Tweedy stood straight up as he turned, his hands reaching back to cover his butt. His eyes grew wide with fury and his lips curled back in a primitive snarl. Fists clenched, he took a step forward, but stopped when Quentin held the towel tight once again, poised for another snap.
Tweedy pointed his finger at Quentin. “Put down that towel, you Purist piece of garbage, and we’ll settle this right now.”
“Sure thing, Johnny-boy,” Quentin said. “Maybe this time I can snap Little Johnny right off your body.” He twitched his shoulders as if to snap again, and the naked Tweedy took a hurried step back. Someone in the locker room started laughing.
“Barnes! Put that towel down!”
Quentin turned to see Hokor standing there, fur fluffed, his pedipalps trembling.
“Put it down.”
Without looking, Quentin tossed the towel behind him. Tweedy caught it and wrapped it once again around his waist.
“In my office, now.” Hokor stomped away, and Quentin followed.
Here we go, Quentin thought. He saw how I play in a real game, and now I’ll get the talk about how he thinks I’m ready for more.
Hokor’s office was just off the central meeting room. Holoframes lined the wall, showing Hokor with Krakens players as well as action shots of him on the sidelines of the D’Kow War Dogs, the Jupiter Jacks and the Chillich Spider-Bears. There were several pictures, the old-fashioned flat kind, showing Humans that Quentin didn’t recognize. One had a brimmed, houndstooth-patterned hat pulled down almost over his eyes. He wore an antique suit and had Human players around him in crimson helmets with a white stripe and crimson jerseys with block white letters and numbers. Another showed a squat, smiling man in a long coat with thick black glasses and a buzz-cut. He was riding on the shoulders of two dirty, happy men in green uniforms with yellow helmets.
A football holo played in the center of the room: the Glory Warpigs playing host to the Krakens’ next foe, the Grontak Hydras.
“How are the Hydras looking, Coach?” Quentin asked.
“They are my nightmare,” Hokor said as he sat behind his desk. The desk was curved like half a circle, made of some hard plant material Quentin had never seen before. Yet despite the alien wood in the alien city with the alien coach, Quentin couldn’t help but think of Coach Graber, sitting behind his desk back on Micovi.
“They have great speed at receiver,” Hokor said. “Their outside linebackers, Lokos the Bruised and Bilis the Destroyer, were All-GFL last year, and Wichita is without a doubt the best corner-back in Tier Two. She’ll probably be able to shut Hawick down completely.”
As the camera changed angles, a score flashed: Warpigs 22, Hydras 12.
“If they’re so good, how come they’re losing?”
Hokor stared for a moment before answering. “Barnes, the Hydras’ score against the Warpigs doesn’t matter. Nor does their record. Nor does it matter if the Hydras lose all their games. The only thing that matters is how they match up against us, and they match up very well indeed. Not that it matters to you.”
“Of course it matters to me, Coach. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because you’re benched next week.”
“Benched? Are you kidding me? For snapping John Tweedy on the butt?”
“I do not care about the silly bonding games you Human males play,” Hokor said, his big eye flooding clear black. “You’re benched for that pass you threw.”
Quentin’s jaw dropped. “What the hell are you talking about? I threw a 55-yard touchdown, for High One’s sake!”
“A pass that I did not tell you to throw,” Hokor said as he slapped the desktop with his pedipalps. “I told you to take a knee. And don’t think I’m fooled by your trick of turning off your helmet receiver.”
“Is this some kind of a rookie joke?”
“I do not joke.”
“So how long am I out?”
“One game,” Hokor said. “You will dress to lessen your shame, but you will not see any playing time. It is important that the team sees you as a competent backup to Pine, so we will keep this to ourselves. You are going to learn who is in charge here, Barnes.”
Quentin stared at the diminutive coach. He wanted to come across the desk and punch out that one big eye.
“This is all to protect Pine, isn’t it,” Quentin said. “You know damn well I should be starting.”
“Right now you’re not fit to start a grav-cab, let alone start for a Tier Two team,” Hokor said. “The sooner you see that, the sooner we can start working to make you good enough to play in this league.”
“I looked pretty flippin’ good today.”
“You were playing garbage time against the worst team in the division,” Hokor said. “Hardly an impressive outing. Now leave, I must prepare for next week’s game.”
Quentin stood and stormed out of the office, making sure to accidentally bump his shoulder against one of the holoframes as he left. He heard the heavy thing crash into the floor, and heard Hokor’s angry yell, but ignored both and walked back to the Human dressing room.
Pine was there, dressed in a sharp blue suit that complimented his blue skin. “Hell of a game today,” he said with a wide smile. “And hell of a shot you put on Tweedy. The guy’s left cheek is already black and blue. Where did you learn to do that?”
“In the mines,” Quentin said as he sulked to his locker. “Roundbugs down there. Every kid carries a weighted rope. You learn early on how to snap the rope to kill any roundbugs you see — you don’t learn how to do it right, you die.”
Pine’s face wrinkled in disbelief. “What, are you kidding me? How old were you when they taught you that?”
“Five,” Quentin said. “That’s when you start working in the mines.”
“At five? Five years old? Working a mine with poisonous… bugs, or whatever? Good God, Quentin, what kind of a place did you grow up in?”
“A chosen place,” called the deep voice of Rick Warburg. “Where only the blessed can live.”
Pine laughed. “Doesn’t sound that blessed to me, champ.”
“High One protects the faithful,” Warburg said as he walked over.
“I see,” Pine said, drawing out the last word. “The faithful. And so therefore if a little child is killed by one of these bugs, then that’s because the child was not faithful. So the child dies, and it’s the child’s fault.”
Warburg nodded.
Pine shook his head. “Nice place you guys come from. Say, Quentin, Yitzhak and I are heading out on the town. There’s a great Chinese place just past the stadium.”
Pine’s audacity amazed Quentin. The guy was pulling every string in the book to keep his starting job, and was two-faced enough to try and be friends.
“I’ve got a place Quentin would be more happy,” Warburg said. “With his own people.”
Pine looked at Warburg, then looked at Quentin, then shrugged and walked away.
“Finish getting dressed,” Warburg said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“YOU’LL LOVE the neighborhood,” Warburg said. “There’s thousands of ex-patriot Nationalites on Ionath. Most of them came during the cleansing.”
Their grav-cab floated along the magnetic track that led through the Human Cultural Area. Grav-cabs abounded in the domed city — you just hopped on, told it where you wanted to go, then enjoyed the ride. On Micovi, only the rich could afford any kind of car, let alone one with a driver. Here in Ionath City, cars were not only available to anyone at any time, they were also free.