The MVP

26





Final Regular Season Standings



PLANET DIVISION

SOLAR DIVISION



12-0 y. Yall Criminals

9-3 y. Vik Vanguard



9-3 x. To Pirates

9-3 x. Bartel Water Bugs



8-4 x. OS1 Orbiting Death

8-4 x. Jupiter Jacks



7-5 x. Ionath Krakens

8-4 x. Texas Earthlings



7-5 Wabash Wolfpack

7-5 Neptune Scarlet Fliers



5-7 Alimum Armada

7-5 Sheb Stalkers



5-7 Isis Ice Storm

6-6 Bord Brigands



5-7 Themala Dreadnaughts

5-7 Jang Atom Smashers



4-8 Buddha City Elite

3-9 D’Kow War Dogs



3-9 Coranadillana Cloud Killers

2-10 Shorah Warlords



2-10 Hittoni Hullwalkers*

1-11 New Rodina Astronauts*



x = playoffs, y = division title, * = team has been relegated





* * *



2685 ALL-PRO FIRST-TEAM OFFENSE



* * *





Quarterback

Rick Renaud

Yall Criminals

Quentin Barnes

Ionath Krakens

Condor Adrienne

OS1 Orbiting Death

Running Back

Jack Townsend

Yall Criminals

CJ Wellman

Jupiter Jacks

Ju Tweedy

Ionath Krakens

Fullback

Mike Buckner

OS1 Orbiting Death

Tay Nguyen

Yall Criminals

Wide Receiver

Concord

Yall Criminals

Gourock

Vik Vanguard

Leavenworth

Texas Earthlings

Mosfellsb?r

Bartel Water Bugs

Tight End

Andreas Kimming

Yall Criminals

Rick Warburg

Buddha City Elite

Tackle

Michael Brown

D’Kow War Dogs

Maik-De-Jog

Neptune Scarlet Fliers

Eric Woodford

Bord Brigands

Guard

David Sobkowiak

To Pirates

Aashish Passi

Vik Vanguard

Kil-Jel-Oh

Bartel Water Bugs

Center

Graham Harting,

To Pirates

Mor-En-Cee

Isis Ice Storm





* * *



2685 ALL-PRO FIRST-TEAM DEFENSE



* * *





Defensive End

Ryan Nossek

Isis Ice Storm

Drew Davison

Jupiter Jacks

Jesper Schultz

Coranadillana Cloud Killers

Interior Lineman

Anthony Meaders

Yall Criminals

Chok-Oh-Thilit

Texas Earthlings

Mum-O-Killowe

Ionath Krakens

Outside Linebacker

Forrest Dane Cauthorn

Yall Criminals

Zeus the Ram

D’Kow War Dogs

Jan “The Destroyer” Dennison

Neptune Scarlet Fliers

Inside/Middle Linebacker

Yalla the Biter

OS1 Orbiting Death

John Tweedy

Ionath Krakens

Cornerback

Almyra

Jang Atom Smashers

Karachi

OS1 Orbiting Death

Xuchang

Jupiter Jacks

Free/Strong Safety

East Windsor

Vik Vanguard

Ciudad Juarez

To Pirates

Mississauga

Wabash Wolfpack



* * *



SPECIAL TEAMS

Punter: Nicole Gugliucci

Alimum Armada

Place Kicker: Arioch Morningstar

Ionath Krakens

Kick Returner: Chetumal Hittoni

Hullwalkers

COACH OF THE YEAR

Jako the Mug

Sheb Stalkers

LEAGUE MVP

Rick Renaud

Yall Criminals



* * *





From the Ionath City Gazette



* * *





GFL Names 2685 All-Pro Team

by TOYAT THE INQUISITIVE

NEW YORK, EARTH, PLANTEARY union   — GFL Commissioner Rob Froese today announced the 2685 All-Pro selections, and the Ionath Krakens are well represented among the galaxy’s best.

Ionath’s reputation glittered bright this year with the gleam from five All-Pro selections: quarterback Quentin Barnes, running back Ju Tweedy, linebacker John Tweedy, kicker Arioch Morningstar and defensive tackle Mum-O-Killowe. This was Mum-O-Killowe’s second-straight All-Pro selection.

Yall quarterback Rick Renaud was named the league MVP. Renaud led the Criminals to an undefeated, 12-0 regular season. He set a league record with 39 touchdown passes yet threw only eight interceptions on the year. His mark of 3,841 yards, or 320.1 yards per game, is third-highest all-time single season total.

The Criminals led the league with seven All-Pro selections. Defensive lineman Anthony Meaders and outside linebacker Forrest Dane Cauthorn joined Yall’s five offensive selections: Renaud, running back Jack Townsend, fullback Tay Nguyen, wide receiver Concord and tight end Andreas Kimming.



* * *





IT FELT AMAZING to be named All-Pro. He was one of the best in the league, recognized by fans, the media and his peers. As good as that felt, as much as it meant, two things hadn’t changed. First, the award did nothing to dull his all-consuming desire for the GFL championship, and second, it didn’t do a damn thing to stop his motion sickness.

Quentin pulled the bag out of his golden puke bucket, tied it and set it down. These were automatic motions, something his hands did because his brain was occupied with the view outside the crysteel window.

The planet Yall, the endless city of Virilliville.

Home of the Yall Criminals.

The Yall Criminals, the best team ever assembled.

On either side of him, his Sklorno teammates packed in at the windows. They jumped up and down, squealed and whistled; their dangling raspers flung spit onto the crysteel.

He stood at the center window, Michael Kimberlin on his right, Mum-O-Killowe on his left, Cormorant Bumberpuff behind him. Quentin wished John was there, but John did everything he could to avoid Quentin. Ju was probably with John. No Rebecca, either — outside of practice, Quentin hadn’t seen much of that girl.

Having a Prawatt in the same room with the Sklorno created a sense of tension. They were getting along in practice and in the locker room, mostly by just avoiding each other. Denver, Milford and the others clearly didn’t want Bumberpuff on the viewing deck, but he had a right to be there as did every member of the team. The Sklorno tolerated him — Quentin felt that was good enough for now.

Out in space, Yall waited. Civilization blackened the surface, buildings packed in so dense it was hard to see any of that world’s natural burnished-blue color. If Virilliville had borders, those borders merged with some other infinite sprawl, making the planet one big, endless city.

Mum-O moved a few steps forward. He pressed his four hands against the crysteel. His five eyes narrowed.


“Fillak ohnol retol,” he said quietly. “Retol.”

Kimberlin leaned toward Quentin. “Mum-O feels that —”

“I know what he feels,” Quentin said. He understood more and more of the Ki language, but Mum-O’s tone communicated everything. No words were needed.

This six-hundred-pound creature had once been Quentin’s enemy. Now he was a fellow All-Pro, a teammate, a partner in the quest for immortality. Quentin put a hand on the Ki’s upper shoulder, felt the warm skin and the cool enamel dots embedded there.

“You’re right, my friend,” Quentin said. “We are going to shock the galaxy.”

Bumberpuff leaned closer to the window. “Half a trillion sentients will watch this game,” he said. “They all think we’ll lose. Shock them? Hell, yes, we will shock them.”

[FIRST SHUTTLE FLIGHT PASSENGERS TO THE LANDING BAY.]

Quentin, Michael, Bumberpuff and Mum-O turned and walked out of the viewing bay. Denver, Milford and Halawa followed, their demeanor more solemn than the second-string Sklorno they left behind.

Intensity. Desire. Hunger. All of them wanted this game, wanted it more than anything they’d felt in their entire lives. The road to the Galaxy Bowl started in Virilliville.

And to travel that road, all the Krakens had to do was beat the best team in history.

? ? ?



QUENTIN STOOD IN FRONT of the holoboard in the central visitor’s locker room of Tomb of the Virilli Stadium. His teammates wore their away jerseys, blazing orange with white-trimmed black letters and numbers. Black upper-arm padding led to orange-enameled bracers and black gloves with built-in orange-enameled armor for the backs of fingers and hands. Their legs were clad in black thigh armor, blazing-orange-enameled lower-leg armor and finally the black and orange armored boots.

Quentin reached up with his right hand, pinched his jersey between his forefinger and thumb. He lifted it slightly, showing it to his teammates.

“We’re wearing visitor’s colors,” he said. “That’s because this is the Criminals’ home stadium. At least, that’s what they think it is. But tonight, this field and this stadium will belong to us.”

Human and HeavyG heads started to nod, just a little. The Ki let out small grunts. The Sklorno chirped. The Prawatt vibrated. The Quyth Warriors stared and blinked.

“This is the playoffs,” Quentin said. “We’ve been here before. Last year, we learned a hard lesson. The Wolfpack taught us that the regular season doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you do in the next sixty minutes.”

Heads nodded more vigorously. The chirps and the grunts grew louder.

Quentin took his time. He met the eyes of every player on his team. He fed them his energy, his conviction, his indomitable will. They absorbed this invisible message, soaked it in and stored it for the battle to come.

“They say the Criminals are the greatest team ever assembled,” he said. “Jack Townsend, All-Pro running back, he’s going to stomp all over us, right?”

Heads stopped nodding and started shaking.

Quentin smiled wide. “Oh, come on, team. You’ve all heard the media, right? You’ve heard how our secondary can’t stop All-Pro receiver Concord, right?”

Defensive backs — both Sklorno and Prawatt — shifted in place. They vibrated, metallic skin rattling and eyestalks quivering.

Quentin held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “We might as well not even go out there, right? We are fourteen-point underdogs. I mean, they have league MVP Rick Renaud, don’t they?”

A wave of anger flared through the team. Mum-O barked out words that spoke of anger and agitation; he was sick to death of hearing about Rick Renaud, everyone was. Eyes narrowed. Fists clenched. Quentin wasn’t that angry he hadn’t won the MVP, but his teammates were still furious. The way they could vent their frustration was by stopping Renaud.

Quentin lifted both hands, signaling for silence. The team’s murmur died down.

“We’ve already been written off,” he said. “They call us lucky to be here. Outside of this room, no one thinks you can win. We’re going to prove those people wrong. Today? This field … is ours. This stadium? It belongs to us. Close your eyes.” He watched as all of his teammates, a mean and nasty band of brothers and sisters armored up in orange and black, closed their eyes.

“Take a moment and think of what you will do to help us win,” he said. “Find that place, that primitive place, where this isn’t a game anymore, where every down is a fight for your life.

“Today, it’s us, or it’s them. Today, we fight for each other, and we will crush those that stand before us. When I tell you to open your eyes, open them and see through the eyes of the monsters that you are.”

Quentin closed his eyes and bowed his head.

It was almost time.

? ? ?



QUENTIN BENT BEHIND center for his first snap of the playoffs. The uniforms of both teams were spotless. The orange jerseys of his teammates blazed so brightly they almost hurt the eyes, while their orange and black leg armor gleamed under the stadium lights.

The white field seemed to glow, ever so slightly, a swath of illumination against the nighttime sky above. Dark-green lines and numbers still had crisp, defined edges. Those edges would soon blur as the game wore on.

“Red, nineteen!”

The white of the field seemed to bleed past the sidelines and crawl up into the stands. At least 80 percent of the 165,000 in attendance wore white, and most of those were bouncing Sklorno females. The stands seemed to move like rippling water, the shouts and the screams made the air boil with excitement.

Playoff football. There was nothing like it.

Quentin looked across at the defense, at their white helmets with the purple “ball-and-chain Sklorno” logo. Deep-purple jerseys looked almost black under the lights, made the white numbers on their stomachs and the letters that spelled CRIMINALS across their chests seem to blaze brighter. White arm armor and purple gloves complemented purple leg armor lined with three vertical, white stripes across the thighs and the shins.

First-and-10 on the Ionath 22-yard line.

So it began.

“Hut-hut!”

? ? ?



IONATH’S FIRST TWO DRIVES produced 44 yards but no points. Fortunately, the defense held Yall to much the same result.

Rick Renaud, league MVP, master of the long ball, was having trouble with the Prawatt defensive backs. Renaud had studied and scouted his new foes, that much was clear, but the Prawatt movements made him hold onto the ball for just a little bit too long. Just two drives into the game, and Mum-O already had two sacks.

Quentin tried not to get excited. Renaud was a patient man. He was taking his time, trying to figure things out. He was far more willing to take a sack than to force a pass and have it intercepted. Sooner or later, Quentin knew Renaud would find a weakness and exploit it.

Unfortunately, that weakness came sooner. On the Criminals’ third drive, Renaud started calling screen passes. He drew in the attacking Krakens’ defensive line, then passed to running backs who followed walls of offensive linemen. The Prawatt had trouble finding a way around those blockers. Yall ran three screen passes on the drive, the final one going to Tay “the Weazel” Nguyen, who used his blockers to scamper for a 32-yard touchdown.

First score of the game had the Criminals up 7-0.

? ? ?



THE CRIMINALS’ DEFENSE had decided to defend the pass first, daring Ionath to run the ball. Coach Hokor took that dare.


In the second quarter, Ju Tweedy started to find his rhythm. The Krakens’ interior offensive line of left guard Sho-Do-Thikit, center Bud-O-Shwek and right guard Michael Kimberlin proved to be more than a match for Yall defensive tackles Anthony Meaders and Kin-Ah-Thak. Hokor called runs up the middle, one after another. Ju would take the handoff and slam forward for four, five, six yards or more. He didn’t have any breakaway runs, but the Krakens controlled the ball and kept Rick Renaud and company off the field.

Quentin didn’t care how his team moved the ball, as long as that ball moved. He threw only three times in the entire second quarter. The constant pounding paid off — with 4:56 to go in the half, Ju finally broke a pair of tackles and rumbled his way upfield for a 17-yard TD.

Tie game, Yall 7, Ionath 7.

? ? ?



MUM-O-KILLOWE SEEMED TO HAVE taken Quentin’s pregame speech to heart, because monster was the only word that could describe the young Ki lineman’s performance. After Ju’s touchdown, Mum-O landed another sack of Renaud — his third of the half — that killed a Criminals drive and forced them to settle for a field goal.

Mum-O’s performance left the Criminals no choice but to double-team him — if he couldn’t be stopped by one player, they’d shut him down with two. The constant double-teams ensured that Chat-E-Riret, playing for the injured Mai-An-Ihkole, was almost always blocked one on one. The backup played well and even managed his first sack of the season. The strong play of Mum-O and Chat-E demanded all the attention of the Criminals’ defensive line, which gave room for the Krakens’ linebackers to wreak havoc on inside blitzes.

On a third-and-eight, Renaud dropped back to pass. Mum-O drove in hard, drawing the double team. Virak the Mean waited a second and a half before tucking and rolling in fast on a delayed blitz. Renaud started to throw, then paused; something about the Krakens’ coverage made him hesitate for a split second. He felt the pressure and tried to scramble, but it was too late: Virak came out of the roll and hit the purple-clad Yall quarterback from behind, forcing a fumble. The ball bounced and flopped, seemed to intentionally evade several purple-jerseyed players that reached for it. A flash of a tumbling orange and black uniform cut toward the ball — the pigskin bounced high, then Choto the Bright popped out of his roll and hauled it in.

If a Warrior rolls while holding the ball, his knees and elbows touch the turf and refs will blow their whistles, calling that Warrior down. So Choto ran, his thick legs pumping his big body toward the end zone.

Yall’s Sklorno receivers gave chase. Bumberpuff and Weasley threw key blocks that stopped them from bringing Choto down. Concord finally caught up with him. She wrapped her tentacles around him, tried to drag him down and strip the ball, but Choto kept on stumbling. When he finally fell, his body hit the purple paint of the end zone.

Quentin didn’t cheer, he didn’t scream, he just nodded. That was the break Ionath needed, but the game was far from over. Arioch Morningstar kicked in the extra point. With less than a minute remaining in the first half, the Krakens were ahead 14-10.

? ? ?



THE HALFTIME LOCKER ROOM seemed to pulse with electricity. Two quarters down, two to go, and Ionath was ahead by four. Coach Hokor stood at the holoboard, drawing up ways for the Krakens offense to improve in the second half. The game was supposed to be an offensive shootout, but both defenses had stepped up strong.

The players sat around the board, close together, taking bottles of water from Messal the Efficient. Doc Patah fluttered from player to player, patching up cuts and applying nanomeds to major contusions. The Krakens had been lucky so far — not a single player had come out of the game due to injury.

John Tweedy stood on the other side of the central locker room, surrounded by his defensive teammates. They talked excitedly, exchanging ideas and information, trying to guess what Renaud and the Criminals would do differently in the second half. Ionath’s defense found itself in an unexpected position: what adjustments do you make when you’ve held the league’s best offense to just 10 points?

Quentin listened to Hokor. In the second half, the coach wanted to use more play-action fakes to Ju to draw the linebackers in, giving Quentin more room to complete short passes and crossing patterns.

Denver sat up close to the holoboard, following Hokor’s every word. The Criminals had covered her well all evening, but Quentin knew that sooner or later, she would get a step on her defenders. When she did, he was going to put the ball on the money.

Ionath had the lead. The Krakens were just one half away from victory.

? ? ?



IN THE SECOND HALF, the Criminals came out throwing. Renaud stopped dropping back deep. Instead, he used shallow, three-step drops to throw quick-hitting passes. Quentin watched in amazement as the league MVP put on a display of power and accuracy. The short slant, out and hook routes only gained four or five yards at a time, but they kept the chains moving. The Krakens’ DBs were forced to come up and play tighter — the Criminals seemed to be one missed tackle away from a big play.

That missed tackle came at 8:53 of the third quarter. Renaud took the snap, turned and gunned the ball to the left, to Concord, who drove in on a 45-degree angle slant route. Renaud hit Concord in stride, delivering the ball just beyond the pedipalp fingers of Choto the Bright. Bumberpuff dove for her and wrapped her up, but Concord’s big legs kept pumping. Bumberpuff seemed to slide off, then fell to the white field.

The purple-and white-clad receiver took off, hitting top speed almost instantly. Free safety Katzenbaum Weasley gave chase, but it was already too late — against an All-Pro like Concord, any missed tackle could turn into points.

Extra point good: Yall 17, Ionath 14.

? ? ?



QUENTIN COUNTERED AT THE END of the third quarter. Ionath ran play-action to Ju, faking the handoff, then Quentin dropped back. He was supposed to throw over the middle to Starcher, but he first looked for Denver, who was running straight downfield.

She had a step on her defender. One step was all she needed.

Quentin threw to the back corner of the end zone, counting on his friend to pull away from her defender and run under the ball. Denver did just that — she was three steps clear when the ball fell feather-light into her outstretched tentacles.

The crowd roared a combination of anger and approval. Quentin bent, plucked a few blades of white grass off the field and sniffed them deep. Yall’s field smelled like chocolate.

Extra point, good: Quentin and Denver had put their team ahead 21-17.

? ? ?



NOT EVEN A DOUBLE TEAM could stop the magnificent Mum-O-Killowe. In the fourth quarter, Renaud dropped back for another quick pass. Mum-O split his double team and raised his four arms high. Renaud had to move fast to avoid the sack. He scooted left, but Mum-O reached out a right arm and grabbed the quarterback’s purple jersey. Renaud tried to get rid of the ball — he made a hurried throw to tight end Andreas Kimming.

The pass was a little slow, a little bit behind, and Kimming had to reach back for it. He caught it, but when he turned to face forward, John Tweedy landed a hit that knocked the tight end off his feet and sent the ball flying — it bounced once, then tumbled right into the arms of Virak the Mean. Criminals players brought him down immediately. The Harrah zebes flew in and signaled Krakens’ ball.

Five minutes and forty-eight seconds to play in the game, the ball on their own 25, a four-point lead. Quentin ran onto the field with his offense, knowing that the upset was now theirs to lose.


? ? ?



THIRD DOWN AND SEVEN, on the Yall 27, 1:31 to play. The Criminals only had one timeout left. A first down here sealed the victory.

Quentin took the snap and pivoted on his left heel, turning all the way around and pitching the ball to Ju Tweedy. Ju caught it and ran left, parallel to the line of scrimmage. Becca was out in front of him. So was Michael Kimberlin, who had pulled from his right guard position.

Becca and Mike were a funny-looking combination. Mike’s big, athletic body lumbered along — Becca was a foot and a half shorter than him and didn’t quite come up to his sternum. Funny looking, maybe, but both were among the best in the galaxy at what they did.

The purple-clad defenders slammed forward, desperate to make the stop. Forrest Dane Cauthorn angled in. Becca tried to take out his legs, but the agile linebacker leapt over her and grabbed a handful of Ju’s jersey. The extra weight slowed Ju just enough for Riha the Hammer to come in and make the stop at the 20-yard line, one yard short of the first down.

The Criminals used their last timeout— 1:25 to play.

Quentin slapped his helmet in frustration. One more yard would have won the game!

Arioch Morningstar and Yitzhak Goldman calmly ran onto the field with the kick team. Arioch nailed the 37-yard field goal to put Ionath up 24-17.

Now, it was all up to the defense.

? ? ?



RICK RENAUD HADN’T WON the league MVP on a fluke. Quentin stood on the sidelines. He could do nothing but watch the battered, bleeding Criminals’ quarterback complete a pass for 15 yards, then one for 8 that took his receiver out of bounds, then another for 11. Renaud had been sacked four times, knocked down at least a dozen more, had fumbled once and had thrown an interception. He’d taken everything the Krakens had dished out, and yet here he was, guiding his team downfield.

First-and-10 on the Ionath 45, just 48 seconds to play. No timeouts. Renaud dropped back. Mum-O rushed in, as did Michnik and Khomeni. The pocket collapsed. Renaud stepped forward, tucked the ball and ran. John Tweedy came up for the stop, but Renaud threw a stiff-arm that caught John off-guard. John’s head rocked back and he fell hard to the turf. The crowd roared loud enough to set the air ablaze. Renaud ran straight upfield. Wahiawa came up hard and Renaud slid to the ground, avoiding the hit.

The 17-yard scramble took the Criminals to the Ionath 28. Renaud rushed his team to the line. He spiked the ball to stop the clock with 35 seconds left to play.

Quentin felt helpless. It was completely out of his hands.

Renaud broke the huddle and brought his team to the line. He barked out the snap-count. The insane crowd pleaded for their team to get a touchdown and tie up the game.

Renaud took the snap and dropped back. Mum-O roared in yet again, forcing the quarterback to scramble left immediately. Alexsandar Michnik tossed his blocker aside and came in hard. Renaud had nowhere to run. He stopped, planted, stepped up and threw for the end zone just before Michnik leveled him.

BLINK —

The ball hung in the air for an eternity, a pointy planet completing a long orbit around an unseen sun. Reality faded to just three things: the spinning brown ball with the white laces; Concord in her torn purple jersey and scratched white helmet; and Cormorant Bumberpuff, his tattered streamers of orange and black trailing behind him. The former starship captain ran stride for stride with the best receiver in football.

Against the backdrop of blazing stadium lights and a black night sky, Quentin watched the ball descend toward the end zone.

Concord leapt. Bumberpuff leapt with her. They soared high, a slow-motion dance of impossible grace and athleticism. Concord’s tentacles reached just a touch higher than Bumberpuff’s long-fingered hands. She grabbed the ball, holding it firm as both players started to fall into the end zone.

Bumberpuff turned in mid-air. One arm pulled at the ball while the other smashed into Concord’s white helmet. A black-and white-clad zebe flew in, with them every inch of the way.

Concord landed hard on her back and she lost her grip on the ball. She slid across the end zone’s purple turf, trying to regain her grip — she secured the ball tight just as she slid out of the back of the end zone.

BLINK —

The crowd detonated. The stadium rocked from the noise of thousands of squealing Sklorno females. Quentin’s head dropped. He put his hands on his knees. With the extra point, the game would be tied and they’d go into overtime.

“Dammit,” he said. “We bad them.”

Then, a pair of hands grabbed at his jersey. It was Yitzhak, yanking him back upright.

“Q! The ref is signaling out of bounds!”

Quentin’s head snapped up. Sure enough the zebe was floating above the end zone, both mouth-flaps waving horizontally in the signal for incomplete catch.

The crowd booed, then fell silent as all the zebes converged on that corner of the end zone. Players backed away. Hologram projectors beamed a photo-realistic projection of the play down onto the field. In slow motion — real slow motion this time, not Quentin’s weird sense of time — an entire stadium watched the same play happen all over again.

Quentin watched the replay on the main holoboard above the end zone stands. He watched Bumberpuff and Concord fall, watched the ball bounce out of her tentacles when she landed hard on her back, watched her slide, then watched her tentacles reach up and grab the ball — the replay froze at that exact moment.

Her shoulder was on the ground past the end zone’s back line.

She’d been out of bounds when she gained full control of the ball.

The zebes confirmed the signal: incomplete pass.

Only 23 seconds remained. The Criminals’ offense tiredly ran back to their huddle, but the quarterback wasn’t the dirty, bloody warrior Rick Renaud — it was backup Maurice Whitmore.

“Where’s Renaud?”

“I think Michnik broke his arm,” Yitzhak said. “I don’t believe it, we’re going to win this thing!”

Quentin almost couldn’t let himself believe that was true.

On third-and-10, Whitmore threw an incompletion. Quentin couldn’t even breathe as the backup QB called the signals for fourth-and-10 — Yall’s last chance to tie the game. Whitmore took the snap and dropped back. He started to throw, then stopped — Concord was pulling past Bumberpuff and heading for the end zone.

Whitmore stepped up to throw, but before he could, Mum-O-Killowe recorded his fifth sack of the game.

The zebes blew the play dead. Ball turned over on downs.

Quentin screamed and ran onto the field. It was over.

Best team ever assembled, maybe, but on this night, the Yall Criminals were second best.



From LeeKee Galaxy Times



* * *





Krakens Shock League, End Yall’s Perfect Season

by KELP BRINGER

VIRILLIVILLE, YALL, SKLORNO DYNASTY — This year’s Yall Criminals squad was repeatedly called “the greatest team ever assembled,” but now that name will be nothing but a footnote in GFL history. The league’s best group of talent lost to a rag-tag collection of outcasts, mutants, psych cases, walking wounded and little-known aliens as the Ionath Krakens upset the Criminals 24-17.

The much-maligned Ionath defense held the league’s best offense to a season-low in both yardage and completions. League MVP Rick Renaud was never able to find a rhythm. Ionath coach Hokor the Hookchest harried Renaud with blitzes, but it was the constant pressure and five sacks by fourth-year defensive tackle Mum-O-Killowe that made the difference.

“Mum-O came into his own tonight,” Hokor said. “He put on one of the greatest playoff performances I have ever seen.”


In the semi-finals, Ionath travels to OS1 for a tilt in the Black Hole against arch-rival Orbiting Death, who dominated the To Pirates 20-10. OS1’s defense held To to just 224 yards of total offense. On a tragic note, legendary quarterback Frank Zimmer died mid-way through the third quarter on a clean hit by Death linebacker Yalla the Biter. This is Yalla’s third fatality of the season — a single-season league record — and his 13th overall.

In the Solar Division, Vik destroyed visiting Texas 42-0 in the biggest blowout in GFL playoff history. The game was held at Kin-Shal-An Trade Guild Stadium. The Earthlings lost several players in a pregame locker room accident when a gas vent backed up. Fourteen players were rushed to medical facilities, but as of yet no deaths have been reported. GFL Commissioner Rob Froese is investigating the incident as a possible assault by the Vik franchise.

Jupiter defeated Bartel 24-17 to move into the semifinals against Vik. Jacks quarterback Don Pine played a ball-control offense, throwing only 18 passes on the day but completing 17 of them. The Jacks had no turnovers, while Bartel gave up two interceptions and a fumble.

Because of the gas incident on Vik, Froese has declared Kin-Shal-An Trade Guild Stadium unsafe. That means Jupiter will host the semi-final game against Vik, despite the fact that the Vanguard are the top seed and the Jacks are seeded third.



* * *





THE ENTIRE KRAKENS TEAM sat at tables in The Dead Fly bar, waiting for dinner to be served. Madderch City on Orbital Station One was home to the Orbiting Death, but also the home town of one Choto the Bright.

Choto’s family owned The Dead Fly. Choto had asked Gredok’s permission for the team to eat dinner there the night before the semi-final game against OS1. Gredok said yes, then agreed to an interview on the Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show. During that interview, Gredok said that his Krakens wanted to enjoy their time on OS1’s largest city — if anything happened to them on the day before the semi-final, it was proof that Commissioner Froese couldn’t protect the league’s players.

Froese had probably been infuriated to be called out like that, but he couldn’t let a public challenge go unanswered, especially not after what had happened to Texas before the Vik Vanguard playoff game.

White-uniformed security lined The Dead Fly’s walls. Ki, Human and Quyth Warrior guards tried to stay out of everyone’s way, but they were clearly ready if any trouble occurred. Sklorno in white power armor guarded the doors outside and patrolled the surrounding streets. White-uniformed Harrah soared over the blue-crystal city. Somewhere around two hundred white-uniformed Creterakians perched on the rooftops of buildings surrounding The Dead Fly, just waiting for someone to cause trouble.

Without spending any of his own money, Gredok had provided his team absolute safety. Not even Anna Villani would dare attack the Krakens. Quentin had to admire Gredok’s manipulative skills.

Even though they were in Madderch, Villani’s stronghold, Quentin actually felt safe. Tomorrow, he and his teammates would take on Condor Adrienne and the Orbiting Death for the second time that season. The victor went to the Galaxy Bowl. One more win, and Quentin would play for the league title.

He sat at a table with Choto, Yassoud, Michael Kimberlin and — of all people — Arioch Morningstar, the kicker. They drank non-intoxicating beverages (something Yassoud complained about loudly and often) and waited for the food.

For all the pressure they were under, the team seemed relaxed. This would be the third time in four seasons the Krakens had played at the Black Hole. Most of the players had plenty of experience with that stadium, the black field and the die-hard Death fans.

Plus, the Krakens had beaten OS1 back in Week Five, when Bumberpuff had been a brand-new starter and Weasley had barely played at all. Since then, both of them had become solid defensive backs — Condor was going to have his work cut out for him.

The odor coming from the kitchen made Quentin’s stomach rumble. He couldn’t quite place it, but it smelled so familiar.

“Choto, when do we eat? I’m starving.”

Choto stood. “I have prepared something special for the team. My family paid to have this event catered by two chefs that we know we can trust.”

Quentin sniffed: he smelled the heavy spice of Tower-style food and also something that smelled like … like home?

“Choto, did you find a Purist Nation cook?”

“I did, Quentin. And I believe you will enjoy the food very much. I also have Doc Patah in the kitchen, just to make sure the dishes will not upset any of our digestive systems.”

Quentin raised his eyebrows in admiration. That was a smart thing to do. The last thing anyone wanted was to spend the morning of a playoff game in the bathroom, throwing up.

The kitchen doors opened. A white-skinned Harrah flew out. He wore a red backpack with gold characters painted on it. Quentin laughed and started clapping. The Tweedy brothers got out of their seats and ran over.

“Chucky Chong!” Ju said. “It’s great to see you!”

“It’s mega-great to see you!” John said.

“Herro,” Chucky said. “I hope you boys are ready to road up on my rovery Reague-style chow.”

The kitchen doors opened again. Quyth Worker waiters came out carrying large trays loaded with plate after plate of chow mein, sauces, bread and other items. The waiters started placing plates in front of the players. They didn’t put anything down in front of Quentin.

“Hey, Choto, what’s the deal? You’re not going to feed your quarterback?”

Choto’s eye swirled with light orange, a color of happiness. “Chucky Chong is cooking for everyone. The other chef is cooking just for you, although I imagine Jason Procknow will also appreciate his food.”

The kitchen doors opened again, filling the bar with that other smell. Even before Quentin saw the man carrying a platter piled high with barbecued chicken, the scent finally registered — the odor seemed to take Quentin back in time, a decade earlier when he had been an orphan on Micovi, when he had been forced to steal food or starve to death.

The man looked the same. More gray at the temples, maybe, and the gut was a little bigger, but there was no mistaking Mister Sam, the cook who had taken Quentin in and given him a better life.

Quentin felt a knot in his throat. “Choto,” he said, “how did you … how could you know …”

“I talked to Frederico,” Choto said. “He met Mister Sam on a recent trip to the Purist Nation and said you would appreciate a meal prepared by your favorite cook.”

Mister Sam smiled and walked over. He set the entire platter down in front of Quentin. Steam rose up from chicken that was slathered in reddish-orange sauce and lined with black, parallel grill marks.

The man stood straight and smiled.

“Quentin Barnes,” he said. “Stand up and let me look at you.”

Quentin stood. Mister Sam wasn’t even six feet tall. Quentin towered over him, outweighed him by at least two hundred pounds, but for a moment Quentin felt like an awkward kid all over again.

“Mister Sam. I don’t believe it.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Believe it. Look at you! I see you continue to eat enough for a small city, but you tell me —” his smile faded and his face grew dead-serious. “—have you found any barbecue as good as mine?”

Quentin smiled and shook his head. “I haven’t. I can come pretty close on my own, but you are still the master.”


Sam smiled wide and pointed to Quentin’s chair. “Sit! Eat! I have been hired to cook for you, not to chitchat. I can now go home and tell everyone that people fly Mister Sam all across the galaxy for his chicken! The other cooks on Micovi will be so jealous! We can talk some after your game tomorrow. For now, eat, boy, eat!”

Sam walked away, or started to until John ran up to him and begged for a plate of the chicken. Sam clapped John on the back and took the linebacker into the kitchen.

Quentin sat. He looked at Choto, newly amazed that someone from another species could be so damn cool.

“Choto, thank you. This means a lot.”

Choto’s eye flooded a light green. “It is my honor.” The Warrior started in on his bowl of chow mein. Quentin noticed that the food was full of insect legs, some of which were still moving.

He looked away from it and focused on the chicken. The best food he had ever known was sitting right in front of him. The only way this night could get any better was if his sister was here with him. His sister, and Fred, who had helped make this happen.

Quentin grabbed a steaming chicken leg and bit in. It was every bit as sweet and tangy as he remembered.

The religion of Purism said there was no such thing as omens, but it was hard not to think of this as the best omen ever.

And that bode well for the next day.

? ? ?



ONCE AGAIN, HE WORE the blazing-orange “away” jersey.

He was a part of the field, the stadium, the air, even the players on both sides of the ball. The game and Quentin Barnes had become one. Energy flowed from the field into him, then from him back into the field, as if he were the living god the Sklorno thought him to be.

The Death opposed him in their metalflake-red helmets and flat-black jerseys, their home jerseys, but this didn’t feel like OS1’s home field, and Quentin didn’t feel like a visitor. The Black Hole — a stadium built from clear blue crystal that framed a black field and held 133,000 fans. Once upon a time this place had intimidated him, but not anymore.

“Red, twenty-nine!” he called down the left side of the line. “Red, twenty-nine!” he called down the right.

All afternoon long, the Orbiting Death’s offense had dominated the game. Condor Adrienne moved his team up and down the field at will — at least until they got into the red zone. Once inside the 20, the Krakens’ defense got down and dirty, they got mean. Sacks by Mum-O and Alexsandar Michnik had shaken Condor up. Constant pressure had forced him into bad throws. OS1 had racked up an obscene amount of yards, but two of their long drives ended with interceptions — once on the 5-yard line and once in the end zone. Four other times the Death had moved into scoring territory, and all four times the Krakens’ defense had held them to a field goal.

For all the yardage, Condor Adrienne and his ilk had yet to score a touchdown.

The Krakens’ offense played damn near close to perfect. No interceptions, no fumbles, two touchdowns and two field goals had given Ionath a 20-12 lead. Quentin had played smart instead of risky. Instead of trying to force passes, he avoided pressure by throwing the ball out of bounds. He had the lead, and he wasn’t about to blow it with stupid turnovers.

Now, in the fourth quarter and on third down and eight at the Death 22-yard line, he had a chance to ice the game. A field goal would put Ionath up 23-12 — an 11-point lead, something Condor could make up with a touchdown, a two-point conversion and a field goal. A Krakens touchdown, on the other hand, would create an 18-point lead — OS1 would have to score three times with just 4:31 left in the game.

“Red, twenty-nine!”

The black-clad Death linebackers suddenly came forward, standing in the gaps between their black-clad defensive linemen. Matt McRoberts on Quentin’s left, Yalla the Biter in the middle and James McPike on the right. Quentin read their eyes, their faces — somehow, he knew that Yalla and McPike were coming, while McRoberts was going to drop back in coverage.

Time to audible.

Quentin stood and shouted down the line.

“Flash! Flash!”

The black-helmeted, orange-facemasked heads of the Krakens turned to look at him.

“Green, eighty-eight!” Quentin said. “Green, eighty-eight!”

The Krakens’ heads again faced forward. He had changed the play from a five-step drop to a hot-pass for George Starcher, who was lined up at right tight end. If Starcher ran the route correctly, at the snap he would move forward three steps and then immediately turn back for the pass.

Quentin slid his hands beneath Bud-O-Shwek. The sold-out Black Hole crowd screamed for a stop, they screamed for blood.

Scream all you want, suckers, today the Krakens are the ones that will feed.

“Hut-hut … hut!”

He took the snap; the clock in his head started ticking away. His instincts had been right — Yalla the Biter blitzed up the middle, while McPike was coming from the right. Quentin took just one step back, turned and threw, using his height to fire the ball over the clashing line. McPike saw the quick pass and tried to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough. The ball shot to where McPike had been one second before, right into the huge hands of George Starcher.

Crazy George tucked the ball into his right arm and pounded upheld. McRoberts chased him from the left. Near the sidelines, Tara the Freak blocked the Death cornerback, hitting her so hard the defender fell onto her tail and skidded out of bounds. Tara wasn’t done; he sprinted forward, looking for a block. George cut right and followed him.

The Death’s free safety came in hard. Tara smashed into her, and both players hit the ground.

George reached the sidelines and turned up-held, McRoberts a few steps behind. The black-clad strong safety was the only thing between George and six points.

The strong safety dove at George’s big legs. George suddenly jumped, hurdling the Sklorno defensive back. She shot underneath, sliding out of bounds. George landed, but stumbled, and that slowed him. McRoberts caught him at the 2-yard line, wrapping him around the waist. As George fell forward, he reached the ball out with his right hand — the ball hit the inside of the end zone’s orange pylon.

The Harrah ref’s mouth-flaps shot into the air — touchdown.

Most of the capacity crowd booed, but thousands of Krakens fans cheered with delight. Just over four minutes remained in the semi-final game, and the Death needed three scores. The contest was all but over.

Quentin knelt and plucked a few blades of the field’s black plants. The blades had some red blood on them, but he didn’t care — he sniffed deeply, then rubbed his fingers together, letting the torn plants flutter to the field.

He could barely believe it.

The Ionath Krakens were going to the Galaxy Bowl.



From UBS Sports



* * *





Former Teammates Square Off for the GFL Title as Ionath Clashes with Jupiter

by PIKOR THE ASSUMING

MADDERCH, OS1, QUYTH CONCORDIA — The Ionath Krakens are headed to their first Tier One championship game in 10 years, thanks to a 27-12 defeat of arch-rival OS1. Ionath (9-5) will square off against Jupiter (10-4) in a rematch of Galaxy Bowl XVII, which Jupiter won 21-16.

Galaxy Bowl XXVII game takes place at Shipyard Stadium in the city of Hittoni on planet Wilson 6 in the League of Planets.

The star of this semi-final win wasn’t All-Pro quarterback Quentin Barnes, or All-Pro running back Ju Tweedy, or even All-Pro linebacker John Tweedy, but rather the Krakens’ defensive backfield. Orbiting Death quarterback Condor Adrienne was picked off three times, twice by breakout star cornerback Cormorant Bumberpuff and once by strong safety Davenport. All three interceptions came when OS1 (9-5) was in the red zone, keeping a possible 21 points off the board.


“I am pleased to contribute to my team’s success,” said Bumberpuff. “I trust this shows that all races can work together for victory.”

In the Solar Division semi-final, Don Pine led Jupiter to a 21-18 win over first-seeded Vik Vanguard (10-4). Pine threw for a pair of first-half touchdowns that led the Jacks to a 14-3 halftime lead. Pine went down in the third quarter when a Mur the Mighty sack broke three of his toes. With Pine on the bench, Vik rattled off 13 straight points to go up 16-14. Heavily bandaged, Pine returned to the game late in the fourth to heroically lead the Jacks to the game-winning touchdown.

Earlier this year, Pine played for Ionath as a backup to Quentin Barnes. Jupiter traded Denver to Ionath in exchange for the veteran quarterback, a trade that now seems like a brilliant move for both teams.

This is Jupiter’s second-straight trip to the Galaxy Bowl. Last year the Jacks lost the championship game 28-24 to Themala. Don Pine led the Jacks to back-to-back GFL titles in 2675 and 2676. This is Jupiter’s fifth Galaxy Bowl appearance.

This is Ionath’s third appearance in the title game. The Krakens won the 2665 Galaxy Bowl but lost in 2675 to Jupiter.



* * *





AS QUENTIN WALKED around the mostly empty Shipyard, he knew that this game would be different in more ways than one.

GFL rules stipulated that playing fields had to be at a temperature between 14 and 26 degrees Celsius. An unseasonal, unexpected cold front had descended upon Hittoni, bringing with it sub-zero temperatures and something that Upper Tier GFL players weren’t used to seeing: snow.

It was five degrees above zero. The snow was falling. In some instances, the game might have been delayed or even postponed, but not today. Not for the Galaxy Bowl. Too many pieces were already in place for the league’s crowning moment. Commissioner Froese had already ruled that the game would go on as scheduled.

Quentin walked through the empty stadium, watching snow slowly accumulate on every surface. He walked alone — he wanted to soak up everything about this moment, lock in every scent, touch every surface, preserve it in his brain forever.

The week had been a slice of madness. Everyone in the galaxy wanted to talk to him, to his teammates, to Hokor and to Gredok. The Jupiter players and staff were probably going through the same thing. Froese’s people had done a great job of keeping most of the universe at bay — the commissioner wanted players to help hype the game, but he also wanted them sharp and focused. Froese knew the value of a first-class contest.

After all, an estimated 250 billion sentients would watch this game, either live or as soon as the punch-drive relay beacons brought each quarter’s action from Wilson 6 to the rest of the galaxy. And that number didn’t include any potential Prawatt viewers. The Galaxy Bowl was the single-most-watched event in the history of civilization, of all civilizations. With that kind of crowd, you certainly didn’t want to disappoint.

Quentin couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to win the GFL title. The Shipyard, home of the Hittoni Hullwalkers. More a museum than a stadium, the concourse showcased the history of space travel.

Floating relics of pre-punch-drive vessels painted a picture of Humanity’s past. He stared at ancient ships that had simple names like Pioneer and Ikaros. He walked through the recreation of a white, winged vessel called the Challenger. He ran his hands across the surfaces of the Helios, the Jaxa and the Shenzou.

And still the snow came down. He slid his foot across the concrete floor, watched the tip of his toe push up a mini-wave of snow and leave a wet streak in its path. The Shipyard was an open-air stadium: no dome would protect the players from the elements.

On Micovi, Quentin had played in all conditions, from blistering desert heat to icy rain to full-out blizzards. The snow wouldn’t bother him, but how would it impact his teammates? How would it impact the Jupiter Jacks? Most importantly, how would it impact Don Pine?

Snow didn’t make Quentin nervous, but Don did. Don had won two Galaxy Bowls. He knew exactly what needed to be done to claim victory in the league’s grandest game. By this time tomorrow, Pine would either be fitted for a third ring, or Quentin for his first.

How ironic that the Galaxy Bowl was here, at the home of the three-time champion Hullwalkers, a team now relegated to the GFL’s second tier. That was the nature of the game: teams got better, teams got worse. For now, however, none of that mattered. The Krakens were here, they were ready to claim immortality.

At the end of Quentin’s walk, he stopped at his favorite display: Sputnik. It was the first man-made object put into orbit. Nothing much to it, really — just a silver sphere barely two feet in diameter. Seven hundred and twenty-eight years ago, this simple object had marked his ancestors’ shift from a primitive, planet-bound people to a space-faring race.

Few objects in history could mark the definitive change from one era to another the way Sputnik did. Quentin’s “Sputnik moment” came when he’d first stepped on the practice field of the Micovi Raiders. He had stopped being a miner and become a football player. His life had changed forever. Now, he was on the cusp of another such moment — he could move from football player to legend.

Championships are forever.

Quentin Barnes had waited his entire life for this opportunity. He stared at Sputnik a moment longer, then turned and headed for the locker room.

? ? ?



THE TEAM GATHERED IN THE TUNNEL. Quentin watched his breath sliding away in thin, dissipating clouds. He felt the cold on his face, on his fingers and palms, but nowhere else thanks to this temperature-regulating Koolsuit.

Only minutes now.

Out in the stadium, a roaring crowd awaited. As the “visiting” team, the orange-clad Krakens would take the field first. The Jacks — courtesy of their better record — would come out after.

John Tweedy stood on Quentin’s left. Whatever conflicts they had were nowhere to be seen. John was all business. Quentin genuinely felt sorry for Don Pine, knowing that the blue-skinned man would soon feel the wrath of a hyper-focused elder Tweedy brother. Ju, the younger but bigger of the two, stood on Quentin’s right. Ju seemed relaxed, almost jovial, but then again he always did before a fight.

This time, no pregame speech had been needed. The Krakens knew their roles, knew what they had to do. Players had searched deep within themselves, preparing to call forth every last ounce of energy, every last measure of will. They all knew they might never again play in a championship — the GFL was a violent, unforgiving place, and next season they could be injured, cut, traded … they could die. Even if they stayed healthy and played for many years, at that moment twenty teams full of the greatest athletes in the galaxy were sitting at home, watching.

It was now or never.

One chance to be champions.

One chance to be immortal.

“Sentients of all races, please welcome your Planet Division Champions, the Ionath … Kraaaaaaaakennnns!”

Quentin ran out of the tunnel and into the pouring snow. Powerful lights lit up the stadium and blazed off the white field, a field that had already been white before the snow started to fall. Grounds crews had shoveled clear the blue lines and numbers.

A stadium full of football fans screamed with satisfaction at the gladiatorial spectacle to come. This time, all races seemed to be represented equally, about half of them clad in orange and black, the other half clad in copper, silver and gold. Flags flew, pom-poms bounced and voices screamed, the roar of the bloodthirsty monster waiting to be fed.


And feed them he would.

Even as he ran to the sidelines, Quentin measured the feel of each step in preparation for the upcoming battle. The falling snow made the surface slick, but the field beneath hadn’t frozen — the footing still felt firm, perfect for running. That wouldn’t last long, however: by the second half, he knew they’d be playing on a sea of mud, snow and icy water.

He reached the sidelines. His teammates pressed in around him, waiting for his words. They pushed him and pushed each other. He pushed back, hitting and shoving, each concussive impact spiking his adrenaline just a touch further — this, too, was part of the ritual, part of preparing for battle.

Quentin cleared some space for himself. His orange-and black-clad teammates surrounded him: Ki and Quyth Warrior, Sklorno and Human, Prawatt and HeavyG. He started to talk, but stopped. He threw his head back and just bowled.

His teammates did the same, forty-five premier athletes giving in to the rage and joy and overwhelming emotion of the moment.

Quentin finished his howl, then turned in place, staring at each and every teammate.

“No one thought we would be here,” he said, shaking his head and yelling loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “No one thought you could do this.”

He looked at the wide eyes of John Tweedy, the black stare of Mum-O-Killowe. He saw the glinting metal and colorful streamers of Cormorant Bumberpuff, the huge shoulders and thick head of Michael Kimberlin. Becca Montagne stared back at him, her eyes ablaze with fire and life. Denver and Milford, Yassoud Murphy, Virak and Choto, Cheboygan and Tara the Freak, all ready to do whatever it took.

Finally, Quentin’s gaze fell upon Crazy George Starcher. For the first time, George had painted his face orange and black.

Quentin raised his left fist high. His teammates surged forward, reaching their hands to his. They barked and chittered and screamed and grunted. Quentin bellowed out the team chant, every line answered by his teammates.

“Whose house?”

“Our house!”

“Whose house?”

“Our house!”

“What law?”

“Our law!”

“Who wins?”

“Krakens!”

“Who wins?”

“Krakens!”

“This … is … it,” he said. “Win today, and you will never be forgotten! Destroy on three. One, two, three”

“Destroy-destroy-destroy!”

His teammates spread out across the sidelines. Quentin looked out to the field. Through the falling snow, he saw that the refs were calling for the team captains.

Quentin walked onto the white field. John fell in on his left, Ju on his right. Today, Ma Tweedy’s three boys would represent Ionath.

They reached mid-field. A huge GFL logo had been painted on the turf, but it was already fuzzy from a half-inch of snow. Across from Quentin and his teammates stood the Jupiter captains: Ki defensive tackle Kal-Gah-Het, Sklorno cornerback Xuchang and Don Pine.

Don smiled at Quentin. “Hey, kid — fancy meeting you here.”

Quentin nodded respectfully. This wasn’t like the games against rival teams OS1, Coranadillana or Wabash; the Jacks and the Krakens had no bad blood between them. Both teams would play like their lives depended on it. Sentients would get hurt, some might even die, but Quentin knew it would be a clean game.

John pointed at Don. “No offense, Donny Boy, but I’ve always wanted to hit you right in your mouth.”

Don laughed. “How come? Did I do something to offend you?”

“You’re a quarterback,” John said. “All quarterbacks offend me.”

The Harrah ref reached a mouth-flap into his black-and white-striped backpack and came out holding a large coin. He held it out, the stadium lights reflecting off of the metal. Snowflakes landed on it, melting instantly into tiny drops of water.

“This is the coin we will use for the toss,” the referee said, his voice amplified a thousand times over by the Shipyard’s sound system. The coin showed the planet Creterak.

“This is heads,” the ref said, then flipped the coin over. Quentin felt a surge of excitement: the coin must have been minted for this game because the other side showed the Shipyard’s signature icon — Sputnik.

“This is tails,” the ref said. “Ionath is the visiting team, who will call it for Ionath?”

Ju raised his hand. “I will.”

Quentin and John had privately agreed to let Ju have that honor. The younger Tweedy’s already huge chest puffed up even bigger with pride.

The Harrah ref held out the coin. “Call it in the air,” he said, then flipped it.

“Tails,” Ju said.

“Ionath calls tails,” the ref said as the coin descended. It hit the blue of the GFL logo, bounced once, then landed flat — Sputnik side up.

“Tails,” the ref said. “Ionath, do you choose to kick or receive.”

Quentin smiled. “We want the ball.”

“Krakens choose to receive,” the ref said. He then asked what side of the field the Jacks wanted, but Quentin wasn’t listening. His first Galaxy Bowl, and he would start out the game with the ball in his hands.

? ? ?



THE JACKS LINED UP for the kickoff. Quentin stood on the sidelines, shifting from foot to foot. His offensive teammates stood around him. The crowd stomped and chanted as the Jacks’ kicker, Jack Burrill, raised his hand. The ref blew the whistle. Burrill lowered his hand, then ran toward the ball and put his foot into it. Galaxy Bowl XXVII was on.

The ball sailed through the air. Rookie kick returner Niami waited in her own end zone. The ball fell into her tentacles. She took one step forward, then stopped — the kicking team was already closing in. Still standing in the end zone, she knelt. Whistles blew: touchback.

Quentin pulled on his helmet and ran onto the field.

? ? ?



HE HAD TO PEE and felt like he might throw up. The butterflies ripped through his stomach at supersonic speed. He knew the sensations would pass as soon as he felt that first hit or threw that first pass.

He stood in front of his huddle: four Ki linemen and Michael Kimberlin in front, bent down so the back row could see over them — Denver on the left side, Milford on the right, with Crazy George Starcher, Rebecca Montagne and Ju Tweedy in-between.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Quentin said. “I hope you took in the sights and waved to the cameras because now it’s time to go to work and get dirty. Three plays in a row to start the game, no-huddle, all out of I-right formation. First play is trap left, then counter strong, then rollout left. Becca, Ju, let’s start softening them up right away. All plays on two, on two. Ready?”

“BREAK!”

The Krakens jogged and scuttled to their positions on the 20-yard line. Quentin walked up slowly, taking everything in as he did.

Snow continued to come down on the Shipyard’s capacity crowd. Harrah flew in circles around the upper deck, some trailing streamers of orange and black, some trailing silver, copper and gold. The Harrah steered clear of clusters of white-clad Creterakians that clung to security posts.

So many bats … Quentin had never before seen that many Creterakians all in one place. There was no better terrorist target than a Galaxy Bowl, and Froese wanted to make sure everyone saw an overwhelming amount of security.

Quentin looked back to the field. The snowfall was already blurring the field’s dark-blue lines and numbers. At every timeout, stadium staff would be running shovels across the field to clear those lines.


He looked to the far goalposts. Blue streamers dangled from the top of each post, the light wind barely making them flutter. It was cold, and his receivers weren’t used to cold, but other than the temperature, conditions were perfect for throwing.

Quentin surveyed the defense. The Jacks looked resplendent in gleaming copper helmets, the Jacks logo on either side complementing gold facemasks. Gold jerseys reflected the stadium lights, as did their silver sleeves and silver-trimmed copper numbers. The Jacks logo sparkled from the thighs of copper leg armor and shoes. The Jupiter players looked like an army of fancy robots, but Quentin knew there was nothing fancy about their play.

This was Jupiter’s third Galaxy Bowl appearance in the last four seasons. In the past, they’d won with overpowering offense. This year, however, they’d lost that offense yet had somehow produced the league’s best defense, a defense that earned its supper by coming after the quarterback.

Come and get it, Jupiter — I’m ready for whatever you can dish out.

Quentin slapped the sides of his helmet, left-right, left-right. Enough gawking; time to go to work.

He bent behind center and slid his hands under Bud-O-Shwek.

“Red, thirteen! Red, thirteeeen! Hut-hut!”

The ball slapped into his hands. The offensive and defensive lines collided with the sound of a head-on hovercar crash. He pushed off his left foot, moving back as he turned to the right. Becca shot past, rushing into the line to block. Quentin extended the ball toward Ju Tweedy. Ju’s arms snapped down on the ball, and he drove forward.

The orange-clad Krakens pushed out, but only a few feet. Gold jerseys and copper helmets smashed in, silver sleeves glinting as defender arms reached out for Ju. Ju lowered his shoulders and plowed forward, only to be met head to head by right linebacker Katan the Beheader.

Whistles blew. Two-yard gain. Second down and eight on the Ionath 22-yard line.

The Krakens scrambled to the line of scrimmage. The Jacks scrambled as well, clearly prepared for Ionath’s no-huddle offense.

Quentin looked over the defensive formation, then called out the snap-count.

? ? ?



AFTER THREE POSSESSIONS, the Krakens had yet to pick up a first down. Quentin jogged off the field as the punt team ran on. He found Coach Hokor.

“Coach, we’re being too conservative,” Quentin said. “We have to open things up.”

“Take it easy, Barnes. The score is still zero-zero.”

“But we can’t move the ball.”

“Neither can they,” Hokor said. “This is only the first quarter. Remember, Barnes, this is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Quentin took a breath and tried to calm himself. He knew it would take some time to wear down the Jacks’ defensive line and establish the run game. That was the smart play. Quentin wasn’t stupid enough that he wanted to go pass-crazy against the Jacks’ excellent defensive backfield of free safety Luxembourg, safety Matidi and cornerbacks Morelia and Xuchang. He could throw against them, would throw against them, but that had to wait.

For now, he would stick to the game plan.

Quentin watched Don Pine drop back five steps. The Krakens’ front four barreled in hard, as they had all through the scoreless first quarter. Mum-O-Killowe’s four arms ripped at his opposing offensive guard but he couldn’t get past. Alexsandar Michnik and Ibrahim Khomeni attacked from the outside, coming straight at their opposing offensive tackles — Pine couldn’t run like Quentin, but the old man could slip inside an out-of-control defensive end and scramble long enough for his receivers to get open.

Ionath’s other defensive tackle, Chat-E-Riret, vanished beneath a gold-jerseyed offensive guard. Michnik reached for Pine, but Pine stepped forward into the space created by the fallen Chat-E.

The ball arced through the falling snow. Jupiter receiver New Delhi had a step on Bumberpuff. The perfectly thrown pass arced toward the end zone’s right corner. Katzenbaum Weasley pinwheeled over to help. Prawatt and Sklorno jumped at the same time, but the pass was so on-target Weasley didn’t have a chance. Twenty feet above the white turf, the ball sailed inches over Weasley’s outstretched fingertips and into New Delhi’s tentacles. She tucked it tight and landed in the end zone for a 35-yard touchdown.

Jealousy roiled through Quentin. He would not let Don Pine get a third ring, he would not.

The extra point was good — 7-0 Jupiter, 3:42 left to play in the second quarter.

? ? ?



“CHICK, I DON’T KNOW what just got into Quentin Barnes, but his arm has really come alive.”

“Right you are, Masara. Barnes is five-for-five on this drive — all short passes, but he’s marched his team down to the Jupiter twenty-three. Barnes has to step up, Masara, because Ionath’s running game just isn’t getting it done against the Gold Wall of Jupiter.”

“Chick, we have word back from the sidelines. Krakens defensive tackle Chat-E-Riret has a broken lower knee on his middle right leg. He’s out for the game.”

“Ouch, Masara! Riret was the Krakens’ backup defensive tackle, filling in for Mai-An-Ihkole, who was lost for the season back in Week Twelve against the Wabash Wolfpack. With Tim Crawford suspended for assaulting a police officer in Ionath City, that means third-stringer Jason Procknow, a rookie from the Purist Nation, will have to play the rest of the game at defensive tackle.”

“Chick, that doesn’t bode well for the Krakens’ pass rush, but right now Ionath has the ball in scoring position. Quentin Barnes breaks the huddle. The Krakens line up with four wide receivers, Denver and Milford wide left, Tara the Freak and Halawa wide right. Ju Tweedy is the single back. Barnes settles behind center. He takes the snap and drops back, play-action fake to Ju Tweedy, Barnes is looking downfield, here comes the blitz and … wait! Ju Tweedy is open over the middle. Barnes steps up, he’s hammered as he releases, but Tweedy catches the pass and turns upheld! He breaks a tackle, he’s at the fifteen, the ten, Matidi is trying to fight off a Halawa block, the five, and Ju runs over an off-balance Matidi for the touchdown!”

“Masara, what a play by Barnes! He saw the linebacker blitz coming and knew that if he waited just a second longer, Ju Tweedy would get open in that linebacker’s vacated spot. Barnes had to stand in there and take a real whack in the face, but he got the pass off and let the Mad Ju do the voodoo he does so well.”

“Chick, Ju Tweedy in the open field is a frightening sight for any defensive back. Here’s the extra point attempt... good! We’re all tied up seven to seven!”

? ? ?



WITH JUST UNDER TWO MINUTES remaining in the half, the field was already in bad shape and quickly getting worse. Cleats and bodies chewed up the turf, revealing the red-black mud beneath until the falling snow again turned these field wounds white. The center of the field, roughly from the 30 to the 30, was already ripped and ravaged, resulting in poor, dangerous footing for both offense and defense.

Quentin stood on the sidelines. He tried to keep still. He knew the other offensive players were watching him, so he focused on standing tall and looking confident.

Out on the field, the Krakens’ D was trying to stop the Jacks. Ionath wasn’t the only team intent on establishing a running game. Pine kept handing off to running back CJ Wellman, and Wellman kept picking up muddy yards. Those yards were hard-earned, though, with John Tweedy, Virak the Mean and Choto the Bright teeing off every time Wellman touched the ball.


Rookie defensive tackle Jason Procknow was in over his head. The Jacks’ left guard constantly drove him backward. Jupiter took advantage of that, running at Procknow’s position on just about every other play and picking up positive yards every time.

The snow came down. The Jacks’ offense lined up. The Krakens’ defense dug in. Both teams were muddy, bloody and torn. Cones of breath slid out of the mouths on either side and met in the middle, giving birth to a mixed fog of war. Don Pine barked out the count.

He took the snap, turned and stretched the ball toward Wellman. Wellman snapped his arms together for a play-action fake. Don continued back three more steps, then turned to look downfield — and stared straight at a blitzing John Tweedy.

Don calmly side-stepped right. The over-committed John shot past. Don stepped forward, looking for a receiver, but he didn’t see Khomeni beat his blocker and barrel in. The HeavyG defensive end blindsided Pine, knocking the gold-and copper-clad quarterback clear off his feet.

The ball tumbled free.

Quentin’s breath locked in his chest. The brown ball bounced across the wet, white field, splashing up mud as it skidded off of torn plants and trampled snow. Choto dove for it, as did Jason Procknow and two Jacks offensive linemen. Bodies piled up, dirty arms fighting and digging for the ball.

The Harrah refs hovered over the pile, then dove in, sliding bonelessly between the packed bodies.

Whistles blew. The pile broke up. A Harrah ref floated up and signaled downfield — Ionath’s ball. Jason Procknow stood, his jersey torn, his left shoulder pad broken and dangling, his right arm holding the ball high.

Quentin pulled on his helmet as he ran onto the field. He glanced at the scoreboard — 1:45 to play in the first half, ball on the Jupiter 40-yard line.

The whistles blew again. Quentin looked and saw that two players were still lying on the turf — Choto the Bright and Don Pine. Choto rolled on the ground, middle right arm clutched in both pedipalp hands. The cracked armor around Don’s right knee showed a leg bent at a strange angle.

Quentin waved to his offensive players. “Huddle up! Come on, come on.”

He gathered his teammates together as doctors from both sidelines flew out to tend to their wounded.

? ? ?



INJURIES WERE PART of the sport.

Quentin didn’t wish one on any player, but when the stadium lights shone down on a medsled carrying Don Pine off the field, Quentin knew the game had changed. The Jacks’ backup quarterback would have trouble moving the ball. If Quentin played conservative, didn’t turn the ball over, and made sure they got at least a field goal on this drive to take a 10-7 lead into the locker room at halftime, the Krakens would be well on their way to a GFL title.

On the first play, Quentin rolled left and found Denver for a 13-yard gain to take them to the Jupiter 27.

They tried Ju off-tackle right on the second play, but it was stuffed for a two-yard loss. The O-line couldn’t open holes for Ju, and the big running back was getting frustrated. Other than his touchdown catch, the Jacks had kept him mostly contained.

On second down, Quentin backpedaled and flipped a quick screen pass to Becca. She hauled it in, turned upheld, cutting left and right as she followed the big body of Michael Kimberlin. Linebackers drove in, bringing Becca down for a seven-yard gain.

Third-and-five on the Jupiter 20, 1:38 to play and counting.

Ionath huddled up. Several of Quentin’s teammates were already bleeding, their mud-covered jerseys rumpled and streaked with white from the plants that made up the ravaged field.

In the huddle’s back row, Ju breathed hard, clouds of vapor billowing out of his mouth. “Q, gimme the damn ball,” he said. “I can get the first down.”

“Shut up,” Quentin said. “No talking in my huddle.”

Quentin’s heads-up display slid out of its recessed housing in his helmet to show the holographic face of Hokor the Hookchest.

“Barnes! What do you think?”

The Krakens needed five yards for the first down. A first down gave them a shot at a touchdown and a 14-7 lead. Normally on third-and-five, Quentin would pass, but he didn’t want to risk an interception, or a sack and a fumble.

“Coach, let’s run it,” Quentin said. “Ju thinks he can get the first. If he doesn’t, we kick the field goal and take a lead into the locker room.”

“Agreed,” Hokor said. “That defensive line has to give up some yards sooner or later. I-set, trap left.”

Quentin tapped his helmet to make the heads-up display slide into its housing. He called the play and saw Ju smile.

At the line, Quentin scanned the defense. The Jacks’ linemen were getting bloody as well, the small tears and rips of their already dirty metallic uniforms a testament to the ongoing battle. He looked right and saw Xuchang in single coverage on Halawa. Quentin considered audibling to a quick slant — Halawa could run that route to perfection, but would she stay inside of the All-Pro cornerback?

Don’t risk it, keep it on the ground, let Ju do his thing.

“Blue, eighty-eight! Blue, eighty-eighty! Hut-hut … hut!”

The ball slapped into his hands. He turned as Becca shot by on yet another mission to block the Jacks’ linebackers, then handed the ball to Ju. The running back stutter-stepped, looking for a hole. He slid between Kill-O-Yowet and Sho-Do-Thikit, who fought against their gold-jerseyed opponents.

Quentin saw Becca try to block Katan the Beheader, but he got lower than her and knocked her on her ass. He came free. Ju planted to spin, but a chunk of white turf gave way — his right foot slid wide, too wide. Katan lowered a shoulder and put Ju hard to his back.

Whistles blew. A three-yard gain — no first down. The Krakens would have to kick the field goal.

Quentin started off the field when he noticed that Ju hadn’t gotten up. The big running back lay on the ground, rolling side to side in pain.

Quentin’s heart sank. It looked like Ju might have pulled a groin muscle. Doc Patah could fix cuts, stop bleeding, even work on cracked and broken bones, but pulled muscles were far harder for game-day fixes.

If it was, in fact, a pulled groin, then the Krakens’ All-Pro running back was out for the game.

? ? ?



“CHICK, WE’RE HALFWAY to a new GFL champion, and what a game! Arioch Morningstar’s kick put the Krakens up 10-7 at the half. This is a defensive struggle — how much do field conditions play into that?”

“Masara, the snow is definitely the cause of the low offensive output, but we are also looking at multiple injuries on both sides of the ball. Reports are that Don Pine broke his patella and is probably done for the day. On the Ionath side, defensive tackle Chat-E-Riret is definitely out, as is Choto the Bright, who has a broken middle right arm. That’s two defensive starters out of the game. And if Ju Tweedy doesn’t return, the Krakens will probably split carries between Becca The Wrecka Montagne and Yassoud Murphy, neither of which is the kind of punishing, dominant back that Ju is.”

“Chick, that means the Krakens’ running game will struggle, but at the same time the Jacks have to rely on backup quarterback Rich Amooi to lead them to the title. I’m not sure how effective CJ Wellman will be running the ball for the Jacks if this playing surface continues to deteriorate in the second half.”

“Masara, you’re right about that. The snow keeps coming down, and this turf’s already looking more chewed up than a cow carcass dangled over a pit of starving Purist orphans.”


“Chick! You can’t say that kind of—”

“Sorry, Masara, sorry, folks at home. They’ve finished setting up for the halftime show. Let’s give it over to Somalia Midori and Trench Warfare!”

? ? ?



THE KRAKENS WERE AHEAD on the scoreboard, but you wouldn’t have known it from looking at the training room.

Choto the Bright had already taken off his jersey and upper-body armor. He had a splint on his right middle arm. He stared at the ground, dejected.

The Warrior wasn’t alone. Ki defensive tackle Chat-E-Riret sat half-submerged in a rejuve tank made for his species. He didn’t seem upset at all. In fact, he munched away on a bag of spider snacks that floated in the pink liquid, and seemed elated that — win or lose — for the rest of his life, he could say that he’d played in the Galaxy Bowl.

Doc Patah fluttered near Ju Tweedy. Ju’s muddy jersey lay in a pile on the floor, shoulder armor unceremoniously dropped on top of it. Ju’s Koolsuit clung to his well-defined muscles like a black second skin. He was trying to walk, but each step made his face wrinkle with pain.

“See, Doc?” he said. “I’m fine. I’m going back in?”

“The only thing you are going in is the rejuve tank, Ju. You pulled a ligament.”

A look of anger replaced Ju’s expression of pain. “Doc, dammit, just shoot me up with something or whatever. I have to get back in the game!”

“I could shoot you up with every painkiller in the galaxy, and it wouldn’t help a torn ligament,” Doc Patah said. “And even if I operated right now, it would take you two days to recover. You’re out.”

Ju snarled and grabbed at Doc Patah. The Harrah’s wings fluttered, carrying him back a few feet. Ju tried to give chase, but as soon as his foot planted, his face scrunched up in agony and he fell.

Quentin walked to him and knelt. “Ju, take it easy.”

Ju lay on the floor, head in his hands. He shook his head. Quentin saw tears in the big Human’s eyes.

“Q, I gotta go back in. This is my time — I can’t let the team down.”

To have come this far, an entire career spent working toward this moment to suffer a game-ending injury? Quentin’s heart broke for his friend.

John came over as well. He gently helped Ju sit up. “You did good, baby brother.”

Quentin put a hand on Ju’s shoulder. “You scored a touchdown in the Galaxy Bowl. How many sentients can say that?”

Ju wiped away tears of frustration. “But the second half … we can win this thing!”

“Can and will,” Quentin said.

John tousled his younger brother’s sweaty hair. “You did your part. You made Ma proud. You made me proud. We’ll bring it home.”

Ju sniffed. His jaw muscles twitched. “Go get Yassoud,” he said. “Tell him to come talk to me. I’ve got some info on how the D-line is playing.”

“Sure,” Quentin said. “I’ll go get him right now.”

“And I’m not crying,” Ju said. “No shucking way I’m crying.”

John smiled. “Hell no, bro — it’s the pain meds, messing with your feminine side is all.”

Quentin left the training room. He walked into the central locker room. The entire team was gathered around the holoboard, listening to Coach Hokor outline new blocking schemes.

Quentin walked up to stand next to Hokor. The coach and the team looked at him expectantly.

“Murphy, come with me,” Quentin said. “Also Procknow, Darkeye, Shayat, Martinez and Pishor. Let’s go.”

Quentin turned and walked to the Human locker room. He heard players scrambling to follow him, heard Hokor continue his talk. Quentin knew he should be there for Hokor’s adjustments, but the coach would let him know if there was anything critical — for now, there was something more important that had to be done.

In the Human locker room, Quentin looked at his teammates. Mud covered the jersey and face of Jason Procknow, the rookie defensive tackle. Yassoud was a bit cleaner, but that would change quickly once the third quarter started. Samuel Darkeye, Shayat the Thick and rookie Pishor the Fang would all rotate in to fill Choto’s spot at right outside linebacker. Jay Martinez, another running back, would be called upon when Yassoud needed a rest.

Quentin stared at them each in turn. “This is your dream,” he said. “You won’t be riding the bench in the second half, you’ll be playing in the Galaxy Bowl. Step up to the challenge, play big, and you’ll be wearing a championship ring.”

They stared back at him, their eyes fixed with determination.

“This is your moment,” he said. “Give every last breath out there because you may never get a chance like this again.”

Four Human heads nodded. The stubby antennae of Shayat the Thick and Pishor the Fang bobbed.

Quentin put his hand on Yassoud’s shoulder pad. “Ju asked to see you. Go talk to him. We need you, ’Soud. Can you deliver?”

Yassoud smiled and stroked his braided beard. There was no fear in those eyes, just confidence, confidence and want.

“Let me put it to you this way, Hayseed,” he said. “If I’d have known I’d play the second half, I would have bet way more on this game.”

? ? ?



QUENTIN TOOK THE SNAP and turned left. He extended the ball for Yassoud but pulled it back at the last second as ’Soud snapped his arms down for a fake handoff. Quentin turned and ran right, the ball on his right hip in hopes of hiding it from the defense for just a few precious seconds.

His blockers kept going left, leaving him all alone heading right — a “naked boot” play. Sometimes the naked boot would fool the defense and give him tons of open space, but this wasn’t one of those times. The Jacks’ left defensive end, Tony Jones, ran hard to the outside, cutting Quentin off from reaching the sidelines and turning it upheld: Quentin would have to pass or cut back inside, where the rest of the Jacks’ defense would get him.

He looked for open receivers. Downfield, Halawa was cutting right on a flag pattern that would take her to the corner of the end zone. She was covered. Closer in, Crazy George turned on an out-pattern toward the right sideline. He was also covered, but there was just enough space to throw.

The closer Quentin got to the sidelines, the better the footing became. Those areas hadn’t been chewed up by nonstop, pounding cleats. Quentin stutter-stepped to stop his forward momentum, then stepped up to pass — and was blasted from behind. The ball flew out of his hands as a big body drove him hard into the snowy white turf. Everything went black: he didn’t know how long that lasted, but he came to with his head pounding, his ears ringing and the sound of a roaring crowd filling the cold stadium. Quentin slowly got to his feet. He turned to look back downfield — the metal-jerseyed Jupiter Jacks were in the end zone, jumping and high-fiving and generally having a good time.

Yassoud walked up and put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

“Did I fumble?”

“Oh, yep.”

“And they ran it back for a touchdown?”

“Oh, yep. We better get you to the sidelines, Q. You took a pretty good shot.”

The fumble return for a touchdown gave Jupiter a 13-10 lead, with the extra point still to come. Quentin tried to fight down the pain as he jogged to the sidelines. Hokor was waiting for him.

“Coach, who hit me? I’m so sorry, I—”


“Barnes! Shut up.” Hokor twirled his pedipalp hand inward, telling Quentin to come down to his level. Quentin knelt.

“Barnes, this is the Galaxy Bowl. Great players make great plays. Xuchang came on a corner blitz from the right, chased you all the way across the field and nailed you. She made a big play, so now you have to get out there and make one for us, understand?”

Quentin nodded. He looked up to the holoboard and watched the replay. Hokor was right — just as Quentin had reared back to throw, Xuchang had hit him in the back, bending him like a rag doll.

“Impressive,” Hokor said. “It would seem anything getting hit that hard should have an impact crater, but I do not see one on your face.”

Quentin looked at his coach. Hokor’s pedipalps were shaking.

“Coach … did you just make a joke?”

“I did,” Hokor said. “I am told that I am very fun at parties. You fumbled, they scored. Put it behind you and win me this game.”

Hokor walked away. Quentin stood there as a stream of teammates walked by, slapping his shoulder pads and saying don’t worry about it, Q.

He took a deep breath. Great players make great plays. Hell, if Coach could actually joke about it in the biggest game of their lives, then Quentin wouldn’t let it haunt him. He just had to get those points back.

As time expired in the third quarter, he watched the Jacks’ kicker knock home the extra point.

Jupiter 14, Ionath 10, one quarter left to play.

? ? ?



THE FOURTH QUARTER CAME, and Still the snow poured down. The wind picked up, driving at the falling white, making the countless flakes dance and swirl. The temperature had dropped again — each step crunched into thin crystals of ice forming on the surface of exposed, black-red mud. Every breath puffed out as a thin cloud that was quickly lost in the blowing snow.

Fifteen minutes remained. Just four points separated the two teams. A championship hung in the balance. For one squad, glory everlasting. The other would become nothing more than a footnote, a name quickly forgotten.

Quentin had been patient. He’d played conservative. He’d avoided risks. The High One had laced Quentin’s left arm with lightning. If history was to be written, Quentin would write it his way. He was a born gunslinger, and now the bullets would fly.

The Krakens started the fourth quarter’s first drive on their own 23-yard line. Quentin ignored his battered body and just threw. He hit Starcher for 8 yards, then Denver for 15, Halawa for 7, Tara the Freak for 12 and then Tara again on a little 5-yard pattern that the mutant Warrior turned into a 17-yard gain when he broke a pair of tackles.

On first-and-10 from the Jupiter 18, the Jacks’ defensive backs moved up close into bump-and-run coverage on his receivers, cutting off Quentin’s short throws. Quentin threw his first incompletion of the drive, then handed off to Yassoud on second down for a five-yard gain.

On third-and-five, Quentin took the snap and dropped back, his feet crunching through the mud’s thin covering of ice. The Jacks’ two Ki tackles blasted through the line and were on him immediately, an attacking wall of metal colors and angry eyes. Quentin didn’t even have time to scramble — he went down as a thousand-plus pounds of angry linemen drove him into the rapidly solidifying ground.

This time, at least, he held onto the ball.

He limped off the field. His right knee wasn’t obeying. It hurt like hell. Quentin didn’t think there was any major damage — hopefully Doc Patah could tweak it enough to make the pain go away.

Quentin stopped at the sidelines and turned to watch his field goal unit line up. A 37-yard attempt to cut the lead to just a single point. Arioch had been playing lights-out all season — could he hit one more?

Bud-O-Shwek snapped the ball. Yitzhak caught it and placed it. A thousand cameras flashed in the stands as Arioch Morningstar — the smallest sentient on the team — stepped up and did his thing.

The backward-spinning brown leather ball sailed through the air. Quentin held his breath, watching it apex and then descend. It split the uprights a good ten feet above the crossbar.

Field goal, good. Jupiter 14, Ionath 13.

Quentin turned and hobbled toward the medbenches. “Doc! Get over here and do your magic!”

? ? ?



QUENTIN SAT ON A MEDBENCH at the back of the Ionath sideline. He kept his eyes closed and his hands locked on the bench as Doc Patah slid a needle into his knee, over and over, injecting some kind of painkiller and nanomed concoction beneath the skin.

“Young Quentin, your right knee is damaged,” Patah said. “I can make it function, but you should strongly consider coming out of the game.”

Quentin actually laughed. He shook his head.

“Doc, you crack me up.”

The crowd got louder, then roared, but it wasn’t the sound of a score or a turnover. Quentin looked up to the holodisplay. What he saw shocked him — Don Pine, a flexicast around his knee, hobbling onto the field.

“Doc,” Quentin said, “whatever you have to do, fix my damn knee, and fix it now.”

? ? ?