The Ki linemen let out a roar of approval, banging their forearms against their chest armor.
Another needle, this time in his right arm.
“Blood,” Doc said. “You lost a lot from those cuts on your ribs. We need to get your blood count back to normal.”
“Offensively, we’re doing okay,” Hokor said. “Aka-Na-Tak, I know you’re facing Chok-Oh-Thilit, but you’ve got to step up. You’ve got to play above your level, you can’t let him come through.”
Wen-E-Deret had been hurt on the play that gave the Earthlings a safety. After preliminary treatment on the sidelines, Doc had carted him to the locker room, and from there a grav-ambulance had rushed him off to Hudson Bay Hospital. Someone had mumbled something about a severed nervous cord, a very serious Ki injury, but the team didn’t talk about it. After the game, there would be plenty of time to either visit him in the hospital, or the funeral home.
“I know you can stop him, Aka-Na-Tak,” Pine said. The veteran quarterback looked like he’d been mugged all over again. After Wen-E-Deret’s injury, Chok-Oh-Thilit had sacked Pine three times, each one more devastating than the last. Aka-Na-Tak, a backup tackle, just couldn’t handle the all-pro’s savage defensive strength. “You’ve got to stop him. The honor of your family is riding on this.”
Aka-Na-Tak suddenly sat up straighter.
“You know what he told me after the last sack?” Pine said. “He put his face right against mine and said dijo malach we yokot.”
All the Ki in the room shuddered with instant anger. All eyes turned to Aka-Na-Tak, who stood stock-still.
“What’s that mean?” Quentin whispered to Doc.
“It means ‘your lineman is my girlfriend,’ roughly.”
Quentin nodded slowly, appreciating the severity of the comment.
“Can you believe he said that?” Pine said. “Although, if you look at the beating I took on your missed blocks, it’s hard to argue with him.”
Suddenly all eyes turned away from Aka-Na-Tak, as if everyone in the room felt embarrassed for him.
Hokor commanded everyone’s attention. “Yes, well, anyway, let’s get on with the halftime adjustments.”
Doc slid away to tend to other players, leaving the needles sticking out of Quentin’s arms. Messal the Efficient ran up, a new set of rib-armor in his hands. The Quyth Worker pulled away the blue bandages covering Quentin’s wounds. They weren’t quite healed yet, but they didn’t have time to wait.
Hokor walked through offensive adjustments. Quentin tried to pay attention, but all he could hear, really, were the words we’re going to run the ball more, repeated over and over again.
THE KRAKENS WEREN’T the only ones making halftime adjustments.
The Earthlings received the second-half kickoff and ran it back to their own 37. They lined up in something that Quentin had never seen before — two tight ends, with three running backs lined up side-by-side, about five yards behind Johanson.
“Well ain’t that something,” Yitzhak murmured. “The Wing-T.”
Krakens defenders shouted to each other, already nervous about the new formation. The Earthlings hadn’t run this formation, not once, all season long.
The ball snapped. Quentin watched Johanson hand off to the Pookie Chang. Chang’s big arms folded over the ball. He plowed into the line and disappeared into a pile of bodies.
But there was no whistle.
Johanson still had the ball, he’d faked the handoff to Chang — he put it into the hands of tailback Peter Lowachee, who folded his arms around the ball the same way Chang had. Johanson “rode” the handoff, seemingly holding onto the ball as Lowachee cut into the off-tackle hole. Johanson then ran to the sidelines, pretending to carry the ball.
Every play is a triple-threat, Quentin thought. Fullback, tailback, or quarterback. And the way they fold over the ball, you can’t see if they have it or not.
Most of the Krakens’ defense had bought the fullback’s dive, leaving plenty of room for Lowachee, who broke through the line and cut upfield. After a half of watching running back Pookie Chang’s big body rumble along, the fleet-footed Lowachee was like poetry in motion. At only 210 pounds he was a featherweight, but man could he move.
Lowachee chewed up fifteen yards before Perth brought him down at the Krakens’ 48.
The Earthlings lined up in the Wing-T again, and this time Pookie Chang took the handoff. He popped through a tiny hole next to the center, moving forward at top speed. Tweedy had been watching Lowachee, and hadn’t come forward — Chang hit like a big-shouldered boulder, knocking Tweedy flat on his back. Chang stumbled on the fallen linebacker, giving Virak the Mean time to drag him down after an eight-yard gain.
The next play saw the same thing. The linemen and linebackers stepped up to stop Chang, but he didn’t have it. Defensive backs converged on Lowachee as Johanson rode him through the line. Lowachee went down under Perth and Berea — but he didn’t have the ball either. Suddenly Johanson was cutting up the sidelines, all alone. Stockbridge came from the far side of the field, her speed easily surpassing Johanson’s. Instead of taking the hit, Johanson casually stepped out of bounds after a 37 yard gain.
“Uh-oh,” Yitzhak said. “I bet it’s been two centuries since anyone ran this offense. This could be trouble.”
The Earthlings lined up at the Krakens’ 3-yard line, once again in the two tight-end Wing-T. The Krakens’ goal line defense packed around the line, shifting here and there, still not sure how to set up to stop the new offensive attack. The ball snapped and Johanson went through the cycle: put ball in Chang’s arms, put ball in Lowachee’s arms and ride him in, then run to the sidelines. Quentin tried to find the ball. Chang went down. Lowachee’s fake was bad — Johanson still had the ball, running for the corner of the end zone. Perth closed on him like a black-and-orange-and-white blur — but Johanson pulled up and threw a light pass to Lowachee, who had released into the flat, behind the streaking Perth.
Wide open.
Touchdown, Earthlings.
Extra point good, Krakens 14, Earthlings 9.
ON THIRD AND 11 at the Krakens’ 22, Aka-Na-Tak went down again, Chok-Oh-Thilit came through again, and Pine was sacked again. He came up bleeding from the right cheek, madder than Quentin had ever seen him. Pine reared back and threw the ball with all his strength — at Chok-Oh-Thilit, who was only five yards away. The ball smashed into Chok-Oh-Thilit’s helmet, then bounced high into the air.
Chok-Oh-Thilit turned and roared and ran at Pine, who snarled and drove forward, fists swinging. Whistles blew. The crowd raged. Quentin jumped on Chok-Oh-Thilit’s back. Zebes swarmed in as players attacked each other. The game was suddenly a sea of legs and tentacles and raspers and red-blue-silver-orange-black-white.
Whistles shrieked, players swore in four different languages. Something hit Quentin in the back, right at the kidneys. He rolled off Chok-Oh-Thilit and lay on the ground. Pine had his helmet off and was swinging it like a war hammer, blood coursing down his face, his white eyes wide against his red-stained blue skin.
More black and white. Zebes poured out of the woodwork, at least fifteen of them, flying in with stunsticks. Quentin heard the zap of the sticks, smelled burnt ozone, and saw players dropping. Chok-Oh-Thilit fell from a dozen blasts, Pine only needed two.
When it was over, the Krakens’ punt team came onto the field. Fifteen yards back, of course, for Pine’s personal foul.