The Champion (33 page)

Quentin and the Krakens gathered in the
Touchback’s
shuttle bay. Just as with the arrival of rookies from the
Combine
, the retirement ceremony took place on the
Touchback
— no media, no fans, just the players, the coach and the owner.

Free agent Dimitrovgrad had surprised everyone by making the final cut. The Sklorno strong safety from the Tier Three Barca Baccalaureates had been placed on the practice squad.

At fullback, Nancy Wolf easily beat out Pete Marval and was even threatening Kopor the Climber for second-string. Pete had joined the Krakens just last year, had seen limited action in his rookie season, and now he was gone. A hard call, but at least he’d seen playing time during last year’s title game and had a Galaxy Bowl ring to show for it. Quentin was confident Pete would catch on with a Tier Two team — the twenty-four-year-old would never be a star, but his football career was far from over.

Josh Athanas was everything Quentin had hoped he could be. The young HeavyG would backup Bud-O-Shwek this year, and possibly next, as Hokor groomed him to be the Krakens future starting center.

New rookies meant new blood, and meant some of the old guard had reached the end of the line. Gan-Ta-Kapil’s and Richfield’s careers were over. Instead of reaching out to other organizations, they chose to go out on top as Galaxy Bowl champions. Wearing the white jerseys given only to those who retired as Krakens, Gan-Ta and Richfield stood by the lowered shuttle door ramp.

Gredok, Coach Hokor and Virak the Mean stood nearby. Gredok walked up to Gan-Ta for a few private words. Standing before a quarter-ton Ki lineman, the Leader looked more like a well-groomed pet than the team owner.

Gredok turned to face the rest of the team.

“It is with a heavy soul I speak to you today,” he said. “We have two players who spent their entire careers with the Krakens. Gan-Ta-Kapil played twenty-three seasons in the Orange and the Black. He was here when I took over the team in 2664. He became the starting center in Ionath’s second season as a franchise. Gan-Ta is a walking monument to the history of modern professional football.”

Quentin glanced at Bud-O, who years ago had taken the starting spot from Gan-Ta. The timeless Bud-O was entering his twenty-ninth season of pro football. With Gan-Ta gone, the next closest in experience behind Bud-O was left guard Sho-Do-Thikit, entering his nineteenth campaign. Even for the Ki, the specter of age was always lurking, waiting to take you out of the game forever.

Gredok continued.

“Gan-Ta played in the
anything goes
days of the league’s early years. Many of you weren’t even born when he first suited up for Ionath. The exorbitant salaries, the luxurious team bus, the media attention ... none of that existed back then. In Gan-Ta’s first three seasons, the pay was so low he also had to work a full-time job. He played for the love of the game and nothing else.”

Gredok moved to Richfield. He reached out a pedipalp hand, lightly touched the black-trimmed orange 88 on Richfield’s jersey.

“I remember it well,” the Leader said. “It was fourteen seasons ago. At the Tier Three tournament, I saw a young wide receiver playing for the Wapashana Skyjackers.”

Purple — the color of sadness — swirled in Gredok’s eye. Quentin didn’t know if the emotion was genuine or an act, but that didn’t really matter, because it hit the team hard: he heard the sniffles of grown men trying to choke back tears.

“I signed her on the spot,” Gredok said. “She was with us for all that time, never going to another team. For a Sklorno to play fourteen seasons in our league is a testament to her skill, hard work and toughness. She will be missed.”

Richfield started to shake. The praise was too much for her, perhaps.

Gredok walked up the shuttle ramp, stopped at the top.

“Krakens, as you board, make sure you give Gan-Ta and Richfield your respect,” the leader said. “They have mine, and all of you know how hard that is to earn.”

Gredok entered the shuttle. Hokor and Virak went in with him.

As if on cue, Shizzle — the team’s Creterakian translator — flew out of the shuttle and landed on Gan-Ta’s upper right shoulder. For once, Shizzle had left his hideous clothing behind; a plain black outfit covered his tadpole-like body.

As team leader, Quentin was expected to be the first to bid farewell. He walked to Richfield. Her coarse black hair had a reddish tint to it unique among the team’s Sklorno players. For the first time, though, Quentin noticed that the transparent skin on her eyestalks looked a little cracked, a little scaly. Denver’s eyestalks didn’t look like that. Neither did Milford’s or Halawa’s. He realized that was because those three receivers were
young
, just ten or eleven years old, while Richfield was twenty-two — well into middle age for the Sklorno.

“Sorry to see you go,” Quentin said. “It’s been great to play football with you.”

Her little head bobbed up and down, making her coarse black hair move in time.

“
Quentinbarnesquentinbarnes
,” the receiver said. “No longer will I catch your holy blessings!”

He shook his head. “No longer, Richfield. I’m honored to have been your teammate. I hope you have a great life.”

“Oh, yes! I am to travel to Earth, Quentinbarnes! The CoQB has invited me to preach your holy word on the planet of your species!”

She was going to be a preacher? A preacher for his “church”? All he wanted to do was play football, yet he couldn’t escape this
religion
even when saying goodbye to retiring teammates.

“Good luck with that,” he said.

“Thank you, Godlingquentinbarnes. I will not be there long, you will see, I have
magic
to help me.”

He had no idea what that meant, nor did he care to find out. He smiled awkwardly at her, then stood in front of Gan-Ta-Kapil.

The Ki was just an inch shy of twelve feet long: six feet on the ground, supported by multi-jointed legs, six feet rising up and ending in the Ki’s head.

Quentin looked into the emotionless black eyes.

“I don’t know what to say. Not sure I’ve got any words of wisdom for a player that’s been with the Krakens longer than I’ve been
alive
.”

Shizzle translated, although Quentin suspected Gan-Ta understood English well enough.

The Ki grunted a string of syllables. Before Quentin could try and process the sentence, Shizzle spoke.

“The introspective and highly comical Gan-Ta-Kapil said,
thank you for the glory
, and
take care of his team
.”

Quentin gripped Gan-Ta’s left shoulder, then walked into the shuttle.

Becca still wasn’t talking to him anywhere outside of practice — for over a week now — but Quentin was so busy prepping for the season opener that he’d barely had time to think about the gnawing feeling her absence left in his soul.

He loved her, but right now his duty was to the Krakens. He would take care of Ga-Ta’s team, all right, and the best way to do that was with a Week One win over the Isis Ice Storm.

Ionath Krakens 2686 Roster