The MVP

16





Week Four: Yall Criminals at Ionath Krakens



PLANET DIVISION

SOLAR DIVISION



3-0 OS1 Orbiting Death

3-0 Bartel Water Bugs



2-0 Yall Criminals (bye)

3-0 Jupiter Jacks



2-1 Isis Ice Storm

2-1 Bord Brigands



2-1 Wabash Wolfpack

2-1 Texas Earthlings



1-1 Alimum Armada (bye)

1-1 D’Kow War Dogs (bye)



1-1 To Pirates (bye)

1-1 Neptune Scarlet Fliers (bye)



1-2 Buddha City Elite

1-2 Jang Atom Smashers



1-2 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

1-2 New Rodina Astronauts



1-2 Themala Dreadnaughts

1-2 Sheb Stalkers



0-2 Ionath Krakens (bye)

1-2 Vik Vanguard



0-3 Hittoni Hullwalkers

0-3 Shorah Warlords





QUENTIN AND HOKOR SAT in Hokor’s office in the Krakens Building, waiting for the arrival of Don Pine.

On the trip home, Quentin had watched even more game film of Becca Montagne. So had Gredok. And when they reached Ionath, both had sat down with Hokor the Hookchest to watch those games yet again. Now that they knew her, had seen her play as a Tier One fullback, they could combine that knowledge with what they saw in the Packers footage.

If Quentin hadn’t been so pig-headed, he might have seen it, but he was threatened by anyone who might try and compete for his spot. Was Becca Montagne good enough to be a starting Tier One quarterback? No, she wasn’t. Was she good enough to be a solid backup? She was. And, most importantly, was she better than Yitzhak Goldman? If Quentin was injured, could Becca finish that game and give the Krakens a fighting chance at a win?

Yes. Yes, she was and she could.

The Mars Planets still wanted Don Pine, and they were still willing to trade cornerback Matsumoto to get him.


It remained to be seen if the Prawatt would make it through the Combine and be allowed to join the Krakens. And if they did make it, there was no guarantee they’d be good enough to play. The Prawatt gamble might or might not pay off, but this trade brought in an experienced, proven player to replace Vacaville.

Quentin couldn’t keep punishing Don Pine at the expense of the franchise. Don was a valuable trade option. Quentin had blocked that — until now. He had to let the past go and do what was right for the team. If Becca could take over in case of injury, then Quentin had to step aside and let Gredok deal Pine.

A knock at the door — Don Pine stood in the doorway.

“You wanted to see me, Coach?” He cast a suspicious glance at Quentin.

“Come in,” Hokor said. “Sit down.”

Don did, sitting on Quentin’s right, both of them in chairs in front of Hokor’s desk.

Don looked at Quentin again, then at Hokor. “Okay, Coach — what’s this about?”

“We have a trade offer for you,” Hokor said.

Don’s eyebrows rose. “For me, huh?”

Quentin nodded. “That’s right.”

Don looked genuinely excited. “And you’re okay with this, Q? Not going to try and block it this time?”

“Nope,” Quentin said. “Everyone wins, Don. You get to start again, and we get an All-Pro cornerback in Matsumoto.”

Don’s smile faded. “Matsumoto?”

Hokor called up a holo of Matsumoto on his desktop. “That is correct. She will be a great addition—”

Don stood suddenly. “You want me to go play for the Mars Planets? No way.”

Quentin didn’t know what was going on. Don had been asking for a trade for over a year. “Yeah, they’re rebuilding. They came after me when I was a free agent.”

“Forget it,” Don said. “I’m thirty-three years old. I am not going down to Tier Two!”

Quentin leaned back. This couldn’t be happening — they had a chance to land an All-Pro cornerback, and Don wanted to be traded. If he had to go down to Tier Two, that was the breaks.

“Don, we’re making this trade,” Quentin said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but we need Matsumoto.”

Don shook his head. “Did you bother to read my contract? Because there’s a section in there you’d love, called a no-trade clause. If I don’t want to go to Mars, I don’t have to go to Mars.”

Quentin looked at Hokor. “Is that right?”

Hokor waved a pedipalp across the desktop, making the image of Matsumoto vanish. “Yes, that is right. Don can refuse any trade he likes.”

Don pointed a finger at Quentin. “I’ve had it with your little plots. You think you can hide me away in Tier Two?” He waved his fingers, letting his two Galaxy Bowl rings shine. “I’ve got these. You might be better than me right now, but I’m still damn good. You want to trade me? Trade me to a Tier One team. Trade me to a contender. I know my value on the free market. You get me what I want, or I will sit on the bench and collect my healthy paycheck.”

Don turned and walked out of the office.

Quentin felt like all the air had been pulled from his lungs. They’d had an All-Pro cornerback, an immediate solution to their defensive problems, and Don couldn’t lower himself to play in Tier Two.

“Figures,” Quentin said. “Dammit, Coach — what do we do now?”

“We hope your experiment in inter-species diplomacy has positive results,” Hokor said. “And until we know it does, we keep shopping Don Pine.”



* * *





From Galaxy Sports Magazine



* * *





THE GALAXY IS WATCHING

Can One Critical Week Fade

Centuries of Slaughter?



* * *



by YOLANDA DAVENPORT



* * *



Historians have tried to calculate the number of deaths produced by the Prawatt wars. Tried, and failed.

The Prawatt have been considered an “aggressive species” since 2438, when they attacked a Rewall research vessel in the first recorded instance of interstellar combat. In 2456, the Prawatt attempted to exterminate the Kuluko race. In 2552, the Prawatt Jihad was the only nation to boycott the first Galactic Peace Conference. The Prawatt have warred with the Sklorno, saturation-bombed planets and left them devoid of life, and — it should be noted — were one of the few nations to successfully beat back the Creterakian Takeover.

Yes, the Prawatt history is a history of violence and bloodshed, resulting in a sentient race feared and shunned by the civilized galaxy. And yet in just a few days, all of that history, that sad, deadly history, could give way to a new era.

This reporter has been granted sole access to the Prawatt’s special training session at the Combine, where four members of this mostly unknown race are undergoing purity testing. Should the candidates pass, they will play for the Ionath Krakens, but one major question looms large — how do you test a race for illegal mods when that race could be considered to be nothing but mods?

“That is the challenge,” said GFL Commissioner Rob Froese. “We’ve brought in top xenobiologists, galactic historians, even anthropologists to get as much perspective as we can. The Prawatt are a mechanical species, and yet they have a fixed biology all their own.”

The real source of the controversy isn’t the Prawatt race’s political leanings or isolationism, it is the stance of GFL franchise owners who object to “machines” being allowed to play against biological sentients.

Zippy the Voracious, an expert on Prawatt culture and author of “Earth: Birthplace of Sentients,” is one of the non-GFL experts consulted by Froese.

“In their adolescent and early-adult phases, the Prawatt have a predictable life cycle and physiology,” Zippy said. “The species’ natural body type is known as an ‘explorer,’ more commonly known as an ‘X-Walker.’ In my opinion, an explorer is a natural, biological form, just as the Warrior is a natural, biological form of the Quyth race. If a Prawatt has any shape other than X-Walker, one could consider that a modification and that individual should not be allowed to play.”

All four Prawatt rookies are X-Walkers.

In the first three days of testing, it appears that the Prawatt are not “super-powered killing machines” or “robots that can do anything,” as some columnists and conspiracy theorists have claimed. The Prawatt seem to have a fixed range of physical abilities. They weigh between 280 and 319 pounds, a body mass similar to that of the Sklorno. The Prawatt’s length is measured from the tip of one foot to the tip of the opposite arm, or one line of their “X.” That length ranges from 11 feet, 4 inches to 12 feet, 4 inches, which puts their reach on par with, again, the Sklorno race.

The Prawatt have also been tested extensively on strength and speed. Cormorant Bumberpuff, one of the rookie candidates, was timed in the 40-yard dash at 3.2 seconds — a time equal to the GFL’s best Sklorno defensive backs. Strength-wise, however, Bumberpuff and the other Prawatt seem to be three to seven percent stronger than the typical Sklorno that passes through the Combine.

What’s more, all four Prawatt candidates recorded vertical jumps of over 15 feet. Combine that leaping ability with their length, and they have a 25-foot reach, which, again, puts them on par with the Sklorno.

“This is a game changer,” said Robert Otto, author of the popular “GFL for Dummies” series. “For over twenty-five years, both on offense and defense, the vertical passing game has been Sklorno and nothing but Sklorno. Bringing in another species that run as fast and can jump as high is going to dramatically alter on-field play.”


Despite the possible diplomatic benefits of bringing the Prawatt into the league, most owners are not interested in a game-changing new species.

“It’s preposterous,” said Wabash Wolfpack owner Gloria Ogawa. “This is another dirty trick by Gredok the Splithead. He is ineffective as an owner and wasn’t able to recruit the proper talent, so now he wants to cheat by signing monsters? I demand Froese cease this charade and ban the Prawatt forever.”

Ogawa, Orbiting Death owner Anna Villani and To Pirates owner Kirani Kollok have filed formal requests to block admittance of the Prawatt species, even if the Combine officials do clear the candidates to play ball.

Froese has the full backing of the Creterakian Empire. If the Empire Bureau of Species Interaction scientists at the Combine say the Prawatt should be accepted into the league, the final decision is up to the commissioner.

And if it comes to that, Froese indicated he’s already made up his mind.

“I am listening carefully to the owners, but my job as commissioner isn’t just to ensure fair play. I’m also tasked with increasing our market share. EBSI experts estimate the Prawatt Jihad population is in the trillions. Owners are complaining now, we’ll see how they feel when their advertising revenues skyrocket.”

This reporter feels it is far too early to be thinking of increased ad revenue or increased sales of team merchandise. Little is known about the Prawatt race’s viewing and commercial consumption habits. They have been thought of as the “galactic boogeymen” for so long, it seems foolish to immediately start considering them as yet another entertainment demographic.

That being said, this reporter personally interviewed Bumberpuff and found the individual to be surprisingly familiar with intergalactic culture. If one were to close one’s eyes and just listen, it would be hard to tell a Prawatt apart from a sports-crazed resident of Earth.

“I want to play football,” said Bumberpuff. “I gave up a lot to come here. I want to line up for the Ionath Krakens, and I want to win a GFL championship.”

Does that sound like the words of a bloodthirsty alien robot? Not to this reporter’s ears. Obviously, the question of sincerity remains; could they just be telling us what we want to hear so that they can infiltrate and destroy us from the inside, just like they do in the movies? Possibly, yes, but this reporter has made a career out of evaluating words and judging true intentions.

In this reporter’s opinion, the Prawatt — at least these four candidates — are not here to kill us. They are not here to spy on us. They are not here to destroy our ways, level our cities or poison our planets. They are here to play football. That, and nothing more.

Thus far, Combine officials have found no reason to block the Prawatt from entering the GFL. Unless the EBSI scientists discover — or conveniently create — such a reason, the Prawatt players are sentient beings capable of entering into a business agreement. As such, in three more standard days they will be free to sign with the Ionath Krakens.

Get ready, galaxy — there’s about to be a new game in town.



* * *





FOR THE SECOND TIME that season, the Krakens gathered to welcome new rookies to the Touchback.

Quentin walked into the landing bay, John and Yassoud at his side. The rest of the Krakens filtered in and formed their usual semi-circle around the orange and black shuttle. Metal clinked, a result of either warming up or cooling off, Quentin couldn’t remember which.

Unlike the first time they’d welcomed rookies, Quentin sensed tension among his teammates. Most of them hadn’t been part of the second trip to Prawatt space. They didn’t have any say regarding the new players — if they didn’t want to be teammates with the Prawatt, their only option was to quit.

John punched Q in the shoulder.

“This is wild, Q,” John said. “Hey, are they going to eat us?”

Quentin rubbed his shoulder. That shot was going to leave a bruise. “John, we were on their planet, remember? They didn’t eat us.”

“Maybe they like take-out better than delivery.”

Quentin sighed. “They’re not going to eat us.”

Yassoud nodded. “Good to know, man. What do the X-Walkers eat, anyway?”

Quentin shrugged. “Beats me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “So you don’t know if they eat people or not.” UNCLE JOHNNY DE JOUR? scrolled across his face.

“John, whatever they eat, it’s not people, okay?”

His tat changed to I’M PROBABLY DELICIOUS, YOU DON’T KNOW.

Quentin looked around the landing bay. The Ki gathered together in a dense cluster, as usual. Five of the team’s six Quyth Warriors were there, all except Tara the Freak. Quentin assumed he was somewhere up in the rafters, as usual. The Warriors seemed on edge, as if they expected trouble. All of the HeavyG players stood by, as did the Humans, both races looking a bit nervous but not as wired as the Warriors.

And then Quentin realized what was missing — there were no Sklorno.

“Hey, guys,” he said, “where are the ladies?”

John and Yassoud looked around, both seemingly just as surprised that the Sklorno players weren’t there.

John shrugged. “Beats me. Oh, hey — don’t the Sklorno hate the Prawatt? And versa vicey?”

“Oh, yep,” Yassoud said. “Those races have been slaughtering each other for centuries. No wonder the ladies aren’t here.”

Hokor stood near the shuttle, waiting for the side door to open. There was no sign of Gredok. Quentin quickly walked over to Hokor.

“Coach, where are the Sklorno?”

The Leader adjusted his little Krakens ball cap. “They asked if they could skip the welcome session. Gredok agreed.”

The Sklorno players didn’t even want to see the Prawatt? They were going to be teammates.

“Unacceptable,” Quentin said. “We can’t have players opt out of meeting rookies because they don’t like their species.”

Hokor’s pedipalps twitched — he was laughing. “So you, Quentin Barnes, are unhappy because players are being racist?”

Quentin thought back to his own rookie season, to the way he’d hated the “satanic races” and even Don Pine, simply because of Pine’s blue skin. Rick Warburg had shared that hate, but even Rick had shown up for team duties.

“Yes, Coach, I am unhappy. And you should be, too.”

“You think I like this? I have orders from Gredok.”

“Gredok isn’t here,” Quentin said. “You are. Tell the shuttle pilot to keep the door shut.”

“What? Why would I tell him that?”

Quentin pointed at the shuttle. “Because we are not opening that until the entire team is here to welcome our new players.”

Hokor’s eye swirled with threads of green. Quentin knew that Hokor agreed with him but was torn between what he thought was right and the orders of his shamakath.

Quentin knelt down so he was eye-to-eye with Hokor.

“Coach, it’s your team. You are a Quyth Leader — make a decision.”

Hokor’s eye cleared. He turned to face the shuttle. “Computer?” [YES, COACH HOKOR?]

“Tell the shuttle pilot to keep his cargo door closed. Have him tell his passengers that there will be a brief delay before the welcoming ceremony begins.”

[YES, COACH HOKOR.]

The coach pointed a pedipalp hand toward the internal airlock door. “What are you waiting for, Barnes? Go tell the Sklorno to stop grab-assing and get in here.”


Quentin stood. “Choto, Kimberlin, Mum-O, come with me.”

Together, four races of football players left the landing deck and headed for the Sklorno section of the ship.

? ? ?



QUENTIN AND THE OTHERS walked through the madly painted corridors of the Touchback’s Sklorno section. He saw every color imaginable, bizarre combinations and mixed patterns that spread from floor to wall and wall to ceiling with no concept of boundaries. He walked past four of the oblong doors until he reached his destination — Hawick’s room.

Hawick was a seven-year upper-tier veteran. She was fifteen years old, one of the oldest active players on the team. More importantly, she was Quentin’s number-one receiver; that made the other Sklorno idolize her, made her their de-facto leader. He knew that all fifteen of the Krakens’ Sklorno players would be in her room.

Quentin knocked, perhaps a little harder than he should have.

“Hawick! Open the door.”

The door slid open. Inside stood Hawick, her see-through body trembling with a combination of fear, anticipation and excitement. Behind her in the fuchsia/green/red-plaid/orange-striped entryway stood Milford, Berea and the Awa sisters: Halawa and Wahiawa. Behind them stood the rest of the Sklorno, a five-foot-wide corridor thick with clear bodies, black skeletons and twitching eyestalks.

“Quentinbarnes,” Hawick said. “How may I serve your holy holiness?”

Quentin glared at her. He pointed a finger back down the main corridor. “You can get your butts to the landing bay to welcome your new teammates.”

“New teammates?” Hawick started to lightly jump up and down. The Sklorno behind her followed suit. “We have new players? Exciting-exciting!”

“Of course, you have new teammates — the Prawatt defensive backs.”

The jumping stopped.

“Quentinbarnes, what do you mean?”

They had been told about the Prawatt players in recent team meetings. What’s more, the news was all over the galaxy.

“You know exactly what I mean. Our four new Prawatt teammates just arrived from the Combine.”

Hawick’s eyestalks waved aimlessly, body language that showed confusion in her kind. “But that is impossible, Quentinbarnes. Prawatt are the devil. The devil cannot be a teammate, that is just silly.”

Milford started jumping up and down. “I know I know! The Godling Quentinbarnes makes a funny joke! We laugh like football players!”

All fifteen of the Sklorno started chittering in a bizarre impression of a Human laugh.

Quentin felt his temper rising. “Knock it off!”

Fifteen clear bodies stopped chittering and started quivering.

He stared into as many eyes as he could. “Whatever this is, it ends — now. You will come with me and welcome our new teammates to the franchise.”

Hawick’s eyestalks went rigid. “No,” she said.

All of the Sklorno leaned forward, just a bit. They suddenly looked more like a mob of angry sentients than the giddy, goofy players he had known for three and a half years.

Hawick’s chin-plate opened; her raspers unrolled, dangled nearly to the floor. “Prawatt are the devil,” she said. “The devil cannot play football. It is impossible, Quentinbarnes — you have been tricked.”

The last sentence sent a visible ripple through the Sklorno. Some of them backed away from Hawick, as if she’d just blasphemed High One himself. Others leaned in closer to her, perhaps in support. The concept of a holy being making a mistake seemed to be difficult for them to swallow.

Quentin hadn’t anticipated any of this. The Sklorno always seemed ready to go with the flow, eager to do whatever he or Hokor asked. But here they were, caught up in their racial hatred and planting their feet against his requests. How many millions of Sklorno had died at the hands of the Prawatt? Quentin didn’t know, and at the moment it didn’t matter — in this franchise, racism would not be tolerated.

Quentin gestured to the players he’d brought with him. “Hawick, look at this. Choto the Bright, a Quyth Warrior. Michael Kimberlin, a HeavyG. Mum-O-Killowe, a Ki. Me, a Human. And you, a Sklorno. We all play together. We will win a championship, together. It will be no different with the Prawatt.”

Hawick’s eyestalks waived independent of each other. “But it is impossible, Quentinbarnes. Prawatt must be killed on sight murder-murder-murder!”

The other Sklorno started hopping madly, screaming either kill them or murder-murder-murder.

A few minutes ago, Hawick had seemed about as dangerous as a three-hundred-pound see-through teddy bear. Now Quentin felt her pure aggression. For the first time, he knew what it was like to stand in front of a race that had exterminated two sentient species, that had waged war across the galaxy, whose soldiers had been known to kill — and eat — anything they fought.

Quentin felt fear.

He clenched his jaw. His hands balled into fists. Hawick wasn’t a soldier — she was an Ionath Kraken, and she would behave accordingly.

He leaned in until his nose was only inches from Hawick’s head. He could see through her face, see the translucent brains sitting beneath her dense crop of black hair. Her eyestalks had to bend out and turn in to look at him.

Quentin spoke quietly, knowing she could hear every syllable.

“Hawick, you don’t have to like them, but you will play with them. You will get your asses to that landing bay. You will welcome your new teammates. You will not start a fight or act aggressively. If you don’t do what I say, I will never throw you another pass as long as you live.”

His words sent another ripple through them all. To catch a pass was a blessing, a Sklorno’s grand moment of existence. To never catch a pass again? That was like sending a Holy Man to a living hell.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Quentin,” Kimberlin said, “maybe you should—”

Quentin slapped the hand away.

He didn’t need to listen to Mike. This wasn’t even about racism or hatred anymore — Hawick was challenging Quentin’s leadership.

He leaned in even closer. Hawick did the same. His forehead touched her face. Her raspers dangled and twitched, a pair of three-foot-long, tooth-covered tongues that could instantly rip the flesh from his limbs.

“We are a team,” he said. “If you’re not part of that team, I’ll run you out of this franchise and you can go catch passes somewhere else.”

Hawick’s eyestalks moved like sluggish snakes. She radiated anger. He sensed the tension both from the Sklorno in front of him and the teammates standing behind him. One wrong move and this corridor would erupt into a bloody brawl.

And then, Hawick leaned back, just a bit.

“We will go to the landing bay,” she said.

Quentin nodded and stepped back out of the doorway. Fifteen Sklorno shot out of Hawick’s room and sprinted down the hall.

He turned to his friends. “Come on, we have to be there when the shuttle opens.” He started jogging. The Sklorno were already far ahead.

Kimberlin caught up to him. “That was culturally unwise, Quentin,” he said. “Do you forget that for every Prawatt that makes the team, one of our Sklorno has to be cut?”

Quentin clenched his teeth. He hadn’t forgotten that, not for a second.

“My job is to put a winning team on the field, Mike. The players we have aren’t cutting it.”

“This is true,” Kimberlin said. “But telling Hawick you’ll run her out of the franchise? You shouldn’t make idle threats like that with the Sklorno.”


“Who said it was an idle threat? They will play as a team, or they will be gone.”

“If you force the Sklorno to choose, they may all choose to leave,” Kimberlin said. “Then you will have a team with Prawatt defensive backs and no Sklorno receivers. What then?”

“If we have no receivers, then we run the ball down everyone’s throats. They will get along with their teammates, or they’ll be gone. Anyone who doesn’t want to do it my way is welcome to get on that shuttle and never come back.”

Quentin started sprinting. He wouldn’t catch the Sklorno before they hit the landing bay, but at least he could leave Kimberlin’s questions behind.

? ? ?



THE IONATH KRAKENS — all of them, this time — waited for the shuttle to open. Most of them formed a semi-circle around the still-closed side door. The Sklorno clustered together some fifteen feet behind the semi-circle, as far away as they could get without incurring Quentin’s wrath.

He had no patience for the Sklorno players’ biases. He’d had to overcome his own racism in order to lead this team. As with all things, Quentin asked for no more than he was willing to do himself.

The shuttle door lowered with a whine of machinery. He felt the collective tension ramp up a bit. No matter what went down now, good or bad, everything was about to change.

The shuttle door hit the landing bay deck, a metal-on-metal clang that echoed through the air.

Bumberpuff led the other three Prawatt down the ramp. Quentin heard murmurs and rustles as players slowly backed away. The Prawatt reached the end of the ramp and stopped.

Coach Hokor walked up to them, seemingly oblivious to any concept of danger. Just as with all other species of player, the Prawatt towered over him. Quentin stepped forward to stand at his coach’s side.

“Welcome to the Krakens,” Hokor said. “You players are now the property of Gredok the Splithead. He owns your contracts for this season. Maybe you have watched all the news coverage and think that you are all fancy and very important — you are neither! You are not guaranteed a roster spot. You will work hard and learn our defense. If you do not learn it fast enough, I will put you right back on this shuttle and send you off to your worthless home system. We will begin work immediately. John Tweedy?”

John sprinted from the semi-circle and skidded to a stop next to Hokor. He snapped his right hand up in a military salute.

“Yes, my shorty-short leader of destiny?”

Hokor glared at John, then looked at Bumberpuff and the other Prawatt. “Rookies, this is John Tweedy, defensive captain. He and I will start to work with you immediately on our defensive sets and philosophy. Follow me to the Kriegs-Ballok Virtual Practice System and we will begin — we don’t have a minute to waste. Tomorrow, we head down to Ionath Stadium to practice on your new home field.”

Hokor turned to walk out of the landing bay.

Quentin stepped in front of him. “Coach, wait. Aren’t we going to introduce the Prawatt? You know, by name?”

Hokor stared at Quentin, then blinked his softball-sized eye. “Yes, of course, Barnes. Prawatt, introduce yourselves.”

Bumberpuff raised his arms, extending to his full height. The landing bay lights played off his slightly reflective skin, even shone through in some places to cast strange shadows on the deck.

The Sklorno started to chitter. They shook with rage, looked like they might rush in and attack at any moment.

Quentin looked at Mum-O and pointed at the Sklorno. Mum-O barked out a guttural phrase, then scuttled in front of the Sklorno. The other Ki joined him, a line of twelve-foot-long bodies promising trouble if the Sklorno tried anything.

Quentin turned back to the captain and nodded.

“I am Cormorant Bumberpuff,” the captain said. “I am honored and excited to join the Krakens. I am here to win a championship.”

The other Prawatt introduced themselves: Luciano Cretzlefinger, Katzembaum Weasley and Tommyboy Snuffalupagus.

Quentin looked at his teammates, turning slightly so he could briefly lock eyes with each one. “These are not faceless monsters from a bad movie,” he said. “I used to think that every one of you was a monster, and I was wrong — don’t make the same mistake I did. We need to embrace these players. Learn their names, get to know them as individuals. Anyone who doesn’t do that is going to have to deal with me.”

Ju Tweedy stepped out of the semi-circle. “And me.” He banged a fist against his broad chest. “Me first, though — if there’s anything left of you, then you can deal with Quentin.”

Heads nodded. Pedipalps twitched. Aside from the Sklorno players, it seemed that everyone was ready to begin the grand experiment.

But would it work? And if so, would it be enough to save the season?

? ? ?



THREE DAYS UNTIL the Krakens hosted the Yall Criminals.

The four X-Walkers strode out of the tunnel and onto the field. Quentin waited at the 50-yard line. For today’s practice, all he had to do was throw routes. Hokor and John were running the show; it was their job to bring Bumberpuff and the others up to speed.

Gredok had closed down Ionath Stadium — no non-essential personnel were allowed. Quentin had heard about scattered protests around the facility. Some sentients, it seemed, didn’t want the Prawatt in Ionath City, let alone on the team. Just to be on the safe side, Gredok had confined the entire team to the Krakens Building complex, which included the stadium. Quentin thought that action was a bit much, but everyone was so focused on their new teammates and no one seemed to mind.

The banners on the stadium’s twenty-two pillars hung limp and lifeless. The city’s sounds filtered in from beyond the walls. Every pad-on-pad hit echoed through the empty stands.

Quentin strode forward to welcome his new teammates. He offered his hand, and Captain Bumberpuff shook it.

“Welcome,” Quentin said. “Are you ready to get started for real?”

“We are,” the Prawatt said. “But are they?” His arm pointed toward a cluster of Sklorno, some geared up in defensive black, others in the orange of the offense. All of the players had their heads lowered, their eyestalks tucked back in an aggressive posture.

“Don’t worry about them,” Quentin said. “Just give them time.”

“Time,” Bumberpuff said. “Our races have been fighting for hundreds of years. How much time will it take to make up for that?”

“Don’t get all philosophical, Cappy. You’re here to play football. So go with John and Hokor and start learning your positions.”

Bumberpuff and his three Prawatt teammates jogged over to John, who waved them in.

? ? ?



QUENTIN SLAPPED THE BALL into his hands for the fake snap, then dropped back five steps and read through his routes. The four Prawatt scrambled to cover routes by Hawick, Halawa, Starcher and Tara the Freak. Quentin tossed a light pass at Hawick, just to see if Bumberpuff would react in time. Hawick jumped up fifteen feet. Bumberpuff jumped as well, but his reaction was too slow. At the apex of her leap, Hawick hauled in the pass — the Prawatt wasn’t even close to stopping the play.

Hawick landed and scooted toward the end zone. Bumberpuff hit the turf and pinwheeled after her, blazingly fast, but too far behind her to catch up. By the time she crossed the goal line, Hokor’s golf cart was already closing in, his amplified voice echoing through the stadium.

“Bumberpuff! What the hell is wrong with you?”


For the entire practice, Quentin had torched the Prawatt defensive backs. His only incompletions came when his receivers dropped a ball — the Prawatt weren’t stopping anything. Hokor’s frustration grew with each pass.

The coach’s cart floated down to the goal line, where Bumberpuff stood helplessly. Hokor hopped out of the cart and stomped forward to stand in front of the much taller Prawatt.

“Bumberpuff, what did I tell you was the first rule of covering the outside third?”

“Wider than the widest, deeper than the deepest,” Bumberpuff said.

“Is that complicated?”

“No, Coach.”

“I mean, you were captain of a big, fancy warship, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“So you commanded thousands of sentients and made life-and-death decisions. It seems like that job would require at least some level of intelligence. Are you intelligent, Bumberpuff?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“So if you are intelligent, are you sure that wider than the widest, deeper than the deepest isn’t too complicated for you?”

Bumberpuff started to vibrate. “No, Coach.”

“I do not understand,” Hokor said. “You are smart, and this is not complicated, so perhaps I am missing something — on that last pass, were you deeper than the deepest?”

Bumberpuff’s vibrations grew into an audible rattle. “No, Coach.”

Hokor grabbed his ball cap and threw it to the ground. His black-striped yellow fur stuck up in all directions. “So maybe you are not so smart after all! In this game, Bumberpuff, the objective is to not get beat deep! You are not supposed to let the receiver run past you as if your feet are encased in lead! This time, get your positioning right!” Hokor’s eye closed tight and his whole body twitched. “Run it again!”

Hawick jogged past Quentin on her way to lining up for the next play. “Quentinbarnes, this is fun-fun-fun! I love to make the Prawatt look stupid!”

Quentin took a ball out of the rack, tossed it lightly with one hand. Fun? The Prawatt weren’t having any fun at all. Neither was Quentin, for that matter.

Bumberpuff was the best of the four, and he flat-out wasn’t ready to stop the Criminals’ passing attack. They only way he’d see playing time was if other DBs suffered an injury or the game wound up being a blowout. As for the rest of them? They wouldn’t even be on the active roster for the game against Yall, and if they didn’t step it up, they wouldn’t be on it for the following week’s tilt against the Orbiting Death.

Quentin called out the signals for the next play. It was way too early to tell, but he was already starting to fear that maybe the Prawatt experiment would fail.

If it did, Tier Two would be waiting.

? ? ?



QUENTIN AND HIS TEAMMATES had gathered at the back of the tunnel. The Yall Criminals were ahead, standing in the tunnel mouth, waiting to take the field. They wore light-purple jerseys with white-trimmed black numbers and letters. White helmets bore a purple stripe down the center and the purple “ball-and-chain Sklorno” logo on either side. White arm armor and dark-purple gloves matched their dark-purple leg armor, which had three thin, vertical stripes running down the outside of each thigh.

Beyond the purple-clad Criminals, the open air of Ionath Stadium awaited. Quentin heard the chanting of the fans, 185,000-plus waiting for their team’s home opener.

“LET’S go KRAK-ens!” clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. “LET’S go KRAK-ens!” clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

Those sounds, but something else as well, some kind of counter-chant done in squeals and chirps. Maybe he’d see what that was when he took the field.

The announcer’s voice filtered in from the stadium, echoing through the tunnel’s narrow confines.

“Hello, sentients, and welcome once again to Ionath Stadium. We are delighted to have you here for the first home game of the 2685 season. Please give your warmest greetings to today’s visiting team, the Yall Criminals of the Sklorno Dynasty!”

The Yall players ran out onto the field to boos, the sandpaper sound of forearm bristles scraping together, but also to cheers. As one of two Tier One teams from the Sklorno Dynasty, the Criminals always enjoyed good support among that race. Having the best quarterback in football — 2683’s league MVP Rick Renaud — also didn’t exactly detract from the fan base.

Quentin and his teammates moved up to the front of the tunnel. They packed in, waiting, jostling against each other. Next to him stood Captain Cormorant Bumberpuff, resplendent in his new Krakens gear.

Messal had designed the Prawatt uniforms. A form-fitting black jersey clung to the X-body. Dozens of neat little holes let Bumberpuff’s eyespots see through. A white-trimmed, orange number 39 blazed from the center of the X. Above that were small, white-trimmed orange letters that spelled out KRAKENS. The same number was on the back, the captain’s odd last name above that.

Bumberpuff’s flexible arms and legs were bare, save for Messal’s brilliant touch — black streamers trimmed in white with orange piping at the outer edges. The streamers looked just like the ones Bumberpuff and the Harpies had worn back on the Grieve, a touching tip of the hat to Prawatt culture.

Bumberpuff was the only Prawatt to dress for the game. To create room on the roster, Hokor cut Breedsville from the squad — probably the first of several difficult choices that had to be made. Bumberpuff had been a starship captain; today, the Prawatt was an honorary team captain. Quentin and John both felt it was important to make a statement that the Prawatt were now part of the Ionath football tradition.

Quentin felt the stadium’s vibrations, the Ionath fans waiting for their team. After opening the season with two road games, then the Week Three bye, he and his teammates would finally defend the blue field of Ionath Stadium.

As he looked out of the tunnel to the stands, he saw familiar sights: orange-and black-clad fans; thousands of #10 replica jerseys; pom-poms waving and flags flying; the special, crysteel-enclosed sections that contained thousands of Sklorno males, the little balls of black fur bouncing madly against the clear walls and each other.

“LET’S go KRAK-ens!” clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. “LET’S go KRAK-ens!” clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

But Quentin also saw something else, something other than the expected complement of white and purple Criminals supporters. He saw … protest signs?

“Beings of all races, let’s hear it for … your … Ionath, KRAAAAAA-KENNNNNNNS!”

Quentin and his teammates rushed onto the field to the roar of a sold-out stadium. Fireworks exploded overhead, silhouetting the flying Harrah and Creterakian civilians who took advantage of their airborne abilities to get a free view of the game.

As he ran to the sidelines, he saw perhaps a dozen protest placards spaced out around the home side of the field, mostly held by Sklorno females.

KILLERS GO HOME one of the signs said.

NO PRAWATT NO! said another.

As the Krakens gathered at the sidelines, Quentin saw one of the placard holders rush down the stand’s aisle and leap over the retaining wall — she sprinted toward Bumberpuff. Stadium security came out of nowhere, two orange-clad Sklorno and an orange-clad Human hitting the attacker and bringing her down. The scene distracted Quentin, took his attention away from his teammates.

A fist slammed into his shoulder pad.

“Q!” John said. “Let’s go, brother!”


Quentin turned to see his wide-eyed linebacker, then took in the rest of the team gathered around, all waiting for Quentin’s pregame chant. He could worry about protesters some other time.

He raised his right hand high.

“Bring it in!”

The team pressed in close, reached up toward his fist.

It was time to fight.

? ? ?



QUENTIN STOOD ON THE SIDELINES, watching Rick Renaud do what Rick Renaud did, which was effortlessly dissect a defensive secondary.

The year before, a John Tweedy/Mum-O-Killowe sack had knocked the Yall quarterback out of the game. Ionath had returned home with a 27-17 win.

This time, Renaud didn’t get hurt.

Quentin could only shake his head as he watched a flawless performance. The Criminals were stacked with great players at every position. Renaud threw short routes, medium patterns and long bombs against the Krakens’ depleted secondary. He hit Concord over and over, and Quentin had to admit that the receiver was better than anyone on the Krakens — possibly even the best in the league. The Criminals’ number-two receiver, Peoria, was good enough to be the number-one on probably fifteen of the GFL’s twenty-two teams.

Renaud also got the ball to his All-Pro tight end, Andreas Kimming. The big Human caught everything thrown his way. Top to bottom, the Criminals had an amazing receiving corps — even better than that of the Krakens.

When the Criminals didn’t throw, they gave the ball to speedster Jack Townsend or bruising fullback Tay “the Weazel” Nguyen. The pair’s drastically different running styles kept the defense off balance.

As if the league’s best offense wasn’t enough, the Criminals had defensive stars as well. Middle linebackers Forrest Dane Cauthorn and Riha the Hammer anchored Yall’s 3-4 defense. Both players had improved from the year before, but where the Criminals’ D really improved was on the defensive line. Tackles Anthony Meaders and Kin-Ah-Thak hounded Quentin all day, generating consistent pressure up the middle and forcing him to scramble over and over again.

Despite being sacked four times, Quentin played well and so did his offense. He hit eight different receivers on the afternoon, connecting with Halawa for a pair of first-half touchdowns. A minor injury took Hawick out of the game mid-way through the third quarter, and even that didn’t stop the Krakens — Quentin added touchdown passes to Milford and Yotaro Kobayasho.

Ionath put 28 points on the board, which didn’t do much compared to the Criminals’ 44.

Late in the fourth quarter, when it was clear a comeback was impossible, Hokor put Bumberpuff in the game for the Criminals’ final drive. The captain pinwheeled out onto the field to a chorus of boos and scraping forearm fur. If this was how the home crowd treated the newest Kraken, Quentin dreaded how things might go when Ionath traveled to the Purist Nation in Week Six.

Watching Bumberpuff try — and fail — to stop Renaud’s passing attack filled Quentin with an odd sensation of pride. The Prawatt was still pretty bad at the position, but the two tackles he made knocked Criminals receivers on their asses. Bumberpuff had a long way to go, but now, during a real game, the Prawatt’s intensity cranked up several notches; Quentin saw real potential, the promise of a dominant cornerback.

The lopsided loss hurt. Despite the desolate feeling of being 0-3, after shaking hands with the Criminals players, Quentin led his team around Ionath Stadium, high-fiving all the fans who stuck around for the new tradition. The Prawatt skipped that tradition and went straight to the locker room — Quentin couldn’t blame them.

In the locker room, there were few smiles to be had. Quentin hid his true feelings and tried to stay positive, giving encouragement to the teammates that needed it. But there was nothing he could say to chase away the sense of despair.

Ionath was 0-3. Ionath was in last place. And unless something changed and changed quickly, Ionath was headed for relegation.

? ? ?



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

DAN: No matter how you slice it, it’s a tragedy. It’s a tragedy for the Jupiter Jacks, it’s a tragedy for the league, and it’s a tragedy for Steve Compton’s family.

AKBAR: The Jacks can’t seem to buy a break. I mean, sure, they’re undefeated at four-and-oh, but Compton is the second quarterback to die in as many seasons.

TARAT: I am talking to my contacts as we speak, Dan. I am trying to get more news on what the Jacks will do to replace Compton.

DAN: I hope those contacts come through for you, Smasher. I wouldn’t want to see Yolanda Davenport scoop you again like she did with her coverage of the Prawatt at the Combine.

TARAT: I am less than pleased about that, Dan.

DAN: Back to the death of Compton. He was everyone’s favorite story of the year, and he dies on a late hit? I hope Froese takes action against Canad the Brilliant for that.

TARAT: Dan, Froese will do just that. The game is deadly enough without late hits. Players are not ready to defend themselves after the whistle blows.

DAN: I say it again, this is tragic. Last year Jupiter makes it to the Galaxy Bowl on the arm of quarterback Shriaz Zia. In that game, they go up twenty-one to nothing on the Themala Dreadnaughts. Looks like the Jacks will win their fourth GFL championship, right? Then, boom, Zia dies on a hit from Tibi the Unkempt. The Dreadnaughts come from behind and win twenty-eight to twenty-four. All of us, myself included, figure the Jacks are going to suck this season because they lost an All-Pro quarterback, but what do we see? Backup Steve Compton stepping into the starting role and leading the Jacks to three straight wins.

AKBAR: It was like nothing had changed, Dan. No one knew how good Compton could be. And now the Jacks are once again without a quarterback. They have to make a trade. I mean, they have four wins and are in first place. Even if they win only half of their remaining games, they finish with eight wins and probably make the playoffs.

DAN: Sure, but what are they going to do if they make it to—

TARAT: Silence! I have a call coming in. One moment while I get this information.

AKBAR: Uh, Dan … is the Smasher taking a personal call during our show?

DAN: This should be good.

TARAT: My call is finished. I have a story of great significance.

DAN: My cup runneth over. Do tell, Tarat, do tell.

TARAT: My sources tell me that the Jacks have already made a trade offer. All-Pro cornerback Xuchang for Ionath Krakens backup quarterback Donald Pine.

DAN: Hellooooo! You heard it here first, folks. Take that, Yolanda Davenport and Galaxy Sports Magazine. Don Pine once again in the copper, silver and gold? Be still my heart. Tarat, is this a straight-up trade?

TARAT: That is the offer as I understand it. The only question is whether Gredok the Splithead will accept the offer.

DAN: What do you mean if? The Krakens’ defensive secondary is awful, and let’s be honest — this ridiculous Prawatt experiment isn’t going to work out. The trade is a done deal.

AKBAR: I don’t know, Dan. Other teams made offers for Pine, but I heard that Quentin Barnes demanded Pine stay at Ionath.

TARAT: I have also heard this.

DAN: Well, Barnes simply can’t object to this one. Sure, Ionath’s backup quarterback would be Yitzhak Goldman, who is horrible, but if the Krakens don’t do something fast they’re headed straight down to Tier Two. Besides, the Krakens definitely got the better of their last trade with the Jacks. Ionath got Michael Kimberlin, who has been a great offensive lineman for them, and Jupiter got Denver, who barely even sees any playing time.


AKBAR: She started out strong last season but hasn’t shown anything over the last eight or nine games. Maybe she was good in Ionath because she had chemistry with Barnes and Pine, but she wasn’t productive for Zia or Compton.

DAN: Wow, funny how things can come full-circle, isn’t it? Pine won two Galaxy Bowls with the Jacks in ’75 and ’76. Can you imagine him returning to Jupiter to help the Jacks win it all this year? You can’t write a storyline like this.

TARAT: And Ionath could also have a line of story. I realize they are winless, but Quentin Barnes is having an amazing season. If they land Xuchang and some of the Prawatt players become competent, the Krakens could still make a run at the playoffs.

AKBAR: Wow, Tarat, maybe those spider snacks are old and they’ve fermented. You must be drunk. Playoffs? They’re not making this trade for a run at the playoffs, they’ll do it to dump Pine’s huge contract, which clears up a ton of salary cap space for the off-season.

DAN: Good point, Akbar. Don Pine is the highest-paid backup in the GFL. He even makes more than some starting quarterbacks. Xuchang’s salary is probably half of Pine’s. If the Krakens do this deal and also avoid relegation, they’ll be poised to make a run in 2686.

TARAT: You both should listen to me. The Krakens are not done with this season, I assure you.

DAN: Tarat, you’re crazy, but you did break this story, and for that I say that you are the man!

TARAT: I am not of your species, Dan.

DAN: Right, sorry … you are the Warrior. Let’s go to the lines and see what the galaxy thinks of this breaking news. Line three from Mallorum, you’re on the space, go!

CALLER: Dan, this trade is a bad move by the Krakens. They should trade Pine to a crappy team like Shorah, not to a contender. What if Ionath winds up facing Jupiter in the Galaxy Bowl?

AKBAR: Oh, give me a break! The Krakens are winless, and you think they could suddenly go all the way?

DAN: Akbar, little buddy, for once I agree with you.

AKBAR: Not that nickname again.

DAN: You know you love it, little buddy! Line one from Yall, you’re on the space, go!



GFL WEEK FOUR ROUNDUP

Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network



The 2685 campaign is one-third over. Powerhouse teams are already emerging, and the specter of relegation is already rearing its ugly head.

Four teams remain undefeated. The Bartel Water Bugs continue to be the surprise of the season, moving to 4-0 with their 28-14 win over New Rodina (1-3). The wins come despite Bugs rookie QB Andre “Death Ray” Ridley completing just eight passes for 122 yards. Ridley ran well, however, picking up 87 yards and a touchdown on the ground.

The win keeps the Water Bugs tied for first in the Solar Division with Jupiter (4-0).

Jupiter quarterback Steve Compton died mid-way through the fourth quarter of the Jacks’ 28-25 win over the Shorah Warlords (0-4). This is the second quarterback killed in the last five games for Jupiter, who lost starting QB Shriaz Zia in the 2684 Galaxy Bowl.

Bartel has a bye in Week Five, while Jupiter faces archrival Neptune (2-1). The Scarlet Fliers won their second-straight game, beating Bord (2-2) by a score of 24-21.

In the Planet Division, Yall remains undefeated at 3-0 thanks to a 44-28 win over Ionath (0-3). Krakens quarterback Quentin Barnes put up another amazing performance, throwing for 327 yards and four TD passes. Criminals QB Rick Renaud countered with three touchdown passes, all to wide receiver Concord. Fullback Tay “the Weazel” Nguyen added two rushing touchdowns, while kicker Roland Ost added three field goals.

Yall moved into sole possession of first place in the Planet Division thanks to the Orbiting Death’s first loss of the season. OS1 dropped 25-21 to the To Pirates (2-1). Wabash (3-1) defeated Hittoni (0-4) 27-14 to move into a tie for second.

The relegation watch begins for Ionath, Hittoni and Shorah, who are all winless.

Deaths

Jupiter Jacks quarterback Steve Compton, killed on a late hit from Shorah Warlords middle linebacker Canad the Brilliant. GFL Commissioner Rob Froese has suspended Canad for three games. In addition, Canad will not get credit for the fatality, which would have been his second in upper-tier play.

Offensive Player of the Week

Ionath quarterback Quentin Barnes, who threw four touchdown passes in a loss to the Yall Criminals. Barnes went 25-of-31 for 327 yards and added another 75 yards on the ground.

Defensive Player of the Week

Yalla the Biter, linebacker from the Orbiting Death. Yalla had seven solo tackles, one forced fumble and three sacks on To Pirates quarterback Frank Zimmer.