Scott Sigler - The Rookie

“Hakat, Jokot,” he said to the guards on either side. “See these football players out. But know this, Quentin — your deal lasts only as long as you keep winning. If you don’t make Tier One, you and I will settle up.”

Quentin winked. “We’re going to the top, boss. You can bank on it.”

If only he felt as confident as he sounded.

ALONE, GREDOK SAT in the Bootlegger Arms for several minutes. He contemplated the scenario, unlike any he’d been through in a long, long time. Gredok had controlled countless sentients over the years, everything from Ki to Sklorno to Leekee, even a Dolphin or two. And hundreds of Quyth Leaders, the most intelligent, controlling beings in the known universe. And, of course, Humans. Many Humans.

Humans were often the easiest to control, because they were so poorly trained at hiding their emotions. Quyth Leaders had the obvious “tell,” their ever-shifting eye color. But Quyth Leaders aspiring for power quickly learned how to repress those color changes, or even consciously manipulate them. Those who didn’t, well, they didn’t last long. Human “tells,” however, were much more difficult to control — body heat, heart rate, pupil dilation, alpha waves, respiration. A trained Quyth Leader could read all of these tells.

Knowing your opponent’s true intentions, that was the game. Knowing what was important to them, knowing what they could and couldn’t live without. Knowing when they were lying.

Quentin Barnes had not been lying.

The young Human had been willing to walk away from the Krakens, from the GFL. To protect a Quyth Warrior he barely knew. To protect a man that had thrown games, a man that had betrayed the team, the entire sport. And nothing was more important to Quentin than the sport of football. That fact was obvious in every tell. With Pine out of the way, Quentin became the permanent starting quarterback, the thing he claimed he’d wanted all his life. But he’d put all that on the line until he got his way. What could compel a Human to do something that was so contrary to his own best interests?

The answer seemed obvious — loyalty. Quentin Barnes was loyal to a fault, loyal to the point he’d throw his own future away to protect a friend. In Gredok’s world, loyalty often went to the highest bidder, or at least to the Shamakath that provided the most opportunities for advancement and wealth and power.

Gredok looked at the shriveled shape of Mopuk, drained of fluid. His fur lay in ugly clumps at the bottom of the glass table. Fat shushuliks , newly bloated with Mopuk’s blood, moved lazily through the piles of fur. Mopuk had claimed to be loyal. That brand of loyalty, the brand with which Gredok was most familiar, lasted only until the next potential payday. Quentin’s loyalty, well, that was another story.

That kind of loyalty Gredok could put to good use. If the Krakens could win two more games, if they could reach the elite ranks of Tier One, Gredok would find a way to use that loyalty indeed.

THE TOUCHBACK SHUDDERED out of punch-space. Quentin let out his long-held breath in a slow, steady exhale. He’d made it yet again. The anxiety was the same, but this time he wasn’t hiding in his room. He stood on the viewing deck, next to Virak the Mean.

“Flying scares you?” Virak asked calmly.

“It’s not the flight,” Quentin said. “It’s the punch-out.”

He looked at the view screens, amazed at the sight of the Quyth homeworld. They’d arrived on the nighttime side, yet there wasn’t one dark patch to be seen. Every last square mile seemed covered with the soft glow of civilization.

“High One,” Quentin said. “Is the whole thing covered?”

“There is no more open land,” Virak said. “Nor much open water.”

“Seventy-two billion,” Quentin said in amazement. The population of Quyth seemed so staggering he had to say it out loud to appreciate it.

“Now you understand why we expand. We either find new worlds or stop breeding, and that is not an option.”

They said nothing more, simply stared at the overpopulated planet. The Purist Nation planets were relatively unpopulated. Earth, however, was at 18 billion and counting. He wondered how long it would be until the Earth, like the Quyth homeworld, was just one big city without boundaries or borders.

PINE DRESSED for the game, but had about as much a chance of seeing field time as the Purist Nation had of winning the Intergalactic Sentient Peace Award for good deeds done to other species. The team still didn’t know, save for Virak and Quentin.

But Hokor knew.

Gredok had obviously informed his workaholic coach that Donald Pine, two-time Galaxy Bowl Champion, one-time League MVP and erstwhile savior of the Ionath Krakens franchise had been taking Hokor’s detailed game plans and basically using them to wipe his butt. Pine had gone from starter to the doghouse faster than a ship moving in punch drive.

At least thus far, Hokor hadn’t told anyone else. Too many beings now knew. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the team discovered Pine’s horrible secret. And when it came out, Pine’s presence would be most unwelcome in the Krakens’ locker room.

But Quentin didn’t have time to worry about that right now. It wasn’t his problem anymore. He had a whole new set of problems. Forty-four of them, to be precise, each one wearing the metallic silver uniforms of the Quyth Survivors.

A losing team my rear end , Quentin thought. The only thing that matters is how they match up against us, and they match up very well indeed. The Survivors weren’t a losing team, they were an enemy, an obstacle standing between him and his dream. No, far more importantly, they were standing between his team and his team’s dream. There wouldn’t be any interceptions today, just completions, just a calm, methodical march down the field and a strangulating game of ball control and field position. He wasn’t going to give the Survivors any chances to get into this game and get a very erroneous thought in their brains that they had any right to be on the same field with the Ionath Krakens.

Ball control , Quentin thought. Ball control, patience, field-position.

THE PLANTS LOOKED just like Carsengi Grass, but the blades blazed a fluorescent orange. Black lines and numbers popped off the field in stark contrast.

First offensive play of the game. Krakens’ ball, first-and-10 from their own 33.

Is that what I think it is? Are those idiots in woman-to-woman when I’ve got three burners on the field ?

Ba-da-bap went his hands on the center’s carapace.

Forget ball control, let’s go downtown.

“Flash, flash!” Quentin shouted.

Heads and eyestalks turned to look at him, waiting for the audible. He was changing the play at the line.

“Blue twenty-two!” he shouted down the left side of the line. Hawick had been lined up three feet to the left of Rick Warburg. Hawick jogged another ten yards to the left, almost to the sideline, her defender following. She stopped, stood, and waited for the snap.

“Bluuuee, twenty two!” he shouted down the right side of the line. Scarborough and Mezquitic stood at five and seven yards, respectively, away from the right tackle Vu-Ko-Will, Mezquitic on the line of scrimmage, Scarborough one step back from it. With the audible, Mezquitic took one step forward, while Scarborough took a step back, then went in motion to the sidelines, a slow jog that took her fifteen yards out.

“Blue, twenty-two!” Quentin shouted behind him. Tom Pareless and Mitchell Fayed had been in an I-formation, Tom in a three-point stance, Fayed two yards behind him, hands on his knees, head up high. They quickly adjusted so that they stood side-by-side in a pro-set.