The Starter (48 page)

“You’re not going anywhere,” a voice called from the front door. “At least not with
our
running back.”

Quentin turned to see six sentients: a normal-sized Ki in front, only about 250 pounds compared to Mum-O-Killowe’s 650, a Creterakian civilian on that Ki’s shoulder, two GFL-sized HeavyG, an over-sized Sklorno nearly as big as the Awa sisters, and a Ki so big it was still trying to fit its body through the front door.

Chucky Chong shot through the air to hover in front of the new arrivals. “You no welcome heah! We crose! You go!”

The six ignored the Harrah restaurateur. All of them wore nondescript clothes, save for the Creterakian. His garish outfit was light yellow with blue polka-dots.

The colors of the Coranadillana Cloud Killers.

“Crap,” Quentin said.

Quentin recognized some of the Cloud Killer players, like the hard-hitting Sklorno cornerback Smileyberg, and the HeavyG tight end Jesper Schultz.

John Tweedy stepped up to stand next to Quentin.

“Damn,” John said. “I forgot that the Killers picked up Shi-Ki-Kill in the off-season.”

Quentin pointed at the small Ki. “Is that Shi-Ki?”

John nodded. The kicker-sized Ki grunted. Things had just become much, much more complicated. Coranadillana was a city on the planet Satah of the Harrah Tribal Accord. Satah, which was even closer to Orbital Station One than Ionath was.

“Wanna know something, John?” Quentin said absently. “Considering that Shi-Ki is the only one besides you that could have possibly known Ju might hide here, and considering he plays for a Tier One team that is as bad off as we are,
and
considering that team has a bye week just like we do, John, it might have shucking helped if you’d remembered that.”

“Sorry,” John said.

Quentin shrugged. He hadn’t come all this way to lose the galaxy’s best running back to anyone, especially to a team that the Krakens played in just three weeks. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

The small Ki barked a short, choppy sentence, his voice just as big and strong as that of Sho-Do-Thikit or Mum-O.

“Barnes,” the Creterakian said. “Shi-Ki-Kill says that if that is a joke about his size, it’s not funny.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Quentin said. “Ju Tweedy is coming with us.”

“Wrong,” the Creterakian said. “My name is Molloya. I am the official representative of the warlord Yashahon, owner of the Cloud Killers and leader of the Yashahon tribe of planet Satah. I am here to offer Ju Tweedy a contract.”

“How much?” Ju said.

John turned on him. “Ju! You can’t sign with them!”

“Why not? I have to get immunity or I’m screwed.”

“But we came to get you!”

Molloya flew overhead, just out of reach. The leathery, flapping noise reminded Quentin of his days back on Micovi, when the bats would “police” an area or a situation and people would die if they happened to move too fast. But he wasn’t in Creterakian-controlled territory anymore, and this disgusting creature flying above his head was just another scumbag gangster.

“We offer league maximum,” Molloya said. “Three seasons, guaranteed.”

John’s face turned white.

“Nice,” Ju said. “But what about Anna Villani? Can you protect me from her?”

Molloya let out a horrid, screeching sound that must have been Creterakian laughter. “Villani’s power is nothing compared to the glorious warlord Yashahon. Once we have you on Satah, you are safe.”

Ju nodded, then turned to look at Quentin. “And what are the Krakens offering for a contract?”

“Are you
kidding
me?” Quentin said. “There is a price on your head. Everyone on The Ace is looking for you, if Villani finds you, you’re a dead man, and you’re
negotiating
?”

Ju shrugged. “Business is business. I’m a rare commodity. If you have an offer, make it. If not, I can live with three years max salary.”

“We can match that,” Quentin said quickly, having no idea if the Krakens could, nor having any idea what constituted
league maximum
.

“He lies!” Molloya screamed from above. “He is not authorized to sign a deal, Ju, and time is ticking away. Villani is closing the noose. Barnes can’t make that deal, nor can any of his teammates. Ask him!”

Ju looked from Molloya to Quentin. The look on Ju’s face was a mixture of calmness and greed. He felt safe now. His worst-case scenario was a trip to Tier One and a big paycheck. His best case was a trip to Tier One and an even bigger paycheck.

“Well?” Ju said. “You did bring a contract box, didn’t you, Quentin?”

Quentin’s hands clenched into fists. He hadn’t thought another team could get here this fast. He should have checked the schedule, seen who had an off-week, who was in the area. There was nothing he could do now unless he wanted to start a brawl, and a brawl might land them all in jail. He’d lost.

“Know what, Ju?” John said. “I don’t think it matters who brought the contract box.”

“And why’s that, big brother?”

“Because your only chance is to walk out of here with the last team left standing.”

Quentin started to say
John, no
, but it was already too late. The bulky linebacker turned and shot toward the Cloud Killers players, crossing the restaurant with the kind of blazing speed only professional athletes possess. Quentin saw Shi-Ki-Kill’s black eyes widen (perhaps that was a common fear response among all sentients) just before Tweedy slammed into him, driving him back, using him as a shield to crash through the other Cloud Killers players.

Mum-O-Killowe must have started running a split second after John, because the young Ki followed John in, compressing and extending in a powerful, straight-line shot that took one of the HeavyGs right off his feet. Sho-Do-Thikit dove into the fray, as did Rebecca Montagne. The diner started to disintegrate. Tables and chairs shattered, counters cracked, dishes flew, and food sprayed in every direction.

“You no fight heah!” Chucky Chong screamed. “You go now!”

Jesper Schultz rushed at Quentin. Quentin side-stepped the big HeavyG’s swing, then brought his own fist around in an overhand right that caught Schultz on the left cheek. Pain shot through Quentin’s hand. It seemed to hurt him more than the HeavyG, who turned and swung a backhand left that caught Quentin in the mouth and threw him backward. He crashed through a table and landed on his back amidst broken wood and plastic, looking up at the pair of Sklorno dressed in all black.

“Quentin Barnes eats dinner with us!” the one on the left screamed. The one on the right simply sagged in her seat, shaking in rapture. Great, he’d been recognized.

A massive hand grabbed his foot and yanked him out from the wreckage. Now he found himself looking up at the HeavyG.

“No red jersey for you here, you pansy quarterback,” the enormous Schultz said as he cranked his fist back to deliver a crushing blow. A blow he never landed, because Rebecca Montagne dove in at top speed and put her shoulder into Schultz’s exposed ribs. Quentin heard a
crack
and a deep cry of pain from the man. Schultz stumbled and sagged. Rebecca landed on top of him, then started kneeing him in the face.

Quentin saw that Ju Tweedy was just standing there, smiling, watching it all go down.

“Ju is in there!”

That voice came from outside the diner, and Quentin recognized it — Jake Bible.

Quentin looked past the brawl, out the door. He didn’t need to recognize individual sentients to know gangster enforcers when he saw them. Two Humans, a HeavyG, and three Quyth Warriors, all dressed in expensive clothes, rushing across the street toward the diner, and all holding something in their hands.

Jake Bible had sold them out to Villani’s goons.

“Krakens!” Quentin screamed. “Back door, now!”

“Don’t you dare,” the flapping Creterakian said. “The great Warlord Yashahon will—”

The bat didn’t finish his sentence, because Chucky Chong flew into him and knocked him through the restaurant’s front window. Glass shattered and scattered.

Chucky turned and screamed at the Krakens players, his voice now fuzzy and distorted. “You forrow me, now!”

Chucky shot through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The Krakens responded instantly, running or limping from the fight, following the flying Chucky Chong. Along the way, Quentin grabbed Ju’s thick arm.

“You ready to be a Kraken now, Ju?”

Ju saw the gangsters rushing in, then looked at Quentin and nodded quickly. “Turns out you know how to negotiate after all.”

“Then come on!”

Quentin followed his teammates, who were following Chucky Chong. He heard gunshots, felt a bullet whiz past his head as he ducked through a door and into the kitchen.

• • •

QUENTIN SPRINTED DOWN THE ALLEY
of an alien world, armed gangsters not far behind. He jumped piles of rubbish. When he couldn’t run over divider fences, he ran through them — not that many were left with his bigger teammates clearing the way. Every now and then he was just a little too late turning a corner and a bullet would hiss past his head or smack into a wall, sending up a shower of blue crystal shards. He kept everyone in front of him, including Ju, urging them on. Then he was out of the alley-maze, sprinting across traffic. Grav-cars extended street brakes, soft claws digging into the street surface below with a rubbery squeal. Some didn’t stop fast enough and smashed into each other. A four-passenger cab hammered into Quentin’s right hip, sending him careening across the street. He hit and rolled, started to come up, then threw himself flat on his back as a grav-truck roared overhead just inches from his face.

A strong hand grabbed his and yanked him up hard enough to dislocate his shoulder.

Rebecca. “Quentin, come on!”

“Where is everyone else?”

“We got separated, but come on, we have to
move!
”

She was bleeding from the left temple. Her right eye looked swollen, but these things did nothing to hide her animal intensity. This girl was a warrior.

She yanked him and he moved with the momentum, running off of the street and onto the packed sidewalk. He heard police sirens coming closer, then heard more gunshots. Just in front of him, a bullet connected with an elderly Quyth Leader’s head, entering through the big, softball-sized eye and exiting out the back in a cloud of whitish meat. The Leader fell to the ground, already dead.

Quentin had to jump over the twitching body.

“Quentin, this way!” Becca ducked into another alley. He followed her in. They had to slow down thanks to a curly tangle of thick, blue crystal. The sculpture-like curves sliced into his Orbiting Death jacket as he picked his way through.

He stepped over one thin curl of blue only to put his foot down right on top of another. He felt the crystal slice into his foot just before he saw it poke out from the top of his shoe, bloody and gleaming in the thin light that filtered into the back alley. He bit back the scream — he didn’t have time to bleed.

Quentin pulled his foot off the shard and started running. Bullets smashed into the blue crystal curves behind him, filling the alley with a cloud of flying splinters.

Suddenly, Chucky Chong flew next to him.

“Your friends are thees way! You run now!”

Chucky whizzed down a smaller alley on the right. Less crystal here, as if something had knocked it all down not long ago. Quentin saw boxes, blankets, more trash — a place where homeless and transients slept.

Chucky flew through the alley to an abandoned building. Quentin knew it was abandoned because of the plastic plates mounted over the doors and the windows, and the blue crystal spurs that curled around the openings and even through the plastic. An abandoned back alley apartment, or store, or whatever it was, quickly forgotten in a city where even the walls had to be constantly trimmed.

He ran, felt a hand grabbing his arm.

“How do we reach Gredok?” Becca said. “We’re running out of options, where is he?”

“He’s coming,” Quentin said, and prayed to High One that he was right.

He ran for the crystal-choked door, wondering how he would get in without cutting his hands to ribbons. Just before the door, he saw movement to his left — Choto, waving from an open window. Blue shards coated the ground below the window. One of his teammates had broken in and cleared the way.

Limping and trailing footprints of blood, Quentin ran to the window and climbed through.

• • •

QUENTIN STOOD INSIDE
the abandoned storefront. His teammates had fared little better than he. Mum-O was clutching a lower left-arm wound that dribbled black blood through his thick fingers onto the dirty floor below. Choto the Bright bled from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, John had a fairly severe cut on his left thigh, Becca’s eye had swollen shut, and Sho-Do-Thikit’s front right foot was a shredded mass of orangish flesh and wet black blood.

Ju Tweedy, of course, looked fine.

Blue crystals grew up from the floor like budding trees. Quentin and the others had to watch out for the sharp edges.

“Quentin,” John said through heavy breaths, “where is Gredok?”

“He’s coming. We have to keep moving.”

“Move
where?
’ Becca said. “Choto, you’re from here, where do we go?”

“My family’s bar,” Choto said. “The Dead Fly. It is on the other side of the city. We need to steal a vehicle.”

Ju rolled his eyes. “You guys call this a rescue? Are you
kidding
me? Damn, John, thanks for messing things up again.”

Quentin lost it. He limped the three steps to Ju and threw a hard left cross. Ju bobbed back a fraction of an inch. Quentin’s punch sailed through empty air. He never even saw the fist that smashed into his nose.

Quentin fell on his ass as the room blurred. He tasted blood. Wow, Ju Tweedy was
fast
.

John grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. “Yeah, Ju is kind of like the best fighter ever,” John said. “Taking a swing at him isn’t such a good idea.”