THE ALL-PRO Read Free Page A

networks before the appetizer was even served.
    The Dinolition crowd consisted mostly of modded Humans and minority HeavyG. Plenty of Quyth Leaders, Warriors and Workers dotted the stands, as did several well dressed Ki. Very few Sklorno were in attendance — the species was not welcome on League of Planets worlds.
    To Quentin’s left sat an overweight Human with a long, white beard. The man dressed in the strange, slightly fuzzy clothing preferred by League citizens. Quentin quickly looked him up and down, searching for any protrusions that might show the handle of a knife, the shape of a gun. He saw nothing.
    Quentin turned to look at the people behind him, giving them the same once-over. Some of the spectators recognized him, smiled at him, the expression people have when they unexpectedly find themselves near someone famous. Quentin’s eyes paused on the person directly behind him, a Human teenager not more than sixteen.
    The kid’s eyes narrowed in anger.
    Quentin’s body tensed. Was the kid strapped with a suicide bomb? Normally, Quentin would just run, but that wasn’t an option with Somalia, Becca and John sitting right there.
    The kid sneered. “What are you lookin’ at, butt-nugget? Turn around. And by the way, the Krakens suck.”
    Quentin’s gaze dropped to the boy’s shirt — white, with the boot-print logo of the Hittoni Hullwalkers, a team the Krakens played every year.
    The kid was just a football fan.
    Quentin felt the stress ease away. “Good luck to your Hullwalkers this year.”
    “In all games but one,” John Tweedy said. John had turned around in his seat. He stared at the boy. John had a full-body, subdermal tattoo that let him flash colors, images and words anywhere on his skin. He usually used it to scroll messages across his face. This time, his forehead read:
I’M PUTTING THE HULLCRAPPERS IN A SHALLOW GRAVE, SO START DIGGING NOW AND SAVE US ALL SOME TIME
.
    “John, knock it off,” Quentin said. “He’s just a kid.”
    John shrugged. “He’s gotta grow up sometime. Hey, kid, you’re going to watch the match all nice-like and not bother my friend, right?”
    The kid’s eyes widened as he looked at John Tweedy. Quentin was quite a bit bigger than John, but perhaps people just feared linebackers more than quarterbacks.
    “Sure,” the kid said quietly. “Yeah. All nice-like. Sure.”
    The scene was a little embarrassing, but the fact that John hadn’t come over the seat and started a brawl made Quentin count his lucky stars.
    Movement from out in the wide, circular arena drew Quentin’s attention. On the dirt oval’s far side, the arena walls receded. A hover-platform slid out, floated to midfield. On the platform was a tall wheel split into twenty pie-like sections, each a different color. In front of the wheel stood three Humans and two HeavyG, all holding long, brass trumpets that gleamed in the noonday sun. Red banners dangled from the trumpets, banners that matched the trumpeters’ red, gold-braided uniforms. A small, Human woman stood off to the side. She wore a yellow dress with silver stripes that complemented her silver boots, gloves and tiara. Quite the spectacle.
    Quentin leaned forward to look to his right, to John Tweedy. When he did, Quentin locked eyes with Rebecca — she had been staring at him, an expression of narrow-eyed anger on her face. She instantly looked away.
    “John,” Quentin said. “What’s going on?”
    “Opening ceremonies,” John said. “Pageantry and all that.”
    The trumpeters ripped out a short bit of music that echoed from the speakerfilm lining the stadium walls. Smithwicks Arena wasn’t as large as the Krakens’ home field. Ionath Stadium seated 185,000 screaming fans, while Smithwicks held maybe 40,000 at most. The playing area was larger and rounder than a football field, the size used for some obscure sport called cricket . At the ends of the oblong stadium, fifteen rows of seats were cut away to make room for ornate,