The Starter (31 page)

Quentin had chosen a career where each minute of work might be his last. When he thought of it that way, he knew he’d been wrong — money
did
matter.

Just one more thing to worry about. He’d deal with it later. Money mattered, but
not
if the Krakens kept losing.

Quentin picked up his helmet and walked out of the locker room.

• • •

QUENTIN’S CLEATS CLACKED
against the concrete floor of Ionath Stadium’s tunnel. Clacked, and
echoed
. There would be no echo here on Sunday, not with 185,000 sentients packed into the stands. Aside from the echoing clack, all he heard was the distant sound of his team out on the field, warming up for practice.

He walked out of the tunnel, blinking against the blazing sunlight that poured through the city dome. That sunlight lit up thousands of empty seats, seats that reached up on all sides, surrounding the field. Usually the stadium was completely empty for practice, but now he saw a few sentients moving in the stands. Maybe twenty, spaced throughout the massive temple dedicated to the glory of football. He held a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes against the sun. Squinting, he could just make out a Ki halfway up the first deck. A cop. A cop with a gun.

The
Touchback
had come back to Ionath City at night. Atmospheric fighters had escorted the shuttle down to the roof of the Krakens building. Kotop the Observer had inspected the shuttle, as usual, but this time accompanying him had been a squad of Quyth Warriors dressed in full military armor. The city, the national government, Gredok the Splithead — perhaps all three — weren’t taking any chances that terrorists would take another shot at the newly promoted Tier One franchise.

The team was already gathered at the 50-yard line, right on top of the six-armed Krakens logo painted into the field. Quentin slowed, then stopped at the twenty-five. He did another slow 360, drinking in the view. If you didn’t stop and look with your
eyes
once in a while — not with a brain that already stored hundreds of memories of this place — you could lose sight of the fact that Ionath City Stadium was simply amazing. Stands reached up and out, stretching toward the horizon hidden somewhere beyond. Seats made for all the races, all seats blazing orange except for those in black that spelled out a hundred-yard-long IONATH on the home side, and a hundred-yard-long KRAKENS on the visitors side.

Two decks sandwiched an oblong ring of clear crysteel, windows that led into hundreds of luxury boxes. Twenty-two giant pillars rose up from the top decks, done in a style that Quentin had been told was called “Roman.” The pillars were made from some kind of marble, apparently imported all the way from Earth. Each pillar rose up forty feet high, and each supported a colorful, vertical banner hanging down it’s length. Last season, those pillars had held the banners of other teams in the Quyth Irradiated Conference. There were only ten teams in the Irradiated. The other twelve columns had stood blank. Quentin had never given the blank columns a second thought. Now, however, each gleaming pillar held a colorful banner — one for each of the twenty-two Tier One teams. This stadium had been
built
with the expectation that the Krakens would be a permanent part of the galactic football elite.

Quentin was here, here at
this
moment, because he was leading this franchise in its first Tier One appearance in six years. He knelt and rubbed his hands over the field’s blue surface, let his fingertips drag through the soft coolness of the Iomatt plants. He plucked a few of the circular leaves. Each circle was smaller than his pinkie nail, a slightly translucent blue. He held one up to the sky, used it to block out the sun. Light streamed through the thin plant, silhouetting its tiny veins like dark blue tentacles. Quentin held the plant to his nose, breathed deep — it smelled like cinnamon.

It also smelled like home.

He brushed his fingertips together, letting the leaves fall back to the surface. He stood, put on his helmet, and jogged to the center of the field to join his teammates for their final practice before their first home game of the season.

• • •

THE GRAV-CAB STOPPED
in front of an apartment building at Sixth Ring and Second Radius. Choto the Bright got out first, looked up and down the street, then waved Quentin out.

“It looks safe,” Choto said. He dressed as he normally did, bulky grey pants, no shirt, always preferring to show off his scars, chitin welds, enamels and engravings. “You should be fine here. John is smart enough to live in a place with security.”

A Ki guard stood on either side of the big double doors that led inside. The Ki wore neat blue uniforms with matching blue helmets that hid their eyes and protected their heads. They both stood stone-still, a clear deterrent to anyone who might plan bad things. Things like attacking the members of the Ionath Krakens who lived inside the building.

“Thanks, Choto,” Quentin said.

“I’ll just stay in the lobby and read.” Choto reached into a side pocket of his pants and pulled out a small rectangular object. Quentin leaned down a bit to see the gold lettering embossed into the green leather cover. The title said HOT MIDNIGHT.

“What is that? Is that an actual
book
? Like made with dead plants?”

“Yes, it is,” Choto said. “I have been trying to learn more about Human culture, so I am reading the texts of the ancients. The only way to properly read them is as the ancients did, on dead plants. Have you ever heard of this author, Gunther Jones?”

Quentin shook his head.

“Very influential,” Choto said. “Extremely misunderstood for his time. Kind of like William Shakespeare.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind,” Choto said. “You go on inside, I’ll be in the lobby. And Quentin,
please
don’t think of leaving without me. I lose you, Gredok will have my shell.”

“I won’t,” Quentin said, marveling at how Gredok had controlled the situation. Quentin might risk Gredok’s anger, but if his teammate Choto would suffer the consequences? Then no matter how much it bothered Quentin to have a keeper, he wasn’t going to slip away. Gredok knew that.

Quentin walked to the doors, then hesitated. Did he need to show his identification or something? As if answering his thoughts, the double doors opened and a Quyth Worker scurried out.

“Elder Barnes?”

Why did every damn Worker insist on calling him
Elder
? “Call me Quentin, please.”

“Of course, Elder Quentin,” the Worker said. “Please, come inside. I am Pizat the Servitous.”

“Servitous? Really? Is that even a word?”

“If you say it is, it is,” Pizat said. “If you say it is not, it is not. Please, come inside.”

Quentin did. As he passed through the doors, he saw they were made of two-inch thick crysteel. That kind of armor might be found on a space fighter.

The lobby’s opulence stopped Quentin in his tracks. Everything looked like it belonged on a movie set, or in some documentary about how the rich and famous lived. Tall plants arced gracefully, statues exuded class, and diamond trim lined the wooden wall panels. A step up from his small apartment in the Krakens building, that was for sure.

“This is some place,” Quentin said. “How long has John lived here?”

“Mister Tweedy has lived here for five years,” Pizat said. “We had the privilege of selling him his suite shortly after he signed with the Krakens. Obviously, our building caters to Humans. Several Krakens players live here, including Don Pine.”

Pine lived here? Quentin realized that Pine had never invited him into his home, as John had done. Was there a reason for that? Maybe Pine didn’t want to be caught slumming with a hayseed hick like Quentin. No, that wasn’t fair — Don had to have a reason for not showing hospitality. Didn’t he?

“Here is the elevator, Elder Quentin Barnes,” Pizat said. “Mister Tweedy is on the fifteenth floor, suite 15-B. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to hit any comm button and simply ask. The building staff will be happy to assist you.”

Quentin took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. He didn’t have to look for suite 15-B, because wild-eyed John Tweedy was waiting for him outside the elevator.

“Q! Come on in, brother. I just have to finish this call. Come with me.”

He followed John down the short hall and through the door to suite 15-B. Inside, football memorabilia seemed to cover every wall and rest on every flat surface, from the entry way into the living room. Pictures and holoframes of John in various uniforms from his career, mostly with the Krakens, but also others: a team with bright blue jerseys and silver helmets decorated with a blue lion on the side; a team with black jerseys and yellow numbers, black helmets with a single yellow stripe down the middle; and a team with green and gold uniforms. John looked oldest in the Krakens pictures, and progressively younger through the others.

John picked up a remote control and hit a button. The room’s central holotank flared to life, showing a tiny Human woman wearing a jersey that was half Krakens orange with black numbers, and half black with metalflake-red numbers — the jersey of the Orbiting Death. The woman’s shoulders were practically in her ears. She looked somewhat hunched over, making her even smaller than she already was. A big smile broke across her face.

“Well!” she said. “Jonathan, is this your little friend Quentin?”

“That’s him, Ma,” John said. “Quentin, say hello to Ma Tweedy.”

Families. Quentin never felt comfortable around families. “Hello, Missus Tweedy.”

“Call me Ma,” she said. “I’ve been watching you this season, Quentin. You’re not playing too bad, but you gotta start sliding.”

John leaned and whispered in Quentin’s ear: “Ma knows a
lot
about football.”

“Jonathan! No whispering!”

“Sorry, Ma.”

“So,” Ma Tweedy continued, “Quentin, you gonna start sliding? I mean, if you like getting hit in the mouth, I can send some of my friends from the shipyard to smack you in the face with lead pipes, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

John leaned in again. “Ma does admin at a shipyard on Orbital Station One.”

“
Jonathan!
Whispering!”

“Sorry, Ma.”

“So, Quentin,” she said. “How about it? You going to start taking care of yourself and stop taking hits?”

“Uh... yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Uh... yes, ma’am?”

“Such a polite boy,” she said. “And... Jonathan, did you take your brother off of hold?”

“Oh, sorry,” John said. “I forgot.”

“Don’t lie to your mother, son. Put him on.’

John hit another button on the remote. Ma Tweedy’s image narrowed and slid to the side as a second image appeared. Quentin instantly recognized the big face — John’s brother, Ju.

“Dillhole,” Ju said. “Did you leave me on hold?”

“
You’re
the dillhole,” John said.

“Julius! Jonathan!
Language
.”

“Sorry, Ma,” the two men said in unison.

“Ma,” Ju said. “Don’t go using my full name in front of other people, okay?”

“Shut it,” Ma Tweedy said. “You and your fancy nicknames, it says Julius on your birth certificate and that’s what I’ll call you. Quentin, John tells me you have a fancy new yacht?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you have the Wolfpack in Week Five?”

“Yes ma’am, we’re gonna win that.”

“There’s a difference between dreams and delusions, Quentin. You ain’t beating them unless you get some pass blocking. But that doesn’t matter — you have three days off in your bye-week after you play the Wolfpack?”

“Uh... yes ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. “John tells me you got no family in Ionath City, so you put my son in your fancy yacht and you come visit me at Orbital Station One. Don’t bother saying no, because I’m already planning to make my tuna noodle casserole.”

“
Sweet
,” John and Ju said in unison.

“Uh, Missus Tweedy I—”

“Can’t wait to see you in person,” she said. “Any friend of Jonathan’s is welcome in my home any time.”

“Ma,” John said. “I gotta get going. I love you!”

“Love you too, son. I’ll let you boys go now, I know you have all kinds of fancy things to do while your mother sits here alone in her apartment. But I don’t mind. And Julius! You stop seeing that no-good gangster girl! You’re going to get yourself shot and break your poor mother’s heart!”

“Ma!” Ju said. “Do you mind not airing the family laundry in front of strangers?”

“Quentin
is
family. Julius, you just keep it in your pants lest someone cut it off. Goodbye, boys! Remember that Mommy loves you!”

Her face blinked out. Ju’s face expanded to fill up the holotank.

“Ha-ha,” John said. “You got yelled at.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ju said. “Quentin, I guess I’ll be seeing you after Week Five.”

“Okay,” Quentin said, not having any idea of what else he could say.

“Screw you, John,” Ju said, then the holotank blinked out.

John started laughing.

“You jerk,” Quentin said. “You timed that call, didn’t you?”

WHO, ME?
scrolled across John’s face. “Hey, you’re the one with the sweet ride. OS1 is just a short punch away, not even half a day. Once you’ve had my mom’s tuna noodle casserole, you’ll thank me.”

“John, I’m not going.”

“Gotta go,” John said. “Ma said you’re going, so you’re going. Don’t argue with Ma, Quentin. Besides, if I don’t get you out of here, you’ll spend your three days off studying, right? So you’re coming with.”

Quentin closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll take you.”

“
Sweet!
” John said.

Quentin walked to a frame on the wall that held a blue jersey with silver numbers. “Thomas 3 Lions? You played for them?”

Tweedy pounded his chest three times. “Glory be to Thomas 3!”

“Right,” Quentin said, now remembering that John hailed from Thomas 3 and was exceedingly proud of his home planet. “I don’t recognize the other teams.”