THE ALL-PRO (14 page)

“Didn’t know I had a gospel.” Every time he thought he was comfortable with his holy position, the Sklorno did something to remind him he was not. His starting receiver and backup cornerback were also his missionaries? “And, uh, how many, uh,
converts
did you get?”

“Three hundred, forty two thousand, one hundred and twelve,” Milford said. She stopped jumping. “Was that not enough? Have I failed you, oh Quentin Barnes?”

“No! No, that’s ... that’s fine.”

Three-hundred
thousand
converts? To his “church,” something he didn’t acknowledge in any way? It hurt to even think about it. He didn’t
want
to think about it. Fortunately, he knew one thing that would block out all other thoughts.

“Line up, ladies. Let’s do our favorite, out-patterns to the right.”

The Sklorno receivers squealed with joy, happy to get a few passes in before the tight ends and running backs came out to practice. Quentin grabbed a ball off a rack. He bent in a fake-snap position. He looked to his right, at Hawick, who was first in the line of quivering Sklorno.

“Hut-
hut!
”

He slapped the ball in his hands to simulate the snap, brought the ball up to his left ear as he dropped back three steps. His eyes followed Hawick as she shot off the line and made her cut. By the time the ball left his hands, Quentin no longer had thoughts of his church, Warburg, Becca or anything else that might distract him.

He thought of nothing but football and his soul swelled with his own form of rapturous joy.

• • •

THE LAST TIME QUENTIN HAD BEEN
in this place, he’d still been shaking from a suicide bomb that had ravaged the Krakens’ victory parade. And that day? That day seemed safer than this.

Gredok’s private chamber was on the top floor of the Krakens building. Priceless paintings and sculptures lined the circular walls, each lit up by its own small spotlight, illuminated like the treasures that they were. In front of Quentin, the ten-foot high, white marble pillar that held Gredok the Splithead. Gredok sat in his cushy, black throne, looking down at Quentin and Danny Lundy.

“Gredok, my client has been treated like a serf, a servant, a slave.”

“A
slave
?” Gredok said. “In what culture do
slaves
earn one-point-two megacredits a year?”

Quentin stood quietly, watching the drama play out. Both Yitzhak and Pine had told him to keep his mouth shut, to let his agent do the talking. Quentin had never worked with an agent. He had, however, worked with Gredok the Splithead, vicious crime boss, sentient capable of ordering your death, team owner that Quentin had tricked into traveling to OS1 to sign Ju Tweedy. There were few ideas worse than making Gredok angry, yet that seemed to be Danny’s specific goal.

“Slavery takes many forms,” Danny said. “For what you pay your starting quarterback, you might as well make him a chained-up chew toy for a pet fizzle-carp.”

Gredok turned his single, softball-sized eye toward Quentin. “That can be arranged.”

Gredok’s fur fluffed up a bit, but there was something ...
fake
about it. Quentin couldn’t put his finger on it. His instincts told him that while Gredok was clearly angry, the crime boss was trying to play it up to a more intimidating level.

Had Quentin learned so much about Gredok he could spot when his boss was
acting
?

“Gredok, don’t talk to my client,” Danny said. “I’m the one doing the negotiating.”

“Negotiating?” Gredok continued to stare at Quentin. “Is that what you call it, Dolphin? Because by your insolent tone, it seems more like you’re looking for a way to wind up on some Sklorno’s dinner plate. I hear Dolphin steaks are quite the prized delicacy.”

“Just stop with the threats, Gredok,” Danny said. “They’re boring. You’ve already dealt with me for John Tweedy’s contract and the contracts of Yitzhak Goldman, Vu-Ko and Bud-O. We worked those out, did we not?”

Gredok’s fur fell flat again. He seemed calmer, more resigned to the process. “You’re right, Dolphin. We’ve negotiated in good faith. So, let me begin. We will triple Quentin’s salary and make a five-year commitment.”

Quentin had a brief second to comprehend the numbers —
3.6 megacredits
a
season
? — but only a brief second, because Danny’s insulting squeal-giggle filled the rounded room and bounced off the priceless works of art.

“Three ... point ... six?” The Dolphin had to choke words out between intense blasts of laughter. His wet, rainbow-colored body shook. “
Three
? I ... and you ...
three
? ... and then ...”

Danny’s mechanical legs seemed to give out on him. He fell to his side, shivering, squeals of laughter damn near piercing Quentin’s ear drums.

Gredok’s black fur fluffed. “Dolphin, I am not enjoying your insulting display.”

“And you ...” Danny said. “And then ...
three
? ... oh, oh ...”

The laughter continued. Gredok’s fur fluffed farther and this time Quentin could see it was no act.

“Barnes,” Gredok said, “
this
is what you chose as your representation?”

Quentin looked down at the squealing, shivering Dolphin, then back up at Gredok atop his ridiculous white pedestal.

“Uh ...” Quentin said.

Danny’s laughter suddenly died out. His silver legs flexed. He stood. “Quentin, don’t answer that question. Gredok, your offer is pathetic, piteous and puny. We want twenty megacredits a season.”

Quentin stopped breathing.

Gredok leaned forward. “Did you say ...
twenty
?”

“Twenty. Per season. For five seasons.”

“For
five seasons
? That’s a hundred million!”

“Oh,” Danny said, as if he’d just remembered a trivial detail, “and fifty million of that guaranteed. Up front.”

Gredok’s eye flooded black. “
Fifty
up
front
?”

“Fifty up front,” Danny said. “And performance bonuses. Would you like to repeat that as well?”

Gredok stared, his eye so black it looked like a gemstone, his fur so fluffed he looked bigger than Quentin had ever seen. If Danny’s game was to anger Gredok, then the Dolphin had just scored a blowout victory.

“Ridiculous,” Gredok said. “You’re only trying to highball me because I tried to lowball you.”

“Why, Gredok, I didn’t know,” Danny said. “I assumed your opening offer was a sincere gesture of Ionath’s belief in my client.”

“Your offer would make Quentin Barnes the highest-paid quarterback in the league. Higher than Frank Zimmer. Even higher than Rick Renaud. Zimmer has won championships. Renaud has put teams in the Galaxy Bowl.”

“And Barnes is going to do
both
,” Danny said.

“He’s done
nothing
yet, Dolphin.”

“Dragging your team out of Tier Two and keeping them in Tier One for a second season is nothing?”

“Those things are not the same as a playoff victory. Definitely not the same thing as a GFL title.”

“Of course not,” Danny said. “But Barnes is going to give
someone
playoff victories and a GFL title. If not the Krakens, then another team.”

Danny let the words hang in the air. The room fell to a deathly silence.

Quentin swallowed, so loud he heard the noise echo off the priceless sculptures. Sure, he had thought himself a good manipulator — new to the game, but a student of the process, on his way to rivaling Gredok’s skill. No matter how much Quentin learned about manipulation, however, he now understood he would always be a rank amateur compared to Danny Lundy.

“You dare,” Gredok said. “You
dare
to threaten me with taking
my
quarterback to another franchise?”

Danny’s legs extended. His big, streamlined body rose in the air until he was at eye level with Gredok. Quentin looked up at them both, a battle of wills taking place six feet above his head.

“Quentin Barnes is the real deal,” Danny said. “You have a choice to pay him before he becomes the best quarterback in the league, or
after
. A hundred megacredits is the
before
price. Based on your fur-fluffing rage, I’m guessing you don’t want to hear the
after
price.”

Gredok stood in his little chair. “Get out! Get out, Dolphin, and take your unproven quarterback with you!”

“Quentin, let’s go. We’ve given the Splithead plenty to think about.”

Gredok stamped a tiny foot. “There is no thinking! Come back when your contract requests are reasonable!”

“The offer is on the table,” Danny said. “If you won’t take it, someone else will. You should know, Gredok, that I’ve already been contacted by the Mars Planets, the McMurdo Murderers, the Bartel Water Bugs and the To Pirates.”

If Gredok had been faking rage before, he wasn’t faking it anymore. Quentin saw the same quiet, dangerous calm Gredok had shown just before killing Mopuk the Sneaky.

“Teams are interested,” Danny said. “Quentin will get the deal we want. It’s up to you to decide if that deal is with Ionath. We’ll be waiting to hear from you. Good day.”

Danny lowered his legs and started walking out of the chamber. Quentin stood there, still looking up at the enraged Gredok. Was all of this a mistake? Three years ago, he couldn’t have even
imagined
having 3.6 million. Should he just take that offer?

“Quentin!” Danny’s voice, a squealing command that would have been understood even without the vocal modifier. “Time to leave. Come with me and do not talk to Gredok without me present until this negotiation is complete.”

Gredok’s pedipalp hands curled into shaking fists. “There is no negotiation! You get out of here, Lundy, and take that ungrateful
yakochat
of a quarterback with you! No one tells me how to run my organization!”

Quentin turned and quickly walked out of the chamber. He stayed quiet as Gredok’s well-dressed guards led him and Danny to the elevator. The elevator doors closed.

Danny’s left hand reached into a pocket hanging from his harness. He pulled out a small fish and popped it into his long mouth. “That went pretty well,” he said after swallowing it down.

“What? Are you shucking
crazy
, Danny? I’ve never seen Gredok that mad and trust me, I’ve done things to make him mad. Are you trying to get me
killed
?”

“Relax, Human. I’ve seen him worse.”

“Worse that
that
?”

“Oh, sure. You should have seen him when I negotiated for John Tweedy’s last contract.”

“But, Danny, maybe I should just take Gredok’s offer. A
hundred
million? That’s like ... that’s too much money.”

Danny turned, sharply and suddenly. He again reached into his bag, pulled out a fish, then slapped Quentin across the face with it.

Quentin’s right hand went to his right cheek. A bit of cold wetness clung there. “Did you just smack me in the face with a fish?”

“I did.”

“Why did you just smack me in the face with a fish, Danny?”

Danny’s legs rose up until his narrowing black eyes were level with Quentin’s. In the elevator’s close confines, Quentin once again realized the Dolphin’s size.

“
Too much money
? Don’t you
ever
say those words to me again. You promised we would do this my way. You’re not backing out of that now, guy. This deal is
mine
, do you understand me? No one gets in the way of my deals, not even my client.”

Quentin took a half-step back, the farthest he could go before his butt hit the elevator wall. He had signed an insane Dolphin as his agent.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “Sure, Danny, you handle the deal.”

“Good,” Danny said. His legs lowered. His eyes returned to their normal, rounded, friendly shape. “Trust me, Quentin, I’m acting in your best interests, guy. You’ll be happy when this is done.” Danny popped the face-slap fish into his mouth.

“But what if Gredok doesn’t take the offer?”

“Then you play for another team next season. Let’s go get some lunch, buddy. I’m in the mood for squid, that work for you?”

“Yeah,” Quentin said, his heart instantly heavy at the thought of wearing anything other than the Orange and the Black. “Sure. Squid sounds fine.”

• • •

QUENTIN SAT LOW
in his seat, looking out the cab’s window at the streets and sidewalks of Ionath City. The densely packed, mostly red, hexagonal buildings rolled by, most of them reaching some thirty stories high to almost touch up against the city’s clear, protective dome. The view did nothing for Quentin, however, because he was worried.

“Choto, come on, tell me what’s going on.”

“I do not know, Quentin,” Choto said. “All I know is that John Tweedy told me I had to get you to his apartment as soon as possible and to keep you safe.”

“Why his apartment? If there’s danger, why not the Krakens building?”

“Again, Quentin, I do not know. My job is to keep you safe, not to debate policy with John Tweedy.”

Quentin turned away from the window to stare at the eye of his linebacker/bodyguard. Choto’s baseball-sized eye remained mostly clear, but three colors — green and yellow and dark blue — cast thin swirls across his cornea. Yellow was the color of excitement, while green usually revealed stress or anxiety. The colors weren’t exact matches with a specific emotion, they weren’t always consistent, but they did give insight into a Quyth Warrior’s state of mind. Like most Warriors, Choto loved the excitement of danger and loved a good fight, so the yellow made sense. Quentin’s safety was Choto’s responsibility, a task assigned by none other than Gredok the Splithead. Gredok was Choto’s
Shamakath
, his Leader. Failing a Leader was unforgivable in the Quyth culture, so being stressed that Quentin might get hurt, might get killed — that correlated with the green swirls.

But blue? Blue, as far as Quentin could tell, was the color of
betrayal
. Quentin had never before seen Choto’s eyes carry the color blue. Was this some kind of trap? Had Choto been bought off by one of Quentin’s newfound enemies? Anna Villani, Gloria Ogawa, the Zoroastrian Guild, maybe even someone from the To Pirates who wanted payback for Quentin not throwing games during the Tier Two season? Was Choto in league with any of them?