him. Gredok had to keep a running balance between personnel needs versus team finances.
Finances — that was where Quentin would make his play.
“There’s one more,” Quentin said. “I want Tara the Freak from the Mathara Manglers.”
Coach Hokor’s black-striped fur fluffed up. “I told you, Barnes, absolutely not .”
Quentin leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on Hokor’s desk. “Why not, Coach? Because he looks funny ?”
Hokor slammed his pedipalp fists down on his desk. “He does not just look funny , Barnes! He is malformed !”
“You don’t seem to have anything against Rich Palmer. He’s half-Human, half-HeavyG.”
“He’s your kind,” Hokor said. “No one cares how ugly you all are. We Quyth do care about failed genetic lines. He is called Tara the Freak for a reason!”
Quentin leaned back, threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh, no ! Oh, High One, he is malformed ! What’s going to happen? His long pedipalp arms are suddenly going to pop off his head, grab a hatchet and chase us around like some horror-holo?”
Quentin felt a hand on his right shoulder.
“Q,” Don said. “There’s more to it than that.”
It was all Quentin could to not to slap Don’s hand away. “The guy can catch the ball,” Quentin said. “He can run routes over the middle. He can take hits. When he’s in the game, linebackers will have to cover him, have to watch for him, and that opens up other areas of the field. What more to it is there?”
“Much more,” Gredok said.
Whenever the Quyth Leader spoke, those around him listened carefully. Gredok’s black fur looked impeccably groomed — silky, shiny, smooth. He wore an outfit of spun silver, burnished so it wasn’t reflective enough to compete with the red and blue jewels that formed patterns of a solar system across his chest. Dozens of bracelets hung from both sets of wrists. As usual, Gredok’s attire screamed money and prestige .
“Barnes,” Gredok said, “you’ve been studying with Kimberlin, have you not?”
Quentin nodded.
“And have you learned about the Quyth culture?”
“A little. Lately I’ve been focused on physics, some galactic history, that kind of thing.”
“Well, then allow me to edify you,” Gredok said. His voice rang with calm control, the voice of a sentient who got what he wanted without yelling, without showing emotion. “Hokor told me of your interest in this player. I had my scouts look into him. It is amazing that Tara was not killed when he came out of the egg sac.”
“What? Kill him when he’s a baby ?” Such barbarism, and yet everyone called Quentin’s home system of the Purist Nation primitive .
“The malformed are usually killed by their Leader,” Gredok said. “I myself killed two of my brothers once we had hatched and I saw that they were imperfect.”
Gredok, a killer from the time he could walk. Quentin shouldn’t have been surprised, but such cut-throat behavior shocked him regardless.
“Why would you kill your own family?”
“It is related to breeding, Barnes. A prospective female will examine not only the Leader with which she might have progeny, but also that Leader’s Worker and Warrior sac-mates. This gives her better knowledge of the Leader’s larger genetic makeup, and what their offspring may turn out to be. If she sees imperfections in the genetic stock, she will simply choose another Leader with which to breed.”
“You killed your own brothers ,” Quentin said. Quentin would have given anything to have his brother back, anything to find his sister, and Gredok had killed two of his own? Sometimes it was hard to accept other cultures as equals — evil was evil, no matter how you tried to justify it.
“I did,” Gredok said. “And I am not alone. That is why you don’t see many mutations in the Quyth culture. Tara is the only survivor of his brood. Some viral contamination in his egg sac, it seems. He’s been an outcast all his life.”
Hokor
Finances — that was where Quentin would make his play.
“There’s one more,” Quentin said. “I want Tara the Freak from the Mathara Manglers.”
Coach Hokor’s black-striped fur fluffed up. “I told you, Barnes, absolutely not .”
Quentin leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on Hokor’s desk. “Why not, Coach? Because he looks funny ?”
Hokor slammed his pedipalp fists down on his desk. “He does not just look funny , Barnes! He is malformed !”
“You don’t seem to have anything against Rich Palmer. He’s half-Human, half-HeavyG.”
“He’s your kind,” Hokor said. “No one cares how ugly you all are. We Quyth do care about failed genetic lines. He is called Tara the Freak for a reason!”
Quentin leaned back, threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh, no ! Oh, High One, he is malformed ! What’s going to happen? His long pedipalp arms are suddenly going to pop off his head, grab a hatchet and chase us around like some horror-holo?”
Quentin felt a hand on his right shoulder.
“Q,” Don said. “There’s more to it than that.”
It was all Quentin could to not to slap Don’s hand away. “The guy can catch the ball,” Quentin said. “He can run routes over the middle. He can take hits. When he’s in the game, linebackers will have to cover him, have to watch for him, and that opens up other areas of the field. What more to it is there?”
“Much more,” Gredok said.
Whenever the Quyth Leader spoke, those around him listened carefully. Gredok’s black fur looked impeccably groomed — silky, shiny, smooth. He wore an outfit of spun silver, burnished so it wasn’t reflective enough to compete with the red and blue jewels that formed patterns of a solar system across his chest. Dozens of bracelets hung from both sets of wrists. As usual, Gredok’s attire screamed money and prestige .
“Barnes,” Gredok said, “you’ve been studying with Kimberlin, have you not?”
Quentin nodded.
“And have you learned about the Quyth culture?”
“A little. Lately I’ve been focused on physics, some galactic history, that kind of thing.”
“Well, then allow me to edify you,” Gredok said. His voice rang with calm control, the voice of a sentient who got what he wanted without yelling, without showing emotion. “Hokor told me of your interest in this player. I had my scouts look into him. It is amazing that Tara was not killed when he came out of the egg sac.”
“What? Kill him when he’s a baby ?” Such barbarism, and yet everyone called Quentin’s home system of the Purist Nation primitive .
“The malformed are usually killed by their Leader,” Gredok said. “I myself killed two of my brothers once we had hatched and I saw that they were imperfect.”
Gredok, a killer from the time he could walk. Quentin shouldn’t have been surprised, but such cut-throat behavior shocked him regardless.
“Why would you kill your own family?”
“It is related to breeding, Barnes. A prospective female will examine not only the Leader with which she might have progeny, but also that Leader’s Worker and Warrior sac-mates. This gives her better knowledge of the Leader’s larger genetic makeup, and what their offspring may turn out to be. If she sees imperfections in the genetic stock, she will simply choose another Leader with which to breed.”
“You killed your own brothers ,” Quentin said. Quentin would have given anything to have his brother back, anything to find his sister, and Gredok had killed two of his own? Sometimes it was hard to accept other cultures as equals — evil was evil, no matter how you tried to justify it.
“I did,” Gredok said. “And I am not alone. That is why you don’t see many mutations in the Quyth culture. Tara is the only survivor of his brood. Some viral contamination in his egg sac, it seems. He’s been an outcast all his life.”
Hokor
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