Scott Sigler - The Rookie

“It’s not my fault you’re in here, so don’t try and guilt me out,” Quentin said, although he was about as guilted-out as one could get. He should have known better than to leave Pine alone when Mopuk’s goons would be looking for revenge.

Pine nodded. “I know it’s not your fault, kid.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. “They messed you up pretty bad,” Quentin said finally.

Pine shrugged. “Not so bad, really. They didn’t want to mess up their investment. Notice they didn’t touch the right arm, and they didn’t touch the eyes. Hell, if rehab goes well, I’m back in the lineup in two weeks.”

Quentin looked up and down Pine’s body. The man had been in surgery and then in a hospital room for three hours. With the speed of modern medicine, the fact that he still looked so rough was a testament to the beating he’d taken. Mopuk’s men had probably cut on him for quite a while.

“Don’t think this guilt trip is going to go over on me,” Quentin said, mustering far more conviction than he felt. “I’m keeping the starting spot this time.”

Pine nodded slowly. “Maybe. Maybe, kid.” He looked away. “I guess I’ve messed things up pretty bad. If I don’t start… well… I guess I’m not much use to them anymore.”

Pine wasn’t begging for his starting spot, just talking out loud. Yet the sentence hit home to Quentin, even more than the injuries, even more than his own run-ins with Mopuk. Pine owed money. As long as he could throw games, he was an asset to Mopuk. If he wasn’t starting, if his career was on the way out, well, Mopuk would have to do something about the debt. Quentin had seen Stedmar Osborne deal with enough fixers and loan sharks back on Micovi to know what would happen. If Pine wasn’t playing ball, he was a good as dead.

“I’ll take care this,” Quentin said.

Pine looked hard at him for a few seconds. “Stay out of it. This ain’t your business. You did the right thing, taking me out of the game. We’re still in the playoff hunt, thanks to you. I brought this on myself. You get involved, you’re just going to get messed up.”

“I can’t let you go alone on this, Pine.”

The veteran laughed. “You can’t? Why not? You hate my guts. You’ve wanted me out of the picture since your first day with the team. Well, now you’ve got what you want, so just let it be. I don’t want to destroy two careers with my stupidity.”

“Can we go to Gredok?”

Pine looked away. “He’ll kill me faster than Mopuk would. Gredok finds out I threw his games, I’m dead. Hell, I guess it doesn’t matter, I’m dead one way or another.”

Quentin nodded once, then walked out of the room. Outside, Tweedy, Fayed and the linemen were waiting. They started to talk, but Quentin held up a hand, silencing them.

“Call a team meeting, immediately. Get everyone, especially Shayat. Tell Choto to clear out the Dead Fly, we’ll meet there. No coaches. Hokor and Gredok can not know.”

“What’s this about?” Fayed asked.

“Just trust me,” Quentin said.

“What about Virak?” Tweedy asked. “He’s one of Gredok’s bodyguards, totally loyal to him.”

“Get him, too. And tell him not to say a word to Gredok, that I’ll explain later. Tell him our playoff hopes hinge on his silence.”

QUENTIN WALKED into the Dead Fly bar. He saw a sea of familiar faces (or what passed for faces) looking back at him. There were no other patrons in the place, only Krakens.

“This better be good,” Virak said. “Gredok does not like secrecy.”

“He’s not going to find out,” Quentin said. “No one is going to tell him. No one is going to say a word about this… this stuff , to anyone. That’s the way it’s going to be. Got it?”

Quentin looked around the room. There was no sign of dissent. He’d called all these players together, and they’d come. They looked back at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Quentin realized that his on-field performance had elevated his status amongst his teammates. At this moment, he was their leader.

“Shayat,” Quentin said. “How much merchandise can you get your hands on?”

“I’ve already got my load,” Shayat said. “All I can carry.”

“I didn’t ask that. What if you had more carriers? Say, forty-three other carriers, how much could you get then?”

Shayat looked at Quentin, then around the room, his eye shifting to a translucent red of surprise. “A lot. Enough for everyone.”

“What is this?” Virak said. “You want us to smuggle drugs?”

Quentin nodded. “That’s right. All of you. As much as you can carry.”

A cacophony of shouting questions filled the room. Virak and Choto’s eyes turned deep blackish-green.

“Shut up! ” Quentin’s voice exploded in the small room, creating instant, stunned silence.

“Pine owes money,” Quentin said. “That’s why he was beat up, because he can’t pay. We’re his teammates. We’re going to pay off his debt. Everyone does it, no exceptions, and no one talks.”

The statement left a sea of stunned faces.

“This is serious,” Virak said. “Gredok ignores individual efforts. It’s one of the benefits of being a player. The amount is insignificant compared to what he ships on the team bus. But the whole team smuggling? That’s not something you ignore, Quentin. That’s not being enterprising, that’s being competition. Gredok doesn’t like competition.”

“We don’t do it, Pine’s a dead man,” Quentin said.

“That’s no reason to lie to Gredok,” Virak said. “He is our Shamakath. ”

“He’s your Shamakath,” Quentin said. “Donald Pine is the Shamakath for the rest of us. He’s the team leader. So you’ve got to make a choice.”

Virak’s eye swirled from blackish-green to purple, a visible mark of his confusion.

“Virak,” Quentin said, “do you want to be a bodyguard or a Tier One football player?”

Virak said nothing. Quentin continued. “Without Pine, our chances of making the playoffs are pretty dim. Even if we don’t make it, it doesn’t matter, he’s our teammate and we’re going to help him. We either do this, all of us, together, or Donald Pine is dead. We can’t go to Gredok, you all just have to trust me on this. Now, does anyone want to back out?” He asked the question, but his eyes and demeanor clearly said that no one would be allowed to back out.

And no one did. Except Rick Warburg.

“Forget this,” Warburg said. “I’m not putting my career on the line for Pine.”

Quentin glared at him. “Yes you are, Warburg. You’re in.”

“No way. I’m not going through this for a blue-boy , and neither should you. It’s a sin to help Satan’s children.”

“He’s not a blue-boy , you idiot. He’s your teammate.”

“I collect a paycheck. I don’t have teammates , not from other races. I thought you were my teammate, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “I guess you were.”

Warburg stared at him for a few seconds, then walked out of the bar, head held high.

“Anyone else?”

None of the other players said a word. Maybe it was their love for Pine. Maybe it was Quentin’s will. Maybe it was both.

“Good,” Quentin said. “We’ve got three hours before the Touchback leaves. Shayat, make it happen.

QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS