The Champion (61 page)

SOME AWAY GAMES REQUIRED DAYS
of travel. Sometimes, the round trip took more than a week. Other times, the
Touchback
couldn’t return home at all; it had to travel from one game straight to the next, more a troop ship carrying warriors from front to front than a team bus taking players to a stadium.

Some away games, true — but not this one.

It took only half a day to travel from Ionath to OS1.

The Krakens departed Thursday afternoon. They would practice on the
Touchback
, arrive at OS1 later that night, practice Friday and Saturday at the Black Hole, then gear up for Sunday’s clash.

Quentin stood on the
Touchback’s
50-yard line, feet dead center in the Krakens logo. His teammates surrounded him, a ring of sentients waiting for him to begin. Ki, Quyth Warrior, Human, HeavyG, Prawatt, Sklorno, all wearing their orange away jerseys but no pads.

Quentin wasn’t much for talking, because talk didn’t mean a thing; in a brawl, words don’t make you bleed. This, however, was different, and some words needed to be spoken.

“We’re undefeated,” he said. “So is OS1.”

He didn’t need to shout to be heard. There were no spectators here, just sentients who would soon do battle on the Orbiting Death’s black field.

He turned in place, slowly, staring at each of them. Bumberpuff and Michnik, Halawa and Bud-O-Shwek, Arioch Morningstar and Rich Palmer, all of whom had a role to play.

“Everyone wants a piece of us, but we know that the Orbiting Death is our main rival,” he said. “We’re
undefeated
. So is OS1.”

He locked eyes with Yotaro Kobayasho and Vu-Ko-Will, with Cheboygan and Tara the Freak and Jay Martinez. He stared hard at a single eyespot on Luciano Cretzlefinger.

“We’re undefeated ... so
are they
. The winner of this game is in the playoffs. We win this game, this
one game
, and we punch our ticket to defend the title.”

Nancy Wolf and Shun-On-Won stared back at him, as did Pishor the Fang and Denver, Cormorant Bumberpuff and John Tweedy.

Quentin raised his left hand. He extended his pointer and middle fingers.

“
Two-time
Galaxy Bowl winners,” he said quietly, so quietly some of his teammates leaned in to make sure they caught his every syllable. “That’s what this squad can be. We’re undefeated, and so are they, but you know what they’re not?”

Wahiawa and Choto the Bright inched closer, as did Becca Montagne and Zer-Eh-Detak, Samuel Darkeye and Katzembaum Weasley.

“They aren’t the
champs
,” Quentin said. He lowered his hand. “We are. Sunday, they’re going to learn why. That field we’ll play on is black, not blue, but it doesn’t matter because as soon as we set foot on it, we
own
it. Let’s have a good practice, and every minute of it remember what our jobs are come Sunday. Be excellent as individuals, and we’ll be unstoppable as a team. Let’s get to it.”

The players jogged to their respective spots to begin practice. There wasn’t much hooting and hollering, other than the Sklorno’s constant excited squealing. The Krakens knew what had to be done.

He and his teammates got to work.

Transcript from the “Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show with Dan, Akbar, and Tarat the Smasher”

DAN:
Hello, sports fans. This is your beloved Dan Gianni, and welcome to another edition of your favorite sports-news program, the Galaxy’s Greatest Sports Show. With me, as always, are Akbar and Tarat the Smasher.

AKBAR:
Thanks, Dan.

TARAT:
Happy to be here, Dan.

DAN:
We’re coming to you live from the Black Hole. We’re here for what promises to be an amazing night — the undefeated Ionath Krakens going up against the undefeated OS1 Orbiting Death. We’ve
never
seen two undefeated teams going at it this late in the regular season.

AKBAR:
It’s shaping up to be a great one, Dan. It’s a battle of two quarterbacks at the top of their game.

TARAT:
The Death’s Condor Adrienne is having an excellent season. He has looked flawless through most of the year. He’s on pace to break Rick Renaud’s record for touchdown passes, yards per game and total yards for the season, but Barnes is also threatening those records.

DAN:
Barnes is just a smidgen behind Adrienne in those three categories, Smasher. It’s funny — either one of these two could post the best regular season in the league’s history, and the other one could post the
second-best
regular season. It just depends on how they play their last four games. The key to winning the game for either team is to stop the quarterbacks. Akbar, how do the Krakens stop Condor Adrienne?

AKBAR:
You can’t stop him, Dan, you can only hope to contain him. He and Barnes have been rivals since their Tier Two days in the Quyth Irradiated. Adrienne wants this game, bad. I think he’s going to be launching deep balls, so the Krakens have to make sure their Prawatt DBs keep a proper cushion.

TARAT:
Akbar, if you give the Death receivers too much cushion, Adrienne will kill the Krakens with short passes underneath. The Krakens defensive backs have to play press coverage — hit the Death receivers as soon as they come off the line, keep them from running a clean route.

DAN:
But Tarat, you know the Death receivers are going to break free eventually. Won’t press coverage let them get open down the field?

TARAT:
Yes, Dan, that is a gamble the Krakens defense must take. If they play press coverage and don’t give up the short pass, Adrienne will have to stay in the pocket a little longer. If he does that, it is up to Ionath’s Mum-O-Killowe and Alexsandar Michnik to get to Adrienne before those receivers can break free down the field. I like the Krakens, Dan, but I think that if they don’t sack Condor at least four or five times, the Death will win.

DAN:
And by
sack
, you mean tear his head off?

TARAT:
I said no such thing.

AKBAR:
That’s a non-denial denial, Tarat.

TARAT:
Sometimes, Akbar, you confuse me.

DAN:
Okay, so, the Krakens have to get to Adrienne often to win. What about the key to beating Barnes? He’s so damn mobile. He’s the league’s fourth-leading
rusher
, he’s second in touchdown passes,
and
he’s been sacked fewer times than any quarterback in the league this season. His offensive line is playing flawless football, and he’s got the best receiver corps in the game. How does the Orbiting Death beat that?

TARAT:
Barnes is a perfect quarterback, Dan. I think the Death have two options. The first is to win what you Humans call a
shootout
. Many touchdowns will be scored this day, but I think Adrienne will score more. In a high-scoring affair, if the Death keeps Condor from getting knocked out of the game, I think they win.

AKBAR:
And the second option?

TARAT:
The Death have never been bashful about using Yalla the Biter in a less-than-honorable fashion. If I were the coach of OS1, I would consider using the most lethal player in league history to take Barnes out of the game by any means necessary.

DAN:
Smasher! Are you saying the Death should have Yalla cheapshot Barnes?

TARAT:
I said no such thing, Dan. I said I would
consider
it if I were the coach, but I am not the coach.

AKBAR:
Thankfully.

TARAT:
Did you say something, Akbar?

AKBAR:
Who, me? Quiet as a Church of Quentin Barnes mouse here. You didn’t hear a word out of me, Tarat. Honest.

TARAT:
That is what I thought.

DAN:
We know both of these teams are a lock for the playoffs, so they might see each other again in four or five weeks. We’ll take a quick break for our sponsor, Junkie Gin, and when we come back, we’ll go through the position-by-position match-ups. Stay tuned!

THE KRAKENS WAITED IN A TUNNEL
carved out of gleaming blue crystal. Ju stood at the tunnel’s mouth, Quentin on his left, John on his right, the rest of the team packed in behind them.

Two seasons ago, the Krakens had been in this same spot, listening to the OS1 crowd chant
wel-come home, mur-der-er
, over and over again. Three seasons ago, Ju had been the Orbiting Death’s star player, until he’d been framed for the murder of Grace McDermot. Been framed by Anna Villani, owner of the Orbiting Death.

The announcer droned on about safety in the stands, about how violence would not be tolerated, but no one was listening — especially not Ju.

Quentin had said his piece a few days ago, and his message had taken root. The Krakens were focused, confident and ready to go to work. In the tunnel, Quentin didn’t say anything at all, because today it was someone else’s moment to lead.

Ju Tweedy turned and looked at his teammates. His face revealed the fires of hatred burning within his soul. Playing OS1, playing
here
, it was personal. And if it was personal to him, it was personal to every Kraken about to set foot on that black field.

“We heard Q talk about how we’re undefeated, and so are they,” Ju said. “We heard Q talk about how the winner is in the playoffs.”

Heads nodded, arms clacked, Sklorno chirped and jumped.

“That’s all good and fine, but I don’t give a damn about any of that right now,” Ju said. His nostrils flared. His lips pulled back from his teeth. He slammed his left fist against his chest armor.

“What I care about is they
disrespected us
. Chant crap at me? At me? No, they were chanting at
us
.”

John tore his helmet off his head. “You tell them, baby brother! Tell ’em!”

“I want the ball,” Ju said. “When I’m running it, everyone blocks like the whole
galaxy
is about to go supernova!”

The Krakens roared approval. Quentin wasn’t sure why someone would run with a football if the galaxy was going supernova, but the sound of Ju’s voice was more important than the meaning of his words.

“And when we’re on defense,” Ju said, “kick the living hell out of them so I get the ball again. Tonight, the Black Hole is
our
house.”

“
Our house!
” the Krakens screamed in unison, Quentin right along with them. The Death were not ready for this. They simply
were not
.

Heads turned to the mouth of the tunnel as the announcer called out the magic words.

“
Introducing your visiting team, the Iooooonaaaaath ... KRAAAAAA-kens!
”

QUENTIN SPRINTED
across the black field, running to his left while looking downfield for a target. His steps were perfect, his legs fresh and ready, and he saw
everything
— including Yalla the Biter.

Five yards ahead, the black-jerseyed Quyth Warrior rolled to his right, staying in front of Quentin so the quarterback couldn’t cut upfield and run. Beyond Yalla, Quentin saw Denver blanketed by Death cornerback Karachi — the receiver needed more time to get open.

Quentin took one step forward, toward the line of scrimmage. Yalla popped out of his rolling tuck and rushed in, metalflake-red helmet sparkling, flat-black-armored legs pumping, flat-black-armored middle arms spread wide to cut off any escape, pedipalp arms reaching forward, baseball-sized eye flooded solid black.

This was the moment Quentin had been waiting for: the chance to be the hammer instead of the nail.

Yalla crossed the line of scrimmage, came in fast. Quentin pump-faked: Yalla sprang up, arms spread, ready to block the pass that didn’t come. Most importantly, Yalla left his feet — as soon as he did, Quentin tucked the ball and launched his body forward, putting every ounce of his 380 pounds behind it.

His shoulder drove into Yalla’s chest. Quentin heard the
crack
of armor so loud and so close it was a gunshot in his ear. Yalla’s legs flew out from under him as his upper body spun backward, slamming his helmeted head against the black turf so hard it
bounced
.

Quentin ran left, toward the sidelines. He felt pressure from behind, but that pressure would arrive too late because Denver was pulling away from Karachi. Still running, Quentin launched a tight, high-arcing spiral. The ball seemed a precision instrument riding a perfect, wobble-free parabola. Past it, Quentin saw the stadium stands of blue crystal packed in tight with the black-clad Orbiting Death faithful. Then, the ball apexed, tilted, angled down toward the exact point Quentin had targeted: three yards past the end zone’s back-left corner.

Karachi jumped, a perfect explosion of strength, grace and athleticism. Metalflake-red helmet, flat-black jersey and armor, her number 23 blazing in blue-trimmed metalflake-red, tentacles reaching up and up and
up
. She was a living piece of art soaring into the afternoon sky, and she was just a bit too late; the ball cleared her tentacle tips by less than an inch.

Denver’s four black-armored eyestalks looked back even as she dove forward, her feet sliding on the block “D” of the white DEATH painted across the end zone, her tentacles
stretching
out and cradling the ball just before it hit the ground.

Ball firmly in her grasp, her feet slid across the top of the D, then out of the end zone before she crashed to the ground.

The black-and-white striped Harrah zebe was right there, matching Denver’s blazing streak down the sidelines. The ref leaned back, wings undulating so fast in reverse they were nothing but a vibrating blur. The Harrah slowed fast, stopped, hovered, then raised his mouth flaps into the air.