Scott Sigler - The Rookie

Quentin sat for a second, considering his words. Hokor started staring at the wall again.

“There is one answer,” Quentin said.

Hokor turned to look at him once again.

“Which is?”

“I’ll play tailback.”

Hokor kept staring.

“I’ve got the size and the speed,” Quentin said. “I know the offense inside and out.”

Hokor nodded. “Except for the small detail of who will play quarterback. You think Yitzhak can handle the Earthlings’ defensive backs?”

“I’m not talking about Yitzhak,” Quentin said.

Hokor looked blank for another second, then his eye flooded a deep black.

“Absolutely not! I will not have that betrayer run my team ever again.”

Quentin leaned forward. “It’s our only chance, Coach! You’ve got to let him back in.”

“No! I’d rather lose than see him on the field again.”

“Would you?” Quentin said. “Would you really rather lose than have him at quarterback. Because I’d rather do anything than lose! It doesn’t matter what he did, Coach, all that matters is that we give ourselves the best possible chance to win tomorrow.”

Hokor sat silent for a moment. “We won’t even get a chance to practice.”

“Who cares? It’s Donald Pine! You remember him? The guy who won two Galaxy Bowls? It’s not like he dropped off into retard-land in the one week he’s been gone. Get him in here.”

Hokor stared, his eye slowly fading from deep black to clear. “You would do this? You would give up the quarterback spot in the biggest game of the year? That’s not like you, Barnes.”

Quentin shrugged. “It’s like me now, Coach. I want to win. I want to play Tier One ball.”

“Do you know what you’re doing? Do you understand the level of punishment a tailback takes in a game?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to reach Tier One.”

Hokor said nothing. They stared at each other for a long minute, the seconds ticking away on some unseen, slow-motion clock. Finally, Hokor pressed a button on his desk. Messal the Efficient appeared as if he’d been standing just outside the door the entire time.

“How may I help you, Shamakath ?”

“Find Donald Pine. Get him in here, immediately.”

DAN:Thanks, caller, great point about the reliability of Arioch Morningstar. You know, Akbar, in all the commotion over Fayed’s death, we’ve kind of overlooked the quality performances from some of the Krakens players. That and with the quarterback controversy.

AKBAR:Well, luckily the quarterback controversy is over.

DAN:It is?

AKBAR:Of course it is.

DAN:Okay, then who won it?

AKBAR:Barnes, for crying out loud.

TARAT:Barnes is starting against the Earthlings.

DAN:And that means the controversy is over?

TARAT:You saw him last week, Barnes was sensational.

DAN:Sure, against the Quyth Survivors. My mother-in-law could pass on the Quyth Survivors.

AKBAR:Come on, Dan, just admit it — Barnes is the man.

DAN:Are you insane? Are you completely brain-damaged? The kid couldn’t cut it against the Warpigs, Pine had to come in and bail him out.

AKBAR:So he had one bad game…

DAN:He throws interceptions! He’s the friggin’ King of Interception-Land! And now you think he’s the man?

AKBAR:But Pine’s not even practicing with the team.

DAN:That’s just a rumor.

TARAT:My sources say it’s true, he’s not practicing at all.

DAN:Then it’s a head-game, don’t you morons see that? Hokor is up to his old tricks again.

AKBAR:So what are you saying, Pine should start?

DAN:Damn right!

AKBAR:So he can choke again, like he has the last two years?

TARAT:He does seem to blow big games.

DAN:It’s the playoffs! You know, where teams play other teams that are pretty damn good?

AKBAR:Oh come on, Dan! Pine couldn’t finish a hot dog without choking on it.

DAN:He won two Galaxy Bowls!

TARAT:Oh not that again…

DAN:Screw you, Tarat! And screw you, Akbar! Next caller, dammit, next caller!

The Krakens gathered in the dimly-lit tunnel of Hudson Field. The 250,000 fans crowded into the stadium stamped their feet in unison, boom-boom … boom-boom … boom-boom … The walls and floor vibrated from the bloodthirsty beast’s stomping.

Quentin felt nearly mad with the hunger of battle. He was stepping into it this time, taking hand-to-hand combat into the field instead of sitting behind his wall of Ki linemen. The Earthlings would be coming after him relentlessly, literally trying to knock him out of the game. Cheap shots would abound. He knew damn well he was in for the beating of his life. But he was going to give as good as he got.

[INTRODUCING THE CHAMPIONS OF THE HUMAN CONFERENCE, PLEASE WELCOME THE TEXAAAAAAASSSSSS EARTHLINNNNNGS!]

The crowd’s choreographed stomping evaporated, replaced by the nova-like roar of mostly Human fans. It was a hostile environment — broadcasters had estimated 200,000 of the fans were Texas Earthlings supporters, another 20,000 were Krakens faithful, and the remaining 30,000 were mostly fans from other teams in the Human Conference. All that added up to a nice home game for the Earthlings.

The Krakens swayed back and forth, one organism, one collective brain set on grabbing the prey and tearing it to shreds, tearing it apart with tooth and claw and tentacle and rasper and bare hands. Society slipped away to some abstract concept — for now there was only the battle, there was only the intense, primitive pleasure of destroying another sentient being.

High One help those who stood in the Krakens’ way.

[AND NOW, THE CHAMPIONS OF THE QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE, THE IONAAAAAAAATH KRAAAAAAAAAAAAKEEEEEEEEEEENS!]

Quentin waited for Pine to call out to the team, to rally them into one cohesive, violent machine ready to crush and to punish and, if need be, to kill.

But instead of his trademark leader’s voice, Pine said only one soft sentence.

“Quentin, it’s your team now, lead us out.”

Forty-three sets of eyes turned to look at Quentin, who wore a warm-up jacket over his uniform. Pine’s words filled Quentin with raw emotion. It was his team now, now and forever, Pine had passed the torch in full view of his teammates.

He wasn’t a rookie anymore. He was the battle-hardened leader of this team, the general who led his soldiers into war. He’d fought and bled with these beings, won and lost with these beings, felt ultimate joy and faced the ultimate sadness. Somewhere during the season, and he didn’t know where, Quentin Barnes had become a man.

The team waited for Quentin to speak. He quickly looked from player to player, taking the time to measure up each Krakens’ emotions. They were all ready to go.

Instead of talking, he slipped off his warm-up jacket to show his orange jersey. Underneath, instead of his number 10, the black numbers with orange trim read “47.”

Fayed’s jersey.

“Screw the Earthlings,” Quentin said.