by Jeff Chen
BERZERKATRON: Anything is possible in Ultraball. The Miners, the Beatdown, or the Molemen could all pull off an upset.
THE MAD MONGOL: Dunno about that. The Molemen are under a ton of pressure, their quarterback rumored to be connected to the North Pole Colony thefts. I thought that was more of the usual LunarSports Reports crap at first, but now I’m wondering if there’s some truth to it. A slew of nuclear components mysteriously disappearing with no trace? And rumors of eerie footprints spotted down in the Tunnel Ring? Sounds like Dark Siders, all right.
BERZERKATRON: Criminal or not, all the scrutiny on Wraith had to have contributed to the Molemen’s second loss in a row yesterday. After a hot start, they’re struggling. Wraith has to find a way to turn her team around.
THE MAD MONGOL: Wraith. There’s something bizarre about her. Showing up out of nowhere over the off-season, her and her teammates suddenly taking over an entire Ultraball roster? Some say it was genius, but I say it’s creepy. The old ghost stories about someone—or something—haunting the Tunnel Ring after dark? Maybe it’s been the Dark Siders all along. Is it any coincidence that one of the legends has a wraith as the one doing the haunting?
BERZERKATRON: Did you just admit that you believe in ghosts? And that Wraith is one? Who’s the big mo-ron now? I really hope you ask her what it’s like to haunt the Tunnel Ring. You’ll get that chance to make a further fool of yourself tomorrow at the LunarSports QB Forum. For the first time ever, all eight Ultraball quarterbacks in the same studio, that’s gonna be mega. Hard to believe that Strike finally agreed to do one of these things. Been four years since the Earthfart interview.
THE MAD MONGOL: Anyone can slip up on the word “Earthfall” once. But five times? It’s sad how he babbles and stammers under big-time studio lights. Hilarious, but sad. Yet another reason why the Miners will never win an Ultrabowl. When the pressure’s truly on, Strike crumbles like a nasty ol’ hardtack bar.
BERZERKATRON: Okay, wise guy. I’m putting my money where my mouth is. A hundred U-bucks on the Miners going all the way. They may not be the Fireball Five anymore. But now they’re something even better. No TNT? No problem.
THE MAD MONGOL: You’re on, Berzerkachump. Listeners, anyone else want a piece of this easy money? I’ll take all bets from anyone dumb enough to say that the Miners have a chance in frakkin’ hell. The phones are now open.
RESULTS AND STANDINGS, AFTER WEEK 5
RESULTS, WEEK 5
Miners
98
Shock
63
Flamethrowers
91
Venom
35
Beatdown
91
Explorers
84
Neutrons
112
Molemen
105
STANDINGS, WEEK 5
Wins
Losses
Total Points
Neutrons
4
1
483
Beatdown
4
1
392
Molemen
3
2
392
Miners
3
2
385
Flamethrowers
3
2
371
Explorers
2
3
336
Shock
1
4
273
Venom
0
5
175
11
The Lunarsports QB Forum
TWO DAYS AFTER the Miners’ win over the Shock, Strike led his team into one of the LunarSports Reports studios, a room full of audiovisual equipment beeping and whirring. It was a throwback to the pre-Earthfall era, a time when the brave moon colonists got anything they wanted. In this day and age, something as flashy as this studio was extremely rare. But now that Zuna owned LunarSports Reports, it was even more fully decked out, a modern-day technological palace.
Strike took a deep breath, trying to hold back the rising panic. Going on the LunarSports Reports QB Forum had seemed brilliant when Fusion had suggested it as a way to corner White Lightning and get him to spill his guts about Zuna’s secret project. There was nothing Strike could do about the steadily increasing claustrophobia that might have affected his play against the Shock, perhaps even costing them a touchdown or two. But a much bigger contributor to his performance woes was the fact that something called Operation Deathstrike was hanging over his head.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
All the gleaming camera equipment and hordes of LunarSports reporters on Zuna’s payroll made Strike’s palms sweat. “Do we have to do this?” he asked Rock.
Rock squinted. “No, it’s completely voluntary. You were the one who insisted on participating.” He flipped open his notebook. “Just after our last game, in the locker room, you said—”
“Why do you have to be such a smart aleck?” Strike said.
“Smart aleck?” Rock said. “I was just repeating your words back to you.”
“Exactly.”
Standing behind them, Nitro cut in. “Strike also said that he was worried about freaking out on live TV because Raiden Zuna is going to be here. And because of all the LunarSports reporters blasting him about why we didn’t blow out the Shock as much as we should have.”
All the Miners turned to stare at her.
“What?” Nitro said, shrinking. “Did I get that wrong?”
Rock smiled. “No, you got it all perfect. I was thinking about saving up to buy you a notebook, but maybe you don’t need one.”
“What I need is for people not to remember all the dumb things I say,” Strike muttered. Looking around the studio full of people who Zuna was paying to talk trash about him, he shuddered. He was terrible in interviews, especially in prime time ones like this. Ever since the infamous Earthfart interview four years ago, he’d sworn off these gigantic media shows. But this was important. He’d just have to find a way to survive the next grueling hour—and then figure out how to get White Lightning alone.
“We should scram,” TNT said. “We’re in Zuna’s territory. It’s not going to be pretty.”
Strike slowly shook his head. “I have to know what Operation Deathstrike is.”
“Most likely a ploy to keep you off balance,” Rock said as he scribbled in his notebook. “It’s very possible that Zuna ordered Radioactive to leak it to Fusion. We should leave.”
“Easy for you to say. You’d think differently if White Lightning was working on a secret project called Operation DeathRock.”
“He’d come up with something much more clever than that.” Rock flipped pages, landing on one titled “Phrases with the Word ‘Rock’ in Them.” “Ah! ‘Operation Rock Crusher.’ That would have been good.”
“Good? Or terrible? Especially considering Zuna has already tried to have me killed?”
Rock’s face fell. “You have a point. I suppose I’d want to find out anything I could, no matter how improbable it is that you’ll be able to get White Lightning alone. Or that he’s willing to talk. Or that he has any useful information. Or—”
“You’re not helping,” Strike said. “He’ll talk if I can get him alone. He owes me, after I didn’t force him to go one-on-one on the last play of our game. I have to find out about Operation Deathstrike.”
And how to enlarge an Ultrabot suit, Strike thought.
TNT shook his head. “I wish you’d just focus on playing Ultraball. On winning the Ultrabowl. But if this will help get this stupid Operation Deathstrike monkey off your back . . .” He raised his eyebrows.
“Look, there’s Destroyer,” Nitro said, pointing to the quarterback for the Tranquility Beatdown. “He’s so cute.”
“Cute?” Pickaxe asked. He grumbled. “No one ever calls me cute.”
“That’s because your face looks like
my butt,” Nugget said.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m gonna—”
“Cut it out, you two,” Strike said. He craned his neck around, but White Lightning was nowhere in sight. He caught a glimpse of Wraith, surrounded by her teammates. They locked eyes, and she raised her eyebrows at Strike. There was something in her look. Something urgent.
Strike took a step toward Wraith, but a LunarSports worker in a beige jumpsuit came over to intercept him. The corner of his mouth curled up into a wry grin. “There you are,” he said in a smarmy voice. “This QB Forum is going to be spectacular. Ready to be grilled?”
Before Strike could sputter out a response, the main studio door opened to a wave of big guys in the red jumpsuits of North Pole Colony. White Lightning, tiny compared to his posse of grown men, shuffled in, looking more like a prisoner than the quarterback of the league-leading Neutrons.
Raiden Zuna walked in right behind his quarterback. His jeweled right hand glittered under the studio lights, his four Ultrabowl rings sparkling in brilliant starbursts. The entire mob in red headed toward Strike.
“Looking forward to seeing you up onstage, Strike,” Zuna said, a grin smeared across his face. “No reason to be nervous. Only several thousand people hanging on your every word.” He shot a glance toward a group of his reporters, who chuckled as they pulled out notebooks.
Strike choked back a glob of vomit climbing up his throat. He looked to Rock with wild eyes, willing his friend to give him a good comeback.
Rock quickly caught on to Strike’s look of desperation. He whipped open his own notebook, flipping through and landing on a page titled “Clever Comebacks.” “Brilliant is as brilliant does,” he said triumphantly.
Everyone stared at Rock until the boy’s smile melted away.
Zuna raised an eyebrow at Strike. “That’s really the best your sidekick could do?” he asked.
“He’s not a sidekick,” Strike said. “He’s a genius.”
“Genius is as genius does?” Rock said timidly.
Zuna and his entourage burst into laughter, a crowd of LunarSports reporters following suit. Before Strike knew what was happening, Zuna had put a hand on his back, ushering him toward a corner of the studio. “Let’s go talk,” he said. The bodyguards in red blocked off the rest of the Miners as Zuna pushed Strike through a side door and shut it behind them.
Inside the room, Zuna leaned into Strike. “Terrible games against the Flamethrowers and the Shock. Your gameplay is deteriorating so fast that I don’t have to tell LunarSports to make up things anymore. Be smart for once. Give up Boom, and I’ll extend your Ultraball career. This is your last chance.”
“I told you, she’s dead,” Strike said.
Zuna’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “Give me Boom or suffer the consequences. I won’t let you stand in the way of justice.”
Strike tried to stand his ground, to not shrink away from the man who had ordered an attack on the Miners just a few weeks ago. “You’re bluffing,” he said, his voice rising high.
“I don’t need to bluff. Ask your buddy Fusion.”
A surge of panic shot through Strike. His arms tensed, trembling. “What are you talking about?” he stammered. “Fusion isn’t my friend.”
“Don’t insult me by denying that he’s been sneaking into your practices.” Zuna’s lips pressed into a taut line. “You hear what happened this morning?”
Strike’s breath caught in his chest. No, he thought. This can’t be happening.
“Fusion was arrested,” Zuna said. “Suspected in connection with the miniature nuclear reactor stolen out of North Pole Colony.”
Strike’s knees went wobbly, nearly buckling. Fusion was just a kid. He wasn’t a criminal. Zuna had Fusion arrested because he was helping me.
“How did you find out?” Strike stammered.
“I have my ways,” he said.
Something Fusion had said clawed its way into Strike’s woozy head: Zuna has developed ways of stealing other teams’ signals. Really sneaky stuff.
“Think very carefully about your future, Strike,” Zuna said. “If you don’t give me Boom, all the blood will be on your hands. For the safety of the UMC, I’ll be forced to wipe the moon of all its filth.”
Strike’s paralysis turned to confusion as he looked into the demon eyes laser-locked on him. What did Zuna mean about wiping the moon of all its filth?
A knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Zuna, sir?” came a meek voice. “We need to start soon. Is that okay with you?”
Zuna put a finger up to his mouth, then drew it across his neck. He opened the door back into the main studio. “Can’t wait to get this show on the road,” he said casually. “Strike has all sorts of interesting things going through his head.”
Strike slumped to the floor, struggling to hold it together as he raced through every one of Zuna’s words, his facial expressions, his piercing looks. Whatever his threat had meant, it was certain that it wasn’t just Strike’s and Boom’s lives on the line anymore. Zuna’s words squeezed his head like a vise, crushing Strike a thousand times worse than his tightening Ultrabot suit.
Rock and TNT forced the door open with a bang. “Zuna’s bodyguards kept us out,” Rock said, breathing hard.
TNT jolted at the sight of Strike curled up on the floor. “You okay? What happened?”
Strike tried to speak, but he kept on choking on his words. Finally, he said, “I have to talk to White Lightning, alone. It’s more important than ever.”
TNT and Rock looked at each other, worried. But before they could ask for more details, several LunarSports people knocked and then banged on the door, forcing the Miners to get back out into the studio. Strike wanted to run away, but he had to talk to White Lightning. If he couldn’t find a way to stop Operation Deathstrike, he’d have to give up Boom.
Inside the main studio, all the other quarterbacks had arrived. Even Governor Katana was there, standing against one wall, glancing sidelong at Zuna. He caught sight of Strike, and he made a beeline over, his pace urgent. But halfway there, he was blocked by a set of LunarSports reporters working to get everyone into place. Katana mouthed a word to Strike before the LunarSports people ushered him away:
Earthfall.
Strike inwardly groaned. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, now he had to figure out what Governor Katana was talking about. It was probably the fact that LunarSports was going to try to trick him into saying “Earthfart” again. But what if the governor was reminding him about Zuna being on par with the Earthfall Eight? Maybe Katana had even discovered something about Operation Deathstrike and was trying to warn him about his impending doom.
When he saw the order of nameplates, Strike groaned again. He had been placed on one end of the long interview table, and White Lightning was all the way at the far end. How was he ever going to get to talk to White Lightning alone? Sweat was already beading on his forehead, and the heat of the spotlight was making things worse. Someone dabbed at his face with a towel. He stole anxious glances at White Lightning, who was being escorted up to the stage by two big bodyguards. Even with makeup caked on, he looked worse than Strike remembered, the dark folds of skin under his eyes nearly black now. His face was mottled with angry red spots.
One of the LunarSports Reports people in the back of the room waved his hand. “Places, everyone,” he said. He fixed his gaze onto a giant clock hanging on the wall. “We’ll be live in sixty seconds.”
“Why are you staring so hard at White Lightning?” a voice whispered into Strike’s ear, making him flinch.
Strike hadn’t even noticed Wraith come up onstage, carefully sidling up to him. “I have to talk to him alone,” he whispered.
Wraith started to say something, but the interviewer stepped onto the stage amid a buzz of activity. She closed her mouth and studied White Lightning, who had finally met Strike’s eyes with surprise and alarm.
The interviewer, dressed in a crisp beige jumpsuit, smiled as he swept his gaze across the
eight kids in front of him. But when he looked at Strike, there was malice in his grin. He turned to the main camera and flashed his brilliant white teeth. “This is Aziz Chang, grand executive reporter for LunarSports Reports. It’s my pleasure to bring you an amazing special: all eight quarterbacks of the Underground Ultraball League, together in the same room for the first time ever. We’ll go over the friendships, rivalries, and everything you ever wanted to know about the immense pressure that these eight Ultraball quarterbacks are under.”
He turned his gaze onto Strike. “How is it that these kids, none older than age thirteen, don’t fall apart under the crushing expectations and the tremendous implications of failure?” He moved in close to Strike, staring him down. “Speaking of that, we’ll be spending a lot of time with Strike. We have so many questions about his thoughts on the silent but deadly forces that led to Earthfall.”
Strike choked, erupting into a storm of coughing.
The interviewer’s face lit up, full of glee. “We unfortunately have to take a very short commercial break before we launch in,” he said. “But stay tuned for the panel session you’ve all been waiting for. As you can already tell, this is going to be sensational.” As soon as the cameramen looked up from their posts, the interviewer openly chuckled at Strike.
Wraith hovered over Strike, who had doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Everyone stared, including Zuna, who motioned angrily to the LunarSports people to intervene. But as two workers moved in to separate them, Wraith leaned in close. “You okay?” she hissed into his ear.
Strike tried to say no, that all the pressure was making him freak out. But as he thought about getting out of his chair and running, he locked eyes with White Lightning at the far side of the table.