THE ALL-PRO (19 page)

SENTIENT PRAWATT & PHYSICAL FORM

The Prawatt can take several forms. We can’t catalog most of these, however, as battle-holos are the only recorded imagery of most variants. When Prawatt die, their linkage breaks. The individual collapses in a dust-like pile of millions of lifeless minids, inanimate skeletal structures and nonfunctioning internal organs.

The form we are most familiar with has been labeled the
Explorer
structure. Explorers are called that for a reason: they are the only known sentient Prawatt found beyond the Prawatt space. While the majority of sentient Prawatts stay in their own heavily defended space, the Explorer caste seems to show the same curiosity found in all of the known sentient races; there are things to learn and places to see — the Explorers want to do both.

Explorer Prawatt are quadrupeds comprised of four equal-sized legs. They exhibit bilateral symmetry. Their body consists of a narrow, roundish
case
or
trunk
that contains internal structures such as the nutrient pump, digestion center, signal routers, minid factory and more. The legs have two sections and end in either a foot or a hand. Their feet are flexible, resilient structures that provide good traction. Their hands closely resemble those of Humans, with four long fingers and a sturdy, opposable thumb. Prawatt can function well as a biped. More often than not, however, they move as a quadruped. When moving on all-fours, the Prawatt hand curls in and up; a thick ridge on the back of their wrist supports the body’s weight.

The trunk is usually X-shaped, comprised of a pair of foot-thick tubes. An arm or leg grows off the end of each tube, which gives the Prawatt their common descriptive nicknames of
Walking X
or
X-Walker
. Derogatory nicknames for the species include
spiders
and
devil’s rope
.

PHYSIOLOGY

There is no animal like the Prawatt anywhere in the galaxy. At least, there is no
sentient
animal. It is also important to note the word
animal
remains heavily in debate. Many exobiologists still consider the Prawatt to be machines. Prawatt began, possibly, as a “Von Neumann Device,” an exploratory machination capable of self-reproduction. Von Neumann devices can land on a new planet, draw resources from that planet, use those resources to make more copies of itself, then launch those copies at other planets to repeat the cycle.

While the Prawatt match this rigid definition, they have also become so much more. Between the wars and the endless death, we have seen glimpses of art, of culture, even sport. When the galaxy isn’t waiting in terror for a sighting of the Prawatt’s massive capital-class warships, there are hints and hopes that someday these machine-animals might join the larger sentient community.

What little we know about the Prawatt Jihad comes from an unusual source — adventure seekers. Sentients enter Prawatt space knowing that they may never return, apparently in order to play a rumored combat sport found nowhere else in the galaxy. Information is sparse and poorly organized. The few adventure seekers that do return have not proven to be excellent observers or of an academic bent.

Like any sentient race, a one-size-fits-all definition of the Prawatt will never be found. In the next section, we show another reason that the Prawatt differ so vastly from purely biological sentients — that reason is the unique and disturbing process of
combination
.

COMBINATION

Prawatt don’t have an organ or structure that operates as a distinct brain. Rather, their
entire body
is their brain — an individual is the collective consciousness of millions of minids.

When these minids fuse, they do not change physically. Like any muscle, skin or bone cell in a Human, individual minids wear out and must be replaced. The “life-span” of a minid is around thirty to sixty days. Internal factories produce a steady supply of new minids to replace those that are no longer functional. This small scale, ad-hoc replacement doesn’t appear to affect the
self
of a Prawatt, nor does it alter their personality or sense of identity.

New minids can link with old minids. By the same process, minids created outside of the self can be incorporated into the larger organism. This fact, combined with the fact that minids do not undergo a physical change when they fuse, means that two distinct Prawatt can
combine
, merging together to create a larger organism.

Combination marks the end of two individuals and the creation of a new consciousness. This decision can be mutual, such as two sentient Prawatt choosing to come together, or it can take on a sense of predation as a larger Prawatt will capture a smaller one and assimilate it. Skills and other positive knowledge are combined, but so, too, are negative information such as fears, prejudices and hatreds.

Once a Prawatt achieves sentience, it is often very hesitant to combine because combination means the end of self. Effectively, to combine is to die and be reborn as something new.

SO WHERE ARE THE SHAPESHIFTERS?

One of the predominant fears about the Prawatt is that they can change shape and become species dopplegangers, capable of imitating any sentient race. Prawatt can look like your neighbor, your spouse, your leaders or even your children. Many a horror-holo has played upon this idea, casting the Prawatt again and again as a shapeshifting evil walking amongst us, creating secret cabals bent on enslaving the sentient races.

The fact of the matter, however, is that there isn’t a shred of scientific evidence to back up this fearful fantasy. The Prawatt
are
capable of small-scale physical adjustments. But in observation, a Prawatt is sentient because it maintains a largely consistent shape. Shifting from the Walking X to a Human biped would probably require so much change that the Prawatt would no longer be the same individual — they would die and, in the process of dying, give rise to an entirely new sentient.

Theoretically, the Prawatt
can
change shape. But I caution that this remains only a theory. In almost four and a half centuries of encounters with this species, there is not one recorded instance of shapeshifting Prawatt accurately emulating another species.

• • •

THE LANDING BAY AIRLOCK
finished cycling. The light above the door switched from red to green, accompanied by a deep, metallic
clang
as internal restraining bolts retracted.

Quentin was the first through the door, John Tweedy on his left, most of the rest of the team close behind them. John strode into the landing bay like he owned it — chest out, chin up, arms swinging comically. He twisted his head to the left, sniffed dramatically, then to the right and sniffed again.

“Hey, Q, you smell that?”

“You used that joke last year, John.”

“Smells like
rookie
stank,” John said, as if Quentin had said
smell what?
like he was supposed to.

The team filed into the landing bay, forming a semi-circle two or three players deep around the side of the
Touchback
’s large shuttle. Orange with black and white trim, the shuttle’s main decoration was the Krakens logo — a black “I” set inside an orange shield, three white, orange-and-black trimmed, stylized tentacles spreading off to the right, three more spreading off to the left.

Welcoming the rookies was a rite of passage in the Ionath franchise. The rookies had all attended the
Combine
, a former prison station converted into a testing facility for first-year Tier One or Tier Two players. No matter who bought your contract, you couldn’t play a minute of practice until you were scanned for mods and your background check turned up nothing suspicious that might someday harm the Creterakian Empire.

Quentin remembered his own testing, the terrifying and grueling process that — for the first time in his life — brought him into physical contact with races other than Human. More than that, he remembered the raw fear as the bats poked him, prodded him, strapped him down and asked him ridiculous questions. The rookies now arriving on the shuttle had successfully endured the same process. Those that hadn’t passed? Well, if they were still alive at all, playing football was probably the least of their concerns.

The shuttle’s door lowered from its bottom hinge, the entire side becoming a ramp that led down to the landing bay deck.

The first player to walk out brought to mind last season’s arrival of Michael Kimberlin, the Krakens’ starting right offensive guard. This guy was almost as tall as the 8-foot Kimberlin, but was far thinner. Deep-black skin, shaved head with lighter-colored scars lining his scalp from eyebrows to the back of his neck.

“Yeah-yeah,” John said. “Finally, some
defense
. I’m so sick of you offensive pukes getting all the goodies. Q, what’s the stats on this guy?”

“John, it’s Tim Crawford. You saw him play in the Tier Three tourney.”

John stared at Quentin with his patented
you are so dumb
look. “Q, I was
chewing
. Ma taught us not to talk with our mouths full.”

“You did talk with your mouth full.”

“And if I didn’t
talk
, do you think I would
remember
stuff? Honestly, sometimes I think you have sand for brains.”

“Uncle Johnny,” Quentin said. “You are one-of-a-kind.”

“Which is a real tragedy, when you think about it. What’s skinny’s info? He the defensive end?”

Quentin shook his head. “Nope. Crawford is a defensive tackle backing up Mum-O-Killowe. He played for the Archangels in the Tri-Alliance Gridiron Association.”

“Give me a break,” John said. “The TAGA? That’s almost as bush league as the PNFL.”

“John, I came from the PNFL and look how I turned out.”

“My point exactly.”

“Don’t hold the small-league play against him. Two seasons with the Archangels. This year he was the sack leader of his league.”

“How about his first season?”

“Only played half of that,” Quentin said. “Tim ran into a little trouble with the law.”

John smiled and nodded.
MY KIND OF PEOPLE
scrolled across his forehead. “Sounds like he’s got potential.”

“And he just turned nineteen,” Quentin said. “His birthday was yesterday, I think.”

John elbowed Quentin in the shoulder. Just a friendly reaction, but even a casual gesture from the star linebacker hurt damn near to the bone.

“Q! You know what that means?”

“That you’re going to put on Ma’s favorite apron and bake us all a nice cake?”

“No, it means you’re
not
the youngest humanoid on the team anymore!”

Quentin hadn’t thought about that, but John was right. Quentin had just turned twenty. Crawford was a full year younger. In all five years of Quentin’s career, he had always been the youngest on the team — but that was over. It was an odd realization.

The next rookie out of the shuttle was also HeavyG. Almost as tall as Crawford, but much thicker, more mature. Reddish skin, puffy lips. Instead of his fists hanging near the floor like a typical HeavyG, this guy’s hands fell just below his hips.

“There’s your defensive end,” Quentin said. “Rich Palmer. Talk about bush league, he played in the Jupiter, Neptune, Saturn and Venus league.”

John stared at the rookie for a second. “I think there are talented players from the JNSV.”

“John, those teams aren’t even good enough to play in the NFL. And Palmer looks small for a defensive end. His arms are really short for a HeavyG.”

“He’s half Human,” John said. “On his dad’s side. Hey, if Becca and I have kids, I bet they’d look like this guy.”

Quentin felt his temper instantly rise, but just as quickly he fought it down. The thought of John and Becca having kids, it was ... maddening. He shook off the thought, focusing on the next player to walk down the ramp.

“Oh, here we go,” John said. “Half-breeds and muties? This is our team?”

Tara the Freak walked down the ramp, long pedipalp arms dangling almost to his hips. His shell looked pale, whitish — unhealthy.

“John, I know I’m the insensitive racist of the team, but is the term
mutie
really acceptable?”

“The guy’s
name
is Tara the
Freak
? And you’re offended by
mutie
? Sheesh. He play for anyone before the Manglers?”

Quentin nodded. “Two years for the Cowboys.”

“The how-boys?”

“
Cow
boys. From Dallas, on Earth. In the NFL.”

John looked up to the ceiling, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Oh, yeah. In the NFL. I think I played against them once when I was with the Steelers. What’s a cow-boy, anyway? That some genetically modified Human or something?”

Quentin shrugged. Cows were good for barbecue, but who knew the meaning of all those ancient Earth team nicknames?

DEAD ON ARRIVAL
flashed across John’s face. “This was a bad pick, Q. Tara the Mutie won’t work out.”

“He hasn’t even practiced yet and you don’t think he’ll make it?”

John inclined his head toward the gathered Quyth players. Quentin looked at them. He waited for Virak the Mean, Choto the Bright, Killik the Unworthy and Kopor the Climber to welcome their fellow Warrior into the fold. But they didn’t do that. Instead, they just stared. Tara stood there, more looking at the ground than staring back. Looking and waiting.

Whatever the rookie was waiting for, he didn’t get it. The gathered Warriors just stood there.

Pilkie, a Quyth Worker, ran from rookie to rookie, gathering bags and luggage and loading them onto a hover cart. Quentin smiled at the sight, remembering when he had been a rookie and had refused to give Pilkie his bag.

Quentin thought back to Hokor and Gredok discussing Tara. They had said the other Warriors wouldn’t accept him. So far, they were right, but Quentin would change that.