The MVP

8





The Sermon


QUENTIN HELD A RAIL in one hand, his golden puke bucket in the other. He stood on the Touchback’s bridge, waiting for the punch-out that would mark the ship’s arrival on the Sklorno side of the border.

Captain Kate had ordered him to the bridge. She wanted him there when they popped out in Sklorno space. She sat in her spinning chair, hands busy working the icons floating above each armrest, but she stopped and looked at Quentin.

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “You going to be okay, pretty thing?”

If she wanted to tease him, he didn’t care. Maybe this time, if he really focused, he could avoid the motion sickness that came with every punch-out. He closed his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You sure are,” Kate said. Wink-twitch. “Hold tight, here comes the punch-out.”

Everything will be okay, everything will be okay …

He felt the shimmer, the rolling feeling of being in a thousand places at once and nowhere at all. He sensed it coming, tried to breathe deep and slow through his nose, but within seconds his throat tightened and his stomach rebelled and he threw up. He set the bucket down and pulled out the plastic bag inside, tying it tight in a motion made automatic from many repetitions.

“Oh, my,” Captain Kate said. “Um, Quentin?”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” he said, “I know, now you make some comment about me being the fairer sex or something, right?” He looked at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out the bridge’s crysteel windows, an expression of shock on her face.

Quentin looked out the viewport into the blackness of space. He didn’t notice anything other than a lot of twinkling stars. Some were brighter than he was used to, but it seemed pretty normal. The four crewmen sitting around the holographic model of the Touchback were also staring out the big window, heads panning side to side and up and down, taking it all in. Just as they had when the Prawatt ship approached, the men seemed like they couldn’t believe what their eyes were telling them.

“Hey, guys,” Quentin said. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Ships,” Kate said. “Thousands of them. It’s a damn armada.”

An armada was supposed to be a big formation, not a bunch of twinkling lights.

“I don’t even see a single ship,” Quentin said. “What are you looking at?”

Kate stood up from her captain’s chair. She walked to stand next to him, then pointed to the windows. “Any light you see that’s a tiny little pinpoint? That’s a star. Anything bigger than that, and you’re looking at a ship.”

Quentin looked again. He looked left, center, right — and then he saw what they saw. Everywhere he looked, stars, but also the larger, glowing dots. Thousands of them.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “If it’s an armada, why aren’t they all together, like an asteroid belt or something?”

“The ships are together,” Kate said. “In galactic terms, they’re stacked on top of one another like poker chips.”

“But I can’t even make one out.”

“That’s because space is big,” she said. “The distance between things, we’re talking far. And where have you seen an actual asteroid belt?”

“In the movies,” Quentin said. “You know, they look like a bunch of big rocks spinning and twirling, bouncing off each other.”

Kate nodded. “That’s not real life. Even in the most-dense belts we know of, if you stood on the surface of an asteroid, you wouldn’t even be able to see another one. That’s how far apart they are to us, yet in galactic terms they’re damn near connected.” She pointed to the lights again. “What you’re seeing here are Sklorno vessels, probably civilians since they don’t have a military.”

Petra’s words played through Quentin’s thoughts: Thousands of Sklorno ships have gathered at our borders. If they attack, we will retaliate. For every Prawatt killed, we will kill a hundred Sklorno.

He thought of Bumberpuff’s ship, the Grieve: a massive, malleable dreadnaught the size of a mountain. The Sklorno civilian ships wouldn’t stand a chance.

“But if they attack, it’s practically suicide,” he said. “Why are they here?”

Kate looked at Quentin, her face wrinkling with annoyed disbelief. “Are you for real? They’re here because of you, Quentin. They’re here because the Prawatt kidnapped one of their Gods.”

He again scanned the bright lights. How many ships were there? And how many Sklorno on each one? He was looking at hundreds of thousands of sentient beings, all of which could die a horrible death.

“But we’re safe,” Quentin said. “They can see the Touchback, right? So now they’ll leave?”

Kate shook her head. “That’s why you’re on the bridge. I don’t think they’ll leave until they hear from you. You and Don Pine, probably.”

She spread her arms, gesturing to the countless lights. “Unless you want to see a whole lotta death, then you need to talk to them, Godling — you need to address your flock.”

? ? ?



THE TOUCHBACK’S BRIDGE wasn’t that big to begin with. Add in the presence of Yitzhak Goldman, Coach Hokor the Hookchest, Don Pine, John Tweedy, the 9-foot-tall Sklorno Milford, the 8-foot-tall, 615-pound Michael Kimberlin and the 400-pound Choto the Bright, and the room seemed downright claustrophobic.

Quentin had called these sentients to the bridge. Yitzhak and Kimberlin knew things about the universe, things beyond football. Milford had been a rookie alongside Quentin, and other than Denver — who had been traded to the Jupiter Jacks — she was his closest Sklorno friend. Choto the Bright was a war veteran with military knowledge.

As for Don Pine, his “church” was even larger than Quentin’s. Don’s words would be just as important.

Everyone had a good reason to be here, except for John Tweedy. John was here simply because Quentin trusted him above all others.

“Q, I don’t see the problem,” John said. “Just tell them crazy crickets to go home.” John turned to Milford. “No offense, Milford, old girl.”

Milford hopped in place. “I am horribly offense Johntweedy. Offense! Offense! Goooooo offense!”

John leaned over and nudged Quentin. “I don’t think offended means the same thing to them as it means to us. To each their owner’s manual, eh, Q?”

The bridge crew were in their seats at the holotable, but they weren’t looking at a model of the Touchback. Instead, the table showed a steady stream of glowing, yellow vessels of all sizes, from three-sentient courier ships to liners that could — and did — hold thousands. The yellow color indicated a Sklorno ship. Each time one popped up, info icons showed weapons, armor and an estimated crew count. The weapons were few and didn’t seem that impressive: mostly low-level stuff to ward off pirates. Still, with so many ships, one had to wonder if the armada could damage a Prawatt dreadnaught on attrition alone.

To his horror, Quentin had learned that it wasn’t just Sklorno vessels — at least a hundred Creterakian warships were out there. And while Captain Kate hadn’t detected Prawatt vessels, she was certain they were close by.


A blue vessel appeared over the holotable — blue marked a Creterakian ship.

“Hey, Mike,” Quentin said, “doesn’t that kind of look like the Touchback?”

“That vessel you see was originally a Planetary union   warship,” Kimberlin said. “The Creterakians seized many of them in the takeover. So, yes, it is similar to the Touchback, which was also once a union   warship.”

Blinking red dots on the blue hologram marked known weapons system. So many weapons.

“Will that ship attack the Sklorno?”

“The Creterakian ships will fire if fired upon or if the Sklorno ships try to cross the border.”

“But why would the bats get involved?”

“The Creterakian Empire controls the Sklorno Dynasty,” Kimberlin said. “If sentients under Creterakian rule attack Prawatt space, the Prawatt will rightfully consider that an act of war.”

For four decades, the galaxy had been mostly at peace. It seemed unbelievable, but that peace might shatter at any moment.

Quentin turned to Choto. “These Sklorno have a bunch of freighters and passenger vessels. Would they really try and invade Prawatt space?”

“I cannot speak to the Sklorno intentions,” Choto said. “Their vessels are ill-equipped for space battle. However, I believe their plan is not to attack Prawatt warships directly, but rather to spread through Jihad territory in order to land ground troops. Then this becomes a land-based conflict. The Sklorno can eat and digest almost anything, they have incredible speed and natural camouflage — they are exceptional at guerrilla warfare. If a passenger liner manages to deposit thousands of Sklorno on a Prawatt world, that would cause many problems.”

Quentin’s chest felt tight. He turned to Milford. “Don and I and Coach Hokor are out. We’re safe. Your people wouldn’t really attack now, would they?”

Milford’s eyestalks went rigid. She seemed to instantly transform from the happy, goofy being that she and her teammates were into something that radiated danger and aggression.

“The Prawatt have blasphemed,” Milford said. “Blasphemed! They should be punished!” She started to hop in place. Her raspers extended. As she moved, the raspers curled and twisted, the thousands of tiny teeth embedded in them catching the bridge lights in a wet gleam. “They should be purged! They should be flogged! If the bats try to stop us, then they must die! The Prawatt must die! Diediekillkilldiediekill—”

Quentin reached out and grabbed a tentacle arm. “Calm down,” he said. “Take it easy.”

She stopped talking and hopping, but her four eyestalks quivered with anger.

He’d competed alongside and against Sklorno for three years, gone head to head with them on the gridiron. They played their asses off, played so hard they were willing to die for their team, but Quentin now realized that as dedicated and intense as the Sklorno were on the field, football was still a game. Just five decades ago, the Sklorno had been the terror of the galaxy — he finally understood why.

A hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

“These ships aren’t just going to go away, Q,” Don Pine said. “Our being safe isn’t enough for them. They want blood. If you and I don’t speak to them, a lot of sentients are going to die.”

Yitzhak stepped closer. “And the fighting won’t just be here,” he said. “Tensions are already high because of the destruction of Flight 894-B, remember?”

How could he forget? A ship had exploded near Yall, killing fifty thousand Sklorno. Blame had instantly fallen on the Prawatt, although there was no proof they had done anything.

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, I remember. But what does that have to do with the Creterakians?”

“If the Creterakians fire on the Sklorno to try and stop a war with the Prawatt, that will cause a rebellion on the Sklorno worlds,” Yitzhak said. “There are 260 billion Sklorno in the Dynasty. An incident like this will make them rise up against the Creterakian garrisons. Once they do that, they’ll also start building warships in order to better attack the Prawatt.”

Quentin’s stomach churned in a way not unlike what he felt during the punch-out. He looked around the bridge, looked at Don, at Kimberlin, at Choto, Yitzhak and even Milford.

“So what are you guys saying? Are you telling me that if I don’t say the right thing, this could turn into another shucking galactic war?”

Everyone nodded. Even John Tweedy, the words I’D RATHER NOT BLOW UP TODAY scrolling across his face as he did.

It was too much pressure. He turned to Don.

“You talk to them, or Coach can,” Quentin said. “You have more followers or whatever than I do, right?”

Yitzhak answered. “Actually, the Church of Quentin Barnes is bigger than the Church of Don Pine. CoDP has about five million followers, while my sources estimate the CoQB at seven to ten million followers.”

Seven to ten million? Quentin felt so frustrated, so helpless. He felt his temper rising, and his temper always needed a target. He pointed a finger at Yitzhak.

“Your sources? What sources? And why would you be keeping tabs on my so-called church, anyway?”

Yitzhak’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, said nothing, then turned to Don. “Pine, tell him to do something, will you?”

Don sighed. “Kid, we can jibber-jab about this all day. If Zak says you have more followers than I do, he’s probably right, and that means you have to take the lead. We both need to make a statement, together, and do it fast. So stop scrambling and just take the hit.”

Quentin felt like the entire offensive line was sitting on his chest. What if a misspoken word sent thousands of Sklorno ships hurling across the border?

Coach Hokor took off his little hat and threw it to the ground.

“Barnes! Stop acting like a frightened infant. If war breaks out, the season will probably be cancelled. So fix this!”

Quentin’s skin tingled as a sudden sensation of cold spread over him: war would cost them the 2685 season. He knew that was a ridiculous thing to care about at the moment, what with millions of lives on the line, but the Krakens were ready for their shot at the title — if he had to stop a war to win the championship, so be it.

The stress didn’t vanish completely, but it faded. Just take the hit, Don had said.

Quentin nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

? ? ?



HE STOOD IN FRONT of the holotable, watching the endless sequence of yellow and blue ships. Don Pine stood on his left, Coach Hokor on his right. Captain Kate had grabbed a stool for Hokor to stand on so he came up to Quentin’s shoulder instead of his waist.

The four bridge crew remained seated around the table. Maurice turned in his seat and looked back to Captain Kate.

“We have three church leaders ready to speak,” he said.

Kate looked at Quentin. “You ready?”

Quentin was anything but ready. He nodded.

The sequence of holographic ships vanished. In its place appeared three female Sklorno. The one in the middle wore orange and black robes that completely covered her body, woven ribbons of orange, black and white were wrapped around her eyestalks. A ceramic disc hung from her neck to dangle between her tentacle arms. The disc showed a profile of Quentin’s head.

He recognized her, from a game on Alimum two years ago — the high priestess of the Church of Quentin Barnes.

On her right stood a Sklorno in gold, silver and copper robes. Her ceramic disc showed Don Pine’s profile. On her left, a Sklorno dressed in yellow robes emblazoned with the black logo of the Chillich Spider-Bears, the first upper-tier team that Hokor had coached.


The high priestess of the CoQB spoke. “Quentin Barnes,” she said. “Oh, holiest of holy ones, you grace us with your visage. Have the nasty demons harmed your holy body in any way?”

“Uh, no,” Quentin said. “I mean, I’m fine.”

The Sklorno priestess shivered, seemed to sag. The other two priestesses reached out to steady her.

“My apologies,” she said. “The relief of knowing that the Godling Quentin Barnes is unharmed overfills this high priestess with joy and relief.”

“Uh, okay,” Quentin said. “Hey, so … you’re in charge of all those ships out there?”

The priestess bowed, then stood straight. “I am merely a vessel to communicate the wishes and desires of the Godling Quentin Barnes. Quentin Barnes is a supreme being!”

Quentin shook his head. “Knock that crap off, okay? I’m not a supreme being!”

“You are our Godling?”

“No,” Quentin said. “I’m not!”

The Sklorno’s ribbon-wrapped eyestalks fluttered wildly. Her waving raspers dropped down from her chin-plate, flinging drool in every direction. The priestesses on either side again had to keep her upright.

Don took a step forward. “Priestesses, the Godling Quentin Barnes is humble,” he said. “Through his own humility he chooses to teach others to be the same way, for humility is a virtue.”

The orange- and black-clad Sklorno paused, then stopped shaking. The others let her stand on her own. Her eyestalks returned to a normal curve. Her raspers curled back up behind her chin-plate.

“Of course,” she said. “This one asks forgiveness for misunderstanding the words of his holiness.”

Don took a step back to once again stand at Quentin’s side. He grabbed Quentin’s elbow, squeezed and leaned in close.

“Q,” he whispered, “when someone asks you if you are a godling, you say yes.”

To even pretend to be a god was sacrilege. Quentin felt his pulse hammering behind his eyes and inside his skull. Now wasn’t the time to worry about his own moral code. The best he could hope for was to stop any violence, then pray for forgiveness later.

“The Prawatt did not harm me in any way,” he said. “They don’t want a war. I have spoken directly to their leader. The holographic Sklorno suddenly started shaking again. Quentin heard a commotion on the Touchback’s bridge — Milford was shaking as well, and John Tweedy was holding her up.

The high priestess of the CoQB trembled as she spoke. “You have met the Prawatt God? You talked to her? One supreme being to another?”

When someone asks you if you’re a godling, you say YES.

“Uh, that’s right,” Quentin said. “One supreme being to another. She, uh, it, or whatever, told me that the Prawatt don’t want a fight.”

Petra had also told him to tell the Sklorno that the Prawatt would kill billions if it came to war. Did he need to say that to the priestess? Would that make the Sklorno back off?

Quentin had been raised in a culture of fear: the constant threat of punishment, both physical and spiritual, the promise of an eternity burning in hellfire, that was what kept the Nation’s people in line. He had spent nineteen years under that kind of “motivation.”

There had to be a better way. Petra had asked him to speak for her kind, but that didn’t mean he had to use her words. The pressure in his chest faded. The pounding in his head vanished. Just like on the field, a sensation of calm washed over him.

“The Prawatt killed the Sklorno, the Sklorno killed the Prawatt,” he said. “Nothing can change that, nothing can fix that. No matter how many ships you bring, not one of those lost souls will ever come back to us. There is no wrong that needs to be righted. There is no offense that needs to be avenged. The Prawatt god doesn’t want war, and neither do I. Turn your ships around. Go home. Go with my blessing.”

He waited for her to respond, but she just stared. The bridge sounded so quiet; he looked around, saw that everyone else was staring at him as well. They seemed kind of stunned. Sentients … they were all so weird.

The priestess finally spoke: “The Quentinbarnes has given his gospel,” she said. “As our God commands, we will obey.”

She bowed deeply, as did the other two high priestesses. The hologram blinked out. She had called him a god, not a godling. Did that mean anything?

Captain Kate clapped her hands, applauding. “Nice work, pretty thing. While you were being all holy, we received a message from Gredok. He wants us to return home as soon as possible, and we are not to speak to the media.”

“Good,” Quentin said. “I’m kind of done talking for awhile, I think.”

Don slapped him on the shoulder. “Great job saving the galaxy, kid. You hungry? If you’re not too busy reveling in your omnipotence, let’s get some lunch — I’ve got some suggestions for you about the upcoming preseason.”

Don wanted to eat together? A few weeks ago, Quentin wouldn’t have even considered such a thing, not after the way Don had betrayed him. But in the light of a narrowly averted war and literally talking to the creator of an entire species, things like throwing games didn’t really seem all that important or significant.

“Sure,” Quentin said. “Let’s go.”



* * *





December 27, 2684

TRANSCRIPT OF BROADCAST FROM

GALACTIC NEWS NETWORK

“Tom, you’re on site at the Sklorno armada. Tell us what’s going on there. Is it war?”

“Well, Brad, there have been some dramatic developments in the past few hours, and it looks like war has been avoided. Keep in mind that there are too many ships to keep track of out here — the rag-tag, fugitive fleet of the Sklorno, the Third Fleet of the Creterakian Navy and several small Prawatt cruisers rumored to be lurking a few light-years inside the border — so we can’t be sure that all of the forces are withdrawing. But we can confirm that many Sklorno ships have already punched out and that more are leaving the area as we speak.”

“Tom, why this sudden change?”

“Well, Brad, the cause appears to be the return of the Touchback, the team bus of the Ionath Krakens that vanished shortly before the Galaxy Bowl.”

“So the Sklorno left because the Touchback returned, Tom?”

“No, Brad, it seems that Quentin Barnes and Don Pine, quarterbacks for the Krakens and religious figures in the Sklorno Dynasty, along with Ionath coach Hokor the Hookchest, directly addressed the illegal fleet and asked them to leave. As far as we can tell, the entire situation has been resolved without the loss of a single life.”

“Tom, can we get any reaction from Barnes and the Krakens?”

“Brad, we have asked to speak with anyone from the Krakens franchise, Barnes in particular, but team owner Gredok the Splithead said that the franchise will not comment on the development.”

“You’ll stay on this story for us, Tom?”

“I sure will, Brad. For GNN, this is Tom Skivvers, signing off.”



* * *





* * *





Report from the

Creterakian Ministry of Religion (CMR)

and the

Non-Creterakian Intelligence Agency (NCIA)



* * *



THE CHURCH OF QUENTIN BARNES

?URGENT UPDATE?

Last year, the CMR identified the Church of Quentin Barnes (CoQB) as a potential threat. The CoQB began as a small, provincial organization located only on the planet Yall. In 2681, the church had less than a thousand followers.


When Quentin Barnes became the quarterback of the Ionath Krakens in 2683, the church began expanding rapidly. By early 2684, the CoQB had grown to over 500,000 followers with dioceses on all five Sklorno planets.

At the time of our last report, the CoQB was growing faster than any previously recorded Sklorno athlete-worshipping sect. The rate of growth indicated that the CoQB might hit 10 to 15 million followers by the 2686 GFL season, depending on the success of the Ionath Krakens.

We at the CMR now believe that those estimates were drastically low.

The recent event of the Ionath Krakens’ team bus being lost in Prawatt space had an unexpected result on CoQB membership. While Quentin Barnes was missing, the leadership of his church claimed that Barnes was in Prawatt space fighting a “holy war” against the “evil of the Jihad.” CoQB leadership initiated a proselytizing campaign. That campaign, combined with already high Sklorno/Prawatt tensions caused by the destruction of Flight 894-B, caused a massive groundswell of support for Quentin Barnes.

At this time, we estimate the CoQB is 20 million followers strong and growing. While this is only 0.00007 percent of the 269 billion-being Sklorno population, the CoQB is now, officially, the fastest-growing organization in the known universe. In addition, the CoQB has spread beyond the five main Sklorno worlds and has official chapters on every world or station that includes a sizable Sklorno population.

The Non-Creterakian Intelligence Agency (NCIA) recommends that Quentin Barnes be given Category One status on the Chart of Potential Revolutionaries. We must monitor the growth of the CoQB, monitor Barnes himself, and gather intelligence on how he plans to use these followers.

The NCIA also recommends preemptive approval for using any and all containment strategies on Barnes, should the need arise. These strategies include counter-intelligence to discredit Barnes in the eyes of his Sklorno followers; indefinite detention as a threat to the Creterakian Empire on the grounds of fomenting revolution; and — should the CoQB grow to over 100,000 million followers — assassination.



* * *