by Jeff Chen
4
The Thief
STRIKE AND ROCK whipped around a corner into a narrow alley between two gray-brick apartment buildings. “Got him now,” Strike said, panting. Sure enough, the thief slowed as he approached the dead end hidden in the shadows. Strike pushed Rock behind him. “Stay here.”
He took careful strides toward the thief as the guy darted back and forth, slapping the walls as if looking for a secret passageway. “Just give us back the money,” Strike said. “We don’t want any trouble.” He slowed as he neared, the thief’s erratic motions unnerving him. Sometimes the smallest boys packed the hardest punches.
The thief charged. Strike flinched, throwing his fists up. But the thief leapt high, kicking off one of the close-set alley walls. He rebounded toward the other wall and zigzagged up, rising higher with each step. He soared over Strike, and by the time he passed over Rock, he was at least ten meters in the air. With a front flip, he dropped to the ground and tumbled forward, launching into a sprint.
“He just ran up the walls,” Rock said, his mouth hanging low. “That’s not possible.”
“Come on,” Strike said. They raced out of the alley, turning to follow in pursuit.
The thief tore past a row of towering apartments, all covered in grime and moon dust. He turned into another alley. When Strike caught up, he craned his neck to gape at the thief, who was scampering up the side of the building, scrabbling at narrow ledges in the brickwork. With a great leap, he vaulted to an open window ledge and caught it with the tips of his fingers, pulling himself in.
Rock stood next to Strike, both struggling to catch their breath. “We lost him,” Rock said.
“You stay here and make sure he doesn’t drop back out one of those windows. I’m going in.” Strike headed toward the front steps of the building.
“What should I do if he comes back out this way?”
“Yell for me.” Strike tried the main door, but it was locked. He kicked it in frustration.
Then a screech pierced the air, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. He took a step back as footsteps grew louder. The door burst open, a man yelling about an intruder in the building as he ran out. Strike slipped in.
On the second-floor landing, the thief spotted Strike and tore up the central spiraling staircase. He put distance between him and Strike, racing faster than Strike had thought possible. He took the steps four at a time, only needing three giant jumps to make it up each flight of stairs. Up they went, higher and higher, ascending the thirty stories at a dizzying speed.
Strike’s heart pounded, and pain seared his legs and chest. He finally had to stop at the twenty-fifth floor, gasping for breath. But the thief was trapped. Already at the thirtieth floor, he pounded at the locked door leading to roof access. There was no way out.
Taking it one slow step at a time, Strike kept his eyes trained on the thief. “Someone help me,” he called out. “Please. Miners together.”
Slowly, a door opened. “Strike?” a man said. “Is that you?”
“Yeah. And we have to stop that thief.” He jabbed a finger at the boy, who now stood at the top of the stairs, his fists raised, ready to fight.
To Strike’s relief, a man stepped out of his apartment. “Let’s get him. Miners together.”
“Miners forever,” Strike said, a surge of pride rising in his chest.
Another door opened, and two more guys came out to join them. “Miners together.”
“Miners forever,” everyone said in unison.
Over the years, Strike had repeated the mantra of the Taiko Miners over and over, but this time filled him with more love for his hometown than ever. The people of Taiko Colony were standing behind him, no matter the risk. Strike made his way up the last flights with a posse of a dozen men and women.
“Give back the money,” Strike called out. “I won’t get the Blackguard involved. We just want justice. You can’t steal from a Miner.” It was crazy to think of Torch as a Miner instead of a Flamethrower, but he now wore a blue Taiko Colony jumpsuit. And Miners had to look after their own.
The thief tried to back up at the sight of the growing crowd, but he was at a dead end. He pulled his jumpsuit hood even lower over his face. He cracked his knuckles.
Strike held up a cautious hand. The staircase was narrow enough to force the posse to head up only two at a time. They’d eventually overwhelm the thief due to sheer numbers, but a few hard kicks could inflict serious damage, even send someone over a railing, plummeting thirty floors to their death. Hardly anyone in Taiko Colony had the money to go to Salaam Colony’s hospital, so Strike had to be careful to not put anyone in harm’s way.
Strike charged up the final flight, screaming, “Miners together!” He bounded up the last steps and lunged, and grabbed nothing but air.
The thief had swung himself over the railing.
Strike leaned over, watching in horror as the thief plunged to a certain death. But five floors down, he caught a foot on a ledge, slowing his fall. He kicked off other railings as he fell, managing the huge drop as if he had somehow lowered gravity. By the ground floor, he caught a step and pulled himself onto the stairs. He crashed into four guys blocking his way, bowling them over as he scrambled toward the front door. Two more guys charged at the thief, but he spun around and shot between their legs.
Strike tore down, stealing glances at people tackling the thief. Even with the kid’s incredible agility and speed, he couldn’t fight the sheer numbers, more and more men piling into the scrum. By the time Strike ran all the way down the flights of stairs, the thief was pinned, his wrists and ankles held tight. Strike yelled to Rock to come into the building.
One guy nudged Strike, his forehead creased with deep lines. “The Blackguard is going to come, aren’t they?”
With all the noise, it was a pretty good bet that the cops would show. The Blackguard never missed a chance to remind people who was in charge—and to extract their bribes. “Someone help me tie him up,” Strike said. “Everyone else go hide.”
A guy raced into his apartment for rope, and people tied the thief’s kicking feet together before binding his wrists behind his back.
“Thanks for all the help,” Strike said. “Miners together.”
“Miners forever,” came back the chant. People high-fived each other and slapped Strike on the back before scuttling away to their apartments and shutting the doors.
Rock pushed his way through the thinning crowd. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Strike dug through the thief’s jumpsuit pockets and yanked out a wad of bills, holding it up. He shoved it into his own pocket for safekeeping. “I can’t believe one of Taiko Colony’s own would steal.”
“He’s not from Taiko Colony,” Rock said. He leaned over and brushed the back of the guy’s jumpsuit. “He’s in disguise. This jumpsuit isn’t actually blue.”
“It isn’t?” Strike kneeled to look more carefully in the dim red emergency lighting. “You’re right.”
Rock wiped a layer of dirty blue powder off the thief’s jumpsuit. “It’s white underneath.” He consulted his notebook, his face going pale.
“What?” Strike said. Ever since the very first moon colonies three hundred years ago, every colony was assigned its own distinctive jumpsuit color. “No one has white jumpsuits.”
Rock stepped nervously away from the thief. “Dark Siders do.”
Wild pictures flashed through Strike’s head, of all the urban myths he had heard about the Dark Siders. Over the decades, waves of disgruntled people had left the United Moon Colonies for the uncharted Dark Side of the moon. No one had heard from any of them since. Everyone on the moon was dark-skinned, after centuries of people from different races living together, but the Dark Siders were rumored to have gone ghostly white. At least once a year, stories circulated about Dark Side phantoms appearing out of nowhere and disappearing into thin air.
Strike’s hand trembled as he reached for the thief’s hood. He yanked it back, tensing against the horror of t
he ghoul’s pale face. But a shock of straight black hair flopped out. The guy’s skin was even darker than Strike’s and Rock’s. “Hey,” Strike said. “You don’t look any different than us.”
“Except that he’s . . .” Rock pointed at the thief’s high cheekbones and shoulder-length hair. “Sorry, I meant, except that she’s a girl.”
“Cut me loose right now and I won’t hurt either of you,” she said.
“Hurt us?” Rock said. “You’re in no position to make threats. The Blackguard are likely on their way, and they’ll escort you to Han-Shu Prison.”
“Prison?” She snorted. “How am I going to help you win the Ultrabowl if I’m in prison?”
Strike froze. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me. You need a new rocketback 1, Strike. You need me.”
A guy leaned out of his apartment. “Strike! Cops are coming.” He slammed his door. A dead bolt slid into place. Other doors also closed, steel locks scraping shut.
Strike gaped at the girl. “How do you know who I am? You know about Ultraball?”
“Of course. Everyone on the Dark Side watches. We’re not Earthers, with our heads stuck in the sand.”
“Why didn’t you just come to tryouts if you want to play?”
“Would you really have given a Dark Sider a shot?”
She was right. The twenty-one colonies were rapidly diverging after Earthfall, but one thing they still had in common was the legends of the Dark Siders. The first one ever to return, showing up out of nowhere? She would have been stopped at any airlock, maybe even thrown into prison for questioning. “Why do you want to play?”
“You’re up against Raiden Zuna,” the girl said.
Strike and Rock looked at each other. “How did you know that?” Strike said.
“Everyone knows about the bet Zuna made with Taiko Colony’s governor. The Miners winning the Ultrabowl would stick it to Zuna. Bad. I want in on that.”
“Why?”
“His alliance has been explosion mining and blast fracking on the Dark Side, trying to steal our precious reserves of buried ice. He’s already killed ten people.” The girl’s lips pulled back into a snarl. “I have to stop him.”
Strike gawked at her. Raiden Zuna, killing Dark Siders? That was crazy talk. Although most of the moon’s twenty-one elected Colony Governors were shady—especially Zuna—there was no way any of them would have done these kinds of things. But if she could help Strike finally win the Ultrabowl title he so desperately needed, who cared if she was insane?
He turned to Rock. “What do you think?”
Rock studied her, his forehead furrowed. “Miners fans aren’t going to like having an outsider on their team. And a Dark Sider? People will protest. It might not even be legal.” He pinched his lips tight. “It’s a tremendous risk. But the potential payoff is also tremendous.” He hesitated before nodding. “We should at least try her out.”
Footsteps outside drew nearer as Strike’s mind raced. He tugged at the knot around her ankles. He motioned for Rock to get her wrists. “Follow my lead,” Strike hissed to her.
They finished loosening her bonds just before two policemen in black jumpsuits barged through the front door. Both wielded thick nightsticks, their faces shrouded by riot gear helmets. “Hands up,” one said. He motioned to his partner. “Cuff ’em. Dirty little thieves.”
Strike froze. In the shadows, the cops hadn’t recognized him yet. In the past three years of Ultraball stardom, he had gotten used to being left alone by the Blackguard. He had forgotten what it had been like to be pushed around by cops whose power was becoming virtually unlimited. “We didn’t do anything, Officer.”
One of the policemen approached. “Strike? Is that really you?” He pointed to the girl, two ropes at her feet. “Filthy frakkin’ scum. Hand over what you stole and I won’t break your face. Yet.”
“She’s okay,” Strike said. “The thief ran out. We didn’t see which way.”
“Who’s this, then?”
“Just a friend,” Strike said, with a shrug. He stole a glance at Rock, who was sweating, his nervous glances bouncing back and forth between the Blackguards and the girl. Rock might have been a genius, but everyone could read his face.
One of the Blackguards stared Rock down. “Why do you look so worried?” he asked. He took out his nightstick and pressed the tip of it into Rock’s chest.
“Who, me?” Rock said, his voice rising. “I’m not nervous. Nothing to lie about. I’m definitely not lying.”
The policeman shoved the girl. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” He patted her down, searching through her pockets, coming up empty. He scowled and motioned to Strike and Rock. “You two. Hands behind your backs.”
Strike turned around, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered Torch’s money in his pocket. Why hadn’t he hidden the wad of cash? After all this, the Blackguards would walk off with Torch’s twenty-six U-bucks.
The policeman stuck a hand into Strike’s jumpsuit pockets. But the Blackguard just continued along, patting Strike down to his feet. “Nothing.”
“Nothing on Rock, either,” the other Blackguard said. “God, I hate Taiko Colony duty. Even the Ultraball stars have no money. Worthless little turds.” Without a warning, he whirled and thwacked the girl in the stomach with his nightstick. She doubled over, howling in pain.
The Blackguard drew his arm back to smash Rock, but his partner stopped him. “Leave these two alone,” the second officer said. “I got fifty U-bucks riding on the Miners winning the Ultrabowl. Three-to-one odds—that’s going to pay off big-time.” He jammed the end of his nightstick into Strike’s chest. “You’re also the QB of my fantasy Ultraball team. So I’m expecting lots of TDs out of you. Got it?”
Strike held his breath as he stared at the club pressing into his ribs. He nodded.
The Blackguard kicked the girl in the side, her groans echoing in the staircase. He pointed to Strike and Rock. “Even Ultraball stars aren’t untouchable. The Blackguard is watching you.” The two of them left, slamming the front door shut.
Strike and Rock kneeled by the girl. “Are you okay?” Strike asked.
Curled up in the fetal position, she stole a glance at the door. Her moaning slowly morphed into chuckles. Soon, she was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Rock asked. He pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages and pages of jokes, studying them intently.
Leaning forward, the girl spit onto the ground. Out came a wad of bills.
Strike scooped up the pile. “Torch’s money?” He shoved it all into his pocket before she could steal it again.
“You ought to be more careful with your cash,” the girl said with a shrug.
“You pickpocketed Strike after we untied you?” Rock asked.
She nodded.
“How are you not hurt?” Rock asked. “That Blackguard walloped you.”
“I was lucky it was in the stomach,” she said. “A thousand sit-ups a day builds up your muscles.”
“All that moaning and groaning was fake?”
“You can do all kinds of things when someone thinks they’ve got the upper hand.” She opened her hand to display a badge.
“Is that his ID badge?” Strike said, his jaw hanging low. “You stole a Blackguard’s ID badge? Are you insane? He’ll kill you.”
“It’ll be hours before he notices. I’m gonna go take a few things from the Blackguard storehouses and then leave his badge back here. He’ll think he dropped it.”
“What if he finds out?” Rock asked. “Blackguards aren’t afraid to use force. Deadly force.”
“Not against the Taiko Miners’ new rocketback 1.” She gave him a sly grin.
Strike studied her. “We still have to try you out, you know.”
“You really think I won’t make it?”
Strike nodded warily. “Okay. Eight a.m. at Taiko Arena. We’ll work out for an hour before my two crackbacks show up at nine.”
“Got i
t. Now if you don’t mind, I have shopping to do. There are some big-ticket electronic items I’ve had my eye on over in Saladin Colony.” She made her way down the stairs.
“How are you going to get into Saladin Colony?” Rock said. “You can’t just walk through the Tunnel Ring and knock on the airlock.”
“There’s a saying we have: Dark Siders cast no shadows.” The girl shot Rock a roguish look over her shoulder as she broke into a jog.
“Wait,” Strike said. “What’s your name? And we’ll have to give you a good Ultraball nickname, too.” One of the best things about Ultraball was coming up with awesome player names. Shinzo Sazaki had been just another orphan at the overcrowded Tao Children’s Home, but once he had transformed himself into Strike, everyone on the entire moon knew his name.
“Give me an Ultraball name after you see what I can do,” the girl said. She tucked the stolen ID badge into her jumpsuit pocket and took off, vanishing into the dim lights of the moon’s artificial night.
5
Crackbacks 1 and 2
THE DARK SIDER thief still refused to tell Strike her real name, but she earned her Ultraball name during her first play inside Taiko Arena. Sealed into an Ultrabot suit, she lined up with Rock defending her, twenty steps away. She raced forward with the ball, building up an incredible head of steam. Rock squatted and charged to meet her, but she smashed into him with a staggering boom. Rock went flying, skidding along the ground, toppling into one of the deep field pits.
Strike rushed to his rocketback 2 and crouched over him. “Are you okay?”
“What a hit.” Rock flipped his visor to clear, his eyes in a daze. He clawed his way out of the trench. “Good thing I’m protected by impactanium armor.”
Strike offered him a hand and watched the girl, who had raced all the way to the end zone and was doing a touchdown dance. Although he still didn’t know if he could ever trust a Dark Sider, there was no doubt that she was incredibly talented. “Looks like we might have ourselves an RB1,” he said through the suit’s comm system. “Get back here, Boom.”
“Boom?” the girl said. She flipped her visor to clear, a smile on her face. “I like that.”