The last argonaut, p.19
The Last Argonaut, page 19
part #15 of Coalition Series
Zack patted his quarterback’s shoulder, but the other pulled away. “I’m sorry, man. I really am. Take it from me, though. Life doesn’t end just because you can’t play warball anymore. There are other things in this universe worth loving.”
“Like what?” Kuul grunted. “Sucking up to a bunch of rich guy suits on a dock, hoping they’ll honor you with an extra big tip for cleaning up their fish guts after a day at sea?”
This time, it was Zack’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Unlike you, I grew up on a boat,” Kuul remarked. “My father owned one when my brother and I were kids. He’d take us out every Saturday at the rump-crack of dawn to go fishing, then he’d stick us with all the cleaning and mop-up duties when we got back to shore.” He winced. “I swear on my mother’s grave, Monahan, I’ll despise the smell of fish until the day I die.”
“So, buy a farm instead,” Zack said. “Or a jaggur dealership or a hospital or whatever. Frex, Johnny. You’ve made more credit in your career than somebody like me could’ve ever even dreamed of making—and I was projected to be the top pick in my draft.”
“I had a lot of credit,” Kuul noted. “Emphasis on the past tense.”
Zack wrinkled his nose.
“Ex-wives and dirty management, my friend. They’ll stab you in the back every, single time.”
A lot of folks might’ve scoffed at Kuul’s story as being a pack of excuses. Then again, Zack thought, they’d never been a pro athlete. In this world, everyone wanted a piece of the you. Girls. Managers. So-called friends. Executives. Everyone. Factor in the ignorance of youth that accompanied athletic and non-athletic beings alike, and the road to warball stardom was littered with stories of exploitation like the one Kuul had just told.
“So, you’re broke.” Zack said.
“Not entirely,” Kuul said. “The Argos’ contract put me back in the green. I’m not flush with credit by any means. But at least now, I won’t starve to death in some back-alley slum in New Atlanta.”
“Sol system, huh?” Zack pocketed his hands. “That’s where you’re headed?”
“Maybe,” Kuul said. “I also hear Lake Lenox on Boccaro is nice this time of year. Honestly, I’d go pretty much anywhere at this point, so long as there’s no warball.” He glanced up. “That or cold weather. Cold weather frexing sucks.”
Zack chuckled aloud as a set of knuckles wrapped lightly against the door outside.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kuul?” a male voice asked. “Can I come in?”
“It’s a free system,” Kuul answered.
The door slipped open, and a tall human male with dark skin and well-built features entered wearing a white lab coat. “Nurse Bizentyne tells me you’re—” His brown eyes widened. “Zack?”
“Hey, Doc. I thought that was you.” Zack smiled and extended a hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” the doctor said with a shake. “I didn’t know you were here on Akalla.”
“Obviously, you don’t follow the local warball beat.” Zack laughed. “I’m the new offensive coordinator for the Argonauts.”
The doctor’s smile brightened. “So, you went back to the game after all. Good for you.”
“Thanks.” Zack gestured toward the bed. “Johnny, allow me to introduce Dr. Myron Rolle. He currently serves as the lead surgeon and director of neuroscience at Shanz Hospital on Mars. He’s also a former all-star wallball player, which makes him the best frexing ally jocks like us could ever hope to have in situations like these.”
Kuul regarded the newcomer with a look of bewilderment. “You played? Really?”
“Yes, I did,” Rolle said.
“What position?” Kuul asked.
“Punisher,” Rolle said.
Kuul guffawed then winced and clutched his temples. “And now you’re a neurosurgeon?”
“Funny how life works out sometimes, huh?” Rolle patted his current patient’s leg then faced his former one. “Your quarterback and I need to have a private conversation about his case. Let’s grab lunch while I’m on world, though. It’d be good to catch up.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Zack pointed at Kuul. “Take care of this one, will ya? If he needs anything moving forward—anything at all—you let us know.”
Rolle nodded as Zack turned to go.
“Monahan,” Kuul called. “Thanks… thanks for coming down here. It means a lot.”
Zack acknowledged him with a look then started for the door.
“Hey, Zack?” Kuul raised a hand then labored as best as he could to ball up his fingers. “Go Argos.”
Zack approached the bed and formed the other’s hand into a fist. He then bumped it with a fist of his own and smiled. “Go Argos.”
Rhames rose from her seat in the waiting area as her offensive coordinator emerged from the hallway beside the nurse’s station. “What was that all about?”
“Johnny just needed to chat with somebody who understands his circumstances firsthand.” Zack paused as Korach and Volthrop entered the room.
“How is he?” Volthrop asked.
“It’s not looking good.” Rhames filled the others in on what she knew.
“Holy frex,” Korach murmured when the coach finished.
“I’m glad you guys could make it down,” Zack said to the others. “Now that you’re here, the three of us should probably have a conversation.”
“About?” Rhames asked.
“About our offense,” Zack said. “We all know Xatori can’t run our original system. He just doesn’t have the skill set. What we learned tonight, however, is that when we put him in an up-tempo offense, the kid can make some things happen. We should embrace that moving forward.”
Rhames traded concerned looks with her peers. “I appreciate your thinking outside the box here, Zack, but running tempo when you’re behind on the scoreboard in the third period is one thing. Running an entire system off that philosophy is something else entirely.”
“Why?” Zack asked.
“Because it just is,” Rhames said. “Running out of the rifle severely limits our ability to run the warball, and that’s who we are as a club.”
“Oh yeah?” Zack folded his arms. “How’d that work out for you on Deek’s first four drives?”
Rhames lowered her head.
“The ground game is screwed if you can’t throw the warball because defenses can key on it all day long,” Zack said. “Deek can read the squat out of a defense. I’ve seen it. All he needs is the extra room to do that, then he can execute.”
Rhames considered the other’s idea.
“To do what you suggest,” Korach said, “I’d have to completely overhaul the way in which I approach our strength and conditioning program for the team.”
“Yes, you would,” Zack said. “Fortunately, I know someone who can help you with that.”
Korach rolled his eyes as Rhames heaved a sigh.
“I don’t like this, Monahan,” the latter said. “It’s way out of my comfort zone as a coach, and I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t,” Zack said. “But it’s the only option we’ve got if this club expects to sniff a win even once this season.”
Rhames pursed her lips then glanced at Volthrop. “Thoughts?”
The withaloo exhaled. “Monahan has a point. If we can’t stretch the ball downfield with the passing game, then the running game is done for.”
“Korach?” Rhames shifted.
“I think this idea is ludicrous.” The rincah grunted. “We have neither the time nor the personnel to run the sort of scheme Monahan suggests. Furthermore, the Argos are already the laughingstock of FIWA as it is. Why make that worse by running an offense that’s almost certainly destined to fail?”
“It won’t fail,” Zack insisted. “Trust me.”
Rhames chewed her lip. “Fine. I want a full report on this new system of yours on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. If I like what I read, we’ll tell the club.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zack said.
“You can’t be serious!” Korach protested.
Rhames admonished her assistant with a look then returned her focus to Monahan. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Zack. Otherwise, we’ll all be lucky to land jobs in the peewee leagues once this is over.”
Zack felt a tinge of excitement as his fellow coaches moved into a nearby lift, although not before Volthrop could mouth the words “good luck” on his way out. Thanks, brother. We’re gonna need it.
* * * * *
Chapter 18: Identity Crisis
Deek arrived at Argonaut Stadium the following Monday morning, not knowing what to expect. Obviously, he suspected that he’d be the Argos’ starter moving forward. Still, he couldn’t know that for sure until an official announcement was made. What Deek did know was that Mondays were typically the club’s day off, yet Rhames had called everyone in for a closed-door meeting.
This can’t be good. Deek exited the transport he’d bought with some of the proceeds from his first paycheck and was immediately met in the Stadium parking lot by Nars Eldean. “Fancy seeing you here, mate.”
“I know, right?” Eldean quipped. “Hey, you’ve gotten pretty tight lately with Coach M. Has he told you why they called us in today?”
Deek shook his head. “He contacted me late Saturday after leaving the hospital and told me the same thing he told you and everyone else—that we were all to meet up here at oh-eight-hundred hours. Beyond that, he didn’t add much else.”
“Interesting,” Eldean said. “What did he say about Kuul?”
“Just that Johnny’s awake and recovering,” Deek said. “No real specifics there, either.”
The pikith flyer stared at the ground. “I’ll be the first one to admit that playing ball with that rumphole ain’t the slightest bit of easy. Still, I wouldn’t wish that kind of hit on anybody. I mean, did you see the way his head rocked back when that caldivar made contact?” He shivered. “I swear, Deek. For a minute there, I thought he’d broken Johnny clear in half. No way Johnny comes back from that. Not this year, anyhow.”
Deek pointed to the other’s side. “You took a few nasty bumps yourself courtesy of that rincah playing right-side keeper for the Grizzlies. How are the ribs?”
“They’re fine.” Eldean sighed. “You remember that whole ‘chicks dig scars’ thing?”
Deek nodded.
“Yeah, well frex that.” Eldean grunted. “I say gimme those nanites all day long for the rest of the season.”
Deek shot the pikith a look as a handful of other Argos emerged from their transports for the meeting. “Aye then. No sense in wasting time out here in the car park. Let’s go rip off the bandage and see what all the hubbub is about.”
The pair started for the entrance, trailed closely by Rev, King, and a handful of others, then they headed for the locker room.
“Who’s that?” Rev motioned with his horns toward a copper-furred withaloo who was stuffing his things into a locker beside Icky.
“No idea. I’ve never seen him before—” Deek halted abruptly upon spotting the newcomer’s jersey, hanging inside the locker. It carried the number eleven, a marker typically reserved for quarterbacks.
“Since when did we add a new QB, yo?” Eldean had apparently seen the jersey, too.
“Rhames flew him in through the stargate last night,” Brooks said, walking over. “His name’s Gaberoth. Or at least, that’s the name on his jersey.”
King cocked his head. “Where did he come from?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Brooks said. “One of the intra-system leagues, maybe? I’ve never heard his name in FIWA circles, so I don’t think he’s a pro.”
“Frexing wonderful.” Eldean palmed his face. “Are we so hard up for players now that we’re bringing in intra-system scrubs just to fill our roster positions?”
“He sure is tall,” Rev noted.
“Yeah, he is,” King agreed.
Deek felt a lump in his throat. “Why is he here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Brooks said. “Depth maybe?”
Deek hoped that was true. It still didn’t stop his mind from racing toward other possibilities.
“Morning, boys.” Monahan approached the group. “We ready to get to work today?”
“Sure… I think?” Deek motioned toward the withaloo. “Who’s the newbie?”
“Just another player Coach Rhames brought in to help us,” Monahan said.
“Help us how?” Deek’s curiosity was getting the best of him, and he was fairly certain it was showing.
“Take a seat, Xatori,” Monahan said. “All will be revealed shortly. I promise.”
Deek pondered whether to push the issue but opted against it. After all, Monahan had never been anything but straight with him before, so Deek couldn’t fathom why the OC would start keeping secrets now.
Silence filled the locker room as Rhames entered the space and joined her fellow coaches at center floor.
“Thank you all for coming,” the head coach said. “I know Monday is typically our day off. However, given all that’s happened, I thought a clearing of the air might be good for us.”
“How’s Johnny?” Mox cut in. “I tried to go see him, but the nurses said he’s not taking visitors.”
“No, I don’t expect he is.” Rhames relayed the particulars of Kuul’s condition along with the unknown length of his rehabilitation.
“My friend…” The gritloth trailed off, head down and eyes closed.
“Johnny’s done for the season,” Rhames said. “This means we’ve got to move on without him. That said, allow me to introduce the newest member of the Akalla City Argonauts—Blayvok Gaberoth.”
All eyes turned toward the newcomer.
“Guh guh Gabs,” the withaloo said nervously. “Most people just cuh cuh call me Gabs.”
Eldean palmed his face. “You’ve gotta be squatting me.”
“Gabs here comes to us from the Arinorn varsity club in the Kyrie system developmental league,” Rhames said. “Last season, he threw for six thousand meters and forty-three goals while rushing for another twelve.”
“So, is he our new starter then to replace Johnny?” Mox asked.
Rhames shook her head. “No, Xatori will take over starting duties at quarterback. Gabs is here to back him up.”
Deek heaved a sigh of the sweetest relief.
“Coach Rhames, may I?” One of the backup rovers put up a tentacle. “With all respect to thirteen and miracle he almost retrieved from rear orifice Saturday evening, he cannot run traditional offense. Two-minute system not sustainable for full match.”
“You sure about that?” Monahan folded his arms.
The squid-like alien thought about it. “Last I check… I say, yes.”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” Monahan said. “Conventional warball wisdom says you can’t run a two-minute offense for an entire match. Then again, these aren’t conventional times, and we’re not a conventional club, are we?”
Deek scratched his chin. “What are you suggesting, Coach M?”
“A basic two-minute offense is built for exactly that,” Monahan said. “Two minutes. This means a limited number of plays with a fixed set of packages and formations. What I’m proposing is that we take that formula and expand it.”
“Expand it how?” Eldean asked.
“More batch packaging with additional plays, cadences, and a massively streamlined terminology,” Monahan said. “I won’t sugarcoat this, folks. To do what I’m proposing is gonna require us to learn an entirely new way of playing offensive warball with half the season already behind us. Is it ideal? No. But I do believe it’s what we need to do if we have any hope of finding success.”
Mox clasped his hands. “I hear what you’re saying, Coach M.”
“But?” Monahan asked.
“But I’m in agreement with Noodles,” Mox said. “I don’t see how a system like this is sustainable for a match, much less a season.”
“How come?” Monahan asked.
“Because it’s just not.” Mox hunched forward. “If I’m understanding you correctly, you intend to run our offense up tempo with no huddles and Xatori calling everything from the scrimmage line as you two sus things out via comms, right?”
Monahan nodded.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mox continued. “I see the benefits of that approach because of the pressure it applies to opposing defenses. The downside, though, is it also puts pressure on our guardians to keep pace with the calls, as well as our own defense who will get minimal rest time between series on account of our offense’s ability to score fast.”
“The defense can handle that workload.” Brooks rose to his feet. “Whatever it takes to win, my crew is up for the challenge.”
“No, you’re not,” Monahan said plainly. “Not as things stand, that is.”
The dauricon regarded his coach with a quizical expression.
“Mox is right,” Monahan continued. “The fast-break style that I’m proposing is extremely hard to sustain because of the stress it puts on the personnel who run it. That said, it’s not impossible if you know how to prepare for it.”
“What do you suggest?” Deek asked.
“Simple,” Monahan said. “We change how we train.”
Rhames stepped forward. “The Argos’ offense as I designed it was predicated on playing power warball. This means imposing our will at the line of scrimmage, an approach that starts in the training room through intense weightlifting and a diet meant to maximize muscle growth. Changing our offensive identity as Coach Monahan recommends will, therefore, require us to modify how we prepare to execute his new system, on and off the field.”
“Our focus moving forward will be on stamina, quickness, and flexibility,” Monahan said. “From a training standpoint, that means lighter weights with higher reps and a slimmer diet. In short, we’re all about lean and mean now, folks. Not big and brutal.”
“Float like a leaf, sting like a xajok,” Eldean noted.
