The Champion (43 page)

“The godling has spoken,” Richfield said. “So let it be written.”

The Ki pulled out a messageboard and started writing.

Quentin pointed at the Ki. “And who is this?”

“Who-Love-Q,” Richfield said.

Quentin sighed. “Of course he is.”

“Lack of study pleases the godling,” Richfield said. “What other commandments does the godling have?”

Commandments
? Could this get any crazier? Quentin glanced at Choto.

Choto held up his pedipalp hands, palms out, in an all-too-Human gesture.

“Please do not ask me to help you with this,” the Warrior said. “The entire affair is already beyond words.”

“Thank you, Choto, you’re so damn helpful.”

Quentin could make
commandments
. Well, maybe this was his chance to put a stop to the factories belching out pink clouds. That, and possibly more.

He took a big breath. Should he speak in some kind of a deep tone, something that
sounded
important? Maybe, but he didn’t know how to sound like that. He squared his shoulders, stood at his full height, and spoke directly to his former teammate.

“I want you all to be
good
,” he said. “I forbid members of the church from hurting each other. No, wait, from hurting
anyone
.”

The Ki wrote quickly.

“And no more
eating Sklorno
,” Quentin said. “Or any other species for that matter.”

As soon as he said the words, he could hear Michael Kimberlin in his thoughts, talking about how Quentin didn’t understand other cultures, how he couldn’t apply his Human morals to other races and civilizations. The Sklorno had insane overpopulation problems; organized cannibalism was the only way they could control it — at least that’s what Quentin had been told. So if he ordered them to change what they had done for millennia, what would happen?

He didn’t know. And he didn’t want that kind of responsibility. He couldn’t change an entire race with a single comment, but at least for his followers, he could make a difference.

“I changed my mind,” he said. “No one gets killed, cooked or eaten
in my name
. I forbid it.”

Richfield thought on this for a few moments. Just watching her response told Quentin he was asking for a lot, perhaps too much. But in the end, she did the Sklorno version of a bow.

“So let it be written,” she said.

The Ki wrote.

“Thank you,” Quentin said. “All right, you told me you’re the high priestess and you listened to my commandments. When you hailed our ship, you said it was a matter of life or death?”

“Yes, Quentinbarnes. We have come to tell you that your life is in danger.”

“From who?”

“The Creterakians,” Richfield said. “They are watching your church. That is why-why-why we had to come meet you out here, way away from Ionath and the Sklorno planets.”

“Wait a minute — they’re watching the
church
. I don’t do anything with the church, so how can that put my life in danger?”

Hoyt licked his lips, then leaned closer like he was sharing a deep, dark secret.

“We have converts in the Creterakian Ministry of Religion, and they say that bad things could happen to you if your followers measure over a hundred million.”

“What kind of bad things?”

“Assassination, for one,” Hoyt said.

Choto leaned in. “Assassination is a bad thing, Quentin.” He leaned back.

Quentin sighed and rubbed his eyes. Religious people back on Micovi or standing on the 50-yard line of the
Touchback’s
practice field, it didn’t matter — they were all crazy.

“A hundred million,” he said. “Then I guess I’m safe, because that number is ludicrous.”

Hoyt beamed and nodded furiously. “We know! The Creterakians think you have only sixty-five million!”

“Well, that’s good, then, because ...” Quentin lost track of his thought. “Wait, did you say
only
sixty-five million?”

Hoyt nodded.

“Worshiping
me
? Sixty-five
million
sentients, worshiping
me
?”

“That is what the Creterakians think,” Hoyt said. “We have been meticulous in communicating that false number, to lead them astray.”

Quentin felt a hollow feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“So ... how many do I
really
have?”

Hoyt looked at Richfield. She stepped forward, spoke so quietly Quentin had to strain to hear.

“It is difficult to tell,” she said. “Very difficult. Our current estimate is two hundred and fifteen million.”

Quentin stared at her. Then he stared at Hoyt, then at the Ki, then back to Richfield.

“You’re kidding,” he said. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Richfield bowed. “Very well, Godling — we are kidding.”

“That’s not what he meant,” Hoyt said. “Godling, we’ve studied this, very carefully and very quietly. Other than the sentients standing here with you now, no one knows that estimate.”

Two hundred and fifteen million. That was
ten times
the number of sentients that lived on Micovi.

“Quentinbarnesquentinbarnes, are you pleased?”

That was more than all the mining colonies combined. The entire
planet
of Stewart had a population of just over 300 million.

The CoQB wasn’t a church ... it was a
nation
, and it was growing.

“Quentinbarnes? Have you any other commandments?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t handle any more of this.

“No,” he said. “No more commandments. I’m just a football player. Don’t bother me again.”

He turned and walked away, Choto instantly at his side.

Quentin hadn’t asked for any of this, didn’t
want
any of this. Petra, Richfield, Gredok, Kimberlin ... Quentin wanted them all to just leave him alone and let him do the thing he’d been born to do.

“Choto, I’m going to break down footage of Neptune’s game against the Earthlings. Care to join me?”

“Of course,
Shamakath
,” Choto said.

Quentin hated that term. He usually lectured Choto against using it, but not today, because that term was accurate — to Choto ... and to some 215 million sentients.

QUENTIN ADJUSTED
his red
do-not-hit
practice jersey as he walked toward the line, stopping about five yards behind Bud-O-Shwek. Shotgun formation: Kopor the Climber stood at his right, Yassoud on his left. Up above, the
Touchback’s
dome showed the pure black of punch-space.

They had been hard at it during the trip from Yall to Neptune, had run literally hundreds of plays together, yet still Quentin couldn’t get used to having Kopor at fullback instead of Becca. A gray-striped Warrior behind him instead of a HeavyG woman — it just
felt
weird.

It wasn’t that Kopor was doing anything
wrong
. He knew the offense, of course — not with Becca’s instinctive mastery, but easily well enough to handle most anything thrown his way. Still, Quentin was glad Kopor’s first game was against the anemic defense of Neptune and not a head-crushing squad like OS1. Kopor had been the starter before Becca came, and with a game or two, hopefully he’d be back to his old form.

Quentin gazed out over his orange-jerseyed offensive line to survey the black-jerseyed defenders. John Tweedy looked back from his middle linebacker position. His eyes flicked to his right, Quentin’s left, telling Quentin that Virak the Mean was coming.

The called play was a screen pass to Yassoud. If this had been a game, it was the perfect thing to run against a linebacker barreling in, but right now Quentin didn’t need to gain yards — he needed to see if Kopor could pick up the blitz.

“Red, twenty-two,” Quentin called out. “
Red
, twenty-two!”

The first word,
red
, signaled an audible. The second,
twenty-two
, indicated the play. His offense knew that if he called any number other than one in the twenties, the original play-call stood. This gave Quentin the chance to make “fake” audibles so the opposition couldn’t key in on a particular color.

Red twenty-two was a downfield pass. Yassoud would roll out to the left flat on a pattern, leaving Kopor alone to stay home and pass-block.

John crept toward the line, pointed at Kopor and screamed. “I’m coming for
you
, meathead! I’m tearing off your head and taking a dump on the black stuff inside your shucking
chest
, then I’m going to kill your quarterback!”

I NEVER LIKED QUENTIN ANYWAY
scrolled behind John’s facemask.

Earlier in the week that kind of talk had gotten a rise out of Kopor, distracted him. In three days of practice, however, he had settled down and wasn’t taking John’s bait.

Quentin raised his right knee high, signaling to Bud-O that he was ready for the snap. When Quentin put his foot down, there was a one-second pause before the ball shot toward him.

The offensive and defensive lines clashed together: hard, but not as hard as in a game.

Quentin raised the ball to his left ear. He kept one eye on his receivers and one on Kopor.

John pushed into the line like he was the one blitzing. Kopor took a half-step forward. Even yesterday, Kopor would have bought into that feint and overcommitted, rushing straight at John, but not this time.

John reversed, back-pedaling into coverage.

Quentin saw Virak coming from the left, coming
hard
. Kopor had to react immediately ... and he did. The fullback tucked and
rolled
, popping up between Quentin and the oncoming Virak.

Hokor had ordered the team to go half strength — unless they were facing Kopor, that was. Virak brought every ounce of his 375 pounds in at top speed. Kopor’s 415 pounds met him head-on with a thunderous
crack
of helmet and armor.

Quentin stepped up into the pocket, as he would in a game. Virak kept coming but Kopor had a good fit on him, kept Virak from adjusting his path of attack — the linebacker harmlessly passed through where Quentin had been standing one second earlier.

Quentin threw a dump-pass to Yassoud in the flat, who ran upfield until Bumberpuff came up to meet him. The two players slowed, then ran into each other with all the intensity of friends sharing a hug.

A whistle blew from Hokor’s floating cart.

“Nice work, Kopor,” the coach’s amplified voice called out. “Much better than yesterday. Second team offense, ten reps, let’s go!”

Virak reached down a middle arm, gripped Kopor’s pedipalp arm and pulled the bigger Warrior to his feet.

“Good block,” Virak said, then turned and ran to the defensive side of the line.

Kopor’s eye swirled with yellow-orange, and Quentin couldn’t blame him: Virak the Mean didn’t pass out compliments often.

Quentin and Kopor jogged to the sidelines with the rest of the first stringers. Nancy Wolf and a red-jerseyed Yitzhak came on to replace them, along with Josh Athanas and the other second-string linemen.

As the second offense huddled up, Quentin saw Bud-O scurry past the sideline benches toward a waiting red-jerseyed Becca. She handed him a ball. Bud-O got down into his center’s stance. Becca stood behind him. She turned her head left and right, looking out at an imaginary defense. She called out signals — softly, enough for Bud-O to hear, enough for her to practice the snap-count cadence, but not enough to disturb the second team out on the field.

Becca took the snap and drove back five steps, keeping the ball high at her ear. She read through some imaginary coverage, then threw twenty yards on a rope to a waiting Milford, who quickly threw it back.

Many players weren’t happy with her leaving her position and bumping Haney to the practice squad. But some players, obviously, either didn’t care or just wanted her to be as prepared as she could be.

As the third-string QB, Becca saw only a handful of practice plays. Yet here she was, creating her own drills, visualizing what she would do when she got in, practicing her drop back, her reads, even the way she took the snap. Her moves looked sharp and precise. Her eyes burned with intensity.

Quentin glanced back to the field, where Yitzhak stood behind a full offensive line and shouted a snap count.

How long would it be before that was Becca with the number-two squad ... and if that happened, what would it do to Zak?

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

DAN:
And now let’s get into our topic of the day. It’s GFL Week Five, and we all know what happens come midnight, Friday, Football Standard Time — the trade deadline! Deals get made before Saturday, or they don’t get made at all. Akbar, what news do you have?

AKBAR:
The big story is the trade of linebacker Izic the Weird from Themala to the Pirates in exchange for center Graham Harting. The Pirates keep investing in their defense, and this is a big move.

DAN:
Harting was an All-Pro, a big reason that Pirates QB Frank Zimmer — God rest his soul — had such a long career. I can’t believe they traded him.

TARAT:
Dan, Harting is an excellent player, but the Pirates have a young new quarterback in Abdullahi Ba, and they want him to develop with a young new center, to build a connection that will last for years. It is obvious that the Pirates will not make the playoffs this year, so it is logical that they are trying to build up their defense for next season.

AKBAR:
Not make the playoffs? Tarat, the Pirates are 3-1, they’re in third place and, also, wait, let me check my sources —
they are the To Freaking Pirates
. Is that centipede sandwich you’re eating laced with drugs? Because you
must
be high.

TARAT:
I do not participate in the consumption of controlled substances.

DAN:
Hey, Akbar, let’s not refer to a sponsor’s food as
laced with drugs
, all right? Because here at the Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show, we just
love
us some Hooper’s Grinders. Hooper’s, with franchises all across the Planetary Union, the League of Planets, the Tower Republic and opening soon, the Quyth Concordia. They provided us today’s delicious lunch, including that lovely centipede sandwich. Tarat, is it delicious?