“Last chance,” Quentin said. “You get your money, Pine is free and clear. Do you accept?”
Mopuk picked up the contract box. He slid the tip of one pedipalp finger inside. The box’s light switched from red to green, signifying a completed transaction.
“That’s that,” Quentin said. “Now that you’re paid, I don’t have to worry about you coming after us. I don’t want to see you again. And don’t think of letting it slip to Gredok as a way of getting back at Pine. You know what will happen to Pine if Gredok finds out, but you also know what will happen to you if Gredok finds out you were messing with his team and his players, right?”
“Yes,” Mopuk said. “I agree. We will keep this to ourselves.”
“And what about them?” Quentin asked, gesturing to the two dead Ki that took up half the floor, and the two dead Quyth Warriors.
“An accident,” Mopuk said. “You will not be involved.”
Quentin nodded again. The music continued to blare, but over the horrible noise he heard the high-pitched rhythmic chirp of constables approaching.
“Tikad,” Quentin said. The Quyth Worker didn’t seem to hear. Quentin reached out with a toe and kicked him.
“Yes Elder Barnes!” said Tikad the Groveling. “Please is there anything I can do for you?”
“You got a back door in this place?”
“Yes Elder Barnes! Right this way!” Tikad scrambled to his feet, his body trailing dripping black strands of thick Ki blood. He ran deeper into the club. Quentin followed, Virak and Choto in front of him once again, the rest of his teammates behind. As the first constables ran into the Bootleg Arms, Quentin and the Krakens were nowhere to be seen.
IN LESS THAN twenty-four hours, the bandages were gone, the rejuv bath had been removed, and Don Pine’s healed arms crossed over his chest as he lay back in his hospital bed, staring incredulously at Quentin.
“So you paid it?” Pine said. “Are you kidding me?” While his eyes showed doubt, they also showed just a flicker of hope.
“Yes,” Quentin said. “The debt is paid.”
They were alone in the room. Teammates sat outside. Not a moment had gone by when there weren’t at least two Krakens players guarding their veteran quarterback.
“But they’re not going to just let me go,” Pine said, shaking his head. “They make more on one game than my debt is worth, easy.”
Quentin shrugged. “It’s taken care of.”
Pine looked away. “Those Ki scumbags that broke my legs, cut me up… they’ll be after me again, I know it.”
“They won’t be after anyone, ever,” Quentin said. “Virak and Choto saw to that.”
Pine’s expression relaxed into wide-eyed amazement. “But why, Quentin? Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t do it, the team did it.”
Pine nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure of that, but off the field most of these guys can’t even stand to look at each other. Someone had to make them work together, and I know it wasn’t Virak and Choto. It was you. So why did you do it? All you had to do was stay out of it, and the team was yours.”
Quentin looked at the floor. “I don’t know. You needed help, and I helped. That’s it.”
Pine extended his blue-skinned hand. Quentin had shaken the man’s hand before, but this was different. Quentin stared at it for a second. Ten weeks ago, to think a blue-boy would be a true friend, well, that was simply unthinkable.
Quentin shook Donald Pine’s hand.
“I won’t forget this,” Pine said. “Not ever.”
QUENTIN ROLLED to the left as the rest of the team moved right. Hokor had held the naked boot in reserve all day, but played that card late in the fourth quarter. The Krakens held on to a slim 2019 lead, and they needed to put the Bigg Diggers away.
Surveying his options, Quentin kept the ball on his left hip as he started turning upfield at the Diggers 28. Kitiara Lomax, the Diggers’ all-pro linebacker, saw the naked boot and gave chase, but he was the only one. Quentin looked downfield — Rick Warburg had blocked down then bounced left on a 10-yard out, and Denver was angling for the end zone’s back left corner, covered closely by Arkham.
Run or pass. With the speed of a supercomputer, the options flashed through Quentin’s brain. He had three or four steps on Lomax. Arkham already had three interceptions on the day, and had kept her team in the game by preying on Quentin’s passes like a piranha on raw meat. Rick Warburg was open — but he was also a racist jerk.
BLINK
Quentin tucked the ball under his left arm and angled for the sidelines. He sensed everything: the home Krakens crowd jumping and roaring, the missing patches of Iomatt where cleats had torn up the turf, the smell of dirt and sweat and blood, Lomax’s desperate efforts to cut him off, Warburg’s look of fury when he realized that Quentin wasn’t going to throw.
Quentin leaned into the run, his legs chewing up the yards. Lomax was faster than he’d calculated, and dove for Quentin just as the young QB reached the sidelines and turned upfield. But Warburg was there, coming free and fast, and blindsided Lomax with a devastating, head-snapping hit.
Quentin’s long, graceful strides belied his speed. The yards slid by like water on glass. Denver tried to block Arkham, but the cornerback effortlessly pushed the receiver aside and came up the sidelines at Quentin. It would be a head-to-head battle.
Intercept me? Payback time, lady.
Arkam’s legs blurred as she kamikazied her way forward. At the eleven, Quentin screamed and lowered his head, smashing into Arkham, more a linebacker delivering a concussive blow than a quarterback scrambling for yards. Arkham was bigger than most Sklorno, and faster, and she carried a devastating amount of force.
Quentin ran her right over.
He stumbled after the hit, legs pumping high to avoid a trip. Arkham crashed to the ground, defeated, crushed. Her raspers reached out at the last second, scraping long strips of skin from the backs of Quentin’s hands.
BLINK
The world slammed back to reality as Quentin crossed the goal line trailing a stream of his own blood. He chucked the ball into the stands, then stood with both arms outstretched, redness dripping to stain the blue lomatt, his tilted head looking at the roaring, adoring crowd.
That’s right, he thought as he turned, surveying his fans. You do not mess with Quentin Barnes.
From the Ionath city Gazette
Backup leads Krakens to fourth straight win
By Toyat the Inquisitive
It seems that the Purist Nation finally has an export that interests citizens of the Quyth Concordia.
That export is Quentin Barnes.
The rookie quarterback once again came to the Krakens’ rescue, filling in for oft-damaged starter Donald Pine who was out with unspecified injuries. Barnes led the Krakens (5–2) to a 27–19 win over the Bigg Diggers (2–5), and put on a showcase that combined unstoppable talent, rookie inexperience and more speed than any Human has a right to possess. Barnes threw for 305 yards and two touchdowns, as well as running for 82 yards and adding another touchdown on the ground. This all-pro caliber performance was marred by inconsistent passing — Barnes was 19-for-35, including three interceptions.
“They (the Diggers) threw some coverages at me I hadn’t prepared for,” said Barnes. “Arkham robbed me blind all day long.”
Arkham, the Digger’s crafty veteran cornerback, repeatedly disguised her coverage and capitalized on Barnes’ inexperience. Arkham notched all three interceptions, but was knocked out of the game late in the fourth quarter with a crushed right thorax and torn upper right tentacle. She will be out for the rest of the season.