He knelt and rubbed his hands over the field’s blue surface. At first he thought it was painted, but up close he saw that playing surface was made up of densely packed, circular blue leaves, each smaller than his pinky nail. He pushed his hand down, feeling the blue plant give, then lifted his hand and watched it spring back.
Yassoud knelt next to him. “Getting in a quick prayer, Q?”
Quentin smiled. “No, just checking out the field. Never stood on this stuff before.”
“Nice, isn’t it? I heard it’s actually a plant that’s native to Ionath. Called Iomatt. When they took over the planet, they got some from a plant museum, or something like that.”
Quentin stood and ran a few steps, taking an experimental cut.
“Good resistance. Not quite as firm as the Carsengi Grass I’m used to, but not bad.”
The other rookies filed past them, drawing their attention back to the task at hand. Hokor sat on the 50-yard line, in his cart, of course, surrounded by Krakens players. Humans, Quyth Warriors, Sklorno, and — for the first time since he’d arrived — the huge and nightmarish Ki. The Ki were packed into two tight balls, each a mass of legs, tubular bodies and black eyes, like pictures of multi-headed demons Quentin had seen back on Micovi. One of the piles of Ki players wore black jerseys, for the defense, while the other pile wore orange, for the offense. Pine, Yitzhak and Quentin wore bright red jerseys — the standard football color for designating a “do not hit” player.
“In two days, we face off against the Woo Wallcrawlers,” Hokor said. “It’s a good start for us, as we know they have trouble with our offensive speed. They also went 2–7 last year, but don’t let that fool you into thinking this is an easy victory. It’s the opening game of the season, and we have to win it if we’re going to reach Tier One this year.”
The players gave signs of agreement — nods from the Humans, Quyth Warriors rubbing their pedipalps together, unintelligible chirps and lolling tongues from the Sklorno, and the Ki clacking their arms against their chest. Quentin didn’t know how to read the other races, but he could see the commitment in the eyes of the Human players. They wanted to win, they wanted to reach Tier One.
“First offense,” Hokor called out over his cart’s loudspeaker. “Opening series.”
Quentin jogged to the sidelines. Pine, the arrogant idiot, ran to the huddle with a confident stride. That was Quentin’s huddle. He’d get it back, that was for sure. The ancient quarterback would have to make room for new blood.
Quentin stopped when he reached the sidelines, and looked at the medical bays behind the bench. Five full bays, like a military field hospital. Re-juv tanks, cabinets that held bandages, surgical equipment and other things to help Doc and his staff repair damaged players and get them back on the field. Quentin could see just by looking that the med-bays were more advanced than anything he’d seen in the Purist Nation, even in a hospital. The bays were a reminder of the speed and strength and violence of the GFL — that and the money involved, because a hurt player was a wasted investment. Patch ‘em up and put ‘em back in.
Pine broke the huddle and the orange-jersey offense started on its own 20-yard line. The black-jersey defense lined up in a 4–3 set, showing woman-to-woman coverage. Quentin had never seen real GFL football in person, and it was an awesome sight to behold: the Ki linemen were thick, wide, six-foot-tall obstacles, like little buildings with legs, their spider-like, chitinous arms clacking against their chests as they talked to each other in their rhythmic combat language. The Quyth Warrior linebackers bounced in place, one-eyed creatures clad in thick Riddell padding. Sklorno receivers and defensive backs, with thin pads to allow for pure speed, gracefully flowed from one place to the next, almost as if they had no bones at all.
The first play was an off-tackle run by Mitchell Fayed, who even at three-quarter speed hit the hole harder than any PNFL running back Quentin had ever seen. Fayed came through the line, only to be met head-on by Choto the Bright, the right outside linebacker. With a loud “clack” of pads the two players hit hard — Fayed managed two more short steps before Choto dragged him to the ground.
A shiver ran through Quentin’s body. Drills were one thing, an important thing, but football is about hitting, and with that first clash of starting offense against starting defense the season was actually on. The veterans had been practicing for months, but for the rookies, this was their first Upper Tier contact experience.
Pine guided the offense through the first series, mostly running plays. When he did drop back, he threw short, accurate passes. In his first twenty plays, he threw downfield only twice for one completion. Twice the defense got to Pine, but both times they slowed up before hitting him and just put a hand (or the applicable appendage) on his shoulder.
Yitzhak came in next and, by his mistakes, highlighted Pine’s effectiveness. Hokor started subbing people on both sides of the ball. Yassoud Murphy came in for his first full-contact reps. When he carried the ball, he ran like a tank. His ever-present smile vanished, replaced by an expression that might have been more at home in a hand-to-hand ground war. The Sklorno rookie receivers, Denver and Milford, rotated in for several plays. Quentin waited and watched, trying to analyze the defensive weaknesses, and trying — unsuccessfully — to be patient.
“Barnes!” Hokor finally called after an agonizing hour. Quentin practically sprinted out to the huddle — this is where he’d show Hokor, and the whole team for that matter, why he deserved to start. The offense was now a hodge-podge of first-stringers, second-stringers and rookies. Denver and Mezquitic stared at him reverently. Yassoud smiled. Warburg nodded.
“Okay, boys, let’s take it to them. Pro-40 right flash, on two, on two, break.”
The players moved quickly from the huddle to the line, and Quentin felt in control for the first time since leaving Micovi. The VR sim was an amazing tool, but this was real, this was his chance to show everyone. He lined up behind Bud-O-Shwek, the center — and suddenly realized he had no idea how to take a snap from a Ki.
Quentin stared at the long tubular body. This close up, Bud-O’s body looked like a snake-skinned caterpillar with thick, multi-jointed spider legs. Pine and Yitzhak had made the snap look so natural Quentin hadn’t even thought about it. Where the hell was he supposed to put his hands?
“Barnes!” Hokor shouted. “What is your difficulty?”
Quentin looked up at the coach in his little hovercart. “Well, I… I’m not sure…”
“Oh rub me raw!” John Tweedy shouted. “The hick doesn’t know how to take snap from a Ki!”
Laughter erupted on the field. Quentin flushed red. Everyone was laughing, laughing at him. Even Warburg was laughing, dammit.
Pine calmly stepped forward.
“Just like this, kid,” Pine said, not a trace of laughter in his voice. Pine squatted down and slid his hands under Bud-O-Shwek’s posterior. Quentin now saw that Pine squatted down deeper and reached in farther than he would with a Human center, and had to stagger his feet a little bit in order to keep his balance.
“See?” Pine said. “It’s not so different. Just keep your left foot back a step or so, so you can reach in without falling over. Hut-HUT!”
Bud-O-Shwek snapped the ball and shot forward, his body expanding quickly and violently. Pine tossed Bud the ball, then turned to Quentin.