Scott Sigler - The Rookie

“Time to draw the battle line,” Yassoud said from somewhere in the back, his voice muffled by the tight press of bodies packed into the tunnel. Human grunts acknowledged his words.

“We will accept Condor’s gifts,” a Sklorno called out, referring to Condor Adrienne, the Pioneer’s star quarterback. The other Sklornos chirped excitedly, all of them bouncing up and down, unable to contain the energy that filled their bodies.

The sensation built up quickly, thickly, so intense that Quentin couldn’t even think, he could only feel , like an animal waiting to pounce. It was like the last two games, but it was different — this time they were his to command, his to lead. This was the moment he’d waited for all of his life.

The announcer introduced the Ionath Krakens.

“Kree-goll-ramoud!” Mum-O-Killowe roared in his deep, warlike voice, and the team surged out of the tunnel to the deafening sound of boos. Small, hard items plinked off their armor. Bits of wet matter, both cold and hot, spilled down on them as they ran onto the field. Quentin covered his head as he looked up into the stands and saw an endless sea of midnight-blue and neon-green, the colors of the Whitok Pioneers.

He reached the sidelines. The Krakens surged around him like a python, everywhere at once, pressing in, their eyes on him, their breath in his face and on his neck. They bounced and surged and punched and clawed like a tiger in a cage.

Quentin started to speak, but John Tweedy beat him to it.

“This is it,” Tweedy shouted. “This is it! We need this win, we want it more than they do! We must destroy this house!”

The Krakens roared and clicked and jumped and pushed. Quentin felt a rush of anger — he was the quarterback, the team should be looking to him, not Tweedy.

“Pine is out, so we’ve got to pull together,” Tweedy shouted. “This is war. We take the battle to them. Now let’s go kick their asses!”

The team surged even tighter one last time, bouncing Quentin about like a cork in a typhoon. Then the huddle broke and the players wandered away, preparing for the game.

Quentin fumed on the sidelines. They still didn’t give him enough respect. Well, they would all be jealous when he suited up in the blood red for Tier One season, and they were all at home, watching the holos.

The Pioneers won the toss, received the kick, and started with the ball on their own 28. Condor Adrienne wasted no time, dropping back on the first play. His offensive line, a huge wall of Ki averaging 630 pounds, gave him all the time in the world. Adrienne launched a deep pass to a streaking receiver, who sprang high in the air. Davenport, the Krakens’ right cornerback, went up high as well, but she was just a step behind. The ball floated down just an inch away from her outstretched tentacles to drop perfectly into the hands of Bangor, the Pioneer’s receiver. The two players came down as one, but Davenport stumbled on impact. Bangor sprinted the remaining fifteen yards into the end zone.

“Ain’t that a pain,” Yassoud said. The crowd roared like a thousand-pound bomb. Giant pompons and flags, all midnight blue lined with neon green, waved in the air, making the 181,500-plus crowd seem a single, massive anemone.

The kick was good. The first play of the game found the Whitok Pioneers up 7–0.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, men,” Mitchell Fayed shouted as the offense gathered to take the field. “Let’s get that one back.”

Richfield returned the kick to the Krakens’ 30. The offense ran onto the field to the sound of concentrated boos. The pompons and banners vanished, like that same anemone pulling in its flowery tentacles at the first hint of danger.

As the players huddled up, Quentin took one quick look around the stadium. “Boy, they love us here, don’t they?”

“We won here two seasons ago,” said Yotaro Kobayasho, the tight end. “The crowd rioted. Twenty-seven beings died before they got it under control.”

“They take this stuff seriously,” said Tom Pareless, the fullback. “You’ve got to love it.”

“Okay boys, let’s take care of business,” Quentin said. He tapped his right ear-hole to activate the heads-up display inside his visor. Hokor had already specified the first twenty offensive plays. Quentin knew them by heart, having re-read the list at least a hundred times to make sure he knew every step of every player for each and every play (fifteen running plays and five short passing plays — not a bomb in the bunch). But he checked again, just to be sure. The first play: Y-set, belly right. He tapped the button and the list of plays disappeared from the visor.

“Y-set, belly right. On one, on one, ready…”

“Break!”

The Krakens moved to the line. The booing intensified. Pure hate distilled from 181, 500-plus.

He surveyed the defense. The Pioneers ‘D’ had given up 21 points a game — they won games with Adrienne’s arm. The middle linebacker, Kagan the Crazy, was a thickly built Quyth Warrior and the most dangerous player on the team. He loved to blitz, especially delayed blitzes, and already had three sacks in the first two games. The defensive line was nothing special, allowing an average of 168 yards on the ground — hence Hokor’s emphasis on running. Hokor wanted to control the ball and keep Adrienne off the field as much as possible. Quentin scanned the defensive backfield and recognized his opponents for the afternoon: Palatine, the right corner, Tumwater, the safety, Westland, the free safety and Belgrade, the left corner.

The stats and tendencies of all four defensive backs suddenly popped into his thoughts. Information seemed to flood into his brain as if from an outside pipeline. Belgrade had poor speed, she often gave up long passes over the top. Tumwater was playing with a hurt right tentacle, and in the last game she had avoided big hits. Palatine was a good right corner, but lacked the height and jumping ability to match premier receivers. Westland, a five-year vet, built much thicker than most Sklorno, was known for her devastating hits.

“Greeeeen, nineteen!” Quentin shouted, barely able to hear himself over the crowd. “Green, nineteen!”

Quentin turned to the right and handed off to Fayed. The Pioneers’ linebackers came quickly on a run-blitz, knocking Fayed backwards, stuffing the play at the line.

Quentin looked to the sidelines, but Hokor said nothing over the ear-speaker. Quentin tapped his heads-up display to double-check the next play: another run. He sighed and formed up the huddle.

AS THE FIRST QUARTER wore on, it became obvious that the Pioneers weren’t going to let Mitchell “The Machine” Fayed run wild. They run-blitzed, they stacked linebackers in the gaps. They didn’t use pass-coverage formations like the nickel package, even on third downs. The Krakens’ first two possessions were three-and-out. Quentin didn’t even throw his first pass until the end of the first quarter, a completion to Kobayasho for seven yards. The Pioneers clearly didn’t fear this rookie quarterback in his first start — they practically dared Hokor to beat them with the pass.

Adrienne struck again in the second quarter, hitting Westchester for a 52-yard strike. Quentin burned with jealousy at the Pioneer quarterback’s long TD passes. He knew he could match the performance, especially against the run-oriented Pioneers defense, but he wasn’t going to question Hokor anymore. He’d run the plays that were called.

He felt his pulse quicken when he took the field late in the second quarter and Hokor finally outlined a passing attack.

“Y-set, double-post,” Hokor said. “Test them downfield. If it’s not open, don’t throw, you got it?”