“Largest artificial construct in the galaxy’s history,” Virak said. “Much larger than Emperor One.”
Quentin let out a long whistle. “I bet the Creterakians don’t like that.”
“They hate it.”
“How many beings live on that thing?”
“One-point-one billion.”
Quentin shook his head. That was more beings than all the Purist Nation’s outlying colonies combined. Hell, it was more than two entire planets, Allah and Stewart. The Ace wasn’t a station, it was a whole world. Still, while Allah and Stewart, especially Stewart, looked alive and vibrant, The Ace looked like a rock studded with blue metallic points.
“Not much to see from space,” Quentin said.
“Inside it is amazing,” Virak said. “Even better than Orbital Station Two.”
Quentin didn’t have to wait long to see the inside. The Touchback locked into orbit near an entrance shaft. Quentin rode down on the first shuttle. He wasn’t starting, yet he was listed on the starters’ shuttle. He didn’t know what that meant — what he did know was he didn’t want to talk to Donald Pine on the way down.
Pine couldn’t even meet Quentin’s eyes. The older quarterback spent most of the trip staring out the window, ignoring the hateful glances Quentin couldn’t help but shoot his way.
If Pine tanked a game, the Krakens were out of the playoff hunt, plain and simple. But if Quentin told anyone, it would destroy not only Pine’s career, but the man’s reputation and legacy as well. Maybe Pine was a moron for getting himself into trouble, but he was also a two-time Tier One champion. Did Quentin have the right to ruin that?
Pine wasn’t the only one acting odd. John Tweedy sat in a chair, left fist methodically punching into right hand. Whap. Pause. Whap. Pause. Whap…
MOM ALWAYS DID LOVE YOU BEST scrolled across his forehead.
Quentin nudged the massive Khomeni, then gestured at Tweedy.
“What’s his deal?”
“This is the biggest game of the year for him,” Khomeni said in a voice that sounded like a deep well full of gravel. “The Death’s running back is Ju Tweedy, John’s brother.”
Quentin had read about “The Mad” Ju Tweedy, Tier Two’s leading rusher, in the weekly reports and seen him run on the highlight reels, but he had never connected the last name.
“John looks like he’s about to kill someone,” Quentin said. “He and Ju get along?”
Khomeni laughed as he pulled a large sandwich out of his duffel bag. “Yeah, they get along.” He took a big bite, then spoke around a mouthful of ham on rye. “They get along about as well as the Purist Nation gets along with the League of Planets.”
Quentin left Khomeni to his sandwich as the shuttle slid into the entrance shaft. At The Deuce, the crystalline growths had been mostly straight, like green quartz crystals. Here, they curved in all directions, like crystals of blue gypsum, sometimes spiraling outward like a ram’s horn. Curls grew off of curls that grew off of curls, until the walls of the shaft were like a tangled jungle overgrowth of translucent blue. There were also smooth facets, their polished surface matching the contour of the shaft’s outer diameter.
“Why isn’t it as orderly as The Deuce? This looks like crap.”
Virak seemed to wince at the comment, and before Quentin could ask why Choto the Bright slid out of his seat and stormed over. Choto’s eye flooded a deep green. His strong pedipalps reached for Quentin. Quentin felt a blast of adrenaline rip through him in response to the oncoming 400-pound linebacker. Without even thinking, Quentin’s fists balled up and he started to look for an opening.
Before either he or Choto could take a swing, however, Virak stepped between them.
“Back off, Choto!” Virak said, catching the bigger Quyth Warrior in mid-step. Choto’s one eye peeked around Virak’s shoulder. It was a scene identical to one Quentin had witnessed Humans perform more times than he could remember — one being holding another one back to prevent a fight.
“Human rookie said my world looks like feces!” Choto said. He tried to swing a pedipalp over the top, the Quyth Warrior equivalent of the Human “swim technique” used to get past an offensive lineman, but Virak effortlessly matched the move.
“He did not mean it,” Virak said. “Quentin, tell him you did not mean it.”
Choto pushed again, and Virak had to take a step back to keep his balance. Suddenly two Ki lineman, Kill-O-Yowet and Sho-Do-Thikit, grabbed Choto and held him tight. Choto’s pedipalps quivered violently, and his eye flooded a deep black.
“I’m sorry,” Quentin said quickly, stepping around Virak to place a hand on Choto’s chest. “I did not mean to offend.”
The words and the touch seemed to stop Choto cold.
“You called my home feces.”
“A figure of speech on my world,” Quentin said quickly. “I was not actually calling your world feces. I apologize if I offended you.”
Choto’s eye quickly fade from deep black to crystal-clear. His body relaxed, and the Ki linemen cautiously released their holds.
“Apology accepted,” Choto said.
“So why does this shaft look so different from The Deuce,” Quentin asked.
“Orbital Station One is older than The Deuce,” Choto said. “About fifty Human years older. The crystal growth technology was not as developed.”
“It looks like it grows great.”
“Yes, but too fast,” Choto said. “That was fine when The Ace was small, a population of about two hundred million beings. But the larger the crystalline matrix grew, the more silicate organisms there were, and growth rates increased exponentially. Engineers cut it away when it grows into populated areas, but it grows unchecked through the non-living areas. It is a problem we’ve been trying to fix for over a century.”
The shuttle dropped through the entrance shaft and into a brightly lit underground city.
“High One,” Quentin murmured. He now understood why larger ships weren’t allowed in the shaft.
If the entrance shaft had resembled overgrown underbrush, the city was a full-out wilderness. Sprawling blue-tinted crystals reached out from every part of the domed ceiling, curving up and over so that the city seemed to exist within a living-but-artificial jungle canopy.
“We have over a million beings employed just to remove overgrowth,” Choto said. “It is our biggest tax burden.”
The shuttle slowed considerably and angled for a large gap in the arching crystalline canopy. As it slid past, the crystal growths seemed so close that Quentin unconsciously gripped a bulkhead to steady himself.
The ship slipped past the upper canopy and into an open space between the canopy and the city buildings. A ship off to the left had dozens of long legs and clung to a crystalline growth like an insect clinging to a plant stem. At the base of the ship, a long, multi-jointed arm held a concentrated beam of white-hot energy. The beam moved back and forth across the blue crystalline growth, until suddenly the growth snapped free trailing thick globs of molten crystal. Growth and ship together plunged downward, but only for a second before the ship’s engine caught and it hovered, newly-cut prize still clutched in insectile legs. The ship flew up, carefully threading its way through the crystalline canopy.
“They will send that off into deep space,” Choto said. “There is no use for it.”
“Why don’t the city engineers just replace this growth with the more successful variety from The Deuce?”
“It has been attempted. The original growth is much more aggressive than the new. New growth has been introduced several times — it is either choked out, overgrown, or actually converted into original growth.”