The MVP

15





Week Three: Bye



PLANET DIVISION

SOLAR DIVISION



2-0 OS1 Orbiting Death

2-0 Bartel Water Bugs



2-0 Yall Criminals

2-0 Jupiter Jacks



1-1 Alimum Armada

2-0 Texas Earthlings



1-1 Buddha City Elite

1-1 Bord Brigands



1-1 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

1-1 D’Kow War Dogs



1-1 Isis Ice Storm

1-1 Neptune Scarlet Fliers



1-1 Themala Dreadnaughts

1-1 New Rodina Astronauts



1-1 To Pirates

1-1 Sheb Stalkers



1-1 Wabash Wolfpack

0-2 Jang Atom Smashers



0-2 Hittoni Hullwalkers

0-2 Shorah Warlords



0-2 Ionath Krakens

0-2 Vik Vanguard





WHEN THE TOUCHBACK reached Ionath, Fred was waiting. Quentin had once again met the detective at the Blessed Lamb bar. The conversation had been brief. Quentin had laid out his plan, ready to argue and plead, if necessary, because Fred would surely say no, but that hadn’t happened.

Fred said yes. Weeks earlier, he’d said that no amount of money could get him to cross Gredok. That, apparently, wasn’t true as long as that amount was one million credits and he got to wear a disguise.

It seemed Quentin wasn’t the only one looking for ways to hurt Gredok the Splithead.

Week Three was the Krakens’ bye week. They practiced at Ionath Stadium, but there would be no game for them come Sunday. Monday and Tuesday flew by as Quentin worked to make the defensive backs better and also worked on his plan.

Wednesday after practice, Quentin and Choto walked into the Bootleg Arms, the bar owned by Gredok. Tikad the Groveling, the bar’s manager, saw them and — as usual — fell all over himself offering to fetch the players whatever they wanted. Quentin left Choto to deal with the overly gracious Worker, while he walked into the back of the bar, into the VIP area. Sure enough, he found the two people he’d come to see: Yassoud Murphy and backup defensive tackle Tim Crawford, both with drinks on the table in front of them. Murphy was 6-foot-6, 315 pounds, yet he looked like a little kid next to Crawford.

Quentin sat down at their booth.

Yassoud smiled with joy and raised his glass. “Well, if it isn’t the galaxy-famous quarterback, Quentin Barnes! You finally taking a night off to relax?”

Crawford nodded. “Yeah. You don’t get out much, do ya?” The HeavyG took a drink. The frothy beverage left a pinkish mustache on his black skin. He smiled, which made his forehead wrinkle and drew attention to the lighter-color scars that ran from his eyebrows up over his head and down to the back of his neck.

Quentin nodded at Crawford’s mug. “Take it easy, man — too many strawberry smoothies and you won’t be able to drive home.”

“Ha-ha,” Crawford said. “It’s a mega-mass shake. Doc says I have to drink four of ’em a day.”

Crawford was in his second year with the team. He stood 7-foot-10 but weighed only 565 pounds — too skinny for a HeavyG interior lineman. To become an impact player, he had to put on at least another thirty pounds of muscle. Doc Patah made sure Crawford spent extra time in the gym and consumed an obscene amount of calories.

Yassoud nodded to the empty spot at the table in front of Quentin. “Can I get you a beer, my holy quarterback?”

Quentin shook his head. “Not here to drink. I need you guys to do something.”

Crawford and Yassoud exchanged a glance.

Yassoud leaned back. “The fact that you’re asking us tells me this isn’t a trip to the store for chips and salsa.”


Quentin nodded. “You’ve both been known to get into a little bit of trouble.”

Yassoud smiled his best who, me? smile. “I assure you, my good man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Crawford looked nervous. “Hey, I’ve been keeping my nose clean here. I’m more mature than when I played for the Angels. I don’t want to screw this up.”

The HeavyG had played in Tier Two for the Achnad Archangels. He’d spent the second half of his last season there in jail instead of on the gridiron. It wasn’t fair of Quentin to ask this of him, but with two losses and no wins, the time for fair was long past. Ionath needed to win, whatever it took.

“I know you’re being good,” Quentin said. “So if you don’t want to screw that up, I suggest you don’t get caught.”

Yassoud and Crawford exchanged another glance. Crawford nodded, which Quentin found interesting considering he hadn’t even said what he wanted them to do. Both men leaned closer.

“Ask away,” Yassoud said.

“You guys know the Kriegs-Ballok virtual practice system in the stadium?”

“Of course,” ’Soud said. “What do you want us to do with it?”

Quentin smiled. “I need you to break it. And I need it done tonight.”

? ? ?



THE STAGE HAD BEEN SET. Now it was time for Quentin to see if the rest of his friends would help.

Quentin met Sho-Do-Thikit, Mum-O-Killowe, Ju, George Starcher, Michael Kimberlin, John and Becca in the Hypatia’s small landing bay and walked them to the salon. Quentin tried to ignore that John and Becca were holding hands.

Choto the Bright and Frederico were already waiting in the salon. When John saw Fred, he let go of Becca’s hand and jogged over to give the detective a high-five.

“Fred! Holy crap! How are you?”

“I’m well, Uncle Johnny,” Frederico said.

“No disguise this time? You’re getting boring in your old age.”

Fred smiled and nodded. “Well, I’m not actually Frederico. He put this disguise on me so I would look like him.”

John’s smile faded. “Are you messing with me, Fred?”

Fred winked. “My name is Maxwell, but I’ll tell Fred you said hello.”

John’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Wow,” he said. “Tell Fred that he’s really good with the disguises.” He walked back to the couch and sat next to Becca.

The Ki moved behind the couch, making room for the rest of the players. Everyone looked to Quentin, waited for him to explain why he’d insisted on their presence.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “We’re winless. In Week Four, we take on Yall. The Criminals have the number-one offense in the league. No disrespect to John, Choto and Mum-O, but we all know our defense can’t stop them.”

“Defense-defense,” John said sadly. “Goooo, defense.”

“We could start our season with three straight losses,” Quentin said. “We have to do something drastic, and we have to do it fast. We’ve worked too damn hard to get where we are.”

Becca nodded. “We have to practice harder.”

John laughed. “Snuggle-bumpkins, if we practiced any harder we’d land butter-side down. Everyone is working their asses off, even poor Vacaville — she just doesn’t have the skills.”

Becca’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She better find the skills, John. It’s not like we can get someone else.”

“But we can,” Quentin said. “In fact, Becca, you played against them. You saw how high they can jump.”

She stared at him. Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Quentin said. “Dead serious.”

Ju smiled and nodded. “Shuck yes, Q. That’s brilliant.”

“Genius,” George said. “An idea hatched from the deep firmament of—”

“Not now, George,” Quentin said.

George nodded. “Right, sorry.”

Mum-O and Sho-Do let out a short grunt. Like George, Ju and Becca, they knew what Quentin wanted to do. The confused looks on the faces of Kimberlin and John, however, showed that they did not.

John looked back and forth between Quentin and Becca. “You guys want to tell me what’s going on?”

Ju rolled his eyes. “Big brother, you’re retarded.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re mega-retarded!”

“Am not,” Ju said.

“Are so,” John said.

“Am not,” Ju said.

Quentin held up his hands. “Guys, knock it off, will you?”

John mouthed the words are so, then looked at Quentin. “So, tell me already. What are you guys talking about?”

George Starcher stepped forward, right hand over his heart. “John, oh erstwhile linebacker whose blitz is akin to a streaking asteroid, Quentin wishes that we bond with the Old Ones, that we take their progeny to our bosom and hurtle across the void as one glorious supernova of team and talent and unadulterated awesome.”

Quentin sighed. “John, what George is trying to say is—”

“I heard him,” John said. “You want to recruit the Prawatt?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you get that out of what George said?”

I GOT EARS scrolled across John’s face. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

Ju mouthed the words are so.

John stood up and took a step toward his brother, but Quentin stepped in between them. “Guys, come on! This is serious. Yes, I want to recruit the Prawatt to play cornerback.”

Kimberlin’s eyes widened. “Quentin, we don’t even know if they can play football.”

“They’ll figure it out,” Quentin said. “You all saw their speed, their agility, saw how hard they can hit. They were willing to die if that’s what it took to win. The Prawatt are no different than anyone in this room. This could save our season.”

The HeavyG shook his head slowly. “The season. Football … that is your motivation for such a dangerous endeavor?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

Kimberlin paused, seemed to think it over. “Actually, no,” he said. “This reason is as good as many others and could have far greater results. I will join you.”

Becca suddenly stood up. “This is a dumb idea to start with, and it’s also impossible — the Prawatt homeworld is three months away. We’ll miss the rest of the season.”

“We’re not going to the homeworld,” Quentin said. “We’re going to cross the Sklorno border. If I can reach Captain Bumberpuff, I know we’ll get players.”

Becca crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, that’s just a brilliant plan, Quentin. And say it works, say we bring back aliens that are considered monsters by most of the galaxy. You think Froese will just let them play? And even if he does, you think the other owners won’t object? This can’t work. You’re not only wasting your time, you’re putting your life and the life of anyone who goes with you at risk — for nothing.”

She was always so hard-headed, always seeing the negative in his plans. He looked at Kimberlin. “Mike, what do you think will happen if the Prawatt want to play?”

“I think both the league and the Creterakians will allow it,” Kimberlin said without hesitation. “We avoided war, but the political situation remains tense. Letting the Prawatt play football is a way to help everyone see they are not so alien after all.”


“Not alien?” Becca said. “They’re machines. How is Froese going to let machines play?”

Kimberlin shook his head. “The Prawatt are classified as sentient individuals. They are born, they grow, they die. Froese wouldn’t allow that big one that came into the landing bay to play, but I suspect he will allow the X-Walkers.”

Ju belched. He scratched at his belly. “Hey, Q, got anything to eat?”

They were in the middle of a major decision, and Ju wanted food? “Galley,” Quentin said. “Help yourself.”

Ju gave a nod of thanks, then walked out of the salon. Mum-O and Sho-Do followed him. Apparently the three of them had made up their minds, and no further discussion was necessary.

Quentin looked at the rest of his friends. “With or without you, I’m going to Prawatt space. Who’s in?”

George, Kimberlin, Choto, Fred and John raised their hands immediately.

Just like two years ago when Quentin had wanted to go to OS1 to rescue Ju Tweedy from Anna Villani, Becca was the sole opposition.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “What are you going to do, Quentin? Take your fancy yacht across the border and come back with a salon full of X-Walkers?”

“Computer,” Quentin said, “show the surrounding area on the main holotank.”

The salon’s holotank blinked on. A tiny Hypatia sat in the center, curved lines and orange paint reflecting the light of the sun. Not far away sat a Quyth cruiser, a light warship that was five times the yacht’s size.

“Holy crap,” John said. “Is that a warship?”

Choto said something in the Quyth’s native tongue. “I just spoke the name of that ship,” he said. “It roughly translates to the eaters of your feet.”

John shook his head. “Not my feet. I like my little piggies.”

“It is a warship capable of targeting the Hypatia’s engines,” Choto said. “If Quentin’s yacht leaves this spot, I believe that warship will disable it immediately.”

“Gredok’s doing,” Quentin said. “He knows what I want to do, so he made sure I couldn’t take the Hypatia. And no vessel we could hire would have GFL diplomatic immunity, which we need to pass through Sklorno space without anyone stopping us.”

He nodded toward Frederico. “That’s why Fred is here. He’s a pilot. There’s one ship we can get that already has diplomatic immunity. Right now, there’s almost no one on it. We can just take it.”

Becca looked at Fred, who smiled at her. She looked back to Quentin. “You’re insane,” she said. “Totally insane.”

Quentin shrugged. “Maybe. Are you in or are you out?”

John looked at Fred, then at Quentin, then at Becca.

“Poo-poo face,” John said. “What’s going on? And are you in?”

Becca’s stare was so filled with hate that Quentin almost had to look away.

“I’m in,” she said. She turned to John. “What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on — your best buddy Quentin Barnes is going to steal the Touchback.”

? ? ?



MESSAL THE EFFICIENT’S EYE swirled with green. “But Elder Barnes, I do not know what is wrong with the equipment.”

Quentin stepped closer, seven feet of muscular Human staring down at a Quyth Worker half his height. “It’s not working, Messal.”

They stood in the Kriegs-Ballok virtual practice room underneath the stands of Ionath Stadium. Normally, the room was alive with a photo-realistic representation of any number of GFL stadiums and the teams that played in them. Now, however, it was just a fifty-yard-diameter room with a plain, blue dome.

Messal looked up and down, all around, as if hoping the room might flare to life at any moment. “Did you turn it off and turn it back on again?”

“Three times,” Quentin said. “You’re in charge of the facility — how can you not know what’s wrong with it? Choto, shouldn’t he know what’s wrong with it?”

Choto stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Quentin and look down on Messal. A foot shorter than Quentin but a bit heavier at four hundred pounds, Choto made for a chitinous block of pure intimidation.

“This practice field is vital to our organization,” the Warrior said. “That it does not work indicates Messal does not care about our success.”

Messal started dancing from foot to foot. “No! I care! I do whatever it takes to serve my shamakath and the glory of the Ionath Krakens!”

Quentin held his arms out, gesturing to the nonfunctioning facility. “It’s not working, so if you do care, that means you’re incompetent. We need to practice. Do you think it’s a good idea to waste the time of these players?” He pointed to the other Krakens that stood there, all dressed in practice gear, all waiting: Crazy George Starcher, Becca, John, Ju, Mum-O-Killowe, Sho-Do-Thikit and Michael Kimberlin. “Maybe we should all take the bye week off and relax, is that what you’re saying?”

Messal’s eye flooded green — the Worker was so stressed Quentin wondered if he might pass out.

“The main stadium field is open,” Messal said. “And it is a lovely day today! Can you not do your extra practices up there?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Messal, that’s so much better than having a virtual practice field under our stadium, where no one can see what we’re doing, don’t you think? I’m sure spies from the Yall Criminals would love to see what offense we will use against them. I need this room fixed, now.”

Messal’s pedipalps started to shake. “But … but … but it was working just this morning. I saw Yassoud Murphy and Tim Crawford practicing in here, it was working fine!”

“Stop it,” Quentin said. “Are you really going to blame players for this debacle? I’ve had enough of your excuses. Let’s go see Gredok and discuss this with him.”

Messal’s eye swirled with rich blue, crimson and pink — three colors that each represented a different level of fear. The guy was terrified. Quentin felt a stab of guilt, but he couldn’t back off now.

“Elder Barnes,” Messal said quietly, “perhaps we could just find a solution without involving Gredok?”

Quentin shook his head. “And how do we do that? It’s not like there is a second Kriegs-Ballok under the stadium, now, is there?”

Messal’s single eye blinked, then his right pedipalp hand shot into the air, finger extended in a very Human gesture of a-ha!

“The Touchback has a virtual field, Elder Barnes! Could you practice up there?”

Choto put a pedipalp hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Quentin,” he said, “Messal is wasting your time. I know that the Touchback staff is off for the bye week. You should take this incompetence up with Gredok immediately.”

Quentin started nodding, but Messal’s protest gained intensity.

“Elder Barnes, brave Choto, Captain Cheevers and her crew are aboard the Touchback overseeing bye-week cleaning and maintenance. I’m quite sure they could activate the practice field and have it ready for you by the time you arrive. I could have you onboard within thirty minutes. Surely that is a better solution than bringing this up with Gredok. Why, I’m not even sure if Gredok is here. Yes, I think he may be in … um … he’s on Whitok, on business.”

Quentin looked at Choto. “Should we go practice there, or should I just call Gredok?”


Choto made a big show out of thinking about that question. He dramatically looked up to the ceiling. He dramatically sighed. Quentin would have to work with Choto on his acting ability, because the big linebacker had none.

“I think the Touchback is acceptable,” Choto said.

Messal clapped his pedipalp hands. “Excellent! Please, follow me to the roof shuttle pad. I will acquire a freelance shuttle on the way up. First class, of course! You will all be on your way in minutes.”

“Just get it done, Messal,” Quentin said. “You have disappointed me a great deal this morning. It would not be in your best interest to disappoint me further.”

Those words, that cadence of speech, they sounded exactly like what Gredok would have said, and as such they had the desired effect: Messal sprinted toward the door, already tapping at a palm-up display that hovered over his pedipalp hand.

Quentin and his friends followed Messal out of the broken VR room. It was almost game time.

? ? ?



QUENTIN AND JOHN TWEEDY LED a group of sentients through the Touchback’s dimly lit corridors, headed for the bridge. Half of the lights were off. Cleaning robots scrubbed and polished, giving the ship a new sheen. The place seemed deserted.

Frederico was right behind them, and after him came Choto the Bright, George Starcher and Rebecca Montagne. Sho-Do-Thikit and Mum-O-Killowe brought up the rear.

The door to the bridge opened. The four orange-uniformed bridge crewmembers gave Quentin and John a casual wave, but they kept working. A smiling Captain Kate Cheevers was sitting in her chair, waiting to welcome them.

“Hiya, boys.” She looked at Becca. “And you, Montagne. Messal called up to say there was a problem with the VR practice rig under the stadium. The onboard version is already warmed up and ready to go. The galley crew is off for the bye week, so food is a little sparse, but we’ll throw something together for all of you when you get hungry.”

Quentin took in a slow breath.

Here we go. We’re really doing this.

“Good news, Captain Cheevers,” he said. “I’m here to let you know that you’re getting a few days off.”

“A few days off? What are you talking about?”

“There is a shuttle in the bay that will take you to my yacht, where you, you lucky dog, get to take a mini-vacation of two or three days. Maybe even four.”

Kate looked at the solemn-faced players behind Quentin.

“A vacation,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“On your yacht.”

Quentin nodded. “Courtesy of Gredok the Splithead.”

She put her hands on her hips. “And just what sites am I supposed to see on my mini-vacation?”

John stepped forward, his bulk clearly intimidating the smaller woman. “Whatever sites you want, Cheevers. As long as those sites aren’t here, you get me?”

She looked from John to Quentin, eyes a bit wide with confusion. The four crew members had stopped working. They stood at their stations, watching.

“Everything is fine,” Quentin said to them. He smiled at Captain Kate. “Mum-O-Killowe and Sho-Do-Thikit are here to see you to the shuttle.”

The two massive Ki linemen scuttled forward.

Kate’s eyes widened. “Uh … thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to pass. Unless I hear from Gredok himself, I can’t leave the Touchback.”

“Gredok is busy,” Quentin said. “And if you don’t let Mum-O and Sho-Do escort you to the shuttle bay, you’ll hurt their feelings.”

Mum-O let out a little growl. The captain’s eyes grew wider still.

“Ah … I see,” she said. “It seems I don’t have a choice about this sudden trip. Vacation time it is.”

John put his hand on the captain’s back and gently guided her toward the Ki. Mum-O and Sho-Do fell in at her sides. Captain Kate left the bridge, flanked on either side by six hundred pounds of highly athletic Ki linemen.

The four crew members started following her out.

Quentin held up a hand. “Not you guys. We need you to stay. Meet your temporary captain.”

Quentin waved Fred forward. Fred had a white beard and mustache, both neatly trimmed. He wore a standard set of crew coveralls complete with captain insignia. His eyes had changed color, and he was now two inches taller. If Quentin hadn’t known it was Fred, he would never have recognized the man.

“Hello, my friends,” Frederico said, his voice now a perfect imitation of the Tower Republic accent. “I am looking forward to our trip together.”

Quentin put a hand on Frederico’s shoulder.

“This is Captain Smith. No matter what his orders, the four of you will follow them. Is that clear?”

The crewmembers looked at each other, all waiting for one of them to step up and make some kind of stand. None of them did. They all nodded.

“Good,” Quentin said. “I’ll just leave George Starcher up here to make sure things go smoothly. You boys know George?”

George stepped into the bridge, all 7-foot-6 of him. He’d painted his face fuchsia, with big black circles around his eyes. Quentin thought George looked like an idiot. To a normal-size Human, however, George probably looked scary as all get-out.

Crazy George lifted a hand and held it aloft in a dramatic pose. “And low, they did depart with danger in their midst. Those that would not follow orders felt great personal sorrow and inexplicable pain.”

The four crewmembers looked at George, looked at each other one last time, then scrambled back to their stations.

Frederico gave Quentin an admiring smile. “You know what? For a homophobe, you’d make one heck of a gangster.”

“Whatever,” Quentin said. He leaned in and whispered: “You sure you know how to fly this thing?”

Fred nodded. “It’s a converted Achmed Class heavy weapons platform. Yeah, I know how to fly it.”

“So, you were in the Planetary union   Navy?”

Frederico grinned. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Rebecca walked up to join them, also speaking low so that the crew couldn’t hear.

“It’s not too late to call this off,” she said. “We all volunteered, but the crew didn’t. They and anyone else on board will also be at risk.”

Quentin met her stare. Why did she always seem to be in a battle of wills with him? Deep down, he knew Rebecca was right; he’d asked his friends, but he was ordering other sentients to come along. It was the wrong thing to do, but if he didn’t act, the entire franchise could lose everything — why couldn’t she understand that?

“Becca, the crew could have died in the pirate attack,” Quentin said. “They could have been executed by the Prawatt. They have a dangerous job.”

She pointed a finger at his face, hissed her words. “They didn’t sign up for another trip to Prawatt space. So why don’t we just ask them if they want to go, Quentin?” She turned to the disguised Frederico. “You can fly this thing without the crew, right?”

It was a rhetorical, sarcastic question. Fred shook his head. A ship this size required more than just one person to fly it.

She stared at Quentin. “So? Aren’t you going to ask Maurice and the others? Aren’t you going to give them a choice?”

If he asked them and they said no, the trip was over before it had begun. He hated himself for it, but he had to see this through.

“They’re going,” he said. “But since you’re so worried about the trip, if you want out, then go get on that shuttle with Kate.”


Her eyes changed, shifting from anger to another emotion. Was it hurt? Disappointment?

“I’m not leaving,” she said. She looked down, stared at the floor. She suddenly seemed defeated. “Even if there’s nothing in it for me, even if I don’t get what I really want, I will always back your play.”

What she really wanted? What did that mean?

Frederico gave her shoulder a friendly slap. “Then get settled in, fair maiden.” He walked to Captain Kate’s chair, sat and called up her holo interface. “Crew, set a course for the coordinates I’m entering now.”

The four men let out a chorus of yes, captain, then they got to work.

John ran back onto the bridge. He rushed over, throwing one arm around Quentin, one arm around Becca.

“Hayseed, this is awesome,” John said. “My friend, you’ve got some serious man-stones. I can’t believe you’re stealing the team bus.”

“Borrowing, not stealing,” Quentin said. “Like taking someone’s grav-sled for a harmless joy ride.”

Becca let out a sarcastic huff. “We can only hope the grav-sled’s owner agrees.”

Gredok would most certainly not agree, but that, too, was part of the plan.

? ? ?



QUENTIN COULDN’T SLEEP.

He sat up in his bed. They were still about a day away from the Sklorno/Prawatt border. Seizing the ship, kicking out Captain Kate, that had been easy. Not so much as easy, but fast, intense — he’d had to act quickly and that hadn’t left a lot of time for contemplation.

But during the two-day trip? Plenty of time to dwell on his decision. He was putting everyone in danger. For the players, that was okay, but what about what Becca had said — what about the crew?

He didn’t want to think about it. He needed to clear his head. A few reps in the virtual practice room would do the trick. The VR room needed a little time to boot up. He could turn it on now, then it would be ready when he got there.

“Computer?”

[YES, QUENTIN.]

“Activate the virtual practice room. Get the systems warmed up so I can run some reps against the Criminals.”

[YOU ARE IN LUCK, MISTER BARNES. THE ROOM IS ALREADY ACTIVE AND IN USE.]

Quentin looked at the time display on his holotank: 2:15 A.M., ship-time. Who would be using it this late at night?

His jaw muscles tightened. As if he even needed to ask.

“Computer, is Becca Montagne using the VR room?”

[YES, MISTER BARNES.]

Quentin slapped the bed. He stood up, grabbed his pants, then strode into his living room. “Put it on the tank.”

He slid his left leg into his pants as his room’s holotank flared to life. Was she practicing quarterback again? The holotank showed the VR room, lit up like the blue field of Ionath Stadium. Becca wore her orange practice gear. She barked out signals to a holographic offensive line even as she looked out at a holographic defense clad in white and purple — the Yall Criminals.

“Dammit, Becca,” Quentin said as he slid his right leg in and fastened his pants, “I’ve had just about enough of this.” He looked around to see if he’d thrown a shirt on the couch, then paused to watch the play.

Becca took the snap. She dropped back three steps and was instantly under pressure from blitzing linebacker Forrest Dane Cauthorn. Becca spun to the left as Cauthorn dove at her feet. Even though his arms were holographic, she still avoided them, lithely hopping over his outstretched hands. She ran down the left side of the line, her powerful legs chewing up the yards.

She’s fast.

Criminals defensive tackle Anthony Meaders beat his block and came free. Becca stopped on a dime and pushed backward — Meaders’ arms reached for her but missed. She took one strong step forward, then gunned the ball.

She throws hard.

The brown ball whipped downfield and slid between two Criminals defensive backs to pass through the chest of a holographic Hawick.

Pass complete for 17 yards.

She’s accurate. What a great pass.

Quentin fell more than sat on the couch. He’d known she could throw — he’d used her for a couple of fullback passes last season. And he knew she could run, sure, but he’d never seen her put it all together.

He watched her run another play. As she dropped back and looked downfield, for some reason Quentin thought of the nickname of that Tier Two team from Venus: the Valkyries. What had John said about them? Women warriors of Old Earth who fought alongside their men, or something like that. The concept was standard practice in every modern Human and HeavyG military, where men and women had fought side by side for centuries. But in Earth’s ancient times, for a woman to step into battle must have meant she was special, that she was tough, that she was just as willing to fight for what she wanted as any man.

Becca Montagne: modern-day Valkyrie. That had a nice ring to it.

The concept made him realize something: for all the study he did on every player he faced, for all his work developing his teammates, he had never — not even once — watched footage of Rebecca Montagne playing quarterback.

What if she was good enough to be his backup? And, maybe, good enough to be a Tier One starter? At the very least, Quentin would have to reconsider trading Don Pine. Quentin closed his eyes as a realization washed over him — could they have traded Pine to Mars for Matsumoto and solidified the defense, making this entire trip unnecessary?

“Computer, do you have games from the NFL?”

[WE HAVE MANY, BUT NOT ALL. AS WE ARE IN PUNCH-SPACE AND WE CANNOT ACCESS THE NET, I CAN ONLY OFFER YOU THE GAMES THAT ARE IN MY STORAGE.]

“Search for Green Bay Packers games with Rebecca Montagne at quarterback.”

[I HAVE GREEN BAY VERSUS THE JAKARTA JAXXONS IN THE DIVISIONAL PLAYOFFS OF 2682.]

“Offensive plays only,” Quentin said. In the holotank, the Packers, in their green jerseys and yellow helmets, lined up for the first play of the game.

Damn, but they had ugly uniforms.

Quentin eased back into the couch. He watched.

? ? ?



EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY, everything will be—

A shimmer rolled through the Touchback. Quentin gripped a brass rail and waited for it to pass. Even after all this time, every jump scared the hell out of him. Would this be the time they were forever lost in punch-space? Would they all die, would they—

Reality slammed home like a hard smack to the cheek. Quentin opened his eyes. Everything was still there. And he was queasy, but … he didn’t think he was going to throw up!

A tap on his shoulder.

John, pointing to the golden puke bucket. “Q, mind if I borrow that?”

Still shaken from the punch-out, Quentin numbly handed the bucket over.

“Thanks.” John bent his head and threw up in it. “Whoa,” he said, “bacon sure tastes better going down.”

Quentin’s nausea won out. He grabbed the bucket from John and threw up in it. He lifted his head but made the mistake of breathing through his nose — he caught a whiff of bacon and threw up again.

John patted him on the back. “A double! Nice form, Q.”

Puking into a bucket that already had John’s puke? Grossest possible combination. Quentin pulled the plastic drawstrings and tied the bag, then left the bag in the golden bucket and set the bucket on the floor. For once, he’d let Pilkie clean up the mess.

“John, I’ve never seen you hurl before.”

John nodded. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m just a little bit nervous about heading into Prawatt space a second time.”


Frederico’s Tower-accented voice echoed through the ship.

“Attention, attention. This is Captain Smith. We have arrived near Yall in the Sklorno Dynasty. A Creterakian warship is hailing us to stop, but they can’t use force because of this ship’s diplomatic status. We will cross the Prawatt border in a few minutes. If you are silly enough to believe in supreme beings of any kind — that includes any quarterbacks who might happen to be aboard — now would be a good time to start praying.”

John laughed and slapped his thigh. “That guy, he kills me!”

Things were going according to plan: punch in on the far side of Yall, as close to the border as they could reach, then go full-burn with the impulse engines. The only way the Creterakians could stop the Touchback was to fire on it, and that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Probably.

Soon, Quentin would find out if all the risk had been worth it or if he had made a horrible mistake — the price for which his friends would pay with their lives.

? ? ?



IT WAS THE SECOND TIME for everyone, but that didn’t make it any less frightening. Just like before, a single Prawatt X-Walker entered the bridge of the Touchback. It strode in upright, walking on two legs while its two identical arms carried a heavy rifle.

Quentin held his breath. Everyone on the bridge remained very still. John stood next to Becca. George Starcher’s face was white, not from shock but rather from a bright shade of face paint. Michael Kimberlin had his big hands folded in front of his huge chest. The four Touchback crew members were in their seats at the holotable; they might as well have been statues for all they moved. Frederico sat in the captain’s chair, looking far more confident than Captain Kate had several months before.

The Prawatt’s body rattled, then six more armed X-Walkers entered the bridge. Quentin looked at each one carefully, hoping to see a familiar pattern and shape — moments later, when an eighth Prawatt walked in on all fours like some semi-see-through spider, Quentin recognized Captain Cormorant Bumberpuff.

The entire gamble would come down to this moment.

Bumberpuff crawled over to Quentin, then stood on his two legs. Quentin still wasn’t sure how to look a Prawatt directly in the eye, but he picked out what looked like a couple of silver dots close together and stared at them.

“Quentin Barnes,” the captain said. “I thought we had said good-bye forever.”

Quentin smiled. “I’m kind of surprised I feel this way, but it’s good to see you again.”

The captain rattled once, a far softer noise than the lead Prawatt had made, then his body seemed to stiffen.

Maybe because of all the experience Quentin had had with different species in the past three years, he was getting better at reading alien emotions. Or, maybe it was time to admit that he — who had been raised to hate almost everyone — just had a gift for it. Whatever the reason, he somehow understood the emotion of this alien creature: Captain Bumberpuff was sad.

“You have invaded sovereign space,” the Prawatt said. “This is an act of war.”

Quentin shook his head. “No! This is a diplomatic mission. A mission of peace. Sort of.”

“You shouldn’t have come back,” Bumberpuff said. “Due to the continued aggressive posturing of the Sklorno and the presence of Creterakian warships, the Jihad is on high alert. If my ship hadn’t been the one in this sector, the Touchback might have been destroyed instead of boarded.”

Quentin doubted that. He had stopped a war, or at least delayed it. The Old Ones, Petra, she would know what he had done, what he had said to the Sklorno. Quentin suspected that every ship in the Prawatt navy had orders to make sure trespassing ships weren’t the Touchback before any action was taken. Just like Gredok couldn’t hurt him as long as he was playing football, Petra wouldn’t let him be hurt as long as he could influence the Sklorno.

“But you didn’t destroy us,” Quentin said. “That means I can do what I came here to do.”

“Which is?”

“Recruit you.”

Bumberpuff leaned away. “I am a decorated commander of the Prawatt fleet. Are you asking me to turn traitor to my nation and join the Creterakian navy? Or perhaps the Sklorno Dynasty? You have made a grave mistake, Quentin Barnes, you—”

“I don’t give a damn about your navy,” Quentin said. “And I don’t give a damn about anyone else’s, either. I came to recruit you for football, Captain — I want you to join the Ionath Krakens.”

Bumberpuff stood motionless. The other Prawatt shifted around, clearly agitated; were they insulted, or were they excited?

“We need a player of your caliber,” Quentin said. “In fact, we need four or five. The Harpies we played against, I’m inviting you to pick your best teammates and come with us back to Ionath.”

Bumberpuff turned in place. He seemed to be pacing, thinking.

“I would have a few months to decide? You would not need me until the preseason of 2686, correct?”

“We don’t want you for next year,” Quentin said. “We want you now.”

The Prawatt stopped pacing. “Now? Do you think we could actually play? The Krakens are winless this year, but we have no experience.”

So, the Captain had been following the season? That was a good sign.

“I can’t promise anything,” Quentin said. “You need to learn the game, learn our defense. But if you can pick those things up, then yeah, you’ll play.”

John raised a hand. “Yeah, your X-ness. I’m the captain of the defense, and I know you can do it.”

Bumberpuff turned toward John. “But … but … I am a military officer. I have responsibilities.”

John shrugged. “It’s just a job. Trust me, slinky — working for the Krakens is way better than being a soldier.”

Bumberpuff turned back to Quentin. “But what about my command? I have a responsibility to make sure this ship maintains its current level of excellence, of preparation.”

Quentin thought back to his last day on Micovi, when Stedmar Osborne drove him to the spaceport. Thanks to Quentin’s skills, the Raiders had just won a second-straight PNFL championship. During that ride, Stedmar had offered some unsolicited advice. At the time, Quentin hadn’t paid attention. He’d thought the advice ignored the realities of football. And yet, Stedmar had been proven right — even without the Amazing Quentin Barnes, the Raiders still fielded a team, they still won games.

“Captain, there’s always someone to take over,” Quentin said. “Your ship won’t shut down because you’re gone. The military will move on without you. You are replaceable. Everyone is. If we leave without Prawatt players, I can’t say for sure if anyone will ever come back to try again.”

Bumberpuff paused, rattled once, twice, then spoke. “I want to join you, but we will have to go back to the home planet so I can get permission from the Old Ones.”

Quentin wasn’t about to wait another six months. He had one card left, and he played it.

“Captain, do you remember when I talked to the Old Ones?”

The Prawatt’s skin rattled. “I do,” he said. “Such wonders I never thought I would see.”

“Then you know that your Old Ones owe me a favor. If you come with me, right now, I will consider that favor settled. Your Old Ones will owe me nothing.”


One of the other Prawatt broke ranks and walked over. His gun was no longer pointed at Quentin or his teammates, but lazily pointed at the ground, as if the weapon was an afterthought.

“Captain,” the Prawatt said, “please let me go with you.”

Bumberpuff’s body rattled so loud it made Quentin flinch.

“Cretzlefinger, get back to your post! How dare you speak out of turn!”

The Prawatt dropped to all fours and scurried back to its place.

John started giggling. Becca hit him in the shoulder, but John couldn’t seem to stop. THAT’S THE DUMBEST NAME LIKE IN THE HISTORY OF EVERYTHING scrolled across his face.

There was something familiar about that Prawatt … it had played in the Game for the Harpies.

Quentin felt a sudden surge of confidence. Bumberpuff wanted to come, and so did at least one of its teammates. Quentin just had to close the deal. How would Gredok do that? Gredok would find the emotional string and pull it … hard.

“Come on, Captain,” Quentin said. “I used to be like you, competing only against others of my race, and you know what? There was always this hole inside of me, a voice telling me that if I didn’t play against the best the galaxy had to offer, it didn’t really matter. I know that you want to find out just how good you really are. Come with me, and you will. Stay here, and when your final days arrive or you decide to merge with another Prawatt and become something new, you’ll know you had your chance and you let it go. That knowledge will eat at you, and you’ll never feel whole.”

The captain stood motionless. So did every other creature on the bridge. They all stared at him, just like they’d stared at him when he had spoken to the Sklorno armada.

In his head, he played back what he had just said to Bumberpuff. He could manipulate just like Gredok did, sure, but this speech had been something different. It had been from his heart. It had been the truth.

On the football field, he had an effect on others. He’d thought that was all about the game, but it wasn’t — it was about him. When he spoke from the heart, his words connected, his words resonated.

Quentin felt stunned by a sudden realization: he could no longer pretend that he was just some orphan miner from Micovi. He’d been that once, sure, but now he was a leader.

And as a leader, he knew what Bumberpuff wanted. Quentin just had to help him find that path.

“Come on, Captain.” Quentin offered his right hand. “Join me. Let the whole galaxy know your name. Represent your species. Make every Prawatt proud to say he is one of ours.”

Captain Bumberpuff didn’t shake the hand. Quentin let it hang there, waiting, inviting.

The captain paused, then spoke — but not to Quentin. “This is the captain. Send the XO to the captive ship’s bridge, immediately.”

The XO?

“Uh, Captain?” Quentin said. “XO doesn’t mean executioner, does it?”

“It means executive officer,” Bumberpuff said. “Sometimes the position is called first mate. I am going to relinquish my command.”

The captain reached out a three-tipped tentacle and gripped Quentin’s hand. Quentin felt the cool, rough metal against his skin, felt the strange fingers squeeze down firmly.

“Quentin Barnes, I will join the Krakens, but only if you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We do not want to play for a losing team. If we join, we’re going to have to win. If we join, it is time to kick some ass.”

Quentin’s chest swelled with a swirl of emotions: hope, pride, joy and friendship.

“Cappy, old boy, you might be an alien, but you’re my kind of people.”

? ? ?



GROWING UP, QUENTIN didn’t have a father. Or a mother, for that matter. Sometimes the other kids on Micovi would get caught doing something bad or stupid, and they’d be afraid to go home and tell their parents. Quentin hadn’t really known what that felt like.

Until now.

No, he didn’t have a father, or a mother, but he still had to answer to a pair of powerful sentients — Gredok the Splithead and GFL Commissioner Rob Froese. They hated each other, yet for this moment they had come together. Gredok was on board the Regulator, Froese’s warship/headquarters. Quentin stared at the image of them floating side by side above the Touchback bridge’s holotable.

Yeah, now Quentin knew what it felt like to be in trouble.

“Barnes,” Gredok said. “Welcome back. I am ever so grateful that my expensive ship is still in one piece.”

“Uh, yeah,” Quentin said. “Well, we were never really in danger or anything.”

Gredok’s eye flooded black. “You are now.”

Quentin had thought through every aspect of his plan, from setting up Messal to stealing the Touchback to cashing in on his favor from Petra and returning with Bumberpuff on board. What had never occurred to him, however, was the moderately important concept of how this would make his murderous gangster boss insanely angry.

Still, seeing the team owner’s fury gave Quentin a deep sense of satisfaction.

Does it hurt that I can play games with you the way you play games with me, Gredok? Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from.

Commissioner Froese laced his little fingers together, then flexed them outward. The holographic knuckles cracked loudly.

“Barnes, you are an idiot,” Froese said. “That stunt could have put a serious hole in my season.”

Quentin nodded. “Could have, but it didn’t. We’ll be ready to host the Criminals this week, Commish.”

“Lucky for you,” Froese said. “Unlucky for you, though, is that you’ll face them without your Prawatt players. If they want to play in the GFL, they have to pass the Combine, just like everyone else.”

Quentin blinked. That had never occurred to him, either.

“What did you think, Barnes? That I’d just let them walk out onto the field?”

Well, yes, that was exactly what Quentin had thought. “But … the Combine takes a week.”

Froese nodded. “In this case, it might even take longer.”

Longer? Coach Hokor still had to teach Bumberpuff and the others to play defense, and that in itself would take time. “Commissioner, if you do that, even though we might get the Prawatt back in time for our game against the Criminals, we can’t use them because they won’t know our plays. Can’t you, like, I don’t know … just make an exception?”

The commissioner shook his head like he felt sorry for Quentin. “Barnes, it’s hard to understand how someone can be so smart and so stupid at the same time. You have a race that’s never played in the GFL, a race that has been at war with half of the galaxy for decades, a race that has yet to account for thousands of sentients who entered their territory and were never to be heard from again, a race of unknown strength, speed and aggression, a race that usually kills Sklorno on sight just as Sklorno usually kill them on sight — and in case you forgot, genius, Sklorno make up about thirty percent of GFL rosters, and just so happen to play for every team in the league — and you want me to make an exception?”

Quentin cleared his throat. “Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound like a bad thing.”

The little commissioner nodded. “Because it is a bad thing. You should thank your primitive superstitions that I’m even considering this. Even if it works, do you think the other owners want Gredok the Splithead to have an on-field advantage? They’ll do anything to stop this.”


“But this is good for football,” Quentin said. “And it’s good for galactic peace.”

Froese smiled his red-toothed smile. “Galactic peace? Tell me, Barnes, do you really care about that? I mean beyond the fact that a war might interrupt your season, of course.”

Quentin started to answer, started to give the automatic of course I do, but he stopped himself — from the first moment he’d hatched this plan, it had been about winning football games. He wanted his Galaxy Bowl trophy and would do anything to get it. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that what happened next might very well change history.

“I don’t want anyone to die,” he said. “I don’t want to see ships blow up or watch cities get bombed. Do I want peace so I can win championships? Sure. But I also want peace because war sucks.”

The holographic Froese stared. He turned to look at the owner of the Krakens.

“Gredok, if I have to open the Combine in mid-season, you’re going to pay the bill. Are you willing to spend that money and also willing to put up with all the trouble this will cause?”

Gredok’s eye cleared. He stared. Just as Gredok could read Quentin, Quentin could read Gredok. The Leader had expected Froese to put up more of a fight, expected an opportunity to make the commissioner look bad in front of the entire galaxy. That obviously wasn’t going to happen, which meant everything came down to one thing — football.

Gredok turned his stare on Quentin. “Well, Barnes? Are you certain this is worth my money? Is this worth the enmity of the other owners?”

“That depends,” Quentin said.

Gredok’s eye again flooded black. “If you say it depends on what enmity means, I promise that I will happily see my franchise fall to the second tier if it means I get the satisfaction of watching you try to scream for help when your unprotected body falls out of an airlock into the vacuum of space.”

He turned to Froese. “Accidentally, of course.”

The little commissioner shrugged. “Of course. These things happen.”

Quentin said nothing. He could read Gredok, and this time, Gredok wasn’t exaggerating. Even a star quarterback could only push things so far, it seemed.

“The Prawatt are worth it,” Quentin said. “You know how bad I want to win a title. The Prawatt will help us do that.”

The inky black slowly faded from Gredok’s softball-sized eye. The Leader was reading him, and this time, Quentin didn’t try to hide a thing.

Gredok turned to Froese. “We will pay all associated costs,” he said. “Because I, too, am so very interested in galactic peace.”

Froese nodded. “Then I’ll re-open the Combine. But know this, Barnes — when the Prawatt go in, they submit to Creterakian law. That means you better hope they don’t have any mods.”

Mods were a death sentence. If the Creterakian bosses decided Bumberpuff or the others had mods …

“But they’re machines, kind of, I think,” Quentin said. “How will the examiners know if something is natural or a mod?”

Froese shrugged and smiled his red-toothed smile. “Beats me. It’ll be a shame if your new pals get executed because of a mistake. I’ll have a shuttle deliver Gredok to the Touchback. Make sure your rookies are ready to board that same shuttle. I’m sure you and Gredok will have so much fun together on your trip back to Ionath.”

Gredok nodded. “Yes, Barnes. I do hope you’re ready for a nice chat on our long trip home.”

Quentin felt his stomach tingling. It would be a long, long trip home indeed.



GFL WEEK THREE ROUNDUP

Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network



In all the turmoil surrounding Ionath’s shocking request to add Prawatt players to the Krakens roster, it was almost easy to forget that teams still had to line up on Sunday and play ball.

Bartel (3-0) certainly wasn’t distracted by the controversy, as the Water Bugs remained undefeated thanks to a 14-3 win over Coranadillana (1-2). This is Bartel’s first-ever 3-0 start to a Tier One season. The Water Bugs have the league’s best running game, driven by the thunder-and-lightning combination of “Big” Rob Shonfelt, who carried the ball 22 times for 136 yards, and “Little” Dixonge, who ran for 78 yards and a TD on just six attempts. Quarterback Andre “Death Ray” Ridley added to the hefty rushing total with eight carries for 68 yards.

The Orbiting Death (3-0) grabbed sole possession of first place in the Planet Division with a hard-fought 28-21 road win over New Rodina (1-2). Death QB Condor Adrienne threw for four touchdown passes on a 20-for-31, 317-yard day.

In the Solar Division, Jupiter (3-0) kept pace with Bartel thanks to a 35-31 win over the Texas Earthlings (2-1). Jacks running back CJ Wellman managed three touchdowns while rushing for only 52 yards, scoring on runs of 1, 3 and 4 yards.

The Vik Vanguard (1-2) and Jang Atom Smashers (1-2) both notched their first mark in the win column this season. Vik defeated Sheb (1-2) 17-3 while Jang edged out winless Shorah (0-3) by a score of 21-17.

Yall (2-0), D’Kow (1-1), Alimum (1-1), To (1-1), Ionath (0-2) and Neptune (1-1) all had a bye week.

Deaths

New Rodina Astronauts fullback Tobiah Don Percival, killed on a punt-return block by Orbiting Death linebacker Yalla the Biter. This is Yalla’s second fatality in as many weeks and his twelfth overall, extending his status as the most lethal player in league history. New Rodina owner Barbara Jungbauer immediately filed a protest to have Yalla kicked out of the league. Commissioner Rob Froese immediately reviewed the footage and declared it a clean hit.

Offensive Player of the Week

Bord Brigands tight end Tobias Jedlund, who caught seven passes for 112 yards and two touchdowns.

Defensive Player of the Week

Buddha City Elite defensive tackle Don-Wen-Sul, who recorded four sacks in the Elite’s 21-17 loss to the Wabash Wolfpack.