The MVP

21





Week Nine: Coranadillana Cloud Killers at Ionath Krakens



PLANET DIVISION

SOLAR DIVISION



7-0 Yall Criminals

6-1 Bartel Water Bugs



5-2 To Pirates

5-2 Neptune Scarlet Fliers



5-2 Wabash Wolfpack

5-2 Vik Vanguard



4-3 Alimum Armada

4-3 Jupiter Jacks



4-3 OS1 Orbiting Death

4-3 Sheb Stalkers



3-4 Buddha City Elite

4-3 Texas Earthlings



3-4 Ionath Krakens

3-4 Bord Brigands



3-4 Isis Ice Storm

3-4 D’Kow War Dogs



3-4 Themala Dreadnaughts

3-4 Jang Atom Smashers



1-6 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

1-6 New Rodina Astronauts (bye)



1-6 Hittoni Hullwalkers

0-7 Shorah Warlords (bye)





THE KRAKENS RUSHED OUT of the tunnel and onto Ionath Stadium’s blue field. The sold-out crowd welcomed them once again, 185,000 fans hungry for a third-straight victory.

Quentin ran to the sidelines. He stopped there, raised his right fist high. The team smashed in around him, all pressing tight together. Before John could say anything to steal the moment, Quentin yelled at the top of his lungs and started the team’s pregame chant, each line answered by forty-four screaming members of the Orange and the Black.

“Whose house?”

“Our house!”

“Whose house?”

“Our house!”

“What law?”

“Our law!”

“Who wins?”

“Krakens!”

“Who wins?”

“Krakens!”

He turned to look at as many teammates as possible, butting helmets and punching armored shoulders as he talked.

“We win this, we’re back in the playoff hunt! The Cloud Killers have beaten us two years in a row, but that ends now! They don’t beat us in our stadium, not again. Let’s whip ’em good!”

The Krakens screamed a final war cry, then broke up and spread out down the sidelines. Across the field, Quentin saw today’s foe — the Coranadillana Cloud Killers. White jerseys with blue polka dots, white helmets decorated on both sides with the team’s logo: blue claws ripping through a stylized yellow cloud dotted with light blue. Leg armor and shoes of light blue completed the uniforms. The Killers had won just one game and were having a terrible year, but Quentin felt nervous — regardless of records, Coranadillana had always found a way to beat Ionath. But today would be different, Quentin knew it would.

An elbow slammed into his shoulder.

“Ouch! Dammit, John, I’m about to play a game!”

“Q, check it out,” John said. “I want you to be my best man!”

“What?”

“My best man! You know, at a wedding?”

What the hell was John talking about? “Uncle Johnny, can we just focus on the game and not your future plans for matrimony?”

John smiled. For once, his eyes weren’t wide with rage. He looked happy. The big linebacker pointed to the holoscreen.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the packed stadium.

“Sentients of all ages, if you’d direct your attention to the main holoscreen, our very own linebacker John Tweedy has an announcement he’d like to make to the galaxy.”

John’s face appeared in the holoscreen. The image panned back: was he wearing a tuxedo?

Quentin turned to the real-life John Tweedy standing next to him. “Uncle Johnny, what are you doing?”

John grinned wide. “I recorded it earlier, Q! It’s gonna be super-mega-awesome! Talk to you later, I gotta find Becca.”

John ran down the sidelines. Quentin felt a churning, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. John wouldn’t, would he? At least not here, not now, not before a game …

“Hi, everyone!” said the forty-foot-high holographic John Tweedy. “I just wanted to share this moment with the Krakens family. That’s all of you, the fans!”

Dumbfounded, Quentin stared up at the screen. Was this what John had been doing with his time in the past few weeks?

Quentin looked back to the sidelines. He saw John reach Becca. She was standing there, her orange, black and white helmet under her right arm. Like the rest of the stadium, she was also staring at the screen, a confused look on her face. John tapped her on the shoulder pad, set his helmet on the ground and got down on one knee.

The stadium boomed with the amplified, echoing sound of a forty-foot-high holographic John Tweedy.

“Becca Montagne. Will you marry me?”

From his knee, John held up a golden ring. Not a thin little delicate thing, but a thick, solid mass of metal set with a diamond as big as Quentin’s knuckle. Even from many yards away, he recognized the type — it was a championship ring.

The Packers’ Super Bowl ring.

John hadn’t given it to her back in Week Two. He’d saved it, saved it for this moment.

Becca stared down, shock in her eyes. The crowd started to clap and cheer, to whistle and chirp, to bang forearms against chests. Becca looked back up to the holographic John, who was smiling just as big as the John on one knee before her.

An entire stadium of 185,000-plus watched.

Quentin couldn’t breathe.

Becca looked around the stadium, looked at John, looked at all the Krakens players. She seemed to be searching for something.

Then her eyes locked with Quentin’s.

She stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, everything faded away: the crowd, the stadium, the players, even John … nothing else existed. For that moment it was just Quentin and Becca. Why was she looking at him?

Don’t say yes, Becca, don’t say it...

Why would he think that? John was his best friend … he wanted John to be happy.

Becca kept staring at him. What did she want? Did she need his approval or something?

The crowd started to chant: “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”

John grinned wider. He didn’t stand up, but he looked to the crowd, waved his arms as if to say more-more-more!

Worst of all, JUST SAY YES scrolled across his face.

Becca seemed to ignore everything, everything but Quentin.

Quentin felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t think. Her hard stare became too much to bear.

He shrugged his shoulders.

Becca’s eyes narrowed. They should have crinkled, joined a smiling mouth to show her happiness, but instead her eyes looked full of pain, full of loss. She again looked around at the chanting, cheering, happy crowd.

She looked down at John. Becca nodded.

The crowd went wild.

Quentin felt anger blossom in his chest. How could John do this before the game, in front of all of these people? That was no way to prepare for a critical matchup, and it made Quentin furious that John trivialized a must-win game with this showboating.

But deep down, he knew he was angry for another reason.

Becca was going to marry John Tweedy, and Quentin hadn’t done anything to stop it.


? ? ?



QUENTIN’S MOUTH FILLED with the coppery taste of hot blood. A nebulae-sized headache blossomed in his brain. He pushed himself to his hands and knees. His body screamed at him to just stay down, but you couldn’t be a winner if you listened to your body.

He rolled to his butt. Ionath Stadium and the blue field seemed to swirl around him. He didn’t know where that ringing sound was coming from, but he hoped it stopped before it made him hurl.

He felt something hard in the roof of his mouth. He reached in to pull out his mouthpiece, then spit into his open hand — a splatter of mucus/blood hit his palm, along with his front right tooth.

Always that stupid tooth. Always.

“Hey, big guy,” said a deep, HeavyG voice. “You okay?”

Quentin looked up. Even that small motion made his head pulse with new agony. Coranadillana defensive end Jesper Schultz was standing over him. He only had half of his blue-polka-dotted white jersey. He’d lost the other half in the second quarter. Blood trickled from a rip on the right side of his neck. Dark-blue Iomatt stains smeared his light-blue leg armor. His cracked and chipped white helmet sat cockeyed and looked broken.

“Fine,” Quentin said. “Never felt better.”

“Good, I thought I’d killed you,” Schultz said. “Would have looked good on my stat sheet, but I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said. “I’m touched.”

Beyond Schultz, Quentin saw the Krakens’ dominant left tackle Kill-O-Yowet. It was Kill-O’s job to block Schultz. Normally, Kill-O could shut down any pass rusher, but Schultz had Kill-O’s number, just like the Cloud Killers had the Krakens’ number. It was Schultz’s third sack of the game — Kill-O found a way to not look at Quentin, which was quite an accomplishment considering the Ki species’ five eyes let them see in all directions at once.

Off to his left, Quentin heard a woman moaning in pain. Becca Montagne, on her left side, clutching her right knee. Quentin’s jumbled memory replayed what had just happened. The Krakens were behind 20-14. He’d dropped back on second-and-10, only to see Schultz drive Kill-O backward, then spin inside the Ki lineman and come free. Becca tried to step up and block the defensive end, but the male HeavyG had leveled the female HeavyG with a big forearm uppercut. Quentin didn’t even have time to duck — Jesper had laid him out.

The end result of Jesper’s latest play? A shamed left tackle, an injured fullback and a quarterback spitting up blood.

Jesper held out a hand to help Quentin to his feet. Quentin took it. The HeavyG started to pull him up, then Quentin’s knees buckled and he fell to his side.

Quentin was vaguely aware of Jesper waving to the Krakens’ sidelines, waving and pointing to Quentin.

The heads-up display in Quentin’s helmet popped down. Hokor’s big-eyed face appeared, although it seemed like there were three fuzzy versions of the black-striped yellow-furred coach.

“Barnes! Come out of the game.”

Quentin shook his head, which ratcheted up the brain-pain so bad he instantly threw up. Vomit dripped from his facemask. He squinted his eyes, trying to manage the agony.

“Barnes! I’m sending Goldman in, get out —”

“No! Coach, I can win this.”

Yitzhak Goldman started running onto the field. Quentin pushed himself to his feet. He pointed at Goldman, then pointed to the sidelines.

Yitzhak stopped running. He looked back to Hokor, who threw his little hat down then waved Yitzhak off the field.

Quentin couldn’t remember ever hurting this bad. He could feel sorry for himself later — a touchdown and an extra point would give Ionath the win. Quentin wanted the ball in his hands.

The medsled slid toward the sidelines, Becca dangling from the silver wires beneath it, Doc Patah flying gracefully alongside.

Was she okay? How bad was it?

Quentin closed his eyes. He couldn’t worry about Becca right now, he had a game to win.

Hokor called a play. Quentin jogged back to the huddle. Third down and 15 to go, he needed to convert.

He didn’t remember calling the play or breaking the huddle — all of a sudden he was standing behind center, staring out at a blurry defense. The linebackers seemed to shift into mirror images of each other, separate, then blend back together.

You can do this, you HAVE to do this …

He looked right, needing to see Becca, but Becca wasn’t there — Kopor the Climber was.

Why is he in at fullback?

Quentin slid his hands under Bud-O-Shwek.

“Blue, sixteen! Blue, sixteeeen!”

The pain of just calling out the snap forced his eyes shut. One more play, just one more pass, and he could give his team the win.

“Hut-hut!”

Quentin took the snap and dropped back. He saw Halawa breaking free, but she suddenly blurred in and out of focus. Quentin stepped up, trying to concentrate — he heard big feet pounding toward him (it’s Schultz, get rid of it get rid of it) and gunned the ball downfield.

As soon as he released, he realized he hadn’t seen the Cloud Killers’ safety coming over to help. The white-jerseyed player swept in for an easy interception.

Quentin Barnes bent at the waist and threw up again. Denver ran up, helped Quentin stand, helped walk him off the field.

The sidelines were a sea of dejection. The game was all but over. For the third-straight year, Coranadillana had beaten them.

Should he have come out of the game? He’d played hurt so many times, but a shot to the head … blurry vision … maybe that was a different thing altogether.

Quentin reached the sidelines and kept walking, right to a medbench. He sat, slowly, so as not to jostle his brain any further. Maybe Doc could do something about the headache, and, hopefully, fix that broken tooth — again.

? ? ?



THE REJUVE FLUID’S HEAT SOAKED into Quentin’s battered body. It helped ease the pain of bruises, accelerated the healing of his cuts and scrapes. It did nothing, however, for the pounding in his skull. Doc Patah could fix many things, but he said a concussion had to just run its course.

Quentin had Ionath Stadium’s dimly lit training room all to himself. The room’s other three tanks lie empty, waiting for another football victim to repair. The back of his head rested against his tank’s edge. Fluid bobbed around his jaw and chin, just a half-inch below his lower lip. The only light came from one of Doc Patah’s holotanks. Normally, that display would show some kind of medical scan … perhaps ruptured internal organs, or some broken bones, maybe a ligament tear. Now, however, it showed a single play, repeating over and over from every available angle.

Kill-O-Yowet hadn’t made a mistake, he hadn’t screwed up, he’d just flat-out been beat by a great player. Jesper’s inside spin was a perfectly timed thing of beauty, bringing him in so fast that Becca barely had time to react. She had thrown herself in Jesper’s path, doing the only thing she could to at least slow him down a little before he decapitated Quentin.

On the replay, Schultz brought up his massive left forearm, caught Becca under the chin, flipping her vertically, a violent hit that made her knee bend the wrong way when her armored shoe dug into the soft, blue turf.

A concussion. Commissioner Froese didn’t screw around with brain injuries — Quentin would have to be evaluated and approved by a league-appointed doctor before he’d be allowed to practice again, let alone play in a game. That examination would come tomorrow. For now, all he could do was sit there and hurt.


Motion at the door drew Quentin’s attention away from holotank’s repeating play. Becca Montagne hobbled into the room, a pair of crutches supporting her weight, a fresh brace on her right leg.

Quentin looked at her for a moment, then back to the replay of Schultz’s hit. Just seeing her made him angry. Angry and frustrated. He suddenly wanted to blame her for the injury, wanted to yell at her for something, but he knew she’d sacrificed her body to protect him.

His concussion wasn’t her fault — so why did looking at her face make his chest burn?

He chose to look at her leg brace. At the knee, small lights beeped a pattern of red, then green, then yellow — Doc Patah’s surgery on the hoof.

“How bad is it?”

She shrugged. “Torn ACL. Doc says I can practice light on Tuesday, should be fine by Wednesday. How’s the head? Concussion?”

“Yeah.”

Becca looked down. “Sorry, Q. I missed my block.”

A half-second’s worth of laughter slipped out before it froze in a hiss of pain.

“Damn,” he said. “Try not to do anything funny, okay? Computer, play angle four, start from before the snap. Becca, watch this.”

She looked up at the holotank, her eyes filled with self-loathing. Becca could get so moody when she thought she’d done something wrong. He didn’t understand why the sight of her made him mad, but as team leader he was not going to let her take any blame for this.

“Look how fast you react,” he said. “Three, maybe four players in the league could react that fast. Pause.”

The replay froze. It showed Becca launching herself at the oncoming, long-armed, stubby-legged HeavyG monster known as Jesper Schultz.

“You got a pad on him,” Quentin said. “You did enough.”

She pointed at the replay. “Look at that! I barely even slowed him down.”

“But you did slow him down, Becca. If you hadn’t, look how hard he would have hit me. Play.”

The replay continued. For the hundredth time, Quentin watched Jesper Schultz’s right arm come up under Becca, spinning her vertically, then Schultz’s shoulder pad slamming into Quentin’s chest, driving the already-unconscious quarterback to the ground.

“He sacked you,” she said. “He gave you a concussion.”

“Sure, but he didn’t kill me. I’ve been watching this hit over and over. If you hadn’t thrown yourself at him like that, I might be in intensive care. Or in a coffin.”

She stared at him, her eyes full of hurt. It wasn’t just the sack that bothered her … there was something more.

“Becca, are you okay? Where’s Uncle Johnny?”

“I told him I needed some time alone.”

Quentin said nothing. She wanted time alone? Weren’t girls supposed to be all giddy when someone proposed?

Her look of hurt changed to one of anger. “Did you put him up to this, Quentin? Did you tell your best friend to propose to me in front of all of those sentients? In front of an entire stadium?”

Why was she yelling at him? “No. I didn’t even know it was going to happen.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you sure? Maybe you thought it was funny to tell him to do it where I couldn’t say no.”

Couldn’t say no? She’d accepted John’s proposal, why would she do that if she didn’t want to marry him? Maybe she thought John hadn’t come up with the idea himself. Quentin could see where that might make a girl upset.

“Becca, I swear — I didn’t tell him to do it.”

She laughed. “Right, like you actually need to use words to get someone to do what you want. Isn’t that the reason you studied Gredok? So that you can manipulate people, just like he does? So that you can get sentients to do what you want, but make them think it’s their idea?”

No, that wasn’t him. That wasn’t what he did … was it? He’d learned to manipulate, sure, but that was just to fight back against Gredok’s influence, or as crazy as it still sounded — to deal with the living god of a race of machines. Couldn’t she see that? He did what was best for the team, and she was comparing him to Gredok?

He was trying to be gracious, yet here she was getting in his face.

“I didn’t manipulate John into doing a damn thing,” Quentin said. “He loves you. And why would I manipulate him … do you think I want you to marry John?”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you?”

No, I don’t. Those words instantly flashed through Quentin’s mind … but why? Becca was his teammate. John was his best friend. The two of them were perfect for each other. And yet when he’d seen John on one knee, Quentin had felt that intense, gut reaction, that urge to say don’t do it.

Becca put the crutches closer and took one step forward.

“Quentin,” she said quietly, “why don’t you want me to marry John?”

She was staring at him again, staring with those wide, dark eyes, waiting for an answer in a way that forced him to look elsewhere. Suddenly, his damaged brain seemed to finally put the pieces together, and he knew the answer: Because you know me so well. Because you seem to know me better than anyone else. Because I should have asked you out a long time ago.

But he hadn’t done that. Hadn’t, and now he couldn’t, not when John Tweedy loved her so much. It was too late. Quentin couldn’t say how he felt, because if Becca hadn’t loved John right back then she wouldn’t have said yes. John loved Becca, and Becca loved John. It was that simple. Quentin hadn’t realized he wanted Becca for more than a friend — that didn’t give him the right to run what she and John had together.

“I never said I don’t want you to marry John. I hope you guys are really, really happy together.”

Her wide eyes narrowed once again. They looked wet. She turned on her crutches and hobbled out of the training room.

Quentin’s head hurt even worse than before.

“Computer, shut off the holotank.”

The tank blinked out, leaving the room in total darkness. Quentin closed his eyes and tried to not think about Becca and John.



GFL WEEK NINE ROUNDUP

Courtesy of Galaxy Sports Network



There are still four weeks remaining in the 2685 season, and the Criminals have already locked up a playoff berth.

Yall (8-0) remained undefeated by holding off a strong effort from Jupiter (4-4). The Jacks took a 21-14 lead into the locker room at the half, paced by three touchdown passes from quarterback Don Pine. Pine was knocked out of the game mid-way through the third quarter, however, and the Criminals scored 20 unanswered points for the win. The Jacks have now lost four straight games and will likely miss the playoffs for the first time in seven seasons.

Wabash and To both improved to 6-2. They remain tied for second in the Planet Division.

In the Solar Division, Bartel improved to 7-1 and maintained sole possession of first place with a 24-7 win over D’Kow (3-5). Vik (6-2) defeated Shorah (0-8) by a score of 25-17 to stay in second place, while Neptune (5-3) fell into a third-place tie due to a 28-14 loss to Texas (5-3). The Scarlet Fliers and the Earthlings are tied with the surprising Sheb Stalkers (5-3), who edged out New Rodina 17-14.

In the Planet Division relegation watch, both Coranadillana (2-6) and Hittoni (2-6) won to remain tied for last place.

Thanks to Shorah’s loss, New Rodina (1-7) is still a game above the Solar Division relegation zone. Going back to last season, the Warlords have now lost a record 15 straight Tier One games.


Deaths

Alimum wide receiver Belcourt, killed on a clean hit by To Pirates strong safety Ciudad Juarez. This was Ciudad’s eighth confirmed fatality. She is now four fatalities behind the GFL’s all-time leader Yalla the Biter, who has 12.

Offensive Player of the Week

Vik wide receiver Gourock, who caught three passes — all for touchdowns — in the Vanguard’s 25-17 win over the Shorah Warlords.

Defensive Player of the Week

Themala cornerback Germany, who had two interceptions and two sacks in the Dreadnaughts’ 38-21 loss to the Wabash Wolfpack.