[NO WEAPONS ARE ALLOWED ON HUDSON BAY STATION. IF YOU ARE CARRYING A WEAPON OF ANY KIND, PLEASE REPORT TO THE NEAREST CONSTABLE AND TURN IT IN. CARRYING A WEAPON ON HUDSON BAY STATION IS A CAPITOL OFFENSE.]
The team moved towards a huge line of beings. Waist-high silver stands dotted the length of the line, a red velvety rope hanging between each of the stands.
Off in the distance, the line emptied into a cavernous, hexagonal central area. A massive circle, at least two hundred feet in diameter, dotted each of the hexagon’s sides. Three of the circles were nothing but a large blank space surrounded by a wide ring of deck. A huge platform sat in the center of the fourth circle. Concentric rings of seats filled the platform. Different colors denoted different sections, like slices of pizza, and each color had a different type of seat to accommodate either Ki, Sklorno, Quyth, Leekee or Human. Beings steadily exited the line and moved onto the platform, taking their respective seats. Once the seats filled (some species sat in seats that didn’t quite fit them right, but they didn’t seem to mind much), the platform simply dropped out of sight.
The last two platforms were blocked off by rings of orange and white barrels with small, flashing orange lights on top. Tools and equipment littered the area, although Quentin saw no workers. A sign read; “Your tax dollars at work! Upgrades to the Armstrong Elevator — faster drop-engines, to be complete in September 2684.”
“Construction,” Yitzhak said. “I swear, they’re never finished with this place.”
“Two platforms are down?” Virak moaned. “We’re going to be here forever.”
Quentin waited patiently. While the line did move slowly, it didn’t bother him as much as is seemed to bother some of his teammates. Apparently, they’d never spent four or five hours standing in line while the Starvation Trucks dispensed food to an entire city of hungry people.
Finally the Krakens players reached the end of the line. Platform #3 rose up like some giant Leviathan, noiselessly filling the giant, empty circle that matched its circumference. They wandered onto the platform along with other passengers. Quentin found a seat next to Yitzhak, sat down and waited.
“You ever been on the chute before?” Yitzhak asked.
Quentin shook his head.
“Hope you don’t get motion sick,” Yitzhak said. “And if you do, don’t puke on me.”
[PLEASE FASTEN YOUR SEAT RESTRAINTS. THE PLATFORM WILL DESCEND IN TEN SECONDS.]
Quentin watched Yitzhak fasten a seatbelt around his waist, and followed suit. He silently counted to ten, and then the bottom dropped out of his world.
The huge platform simply fell. His hands flew to the arm rests, fingers digging into the worn plastic. Falling. Falling. All around the platform, metal walls slid by at a sickening speed. Then suddenly the walls were gone, and he was looking at nothing but blue sky and clouds. His stomach roiled and he felt dizzy. Yitzhak’s warning echoed in his thoughts, and he wondered if, indeed, he might puke. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against an onset of nausea.
After five minutes, just when he thought he couldn’t handle it any more, the seat seemed to push against his butt and the floor seemed to press against his feet. They were decelerating. Quentin tried to calm his breathing for the next two minutes as the platform steadily pushed against him. Finally, it slowed to an almost imperceptible speed, and stopped with a slight, shaking jar.
[WELCOME TO HUDSON BAY SURFACE STATION,] the computer voice echoed. [WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY.]
Quentin followed along as the passengers disembarked. The ground station looked like an exact copy of the orbital station, with the exception that the walls were clear and offered a breathtaking view of Hudson Bay and the surrounding complex. Waves crashed into clear walls, sending up clouds of droplets that sparkled in the sunlight before misting back down. He’d never seen so much water before, yet the footing was as rock-solid as dry land.
To the east sprawled the Hudson Bay Airport, a flat rectangle two miles across and three miles long. The airport, elevated about a hundred feet above the water level, rested on two-dozen thick black pylons that ran below the surface. Each pylon, he was told, connected to a sub-surface pontoon some three hundred feet below the surface. Dynamic positioning systems controlled the depth and position of each pontoon, ensuring fixed positioning even in the worst storms. He watched a triangular passenger plane land, escorted in by a flight of boxy-looking Creterakian fighters.
To the north sat Quentin’s destiny: Hudson Bay Stadium. Unlike the airport, the bottom levels of the stadium dome actually rested below the water, with the playing field sitting some 150 feet beneath the surface. A compartmentalized triple-walled hull kept the Hudson Bay waters in check, and rumor had it the stadium housed over a thousand water pumps to control leaks ranging from a tiny pin-hole to the kind of gaping wound caused by a terrorist attack.
The massive lower bowl also rested below the surface, the top seats just peeking out above the water line. The second and third decks rested within a gleaming, crystal-clear dome that rose hundreds of feet into the air.
To the south sat the floating wonder of Hudson Bay City. Centuries ago, the city was built to house Human and Whitok workers harvesting untold amounts of oil and natural gas from deep below the surface. The high-tech boom town saw many decades of prosperous growth, until the natural resources started to run out about the same time demand for those resources dropped due to new technologies. City officials then used the platform’s isolation as a trump card to win a contract for the Earth’s second orbital elevator, the first having been built over the English Channel.
With the orbital elevator in place, Hudson Bay City blossomed. As one of two main hubs for interstellar commerce, Hudson Bay’s economy transformed from drilling to shipping. City officials also lured tourist dollars by building the largest football stadium on Earth. The city’s former isolation turned out to be its strongest asset — set in the middle of Hudson Bay, the stadium was easily defended from the airborne terrorist attacks that plagued many other Earth facilities.
Messal the Efficient scurried about, his helpers gathering the Krakens players.
“We are taking the tram to the stadium,” Messal said, loud enough to be heard by forty-four Krakens and other team staff. “Please follow me.”
The mass of players moved towards the underwater tram that would take them to the stadium, the area around them clear of other beings. Quentin noticed black-uniformed Human police all around the platform, each one armed, each one staring at the crowds of travelers with a look that promised severe trouble if anyone approached the football players. Fleeting shadows slashed across the floor — Creterakian soldiers flying through the complex, scouting for trouble.
Quentin smiled. Hudson Bay City had trouble, alright — trouble in the form of the Ionath Krakens. Trouble for the Texas Earthlings.
ONE LAST PRACTICE. One last practice before the biggest game of the year.
Quentin flowed through the plays as if he’d been created just for this one game, as if he’d been meticulously engineered to be a perfect quarterbacking machine. Lines of energy seemed to radiate from all his receivers, he saw them all in perfect clarity, delivering the ball in tight, rope-like spirals that arrived dead-center in passing windows no larger than ten inches across.
He had to be perfect. Yassoud had the potential to be a great running back, but he was at least two seasons away from that level. Even then, it was doubtful he’d match Mitchell Fayed’s powerful, punishing style. The defense wasn’t going to consider Yassoud a major threat — most of the defensive pressure would come via blitzing and extra defensive backs, probably both at the same time. The Earthlings would make the Krakens win the game on the ground.