by Jeff Chen
During the postgame press conference, Pickaxe said, “Those sacks weren’t my fault. They were double-teaming me all day. Not even Radioactive or Chokehold could take a two-man blitz all by himself.”
When asked about his fight with Strike right after the game ended, both players needing to be restrained by their teammates, Pickaxe got up and stormed out, whacking his microphone off the table. And when three reporters followed Pickaxe out, asking him about the rumors that he had secretly been on a late-night tram to North Pole Colony, he threw a punch, flooring one of the reporters, before running off.
Aside from the rumors and stories surrounding Pickaxe, the more important question remains: What has become of the Miners’ lead crackback? Pickaxe seemed baffled by the Flamethrowers’ overwhelming array of blitzes and stunts. Whether it’s the pressure rattling the Miners’ crackback 1, everyone calling him “Axepicker,” brilliant defensive game plans from both the Neutrons and the Flamethrowers, or something else, the Miners must find a way to fix the glaring weakness in their lineup.
The final week of the season pits the Miners against the 2–4 Saladin Shock. If the Miners win, they make the playoffs. If they lose, they’ll need some help from other teams if they are to squeak in.
But even if the Miners do make the playoffs, they are in serious danger of falling into the deadly fourth seed. In the nine-year history of the Underground Ultraball League, no fourth seed has ever gone on to win the Ultrabowl. And this year, the fourth seed will have to travel to North Pole Colony to play a semifinals game against the undefeated Neutrons.
The oddsmakers are currently giving the Neutrons an 84 percent chance of taking the title, making them heavy favorites to win it all.
RESULTS AND STANDINGS, AFTER WEEK 6
RESULTS, WEEK 6
Flamethrowers
77
Miners
70
Neutrons
91
Shock
28
Beatdown
98
Venom
35
Explorers
98
Molemen
35
STANDINGS, WEEK 6
Wins Losses Total Points
Neutrons XY
6
0
588
Beatdown
4
2
532
Flamethrowers
4
2
532
Miners
4
2
511
Explorers
3
3
462
Shock
2
4
238
Venom
1
5
231
Molemen
0
6
140
X= clinched playoff spot
Y=clinched #1 seed
18
The Traitor
OVER HIS ULTRABALL career, Strike had lost some games. There had even been times when the Miners had lost two in a row. But it had never been anywhere near as bad as this. Strike had even tried to go to the weekly Nuclear Poker game to take his mind off the problems, but that had been a huge mistake. Fans were frantic. SmashMouth Radio Blitz had been brutal, Berzerkatron and the Mad Mongol calling for Axepicker’s head on a platter. They had even started a campaign to get Strike to step down as general manager.
Strike sprawled out on the ratty couch in their apartment, flipping a football made of recycled junk, while Rock sat on a box that served as one of their two chairs. Rock’s back was straighter and more rigid than ever, his face lined with worry. “It just isn’t logical,” he said. “We simply cannot cut Pickaxe. If you cut him, Nugget will go as well. A single player would be hard enough to work in this late in the season. Replacing two would kill any chance we have of winning the Ultrabowl.”
“I don’t want to do it any more than you do,” Strike said. He fought back tears of frustration. The Fireball Five had already lost one of its members in heartbreaking fashion. After today, only he and Rock would be left. Strike’s world was imploding. But he had to find the strength to do what needed to be done—not just for his Miners, but for all of Taiko Colony. “As GM of the team, I have no choice. It’s like what Berzerkatron and the Mad Mongol keep saying: Pickaxe will sooner or later end up costing us the season.”
“It would take us at least a few games to work in two new players,” Rock said. “Rookies are bound to make mistakes, and we cannot afford to lose our upcoming game.”
“We can beat the Saladin Shock with two rookies.”
“The Shock may be terrible, but they’ll be hungry to take us down,” Rock said. “White Lightning knows his season is already over. His quarterbacking career might be over, too. He would do anything to have something he could brag about. Beating the Miners would be exactly that.”
“You, me, and Boom could take down the Saladin Shock by ourselves, three on five. The Shock play like a bunch of chickens in Ultrabot suits.”
“We couldn’t play three on five. A team is automatically disqualified if they don’t have five manned suits on the field.” Rock looked up in thought. “Do you think a chicken could actually operate an Ultrabot suit?”
Strike squinted at Rock. “This hardly seems like a time to be joking around.”
“Could we borrow a chicken from Yangju Colony’s breeding facilities?” Rock asked. “Chickens do have extremely fast reflexes. I wonder if we could eventually train one to play rocketback—”
“Focus, Rock.” Strike snapped his fingers. “We got a big problem on our hands.”
“I’m certain that Pickaxe hasn’t thrown any games.” Rock took a deep breath. “It’s become clear to me that much of the problem is that you’ve shown him little to no trust over the past two games. I think he’s just crumbled under the pressure.”
Strike launched the football across the apartment and then dropped back onto the old couch. He’d been rough on Pickaxe during the Neutrons game, no doubt, and even harder on him during the gut-wrenching loss to the Flamethrowers. But if Pickaxe was clean, he would have stepped up and delivered. His terrible play was proof that he was in Raiden Zuna’s pocket. As much as it killed Strike to break up the Fireball Five, cutting Pickaxe was the only possible choice. He had let his general manager duties take a back seat to his personal loyalties for far too long. Tomorrow, Strike would start trying out people from the backup list.
They both jumped at a bang on their door. “Open up in there!”
“Boom?” Rock said. He opened the door, nearly getting thrown to the floor when she burst in, her face twisted into a furious scowl.
Boom jabbed a finger at Strike. “You’re going to single-handedly cost us the Ultrabowl.”
“Me?” Strike said. “I’m not the one who missed all those blocks. Remind me, how many times did Asbestos sack me from my blind side?”
Boom picked up the toy football and whipped it at Strike. It smacked him in the face, his head snapping backward.
“Hey!” Strike said, his eyes watering from the blow. “What are you trying to do, blind me?”
“You’re already blind if you can’t see that you’re the frakkin’ problem, not Pickaxe.” She glared at him. “After the first play of the Neutrons game, did you call him Axepicker?”
“What?” Strike said. “No. I’d never do that.”
“I talked with Pickaxe this morning, and that’s what he told me. And that just happens to be when he started falling to pieces.”
Strike strained to recall the start of the Neutrons game, but so much had been going on. There was Chain Reaction’s taunting. The terrible first kickoff return. Strike nearly getting thrown out of the game for insulting a ref. Slapping Pickaxe’s helmet . . .
He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He had called him Axepicker. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“This makes
much more sense now,” Rock said. “It’s one thing to be called a horrible nickname by Berzerkatron or the Mad Mongol. It’s an entirely different thing when it’s your own quarterback.”
Boom bounded over and yanked Strike off the couch by the front of his jumpsuit, shaking him. “Did you call him Axepicker on purpose? Are you the frakkin’ traitor TNT’s been trying to root out?”
Strike’s fists rose, trembling with rage. “You’d better be joking.”
Rock jumped between them. “Stop it,” he said. “As if things weren’t bad enough. All we need is for one of you to get hurt. I don’t know what TNT is up to. But all these rumors he’s bringing up are messing with your head, Strike. And Boom. I guarantee that Strike will never have anything to do with Raiden Zuna. Is that correct, Strike?”
“Do I even have to reply to that insane question?” Strike said.
“For Boom’s sake, yes.”
Strike locked eyes with Boom. “I’ve never taken money from Zuna. I never will.”
“So why have you been treating Pickaxe like dirt?” Boom asked. She pushed Strike down to the sofa. “All your talk about how tight you Fireball Five guys are, and you call him Axepicker? And then you start a fight with him after yesterday’s game? You can’t really think he’s on Zuna’s payroll, do you?”
Strike steeled his jaw. “Maybe I do.”
“Can’t you see how stupid that is? Pickaxe and Nugget follow you around like you’re their big brother. You’re like God to them. Pickaxe will never be able to perform if you don’t trust him. If you call him Axepicker.”
“She’s right,” Rock said. “TNT is shutting down your ability to think logically. I know how close you and TNT used to be. I appreciate the chances he and his mother opened up for us. But you have to stop listening to all his stories.”
Strike looked back and forth at his teammates ganging up on him. There was no doubt that he had been a complete and utter moron, going way too hard on Pickaxe. But he also knew deep down that TNT’s warnings were spot-on. TNT had been right about Zuna planning on cratering Taiko Colony. He was right about there being a traitor, too.
“Pickaxe isn’t on Zuna’s payroll any more than Rock is,” Boom said. “So knock it off. We have to win our last game, and we have to score a whole lot of touchdowns. Make things right with Pickaxe. You need to apologize to him, and you better frakkin’ do it good.”
Rock nodded. “Her arguments are sound.”
“You would agree with your girlfriend,” Strike said.
“Girlfriend? What? That’s ridiculous.” He whipped out his notebook. “As ridiculous as a man in an Ultrabot suit. I mean, a cat in a jumpsuit. Wait. I mean—”
“Stop talking already,” Boom said. A thin smile came to her face.
The three Miners watched each other in an uncomfortable silence. Boom got up, shaking her head at Strike. “This is all on you. You’re going to cost us the season. The title.” She turned to leave.
“Boom, wait,” Strike said.
“What now?” she muttered.
“I know it’s true. There is a traitor. It’s not only TNT who’s said so.”
She turned and narrowed her eyes. “Who else?”
“At the start of the Neutrons game, Fusion told me that someone was going to stab me in the back. A Miner.” It took him a while to force the words out, to trust someone else with this critical piece of information and every thought it had triggered. His words came out soft, cracking. But as he got going, everything rushed out. He had been so stupid for not telling her all this earlier.
Boom rubbed her chin in thought. She sat down next to Rock. “You believe this? One of us is a traitor?”
Rock took a deep breath, looking away from Strike. He frowned. “No, I think it’s ridiculous. TNT might believe he’s helping out. But look at all the problems he’s caused. We can’t play together as a team if we don’t trust each other.”
Boom turned to Strike. “If what Fusion and TNT said is true—and Rock, I’m not saying that it is—are you absolutely sure the traitor is Pickaxe?”
“Who else could it be?” Strike said. “Even before I called him Axepicker, he almost cost us a forfeit against the Explorers. And that offsides at the end of the Beatdown game. And he was so terrible yesterday.” He shook his head. “There is no other explanation.”
“Yes, there is,” Rock said. “It could easily be that he couldn’t handle all of your pressure and venom. There could be other explanations, too.”
Boom studied Rock, her eyes slowly widening. “Hey. Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” Rock said. “Anything.”
“I need some . . . some research done. Right away.” She leaned over and wrote something in his notebook. “Get everything you can find. Don’t let anyone find out what you’re doing. Make sure no one follows you. And hurry. Go now.”
Rock’s forehead furrowed in confusion, but he nodded. “Right away.” He got up and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.
“Where’d you send him?” Strike asked.
Boom listened until Rock’s footsteps died out. Boom motioned him in close and started whispering in his ear.
Strike pushed her away. “What are you doing?”
“Being careful. In case your apartment is bugged.”
“No one ever is in here but Rock and me. You think the Blackguard somehow slipped in?”
“No. But just trust me, okay?” She leaned in tight and whispered.
A gut-wrenching tear ripped through Strike’s chest. A jagged knife was tearing all the way from his throat to his stomach. “No,” he hissed. “No way.” His breathing went ragged, his lips quivering. His vision clouded over, blurred by hot tears he couldn’t hold back. “Impossible. No frakkin’ way. It couldn’t be.”
“Couldn’t it?” Boom said. “Think about everything that’s happened in the past few weeks. I know he’s been close to you. Really close. But doesn’t it make sense?”
Strike blinked, his eyes stinging. A horrible sickness churned up the hardtack bar in his stomach. How could he have been so stupid to let this happen all over again, putting his trust in the wrong people? He wished so badly that this wasn’t true. It just couldn’t be.
But somewhere deep in his heart, he knew Boom was right.
He lurched forward and threw up all over the floor.
19
Game 7 Vs. The Saladin Shock
INSIDE SALADIN STADIUM, the Miners came out hot. There was no way to prepare Boom for the jarring impact of Saladin Stadium’s disruptor zones—electromagnetic fields that crackled with storms of electrical arcs, messing up an Ultrabot suit’s sensors—but she adjusted quickly. After a huge kickoff from Strike, Boom blasted right through a disruptor zone, electrical arcs exploding around her Ultrabot suit, to smash the Shock return man with a devastating tackle. Crunching him right off his feet, she sent him flying into an uncontrolled spin, his armored limbs flailing wildly in swirls of orange. The ball popped loose, bouncing into the Shock end zone. When Pickaxe jumped on it, energizing his glove magnets a split second before a defender to secure the fumble, the Miners were up 7–0, after only twenty seconds. Just as he had done all week, Strike chest-bumped Pickaxe, yelling encouragement at him, slowly but surely rebuilding his confidence. There had been some rough days of practice, but the signs were all there: Pickaxe was turning it around.
The Miners kept rolling the Shock during the first half. Boom blitzed early and often, fighting her way through disruptor zones, her suit sparking with bolts of electricity. She crushed the Shock QB, White Lightning, with four huge sacks. Rock rumbled down the field on sweeps and up-the-gut rushes, scoring a personal record three touchdowns. Even Pickaxe and Nugget got into the action when Strike called an inversion for them, a trick play where both of them lined up backward, confusing the Shock defenders staring at their butts. Before long, the Miners were demolishing the Shock 49–7. Strike almost felt a little sorry for them.
Almost.
A gun
sounded, signaling the end of the first half, and the Miners high-fived one another as they made their way to the locker room. Pickaxe pointed to a small section of blue amid the crowds decked out in Saladin orange, and the Miners fans went wild, stomping and cheering for him. He took a step away from the others and jumped high, doing a double backflip. A chant of “Pick-axe! Pick-axe! Pick-axe!” started in the stands, and he did a triple-twisting backflip for them, soaring twenty meters into the air.
Strike clicked his helmet off and smiled at Pickaxe. “You’re on fire. Keep it up.” He paused. “Hey. Again, I’m sorry about—”
“Enough with the apologizing already, QB,” Pickaxe said. “That’s, like, a hundred apologies in the past week. It’s getting weird.” He grinned. “But I’d take another compliment if you got one.”
Strike gave him a deep bow. “You are the man, sir. The man.” Apologizing never came easily to Strike, but it had paid off in spades, coaxing back the smashmouth Pickaxe of old.
After getting out of their suits in the changing area inside the tunnel entrance, the Miners headed toward the locker room, with Torch falling in behind them. Pickaxe and Nugget slugged each other while Strike relished the awesomeness of one of the best first halves in team history. The Miners were back. They would make the playoffs, and even if they didn’t get home-field advantage for their semifinal game, the Miners would crush whoever they faced.
Assuming that Boom flushed out the traitor.
Strike put up a hand for Boom to high-five, struggling to keep on a poker face while all the time wondering what she had planned. “Gotta hand it to you,” he said. “You got us back on track.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Boom said, slapping his hand. She cracked a smile. “Except get you to pull your head out of your butt.”
“Speaking of head in butt,” Rock said. He pointed ahead to where the tunnel opened into the visiting team’s locker room.