The Champion (27 page)

“Listen, Zak,” Quentin said quietly, “if this is about what happened in the playoffs, then—”

“What
else
would it be about?” The two men stood face-to-face, the seven-foot-tall Quentin towering over the six-four Yitzhak, both of them talking so quietly no one else in the locker room could hear.

“You got something to say, Zak?”

The backup nodded. “Your fictitious High One didn’t just make you the best quarterback in the league. He also apparently made you the coach. He made you the owner, the commissioner ... High One made you
High One
, did he?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, well, I must have been dreaming,” Yitzhak said. “Because I could have sworn that I had a chance to help my team win the Galaxy Bowl. I busted my ass my whole life, worked as hard as I could even though I didn’t see much playing time, all to be ready when the team needed me, and when that time came, you decided to put
your girlfriend
in the game instead of me.”

“Come on, Zak. Becca wasn’t my girlfriend then.”

An unhealthy smile slowly broke across Yitzhak’s face.

“But she’s your girlfriend
now
, isn’t she?”

Quentin felt uncomfortable. He wondered if other players were watching the exchange, but he wasn’t going to break the stare-down.

“It wasn’t about
you
,” Quentin said. “It was about winning that game. You’re a good quarterback, but she gave us the best chance at the time. I’m not going to apologize for it. We can talk about this, Zak. You and I can work this out.”

“You had the off-season to talk to me. Seven
months
of it and you didn’t bother.”

Seven months
. Zak was right — Quentin hadn’t reached out during all that time. Neither had Zak, but that wasn’t the way things worked: Quentin was the team leader, and he had made the call to go with Becca instead of Zak. If Zak had reached out first, that would have been a whiny
why didn’t you put me in I feel bad so make me feel better
kind of groveling. No, Quentin should have started that conversation, yet he’d failed to do that.

Could he tell Zak about Jeanine’s kidnapping and all they had gone through? But even if he did, that whole thing had been resolved in the first couple of weeks following the Galaxy Bowl. That left six months plus where Quentin could have done the right thing — but he’d been too busy hanging out with Becca.

“Zak, you’re right. I’m sorry, man.”

Yitzhak sneered. “I look like a fool in front of the entire galaxy and you’re
sorry
. Save your sympathy,
High One
, because I don’t want to hear it. I’ll do my job this season. You do yours. Other than that, just stay the hell out of my way.”

The backup walked to his locker.

Quentin felt awful. He would just have to find a way to make things right. But that would have to wait, because the season was about to begin.

“Let’s get out there, guys,” he said. “Time to start our title defense.”

The Human players gave a few quick hoots and hollers. Quentin left the locker room and headed to the field.

THE GRAND VISAGE OF IONATH STADIUM.
Twenty-two pillars rose up from the top edge of the empty upper decks, each pillar draped with a long hanging banner representing one of the GFL’s Tier One teams.

Quentin stood at the mouth of the tunnel, staring out at this football cathedral. The pillars carried the familiar logos of the GFL’s dominant, enduring franchises: the To Pirates, the Jupiter Jacks, the Yall Criminals.

And there were banners that hadn’t been there when Quentin had first led the Krakens to Tier One: the black and metalflake-red of the OS1 Orbiting Death; the red, white and blue of the Texas Earthlings; the black and emerald green of the Buddha City Elite; the green and gray of the Sheb Stalkers.

He could add two more teams to that list. A shimmering iridescent banner represented the D’Oni Coelacanths, champs of the Whitok Conference. D’Oni was a city on New Whitok, also the home planet of the D’Kow War Dogs. The other team to join the T1 ranks, the McMurdo Murderers, had the strangest logo of any team in the GFL: a pink banner showing a white cartoon bunny with a pink belly, smiling an evil smile and holding a butcher’s knife behind its back. McMurdo was on Earth, football’s mother planet.

The Coelacanths and the Murderers: two more teams for the meat grinder, two more squads packed with players that would scrap and claw, that would fight all season long. Some of those players might die. The survivors would hit and be hit, hurt and be hurt, would bear the burden of lifelong pain as they chased the ultimate goal of a GFL title.

New teams, old teams ... Quentin didn’t care about them. Only one banner mattered; it was black, orange and white. On it, the six-tentacled logo of the Ionath Krakens. Champs now, and champs they would remain when the upcoming season ended.

But if Petra’s wasps come, will any of this be left?

Quentin shook away the thought. That wasn’t his business. He was a football player, not a soldier, not an admiral and not a politician. He had one job: lead his team to a second straight title.

“Hey, Q. Ready to begin?”

He turned, saw a smiling Becca standing at his side. They had agreed there would be no public displays of affection,
especially
not on the field or in front of their teammates. But Becca didn’t have to touch him to show how she felt — her eyes told the story.

His woman, here, ready to fight, ready to
work
. Becca was no delicate flower, and Quentin wouldn’t want her if she were. Becca was a warrior on a team full of warriors.

He was. He was at the top of his game, at the pinnacle of his sport. His dream had come true — now it was time for a new dream.

Two-time Galaxy Bowl champion
.

That had a nice ring to it.

The rest of the Krakens started coming out of the tunnel. Quentin jogged to midfield, Becca Montagne at his side.

“HELLO, MISS MONTAGNE,”
the HeavyG man said. “How are you this afternoon?”

“Uh ...” Becca said. “I ... uh ...”

Quentin remembered his own first visit to Danny Lundy’s office. The woman sitting behind that same desk had quite possibly been the best-looking Human he’d ever laid eyes on, so drop-dead hot she had made Somalia look like a street bum. Now, for Becca’s visit, Danny had a stylishly dressed HeavyG man that could have been a movie star, or a model, or probably both. Quentin had to wonder if that woman had been placed there just for his benefit and if this HeavyG man had been placed here for Becca. If so, where did Danny find such good-looking people?

The HeavyG man smiled his perfect smile.

Becca stared, mouth open.

Quentin nudged her.

“Oh,” Becca said. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“And Mister Barnes,” the man said, “we’re so glad to see you here again.”

Quentin nodded.

The receptionist gestured to the waiting room’s chairs. “Mister Lundy is on a call,” he said. “Would you both mind waiting? He won’t be but a moment.”

He nodded. “I’m ready.”

Quentin started toward the chairs, realized that Becca was still looking at the receptionist, then gently pulled her arm. She blinked rapidly, shook her head and came along.

“Wow, Becca, stare much?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Of course not,” Quentin said. “Not even a little.”

She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Okay, I don’t
normally
stare,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone
that
good-looking in person before. It’s weird.”

They walked to the chairs, passing by the holos of Danny’s clients that lined the walls. Stars like John Tweedy, the sled-racer Fas Arenald, Dinolition star Poughkeepsie Pete, Yitzhak Goldman, Vu-Ko-Will and — of course — Quentin Barnes.

“Nice,” Becca said as they sat. She nudged Quentin. “Look at you, all fancy with your fancy-pants holo. You look all
heroic
, don’t ya know.”

He hated being highlighted, being shown in a non-team light, and she knew it. She was teasing him, but she should have looked all around the office before she did. He nudged her with his shoulder and pointed to his left.

“I think you missed one,” he said.

Becca looked, then said nothing. She stared at a holo of herself, all geared up in the Orange and the Black, knocking a Jupiter Jacks Quyth Warrior on his ass.

Quentin nudged her again. “Now
that
looks heroic. I might even say
legendary
.”

She laughed, embarrassed, and punched his arm playfully. It still hurt, though — the girl bench-pressed around 380.

“Shut up,” she said. “It’s only funny when
you’re
embarrassed, don’t ya know.”

“My bad, I’ll try to remember that.”

Sitting there with Becca, Quentin was reminded of when he had sat in these very seats with Yitzhak. Pine had shown Quentin what needed to be done on the field, but off of it, it was Yitzhak who showed Quentin the ropes. The man had helped Quentin see the bigger picture, that getting angry over every little thing stopped you from being happy at the big things.

And you repay him by embarrassing him in front of billions, and not bothering once to see how he handled that
.

But that meeting, in this very office two seasons ago ... what was it Zak had said to him?
You given any thought to what you’ll do after football?

It had seemed like a stupid question at the time. What was there besides football? Nothing. Other than finding his family, Quentin hadn’t wanted anything
but
football. So much had changed since then, and Quentin had a bigger perspective on his life, on his place in the universe — enough to now realize that Yitzhak wasn’t talking about Quentin hanging up the cleats and then getting a job or starting a business.

The backup quarterback had been talking about something else altogether. Quentin still wasn’t sure what, but Zak’s question had carried a sense of importance, something larger than Quentin, larger than the Krakens, larger than anything. Quentin didn’t know what that was, and probably wouldn’t, because Zak sure wasn’t interested in talking to him about anything — ironically — other than football.

“Hey, Q,” Becca said. “Anyone home?”

He forced a smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Becca nodded toward the holo of Yitzhak. “About him?”

How did she always seem to know what was on his mind?

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the first day of practice.”

Becca shrugged. “That’s on him, not you. You run the offense. You made a call. We’re in the business of winning, not in the business of making people feel good about themselves.”

Would she have felt the same way if he’d sent her to the sidelines and brought in Kopor the Climber to play fullback? If that had happened in a game with the highest of stakes, without warning, and in front of a watching galaxy and a packed stadium? Probably not. It was easy for her to support his decision: she been the one he’d chosen.

Quentin silently wished for the imaginary Yitzhak to shut the hell up.

“Miss Montagne?” the HeavyG model/receptionist said. “Mister Lundy will see you now. Go right in.”

The circular wall to the left of his desk rose up. The holo of Fas Arenald and one of golfer Declan Murphy faded out, revealing a meeting room.

Out strode a gleaming rainbow-colored Dolphin, his body resting in a mechanical chassis supported by four silvery legs. Jewels studded his dorsal and tail fins as well as the metal cable that ran from the chassis up to an input jack just behind his blowhole.

“Becca
the Wrecka
Montagne! Welcome!”

Danny Lundy spoke in squeaks and chitters that his chassis instantly transformed into a voice one would expect from a fast-talking super agent. Danny strode forward and offered the smooth hands of one of his two streamlined mechanical arms.

A smiling Becca shook the offered hand. “Hello, Mister Lundy.”

“A pleasure to meet you, buddy,” he said. “I can’t begin to say how excited I am about this meeting.”

“Thank you, sir,” Becca said. “Quentin has told me a lot about you.”

“All lies, I’m sure,” the Dolphin said. “I’m much nicer than sentients let on, pal. And call me
Danny
. Come on, let’s talk about getting you the representation an athlete of your caliber deserves. An All-Pro with your contract, guy? It’s a shame, a crime, a travesty. If you sign with me, Gredok will fear you more than he fears someone with
really
big feet. Ha! But I’m not saying Gredok is a shrimp, because that would be an insult to one of my favorite foods, buddy. Follow me.”

Danny walked into the meeting room and sat behind a long glass table.

Becca looked at Quentin. She mostly suppressed a laugh of amazement.

“Wow,” she said quietly. “Is he always this intense?”

Quentin shook his head. “Not always. You should see him when he gets really fired up. And a little advice — if he pulls out a fish at any point, just duck.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Quentin said. “Let’s just hear what he has to say.”

SHE’S YOUR GIRLFRIEND NOW,
isn’t she, Quentin
?

The end of the first week of preseason brought with it one of Quentin’s least favorite things: the dreaded
Media Day
.

In his rookie season, he’d been a train wreck, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, letting reporters lead him by the nose into comments that would create controversy and help get them page views. But since then, he’d become skilled at managing the press.

“No, Jonathan, we are not a
lock
— your word, not mine — to repeat as champs,” Quentin said, answering a question from reporter Jonathan Sandoval. “And we’re not thinking of anything right now but our opening game against Isis.” Quentin flashed a practiced grin. “But I appreciate your confidence in us, and I’ll send you a Krakens hat so you look like the overly optimistic fan that you clearly are.”