The Starter by Scott Sigler

target?”
    “Obviously.”
    “So, if you thought I was the target, then you did intentionally save me.”
    Quentin paused, his brain searching for an answer, finding nothing for almost three seconds. “Virak and Choto,” he said. “I didn’t want my starting linebackers to get hurt.”
    Gredok said nothing. Quentin stared at him, then looked away. His answer had come too late, a feeble attempt to cover up Gredok’s accurate observation. Quentin wanted to kick himself.
    “Which brings us to the second point,” Gredok said. “Who, exactly, was the target?”
    The lights dimmed and several holo-screens flared to life, showing replays of the attack. When it happened, it had seemed so obvious the bomber was going for Gredok. But now, with the benefit of multiple angles, Quentin wasn’t so sure. The attacker could be rushing toward Gredok’s car... or... or could be rushing toward Quentin’s car.
    “Many possibilities,” Gredok said. “Me, of course, as there are petty individuals who are envious of my business acumen. But also Mayor Kerin the Malleable. Maybe even Coach Hokor.”
    “Coach Hokor? Who would want to kill a coach?”
    “Welcome to Tier One, Quentin. Who would want to kill a coach? Any Tier One team that thinks they might finish last unless the Krakens lose all their games.”
    “Well, okay, but would someone... I don’t know... kill for that?”
    Gredok’s pedipalps twitched side-to-side. By now, Quentin knew that was a kind of Quyth laughter. Quentin felt his face turn red. He’d asked a stupid question worthy of derision. Bobby Adrojnik had died in a bar fight shortly after winning the Galaxy Bowl. Suspicion had always centered on Gloria Ogawa, the Wabash owner. The next year, without their star quarterback, the Krakens didn’t even make the playoffs.
    “Tier One is about money ,” Gredok said. “Where there is money, there is a will to kill for that money. Tell me, Barnes, when you worked in the mines of Micovi, where Human life is so cheap, what was the going rate for a petty assassination?”
    Why did everyone have to bring up Micovi? “I think you could have someone killed for five hundred credits, if you wanted it done right. If you didn’t have that kind of cash, you could hire someone hungry for like fifty.”
    “Fifty credits to kill a sentient,” Gredok said. “And here, there are billions at stake. Do you understand?”
    Quentin hadn’t thought about it in those terms before. He nodded.
    “I hope, Barnes, that you can learn these things in time to save me from having to find another quarterback.”
    Quentin nodded again.
    “And if the target could have been Coach Hokor,” Gredok said, “then it also could have been... you .”
    Quentin stared, once again his brain searching for thoughts and finding nothing. Adrojnik had been killed. Adrojnik, the quarterback . Gredok was right. Quentin could have been the target. They had no way of knowing.
    “We will look into this,” Gredok said. “The Ionath Police are good at their jobs, when I allow them to do their jobs, that is, but I won’t sit back and wait for them to find the culprit. I will protect my investments. For now, however, I want everyone to stay on the Touchback at least until the season opener.”
    Quentin shrugged. “That’s fine with me.”
    “Really? Some of your teammates whined about not seeing their mates, their offspring. No concerns from you?”
    Quentin shook his head.
    “Of course not,” Gredok said. “Sometimes I forget that your entire life is the game of football. That’s one of the things I like about you — you’re focused on what matters.”
    If other Krakens players wasted time with mates and kids, that was their problem. Quentin had nothing to leave behind, but in truth he couldn’t wait to get up to the Touchback because it meant safety. If someone was trying to kill him, he’d rather be in a private spaceship that could punch out than in a city of 110,000 sentients.
    “Take