The MVP

BOOK THREE





The Regular Season

February 1 to

May 3, 2685





13





Week One: Ionath Krakens at Isis Ice Storm


“GOOD ONE, Q,” John Tweedy said. “The way you arched your back gave you great form. I’d put that in your top ten.”

“Yeah,” Ju Tweedy said. “Mega-great form. And that puke-grunt really came from the diaphragm. I give it a nine-point-six.”

“Nine-point-seven,” John said.

Quentin shook his head as he pulled the plastic bag out of the golden puke bucket. “Did you guys know those lines get funnier every time you use them?”

John and Ju smiled and exchanged a high five. Quentin shook his head as he tied the bag closed. They actually thought it was a compliment.

He looked out the observation deck’s floor-to-ceiling window. Out there floated the planet Tower, home of the Isis Ice Storm, the Krakens’ first opponent of the season.

The planet looked like a globe of yellow glass, cracked and chipped with age, lit up from within by an endless sprawl of civilization that lay beneath the thick, unmoving ice. A miles-high mountain rose up from that ice, completely covered with lights that followed the slope down and spread out across the sea floor.

Somewhere under that glowing surface, there was a football stadium. And in that stadium, Quentin’s first step to immortality.

“This is it, guys,” he said. “The road to the Galaxy Bowl begins right here.”

John slapped him on the shoulder, his grin wide and his eyes wild. “And our road to All-Pro-Ville, right, Q?”

Quentin nodded. Since the end of last season, Quentin, John and Ju had made a quiet pact to work harder, to play harder, to dig deeper, to do whatever it took to lead the Krakens to a championship and, along the way, grab the ultimate individual honor the sport had to offer.


The ship’s computer-voice echoed through the viewing bay’s speakerfilm:

? ? ?



[FIRST SHUTTLE FLIGHT PASSENGERS TO THE LANDING BAY.]

The time for talking and dreaming had ended. The season had arrived. Together, Ma Tweedy’s three boys walked out of the observation deck and headed for the shuttle that would take them down to Isis.

? ? ?



QUENTIN SMOOTHED THE SEALS on his Koolsuit. He flexed, he twisted — as always, within seconds the suit seemed to be part of him, one and the same with his skin.

He looked to the floor in front of his locker. He had laid out his armor, his helmet and his orange jersey so that it looked like a very flat man was lying there. He imagined himself in that gear, wearing that jersey, imagined himself running, throwing, hitting, scoring … leading his team to victory.

This is where it begins …

One piece at a time, he donned the black armor, his fingers admiring the feel of curved plates, of the thick padding beneath. Shoulder pads and arm protection first, micro-sensors perfectly adjusting the fit from the backs of his hands up to his neck, covering his chest and his shoulder blades. The lower-torso wrap came next, covering his back, his ribs and his stomach, locking into his shoulder armor so perfectly that no seam remained. Next, the hip and leg armor that shielded him down to his ankles. Finally, he stepped into his armored shoes and waited as the micro-motors locked them into his shin guards, completing his suit save for two things.

Quentin picked up the orange jersey. His fingers traced the white-trimmed black letters just below the collar that spelled out KRAKENS and below them, the larger 1 and 0 that made up his number.

And they will all know my name.

He slid the jersey on over his armor, yanking it down, feeling the tight Kevlar fabric make his armor just a bit more snug.

Finally, he reached into his locker and pulled out the true symbol of the Ionath Krakens: his helmet. The shell was such a deep, glossy black that he could see his own distorted face staring back at him. The bright-orange facemask looked like frozen fire. His fingertips caressed the red-trimmed orange splash on the forehead, traced the six orange “tentacles” that reached from that splash to blazing white tips ending on the helmet’s back curve.

He stared at it, then pulled it on.

Quentin Barnes turned and looked at his Human teammates. They had been standing there quietly, waiting for him to finish his ritual. John, Ju, Yassoud, Don, Yitzhak, Yotaro Kobayasho, Jay Martinez, Samuel Darkeye, Arioch Morningstar and even George Starcher, his face painted an intricate plaid pattern of orange and black.

Quentin slammed his right fist against his chest so hard the clacking armor sounded like a gunshot.

“Let’s go get the rest of our team,” he said. “And then let’s go kick some Ice Storm ass.”

? ? ?



“SENTIENTS OF ALL RACES!”

The announcer’s voice echoed through the underwater stadium, barely louder than the 150,000 Isis fans that couldn’t wait for the season to begin.

“Please welcome our visiting team, the Ionath … KRAKennnnnns!”

Quentin and John rushed out of the tunnel onto the deep-blue field, the rest of the Orange and the Black close behind. Isis Stadium, more commonly known as the Fishtank. As Quentin ran for the sidelines, he looked up to the stadium’s clear dome high above and the thousands of densely packed black-striped blue Leekee swimming on the other side. He glanced at the stadium’s three decks, which were mostly filled with fans garbed in white, blue and chrome, but also held a good-sized complement of screaming sentients wearing orange and black. Between both the first and second and the second and third decks were fifteen-foot-high layers of glass: the Fishtank’s liquid luxury boxes that catered to Leekee, Dolphins, Harrah, Whitokians and Amphibs.

Quentin reached the sideline of this temple and raised his right fist high. The team gathered around him even as he heard the announcer begin calling the Ice Storm onto the field, even as he heard over a hundred thousand sentients roar for their heroes.

“Krakens!” he screamed, his explosive voice loud enough for his teammates to hear. “It all begins here, let’s do this!”

He spoke, they answered, and together they prepared for battle.

? ? ?



THIRD DOWN AND THREE, Ionath’s first offensive drive of the season.

Quentin lined up behind Bud-O-Shwek, his center, and stared out at the white-helmeted enemy. The Ice Storm players’ chrome facemasks and the logos on their helmets’ left side — six metal-blue swords in a snowflake formation — reflected the Fishtank’s bright lights.

Their jerseys blazed white at the shoulders, fading to a light blue at the stomach that matched the color of their waist armor. The gradient continued down their bodies, the light blue darkening until it was almost black at their feet. Dark-blue-trimmed chrome numbers sparkled, as did chrome belts.

Quentin slid his hands beneath his center.

“Red, twenty-one!”

He looked right, as he would on every play that afternoon, making sure he laid eyes on Ryan Nossek. Quentin had no intention of being the HeavyG’s sixth career fatality.

“Red, twenty-one!”

Ju and Becca in an I-formation behind him. Hawick wide left, Milford wide right, Crazy George Starcher lined up at left tight end.

“Hut-hut!”

The ball slapped into his hands. Quentin stepped back with his right foot and faked a handoff to Becca, then kept turning right and rolled out to the left — away from Nossek.

He saw Isis linebacker Chaka the Brutal covering Crazy George Starcher, one on one. George recognized that coverage and reacted as he’d been taught, breaking off the route and streaking down-field at full speed. Chaka turned quick, ran with the big tight end stride for stride. Chaka’s excellent coverage would have been good enough against ninety percent of the league’s quarterbacks — but not good enough against someone who threw as hard and as accurately as Quentin Barnes.

Still running hard-left, Quentin gunned the ball. Chaka jumped for it, but too late — the ball whipped past him before he elevated high enough to stop it. Unlike Chaka, however, George knew how fast Quentin could throw, had seen it in practice every day and was already reaching to the full height of his 7-foot-6 frame before the ball even left Quentin’s fingers. The pigskin slammed into Starcher’s hands hard enough to kill most mammals, but the face-painting tight end’s strong grip stopped the ball in mid-flight. Without breaking stride, George tucked the ball into his right arm and kept on sprinting.

Santa Cruz, the Ice Storm’s safety, came up to make the stop. The four-hundred pound Crazy George Starcher covered the ball with both arms, lowered his head and plowed Santa Cruz over. She was still tumbling backward when he crossed the goal line for a 36-yard touchdown.

The Ionath fans who had made the trip cheered wildly, but they were drowned out by the Ice Storm fans who booed at such an early, seemingly effortless score. Quentin smiled. When on the road, boos were often the sweetest music you could hear. He knelt and plucked a few blades of the deep-blue plant that made up the Fishtank’s field. He inhaled deep, taking in a scent of sawdust and sand. He stood, scattered the blue plants to the wind, then jogged to the Ionath sidelines as the extra-point team ran on.

The Krakens first drive saw them up by a touchdown, and Quentin was just getting warmed up.

? ? ?



THE ICE STORM CAME BACK HARD. Starting from his own 33-yard line, quarterback Paul Infante immediately went to work against Vacaville. His threw his first pass up high to her side, which receiver Angoon brought down for a 15-yard gain. Infante spread the pain on the second play, hitting Füssen on a deep cross right in front of rookie Sandpoint for another 17 yards. The white-, blue- and silver-clad Ice Storm tried running back Scott Wilson twice — he was stuffed at the line of scrimmage both times, first by Mum-O-Killowe and then by a run-blitzing John Tweedy.


On third-and-10, Angoon lined up wide left. The Krakens coverage had her marked one on one by Vacaville. Infante took the snap and dropped back. Angoon sprinted 10 yards downfield and turned for the curl.

“Don’t bite on it,” Quentin said to himself, but he already knew what was coming.

Infante pump-faked; Vacaville rushed in to jump the pass. Angoon turned and sprinted up the sidelines. Infante launched a bullet. Sandpoint was too slow coming over to help on coverage, and Angoon carried the ball in for a 40-yard touchdown.

Extra point good, game tied 7-7.

? ? ?



RYAN NOSSEK SPLIT a double-team, sliding between right guard Michael Kimberlin and right tackle Vu-Ko-Will. The pocket collapsed around Quentin. He stopped thinking and just reacted.

He ducked as Nossek swung a tree-trunk-sized arm at his head. Nossek’s forearm caught the top of Quentin’s helmet — even the grazing blow sent him stumbling. Nossek’s momentum carried him by. Quentin regained his feet. He felt pressure from the left, so he shot forward, scrambling to get as many yards as he could. Five steps took him through the line. Linebacker Chaka the Brutal rushed in for the tackle.

Quentin’s three seasons of upper-tier ball had taught him the Quyth Warriors were too agile for head-and-shoulder fakes or stutter-steps. You had to run them over — which was a good way to get knocked out — or you had to make contact and spin. Quentin stutter-stepped left then right then left. The linebacker’s effort to match the move slowed his forward momentum. Quentin covered the ball with both arms and slammed his head forward like a battering ram. Chaka met him helmet to helmet, both pedipalp and middle arms reaching, but in the instant before they made contact Quentin was already spinning. The impact was enough to bounce Chaka back, just a bit, giving Quentin enough room to complete the violent 360-degree turn and continue downfield.

Something hit Quentin from the right, making him stumble left. He switched the ball to his left arm then pushed out hard with his right forearm. He felt something grab, rip, then fall away.

He saw the two Ice Storm cornerbacks trying to reach him, but they were fighting off blocks from Cheboygan and Halawa, Ionath’s oversized third and fourth wide receivers. The only player left who could stop him was Santa Cruz, the Isis safety.

She came at him fast but under control: she had learned from last year’s game, knew that she couldn’t take Quentin head-on. Quentin juked left, then cut right, switching the ball to his right arm and stiff-arming with his left, but Santa Cruz slid under his outstretched hand and wrapped her tentacles around his body. Suddenly Quentin was carrying an extra three hundred pounds. He managed another four steps before the other Sklorno defensive backs brought him down from behind.

He picked himself up off the turf and looked at the yard-marker — first-and-10 on the 8-yard line. He’d scrambled for 42 yards.

On the next play, Quentin took the snap and turned right. Becca shot by before he handed the ball off to Ju Tweedy. Becca placed a surgical block on the outside linebacker, giving Ju just enough room to slip inside. Chaka the Brutal wrapped him up immediately, but Ju already had a head of steam — he carried Chaka with him into the end zone.

Ionath 14, Isis 7.

? ? ?



AT THE HALF, THE KRAKENS LED 17-14. Quentin had been sacked once — you couldn’t avoid Ryan Nossek forever — but other than that he’d put up an excellent first half: 13-of-17 for 213 yards, one touchdown, no interceptions. Ju had 56 yards rushing, giving the Krakens nearly 300 yards total offense in the first half alone.

But while the offense clicked, the defense struggled. Isis running back Scott Wilson had 11 carries for 34 yards. Infante was carving up the Krakens’ secondary. He was 16-of-21 for 185 yards and two touchdown passes. The Krakens’ defensive line was putting pressure on him — he’d been sacked three times and hurried another five — but it wasn’t enough to stop Infante from completing passes against the defensive secondary.

Quentin hoped the defense could find a solution in the second half.

? ? ?



QUENTIN FELT THE PRESSURE coming, but his internal clock told him he had just enough time to get the pass off. He stepped up and threw. The ball had barely left his fingers when a warship smashed into him from the right. Giant arms wrapped around his chest, lifted, then drove him hard to the ground, so hard that snot flew out of his nose.

“Hello again, my little friend,” said Ryan Nossek.

The crowd’s boo/roar told Quentin that the pass had been caught for a touchdown — his third of the game. Quentin felt a moan of pain building up in his chest, but he fought it down: he wouldn’t give Nossek the satisfaction.

“Hey, buddy,” Quentin said. “Hear that booing sound? Sounds like my pass went for six.”

“Oh, you can still hear? I guess I didn’t hit you hard enough.”

Big hands lifted Quentin up like a child and set him on his feet. Nossek patted Quentin on the shoulder pad.

“I’ll do better next time,” the HeavyG said. “And nice pass.”

Nossek jogged to the sidelines. Quentin looked up to the scoreboard. It was blurry. He closed his eyes, then blinked a few times. He looked again and saw the score had put Ionath ahead 29-26. Just 2:42 remained in the game — they almost had the win.

Quentin jogged to the sidelines. Arioch Morningstar nailed the extra point, putting the Krakens up by four. Isis needed a touchdown to win.

Now if the defense could just make a stop.

? ? ?



THE FISHTANK VIBRATED with sonic energy. Feet of all species pounded on the stands, Leekee tails slapped against the stadium’s clear, domed roof. Quentin had been in loud stadiums before, but the underwater arena concentrated the noise of 150,000 fans into an ear-hammering roar.

Isis quarterback Paul Infante walked to the line. His white-helmeted head looked left, then right, taking in the Krakens’ defense. Infante’s right sleeve had been torn off, revealing the black Kevlar body armor beneath and the bloody, white skin beneath that. That wound had come courtesy of a Mum-O-Killowe sack. The broken chrome facemask? That came when Alexsandar Michnik and Ibrahim Khomeni had reached Infante at the same time, smashing him between a thousand pounds of angry HeavyG defensive end. Infante had been sacked six times in all, and yet the guy kept getting up. Quentin had to respect the opposing quarterback’s performance; Infante didn’t have a great arm and couldn’t run for crap, but he was tougher than a mining shovel.

Third-and-six on the Krakens’ 45-yard line, just six seconds left in the game. Isis had one play left, and it had to be a touchdown. Ju Tweedy reached up and grabbed Quentin’s jersey at the shoulder pad, lightly pulling Quentin left and right, an unconscious, nervous reaction as both men hoped for a sack, an incomplete pass, anything that would give them the victory.

Infante took the snap and dropped back five yards. The orange- and black-clad Krakens’ defensive line crashed against the blue, white and silver Ice Storm blockers. John Tweedy and Virak the Mean both blitzed. Infante stood tall, giving his receivers time to get downfield. Mum-O overpowered his blocker and came clean — Infante knew the hit was coming, but stepped up strong and launched a deep pass. Quentin saw Infante go down hard, then followed the ball’s path.

Wide receiver Angoon cut toward the end zone’s back corner. Vacaville was in great position, running step for step with the receiver. Sandpoint, Ionath’s free safety, was on her way over from the deep middle of the field and would probably arrive just as the ball came down. The crowd roared loud enough to split atoms. In the end zone, Angoon leapt high. Vacaville matched. They soared into the air, a floating, black- and white-striped Harrah ref fluttering close by. Angoon reached for the ball, but before it arrived Vacaville grabbed Angoon’s tentacles. The ball shot past as the two players dropped back down — dropping down with them, a yellow flag thrown by the ref.


The crowd screamed until the stadium shuddered. Every Kraken groaned. Quentin slapped his helmet so hard it hurt his hand. Ju stomped his right foot down hard, over and over.

The zebe floated up and faced the home bleachers. His mechanical voice echoed through the stadium’s sound system.

“Pass interference, number forty, defense. The penalty occurred in the end zone. Therefore, the ball will be placed on the two-yard line.” The zebe turned to face the Krakens’ end zone, then extended one mouth-flap straight forward. “First down.”

The clock read 0:00. A game couldn’t end on a defensive penalty, so even though there was no time left, Isis would get one final play. John and the defense had to make a stop.

The Ice Storm huddled up. Quentin saw five wide receivers and no running back. Hokor saw the same thing; he sent Luanda in and pulled Choto out — a linebacker swapped for a defensive back.

The Ice Storm came to the line. Sure enough, no running back and no fullback, five wide receivers spread sideline to sideline. Infante stood six yards behind center.

The Krakens defensive backs lined up one on one, each taking a receiver. They would play outside-in, stopping out routes and corner fades, counting on the linebackers for help with any slants or crossing patterns.

Infante barked out the signals. Quentin could only tell by the quarterback’s shaking shoulders, as nothing could be heard over the crowd’s demand for a score.

The ball flipped back to Infante. The lines smashed into each other. Infante raised the ball to his right ear, paused a half-second, then fired the ball low to the left for Füssen.

Füssen dropped to the ground, falling just under the rookie Sandpoint. Sandpoint tried to block the ball but couldn’t get down in time to stop such a perfectly thrown pass.

Füssen landed on the goal line, ball clutched tight to her chest. Sandpoint landed on top of her, ripping at the ball.

A striped ref shot in, wing-flaps making it zip through the air until it hovered only inches from Füssen and Sandpoint. The zebe looked, then pointed both mouth-flaps to the sky.

Touchdown.

The stadium shook with madness. Quentin sighed and looked up to the clear dome roof, to a mad, swirling cluster of thousands of blue Leekee swimming over and under each other.

Isis 32, Ionath 30, no time left on the clock.

Game over.



GFL WEEK ONE ROUNDUP

Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network



The opening week of the 2685 Tier One season brought plenty of surprises and some stellar performances.

The Isis Ice Storm (1-0) made an early bid to maintain the franchise’s winning ways with a thrilling 32-30 win over Planet Division rival Ionath (0-1). Ionath quarterback Quentin Barnes posted a 24-for-30, three-touchdown, 341-yard performance, but it wasn’t enough to lead his team past Isis. A pass-interference call in the end zone as time expired gave the Ice Storm a final play on the 2-yard line with zero time left on the clock. Isis quarterback Paul Infante hit receiver Füssen for the winning touchdown pass.

In a rare occurrence, both newly promoted teams claimed victory in their opening Tier One games. The Buddha City Elite (1-0) won a close match over the Alimum Armada (0-1) thanks to a ten-catch, two-touchdown, 88-yard performance by tight end Rick Warburg. A sold-out Infinity Coliseum crowd celebrated the Purist Nation’s first Tier One win in fifteen years.

Not to be outdone, the Sheb Stalkers (1-0) won that franchise’s first-ever Tier One game as coach Jako the Mug orchestrated a shocking 17-14 road-game upset over Neptune (0-1). Sheb running back Tony Miller anchored a ground-control offense that kept the ball out of the hands of Scarlet Fliers QB Adam Gurri. Miller ran for 214 yards on 32 carries.

The OS1 Orbiting Death (1-0), a surprise early-season contender last year, made an emphatic statement with a 42-10 thrashing of defending Galaxy Bowl champion Themala (0-1). Death quarter-back Condor Adrienne set a single-game record with 482 yards passing, including four touchdown passes.

The To Pirates (1-0) edged the Vik Vanguard (0-1) by a score of 24-20, and the Yall Criminals (1-0) topped the Wabash Wolfpack (0-1) 35-14 on a five-TD-pass performance by quarterback Rick Renaud.

Deaths

No deaths reported in Week One.

Offensive Player of the Week

OS1 Orbiting Death quarterback Condor Adrienne, who threw for 482 yards and four touchdowns on 32-of-40 attempts.

Defensive Player of the Week

Shorah Warlords defensive tackle Bran-Gam-Blin who had six solo tackles, three assists and two sacks in the Warlords’ 17-9 loss to the Bartel Water Bugs.