Scott Sigler - The Rookie

The Sheb Stalkers(1–1) put one in the win column with a 18–16 thriller over the Sky Demolition(0–2). Kicker Bernard Alexander rocked home a 51-yard field goal as time expired to give the Stalkers the victory.

An injury to star quarterback Donald Pine let the Grontak Hydras(1–1) pull out an upset win over the Ionath Krakens(1–1). Defensive back Wichita picked off a fourth-quarter pass from Krakens’ rookie Quentin Barnes and returned it for a touchdown, giving the Hydras a 24–23 win.

Orbiting Death(2–0) continues to look strong, notching a convincing 35–21 win over the Woo Wallcrawlers(0–2). Ju Tweedy rushed for 121 yards and two TDs in the win, but also fumbled three times resulting in two turnovers.

The Glory Warpigs(2–0) remained tied for first thanks to a narrow 17–14 win over the Quyth Survivors(0–2). Keluang, Wellington and Alamo each grabbed an interception as the Warpigs held the Survivors to 102 yards passing, and 182 yards total offense.

DEATHS:

No deaths to report this week.

Offense: Ju Tweedy,running back, Orbiting Death. 121 yards on 23 carries, two TDs.

Defense: Wichita,cornerback, Grontak Hydras. 9 tackles, 2 sacks, 1 forced fumble, 1 fumble recovery, 1 INT, returned for a TD.

GAME THREE: Ionath Krakens (1–1) at Whitok Pioneers (2–0)

QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS

HALF-DRESSED FOR PRACTICE and head hung low, Quentin trudged into the center dressing room. Hokor had summoned him to his office. Quentin had never felt like such a failure. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Pissed it away because he still didn’t understand how fast things moved in the GFL. Logically , he understood, sure, but subliminally, at that primitive level where thought ceased and instinct took over, where split-second decisions were made, he just didn’t get it.

Quentin’s tongue played against the back of the thin plastic that lined his front teeth. Doc said it would take the rest of the day to finish growing the tooth. The working nanocytes tingled in his gums.

Was Hokor just benching him again, or was he giving him a one-way ticket back to the Purist Nation? Quentin went to buzz the door, but it was already open, waiting for him like an execution chamber. He hesitated a moment, then stepped inside.

“You wanted to see me, Coach?”

Hokor’s pedipalp waved him in. The coach stood in the middle of the floor, staring into a holo of the Whitok Pioneers 32–14 win over the Bigg Diggers. The holo was set to one-third size, making a six-foot-tall player project at two-feet high, just a bit shorter than Hokor.

“Have a seat, Quentin.”

Quentin did as he was told. A pallor seemed to hang over his soul. He hadn’t felt this way since the orphanage nuns had caught him eating food, eating more than his share by far. He’d tried to lie his way out of it, only making the nuns’ wrath all the more severe. That had been his first public whipping, tied up in the city square, with hundreds watching as Sister Akira gave him fifteen lashes. It was the longest day of a seven-year-old’s life.

Hokor said nothing. On the field, the Diggers lined up in a three wide receiver set with a tight end and a single running back. The defense closed in, showing tight woman-to-woman. Hokor paused the game. He worked the controls so that the field spun until Quentin was behind the offensive line.

“What do you see?”

“They’re showing woman-to-woman, but I think they’re set up for a cover-two.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The right corner’s eyes are in the offensive backfield. If it was pure woman-to-woman, she’d be more concerned with the receiver in front of her.”

Hokor nodded once. “Very good. And if that was you, and I’d called a post-cross, what would you audible?”

Quentin stared at the field. His heart sank in his chest. He started to answer, then stopped, his mind suddenly blank.

“I wouldn’t audible anything. I’ve had enough audibling for awhile.”

Hokor again nodded just once. “If I put you in the game again, will you run the plays I call?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You’re starting this week.”

Quentin stared, dumbfounded.

“Surely your backwater ears understand what I’m telling you. You’re starting this week.”

“But… but I lost the game.”

“Yes, you did. And you lost it because you didn’t do what I told you to do. But this week, you will do what I tell you to do.”

Quentin nodded.

“Pine is out this week and next,” Hokor said. “The broken bone ruptured an artery. I don’t think you’re ready, but you give us the best chance of winning. The Pioneers have a good secondary but only a moderate pass rush — your mobility should be enough to keep you from getting sacked. We’re 1-and-1, Quentin, we’ve got to win this game! The Pioneers are 2-and-0 and very tough. I need you to run a tight, ball-control offense so we can get a lead and chew up the clock.”

“Yes, sir,” Quentin said, wondering if a man could die from excitement.

“I need a strong week of practice from you. You’re going to lead this team to a win.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. We practice here today, then it’s a two day flight to Whitok. That gives us two days of practice on the ship, and two days at Whitok Stadium. There’s a big time change, we’ll be playing late at night our time, so we need to be extra sharp. Let’s have a good practice.”

Quentin stood and practically sprinted out of the room. Starting! His first GFL start! He’d thought himself out of a job, but Hokor was giving him the reins. He’d learned his lesson — this time he’d play it Hokor’s way.

As he headed towards the main tunnel, Denver came out of the Sklorno locker room.

“I speak please,” she said.

Quentin started to ignore the Sklorno receiver and keep walking, but something made him stop. “What do you want?”

“I shame myself when we speak last. I only offer help.”

“I didn’t appreciate Pine’s sense of humor.”

“Not understand,” Denver said. “I serve, run routes and catch passes so your greatness increase. Please forgive, I mean no sacrilege, only praise. Praise for Quentin Barnes. I help make you greater?”

She was asking him again, this disgusting cricket was asking him again if he needed her help. Quentin felt the flush of embarrassed rage start to spill over him once again — then something odd happened. His mind flashed back to the Hydras game, to the last play. The sheer speed of Wichita — if he’d just thrown to Hawick the second he saw her open, would he have completed the pass? He’d waited a half-second, and that had been too long. There was no getting around the fact that he’d lost because he still wasn’t used to Sklorno speed.

His anger faded away. Denver wasn’t being rude, Denver was being honest. Quentin’s game wasn’t as sharp as it needed to be. But still, he’d figure it out, and without help from a cricket.

“Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,” Quentin said, surprised to hear his voice come out normal, not snotty and hateful.