The Starter (27 page)

“Shuck off, Messal, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Quentin,” Don said. “Seriously, these are
mandatory
. Win or lose, you have to go and answer stupid questions from people who don’t know anything about football.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Messal started hopping lightly from foot to foot. The motion made him resemble a Human child that had to pee.

Don shrugged. “No, I guess it doesn’t make any sense, but you gotta do it.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s
mandatory
.”

Quentin waved a hand in annoyance. “Rules are for pansies. You used to be the biggest star in the GFL, what happened when you skipped a press conference?”

“I never skipped one,” Don said. “Do you need some help with the cliché answers or something?”

“Elder Barnes,
please!
We are now
late!
”

Quentin reached out and grabbed Messal’s left pedipalp.

“Messal, I like you, but if you don’t get out of my face right now, I will start getting angry. Human eyes don’t turn black when we get angry, but I assure you, you will have no question about my state of mind. You get me?”

Messal blinked twice, pranced side-to-side once more, then nodded. Quentin let go of the pedipalp. Messal scurried away.

Quentin looked at Pine again, who had a smirk on his face.

“What?” Quentin said. “Is it time for someone to correct Quentin’s behavior again?”

Pine chuckled soundlessly, his shoulders bouncing a little as he looked to the ceiling. “Quentin,” he said, “you are endlessly entertaining, you know that?”

Quentin hated to be laughed at, but sometimes he just had to roll with it. Don didn’t mean any harm. Quentin had learned that the hard way last season. Time to change the subject.

“You got dressed fast,” Quentin said. “John and I are grabbing some dinner later, seeing downtown Isis. He’s got a submarine lined up or something. You want to join us?”

“No thanks. I’m heading out with Ryan Nossek and some of the Ice Storm guys.”

“
Nossek?
The guy who knocked the living crap out of me out there?”

Don nodded.

“But... he’s from the
other team
.”

“Sentients are sentients, kid. Just because they play for another team doesn’t make them poison. And I’m dressed fast because that’s what happens when you don’t play. While I’d rather be playing, I have to say leaving the locker room with no bruises, breaks, or concussions is kind of a welcome experience.”

Quentin didn’t know if Don was being serious or facetious. Just because Quentin would do anything, to anyone, to take every snap of every game, he still felt odd doing it while a legend like Pine rode the bench.

Don’s eyes narrowed. “Kid, you’re not feeling sorry for me, are you?”

Quentin looked away, his face turning red.

“Well, knock that crap off. You earned your starting job. You want to feel sorry for me? Do it when you’ve got
three
Galaxy Bowl rings, and you can make fun of me for only having
two
.”

Quentin’s eyes shot to Don’s right hand, where the sparkling rubies set in a pair of big, gold rings sparkled in the locker room lights. Don smiled a friendly smile, but the message was clear — Quentin had a long way to go before he was on Don’s level. All careers end. Not all end with as much glory as that of Donald Pine.

“Besides,” Don said, “there was no reason to take you out. You were throwing well.”

“I only had one touchdown.”

“You were fifteen of twenty-eight for a hundred eighty-two yards. Not All-Star numbers, but considering your offensive line let you get roughed up all day I’d call it a solid job. Most importantly, know what you didn’t have?”

Quentin smiled. “No interceptions.”

“Bingo. Know how many picks I gave up in my first Tier One game?”

“Four,” Quentin said quickly.

Don smiled. “You been studying up on the old man?”

Quentin shrugged, trying to play it off. The truth was he had been studying Don Pine’s career: every game, every snap, every off-field transgression.

Quentin wrapped a towel around his waist and stood, trying to roll his back out to loosen the knots and shake off the deep pain radiating from the spot where Nossek’s helmet had hit him in the kidney. “I gotta hit the showers.”

“You mean with
water
? Swimming with the
salamanders
again?”

Salamanders
was a racist term for the Ki, and the way Don said it meant he was mocking Quentin for his racist beliefs.
Former
racist beliefs, that was, but like any other sensitive subject under the sun it was open for locker-room ridicule and mockery.

“Up yours, blue-boy.”

Don laughed. “Seriously, though, you’re going to
bathe
? In
water?
You’re civilized now, Q, use the nannite shower.”

“Bathing
is
civilized.”

“Dude, you know the dirt and sweat that comes off your body? Where do you think it goes? It goes
into the water
. The water you’re bathing in. Taking a water-bath is like soaking in your own filth. It’s disgusting.”

Quentin shrugged. “Than I guess I’m disgusting.”

“You can take the boy out of the mines... but listen, Q, mind if I give you some pointers about talking to the Ki?”

Quentin fought down a burst of annoyance. People just loved to give him advice. But Don was far more experienced in football and in life — and the old guy was usually right.

“Sure,” Quentin said.

“Your offensive line did a crap job for you today. If you go hang out with them, talk to them, it’s like you’re saying
hey, it’s no big deal
.”

“So what then? The silent treatment?”

Don nodded. “For some of them. Kill-O-Yowet played his salamander ass off for you. He’s also the Ki alpha male on the team, so you have to give him the respect he deserves. And by talking to him, you’re showing the Ki
race
respect, even if you don’t respect the other individuals.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Every race has its own set of ingrained politics. Learn what those politics are, or get used to losing. The Ki culture has all kinds of warrior code crap — hierarchies, unwritten rules, unspoken traditions.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t everyone just play football? “Unwritten? Unspoken? How in the void am I supposed to learn all of that?”

“By watching and learning. And by listening to me. Do you want to win a championship?”

Quentin felt the rush in his chest. Any thought, any mention of a title, galvanized him. He nodded.

Don spread his blue hands, palms up, as if to say
well there you go
.

“Okay,” Quentin said. “I can talk to Kill-O. Anyone else?”

“Sho-Do and Bud-O did okay, but they have to do better. You can
look
at them, just don’t
talk
to them. Vu-Ko-Will had a bad game, but that’s to be expected when you’re up against Nossek. Vu-Ko is also the oldest player on the team and number two in the alpha hierarchy, so you have to acknowledge his presence. Once you’ve done that, just pretend he’s not there. Trust me, he’ll be so ashamed of his performance he won’t want to engage you anyway.”

“Got it,” Quentin said. “And Shun-On-Won? The rookie?”

Don shook his head. “You don’t even
look
at him. Act like he doesn’t even exist. He’s responsible for three of the sacks. That’s not going to change unless he ups his game. It’s a warrior culture, Q — where they come from isn’t as nicey-nicey as the GFL.”

“A Sklorno
died
today,” Quentin said. “The GFL doesn’t sound nicey-nicey to me.”

“Compared to where the Ki come from? One death is like a day in the park with the wife and kids. For them, this game is combat. In combat, failure usually means corpses. Shun-On failed, so you act like he’s dead to you.”

“Sounds harsh,” Quentin said. “I mean, he’s a rookie. This was his first game.”

Don spread his hands again. “All I can tell you is what I know. But it’s your team, Q, you do things your way.”

Quentin thought for a second, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll find Shizzle and go in.”

“Shizzle? What do you need that little Creterakian for?”

“To translate,” Quentin said. “I don’t speak Ki.”

“Yes, but they understand
you
just fine. Besides, you can tell what they mean by the tone of their grunts. You’re the one who needs to do the talking. You don’t need a translator.”

“Well... Shizzle will also, you know, tell me who’s who.”

Don’s eyes narrowed. “Quentin, you’ve come so far. Are you going to tell me you think all Ki look alike?”

“It’s not
racist!
They
do
all look alike. If they don’t have jerseys on you can’t tell them apart.”

“I can,” Don said, then turned and walked off. Quentin stared after him for a second, feeling both angry and embarrassed. He wasn’t responsible for evolutionary shucking biology. They
did
all look alike.

Quentin left the Human locker room and went looking for Shizzle.

• • •

STILL DRESSED IN ONLY A TOWEL,
but now with Shizzle perched on his shoulder, Quentin entered the Ki locker room. It was empty filled only with discarded jerseys, armor and dirty joint braces streaked with black blood. Quentin and Shizzle walked through the littered floor, heading for the Ki baths.

Shizzle was known for his garish outfits, but this one really took the cake. The material was pink, maybe, but it was hard to tell when tiny lights made waves of green, blue and yellow cascade over his football-shaped body. The material ran down his flat, two-foot-long tail, and even covered his membranous wings. He had a rig on his head that seemed to be the Creterakian version of sunglasses: pink frames holding black lenses over all three pairs of eyes. Two eyes looked straight forward, two looked straight down, and one sat on either side of the head, looking left and right.

“I do wish you’d find another interpreter for this,” Shizzle said.

“We don’t have another interpreter.”

“Then take a language course. I’ll never understand your species’ shortcoming in learning the tongues of other cultures. I speak over three hundred languages.”

Quentin stopped at the door to the baths. “Don’t give me that, Shizzle. This is what your race
does
. You guys can learn a language in a week. We’re not wired that way.”

“Then your physiology is flawed.”

Quentin did not need this, not now. Interpreting for the team was Shizzle’s job. The little bat was starting to make Quentin mad.

“Tell you what,” Quentin said. “How about we make a deal — if I take a language class, then you come out and suit up for a practice. We’ll see how well
your
physiology works on a football field.”

Shizzle stayed quiet for a second. “Point taken,” he said.

“And why don’t you want to go in there with me? What are you, racist?”

It shocked Quentin how liberating it felt to say those words, instead of having those words said to him.

“It’s not
racism
,” Shizzle said, “it’s
terror
. When the Ki are in areas with the other races, I’m fine, but their baths? Where it’s dark, and no one is around? I feel like I’m going to wind up on their dinner table.”

“So you eat with them, how bad can it be?”

“Not
at
their dinner table, backwater,
on
it. I’m about the right size for a Ki feast. In fact, I think I’ll opt out. You don’t need me for this.”

“Shizzle, you are going in there with me.”

“No, backwater, I am n—”

Quentin’s hands shot up and grabbed the football-shaped body. Bat-like wings flapped in panic. Six-eyed sunglasses clattered to the floor.

“Stop!” Shizzle screamed. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Quentin shook him to quiet him down. “You
shut up
. I’m trying to unify a team, and you will help me. Do you understand?”

“Yes! I’ll go in! Please don’t
hurt
me!”

Quentin looked at the disgusting creature, the race he’d hated his whole life, the race that had subjugated his people. He looked, and saw... fear. Shizzle feared for his life.

Quentin let go. The Creterakian flapped away, started flying a circle around the ceiling, trying to stay out of Quentin’s reach. Another stressful moment, and Quentin had again reacted with violence. He put his hands over his face, felt that sensation of self-hatred well up in his throat. Yitzhak’s words echoed in his thoughts:
you’re not on Micovi anymore
.

“Shizzle, I’m sorry.”

“I will go in with you!” Shizzle kept circling around the ceiling. “Just don’t hurt me!”

Quentin looked up, watched Shizzle flying. The Creterakian weighed all of ten, maybe twelve pounds. Quentin’s left foot probably weighed more. “Honest, I’m
really
sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shizzle stopped flying, clung to a ceiling fixture. “Whatever you say, Quentin. Can we go in now? I will do my job, just don’t shake me again.”

Quentin wanted to find a hole, crawl in, and not come out for a decade. But despite his horrible behavior, he didn’t have time for that. He had a job to do, a job that was in the Ki baths. He could try and make it up to Shizzle some other time.

Quentin opened the door. Thick steam billowed out, catching the glow of purple lights from inside. He walked in, wrinkling his nose against the stench of mildew and post-game Ki stench, something that made him think of dead fish mixed in with rotting chicken entrails. The sound of hissing water jets and low-range Ki growls played off the black tile walls.

His eyes adjusted to the low lights, revealing a scene most Humans would consider a nightmare. A large pool of black water filled with a wriggling, entwined pile of long, tubular bodies. Wet, orangish skin gleamed, as did the reddish-brown spots of enamel that dotted it. Add in staring black eyes, muscular multi-jointed arms, pinkish hexagonal mouths lined with black teeth, and you had a squirming, multi-headed ball of pure terror.