The Hydras’ quarterback took a knee on first down. The Krakens used up their last timeout. Two more knees, and the clock ticked down to zero.
Hydras 24, Krakens 23.
The sandpaper-bristle sound rose to even new heights, loud enough to make the High One himself cover his ears.
Game over. Quentin didn’t get a chance to be the hero, he was only the goat.
MANY THINGS HAD CHANGED in the course of eight centuries of football. Equipment changed, rules changed, strategy changed, even species changed. But at least two things remained constant — the feeling of the winners, and the feeling of the losers.
A noise-killing shadow seemed to hang over the Human locker room. There was almost no conversation, only the clicks and clacks of armor being removed and tossed into lockers. The shadow seemed deepest and most oppressive in front of the locker belonging to one Quentin Barnes, who sat on the bench, head hung, his gear still on.
He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Instead of doing what he was told, instead of giving the defense the chance to win the game, he’d stupidly gone for the kill and wound up losing.
Yassoud came out of the nano-shower dressed only in a towel. His right shoulder was one solid bruise, angry blue and painful purple beneath his light brown skin. He saw Quentin, head hung low, and walked over.
“How you doin’, champ?”
Quentin looked up without lifting his head, then returned his gaze to the floor. His tongue played with the painful spot where his right front tooth had once been. “Leave me alone.”
“Hey, you threw a pick, it happens.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. Hokor called a run play, I au-dibled.”
“So?”
“So? What do you mean, so? I cost us the game.”
Yassoud shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. A lot of factors went into that loss. The defense gave up ten points in the third quarter. You threw an interception. It was a team loss, Q.”
Quentin shook his head. “It was my game to win, and I blew it.”
Yassoud patted him on the shoulder. “That’s nothing a night on the town won’t cure, my friend. Let’s go out and drink away our sorrows!”
Quentin stood and started unbuckling his armor. “No thanks. I’ve got to get back to my room and study some holo.”
“Hey, man, you’ve got to take a break sometime.”
“I’ll take a break after we win.”
Yassoud gave a little smile that seemed to say suit yourself, then returned to his locker.
He was the only one that spoke to Quentin that night. The others simply ignored him.
Condor Adrienne continued his hot streak, throwing for 342 yards and four touchdowns as the Whitok Pioneers (2–0) notched a 26–12 win over the Bigg Diggers (1–1).
The Sheb Stalkers (1–1) put one in the win column with a 18–16 thriller over the Sky Demolition (0–2). Kicker Bernard Alexander rocked home a 51-yard field goal as time expired to give the Stalkers the victory.
An injury to star quarterback Donald Pine let the Grontak Hydras (1–1) pull out an upset win over the Ionath Krakens (1–1). Defensive back Wichita picked off a fourth-quarter pass from Krakens’ rookie Quentin Barnes and returned it for a touchdown, giving the Hydras a 24–23 win.
Orbiting Death (2–0) continues to look strong, notching a convincing 35–21 win over the Woo Wallcrawlers (0–2). Ju Tweedy rushed for 121 yards and two TDs in the win, but also fumbled three times resulting in two turnovers.
The Glory Warpigs (2–0) remained tied for first thanks to a narrow 17–14 win over the Quyth Survivors (0–2). Keluang, Wellington and Alamo each grabbed an interception as the Warpigs held the Survivors to 102 yards passing, and 182 yards total offense.
DEATHS:
No deaths to report this week.
Offense: Ju Tweedy, running back, Orbiting Death. 121 yards on 23 carries, two TDs.
Defense: Wichita, cornerback, Grontak Hydras. 9 tackles, 2 sacks, 1 forced fumble, 1 fumble recovery, 1 INT, returned for a TD.
GAME THREE: Ionath Krakens (1–1) at Whitok Pioneers (2–0)
QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS
HALF-DRESSED FOR PRACTICE and head hung low, Quentin trudged into the center dressing room. Hokor had summoned him to his office. Quentin had never felt like such a failure. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Pissed it away because he still didn’t understand how fast things moved in the GFL. Logically, he understood, sure, but subliminally, at that primitive level where thought ceased and instinct took over, where split-second decisions were made, he just didn’t get it.
Quentin’s tongue played against the back of the thin plastic that lined his front teeth. Doc said it would take the rest of the day to finish growing the tooth. The working nanocytes tingled in his gums.
Was Hokor just benching him again, or was he giving him a one-way ticket back to the Purist Nation? Quentin went to buzz the door, but it was already open, waiting for him like an execution chamber. He hesitated a moment, then stepped inside.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
Hokor’s pedipalp waved him in. The coach stood in the middle of the floor, staring into a holo of the Whitok Pioneers 32–14 win over the Bigg Diggers. The holo was set to one-third size, making a six-foot-tall player project at two-feet high, just a bit shorter than Hokor.
“Have a seat, Quentin.”
Quentin did as he was told. A pallor seemed to hang over his soul. He hadn’t felt this way since the orphanage nuns had caught him eating food, eating more than his share by far. He’d tried to lie his way out of it, only making the nuns’ wrath all the more severe. That had been his first public whipping, tied up in the city square, with hundreds watching as Sister Akira gave him fifteen lashes. It was the longest day of a seven-year-old’s life.
Hokor said nothing. On the field, the Diggers lined up in a three wide receiver set with a tight end and a single running back. The defense closed in, showing tight woman-to-woman. Hokor paused the game. He worked the controls so that the field spun until Quentin was behind the offensive line.
“What do you see?”
“They’re showing woman-to-woman, but I think they’re set up for a cover-two.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The right corner’s eyes are in the offensive backfield. If it was pure woman-to-woman, she’d be more concerned with the receiver in front of her.”
Hokor nodded once. “Very good. And if that was you, and I’d called a post-cross, what would you audible?”
Quentin stared at the field. His heart sank in his chest. He started to answer, then stopped, his mind suddenly blank.
“I wouldn’t audible anything. I’ve had enough audibling for awhile.”