by Jeff Chen
5
2
546
Flamethrowers
4
3
518
Explorers
2
5
469
Shock
1
6
350
Venom
0
7
203
* Tiebreaker based on head-to-head record
PLAYOFF SEEDINGS
1
Neutrons (at Neutron Stadium)
4
Molemen
2
Miners (at Taiko Arena)
3
Beatdown
15
Wraiths and Ghosts
IT HAD BEEN months since Strike had been to the junk pile outside of Taiko Colony. It had once been his and TNT’s secret place, their private clubhouse. Open to anyone who wanted to go there, it wasn’t secure at all. But no one else was crazy enough to go to the most foul-smelling place on the moon. He sat on the edge of the enormous sloping hole, staring into the depths of the ooze, hoping that Wraith would show up. He’d been over Chain Reaction’s cryptic comments hundreds of times, and the solution to the puzzle had finally come together. Strike had to find a way to warn Boom about what was coming: a full-scale attack on the Dark Side of the moon.
He jerked his head to his right when a piece of trash moved. His breathing ragged and shallow, he forced himself to chuckle. Nothing’s down there, he thought. Just my stupid imagination.
“What are you laughing at?” came a whisper from the spot where the trash had moved.
Strike jumped back in terror, scrabbling at the ground in a frantic attempt to run away. He nearly screamed when the voice hissed out, “Stop. It’s me.”
Strike forced himself to halt and look back. Even squinting, he didn’t believe his eyes. “Wraith?”
A figure emerged from the hole, covered with garbage, smeared with putrid goo. “Did anyone follow you?” Wraith asked. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it hardly did anything to remove the sludge coating her face.
“Why are you down in there?” Strike asked.
“A better question: Why aren’t you down here?” she asked.
“Because it’s disgusting?”
“Better than being caught.” She attempted to shake something brown off her shoulder. “It sure is nasty, though.”
“Don’t worry, no one but you and me are stupid enough to come here,” Strike said. “Thanks for showing up.”
“This better be worth the tremendous risk we’re taking. I barely shook Zuna’s flunkies in order to get here. You have something important I need to know about?”
Strike told her everything that had happened when he had snuck into Salaam Hospital. His memory usually wasn’t that reliable, but every detail of those five minutes had been burned into his brain. There was no way he could ever forget the horrible, sickly grin on Chain Reaction’s face as he raised his arms to the ceiling.
Wraith took it all in, listening carefully. “Are you sure you’re not missing something he said about this Deathstrike Device?” she asked. “All he did was raise his arms and look up high?”
“Trust me, I’ve been over it a hundred times,” Strike said. “He’s always loved to taunt me.”
“What could he have meant about Zuna’s grand plan?” Wraith asked.
Chain Reaction’s words flashed into Strike’s head. Once Zuna wins his huge bets on the Neutrons this year, he’s going to make his grand plan a reality. That could only mean one thing. “He’s going to kill everyone on the Dark Side,” Strike said. “Maybe he’s going to secretly mount nukes to the ceilings of your caverns.”
“He can’t even get to the Dark Side, at least without us knowing about it immediately.”
“What else would he be talking about when he said he was going to wipe the moon of all its filth? You have to warn Boom and everyone else.”
Wraith didn’t argue with him. Instead, a fierce determination burned in her eyes. “One of us must stop the Neutrons from winning the Ultrabowl. It has to be my Molemen or your Miners.” She gave him a crooked grin. “Good thing my team fell into the fourth seed, huh?”
“So it’s true?” Strike asked. LunarSports Reports had jumped all over the Molemen for supposedly halting their scoring on purpose in a crooked scheme to drop into the fourth seed. Wraith had denied it all, but now Strike saw her genius at work.
“This way, I have the first shot at stopping Zuna,” Wraith said. “And if he pulls more of his underhanded tricks to somehow beat us, you’ll still be able to take down the Neutrons in the Ultrabowl.”
“Tricks? What tricks?”
“You think the Beatdown’s roster issue is accidental? Hammer Fist having stomach trouble, two games in a row? Can’t be a coincidence.”
Strike’s eyes widened. “Hammer Fist is taking a payoff from Zuna?”
“No. I think he’s being poisoned. I’d bet a thousand U-bucks that it’ll happen again.”
The horror of it all trickled through Strike like a deadly virus. LunarSports Reports had reported that Hammer Fist’s stomach problems were due to the intense pressure getting to him. But Wraith’s explanation made way more sense.
“Even if Hammer Fist gets mysteriously sick again, the Beatdown are going to be tough to get past,” Wraith said. She raised her eyebrows at Strike. “You have to do something about your roster.”
Strike picked up a pebble and tossed it up a few times before chucking it into the giant junk hole. It sailed down, landing with a plop into something goopy.
“Are you listening to me?” Wraith said.
“The roster is fine. It was rough at first, but TNT and Nitro gelled in the second half.”
“You’re deluding yourself. If you guys play like you did in your last game, there’s no way you’re going to win. The Beatdown are going to destroy you.”
Strike spat out his words. “What the frak am I supposed to do? On paper, TNT and Nitro should be the best rocketback 1 and 2 combo out there.”
“The game isn’t played on paper.”
“Okay, fine,” Strike yelled. “We have a problem. And I have no idea how to fix it.” He squeezed his eyes tight in frustration. “What would you do?”
“I don’t know all your team dynamics,” Wraith said. She paused, considering her words. “But I think you gotta get Rock back in your lineup.”
Strike took a deep breath, chewing at the inside of his mouth. That thought had bounced in and out of his head for days now. If there was one thing the Miners needed, it was stability.
“Rock definitely isn’t one of the best rocketbacks in the game,” Wraith continued, “but he does the things a team needs. All the stuff that goes unnoticed. Blocks and pressured throws that don’t get counted in the stats. I think you’ve underestimated how important he is to—” She stopped abruptly and yanked Strike forward, throwing him into the junk pile.
Strike landed with a splat in a puddle of goo. “What the frak are you doing?” he said. His entire right side was covered in glop. Disgusted, he tried to shake some of it off, but there was nastiness smeared all over him. “Are you crazy?”
“Shh,” Wraith hissed. She poked her head over the rim of the deep pit and pointed toward the main entrance.
The airlock door started to slide back. Strike’s eyes widened as four Blackguards crept in, all with their billy clubs out, held at the ready.
“We know you’re in there,” one of the Blackguards called out. “Come out peacefully and there will be no trouble. But we will use force if necessary.”
Strike watched as the Blackguards edged closer. “We should do what they say,” he whispered. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You think they’ll just question us a little and let us go?” Wraith said. “Think about what they did to Fusion. To Hammer Fist. They might even be the ones who attacked you at Kamar Colony.” Wraith shook her head. “I should never
have come. We’re trapped.”
Strike wanted to smash himself in the head. “I’m such a moron,” he whispered. His mind raced as he spotted two more Blackguards emerging through the airlock door. “I’m going to turn myself in. I can’t be responsible for you getting captured. You run.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Wraith said. “I have to protect you. You’re too important to the rebellion.”
“I’m not that important. The rebellion—”
“You are the rebellion,” Wraith said. “It fails without you.” She pointed to the airlock door, the lone entrance and exit. “Where do you think I would run, anyway? Just waltz right by the Blackguards?”
There was no other exit. The Blackguards silently closed in on them. Maybe they’d just be taken in for questioning. But deep down, Strike knew that Wraith was right. The junk pile had no cameras, no recorders, no witnesses. Strike tensed his legs. If there was nothing he could do, he’d do something crazy. Maybe racing at the Blackguards would give Wraith enough of a distraction to somehow slip out the airlock door.
“Stop that,” Wraith said, putting a hand on his shoulder and shoving him down. “Hold still. We have a plan.” She shot a glance over her left shoulder, holding a hand up with all five fingers outstretched.
“Who’s back there?” Strike asked.
“Quiet,” Wraith said. Her gaze was fixed upon the Blackguards, who were edging closer and closer. When they were just ten meters away, she silently counted down by curling down one finger at a time. When she reached a closed fist, she yelled, “Now!”
Strike instinctively ducked as trash went flying all around him. Dark Siders in dirty white jumpsuits exploded out of their hiding places, buried under the surface of the junk pile, heaving sticky clods of garbage at the Blackguards as they charged. The cavern erupted in chaos, Blackguards storming toward the junk hole, billy clubs swinging away. One smashed into a Dark Sider’s head with a horrible thunk, and the man reeled. His knees buckled, the lifeless mass crumpling to the ground.
“Go!” Wraith yelled. She grabbed the back of Strike’s jumpsuit, yanking him to his feet. “Get him out of here!” Two big Dark Siders ran up behind Strike, grabbing his arms.
Strike tried to stop himself, to stay and fight alongside Wraith. But the Dark Siders were too strong, lifting him clear off the ground, his feet tripping along as they hauled him toward the airlock door. “Let me go,” he screamed, struggling in vain to break free.
A Blackguard raced to intercept, but one of the Dark Siders jerked low to duck the billy club swing aimed at his head. He let go of Strike and threw a rabbit punch into the Blackguard’s stomach. The Blackguard fell backward, holding his gut, moaning. The Dark Siders picked Strike back up and sprinted toward the exit.
Two more Blackguards followed in hot pursuit, closing the distance quickly. One of the Dark Siders dropped Strike’s arm, staying back to intercept the attackers while the other one carried Strike toward the airlock door, ignoring his protests that he needed to stay and fight.
The first Dark Sider dropped down and swept his leg low as a Blackguard came at him, tripping him. But the other Blackguard kicked out, cracking his boot into the Dark Sider’s shoulder, knocking him backward to the ground. He raised his billy club and thwacked it into the Dark Sider’s legs and torso, the Dark Sider screaming with each blow.
Strike and his Dark Sider escort were nearly at the airlock door when the nearest Blackguard threw his billy club at them. It cracked into the Dark Sider’s back, making him lurch forward. He slammed to the ground, right on top of Strike.
All the air exploded out of Strike’s lungs as the Dark Sider landed on him. He sucked desperately for air, but nothing came. Red stars exploded around the periphery of his vision. He tried to curl up into a ball until his lungs started working again. But the Dark Sider had already slung him over his shoulder and sprinted the last steps to the exit. He kicked the button to open the door. As soon as it slid wide open enough, he tossed Strike through it, sending him sliding to the ground on the other side. “Run!” he yelled.
“I can’t abandon Wraith,” Strike said.
“We’ll take care of her. You have to get to safety, or all of this will be for nothing.” Slapping the button on the control panel, he raced back into the fight.
The door reversed, slowly inching its way closed. Torn, Strike watched the battle happening by the edge of the pit. The Dark Siders were overpowering the Blackguards, the element of surprise heavily on their side. But two Blackguards were still swinging away, each crazed blow backed by the frenzy and raw power that came from desperation. One of them suddenly turned and charged at Wraith, who was helping subdue another Blackguard on the ground.
“Wraith, look out!” Strike yelled, jabbing a finger through the still closing doors.
She jerked around, ducking the Blackguard’s wild attack just in time, the billy club whistling over her head. But the next blow came too fast, cracking into her shoulder with a horrible thud. Screaming, she collapsed, clawing at her shoulder in agony.
Two Dark Siders came in and tackled the Blackguard, stripping his billy club away and wrenching his arm behind his back. One of them turned toward the airlock door, spotting Strike peering dumbly through the doors that were nearly closed now. “Run, you fool! More will be coming!”
The doors slid shut.
Strike ran.
The Lunar World News Postgame Report
“This is Aziz Chang, here with Lunar World News’s newest member, Beastfire, formerly of the Touchdown Zone. It is such an honor having one of the most famous people on the moon by my side, the MVP of Ultrabowls IV and V, the spitfire, live wire, highflier, Beastfire. How you doin’, Beast?”
“I’m awesome, now that I’m working for LWN, the newest and already most watched source of news across the moon. I ain’t gonna hold no punches as I light up the straight dope on Ultraball. Beastfire goin’ haywire!”
“Excellent. Let’s get right down to the semifinals action. The North Pole Neutrons have advanced to their fifth straight Ultrabowl, after pounding the Cryptomare Molemen, 77–56. In a bizarre move, the Molemen made a surprise roster change just before the start of the game. Taking Wraith out of the lineup, they shifted Smuggler to quarterback, Cutter to rocketback 1, and inserted a rookie named Burial at rocketback 2. The moves drew huge skepticism from color commentators around the moon, speculating on the Molemen’s motives. The Underground Ultraball League has initiated a full investigation. Your thoughts, Beast?”
“That’s some screwy stuff, all right. Wraith sittin’ up in the Molemen’s coach’s box during the game, not speaking to anyone around her? She didn’t even make herself available for the mandatory postgame press conference. Even this dummy knows that ‘mandatory’ means you gotta do it. The question on everyone’s mind: What is she hidin’? She part of some crooked scheme, placing bets against her own team? Probbly. Don’t forget that she purposefully dropped her team from the third to the fourth seed, most likely because she had money ridin’ on it. She could be up to something even more illegaler than that.”
“She appeared to be limping, favoring her right arm as she left the stands after the game. Do you believe the rumors that she was injured and couldn’t play?”
“No frakkin’ way. Ultraball is war. Ain’t no thing as injured. Until that suit don’t close up around you no more, you play, no matter what. You’re in an indestructible suit, for frak’s sake! You go out and you frakkin’ play.”
“Excellent points, B-Fire. Meanwhile, in the other semifinal game, the Miners squeaked by the Beatdown, barely surviving a last-second scare to secure a 63–56 victory. Was it just me, or did the Miners look like a minor-league team?”
“They’s an embarrassment to Ultraball itself. It’s disgusting. TNT and Nitro are an explosive pair—not in a good way. What a frakkin’ mess. It ain’t even worth playin’ the Ultrabowl. It’s just gonna be sad to watch the Neutrons whoop the Miners’ bare butts.”
“The odd
smakers heavily favor the Neutrons in the Ultrabowl, assigning them a seventy-eight percent chance of taking home their fifth straight title. What do you think about that number—too high, too low?”
“Lower than a Dark Sider’s shadow. Don’t forget, Nitro ain’t got no playoff experience. Under the intense pressure of the moon’s biggest stage, I bet her fumbleitis comes right back.”
“Playoff experience. It’s that important?”
“Course it is! Any frakhead knows that. The jump from regular season to the playoffs is massive. Just look at Torch. That dude had been playin’ as incredulous as Nitro, back when he took his Flamethrowers all the way to Ultrabowl VI. But by throwing a fatal interception on the last play of the game, he demonstrated that rookies don’t belong in no Ultrabowl. He’s long been forgotten. Who knows where that sorry loser is now.”
“Some say that Nitro is destined to follow in her brother’s footsteps, the Torch’s Curse now hexing the Miners. Would you say there’s any truth to the Curse, Part II?”
“Frak yeah. The over/under for how many times she fumbles is set at 2.5. I say that’s way, way, waaaay too low. I’m so sure of that, I bet ten thousand U-bucks on it.”
“Ten thousand? Now, that’s putting your money where your mouth is. Speaking of betting, the total amount already wagered on the Ultrabowl is estimated to be seven hundred million U-dollars. The stakes have never been higher. Anything to add before we move to player interviews, B-Fire?”
“Gonna be a frakkin’ crap Ultrabowl. Miners gonna get theyselves pounded. May as well not even suit up.”
“There you have it, folks, you’ve heard it from the foremost Ultraball authority on the moon, the man blazing like a superstar supernova, the legendary two-time Ultrabowl MVP, Beastfire. The smart money—including B-Fire’s—is on the Neutrons to take home their fifth straight Ultrabowl title, and for their dynasty to continue indefinitely.”
16