QUYTH IRRADIATED CONFERENCE STANDINGS
THEY MIGHT AS WELL have been preparing for a gladiatorial fight to the death, or perhaps a pitched battle to save their own families. That’s how intense it felt as the Krakens practiced for the final regular-season game against the Quyth Survivors. There had been smiles and jokes and hard work and intensity as the Krakens crawled from 1–2 and fought their way to first place. The smiles and jokes were gone.
The Krakens had fought too long and too hard to grab sole possession of first place. They weren’t about to take a team lightly simply because of a 3–5 record.
Hokor gave the starting job to Pine. Quentin was mad as could be, jealous, enraged and dejected, but after his performance against the Warpigs he couldn’t blame Hokor. The difference this time, however, was that Quentin and Pine evenly split all practice reps.
After the second practice, with two more to go before game time, Quentin was glad he was not a Quyth Survivor. Later that night they’d take the shuttle up to the Touchback and depart for the planet Quyth, seat of the Quyth Concordia and home of the Survivors.
As he peeled off his armor after practice, Messal waddled over to him. The Quyth Worker stood there, waiting to be addressed.
“What is it?” Quentin asked. He hated how the Workers were so subservient they wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.
“Gredok wishes to see you,” Messal said.
Quentin’s blood ran ice-cold. Gredok hadn’t talked to him since that first shuttle trip from the Combine to the Touchback. “What does he want?”
“As I said, Gredok wishes to see you.”
Quentin nodded. “Tell him I’ll be right up as soon as I finish dressing.”
“He is not here,” Messal said. “He is in town. I am to take you to him immediately.”
Quentin took a deep breath. In town. Had he found out about the team-wide smuggling effort? Or, far worse, found out about Pine?
“Come on, Messal, give me a hint. What’s this about?”
“It is not my place to say,” Messal said with a little bow.
“Okay, let me shower up first.”
“If I may be so bold, I suggest you skip the shower and come with me immediately. Gredok seemed… agitated.”
“Agitated,” Quentin echoed. That couldn’t be good. He’d never seen Gredok upset, let alone agitated. He quickly finished removing his armor, then threw on pants and a Krakens sweatshirt.
THE HOVERCAB STOPPED in front of the Bootleg Arms.
“Uh-oh,” Quentin said.
Virak the Mean was waiting by the front door. He walked forward as soon as the cab stopped. Virak’s eye showed a thin coloring of translucent pink.
“Gredok is inside,” Virak said. “Come with me.”
Quentin thought of running for it, but where would he go? He was in an alien city. He knew only his teammates and a handful of diehard Purist Nation citizens. He could easily outrun Virak. But where after that? This was Gredok’s city. Virak was also apparently in trouble — pink was the color of fear.
“Okay,” Quentin said. “Let’s go.”
They walked inside. Quentin couldn’t help but think of the parallels to the last time he’d been here. Messal led the way this time instead of Tikad the Groveling. Virak was with Quentin once again, but this time they were side-by-side.
The bar was empty. Somehow Quentin knew it would be. They walked past the dance floor and into the back room.
Gredok sat comfortably in Mopuk’s chair. Two Quyth Warriors Quentin didn’t recognize stood on either side of him, each holding a gun.
“Hello, Quentin,” Gredok said. “I think you remember Mopuk.” Gredok gestured to the table. The strange, insect-like creatures filled one half of the table, separated from the other end by a glowing force field. The bugs kept running at the force field, and were constantly thrown backwards by some small shock. After every blast, they ran forward again, only to be shocked again. Inside the other end lay Mopuk, bound tight. His eye glowed the bright, neon pink of pure terror.
“Of course I remember him,” Quentin said.
“I’m not happy with you, Quentin,” Gredok said. “You or your teammates.”
Quentin just looked at Gredok. He wasn’t about to volunteer any information.
“You used my team to smuggle a large shipment of goods,” Gredok said. “I don’t want that to happen again.”
Quentin nodded.
“I’ve learned that Donald Pine was throwing games. My games.”
“I doubt it,” Quentin said. “He’s a great quarterback.”
“Don’t lie to me. Your body heat and pulse tell me when you’re lying.”
Gredok’s fur raised slightly. Quentin had seen Hokor angry, all puffed up like a fur ball, but Gredok’s fur had always lain flat and smooth.
“The problem has been solved,” Quentin said calmly. “We took care of it as a team.”
“You solved nothing.” Gredok pointed to Mopuk. “This, this yakochat caused my team to lose.”
“I’m sorry, Shamakath!” Mopuk screamed. “Please, give me a chance to make it up to you!”
“Be quiet.”
“But Shamakath, I swear, it was a mistake — ”
Gredok’s pedipalp reached for a small button built into the tabletop, Mopuk instantly fell silent.
“This weak one has already told me everything,” Gredok said. “So do not lie to me again, Quentin. Was Pine throwing games?”
Quentin thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Was this one responsible for that?” Gredok asked, his other pedipalp tapping on the glass, right next to the button.
Quentin nodded again.
Gredok pressed the button.
The force field dissipated. The ever-attacking bug-like creatures swarmed over Mopuk, covering his legs and stomach in the blink of an eye. He started to scream as the living carpet swept up his chest and onto his face — but the scream choked as dozens crawled into his mouth. His jaws clamped shut, sending quirts of yellow bug blood against the inner glass. His mouth stayed shut only a second — he opened it to scream again, and more poured into the opening. He jerked and thrashed against his bindings, his body lurching against the strong glass, smashing more of the creatures against the smooth surface, streaking it with blobs of dripping yellow and bits of crushed body parts. The table shook with his jerking pain, but did not break.
He’s shrinking, Quentin thought for a second, then realized the bugs were draining Mopuk of fluid, like a swarm of demonic mosquitoes.
His kicks and lurches slowed.
He had one more panicked burst of twitches, then he slowed again.
And finally stopped.
The bugs kept swarming over him, a shimmering bodysuit of living death.
“That is what happens to those who betray me,” Gredok said. He looked quite satisfied with himself. “If you keep information from me again, I will be angry. But for now, I am pleased with your resourcefulness. I think you handled the situation much as I would have. You will be the starter this week against the Survivors. I am not happy with my bodyguard, who abandoned his main duties in favor of his place on the team. Virak will perform ghiris as an example to others in my organization.”
“Ghiris?”
The pinkness deepened in Virak’s eye.
“It is a ritualistic suicide,” he said. “I will kill myself while the others watch to prove my loyalty to my Shamakath.”