his players, he was really only concerned with one — Quentin Barnes. The Human rookie was in the virtual practice room, working away on the timing that had given him so much trouble in the first three days of practice.
The door to his control room hissed open. Hokor’s antennae went up, briefly, long enough to sense the presence of Gredok. He stood, turned and brushed back his antennae.
“Don’t bother old friend,” Gredok said. “Sit down, continue what you were doing.”
Hokor sat and again turned his attention to Quentin. The Human surveyed his holographic players and the holographic team, then dropped back as the line erupted into holographic chaos. He took a strong five-step drop, set up, and rifled the ball downfield. It fell short of the holographic Scarborough — a defender dove to intercept the ball.
“He’s up early for a Human, isn’t he?” Gredok asked.
“Just him and Ibrahim.”
Gredok looked at the monitor that showed Ibrahim, sitting alone at a table with four heaping trays of food spread out before him.
“Females be saved,” Gredok said with disgust. “Do these high-G Humans ever stop eating? I swear his salary is nothing compared to his food bill.”
“If you could locate a 525-pound Quyth Warrior who can bench-press a thousand pounds, I’d be happy to trade for him.”
Gredok watched Quentin run the same play. This time, he threw ahead of Scarborough for an incompletion.
“Does Barnes do this a lot?”
“He doesn’t socialize with the other players,” Hokor said. “He spends most of his time in the VR room, repeatedly running plays.”
Gredok said nothing. Quentin lined up again, dropped back, and ran the same play. This time the ball sailed over the leaping defender and hit the holographic Scarborough in full stride.
“Nice pass,” Gredok said. “How long has he been at it?”
“Two hours.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Horrible,” Hokor said. “But he’s improving fast.”
“Horrible? I watched him in practice yesterday. He threw 75-yard strikes like they were nothing.”
Hokor turned to look at his Shamakath. “He has only been playing the game for four years, and in a very low-quality league. He’s never thrown to Sklorno receivers before, and he’s not used to passing being a three-dimensional game instead of two-dimensional. Throwing routes is one thing, but he’s not ready for the speed of real defensive backs.”
“He’d better get ready for it. I went through a lot of trouble to obtain him.”
“We had to get him now,” Hokor said. “One more season, and every team in the GFL would have been after him. I just don’t know how long he will take to develop.”
“Need I remind you that this is your third season?” Gredok said coldly. “I don’t care about development time, I care about winning. I want this team in Tier One next season. All the good trade routes require Tier One immunity. You know that.”
Hokor did know that. Trade routes was a nice way of saying smuggling routes. Hokor didn’t care for that part of the business at all, but that was the way the league worked.
“I’m sure that in two seasons, maybe three, Quentin will be the best player in the league.”
“You don’t have two seasons,” Gredok said. “You wanted Donald Pine, I got you Donald Pine. You wanted Choto the Bright, I got him for you. You found out one of my lieutenants had Tier Three experience, so Virak the Mean is playing football instead of acting as my bodyguard and enforcer. I spent a fortune on Mum-O-Killowe, I gave up my drug distribution in Egypt City for him because you said we had to have him. I upgraded this ship because you said it would help us win games ... do you think that was cheap?”
“No, Shamakath.” Hokor knew the ship’s retrofit had been horribly expensive, but he was a firm believer that if you wanted to play like a Tier One team, you had to practice like a Tier One team.
“I want Tier One and am willing to spend the money to get it,” Gredok said. “But the time for investing is over, the time for profit is near. You will win the Quyth Irradiated Conference, get us into the Tier Two tournament, and qualify us for Tier One next season or someone else will be around to watch Quentin Barnes turn into the best player in the league.”
Gredok stood and walked out of the control room. Hokor slowly turned back to the holotank, just in time to see Quentin throw another interception. His pedipalps quivered in frustration.
6
ARRIVAL ON IONATH
HE WAS GLAD it was late, because he could be alone in his room and no one would see his sweat, look at his wide eyes, or hear his ragged breathing. The Touchback was about to punch-out.
Just relax just relax everything is fine ...
Quentin had often heard that if things were to go wrong with punch drive travel, it would happen either on the punch-in or the punch-out of the space/time hole. Punching out always made him think of that ages-old Purist folk-saying: “It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing.”
Don’t panic, breath, breath, it’s almost here ...
He felt the shimmer come, felt, not saw, because he couldn’t bear to have his eyes open and see the reality wave lightly caress the ship and everything in it. And once again, nothing happened.
His held breath slipped out of his tense body, the tinge of horror clinging to his soul. He’d come to accept the fact that if he wanted his dream of glory and a GFL championship, he’d just have to ignore his fear of flying.
He felt the slight tug of the Touchback’s main engines kicking in, maneuvering the ship into orbit. Quentin moved to his view port and looked out onto the glowing red sphere that was Ionath, planet of Ionath City, the home of the Ionath Krakens.
He’d learned all about Ionath in school. In 2558, During the Third Galactic War, the Sklorno navy saturation-bombed the planet, rendering it a radioactive wasteland completely devoid of all life. That bombing was proof, the Holy Men liked to say, of the Sklorno’s Satanic nature. It also proved that the Prawatt race, who had inhabited the planet, were also Satanic, and suffered the wrath of the High One for their evil ways. Quentin had been only nine when he noticed a pattern — just about everything bad that happened to other races or cultures was proof of Satanic tendencies. The only people who didn’t suffer Satanic-related incidents were, coincidentally, the people of the Purist Nation.
But despite the bombing (or perhaps despite Satan), Ionath had not remained devoid of life. In 2573, the Quyth shocked the galaxy by establishing a permanent colony on the planet. In the 110 Earth-years that followed, the colony grew to a population of 500 million Quyth. In addition, the Quyth introduced flora and fauna that not only ignored radiation, but often used it in place of sunlight to capture energy. In just over a century, the Quyth transformed Ionath from a lifeless orb into a flourishing, growing, vibrant planet. The Holy Men cited this as proof of the Quyth’s Satanic nature, for only a being from Hell could live on Hell itself.
While the Quyth flourished on Ionath, the radiation hadn’t just gone away, and other sentient races could not survive on the planet’s surface. The Quyth wanted commerce with other species, so Ionath — like the other irradiated planets of Whitok and Chik-chik — had several domed cities free of radiation. The domed areas acted as a downtown, a central hub of the non-protected areas. Ionath City boasted the largest rad-free dome on the planet. About 110,000 sentients lived inside the four-mile diameter dome, while another 4.1 million Quyth lived outside. The football stadium, of course, sat inside the dome.
Ionath Stadium was also known as “The Big Eye.” Quentin had dreamed of playing in such a place. Seating capacity: 185,000. An open-air stadium, but since it existed under the city dome the weather never changed — it was always 85 degrees Farenheit, the galaxy-accepted standard for multi-race environments. Eighty-five seemed hot to most Humans, a bit cool for Ki, borderline cold for Sklorno and Creterakians, and ideal for Quyth. In the past, when the Krakens were a running team, rumor had it that for critical games the temperature system of the Ionath City dome would often “malfunction,” dropping the temp to 75 degrees or below, a level more suited to Human running backs.
His game was improving, but he’d been less than impressive during his four days with the team. He’d never even considered that he’d have such a hard time adjusting. They had two more days of practice, then the season opener against the Woo Wallcrawlers. And the second of those two days was a non-contact practice, a pre-game run through.
That meant he really only had one more day to convince Hokor that he was ready to play Tier Two ball. But was he ready? Pine made everything look so easy, so smooth, and that only magnified Quentin’s constant struggles. But if Pine could do it, Quentin could do it.
Mind games from Hokor. That’s what all this crap was. Learn every opposing player, their stats, their history, run laps ... a bunch of busy work designed to show Quentin who was boss. Well, Quentin had broken Coach Graber, and Hokor would be no different. Yet, in the back of his mind, Quentin wondered if Hokor was different from Coach Graber. Hokor acted like he’d be perfectly willing to put Quentin on the next shuttle back to the Purist Nation. Was that just an act?
Quentin wasn’t sure, and that gave him an uneasy feeling he’d never experienced before. He slid out of bed and started stretching. Today’s practice would be very important, and he wanted to be ready.
• • •
THE ENTIRE TEAM assembled in the landing bay in a big half-circle around Gredok and Hokor. As usual, players mostly grouped with their own species. Quentin stood with Warburg and Yassoud. Pine, as Quentin had come to expect, stood with one of the alien races, this time the Ki linemen.
“We will now be taking shuttles down to our facility on Ionath City,” Gredok said. “Most of you know the drill. The shuttle will make four runs, veterans go down in the first two runs, then free agents new to the team, and finally rookies.”
“After practice, my workers will show you to your apartments, which have already been assigned. All apartments are close to the stadium. The dome is a reasonably safe area, and as Krakens players you will usually be awarded respect. However, Ionath City is not a vacation resort, so be careful. You are responsible for your body, and care for any injuries sustained while not on the practice or playing field will be docked from your pay. Especially you, Yassoud.”
Yassoud looked as if his best friend had insulted his mother. “Me? Why would you say that?”
Gredok’s pedipalps twitched once. “I’ve read your record, Yassoud. More tavern-fight arrests than some of my low-level enforcers. If you insist on causing problems, you should pray that the police put you in jail instead of bringing you back to me. Understand?”
For once, Yassoud said nothing, simply nodded instead.
“And as for you, Mum-O-Killowe,” Gredok said, “I will be more than happy to send you home in a body bag if you act as you have when you played in the Sklorno leagues.”
Shizzle appeared as if from nowhere, swooped over to Mum-O-Killowe and provided a quick translation. Mum-O-Killowe started saying something in his loud, harsh way, but before he managed a couple of syllables another Ki lineman reached out with a long arm and flicked him in the vocal tubes. Quentin recognized the flick-er as Mai-An-Ihkole, the veteran defensive tackle. Mum-O-Killowe looked offended, as near as Quentin could read Ki emotion. The rookie lineman fell silent.
“That is all,” Gredok said. “The veterans will now board for the first run to Ionath City.”
Veterans, including Pine, entered the shuttle as the rest of the team dispersed.
“What was that all about?” Quentin asked Yassoud. “You a trouble maker or something?”
Yassoud shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never caused a problem in my life.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Warburg said, looking down at the smaller Yassoud. “Just don’t hang out with him in the city, Quentin. We don’t need his influence to lead us astray.”
Yassoud put a hand to his chest. “You offend me, sir. I would never think to corrupt a pious member of the Church.” He walked off, shaking his head in disbelief as if he’d been greatly misjudged.
Two Sklorno — Denver and Milford — approached. Warburg’s demeanor instantly changed from doubt to intimidation, if not outright hostility. Denver’s raspers dragged along the floor, actually leaving a thin trail of saliva on the flight deck. Her transparent carapace was so disconcerting — Quentin could actually see blood coursing through her veins, X-ray
gray blurred by the clear chitin’s X-Ray white. Quentin felt a small shiver of disgust ripple down his spine.
Warburg stared. “What do you want?”
“Perhaps we are worthy to catch passes while running at full speed?” Denver said in her chirping voice.
Quentin and Warburg looked at each other in confusion, then back at Denver.
“What are you talking about, you stupid cricket?” Warburg said. His racial slur stopped all conversation — the players remaining on the flight deck turned to watch.
“Holy Pine said perhaps we could assist in Holy Quentin’s passing. We run full speed, he blesses us with direct passes.”
Quentin’s face turned red, while Warburg started laughing.
Pine, Quentin thought. How could he embarrass me like this?
“Can we help?” Denver asked again.
“I don’t need help!” Quentin spat. “Especially not from the likes of you!”
Denver’s raspers rolled back up behind the chin plate. She leaned back a bit, her posture changing, but Quentin didn’t know what that meant and he was too furious to care.
“Oh, Pine really knows how to rub it in,” Warburg said.
“Holy Quentin is angry?” Denver said. “But we are here to help.”
It was too much to bear. Quentin turned and stormed away, heading out of the landing bay and back to his room. Help? From a damned unholy Sklorno? As if Quentin were some bush league quarterback who needed to work on his route passing? Pine. He’d show that jerk, one way or another, he’d show him!
• • •
QUENTIN HADN’T calmed down much by the time the shuttle, loaded up with the rookies, eased out of the landing bay and into space. It didn’t help that Denver and Milford, the perpetrators of Pine’s little practical joke, sat only a few feet away. At least this time they kept their distance.
The wasted red landscape of Ionath filled the front view screens. Plants colored orange, red, and yellow seemed to flourish, but there was no plant large enough to hide the planet’s war scars. Just over an Earth century had passed since Sklorno’s 25,000-megaton bombs exterminated all life on the planet. The ten-mile-wide bomb craters remained clearly visible. Ionath City, in fact, was built inside one of those craters.