Scott Sigler: The Rookie

Gredok the Splithead nodded quickly, his three sets of foot-long black antennae bobbing like dreadlocks. Gredok had to look up — he was tall for a Quyth Leader, but at three feet, two inches, he was exactly half Stedmar’s height.

Out of all the galaxy’s known species, Humans and Quyth shared the most similar body plan. Most similar, which was actually not very similar at all. Both species had evolved from primitive quadrupeds into bipeds, giving them two legs and two arms. From that point on, however, any similarity broke down. The average Human stood at twice the height of an average Quyth Leader, and weighed three times as much.

The Quyth Leader’s body looked as if a sculptor had taken a Human child’s arms and moved them down to just above the hips. Both arms and legs ended in three-pincered claws, which provided solid footing but were incapable of manipulating any tool. The proximity of legs and arms meant the Quyth could move with equal ease as a biped or a quadruped, although no respecting Quyth Leader would ever be caught walking on all-fours. Such behavior was fine for Warriors and Workers, but never for a Leader.

The trunk continued up from the arms, a long, smooth, furry body that ended in a head dominated by one softball-sized eye. A small, vertical mouth sat under the eye. A set of pedipalps extended from the sides of the Quyth’s vertical mouth — what were once tools for killing and eating had evolved into long, dexterous appendages the Quyth used like Human hands.

“I don’t know why he hasn’t thrown deep more,” Stedmar said. “With that kid’s arm, they should be going for the bomb on every play, you know?”

Gredok looked back at the field and rolled his eye, marveling in the Stedmar’s idiocy. Gredok caught himself in the act, then stared straight ahead — rolling one’s eye was an expression of derision he’d picked up from hanging around Humans for far too long. Any neophyte could see that the quarterback had been setting that play up for at least the last two offensive series.

Gredok looked to his left, at Hokor the Hookchest, also a Quyth Leader. Hokor had forgotten more about football than Gredok would ever know. Hokor’s single eye glowed slightly yellow with an internal light. The tips of his three sets of flexible, foot-long antennae spun in tiny circles — there was nothing Human about that expression. Hokor’s stubby legs were the only things that stayed still: his tan-striped yellow fur raised and lowered with subconscious excitement, his tiny three-pincered hands flexed involuntarily, and his pedipalps twitched, as if they were searching for food to stuff into his small mouth. Gredok reached over and gently nudged Hokor. Hokor’s antennae immediately stopped circling, and the yellow light faded until his big eye was perfectly clear.

Hokor was a great coach, but he had little of what the Humans called a “poker face.” Gredok, on the other hand, remained calm and collected. His antennae and pedipalps sat perfectly still, while his own fur, silky-black and impeccably groomed, lay smooth and undisturbed.

It might have been a casual outing of three business acquaintances, not much different than what went on in the stadium’s other luxury boxes save for the fact that there were probably no other non-Humans in the stadium, nor were they packed with lethal-looking bodyguards: four Humans, who belonged to Stedmar; and two thickly muscled, six-foot-tall Quyth Warriors, their furless, hard-shelled carapaces showing battle scars and the hand-painted emblems of combat tours and various war campaigns.

“Greedy, I’ve got to hand it to you on this football team stuff,” Stedmar said as the kicker knocked through the extra point to make the score 35-3. “I had no idea how lucrative this could be, but you were right — I’m moving at least five hundred keys of smack every road game, and coming back with a bus full of money. I never dreamed smuggling could be so easy. Local customs officials barely look at a team bus. Even the shucking bats don’t bother.”

“The Creterakians introduced football,” Gredok said, noting how Stedmar still called to the ruling race as ‘bats,’ a reference to some Human animal Gredok had never seen. “Football supposedly reduces interspecies violence. They don’t want to rock the boat over a little thing like smuggling.”

Stedmar lifted his glass. “Well here’s to interspecies cooperation,” he said, then took a drink as the ice cubes rattled wetly.

“And you have a Tier Three team,” Gredok said. “Imagine how valuable it becomes with a Tier Two team, and you’re moving across entire systems, or even a Tier One team, and you’ve got complete immunity across all governments.”

Stedmar nodded. “Tier Three is good enough for now. It’s going to take me a few years to buy out a Tier Two team. But hey, if I can hold on to Barnes, I’ll be competitive from the start.”

“Don’t be sure Barnes can carry your team,” Gredok said. “There’s a reason no Nationalite quarterback has ever led a team to a championship. It’s one thing to be great in an all-Human league. It’s a very different game when Barnes has to throw past eight-foot-tall Sklorno defensive backs and dodge 400-pound Quyth Warrior linebackers.”

Stedmar shrugged. “The boy thinks he can handle it.”

“The rest of your team can’t. Your repressive government barely allows non-Human trade let alone bringing in other races to play football. In Tier Two ball, you need Quyth Warriors, Sklorno and Ki. It would be fun to watch your puny 400-pound linemen try and block a 600-pound Ki nose tackle.”

“I’m working on it, Shamakath ,” Stedmar said. Stedmar did an admirable job of pronouncing the word correctly, no small feat considering his Human vocal cords were only half as versatile as the Quyth voice chamber. It was a clear sign of his respect towards the leader of his syndicate. Hokor genuinely liked Stedmar, and had big plans for his lieutenant. Assuming, of course, that Stedmar lived to see the end of this game.

“Football is becoming too popular, even in the Purist Nation,” Stedmar said. “You know how the Holy Men are, how much they hate the Planetary Union and the League of Planets. It drives the Holy Men crazy to know those two heretic systems have fielded so many championship teams over the past twenty-five years.”

“Heretic?” Gredok said. “Is that what you believe?”

Stedmar laughed. “How can you ask that? I don’t follow this system’s damned religion.”

Gredok pointed to the infinity symbol tattooed on Stedmar’s forehead. “You seem to have all the trappings of a Church member.”

“The cost of doing business in this system.” If you’re not a confirmed member of the Church, you can’t get near most of the business. Corruption abounds, and is quite profitable.”

Gredok let out a rapid click-click-click of disgust. “Still, the Purist Nation is not going to allow non-Human races inside its borders, and you need other races to win in the Galactic Football League. Governments have been working on that for three centuries — the GFL has only been around for twenty-three seasons, and three of those were suspended.”

Stedmar shrugged again. “The bats have been here for forty years.”

“That’s different,” Gredok said. “They conquered all the Human planets. Your people don’t have a choice.”

“The scriptures also say no non-Humans on any Purist Nation planet, but you know the Holy Men — when they want something, the Book is always full of loopholes. If it wasn’t for out-system smuggling the border colonies couldn’t even survive. Our economy is a disaster and everyone knows it. Things are going to change, and soon.”

“You forget I’ve been alive three times as long as you. I’ve always heard about ‘coming changes’ in your system, yet it’s one fundamentalist coup after another. If it wasn’t for the Creterakians, the Purist Nation would have torn itself apart long ago.”