Scott Sigler - The Rookie

The first play was an off-tackle run by Mitchell Fayed, who even at three-quarter speed hit the hole harder than any PNFL running back Quentin had ever seen. Fayed came through the line, only to be met head-on by Choto the Bright, the right outside linebacker. With a loud “clack” of pads the two players hit hard — Fayed managed two more short steps before Choto dragged him to the ground.

A shiver ran through Quentin’s body. Drills were one thing, an important thing, but football is about hitting , and with that first clash of starting offense against starting defense the season was actually on. The veterans had been practicing for months, but for the rookies, this was their first Upper Tier contact experience.

Pine guided the offense through the first series, mostly running plays. When he did drop back, he threw short, accurate passes. In his first twenty plays, he threw downfield only twice for one completion. Twice the defense got to Pine, but both times they slowed up before hitting him and just put a hand (or the applicable appendage) on his shoulder.

Yitzhak came in next and, by his mistakes, highlighted Pine’s effectiveness. Hokor started subbing people on both sides of the ball. Yassoud Murphy came in for his first full-contact reps. When he carried the ball, he ran like a tank. His ever-present smile vanished, replaced by an expression that might have been more at home in a hand-to-hand ground war. The Sklorno rookie receivers, Denver and Milford, rotated in for several plays. Quentin waited and watched, trying to analyze the defensive weaknesses, and trying — unsuccessfully — to be patient.

“Barnes!” Hokor finally called after an agonizing hour. Quentin practically sprinted out to the huddle — this is where he’d show Hokor, and the whole team for that matter, why he deserved to start. The offense was now a hodge-podge of first-stringers, second-stringers and rookies. Denver and Mezquitic stared at him reverently. Yassoud smiled. Warburg nodded.

“Okay, boys, let’s take it to them. Pro-40 right flash, on two, on two, break. ”

The players moved quickly from the huddle to the line, and Quentin felt in control for the first time since leaving Micovi. The VR sim was an amazing tool, but this was real , this was his chance to show everyone. He lined up behind Bud-O-Shwek, the center — and suddenly realized he had no idea how to take a snap from a Ki.

Quentin stared at the long tubular body. This close up, Bud-O’s body looked like a snake-skinned caterpillar with thick, multi-jointed spider legs. Pine and Yitzhak had made the snap look so natural Quentin hadn’t even thought about it. Where the hell was he supposed to put his hands?

“Barnes!” Hokor shouted. “What is your difficulty?”

Quentin looked up at the coach in his little hovercart. “Well, I… I’m not sure…”

“Oh rub me raw!” John Tweedy shouted. “The hick doesn’t know how to take snap from a Ki!”

Laughter erupted on the field. Quentin flushed red. Everyone was laughing, laughing at him. Even Warburg was laughing, dammit.

Pine calmly stepped forward.

“Just like this, kid,” Pine said, not a trace of laughter in his voice. Pine squatted down and slid his hands under Bud-O-Shwek’s posterior. Quentin now saw that Pine squatted down deeper and reached in farther than he would with a Human center, and had to stagger his feet a little bit in order to keep his balance.

“See?” Pine said. “It’s not so different. Just keep your left foot back a step or so, so you can reach in without falling over. Hut-HUT!”

Bud-O-Shwek snapped the ball and shot forward, his body expanding quickly and violently. Pine tossed Bud the ball, then turned to Quentin.

“Got it, kid?”

Quentin nodded. Pine smiled, slapped him once on the shoulder pad, then jogged back behind the line to stand with Yhitzak.

“Let’s go,” Hokor called. “Run the play.”

The offensive line formed up again. Quentin staggered his feet as Pine had done, and reached far under Bud-O-Shwek. The Ki’s rear felt cold and hard. He felt the pebbly skin against the back of his hands. A wave of revulsion tinged with a hint of fear swept through him. He was touching one of them . Bud-O-Shwek seemed indifferent: his front right leg curled around the ball, waiting for the snap-count.

Quentin looked over his center and surveyed the defense.

It was like looking straight out into a nightmare.

Mai-An-Ihkole and Per-Ah-Yet, the starting Ki defensive tackles, eyed him with obvious hunger, their black eyes glistening. Ki helmets consisted of a clear, circular visor that ran all the way around the head, accommodating for their 360-degree vision. Above the visor, the black helmet pointed back like a dog’s claw, protecting the delicate vocal tubes.

The two Ki tackles were flanked by defensive ends Aleksandar Michnik and Ibrahim Khomeni, both amongst the biggest Humans Quentin had ever seen. They both hailed from Vosor-3, a world with gravity three times that of Earth.

Once, in school, he’d seen pictures of an extinct creature called a “gorilla.” The class had been on creation, how all creatures were created as-is by the High One. In the Planetary Union and the League of Planets, apparently, they believe that Humans had evolved from these gorillas. Quentin had agreed that the idea was absurd, that it was ridiculous to think gorillas had given birth to Human babies. But now, looking at the 525-pound Michnik, with arms bigger than Quentin’s thighs and legs bigger than Quentin’s chest, he suddenly had to wonder what a gorilla looked like if you shaved off all its fur and dressed it in football pads.

From the middle linebacker’s spot, John Tweedy’s evil laugh rang through the air. “Well, looks like we’ve got it easy now. The rookie is here to answer Sklorno prayers again.”

EAT CRAP LOSER scrolled across Tweedy’s face.

At left and right outside linebacker, respectively, Virak the Mean and Choto the Bright bounced in place: fast, vicious, powerful, one-eyed Quyth Warriors. Sometimes they moved on legs and arms, low to the ground and leaning forward, waiting to attack, and sometimes just on their legs, standing tall and surveying the field. If they blitzed, Quentin knew he’d have to react instantly to avoid them.

The Sklorno defensive backs added yet another horrific element to the defense, their translucent bodies and black skeletons showing clearly where the black jerseys and pads did not cover. Their armored eyestalks quivered with excitement.

He felt a flutter in his stomach, a queasy feeling he’d never experienced before on a football field. He knew the feeling, but vaguely, a distant echo of something he didn’t have time to think about.

“Blue twenty-one,” Quentin called. “Blue… twenty-one.”

Tweedy moved forward, his huge frame standing right at the line of scrimmage, in between Mai-An-Ihkole and Per-Ah-Yet.

“Here it comes, rookie!” Tweedy screamed, his face a contorted mask of psychotic rage. The strange feeling in Quentin’s stomach grew in intensity. Was Tweedy just showing blitz, or was he coming for real?

“Flash, flash!” Quentin called out, audibling to a short-pattern pass. If Tweedy blitzed, Warburg would likely be open on a crossing route. “Hut-hut!”

The line erupted like nothing Quentin had ever seen or heard — so loud! The clatter of chitin and Ki battle screeches and Human grunts and smashing body armor filled the air like some medieval battle holo. Quentin pushed away from the line and reached the ball back for Yassoud to carry, then pulled it away at the last instant as a play-action fake. Quentin moved back four steps then turned and stood tall, looking for an open receiver.