Scott Sigler - The Rookie

Scarborough leapt into the air, the safety a good three feet behind her. At the 12-yard line, 81 yards from where he’d released it, the ball landed in Scarborough’s tentacles. Her feet touched down at the 7-yard line, and she strolled into the end zone standing up.

Krakens 25, Demolition 21.

Quentin stumbled off the field, his mind still fuzzy from the devastating hit he’d taken just after releasing the ball. Morningstar added the extra point to put the Krakens up by five. The hit had also opened up the cut on the back of Quentin’s hand, although most of the rest of the gash remained sutured shut. From there on, things were a bit of a blur. Someone guided him to a medsled and sat him on the back edge. The medsled moved down the sidelines and into the tunnel. The crowed seemed a massive blur of colors and shapes and sounds. The medsled cruised into the visitor’s locker room — Quentin had an impression of someone (or something) helping him off the sled before his legs gave out, and everything went black.

With a thrilling 28–24 win over the Glory Warpigs(3–1), the Whitok Pioneers(4–0) took sole possession of first place in the Quyth Irradiated Conference.

Rookie QB Quentin Barnes kept the Ionath Krakens(2–2) in the playoff hunt with an 83-yard TD pass to Scarborough, giving the Krakens a 25–21 win over the win-less Sky Demolition(0–4).

The Grontak Hydras(2–2) edged out a 35–31 win over the Bigg Diggers(1–3).

Orbiting Death(3–1) is only one game out of first thanks to a 28-7 drubbing of the Quyth Survivors(1–3).

The Sheb Stalkers(3–1) shutout the Woo Wallcrawlers(1–3) 17-0.

DEATHS:

No deaths to report this week.

Offense: Condor Adrienne,quarterback, Whitok Pioneers. 31-of-42, 334 yards, three TDs, no INTs.

Defense: Arkham,cornerback, Bigg Diggers. Six tackles, one sack, three interceptions, including one returned for a TD, her second of the year.

GAME FIVE: Sheb Stalkers (3–1) at Ionath Krakens (2–2)

QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS

QUENTIN WALKED SLOWLY from his locker to the central meeting room and to Hokor’s office. Two days of rest hadn’t completely removed the pulsing, dull-nova ache that lived inside his skull. “Concussion-proof helmets.” Right.

He’d notched his first GFL win as a starter, but he’d paid a price. The concussion had him puking his guts out the rest of the night, and well into the next day, even though there was nothing left to puke. And with each stomach-clenching burst, his breath locked up and his muscles tightened — when he finally breathed and the muscles relaxed, the sudden rush of blood to his brain elevated his omnipresent headache to new levels.

While his teammates celebrated the win, Quentin spent the rest of that night in bed, which was where he spent the next day, and most of the day after that. He tried to get up and run through VR practice, but Hokor himself came to his room and told him to stay put, on Doc’s orders.

Now, two days later, he didn’t feel one ounce better. But pain or no pain, he wasn’t going to miss one single rep of actual practice. He wasn’t going to let his teammates down, not when this week’s game put them up against the 3–1 Sheb Stalkers.

Quentin walked through the door to Hokor’s office.

“You wanted to see — ” he ended his sentence when he saw Pine in the room, fully dressed for practice.

“Come in, Barnes,” Hokor said. “Shut the door.”

Quentin did as he was told, a double-sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Double-sick : once because he couldn’t stand to look at Pine the Tanker, and once because he instantly knew the reason for this closed-door meeting.

“Barnes, you did an amazing job last week,” Hokor said. “You put us back on the board. If we can beat the Sheb Stalkers this week, we’re 3–2 and back in the running.”

Quentin nodded slightly.

“You’ve generated a lot of respect,” Hokor continued. “The team is now confident in your abilities. There’s a new feeling in the locker room, that we have a guy who can come off the bench and play big-time ball.

“Come off the bench ,” Quentin said quietly.

“The bench,” Hokor echoed. “Pine is our starter, and he’s healthy.”

Quentin breathed deeply through his nose. That tanker was starting again.

“I just wanted to let you know in person,” Hokor said. “I know your goal is to start, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re the future of this franchise, but right now it’s Pine’s team. You understand?”

Just run the plays that are called. The throbbing in his head suddenly kicked up a few notches.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I understand. Can I go now?”

Hokor nodded. Quentin turned. He meant to just tap the door-open button, but his fist hit it so hard the red plastic plate cracked. The door hissed open, and Quentin walked out into the meeting room.

Forget this team. They can all go straight to hell.

Quentin stormed out of the locker room and through the tunnel. He had just about reached the field when a hand grabbed his shoulder and gently stopped him. Quentin turned violently, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, and looked into the surprised eyes of Donald Pine.

“Hey, kid, take it easy,” Pine said with a smile. “Try to relax a little.”

“Screw you ,” Quentin said, pushing Pine’s chest to emphasize the last word.

Pine stumbled back a step. His tone changed and his smile faded away. “Why don’t you just simmer down. I know you’re pissed, I would be too, but you’ve got to play your role on this team.”

“And what’s my role? Just what, exactly, is my role ? Sit on the bench?”

“If you have to, yes!” Pine’s expression had faded from smile to blankness, now it twisted into a mask of frustrated anger. “Sit on the damn bench, Quentin, and pay your dues. I know you think you’re hot stuff, but I’ve about had it with your attitude that you’re better than me. I’ve tried to help you, you stubborn moron, but you better pull your head out.”

“Oh is that right?”

“ Yeah , that’s right!” Pine’s voice dropped to a whispered shout. “You’re going to be great, but right now you’re not as good as me ! Just relax and learn the system ‘til your time comes.”