Scott Sigler - The Rookie

His game was improving, but he’d been less than impressive during his four days with the team. He’d never even considered that he’d have such a hard time adjusting. They had two more days of practice, then the season opener against the Woo Wallcrawlers. And the second of those two days was a non-contact practice, a pre-game run through.

That meant he really only had one more day to convince Hokor that he was ready to play Tier Two ball. But was he ready? Pine made everything look so easy, so smooth, and that only magnified Quentin’s constant struggles. But if Pine could do it, Quentin could do it.

Mind games from Hokor. That’s what all this crap was. Learn every opposing player, their stats, their history, run laps… a bunch of busy work designed to show Quentin who was boss. Well, Quentin had broken Coach Graber, and Hokor would be no different. Yet, in the back of his mind, Quentin wondered if Hokor was different from Coach Graber. Hokor acted like he’d be perfectly willing to put Quentin on the next shuttle back to the Purist Nation. Was that just an act?

Quentin wasn’t sure, and that gave him an uneasy feeling he’d never experienced before. He slid out of bed and started stretching. Today’s practice would be very important, and he wanted to be ready.

THE ENTIRE TEAM assembled in the landing bay in a big half-circle around Gredok and Hokor. As usual, players mostly grouped with their own species. Quentin stood with Warburg and Yassoud. Pine, as Quentin had come to expect, stood with one of the alien races, this time the Ki linemen.

“We will now be taking shuttles down to our facility on Ionath City,” Gredok said. “Most of you know the drill. The shuttle will make four runs, veterans go down in the first two runs, then free agents new to the team, and finally rookies.”

“After practice, my workers will show you to your apartments, which have already been assigned. All apartments are close to the stadium. The dome is a reasonably safe area, and as Krakens players you will usually be awarded respect. However, Ionath City is not a vacation resort, so be careful. You are responsible for your body, and care for any injuries sustained while not on the practice or playing field will be docked from your pay. Especially you, Yassoud.”

Yassoud looked as if his best friend had insulted his mother. “Me? Why would you say that?”

Gredok’s pedipalps twitched once. “I’ve read your record, Yassoud. More tavern-fight arrests than some of my low-level enforcers. If you insist on causing problems, you should pray that the police put you in jail instead of bringing you back to me. Understand?”

For once, Yassoud said nothing, simply nodded instead.

“And as for you, Mum-O-Killowe,” Gredok said, “I will be more than happy to send you home in a body bag if you act as you have when you played in the Sklorno leagues.”

Shizzle appeared as if from nowhere, swooped over to Mum-O-Killowe and provided a quick translation. Mum-O-Killowe started saying something in his loud, harsh way, but before he managed a couple of syllables another Ki lineman reached out with a long arm and flicked him in the vocal tubes. Quentin recognized the flick-er as Mai-An-Ihkole, the veteran defensive tackle. Mum-O-Killowe looked offended, as near as Quentin could read Ki emotion. The rookie lineman fell silent.

“That is all,” Gredok said. “The veterans will now board for the first run to Ionath City.”

Veterans, including Pine, entered the shuttle as the rest of the team dispersed.

“What was that all about?” Quentin asked Yassoud. “You a trouble maker or something?”

Yassoud shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never caused a problem in my life.”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Warburg said, looking down at the smaller Yassoud. “Just don’t hang out with him in the city, Quentin. We don’t need his influence to lead us astray.”

Yassoud put a hand to his chest. “You offend me, sir. I would never think to corrupt a pious member of the Church.” He walked off, shaking his head in disbelief as if he’d been greatly misjudged.

Two Sklorno — Denver and Milford — approached. Warburg’s demeanor instantly changed from doubt to intimidation, if not outright hostility. Denver’s raspers dragged along the floor, actually leaving a thin trail of saliva on the flight deck. Her transparent carapace was so disconcerting — Quentin could actually see blood coursing through her veins, X-ray gray blurred by the clear chitin’s X-Ray white. Quentin felt a small shiver of disgust ripple down his spine.

Warburg stared. “What do you want?”

“Perhaps we are worthy to catch passes while running at full speed?” Denver said in her chirping voice.

Quentin and Warburg looked at each other in confusion, then back at Denver.

“What are you talking about, you stupid cricket?” Warburg said. His racial slur stopped all conversation — the players remaining on the flight deck turned to watch.

“Holy Pine said perhaps we could assist in Holy Quentin’s passing. We run full speed, he blesses us with direct passes.”

Quentin’s face turned red, while Warburg started laughing.

Pine , Quentin thought. How could he embarrass me like this?

“Can we help?” Denver asked again.

“I don’t need help!” Quentin spat. “Especially not from the likes of you!”

Denver’s raspers rolled back up behind the chin plate. She leaned back a bit, her posture changing, but Quentin didn’t know what that meant and he was too furious to care.

“Oh, Pine really knows how to rub it in,” Warburg said.

“Holy Quentin is angry?” Denver said. “But we are here to help.”

It was too much to bear. Quentin turned and stormed away, heading out of the landing bay and back to his room. Help? From a damned unholy Sklorno ? As if Quentin were some bush league quarterback who needed to work on his route passing? Pine. He’d show that jerk, one way or another, he’d show him!

QUENTIN HADN’T calmed down much by the time the shuttle, loaded up with the rookies, eased out of the landing bay and into space. It didn’t help that Denver and Milford, the perpetrators of Pine’s little practical joke, sat only a few feet away. At least this time they kept their distance.

The wasted red landscape of Ionath filled the front view screens. Plants colored orange, red, and yellow seemed to flourish, but there was no plant large enough to hide the planet’s war scars. Just over an Earth century had passed since Sklorno’s 25,000-megaton bombs exterminated all life on the planet. The ten-mile-wide bomb craters remained clearly visible. Ionath City, in fact, was built inside one of those craters.

The clear dome gave off brilliant reflections from Ionath’s sun. The sprawling city looked like a reddish egg, sunny-side up, with the dome being the yolk. As the shuttle approached the city, Quentin could see how Ionath Stadium got it’s nickname — the round stadium sat right under the dome’s center, and from this far up looked like an iris to the dome’s cornea. The Big Eye. His new home, at least for this season.

Circular streets surrounded the dome in ever-widening bands, like flash-frozen ripples from a pebble dropped in a pond. Straight streets also radiated outward from the dome. Or more accurately, Quentin noticed, all streets led into the city center — straight to the stadium.

“I hear they really know how to party in Ionath City,” Yassoud said, a wide smile on his face. “I can’t wait to get out on the town.”

“Isn’t it a bit radioactive out there?”

Yassoud rolled his eyes. “Come on, hick — I’m not going into the outer city, I’m talking about nightlife under the dome. There’s hundreds of bars and restaurants. And women. Lots of women.”