The Champion (74 page)

“Well, no, but—”

“Then get out.”

Patah hovered in place for a moment, then silently flew out of the training room.

“We need to talk,” Froese said to Quentin. “There isn’t any time to wait, so we’re going to do this right now. Virak, are you listening?”

The Warrior’s eye glanced over, only slightly, but enough to show that he was paying attention.

“Good,” Froese said. “Barnes, we found two bags of gems on Sandoval, upwards of ten million credits’ worth. We also found a few loose gems hidden in Procknow’s room. We’ve pieced it together — someone paid Procknow to plant explosives. He smuggled them in on his person. Really advanced stuff, small but powerful.”

“Procknow didn’t think the bombs would kill anyone,” Quentin said. “I think Sandoval lied to him.”

“Possibly,” Froese said. “What matters, though, is that someone paid Procknow to not only plant bombs, but also sneak Sandoval deeper into the
Touchback
during the Media Day craziness. In Procknow’s room, we found the gear Sandoval used to hack into the ship’s systems. It’s high-grade stuff, Barnes — my people haven’t seen anything like it. Neither have our Creterakian military liaisons. I have people trying to find out how much it cost and where it came from, but it’s safe to say the word
expensive
doesn’t begin to cover it.”

So much for Gredok’s
temporary fix
. Yet another reason that Hokor was dead — because the team owner was too cheap to do things right.

“Barnes, if I had known that Sandoval was modded up like a damn shock trooper, he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near this ship,” Froese said. “Did
you
already know about Sandoval’s mods, Barnes?”

Quentin stayed quiet.

“Fantastic,” Froese said. “I know there’s only one way Sandoval could have gotten away with those mods, how the scans ignored him, and that’s if he was working for the Creterakian government. If you know which department he was working for, Barnes, you better tell me now.”

“And if I don’t say anything?”

“Then you never play football again,” Froese said. “I’ll know you’re a danger to my league, and I will kick your ass on down the road.”

Quentin studied the commissioner but didn’t have to do it for long — Froese meant every word.

“The CMR,” Quentin said. “That’s why I called in that favor and had you tell Yolanda you met with Richfield.”

Quentin quickly told Froese about the CoQB’s numbers, Sandoval’s blackmail attempt and the schism ploy.

Froese sighed and shook his head. “You should have come to me sooner. I could have done something. But you didn’t, and now—”

“And now Coach is dead,” Quentin said. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

Quentin had studied the commissioner. Now the commissioner studied him.

“I’ve talked to the CMR since Yolanda’s story, and they are fully convinced your church is no longer a threat,” Froese said. “They didn’t order Sandoval to attack you. That means someone else wants you dead in a bad way. Do you know who, and do you know why?”

He did know. The Abernessia had corrupted the Guild. They had given Procknow and Sandoval an insane amount of money to take Quentin out. Quentin had inadvertently told Procknow about Petra, and Procknow had told the Guild. How the Guild knew to hire Sandoval, Quentin didn’t know. That part didn’t really matter at the moment. What mattered was an obvious and frightening fact: Petra wasn’t the only one who thought Quentin could stop the invaders — the
invaders
did, too.

He’d been stupid to mention Petra’s visit in front of Procknow and Kimberlin. Procknow was dead; Kimberlin was not. Mike was still a suspect in all of this. But, this nightmare started because Quentin hadn’t thought about what he said — or who he was saying it too — before he spoke. He wasn’t about to make that same mistake again.

“I don’t know who would want to kill me. Sandoval didn’t say, neither did Procknow.”

The commissioner eyed him, trying to gauge the truth, but Quentin had hid his emotions from better players than Froese.

“Whoever paid them is still out there,” Quentin said. “You better make sure I’m protected, that we’re
all
protected, both while the Galaxy Bowl is postponed and during the game itself.”

“I’m not postponing anything,” Froese said instantly. “I’ve already informed your team owner, but that’s part of why I came down here, to tell you in person. The Galaxy Bowl is in two days, as scheduled.”

Quentin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Two of our players
died
. Our coach was murdered, our team bus bombed, our
starting
outside linebacker shot —
twice
— and our starting quarterback with a ...” Quentin almost said
dead arm
, but caught himself. “All beat to hell. You have to postpone the game, Froese.”

“What I
have
to do is preserve the integrity of this league.”

“The league?
Integrity
? You’re just as much a controlling thug as the gangsters you constantly whine about. You bully, you manipulate — you’re not the
commissioner
of the GFL, you are its
dictator
. What you say goes, so just say the word
postponed
. Are you that disrespectful to Hokor, to the entire damn sport?”

Froese had seemed sympathetic; any shred of that sentiment faded away.

“Never question my commitment to football,” he said. “Never. When the city of Bord was in revolt, civilians and players alike dead from the violence, I didn’t postpone anything.
Thousands
of civilians died in Coranadillana, battles raged through that system, and I didn’t change one damn thing about the Cloud Killers’ schedule for the Cloud Killers. Those were normal, regular-season games — this is the
Galaxy Bowl
. This will be the most watched event in the history of civilization. Do you understand that, Barnes? This sport reaches across all species and all cultures, the
only
positive thing that does that. If I do anything that lets sentients think attacking the league will draw attention to whatever shucking cause they believe in, then
everyone in the league
becomes more of a target. I can’t let that happen. As long as I can guarantee the safety of the players in that stadium, the game goes on.”

“We have three sentients dead, Froese. Good job guaranteeing safety.”

Froese aimed a stubby finger at Quentin’s face.

“Those deaths are on
you
, Barnes. You could have come to me, but you didn’t. After the game, you and I are going to have a
long
talk and all of this is going to come out, but not now. There are three Creterakian cruisers nearby, in addition to the
Regulator
. A Creterakian carrier is en route. A company of Creterakian soldiers is in the stadium, and a division of Union marines is patrolling Red Storm City. The Galaxy Bowl will be
safe
, and it will be Sunday.”

“If you won’t postpone the game, we won’t play,” Quentin said. “I’ll tell Gredok we should protest.”

The little Human nodded. “Gredok said the same thing, so I’ll tell you what I told him. Come the scheduled kickoff time, if Ionath isn’t on that field, Ionath forfeits. Sunday, one way or another, a champion gets crowned.”

A memory flashed of Sandoval kicking Hokor so hard the Leader
flew
, and Quentin suddenly wanted to do the same to Froese.

“We worked too hard for this,” Quentin said. “We sacrificed too much. We can’t play Sunday ... it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Froese said. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Doc Patah fluttered back in. “Your requested time is up, Commissioner. Are you finished harassing my patients?”

Froese gave the edge of Quentin’s rejuve tank a quick double-tap.

“I am, Doctor. Barnes, Virak, good luck on Sunday. May the best team win.”

The commissioner and Leiba walked out.

Virak finally spoke.

“We have to win. For Coach.”

Quentin closed his eyes. He felt the same way. Froese wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t compromise. There was a way to win.
Had
to be.

“I’ll play,” Quentin said. “I can make it work.”

“No, you can’t,” Doc Patah said. “I am telling you, young Quentin, that if you play quarterback, you will guarantee an Ionath loss. You can’t throw, and if you carry the ball, you will fumble.”

Patah treasured the championship as much as anyone in the organization — he wouldn’t exaggerate about such a thing.

“You have Montagne,” the Harrah said. “She started at quarterback and we won. Play her.”

Quentin huffed. “With Nancy out and Kopor dead? We’re out of fullbacks. We can’t run the offense without a fullback, not with only one day to make adjustments.”

“We will use Haney,” Virak said. “He is not a good quarterback, but at least we will have a chance. Montagne will give him protection.”

Was that worth a try? Becca was better than Trevor, and she’d already led the team to a win. The Krakens needed Becca behind center — that meant they needed someone at fullback who knew the offense, someone big, someone strong, who could
hit
 ... like Yassoud, maybe?

Or ... maybe there was another player who could fill that role.

“Doc, go get Becca, John and Ju,” Quentin said. “Bring them here.”

“Right away, young Quentin.” The Harrah shot out of the room.

Quentin saw the field in his head, saw the lines of power.

Hokor was gone; he couldn’t count on Coach’s guidance anymore.

Gredok had bailed.

All leadership fell to Quentin.

There was an answer: whatever it was, he would find it.

Live feed from
UBS GameDay holo-cast coverage

“Hello, football fans, and welcome to UBS Sports coverage of Galaxy Bowl Twenty-Eight. I’m Masara the Observant, and with me, as always, is Chick McGee.”

“Hello, Masara, hello, folks at home.”

“Chick, what a matchup we have tonight for the championship of the Galactic Football League.”

“Right you are, Masara. A rematch of Galaxy Bowl Twenty-Seven, and a rematch of two quarterbacks that are both already promised permanent places in the history books. The living legend Don Pine leading his Jupiter Jacks up against the young gun Quentin Barnes and his
defending
GFL champion Ionath Krakens.”

“Chick, Barnes actually survived a bombing onboard the
Touchback
only two days ago, a bombing that took the lives of fullback Kopor the Climber and coach Hokor the Hookchest.”

“Masara, a sadder moment the league has never known. UBS Sports has prepared a piece covering the career of Hokor, from his start with the Harlon Headhunters right up through his Galaxy Bowl title with the Krakens. Let’s take a look.”

• • •

THE VISITING LOCKER ROOM
of Rolling Rock Stadium.

Quentin stood in the central area, looking at his hard-faced teammates. The holoboard was off. They’d gone over pregame prep, done all they could to get ready for the battle to come. He knew what he was going to say — speaking those four words wouldn’t take long.

Black armor, black jerseys. Ironic that they wore home jerseys when playing on Jupiter’s field, but the Galaxy Bowl was normally in a neutral site and the “home” team was the one with the best regular-season record. The Krakens had gone undefeated, so that honor fell to them.

The players held their helmets in their hands or tentacles. The black jerseys were the same as they had been all season, with two exceptions. One, Messal’s crew had sewn a “Galaxy Bowl XXVIII” patch on the left shoulder. On the right shoulder, they had sewn a small orange rectangle with the letters “HH/KC” in white.

HH/KC: Hokor the Hookchest, and Kopor the Climber
.

George Starcher had painted his face yellow with black stripes: a tribute to Coach Hokor. It might have looked ridiculous at any other time, but this day, it was perfection.

The Warriors carapaces bore fresh engravings of the Quyth-language names of both Kopor and Hokor. Choto, Pishor, Shayat and Tara had all lost fellow players on the field, but to lose a Leader? That was far more difficult for all of them to take.

Quentin’s gaze lingered on Kimberlin. Other than in practice, he hadn’t spoken to the man since the bombing. Was Kimberlin friend, or enemy? Quentin didn’t know. What he did know was that, to have any chance of winning, the team needed Kimberlin on that offensive line — good or bad, right or wrong, that trumped turning the man in.

Were there things more important than football? Yes, but not today.

Quentin turned in place. He looked at each of his teammates, one at a time, saying nothing. Aside from Nancy — who wouldn’t play that day—Josh Athanas, Trevor Haney and backup safety Dimitrovgrad, the players had all done this dance a year earlier: the veterans knew was at stake.

He raised his right fist, careful to tuck his left close to his body. The players moved in, pressed around him, reached up to his hand, elite athletes unified in purpose and spirit.

Quentin waited until everyone joined, until the soft clacking of pads and armor faded out.

“For Kopor,” he said. “For
Coach
.”

There wasn’t a sound of agreement as much as there was a
vibration
, a collective buzz that even though this was the Galaxy Bowl, more was on the line than ever before. It wasn’t about a perfect season anymore. It wasn’t even really about the championship, at least not for themselves. Death dulled the game’s sheen, but not its edge: this win
mattered
.

“John, Ju,” Quentin said, “take them out.”

Quentin caught John’s eye, gave a slight tip of the chin. John nodded. He understood. The Tweedy brothers walked to the tunnel, the rest of the players following along, a column of orange and black marching to battle.

Only one remained.

Becca sat on a bench next to the wall, as if she might hide there, shrink away until no one could see her. She stared at the floor.