waved his hands across a three-inch holo of Cheboygan. She vanished. He tapped a few icons, replacing her with a holo of Tara the Freak. Tara’s long pedipalp arms drew everyone’s attention.
“Tara is the only Quyth Warrior on the Manglers’ roster,” Hokor said. “That is why he can play in Mathara. We have four Warrior players.”
“So Tara would be our fifth,” Quentin said. “So what?”
Gredok’s left-middle pincer played with the bracelets on his right pedipalp. “You ask why an obvious prospect like Tara is available? Because Tier Two and Tier One teams know he is ... Pine, what is the word you use to describe a player whose team-unity disruption factor outweighs his or her on-field benefit?”
“Locker-room poison,” Pine said.
A touch of orange swirled across Gredok’s large cornea. Quentin knew that expression — Gredok found something humorous. “Yes,” the Leader said. “ Poison . How appropriate.”
“So no one wants him,” Quentin said.
“Correct,” Hokor said. “No one wants the mutation.”
Quentin looked around the room. He’d based his strategy on this moment, knowing he’d have to make his play at the last second and convince Gredok just before the team owner headed out to battle for players.
“No one wants him,” Quentin said. “That means he’s affordable.”
Gredok said nothing, but his eye swirled with a touch of light red.
“Messal,” Quentin said, “what is Tara’s salary?”
“One hundred thousand,” Massal said. “We’d have to pay at least double that to the Manglers as a transfer fee.”
Quentin nodded. Time to play his hand. “So let me see if I get this right. We have a player who can help this team. A player who can take hits and is highly resistant to injury. A player who can catch spit in the wind. A player who we can have for a transfer fee of two hundred thousand, and sign him at the Tier One minimum salary, probably for a three-year contract. And we’re going let him go because he has long arms?”
Hokor banged on his desktop again. “You don’t understand! The other Warriors will not accept it!”
Quentin shrugged. “Huh. So our Warriors decide who plays for the Krakens and who does not? And here I would have thought their Shamakath made those decisions.”
The office fell silent. Hokor’s fur fell flat. He sat back down in his little chair. Don Pine looked away, but Quentin stared right at Gredok, waiting for a response.
Quentin saw more threads of a light red flow across Gredok’s eye. Light red, the color of friendship, appreciation, or — in this context, Quentin guessed — respect.
“Barnes makes a good point,” Gredok said. “I will look further into this Tara the Freak. If I choose to sign him, the other Warriors will support the decision.”
Don shook his head. “No, they won’t. No disrespect, Gredok, but this is a mistake.”
Quentin turned on Don. “That’s exactly what you said about George Starcher. How did he turn out?”
Don leaned back. “George is fine, so far . But if you bothered to do any research before you made these emotional decisions, Q, you’d know George is always fine for the first season with a new team.”
“It’s different this time,” Quentin said. “He knows this is his last chance.”
Don shrugged. “I hope you’re right. And I hope you’re right about Tara, but I know you’re not.”
Quentin waved his hands in annoyance. Don Pine was one of the greats, but he was also old and jaded. So pessimistic!
Quentin turned to face the team owner. “Gredok, forget this looking into stuff — are you going to sign Tara the Freak, or not?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Quentin saw Hokor’s fur ruffle, saw the Coach’s eye swirl with threads of black and dark blue. There was no way around the disrespect of appealing to the team owner and overruling the head Coach. Don didn’t want Tara, Hokor didn’t want Tara, but that didn’t matter. Quentin would not allow
“Tara is the only Quyth Warrior on the Manglers’ roster,” Hokor said. “That is why he can play in Mathara. We have four Warrior players.”
“So Tara would be our fifth,” Quentin said. “So what?”
Gredok’s left-middle pincer played with the bracelets on his right pedipalp. “You ask why an obvious prospect like Tara is available? Because Tier Two and Tier One teams know he is ... Pine, what is the word you use to describe a player whose team-unity disruption factor outweighs his or her on-field benefit?”
“Locker-room poison,” Pine said.
A touch of orange swirled across Gredok’s large cornea. Quentin knew that expression — Gredok found something humorous. “Yes,” the Leader said. “ Poison . How appropriate.”
“So no one wants him,” Quentin said.
“Correct,” Hokor said. “No one wants the mutation.”
Quentin looked around the room. He’d based his strategy on this moment, knowing he’d have to make his play at the last second and convince Gredok just before the team owner headed out to battle for players.
“No one wants him,” Quentin said. “That means he’s affordable.”
Gredok said nothing, but his eye swirled with a touch of light red.
“Messal,” Quentin said, “what is Tara’s salary?”
“One hundred thousand,” Massal said. “We’d have to pay at least double that to the Manglers as a transfer fee.”
Quentin nodded. Time to play his hand. “So let me see if I get this right. We have a player who can help this team. A player who can take hits and is highly resistant to injury. A player who can catch spit in the wind. A player who we can have for a transfer fee of two hundred thousand, and sign him at the Tier One minimum salary, probably for a three-year contract. And we’re going let him go because he has long arms?”
Hokor banged on his desktop again. “You don’t understand! The other Warriors will not accept it!”
Quentin shrugged. “Huh. So our Warriors decide who plays for the Krakens and who does not? And here I would have thought their Shamakath made those decisions.”
The office fell silent. Hokor’s fur fell flat. He sat back down in his little chair. Don Pine looked away, but Quentin stared right at Gredok, waiting for a response.
Quentin saw more threads of a light red flow across Gredok’s eye. Light red, the color of friendship, appreciation, or — in this context, Quentin guessed — respect.
“Barnes makes a good point,” Gredok said. “I will look further into this Tara the Freak. If I choose to sign him, the other Warriors will support the decision.”
Don shook his head. “No, they won’t. No disrespect, Gredok, but this is a mistake.”
Quentin turned on Don. “That’s exactly what you said about George Starcher. How did he turn out?”
Don leaned back. “George is fine, so far . But if you bothered to do any research before you made these emotional decisions, Q, you’d know George is always fine for the first season with a new team.”
“It’s different this time,” Quentin said. “He knows this is his last chance.”
Don shrugged. “I hope you’re right. And I hope you’re right about Tara, but I know you’re not.”
Quentin waved his hands in annoyance. Don Pine was one of the greats, but he was also old and jaded. So pessimistic!
Quentin turned to face the team owner. “Gredok, forget this looking into stuff — are you going to sign Tara the Freak, or not?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Quentin saw Hokor’s fur ruffle, saw the Coach’s eye swirl with threads of black and dark blue. There was no way around the disrespect of appealing to the team owner and overruling the head Coach. Don didn’t want Tara, Hokor didn’t want Tara, but that didn’t matter. Quentin would not allow
Similar Books
