Quentin nodded again.
“If we have to pass, they’re going to come hard. That’s why I need you now, Yitzhak can’t scramble the way you can. R-set, dive right, tell Fayed to get that first down.”
Quentin stood and ran onto the field. The crowd roared approval, but he didn’t hear them. A glance at the scoreboard told him Fayed had picked up five yards on the last play, making it third-and-one. He felt like he was floating instead of running. He reached the huddle. It was different this time — all first-string players — dirty, bloody, intense and mean. This wasn’t garbage time. Every one of the ten sentients in the huddle wanted to win. They looked at him, some with suspicion, some with hope. Warburg smiled at him and gave him a quick thumbs-up.
“R-set,” Quentin said, surprised to hear his voice crack like a pubescent teenager. He cleared his throat. “R-set, dive right. We need a first down here! On two, on two, ready?”
“Break,” the huddle called in unison.
Quentin walked to the line, adrenaline racing through his body, making him feel like a vibrating holosign. The Human and Quyth linebackers looked at him like he was a mortal enemy, the Ki defensive linemen looked at him like he was a meal.
The Krakens lined up with two tight ends, Tom Pareless at fullback and Fayed at tailback. Hawick lined up wide left, Wichita only two yards off in bump-and-run coverage.
“Blue, fifteen!” Quentin’s eyes swept the defense. “Blue, fifteen!” The Hydras lined up in a 5–2 with the defensive backs up close — a run-stopping formation. The right cornerback played in tight, and the free safety was cheating up to the line. Like everyone in the stadium, they knew it was a run, that Fayed would get the ball. That was the safe thing to do, the smart thing to do. Quentin’s mind flashed a light-year a minute, calculating the positions and intended directions of each defensive player.
“Hut-hut!”
BLINK
The world around him slowed to half-speed. The ball slapped into his hands and the line exploded into a melee. Quentin pivoted for the handoff, and as he did he saw the free safety drive forward and the right cornerback come in for a run-blitz. The Hydras hoped to jam the off-tackle hole, and the cornerback would keep Fayed from bouncing to the outside. Fayed would have nowhere to run.
Quentin reached the ball back for Fayed — then at the last second, he pulled it just out of Fayed’s reach.
Fayed tried to turn, looking to the ground as if there was a fumble, but his forward momentum carried him into the line. The free safety slipped through the hole and hit Fayed at the waist. The blitzing cornerback came in fast, and saw too late that Quentin still had the ball.
Quentin tucked the ball and drove to his right. The cornerback planted her feet, but he was by her before she could change direction. As soon as he moved past her he cut up-field at an angle. The corner chased him — he’d never seen a player change direction that fast. The strong safety came at him from the defensive backfield, eliminating any cutback. The Quyth Warrior outside linebacker, number 52, Bilis the Destroyer, went into a side-roll, quickly moving back at an angle that put him in front of Quentin. Bilis popped out of his roll, suddenly on all fours, strong pedipalps sticking out and ready.
Quentin threw a head-and-shoulders juke to his left, to the inside. Bilis bought it, and Quentin instantly drove to his right, to the outside, in a cut that would leave the linebacker grasping air.
Bilis the Destroyer instantly matched the move.
No way, Quentin had time to think before Bilis leveled him, catching him under the chin and knocking his head back. Quentin’s feet flew out from under him as his body spun backwards until the back of his head smashed into the ground. He bounced once and rolled to an ungraceful stop.
BLINK
The world rushed back to normal, some unseen force seeming to tap off the “mute” button in his brain — the sound of 185,000-plus hit him like a hammer.
He stood up, energy pumping through every molecule in his body while pain radiated through his brain. He’d thrown that same move at least a thousand times in his PNFL career. It always left the defenders in the dust. But the Quyth Warrior linebacker… he’d never seen such amazing lateral movement. Bilis the Destroyer had matched his in-cut and his out-cut as if he were Quentin’s mirror-image. On all-fours, their low center of gravity let them move side-to-side far faster than any Human.
The Hydras called a timeout, stopping the clock at 1:36. The ref signaled first down and the chains moved forward. Quentin jogged back to the huddle. He’d picked up eleven yards on the play.
Hokor’s faced popped to life in the holographic heads-up display.
“Barnes, what the hell was that?”
“A first down, Coach.”
“I called a dive-right.”
“That’s what I ran, Coach,” Quentin said as he reached the huddle. “Only I missed the handoff, so I improvised.”
“Well stop improvising!” Hokor screamed so loud Quentin wondered if Quyth Leaders had vocal cords that could rupture.
“Okay, Coach, no problem.”
“Good. Same play. And this time, hand it off.”
First-and-10 on the Krakens’ 43. Quentin turned to the huddle. The Humans were smiling at him, the Sklorno stared at him with newfound reverence, and the Ki just looked at him in their unemotional way.
“Okay, let’s do it again, X-set, dive right, on one.”
“You gonna hand it off this time?” Fayed asked without a hint of irritation.
“Yeah. Get me some yards.”
Fayed nodded once.
The Krakens lined up. He handed off to Fayed: this time the free safety stayed off the line, and the right corner waited, making sure Quentin didn’t have the ball. Bilis the Destroyer came free and swung his arm in a vicious hook that caught Fayed in the throat, lifting the Human off the ground and snapping him back after a three-yard gain. Quentin watched in horror, fully expecting Fayed to lay on the ground with a broken neck. But the whistles blew, Fayed popped up good as new and ran back to the huddle, smiling all the way.
Hydras used their second time out: 1:29 to go.
Hokor’s voice came over the transmitter. “Off-tackle left, tell Fayed to keep that ball covered up.”
Quentin nodded and called the play in the huddle. The crowd roared like a hundred take-off rockets, so loud their combined voices shook the very ground. The ball snapped into his hands. As he turned he watched the defenders — once again they were selling out, coming to stop the run and only the run. Quentin handed off to Fayed, who avoided a would-be tackler that broke through the line. Fayed spun to his left, back inside, but there was nowhere to run. He plowed into the line for no gain.
The Hydras used their last timeout.
Third down and seven on the 46, 1:22 to play.
Quentin reached to his belt and tapped the transmit button. “Coach, they’re bringing everyone to stop the run. I can do a quick slant for the first down.”
Hokor’s face appeared in the heads-up display. “Dive left,” he said.
“Coach, we won’t get a first down! They’ll get the ball back.”
“We chew up another thirty seconds, punt, and make them work the length of the field.”
“But Coach — ”
“Hand off the damn ball!” Hokor’s voice was loud enough to make Quentin flinch. The Coach’s fur puffed out and his eye flooded a deep black.
Quentin walked to the huddle. “Okay, okay, we’ve got this in the bag. X-set dive left, on two, on two. Break!”
The Krakens jogged to the line. The Hydras players looked like characters from some war movie, dug-in deep and ready for a heroic last stand against the enemy. The ballgame hinged on this one play. If the Hydras stopped the Krakens here, they’d get the ball back with just under a minute to play. No timeouts, but they’d have a chance to win. If the Krakens got the first down, Quentin would just take a knee on the next two plays and the game was over. If they got the first down, they controlled the win instead of giving the Hydras a chance to snatch the victory.