The Champion (37 page)

“It’s a huge game for us,” Renaud said. “The Death are one of the best teams in the league.”

OS1 continued their home-field dominance, notching a 35-14 win over the surprisingly competitive D’Oni Coelacanths. The win came at a high cost, however, with the second-quarter death of OS1 running back Chooch Motumbo.

“Chooch was a big part of our playoff run last year,” said OS1 team owner Anna Villani. “He’ll be missed, but we’re excited about the debut of Danté Diener and hope he can keep up the great work.”

Diener, a rookie running back, came in after Motumbo died. Diener ran for 112 yards on 15 carries, including touchdown runs of 32 and 27 yards.

Also in Planet Division action, the To Pirates (1-1) got back on track with a 28-17 win over Wabash (1-1). The Jupiter Jacks (0-2) might have come just a touchdown away from winning last year’s Galaxy Bowl, but so far this season the Don Pine–led squad is winless. The Jacks fell 28-10 to the Solar Division–leading Water Bugs (2-0). Bartel QB Andre “Death Ray” Ridley ran wild, rushing for 87 yards on 10 carries, including two touchdowns, and threw for another 215 yards and two TD strikes to wide receiver Dixonge.

Neptune (2-0) and Texas (2-0) remain tied with Bartel for first place in the Solar.

The Scarlet Fliers hung a 37-12 drubbing on the Bord Brigands (0-2). Neptune’s defense dominated, holding the Brigands to 198 yards of total offense and keeping them out of the end zone all afternoon. Fliers defensive tackle Chris Maler notched three sacks, while linebacker Jan “The Destroyer” Dennison had an interception and a fumble recovery.

Texas notched a 21-10 win over Jang (1-1). Next week, the Earthlings have a chance to go to 3-0 for the first time in franchise history when they visit the winless Isis Ice Storm (0-2).

Deaths

OS1 running back Chooch Motumbo, killed on a simultaneous hit by D’Oni linebackers Dana Stowell and CB Harvey. The league is reviewing the hit, as illegal head-to-head contact may have been involved.

Offensive Player of the Week

Ionath Krakens quarterback Quentin Barnes, who threw for 367 yards and five TD passes in a win over the Sheb Stalkers.

Defensive Player of the Week

Yall Criminals linebacker Anthony Meaders. Meaders had seven solo tackles, five assists, a forced fumble and a sack against the Alimum Armada.

36

Week Three:
Ionath Krakens at
Coranadillana Cloud Killers

QUENTIN RELEASED THE BALL
only a split-second before a big HeavyG lineman smashed into him and
lifted
at the same time, shoulder pad in his ribs, giant arms crushing around his waist. Quentin didn’t have to see the ball’s path to know it was on target, that it would hit Denver for six.

Then the ground came up and said “hello,” making an instant Quentin sandwich: the bright yellow, black-lined field on one side, 530 pounds of defensive end Jesper Schultz on the other.

Quentin lay there for a moment, his head spinning from the double impact, and heard the long
booooo
of the Cloud Killer crowd. He laughed — a halting thing, interrupted by stabs of dull pain.

“Good one, Schultzie. Is that—” Quentin winced at what felt like a broken rib “—the best you can do?”

Schultz stood up and pulled him to his feet. The big HeavyG gave Quentin’s helmet a friendly slap.

“Come on, Barnes — you didn’t think you’d get out of this game
completely
untouched, did you?”

Quentin fought to keep his face neutral, even forced a smile. Maybe it was
two
ribs.

“I dared to hold out hope.”

Schultz glanced at the scoreboard. “Well, looks like you finally got us.”

The touchdown pass to Denver had put Ionath up 31-10, soon to be 32-10 after Arioch Morningstar kicked the extra point. With only five minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, Quentin had just put the game out of reach. The jinx was over: after three losses against them as a starter, he had finally beaten Coranadillana.

“Hey, Schultzie, you know that’s the first time I’ve been sacked this year?”

Jesper smiled. “Aw, look at you, trying to make me feel better. Such a nice little guy you are. Good luck this year.”

“You too,” Quentin said and jogged for the sidelines, his eyes already scanning for Doc Patah.

• • •

QUENTIN! QUENTIN!

He pointed at a familiar face.

“Jonathan Sandoval, Net Colony News Syndicate,” the man said. “You finally beat Coranadillana. What was different this time, as opposed to the last three seasons you lost to them, and does this mean the path is clear for Ionath to go undefeated?”

Quentin laughed and leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly as the motion tweaked his cracked ribs. Doc Patah’s nerve block had taken away some of the pain, but not all of it. After the press conference, Quentin was due in one of the
Touchback’s
rejuve tanks for a three-hour session to repair the bones — first, though, he had to answer stupid questions like that one.

“Undefeated? Come on, Sandoval, can’t you just let us enjoy tonight’s win?”

The Human reporter didn’t let up. “So are you saying you don’t have confidence in your team? Are you saying that Ionath
can’t
go undefeated?”

At one point or another over the last four years, Quentin had wanted to punch each and every reporter that covered the Krakens. The same faces every week: Sandoval, Yolanda Davenport, Kelp Bringer, Pikor the Assuming, Kinizzle, Ron-Do-Hall ... if they weren’t asking a ridiculous question that exposed their lack of real football knowledge, they were fishing for that nugget of manufactured controversy.

It had worked on him when he was a rookie, but he wasn’t a rookie anymore.

“We take our opponents one at a time,” he said. “Next week we face the Yall Criminals, an excellent squad. If we don’t prepare properly, they’ll beat us — that is the
only
game that matters right now.”

Sandoval sat down. Maybe he’d carve up Quentin’s words to find some new meaning, maybe not.

Quentin! Quentin!

The multi-headed monster never stopped squawking for more. Quentin saw a Creterakian dressed in a black bodysuit with bright images of bouncing cherries moving on it. The cherries were being chased by what looked like a yellow pie missing one slice, except the slice opened and closed like it was the pie’s mouth. Where did that species find such horrid clothes?

“Kinizzle,” Quentin said. “Go ahead with your question.”

THE QUYTH WARRIOR PUSHED HIS WAY
through the packed bar. Pushed
gently
, so as not to cause an alarm or bring attention to himself. Even at the other end of the establishment, he could hear the screaming of a drunk Human.

“So then I says to her, but I’m not an apple, I’m a
stick figure
!”

Marik recognized the man — John Tweedy. The sentients surrounding John roared at the punch line. Marik the Covetous didn’t find it funny at all — not that he had ever understood Human humor. He hated Humans for their lack of hygiene, poor education and primitive, superstitious beliefs, which remained popular a full millennia after science had carried the species to the stars. And their little
faces
with those tiny little eyes: Humans were the most disgusting race in the galaxy. Except for Whitokians, of course, but that was a given.

Coranadillana had several bars that catered to Quyth customers, but could the targets have gone to one of those? Oh no, of course not — the smelly Humans usually congregated with
other
smelly Humans, hence their presence in a bar designed for their smelly kind. There were a few Harrah, though. Some were bar employees — flying drinks to tables and returning with empty mugs — but most were football fans wearing orange and black backpacks or trailing ribbons of the same colors.

Fans of the Ionath Krakens had taken the place over for the night.

Marik worked his way to a wall and put his back to it, scanning the crowd. His sources from Ionath City said the target rarely went out after home games and almost never when the Krakens were on the road — but if he did, he went out with the overly loud, overly obnoxious Tweedy brothers. If the target was anywhere on Coranadillana, he would be here.

A barrel-chested man suddenly jumped up on top of a table. The table wobbled, but the orange-and-black clad fans surrounding him quickly steadied it. Marik recognized this Human, too: John’s brother Ju, who also played for Ionath. He ran the ball, or threw it, or maybe kicked it — Marik didn’t know a damn thing about football and didn’t care to learn.

“Time to sing,” Ju said, raising his glass. Beer sloshed out of it, splashing down on those who had kept him from falling on his face; they didn’t seem to care.

“Come on, everyone,” Ju said. “Let’s sing
My Girl from Satirli
6!”

“Satirli 6!” John Tweedy screamed, then hopped up and down. “Good song!”

Behind Ju and the fans surrounding his table, Marik saw an impossibly thick HeavyG raise a glass and shout in joy. The man’s head came up to Ju’s shoulder; it took Marik a moment to realize the man wasn’t also standing on a table — the massive sentient was just
standing
.

“Identity check,” Marik said quietly. “I think this one is a bodyguard.” The J-plant concealed beneath a fake sheet of chitin sent the request to his partner. Marik closed his eye, then squeezed the eyelids tighter once, twice, a third time: that activated the scanner embedded in the contact lens covering his cornea. He opened his eye and stared at the big sentient, who looked almost as drunk as the Tweedy brothers, and was singing that awful song just as loud.

His partner’s voice came back through the J-plant, so clear it sounded like the Leader was standing only an inch away.

“Marik, you obviously didn’t study the research you were assigned,” said Turon the Ugly. “You are supposed to know all Krakens players on sight. That is Tim Crawford, a defensive tackle.”

Marik wished Turon were right next to him, so he could grab that sensitive spot between the little Leader’s pedipalps and just
squeeze
. Maybe
twist
a little as well, remind Turon who was the bigger and stronger of the two.

“I do not need to do the research,” Marik said. “That is why you are here.”

“Do not forget your place, Marik. Is there any sign of the target?”

Marik hated Leaders. Turon wasn’t his
shamakath
, and Marik didn’t have to take his orders. Still, he scanned the packed crowd, looking for the target. He saw another oversized HeavyG — not as large as Crawford, but far too big to be just another bar-goer.

“Target check,” he said, staring at the man.

“That is Josh Athanas,” Turon said. “Look at the
size
of him ... he is 228.6 centimeters tall ... Crawford is almost 240. I know we have some large sentients in our organization, but those two look like giants.”

“They
are
giants,” Marik said.

Pro football players were so massive, seeing them in person made one doubt one’s own eye. Marik was used to being the biggest sentient in the room almost everywhere he went, yet his antenna stubs wouldn’t even come up to Crawford’s sternum.