The Starter (15 page)

“I really don’t know what they find so funny,” Hokor said. “But, as you say,” — the pedipalps quivered faster — “you don’t have to be told twice. Now get your butt on the field. It’s time for practice.”

Quentin snarled and jogged off the field. He hated not getting the joke.

• • •

QUENTIN PULLED ON HIS HELMET
as he jogged to the 50-yard line of the
Touchback’s
practice field. Pine and Yitzhak were already there, waiting by a rack of footballs. Beyond them, the Sklorno receivers: veterans Hawick, Scarborough, Mezquitic, and Richfield; last year’s rookies Denver and Milford; and this year’s rookie Halawa.

Damn, but Halawa was a
big
girl.

Hokor was once again in his little cart, floating fifteen feet above the field. Quentin looked at him, wondering how the diminutive coach had gotten to the field before him.

“
Barnes!
” Hokor called over the cart’s speakers. “Line them up. Out patterns, right then left.”

Quentin nodded and clapped his hands together three times, so hard it stung the skin of his palms. “You heard the coach! Ten-yard outs. Right side first. Let’s go, ladies, we have a lot of work to do to get ready for the Ice Storm. All snaps on a two-count, all on two.”

The Sklorno quivered with unbridled excitement. Hawick lined up first. Last year she had been the Krakens number-two receiver, but after her season it went without saying that she had become the Krakens main threat. In line behind her was Scarborough, who had been the Krakens top receiver for the past three seasons. At twenty-five years old, she was the most senior Sklorno on the team. She had lost a step or two, but could still fly down the field like a space fighter, still jump high, and still scrap and claw for every ball thrown her way.

Quentin bent in a mock-snap position. He looked over at Hawick and winked.

Hawick saw his wink, then shook so much he thought she might spontaneously combust. Drool flew everywhere around her.

“Hut-
hut!
”

Quentin pushed away from the line, looking to his left, taking three powerful steps back before planting with his back foot and turning to the right. His shoulders snapped around and the ball rocketed out of his hand in a flat parallel with the ground. The ball magically reached Hawick just as she turned, tentacles outstretched, already reaching for the ball that she knew would be there.

Feet dragging inbounds, she caught the ball cleanly before she slid out.

Yeah. Perfect. Just like this season is going to be... perfect.

Quentin grabbed the next ball from the rack and bent as Scarborough lined up. Scarborough shook even harder than Hawick. The Krakens’ oldest receiver, it seemed, was an early member of the Church of Quentin Barnes.

“Hut-
hut!
”

Scarborough ran the route just a hair slower than Hawick. Hawick had become the team’s leading receiver, true, but everyone knew the real reason for her breakout success was that opposing defenses had put their top cornerback on Scarborough. Now Hawick would draw the top defender, which meant Scarborough would usually play against a lower-caliber, number-two defensive back. That would create good match-ups for the Krakens, and might give Scarborough one last, great season.

After this season, however, there was little doubt that Milford would take over as the number-two receiver. She and Denver had been rookies alongside Quentin. Both of the second-year receivers could flat-out fly, but their cuts weren’t yet quite as crisp as Scarborough’s and Hawick’s, their acceleration not quite as marked. Denver was faster, had more long-term potential, but needed another season or two to become all she could be. Milford, however, was ready right now. With a few more games under her belt, she would become a major threat. When Quentin looked at the Krakens receiver slots one through four, he felt strongly that he had one of the best lineups in all of Tier One.

After Milford came Mezquitic, the former number-three receiver. She was thirteen years old, a fifth-year player, and should have been coming into her prime. She wasn’t as fast as Denver and Milford, however, and her vertical leap had gone down a half-inch over the past two seasons. Sklorno vertical leaps usually went up about a quarter inch a season for the first five or six seasons, plateaued for the next three or four, then finally started dropping off around year ten. If, that was, the receiver lived that long. Sklorno had the highest death rate of any species in the GFL. Mezquitic was slowing down, and no one knew why. She’d probably taken too many hits. The repetitive trauma had begun to take its toll.

After Mezquitic came Richfield, the final receiver. Her primary role on the team was as a kick returner, bringing back punts and kickoffs. She was slimmer than her Sklorno teammates, standing at 8-foot-5 but weighing only 273 pounds. Richfield simply didn’t have what it took to be an every-play receiver, but she did have a crazy knack for finding holes on those kick returns. That ability let her pick up five to ten extra yards on every return, yards that were critical for field position. Every now and then she would hit a hole clean and take it to the house.

Richfield ran her out-route slower than the others had, but still disciplined and efficient. She returned the ball to the rack, then got back in line. Quentin’s eyes drifted to the front of the line, to the last receiver on the roster.

Halawa.

He
still
couldn’t get used to her size. Scarborough was 8-foot-6, 295 pounds. Halawa was a full
twelve inches
taller, and weighed a solid 320 pounds. Her body wasn’t as thick as Scarborough’s. In fact, Halawa was a touch skinny for that height, but the rookie receiver was only eight years old. She would grow, probably adding ten to fifteen pounds in the next two seasons alone.

“
Barnes!
”

Hokor’s speaker-powered scream brought him back. He’d drifted away, hadn’t realized he’d been just staring at Halawa.

“Barnes, do you mind?”

Quentin gave Hokor a quick wave. “Sorry, Coach. Halawa, on two, on two. Huuuut...
hut!
”

Quentin dropped back as Halawa shot off the line. He looked left at first, as he’d done on all the passes, then at three steps stopped, turned right, and threw.

High One, she was
fast
.

Way faster than Scarborough, than Hawick, than even Denver. Her speed caught him off guard and he hurried his throw. The split-second the ball left his hand, he was mentally kicking himself — he’d thrown it too far out of bounds.

And then Halawa
stretched
. Her big feet scraped against the nano-turf field, kicking up small sprays of green dust as her elegant body extended horizontally and her long, muscular tentacles reached out. Her body was parallel to the ground, just a few inches above it, and her toes only a half-inch inbounds when her tentacle tips snagged the ball out of the air.

Had it been a game, that would have been a complete pass. A complete pass that would have been
impossible
to defend. Big. Fast. Athletic. A natural receiver.

Quentin felt his pulse racing, combining the visuals of Halawa with the size and hands of Crazy George Starcher. He’d had a good receiver corps even before they had arrived. Now? It had the potential to be the best in the league.

“
Baaaarnes!
”

Quentin shook his head clear. Wow, he had to stop drifting away like that.

“Sorry, Coach! Okay, ladies, five more each on this pattern, then switch to the left. On two, on two... ready... hut-
hut!
”

From
“Species Biology & Football”
written by Cho-Ah-Huity
Quyth Warriors & Football: A Star-Studded Caste

The Quyth have one of the galaxy’s most unusual lifecycles. Along with the Leekee, the Quyth are the only known sequential hermaphrodites to achieve sentience (although the Leekee reproductive cycle involves multiple species and is far more complex). All Quyth are born male. At a certain age and under the right conditions, Quyth Leaders change their sex and become female, capable of producing egg sacs.

It is those egg sacs that give the Quyth their unique caste system. The egg sac is a soft, spherical membrane usually about 23 to 25 centimeters in diameter. That is about the same size as a regulation basketball or soccer ball. A sac usually contains anywhere from four to eight small eggs. Every egg contains a Quyth Leader larvae — it is only after hatching that the caste system manifests.

Larvae hatch from eggs, then remain in the sac for about four weeks. In an interesting bout of parallel evolution with Humans, Quyth have a pair of testes. The first larva to eat its way out of its egg is blind, yet is capable of swimming within the sac fluid and navigating via a sense of smell. As his brothers come out of their eggs, this first-born instinctively establishes his dominance. He does this in two ways, first with a physical attack, and then with chemical warfare.

For the physical attack, the first-born cuts off the testes of half of his sac-mates. These castrated Quyth grow to become the Warrior caste. Quyth Warriors are much larger than Leaders. On average, Warriors are over twice as tall and weigh six times as much. This large growth rate is actually a form of gigantism that is naturally controlled by a regulatory hormone produced in the Quyth’s testes.

The first-born allows half of his brothers to keep their testes, but bombards them with a hormone that permanently alters their brain structure, making them docile. The Quyth affected by this hormone become the Workers. Fascinatingly, the docility hormone only becomes active when it mixes with the growth-control hormone, which is prevalent in Workers because they still have their testes. Hence, the hormone has no effect on the castrated Warriors.

Quyth larvae stay in the sac for two to four months after hatching from their eggs. About a day or two before the brood exits the sac, the single Leader finishes the job and castrates the Workers. As the brood enters the world for the first time, there is only one individual capable of eventually breeding.

Hormonal control continues through childhood, into adolescence and then adulthood. Warriors naturally imprint on their Leader brother, but can switch allegiance to another Leader. Sometimes this is a conscious decision, but often it is due to circumstances of proximity, overcrowding, or mandatory military service.

Warriors naturally desire to follow a Leader. Evolutionarily speaking, the reason is simple — the Warrior cannot reproduce, so if his genetic line is to survive he must ensure that his Leader brother breeds. Modern Quyth civilization has hijacked this instinct. That same imprinting tendency results in Warriors following military officers, employers, criminals, community organizers and, yes, sports coaches and team owners.

While Workers become docile followers, Warriors retain high levels of natural aggression. Contact sports — both lethal and non-lethal — provide a critical outlet for those urges. When you combine a Warriors size, strength, speed, and natural aggression with their innate desire to
follow
, it is no surprise that they make excellent soldiers and athletes.

• • •

MESSAL THE EFFICIENT LED QUENTIN
and Don Pine down the
Touchback’s
corridors toward the practice field. Media Day had arrived.

“So,” Don said, “not to treat you like you’re an idiot or anything, Q, but how about you go over my rules?”

Quentin sighed. Sometimes, Don walked a fine line between being a source of invaluable wisdom and an annoying nag.

“Think before I talk,” Quentin said. “Don’t rush my answers. A pause actually makes me look smarter, more introspective.”

“Uh-huh,” Don said. “And when you do answer, what do you
not
say?”

“Anything bad about my teammates or the franchise. And nothing that could be locker room fodder for our opposition.”

“Good,” Don said. “And what
can
we say about the opposition?”

“That we are excited to play them,” Quentin said. “Whatever team the reporters are asking about, I say that the team is a quality organization that has a lot of threats. Ionath will practice and prepare, then play as hard as we can on the field.”

Don’s wide smile showed white teeth that blazed from between his blue lips. “Nice, Q. Nice. Just remember the
think before you talk
part, you’re not so good at that.”

“Thanks.”

Don shrugged. “This isn’t the time for me to beat around the bush. If you get flustered, just take a breath. It’s a bit of a zoo out there.”

“Whatever,” Quentin said. “How bad can it be? They’re just reporters.”

They turned a corner into the tunnel that led to the practice field.

“It can get bad,” Don said. “Just trust me on that. And if it gets too bad, Messal will step in and bail you out. Right, Messal?”

“Abso
lute
ly, Mister Pine. You couldn’t be more correct. I will stay near Elder Barnes every moment and offer assistance if needed, although I’m confident Elder Barnes will exceed everyone’s expectations.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said, and then the three of them walked onto the practice field where Quentin saw something he’d never seen before — sentients other than his teammates or coaches out on the turf. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Many were from the species that made up the GFL: Humans with their skin-tones of tan-pink, brown, black, bleach-white, blue; HeavyG with their shades of light brown and tan-pink; Sklorno females covered head-to-toe in robes of more shades and colors than Quentin could count; multi-legged Ki dressed in the fine clothes so common to that culture’s non-combatants; Quyth Leaders, their fur a myriad collection of shades and striped patterns; floating Harrah that ranged from the utterly smooth skin of young adults to the bony, scaled skin of the elders.

And there were also Creterakian civilians dressed in their crazy, harlequin-esque suits of every horrible color-clashing pattern you could imagine. The civvy bats circled around the heads of the Krakens players. Quentin shuddered. He reminded himself to move slowly, to be respectful — even though these were civilians, where there were bats there were entropic rifles.