“Y-set, belly right. On one, on one, ready…”
“Break!”
The Krakens moved to the line. The booing intensified. Pure hate distilled from 181, 500-plus.
He surveyed the defense. The Pioneers ‘D’ had given up 21 points a game — they won games with Adrienne’s arm. The middle linebacker, Kagan the Crazy, was a thickly built Quyth Warrior and the most dangerous player on the team. He loved to blitz, especially delayed blitzes, and already had three sacks in the first two games. The defensive line was nothing special, allowing an average of 168 yards on the ground — hence Hokor’s emphasis on running. Hokor wanted to control the ball and keep Adrienne off the field as much as possible. Quentin scanned the defensive backfield and recognized his opponents for the afternoon: Palatine, the right corner, Tumwater, the safety, Westland, the free safety and Belgrade, the left corner.
The stats and tendencies of all four defensive backs suddenly popped into his thoughts. Information seemed to flood into his brain as if from an outside pipeline. Belgrade had poor speed, she often gave up long passes over the top. Tumwater was playing with a hurt right tentacle, and in the last game she had avoided big hits. Palatine was a good right corner, but lacked the height and jumping ability to match premier receivers. Westland, a five-year vet, built much thicker than most Sklorno, was known for her devastating hits.
“Greeeeen, nineteen!” Quentin shouted, barely able to hear himself over the crowd. “Green, nineteen!”
Quentin turned to the right and handed off to Fayed. The Pioneers’ linebackers came quickly on a run-blitz, knocking Fayed backwards, stuffing the play at the line.
Quentin looked to the sidelines, but Hokor said nothing over the ear-speaker. Quentin tapped his heads-up display to double-check the next play: another run. He sighed and formed up the huddle.
AS THE FIRST QUARTER wore on, it became obvious that the Pioneers weren’t going to let Mitchell “The Machine” Fayed run wild. They run-blitzed, they stacked linebackers in the gaps. They didn’t use pass-coverage formations like the nickel package, even on third downs. The Krakens’ first two possessions were three-and-out. Quentin didn’t even throw his first pass until the end of the first quarter, a completion to Kobayasho for seven yards. The Pioneers clearly didn’t fear this rookie quarterback in his first start — they practically dared Hokor to beat them with the pass.
Adrienne struck again in the second quarter, hitting Westchester for a 52-yard strike. Quentin burned with jealousy at the Pioneer quarterback’s long TD passes. He knew he could match the performance, especially against the run-oriented Pioneers defense, but he wasn’t going to question Hokor anymore. He’d run the plays that were called.
He felt his pulse quicken when he took the field late in the second quarter and Hokor finally outlined a passing attack.
“Y-set, double-post,” Hokor said. “Test them downfield. If it’s not open, don’t throw, you got it?”
Quentin nodded as he moved to the huddle and called the play. The team seemed a bit listless in the huddle, as if they had already conceded defeat. The only way to get them going, Quentin knew, was with a sustained drive or a big play. He broke the huddle and lined up. The Pioneers still showed a run defense, leaving Hawick and Scarborough covered with only woman-to-woman. Quentin calmed himself, knowing he had to be cool to take advantage of this opportunity.
“Blue, fifteeeeeen! Blue, fifteen… hut-hut!”
He dropped straight back, eyes following Hawick, over to Scarborough, then back to Hawick again. She already had a step on her defender. Quentin stepped up to throw, but the pocket collapsed almost immediately. A huge Ki lineman bore down on him from the left. Quentin dodged to his right, still looking downfield, but he sensed pressure on that side as well. He stepped up into the pocket, where Kagan met him head-on with a hit that knocked Quentin flat on his back. It was like being smacked with a wrecking ball. His eyes scrunched in pain. Quentin heard the continuing “ooohhh” of the crowd as the holo-monitors in each end zone replayed the hit.
With second-and-long, Hokor called another pass. Kagan blitzed again. Quentin didn’t have time to throw downfield and had to settle for a quick five-yard strike to Warburg. The Krakens tried a draw on the next play, and got nowhere. Defeated once again, the offense ran off the field as the punt team came on.
Quentin took off his helmet and threw it at the bench in disgust. He couldn’t make things happen if he didn’t have time to throw. He’d studied the Pioneers games over and over again — their defensive line wasn’t anything special. He had to get his O-line motivated. He stood and started walking down the bench to where the Ki linemen were huddled in their big ball, but stopped — Donald Pine was already in front of them.
Pine leaned heavily on his crutches, their tops digging into his armpits, leaving his hands free to flail about. He wildly gestured first to the linemen, then to the field, then up in the air, then back again. Pine looked furious, madder than Quentin had ever seen him. Pine was screaming them up one side and down the other, and Quentin didn’t have to wonder what for.
Why is he doing that? Quentin thought. That’s my job.
Why was he doing it? Because the linemen listened to Pine.
Once again, Pine seemed to be helping Quentin, not sabotaging him. Had he done the same thing in making Denver offer help for passing practice?
AT HALFTIME, the game seemed to have slipped away. The Krakens were down 21-3, their only score coming on a nice 52-yard field goal by Arioch Morningstar. Quentin saw possibilities on almost every play, or thought he saw them, but he wasn’t about to alter Hokor’s calls. Maybe it was like before, like in the Hydras game, and Hokor knew something that he didn’t. He’d made the most out of the few opportunities that came his way, hitting five of his eleven passes for 82 yards. The completions were nice, but he spent most of the first half flat on his back either knocked down after the pass or dragged down for one of the three first-half sacks. That was more sacks than he’d suffered his entire season with the Raiders. No touchdowns, and one interception when a Ki tentacle deflected his pass at the line of scrimmage. He had also scrambled for 22 rushing yards — far more out of necessity than choice. On the Krakens’ home field he could have ran for much more, but the Pioneer field’s slippery footing made it hard for him to make sharp cuts.
The visitors central locker room was filled with beings dressed in orange leg armor with black trim, and orange jerseys stained with streaks of oily yellow. Hokor stood in the middle of the circular room, his fur extended to its full length. He ranted and raved about the offensive line’s poor showing, but much like Pine’s lecture on the sidelines, nobody seemed to care.
THE PIONEERS WALKED away with the game, winning by an embarrassing score of 35–10. Fayed had managed one big play, breaking three tackles for a 24-yard run and the Krakens’ only contribution to the weekly ESPN highlight reel.