by Jeff Chen
TNT turned away. “I don’t blame you if you never forgive me. I won’t ever forgive me. But I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you. I won’t stop until I make things right.”
“You can’t ever make up for what you did. How could you stab me in the back like that? Zuna paid you off to throw last year’s Ultrabowl, didn’t he?”
“I . . .” TNT wrung his hands together, his face crinkling up, tears pooling in his eyes. “I can’t say anything. I promised.” TNT shot a glance over his shoulder and motioned Strike close. “I’ve been trailing Zuna for weeks. I followed him all the way to North Pole Colony. He’s planning on buying off a Miner. I’m sure of it.”
“You followed Zuna? His goons didn’t pick you up?” North Pole Colony, where most of the moon’s energy was produced, was the richest of the United Moon Colonies. A kid from Taiko Colony would stick out like a solar flare.
“I went in with a bunch of Guoming Colony junkers,” TNT said. “Stole one of their pink jumpsuits and blended right in.”
“You could have gotten yourself killed. What if he recognized you?”
“Wouldn’t have mattered. My life is worth nothing.” He looked down at his feet.
Dammit, Strike thought. The least TNT could do was to let Strike hate him properly.
“It took me ages, hanging around his headquarters, pretending like I was cleaning,” TNT said. “But I finally overheard him say something. That he was off to tap his next prospect.”
“So? All teams look at prospects.”
TNT took a deep breath. “Last year, Zuna called me his prospect. You know, like a prospector? As in, a Miner. He’s going to buy someone off. It has to be your new rocketback.”
Strike studied TNT’s face. He sure did look sincere. For all the years they had been inseparable, Strike knew TNT better than he knew himself. He so badly wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, the two of them playing pranks on their Fireball Five teammates, staying up all night drawing up trick plays, dreaming big plans for the future. “So it was Zuna? How much did he pay you to throw the Ultrabowl? To stab me in the back?”
TNT squeezed his eyes tight. A tortured groan came from somewhere deep inside. “I really can’t say anything. I swore I wouldn’t.” He slammed a fist into his thigh, moaning in despair.
Turning, Strike shook his head and walked away.
“Remember the day we met?” TNT called out. “Shinjuku Park?”
Strike slowed, his feet shuffling along the airtight tunnel surface. “’Course I remember.” He’d never forget the day four years ago that had turned around his life, flipping his path from one breaking his back down in the mines to one of Ultraball stardom.
“Some of those kids wanted to jump you,” TNT said. “Two of them still blamed your mom for the Fireball Blast. Who stuck up for you? Said you could play football with us?”
Strike paused. He shrugged.
“Ever since the first time I had you over, my mom thought of you like a second son. Sometimes I think she liked you better than me. I bet if there had only been one slot open at that Miners tryout, she would have made sure you got it instead of me.”
“That’s not true. Well . . .” Strike had to admit, it probably was true. TNT’s mom worked for the Underground Ultraball League back then, and had gotten all of them tryouts. But she had put Strike’s name at the very top of the list. He squeezed his eyes tight as the memories of TNT’s mom, taking him in like a son, came flooding back.
“I gave you a chance when no one else would,” TNT said. “Now you gotta do the same for me.”
Strike stood in place for a long time. He shook his head, and then walked down the long tunnel. The pain of last year’s Ultrabowl was just too great.
“Please, Strike,” TNT said. “Miners together. Fireball Fire forever.”
At the end of the tunnel, Strike slowed and then stopped. He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Get me hard proof. And then I might listen.”
RESULTS AND STANDINGS, AFTER WEEK 1
RESULTS, WEEK 1
Miners
84
Venom
35
Neutrons
105
Beatdown
70
Shock
63
Molemen
14
Flamethrowers
70
Explorers
63
STANDINGS, WEEK 1
Wins Losses Total Points
Neutrons
1
0
105
Miners
1
0
84
Flamethrowers
1
0
70
Shock
1
0
63
Beatdown
0
1
70
Explorers
0
1
63
Venom
0
1
35
Molemen
0
1
14
8
Nuclear Waste
MONDAYS WERE OFF days for the Miners. It was a good thing that Rock had gone to the library in Copernicus Colony—Strike needed some space to think, and their tiny apartment often got cramped with Rock there. Strike paced in a tight circle for hours, mulling over and dissecting TNT’s words. There had been nothing but sincerity and truth in his former best friend’s eyes. A big part of Strike wanted to believe TNT. To make things right.
But that would mean Boom was plotting to stab him in the back.
What do I really know about Boom, anyway? Strike thought. Although most of the sports talk chatter had switched from Boom’s background to her incredible playing, the rumors surrounding the first Dark Sider to ever return to the United Moon Colonies hadn’t died out. It would be so much easier to fully trust her if she would just answer some of the most basic questions. Against his better judgment, Strike couldn’t help wondering if TNT was onto something.
Later that night, Strike and Rock headed to Taiko Commons for the weekly Nuclear Poker game. They had skipped the card game during the preseason to focus on Ultraball, but Strike needed the distraction now. If there was anything that could take Strike’s mind off TNT, it was the high-stakes risk and strategy of the best card game ever. With Strike’s ability to fake people out and Rock’s brains, they had become one of the best pairs in Taiko Colony. If only there had been jobs that paid people to play Nuclear Poker, the two of them would be set in their post-Ultraball days, whether they won an Ultrabowl or not.
“How many hardtack bars do we have?” Strike asked. In dirt-poor Taiko Colony, hardtack bars were the true currency, not U-dollars.
“Twelve,” Rock said, patting the bag tightly strapped to his side. “Are you sure we shouldn’t leave at least a few at home, just in case? Next distribution drop won’t be for another four days.”
“I have a good feeling about tonight. We could double our stash. That’s almost enough to trade for some real food. Fresh food.” His stomach grumbled as he thought about the time at the Tao Children’s Home when one of his roommates had stolen some baked potatoes from Frigoris Colony, where all the moon’s crops were grown in the precious stockpile of soil. It had cost Strike fourteen hardtack bars to get one of those potatoes, but it was worth it. Memories of the warm, flaky deliciousness made him drool. “That computer brain of yours better be in tip-top shape. And work really hard to keep your poker face on.”
“I’ve been improving my bluffing skills,” Rock said. “Watch this.” He stared at Strike, his face blank.
“Great,” Strike said. “Just keep that same face if we hit a nuclear straight.”
“A nuclear straight?” His breath quickening, Rock’s eyebrows rose high.
“Great poker face.”
“Darn it,” Rock mumbled. He jotted into his notebook, shaking his head
.
It was still early, but Taiko Commons was already packed. Most of the people were glued to a giant monitor mounted high on a wall, the only TV left in all of Taiko Colony. LunarSports Reports blared on it, the color commentators shouting in debate about who would finish last in the league, the Molemen or the Venom. At the top of the screen was the ever-present Ultraball standings chart, listing out wins, losses, and total points scored. During Ultraball season, the standings chart was front and center on every monitor, screen, phone, and scoreboard, from airlocks to schools to factories to Tunnel Ring trams.
Most people wore blue Taiko Colony jumpsuits, but there were people in other colors milling around, Nuclear Poker fanatics traveling for any game available. Strike did a lap around the room, giving high fives. Even Governor Katana was there, waving to Strike. The governor didn’t say a thing, but the look on his face conveyed the weight on his shoulders.
“Hey, Strike,” came a voice from a corner of the room. “Great season opener.”
Strike grinned when he spotted Torch, relieved to have an excuse to escape from Governor Katana. He headed over to where Torch was hanging out with other dust-covered miners. “You watch the game here?” Strike asked.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe how crowded it was. I could barely move.”
Strike nodded. When he and Rock were living at the Tao Children’s Home, Sunday afternoons at Taiko Commons were crowded, and that was before Taiko Colony even had an Ultraball team. “You see anything we can improve on?”
“You’re asking me?”
It was still unreal, Strike’s boyhood hero so unsure of himself, nothing like the legendary QB of old. The teenager in front of him had been broken by all the talk about the Torch’s Curse, so many Flamethrowers fans blaming him for four years of bad luck. “Absolutely,” Strike said. “I need all the help I can get. Did you watch the Neutrons’ game, too?”
“Oh yeah. That Radioactive Waste defense is insane.” Torch shrugged. “If you’re serious, I do have some thoughts.”
“Shoot.” Strike braced himself for a repeat of the commentary Berzerkatron and the Mad Mongol had been spouting off that morning, about Rock’s play being too mechanical and predictable.
But to his surprise, Torch went to a different subject completely. “Boom is good. Really good.” He paused. “You trust her one hundred percent? There’s nothing to all those rumors about some Dark Sider plot? She just wants to win the Ultrabowl, yeah?”
There were so many unanswered questions surrounding Boom. But Strike’s only choice was to trust her. Without Boom, the Miners had no chance. “Yeah,” he said.
“Then you should use her more,” Torch said.
“More? She caught six touchdowns.”
“I bet she can do a lot more. Have you tried her on rocketback options?”
“A couple times, in practices. She has a good arm.”
“What do you think about dual QB sets?” Torch said. “Dragon and I never used them, because he was too nervous to pull them out during games. But I think you and Boom could make them work. Save them for a big game, and you’d shock the league.”
Strike hesitated. He was the quarterback of the Miners, the one directing every play. Ever since he became the coach and general manager of the Miners two years ago, he ran the entire show—along with major support from Rock.
“I think if we had used those dual QB sets, we could have won that Ultrabowl,” Torch said. “The Beatdown couldn’t have blitzed both me and Dragon.” He squeezed a fist tight. “If I had more time, I wouldn’t have thrown that frakkin’ interception. I’m sure of it.”
Strike forced himself to nod. Torch was right. No one had ever tried something like this, because good QBs didn’t come around very often. An Ultraball team was lucky to find one workable QB, and here the Miners were, maybe with two.
“And Strike?” Torch said. “There’s something else.”
“Um. Okay.” Strike braced himself to hear about Rock’s mechanical play.
“Even playing against a weak defense, you got the bum rush too often.” Torch shook his head. “I know you’re loyal to Pickaxe. He’s been a solid crackback. Fireball Five and all. But Rattler, a crackback past her prime, blew by him twice yesterday. What’s going to happen once Pickaxe faces the Neutrons’ Radioactive Waste defense? Did you see how many sacks Chain Reaction had yesterday? He loves to atomic blitz from the blind side. That’s Pickaxe’s side.”
Strike tried to ignore the issue that had been bugging him all preseason. Pickaxe had been a rock-solid and trustworthy blocker for three years now, but it seemed like he might be slipping. Maybe it was the pressure, or the Ultrabot suit getting tighter around Pickaxe’s growing body. Whatever the case, Pickaxe had made some mistakes against one of the worst defenses in the league.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Torch said. “I was just trying to—”
“No, you have a good point. It’s just that Pickaxe and me, we go a long way back. Fireball Five forever.”
Rock tapped his shoulder before he could think about it more. “Nuclear Poker is starting,” Rock said.
“Thanks, man,” Strike said to Torch. “Keep your eyes open. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to meet up once in a while to get your thoughts and advice. I think you could help us out a ton.”
“Really?” Torch beamed. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He hesitated. “Hey. You couldn’t put me on payroll, could you? Probably not, but I have to ask. Things are tight, what with my kid sister not strong enough to work in the mines yet.”
Strike looked toward Rock, who shook his head. As the general manager of the Taiko Miners, Strike was used to getting asked for handouts. But there was nothing to go around. It was all Rock could do to keep the team from bleeding U-dollars every year. “Tell you what. If we win the Ultrabowl, we’ll probably make a bunch more money through souvenir sales and stuff. We’ll talk then, okay?”
“Thanks, Strike. If I could help the Miners win an Ultrabowl, that’d be awesome. Maybe it’d force people to finally stop saying that I cursed the Flamethrowers.”
“Give me all the ideas you got. I’m going to need them.” Strike studied him. “You play Nuclear Poker?”
Torch nodded. “I don’t have a partner, though. None of the guys play.”
That wasn’t a surprise to Strike. After a long day down in the mines, most people just wanted to kick up their feet and unwind. Nuclear Poker was an intense card game, and at Taiko Commons it was always high-stakes, with dozens of hardtack bars and even U-dollars riding on the line. “Come along and watch. Occasionally I need a stand-in when Rock is doing research or obsessing over game film or cataloging his jokes.”
“Cataloging his jokes?”
Rock took out his little notebook and gleefully started to explain his system, but Strike held up a hand. “Don’t ask, unless you have ten hours to kill,” he said.
Strike pulled open a door to a tiny room packed full of blocky tables and gray-brick seats. Pairs from all over the moon were huddled together, discussing strategy. Strike almost felt sorry for all these suckers.
“Well, well,” came a voice. “Prepare to lose.”
Strike’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of two bright red jumpsuits in a corner of the room: Chain Reaction and Fusion, the Neutrons’ rocketback 1 and quarterback. “What are you doing here?”
“Delivering a message,” Chain Reaction said. “Mr. Zuna says he’s giving you one last chance to take his deal. He’ll set you up for life.”
“Zuna is scared he’s going to lose, after seeing what Boom can do?”
“Mr. Zuna isn’t scared of anything,” Chain Reaction said. “Come on, Strike. When the Miners become the North Pole Fusion next year, I’m going to need a quarterback to put the ball into my hands. It should be you. I watched your game yesterday. You’re even better than last year, and that’s saying a lot. Take the deal, and you’ll be sitting pretty with the rest of us. Mr. Zuna makes sure Neutrons are very well take
n care of.” He pulled a foil-wrapped lump out of his pocket.
“Is that . . .” Strike’s eyes widened. “Where did you get a baked potato?”
Chain Reaction laughed. “We all got big raises this year. We eat real food once a month now. Mr. Zuna set up a regular shipment from Frigoris Colony for us—potatoes, mushrooms, carrots, corn, whatever new crop experiments they’re working on. Some of the stuff is incredible.” He held the potato out, unwrapping a corner. “Want a sniff?”
All the sound sucked out of the room as people crowded in. Strike could barely hold himself back, the fragrant aroma pulling him in like a magnet. “You better get out of here before you get jumped.”
“Like anyone would dare,” Chain Reaction said. “Anyone who even touches me answers to Mr. Zuna and his Meltdown Gun. Who wants to get hauled to Han-Shu Prison? Or nuked?”
Everyone backed away. People turned as if they hadn’t been listening, but plenty of eyes still trained on the steaming baked potato.
“Don’t you see, Strike?” Chain Reaction said. He pointed to his head, his dark skin cracked and covered with sores, clumps of his hair missing. “I know I look like hell. But I don’t care. People respect me. Fear me. I live large. I am bigger than God. That’s what it means to be a Neutron.” He lifted the potato to his nose and took a long whiff. “Mr. Zuna will even let you take a few friends with you to live in North Pole Colony.”
Strike was about to tell off Chain Reaction, but he stole a glance at Rock and paused. Years ago at the Tao Children’s Home, Strike had sworn that no matter what happened, he would always protect Rock. Taking Zuna’s offer meant setting up Rock for life. Pickaxe and Nugget, too. Winning the Ultrabowl would achieve the same thing: all of them landing cushy jobs at one of the sports broadcasting companies or even better. But nothing could compete with the lifestyle Raiden Zuna could provide.