“We need to win next week,” Shayat said.
Quentin nodded. “That we do.”
After a moment of silence, Shayat spoke. “Do you like money?”
It seemed a strange question, but straightforward enough. “I like money just fine.”
“Do you want to make more?”
Quentin said nothing, but he suddenly knew what was coming next. The dark underbelly of the GFL had avoided him — until now, it seemed.
“This is all juniper berries,” Shayat said, his left pedipalp reaching behind him to pat the backpack. “Worth a fortune on Ionath. Human races control gin production. They drive up the price. But Workers will pay big money for raw juniper berries. They crush them and mix them with fermented digestive acids from collowacks, a kind of insect back on Quyth.”
“I thought juniper berries were illegal,” Quentin said.
“They are. Very illegal. But the System Police can’t search us, remember? If they do, the Creterakians might pull Port Whitok’s GFL franchise rights. You know what would happen to the local government if that happened?”
Quentin shrugged.
“There would be riots. Beings love football. Basically, whatever we can carry on our backs is ignored.”
Quentin nodded, wondering what a bulging backpack of processed opium might be worth back on Stewart.
“I’ve got the berries, mesh, weed, heroin, sleepy, conot-root, you name it. Everything that’s selling back home.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“I’ve got a nice pipeline going,” Shayat said. “Every away game, I bring out a load of money. My contacts bring me a load of juniper berries, which I buy and bring with me when we return to Ionath. On Ionath, berries go for five to ten times what I paid for them, depending on supply.”
Quentin whistled. “At least a five-hundred percent markup, eh? Not bad.”
“I want to make more. If you carry a shipment next time, you’ll get half the profit.”
“Why only half?”
“My contacts, my network.”
Quentin nodded. “I guess that’s fair enough.”
“So you’re in?”
Quentin shook his head. “I’m not in. I don’t want any part of your smuggling ring, you got that? And if you ask me again, you and I are going to go a few rounds.”
Shayat’s pedipalps twitched in laughter. “You think you could go even one round with me, Human?”
Quentin nodded. “Maybe, maybe not, but if you don’t get out of my face we’re sure going to find out.” He stared with cold-hearted disdain at the larger alien. Shayat turned and walked away.
BACK ONBOARD THE Touchback, Quentin walked through the Sklorno section of the ship. While the Human section was fairly spartan and decorated in subdued tones (when the decor wasn’t Krakens orange and black), the Sklorno section paraded a mind-boggling maze of electric colors. Blues, purples, reds, yellows, greens, oranges… all ranging from near-black to near-neon intensity. Patterns, colors and pictures covered the floor, the walls and the ceiling. It was intensely beautiful and disgustingly ugly all at the same time. He found it ironic that the species with no color on their bodies decorated with more colors than anyone else.
He checked his messageboard, which displayed a map of the ship guiding him to Denver’s room. Without the map, he’d have quickly become lost in the Technicolor intensity. Like all doors in this section, Denver’s door was oblong, tall and narrow, like the outline of an egg stretched lengthwise. It was different, but a door was a door — it struck Quentin that this was something (minor, but something) that the different races had in common: a need for privacy, or perhaps just a need to put up walls. Except the Ki, that was… he wasn’t sure if the Ki even understood the concept of privacy.
Quentin pushed the door buzzer. There was a brief pause. The door slid open. Denver stood there for a moment, then started to tremble. Her raspers unrolled, hitting the ground.
“Quentin Barnes,” she said.
Quentin nodded. “Um, listen… I know I’ve been a bit rude to you.”
Denver simply stared. Stared and trembled. From inside the room, Milford walked up behind her. Milford also began to tremble. They both looked at him like he was some kind of… well… alien. To them, he was an alien, probably as weird and disgusting as they were to him.
“So I was hoping that your offer was still good.”
“We participate making you even greater?”
“Yes, I would appreciate that.”
Denver began to bounce lightly in place. Milford did the same. Quentin could see into the room, and noticed that the ceilings were at least twenty feet high.
“When-when-when-when!” Denver said.
Quentin shrugged. “Well, I’m going to be sore as hell tomorrow, so how about we get few reps in right now. I know the VR field is open, and we — ”
The two receivers raced out of the room, cutting his words short as they inadvertently shoved him against the far wall. They sprinted down the hall with all their flat-out Sklorno speed, headed for the ship’s center section and the VR field.
Like little kids the morning of Giving Day, he thought, and laughed to himself as he followed them down the hall.
WITH ALL THE ROOM’S lights turned off, the only illumination came from the row of holotanks. The moving, flashing images cast an uneven and unsteady light onto Hokor’s face. Some of his players were taking the loss very hard, and others didn’t seem to care at all.
Michnik and Khomeni were in the cafeteria, drowning their sorrows in food. The Ki were also about to start their meal. Hokor heard the pitiful bleat of their prey animal. He punched a button on his remote control, turning off that monitor before the Ki started eating. Some players were in the infirmary, Doc tending to their wounds. In a way, Hokor wished more of his players were in the infirmary, as dozens of injuries might be a way to console himself at the humiliating loss.
The Krakens were 1–2, their chances of qualifying for the Tier Two tournament almost completely destroyed. The Glory Warpigs and the Whitok Pioneers both sat at 3–0. The way Condor Adrienne was playing, he didn’t see the Pioneers losing more than two games at most. The Krakens had to win their next six to even have a chance at the playoffs.
The Krakens’ next game against the 0–3 Sky Demolition was the only chance to get back in the race — at least mathematically. A loss… well, another loss meant the end of the playoff hopes, and the end of Hokor’s tenure with Ionath.
This would be his last season as Krakens’ coach, he knew that. Gredok wouldn’t stand for it. If only Pine hadn’t gone down! That was why he went after Quentin, but the talented young Nationalite needed more time. Time Hokor didn’t have.
“Computer, where is Quentin Barnes?”
[QUENTIN BARNES IS UTILIZING THE KRIEGS-BALLOK VIRTUAL PRACTICE SYSTEM]
Nothing new there. Hokor punched a button to call up a holo of the VR practice room. Barnes was there, as he always was. The Human had taken quite a beating thanks to an offensive line that simply did not want to block for him. Yet he had kept getting up, and kept playing as hard as he could. And now, only hours after the game, he was practicing yet again. Barnes dropped back, stepped up, and threw a hard crossing pattern. The throw was a bit behind the receiver. Hokor expected to see the ball pass through the outstretched holographic arms and go bouncing down the field, but it hit the arms and stuck.
Hokor leaned forward. The VR players faded away, leaving not only Quentin, but Denver and Milford as well. Hokor could scarcely believe his eyes. The two Sklorno receivers ran back to Quentin and lined up for another play.