THE ALL-PRO (Galactic Football League)

  “Barnes,” Danny said, “you need to let me handle this.”

  Thinly veiled talk for shut the hell up and don’t make a sound. Quentin tried to relax. He would let the heavyweights duke it out. But wow, that was so much money and it was right there.

  “Those terms are unacceptable,” Danny said. “You are still twenty-five megacredits away from our latest counter-counter offer.”

  Gredok leaned forward again. “I want Quentin Barnes to lead my franchise. I believe in him. He has won me over in a way that no Human ever has. He has discipline, intensity, loyalty and — something that I’m not used to in my line of business — integrity.”

  Quentin felt himself blushing.

  Gredok continued. “He is the sentient to lead my franchise for the next ten seasons and beyond, should his body stand up to the continued abuse of the game. The other players follow him without question.”

  “If that’s how you feel,” Danny said, “then he is worth far more than you’re offering.”

  “He is,” Gredok said. “However, I have a business to run. I am wealthy, Lundy, but my accounts are not infinite. I have to build a championship team, not sink all of my resources into one player.

  We have many needs on the defensive side. I need money to sign the players that will help Quentin take us to a title.”

  Quentin nodded before he realized he was doing it. He clenched his teeth, forced himself to stay still.

  “Your financial woes are not my client’s concern, buddy,” Danny said. “The offers from both McMurdo and Mars are already higher than yours and that rumored offer from To is significantly higher.”

  Gredok nodded, a Human-learned gesture that made a Quyth Leader’s entire upper body move back and forth. “I understand. But I am not here to argue any further. This is my final offer. If I leave this room without completing the offer, then at season’s end, Quentin Barnes is no longer an Ionath Kraken.”

  Danny shook his head, hard. Drops of water flicked off to both sides. “We don’t accept.”

  Quentin felt something in his chest ... was it ... fear? Fear that he’d have to start all over again somewhere else? He could, he knew he could. He’d learned so much in three seasons, but did he want to start over?

  Purple swirled in Gredok’s eye — sadness, disappointment. He turned to face Quentin. “I realize that I have been ... difficult. Everything I have done, Quentin, was done to field a championship team. I had hoped I would build that championship with you, with Hawick, with the Tweedy brothers, even with Yassoud. But if your path leads you elsewhere, I wish you well — except when you line up against me on the football field.”

  Gredok meant it. The ruthless crime lord actually meant it.

  “Gredok,” Quentin said. “I-”

  A single, high-pitched syllable cut Quentin off.

  “Let me do the talking,” Danny said in a low tone of command. “Gredok, stop pretending that we have to accept your offer now. It’s only Week Nine.”

  “Lundy, you are not the only one that can facilitate rumors of in-season offers. I can’t afford to start over with another rookie. I need a seasoned quarterback, a proven leader. If Quentin chooses to go elsewhere, I need to start some rumors of my own.”

  Gredok wanted to start looking for another quarterback, even before the season was over? The thought simultaneously filled Quentin with rage and with admiration. Gredok wanted Quentin, but if he couldn’t have him, the crime lord would find someone else and he’d start hunting immediately. That made sense — it was exactly what Quentin would do if he were in Gredok’s position. Machinations and manipulations took time to develop. Player acquisition was a cut-throat business. Condor Adrienne hadn’t come to the Orbiting Death by choice. Anna Villani had forced that move. Gredok needed time to do something similar.

  Words suddenly flashed through Quentin’s mind. A voice from his past back on Micovi, a memory of a limo ride to the spaceport, the words of Raiders owner Stedmar Osbourne: What you’ve got to learn, Quentin, is that time always wins and there’s always someone to take your place. I won’t be able to replace you next year, or the year after that, but you know what? Someone will line up at quarterback for the Raiders. The team won’t shut down because you’re gone.

  This was it. Take the offer and stay with his teammates, keep his heart pumping orange and black, or sign with another team and take the money.

  “Gredok,” Quentin said. “I think that—”

  Danny turned sharply. “Barnes! You need to let me handle this. I will—”

  “Shut up,” Quentin said.

  “What?”

  “I said, shut up, Danny. You work for me, remember?” Quentin stared hard into the Dolphin’s black eyes, waited until Danny leaned back.

  Quentin turned to face Gredok. “I accept.”

  Danny’s legs extended, suddenly raising his 350-pound, 8-foot-long body into the air. His bejeweled dorsal fin brushed against the ceiling. His head angled down, showing eyes wide with rage. When he talked, it was a combination of Dolphin chitter and English. “No! I have worked too hard on this deal, Barnes! Do not accept!”

  Quentin stood as well. He wasn’t some helpless orphan miner. He was a grown man. He was the team captain of a Tier One franchise.

  Then it hit home — he wasn’t an orphan anymore. In fact, he’d never truly been one.

  “Lundy, we’re done. I want to play for the Krakens. You will either facilitate the exchange and get your commission, or I will walk out of here and sign somewhere else, using my new money to hire lawyers to make sure you don’t get a single credit. The offer on the table is there because of your efforts, but you work for me and you will do what I tell you to do. So, do you want fifteen percent of a hundred and sixty-five million, or do you want a hundred percent of nothing?”

  Quentin snapped out of it. Had he just said all of that? Said it in the voice he used on the football field, where he was always confident and in control?

  He had.

  Danny stared. His long, muscular Dolphin form shook with anger. Quentin waited. Gredok sat still and silent.

  Danny’s shaking slowed, then stopped. He lowered himself back down to table-level. His metallic hands reached out and took the contract box.

  “We’ll do what you want,” he said. “You’re right, Quentin. You’re the boss. It’s your career. But I am going on record here to say you are making a mistake. You are believing the words of a master manipulator.”

  “Maybe,” Quentin said. “But you know what? This deal makes me rich beyond anything I could have imagined, and I get to win a championship with the team I’ve built. Money is a great thing, Lundy, but it isn’t the greatest thing.”

  Danny pushed the box to the center of the table. “Everything is in order. No hidden clauses. The offer is as Gredok says.”

  Quentin reached out his left hand and slid his thumb into the box’s hole. He felt the tickle of machinery scraping his skin, taking cells to read his DNA and verify his identity. The device also measured his heart rate, temperature and several other factors, entering them into an algorithm that would determine if Quentin was making this choice of his own free will.

  The light above Quentin’s finger turned green -he was not being coerced.

  Gredok leaned forward, extended his pedipalp, slid his furred finger into the other side of the box. More whirring, some buzzing — the light on his side turned green.

  The contract box accessed the Intergalactic Business Database, verified their genetic makeup against records, then gave a low BEEP to indicate the transaction was complete.

  Quentin Barnes was rich.

  Quentin Barnes was a Kraken, now and forever.

  Gredok withdrew his pedipalp. “Now that I have made you more wealthier than most of the sentients in your home city, combined, Barnes, I wonder if you could do me the tiniest favor.”

  Quentin smiled, a smile he couldn’t stop. It was all over — he had a father, he had a team, he had a family.

 
“A favor? And what would that be, Gredok?”

  “Gloria ... Ogawa,” the Quyth Leader said, not hiding the fact that he hated to say that name almost as much as he hated the woman who owned it. “I have not defeated her team since 2669. To defeat her in their stadium, destroy her undefeated season, it would erase fifteen years of frustration. Tell me, Barnes, tell me that you are the one who will finally defeat Wabash.”

  Quentin reached out and ruffled the black fur on Gredok’s head.

  “Just give me the ball, Greedy. Just give me the ball.”

  Transcript from the “Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show with Dan, Akbar, and Tarat the Smasher”

  DAN: And we’re back! Thanks again to our sponsor, Sayed Luxury Craft.

  AKBAR: You know, I met Manny Sayed once. Heck of a guy.

  DAN: You can say that again, lil’ buddy. Funny we should mention Sayed Luxury Craft right now, because their poster boy, Quentin Barnes, is headed into the biggest game of his career. His Krakens travel to the planet Fortress for a critical tilt with the undefeated Wabash Wolfpack.

  TARAT: You think this game is bigger for the Krakens than last year’s game against the Mars Planets? The loser of that one dropped to Tier Two, costing the franchise millions.

  DAN: Well, sure, Smasher, that was big, but this is the biggest game of Quentin’s career this season.

  AKBAR: That doesn’t even make any sense.

  DAN: You’re right, Akbar, sports drama doesn’t have to make sense to be dramatic and we’ve got droves of drama in this game. First, Wabash versus Ionath is a bitter rivalry that dates back decades. This is the first real chance the Krakens have had to beat the Wolfpack in fifteen years. Second, Wabash is on top of the Planet Division, but Ionath is tied for third and fighting for their first trip to the playoffs in nine seasons. If the Krakens win, they pull to within one game of first.

  AKBAR: Dan, who are you kidding? The Krakens are going to get demolished.

  TARAT: But the Krakens have five wins. They are a good team.

  AKBAR: Tarat, maybe they don’t teach math in the Quyth Concordia, because you certainly haven’t done yours. Sure, the Krakens have five wins, but the last three? Those came against teams with a combined record of three and eighteen.

  DAN: Ionath beat Isis and Yall, both five-and-two teams, both fighting for playoff spots.

  AKBAR: That was the first two weeks of the season and the Criminals were killing Ionath until Renaud got hurt. Since then, the Krakens have barely beaten Hittoni, Alimum and Lu. They lost to OS1, which has a losing record of three-and-four and to Coranadillana, which only has two wins. I’m telling you, the Krakens are not as good as their record.

  TARAT: A football team’s record speaks for itself, Akbar.

  DAN: I don’t know, Tarat, maybe Akbar has a point. The Krakens haven’t had a quality win since Week One.

  TARAT: Victories are quantitative, not qualitative.

  AKBAR: Woah! Maybe they do teach math in the Concordia.

  TARAT: It does not matter how you win, or who you beat, as long as you get a victory. If the Krakens get three more wins, they finish with eight and probably make the playoffs.

  DAN: P-p-playoffs? Did he say ... playoffs? This week the Krakens have undefeated defending GFL champion Wabash Wolfpack, then the six-and-one To Pirates, then D’Kow, which is winnable, but Ionath finishes with the red-hot Vik Vanguard. You think Ionath can win three of those four games?

  AKBAR: Not likely.

  TARAT: Dan, I am saying that if the Krakens can win three, they will make the playoffs. From there, anything can happen.

  DAN: So you’re picking the Krakens over the Wolfpack on Sunday?

  TARAT: Oh, absolutely not. The Wolfpack will crush Ionath.

  AKBAR: If there’s qualitative and quantitative, is there wishy-washy-tative?

  TARAT: Akbar, you are starting to make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

  DAN: Okay then! Akbar, help us all out and shush up for a bit while we go to the calls, okay?

  AKBAR: Uh ... yes, I’ll just sit here and be quiet.

  TARAT: Excellent decision.

  DAN: Line seven from the Withrit Colony, you’re on the Space. Go!

  CALLER: All three of you idiots are wrong-wrong-wrong. The Krakens are going to win all four, finish with nine wins and take the Planet Division.

  TARAT: I think that is unlikely.

  DAN: What kind of drugs are they selling these days in Withrit? Because I want some. Line four from Earth you’re on the Space. Go!

  • • •

  THE PLASTIC BUCKET CLONKED onto the deck between Quentin and his father.

  “Boom,” John Tweedy said. “The Puke-A-Tron Model B is ready for business. Now, with even more Wabash action!”

  He pointed to the bucket’s latest sticker, this one showing a snarling, black, stylized animal head set against a backdrop of red — the logo of the Wabash Wolfpack.

  “Thanks, John.”

  “Don’t mention it, Q-ster. Hey there, Pa Barnes. How are ya?”

  Cillian nodded politely. “I’m fine, thanks. John, you know my last name isn’t Barnes, right?”

  John blinked a few times. “But you’re Quentin’s dad.”

  “Yes, but Quentin’s mother remarried and that changed his last name. My last name is Carbonaro.”

  John’s face wrinkled with confusion. “So, I should call you Pa Carbonaro?”

  “How about you call me Cillian?”

  “Pa Cillian?”

  “Just Cillian.”

  “How about I just call you Pa, then?”

  “I’m not your dad, John.”

  “Quentin’s not my brother, but he calls Ma Ma.”

  Cillian sighed.

  Quentin laughed and pushed his dad’s shoulder. “Just let him call you Pa. It will save you a lot of time.”

  Cillian shrugged. “Fine, John. Just call me Pa.”

  John smiled and nodded once. I KNOW WORDS flashed across his face. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Studying,” Quentin said. “Dad is quizzing me on the Wolfpack players. It’s more fun than staring at the holotank.”

  UNDEFEATED SCHMUNDEFEATED scrolled across John’s face. “Okay, Q, I’ll leave you and Pa to it. Hey, Pa, watch out for the splashing, okay?”

  John walked off.

  Cillian picked up his messageboard and looked at the next name. “Right outside linebacker?”

  “Ricky Craig,” Quentin said instantly. “Fifth-year pro, a Fortress native. Six-foot-eight, three-hundred thirty pounds. Great lateral movement. The Wolfpack’s second-leading tackler. Four sacks this season, two interceptions.”

  Cillian nodded. “And his weaknesses?”

  “Slow to turn and run with receivers in pass coverage. Susceptible to pump-fakes and play-action. He tends to have poor balance if he blitzes up the middle.”

  “What does that mean for you?”

  “It means I’ve got an extra bit of time if he comes in. I can juke him.”

  Cillian lowered the messageboard. “That’s all correct. But I’m kind of curious — what exactly does an extra bit of time mean in your case?”

  Quentin thought for a moment, trying to analyze something he normally did by feel alone. “I’d say ... that means about two-tenths of a second?”

  “Two-tenths? You’re telling me that things happen so fast, you notice two-tenths of a second of extra reaction time?”

  Quentin nodded.

  “So you see this six-foot-eight monster coming and you think, oh look, it’s Ricky Craig, I’ve got a fraction of a second to relax and have a beer?”

  Quentin laughed. “No, Dad, it’s not like that. Everything happens automatically. I memorize all of this stuff over and over again, then on the field it all just kind of happens instantly.”

  Cillian leaned back and smiled. “You’re really amazing, you know that, Son?”

  Quentin’s face felt hot. He looked away. “Thanks.” How could he react to that? What w
as he supposed to say when his father was so clearly proud of him?

  Cillian seemed to sense Quentin’s discomfort. He picked up the plastic-lined bucket. “What’s this? And what did John mean by watch out for the splashing?”

  “Uh ... I sometimes get a little sick on punch-out.”

  His father raised his eyebrows and held the bucket higher, showing the size. “A little sick?”

  “Okay, a lot sick. I kind of throw up every time. Maybe it’s genetic.”

  “Maybe,” Cillian said, then he looked away and set the bucket down. “If so, you get it from your mother. Listen, let’s finish up. We’re almost at punch-out. As soon as we arrive, I have to report to Messal to help with equipment load-in on the shuttles.”

  Quentin still couldn’t believe that his father had taken a job with the Krakens. Messal had offered the position and Cillian had taken it immediately.

  “Okay, Dad, that’s cool.”

  Cillian looked through the tall windows. There was nothing to see out there but blackness — no stars in punch-space.

  “Quentin, have you played in Wabash before?”

  “We had them in Ionath last year,” Quentin said. “I’ve never played in Wabash, though. Kimberlin told me that they have one-hundred thousand fans, exactly, at every game. No more, no less. They call themselves the Hundred-K. Isn’t that cool?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Cillian said. “Fortress seems like a strange name for a planet.”

  “They called it that because it had some weird defense structure. The planet is right in the middle of both the Tower Republic and the Leekee Collective.”

  “In the middle of both? How can it be in both at the same time?”

  “Tower and Leekee share a lot of space,” Quentin said. “Some people think they’re basically the same government, independent of each other in name only.” What a strange feeling — Quentin was educating someone else on a government structure? Bizarre. And yet, it felt fantastic. He had learned so much.

  Quentin felt the shudder begin. He closed his eyes, held tight to the brass rail. Here it comes. Everything will be okay. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be —”

  A hand on his back. Rubbing small circles. Patting lightly. His father, trying to comfort him.