Chapter 12
For once, Wizzit didn't teleport us to an uncrowded, out-of-the-way place that was near the scene of the battle. To be honest, I'm not certain there was such a place, and even if there were, this was a game against the hated Steelers, which meant that the stadium was so jammed with people that it would have been difficult to get where we needed to be.
So he plopped us down between the inserts instead, right on the fifty-yard line. And immediately, I had to jump to one side to avoid a couple of linemen who were red-dogging a Zoink. The two of them dragged it for several more yards before a member of the other team speared it right in the back. I winced, imagining what the impact must feel like. The poor Zoink (and yes, I do realize that I'm using the words "poor" and "Zoink" in the same sentence) did a four-fifty in the air, landed flat on its back, and didn't get up, while the football players all high-fived each other.
Interesting technique, I thought. I would have to try it myself the next time I was three-on-one against a Zoink. (Which, in case you can't read my sarcasm, never happens.)
It's not that I dislike football or football players. Hey, I grew up in Ohio, not too terribly far from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton. I went to a whole lot of games when I was in the marching band in high school, and I cheered my team on as loudly as anyone. I root for the Buckeyes, and I'll happily sit and watch the Superbowl with Shelley and Prime Commander while the other (non-American) members of the team are playing cards or watching soccer or something.
It's just that I have a hard time seeing professional football players as real athletes. Yeah, I know they work hard and are big and strong and stuff, but see, I tend to think of a professional athlete as someone who is generally much more fit and (injuries aside) healthier than your average person. Tennis players, gymnasts, soccer players, swimmers, and basketball players? Sure. Martial artists? You betcha. But some defensive lineman weighing three or four hundred pounds who gets paid to be a glorified roadblock? Eh, let's just say I'm not entirely convinced and leave it at that. Still, help was help, and if these lumbering behemoths wanted to have some fun by taking out Zoinks, more power to 'em, says I.
Regardless, I began looking around, trying to assess the current situation, as I'm sure the other Primes were doing as well. Things were kind of a madhouse. Some of the football players appeared to be using the Zoinks as tackling dummies, while others had scattered to the sidelines. A glance at the scoreboard told me that they had stopped the game clock with just a couple seconds left before halftime, which explained why the members of Angie's marching band were milling anxiously around at one end of the field.
Speaking of lumbering behemoths, the monster Enclave had sent was one of their classic types: built like a semi with fully half the mobility. I saw a couple of Browns players crash into it and bounce off; I'm not sure the monster even felt them. Lily Lee was beside it, shouting orders. Her technique as a minder, as I had seen it evolve over the past several months, was to keep us Primes busy chasing down Zoinks while her monster committed whatever mayhem it was sent to commit. This particular locale, however, was seriously hampering her efforts. The Zoinks were unable to get to the people in the stands, and of the people on the field, the "professional athletes" all had pads and helmets on and either were aggressively seeking out Zoinks to tackle or were standing in a defensive formation in front of their coaches and various officials.
Which left the marching band. Lily had lost no time in sending the majority of her Zoinks their way. A few of the kids, including Angie, were out in front doing their best to protect the others. Angela had removed her uniform jacket and was dressed in just a tee-shirt and her band pants; I could see her long black hair streaming around her face as she nailed a Zoink with a jumping back whip kick.
She appeared to be handling herself okay, so I dashed down the field over to another kid and pulled a couple of Zoinks off of him. He was well over six feet and built big. I guess he had gone out only because he was so big, though, because he didn't seem to have any idea how to defend himself. I didn't have time to give him any pointers, so I whacked his remaining Zoink across the back with Shelley's broadsword and told him politely, "Thank you for all your help. You'd better go help the others get out of here safely." Courtesy, everywhere and always -- one of Shelley's rules. He stammered something that might have been a thank-you and scrambled away.
Angie was still kicking Zoink butt, so after I bashed the three Zoinks I had just acquired into submission, I ran towards another knot of people and Zoinks. As I dashed past my sister, I said in a low voice, "If you see Junior Prime Pink, tell her I've got a weapon she can use." Yeah, I know I broke protocol by using the words "her" and "she" but I figured I wasn't giving anything away. I mean, honestly, what guy would choose to be called Junior Prime Pink?
I didn't wait for her reply. The small group of kids I was headed for were struggling with a pair of Zoinks over a bass drum. I poured on the speed and managed to get to them before the drum was damaged. Once I had separated Zoinks from drum, the band kids began hustling their precious instrument away. I took a moment from punching a Zoink to wave goodbye to them. A little bit showboat-y, I know, but I knew them from around town. I had gone to high school with a couple of them, in fact, even if they didn't realize it was me.
Suddenly I heard Toby's cultured tones coming from over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, please do not panic. We are attempting to contain the monster; please help us by exiting the stadium in as calm and orderly a manner as possible."
Hmm. Wizzit must have patched Toby into the PA system somehow, and Shelley must not have arrived yet; otherwise she would have been the one making the announcement. And, speak of the devil, there was a flash of light, and suddenly Shelley was standing beside me. "Sorry I'm late, guys. What's the situation?" she said, adding, "Thanks, Indigo," as I handed her her broadsword.
"Glad you could make it, Red," came Mike's voice. "Hope you got a goodbye kiss before you left."
"Monster is difficult to control," Trina said. "We are trying to keep it in center of field, but we are hampered by presence of so many American football players. I can't get clear shot."
"Yeah, they're getting in our way," Toby complained. "I can't swing my hammer for fear of hitting one of the players."
"Send 'em down my way," I called out. "I've got a hundred fifty teenage kids to protect over here, and a couple dozen Zoinks attacking them. There's one competent civilian helping me, but she has no weapons or protection of any type. I could use some bodies with pads and helmets."
"I'll ask some of them to help you out." Shelley swatted a pair of Zoinks to the ground with her sword, then began running upfield toward the others. "Indigo, that helper you mentioned -- she looks sort of like that Chinese girl we met earlier . . ."
"That's who it is, Red. Kind of an odd coincidence, huh?"
"Is it a coincidence?"
"As far as I know, it is."
Suddenly I heard a cry of "Big-- . . . Prime Indigo, help!"
Looking around, I saw that Angie had gotten herself swarmed by Zoinks. "Hang on!" I yelled. "Help is on the way!"
I sprinted over to her, pulling my Escrima sticks from my belt. By the time I reached her, she had collapsed under the pile of Zoinks. It's times like this that I'm glad that Wizzit makes us follow such strict rules regarding our weapons, because I just started whaling away on everybody I could as hard as I could, and I was glad not to have to worry about hitting my sister accidentally.
"Some uniforms coming your way, Indigo," Shelley said. "Get them in place and get over here soonest. We could use your help. This monster is plenty tough."
"Will do." I spent a couple minutes hauling Zoinks off of Angie and then helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?" I asked her.
"Yeah, I think so," she said a little shakily.
"You're not hurt or anything?"
"N
o." She sounded stronger now. "No, I'm fine."
"Good." I leaned in a little closer to her. "Do you have your Junior Prime badge with you?" I asked confidentially.
"Yeah. Why?"
I hesitated. I didn't want to get Angela any more involved with this than she already was, but Wizzit had made a special point of mentioning her to me, so I felt kind of obligated to extend an invitation. "I, er, brought along an extra weapon," I explained.
"Yeah, I heard you say that earlier, but I wasn't sure what you meant."
"Well, Wizzit thinks it might work for you as Junior Prime Pink. Might work. He says you may as well help us out as long as you're already here. But you still won't have any special powers, so don't do it if you don't feel up to it. It can be dangerous work." There, I had fulfilled my duty to Wizzit while still warning Angie off as much as I could without actually telling her not to help.
"Are you kidding?" she said excitedly. "Of course I feel up to it. That would be great! But, um, is it okay with the rest of your team? They won't be mad or anything if I suddenly show up, will they?"
I shrugged. "Wizzit was the one who told me to bring a weapon for you, and his is the only vote that counts."
"Oh, okay. So how do I, you know, actually go about joining you guys out there?"
"Whenever you're ready, Indigo," I heard Mike say impatiently. "Take your time; don't worry about us."
"Just duck out of sight somewhere and activate," I said hurriedly to Angela. "Wizzit will teleport you from there. Oh, and you probably don't want to fight in your band pants and shoes, so find some place to stash them. Sorry, gotta go!"
I left her standing there and dashed off to join the others, pausing only long enough to encourage the Steeler defensive line to start knocking down Zoinks, and to keep knocking them down as long as they kept getting up.
As I ran toward the monster, I could see why they thought they needed all the Primes for this guy. Did I say he was built like a truck? Well, let's just say that there are trucks and there are trucks, and this guy was a truck. Big and strong and not entirely stupid. At present, he was wading over towards the stands, with Red, Orange, and Blue all literally hanging off him. Trina was standing just a little ways off, shooting at him almost continuously.
Suddenly, I saw Mike vault off Mr. Big's shoulder, turn a somersault in midair, and land on his feet some distance away. "I've got a idea I want to try, Indigo," he said. "Grab yourself a Zoink and follow my lead."
"Will do." There were still a few Zoinks around that hadn't gone to menace the teenagers, so I grabbed me one. It wasn't too happy about being grabbed, so I hit it about four or five times, and then four or five more for good measure. Then I began dragging it back towards Mr. Big, just as Mike was doing with his Zoink.
The monster had nearly reached the stands by now, and I didn't see any way we were going to stop him. Shelley and Toby were each hanging off one of his shoulders, unable to use their weapons to advantage, but he was so big and strong that they would have had a hard time pounding on him regardless.
"We've got to get this guy off his feet," Mike shouted at me. He dashed around in front of the monster, and with superb timing, slung his Zoink down right underneath one of Mr. Big's descending feet.
The monster wobbled, thrown off-balance by the sudden change in footing. He staggered backwards, windmilling his arms and throwing Toby and Shelley to the ground. For a moment, it appeared that he would be able to right himself; he took a step with his other foot, trying to regain his balance. Imitating Mike, I grabbed my Zoink by the ankles and tried to insert it between foot and ground.
Things didn't work out exactly as I had planned. My timing wasn't quite as good as Mike's, so instead of disrupting his footing, I wound up using the Zoink to knock the guy's foot out from under him. "Well, gee, that would be just as good, wouldn't it?" I hear you say. Yeah, that's what I thought, until I realized that Mr. Big was going to fall right on top of me.
I rolled aside as quickly as I could, and I very nearly got free, except that my ankle got pinned by the monster's weight. It wasn't too horribly bad -- I didn't think anything was broken, and my knee wasn't wrenched out of place or anything -- but hey, I was trapped with a huge, ugly, angry monster on top of me. Things could have been better.
I quickly drew my blaster. Worst shooter on the team or not, I couldn't miss at this range.
"Indigo, are you all right?" Shelley's voice rapped out.
"Yeah, I don't think I'm damaged." I jammed the muzzle of the blaster against Mr. Big's hairy belly and held down the trigger. The monster's howls of anger nearly deafened me. "I would like to have my foot back, though. I think it might be going to sleep."
Suddenly I heard my sister's voice saying, "Hi, guys! How can I help?"
"What the hell?" Mike yelled. "Who's that?"
"I think it is Junior Prime Pink," Trina said.
"Well, someone get 'Junior Prime Pink' out of here. This is no place for an amateur. What's Pink doing here, anyway?"
"Wizzit told me to invite Pink," I said. Mr. Big was rolling around, trying to get rid of the irritating sting my blaster was giving him. "He said to bring along an extra weapon, that it might work for Pink. That's why I brought along two Escrima sticks -- one for me and one for Pink."
"Um, Indigo, you do realize that you're supposed to use Escrima sticks in pairs, don't you?" said Shelley. "It's sort of traditional."
"Sorry, I've never studied Escrima."
"Let's set up a training session; I'll teach you what I know."
I heard Trina grunt with pain. "Damn these Zoinks," she muttered. "Come over by me, Pink. Even without powers, you should be able to keep these damn Zoinks away from me while I shoot monster."
"Okay, um, Green," my sister said.
Toby suddenly appeared, towering above me. "Give me your hand, Indigo. I'll see if I can pull you free."
I held out the hand that wasn't gripping the blaster. "Hang on, I'll tell you when to pull," I said. I waited, trying to calculate just when Mr. Big would roll away from me. "Ready . . . now!"
Toby heaved, and after an agonizing instant, my foot slid out from under the monster, and Toby and I spilled backwards. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could; it felt as if one leg were, like, six inches longer than the other. "Thanks, Blue," I said. "Pink, I'm coming to help you."
"Thanks, big brother! I could use some help."
"No names, Pink," Shelley commanded. "Nothing personally identifiable. Just colors. That's our rule."
"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize."
I limped around the monster. Trina had positioned herself near the beastie's head and appeared to be trying to shoot it directly in the face, while Angela was battling two Zoinks behind her. I drew the two sticks from my belt and ran forward. To the first Zoink, I gave the gift of a jumping sidekick to the head; the second, I hit with an Escrima stick as I landed. The first Zoink fell to the ground; the second merely staggered backward.
"Here you go, Pink," I said, handing her one of my sticks.
"Give Pink your blaster, too, Indigo," I heard Shelley say as she took a swing at Mr. Big's shoulder.
"Oh, come on, Red! I'm not that bad a shot!"
"I'm concerned with Pink right now, not your marksmanship." Shelley's sword connected with a shower of sparks. Mr. Big sat up and began swinging a pair of huge fists. "Would you prefer that Pink use a long-range weapon or a short-range one?"
"Ah . . . you make a very good point, Red. Sorry, you're right. Definitely a long-range weapon. Wizzit, can Pink use a blaster?"
Wizzit piped up. "If Pink can use a weapon, then Pink can use a blaster."
"Then you're not sure?"
"Correct-a-mundo!"
I handed Angela my blaster. "Here, try to shoot the Zoink over there," I said, pointing to the drone that was still on its feet. She aimed and pulled th
e trigger, but nothing happened, not even a single spark. "It's not working, Wizzit!" I called out.
"Hmm. Interesting." There was a pause. "Okay, try it now."
Angie squeezed the trigger again with the same lack of result. "Still nothing!"
"Really? That should have worked. Let's see . . ." The Zoink moved closer to us in the interval of silence which followed, so I stepped forward and kicked it to the ground.
"Leave Pink, Indigo!" Shelley ordered me. "The monster is getting to its feet."
"Hang on a sec, I think I've got it working this time," Wizzit said happily. "I will need to change your base frequency, though, Pink."
"Okay . . . what does that mean, exactly?" Angie asked him.
"It means you have to reset your shield. You're going to have to deactivate and then reactivate for my changes to take effect."
"I've got to reboot myself?" she cried. "I can't do that! They told us we'd be on national TV! Everybody will see me!"
"Sorry, can't do it any other way."
Trina took one final shot at Mr. Big, who had indeed gotten back to his feet and was lumbering toward the stands again, and then she rounded on Angela and me. "Pink, get down on your knees. All the way down, with your face against your legs, and cover your head with your hands," she commanded in an un-Trina-like fashion. Trina almost never gives orders.
"On my knees? But --"
"Just do it!" Angela immediately dropped to her knees, assuming the position Trina had described. "Indigo, you and I will cover her while she resets. Got it?"
"Uh, yeah. Got it."
Trina and I crouched protectively over Angela, blocking off as much of her as we could with our bodies and outstretched arms. "Now, Pink," Trina told her.
"Hang on a sec," Wizzit interrupted. "Give me a moment to make sure no cameras are on her . . . okay, now!"
Her voice muffled against her legs, Angie yelled out, "Junior-Prime-Pink-Deactivate-Junior-Prime-Pink-Activate!", just that fast. I caught a flash of white from her tee-shirt, but not much more, as the pink haze surrounding her winked out for a split second, then quickly reestablished itself.
The feeling of something hard striking me on the back brought me back to the fight. I turned in time to see a Zoink raising its joined fists for another whack at me. Angrily, I shoved it back with my foot; it reeled back slightly, but didn't go down.
"Pink, shoot Zoink!" Trina commanded.
Angie raised her blaster -- sorry, my blaster -- and fired, and this time a bolt of energy shot out, knocking the Zoink onto its back. "Wow, this is great!" she said, sounding amazed.
"Wonderful." I heard Shelley say curtly. "Green, take charge of Pink. Indigo, we could really use your help about now."
"On my way, Red!"
Mr. Big had reached the sections of the wall separating the stands from the field now, and he batted them aside as if they were cardboard. Most of the players and other personnel had already left the area, and the fans had begun clearing out.
I did see one guy in a Dawg Pound mask, though, dancing around near the bottom row of seats. As Mr. Big approached, he ran over to where a beer vendor had left his tray and heaved a couple plastic cups of beer straight at the monster's face. The guy must have had one heck of an arm, I decided, because both cups hit Mr. Big square on the forehead, sending foaming liquid streaming down into his eyes.
Emboldened by his success, Dawg Face began throwing the rest of the cups at the monster, and soon Mr. Big was covered with beer and he was roaring and clawing at his eyes, where most of the cups had landed.
"Hey, thanks, you crazy nut!" I yelled across to him. "Go Dawgs!" The fan responded with a "Woo-woo-woo!" and a triple fist pump, and then began bounding back up the steps to safety.
With Mr. Big temporarily blinded, I decided it was safe to get a bit closer to him. A whole lot closer, in fact. I vaulted off one of the nearby benches and landed on his back. Shelley and Toby were in front of him, whaling away on his belly with sword and hammer, respectively, which distracted him sufficiently for me to climb up to his shoulders, using the hair on his back to pull myself up.
"Careful, Indigo," Shelley warned me. "This guy could swat you like a bug."
Now, what I felt like saying was something like, "He'll have to catch me first!" but I knew better. The Law of Dramatic Irony would require me to suffer some sort of life-threatening injury within thirty seconds of my having said that. So I contented myself with a mild, "I'll do my best to stay out of his way, Red," and I left it at that.
Of course, even with the Law of Dramatic Irony now firmly on my side, I couldn't afford to slack off. Mr. Big could feel me up on his shoulders, I was sure, and he was wriggling around so much that I had a hard time staying put. So I did the only thing I could think of: I gripped of one end of my remaining Escrima stick with each hand and, planting a knee against the back of his neck, I slipped the stick over his head.
I had been aiming to get some sort of choke hold on him, but it didn't quite work out that way. His head was so big and his neck so short that I wound up getting a . . . well, I guess you'd have to call it a nose-hold. That is, my stick lodged itself across his upper lip, just below his heroically aquiline nose. And, as always happens when our weapons make contact with an Enclave monster, sparks were flying; I'm sure it stung something awful.
I gave the stick a yank up and back, and his head came back, too, with him howling all the while. I mean, I know it's a sensitive part of the body and all but . . . pulling a monster around by its nose? Somehow it seemed a little too much like something the Three Stooges would do, not a seasoned martial artist like myself. Not nearly kickass enough. More Jackie Chan than Bruce Lee.
Regardless, I set myself, both knees against his broad shoulders now, and pulled back with all my strength. He howled again and staggered back, trying relieve the pressure on his aching, sparking nose. I kept pulling and he kept backing up until I heard Mike say, "Good work, Indigo. Stop him right here!"
"I'm not sure I can," I yelled back. In fact, Mr. Big had begun writhing around so much that my knees were slipping. Within seconds, I had lost my position and found myself hanging onto my Escrima stick for dear life. Worse, the stick slipped down off his upper lip and into his open mouth. He tried biting down on it, but quickly discovered that was a bad idea, as the sparks from my stick stung his lips and tongue. The shock of it made him jerk his head back once more, and that caused him to overbalance. Arms windmilling, he slowly toppled backward and fell to the ground with a crash.
Right on top of me. Again. Man, I was starting to hate this monster!
I hit the ground hard, and I must have blacked out for a second, because the first thing I heard was several voices yelling "-digo!"
"Indigo, are you okay?" That was my sister Angie's voice.
"Indigo, respond! Are you all right? Are you conscious?" Definitely Shelley.
"I . . . I'm okay . . . I think," I said, trying to put as much heartiness into my voice as I could. No sense in getting Angie worried about me. "I'm pretty sure I can still feel everything, and nothing seems to hurt like it's broken. Um, can somebody get this guy off me please?"
"Doin' our best, mate." That was Mike, of course. He grunted, and I heard a thwack! as he struck Mr. Big with his two-handed club.
"Actually, Indigo, can you hold that position for about two more minutes?" Wizzit piped up. "You seem to be keeping the monster on his back at present; your stick in his mouth is acting as a bridle. It will take me approximately two more minutes to tune your six weapons to destroy the monster."
"Sure, I can -- wait a minute," I said. "Six weapons? Look, Wizzit, I don't want An- . . . err, Pink anywhere near this thing. You know Pink's got no protection."
"Have it your way." Alien clouds of gas can't really shrug, I suppose, but Wizzit sure made it sound like that's what he was doing. "If he is kept immobile,
I can tune five weapons to destroy him, but it will take an additional . . . twelve minutes. Can you hold him for that long?"
I considered the question. Mr. Big weighed a ton, and every ounce of that weight seemed to be pressing down on my chest and legs. The force shield kept him from squashing me flat, but I was already starting to have trouble breathing. On the other hand, if Angela were seriously hurt -- or if she were killed -- what would I say to my parents?
"Indigo, I'll be careful, honest!" Angie definitely sounded worried. "Please let me help you!"
Shelley said quietly, "Indigo, I will personally make sure that Pink is not injured."
That settled it. If Shelley guaranteed that something wouldn't happen, then it sure as hell was not going to happen. "All right," I gasped. "Six weapons. I'll hold him down as long as I can."
"So . . . what do we do while we're waiting?" Angela asked uncertainly.
"We can help Indigo keep this beastie on his back," Mike said grimly with another thwack! of his club. "He may be down, but he's not out."
I heard the sound of a collision, and Trina grunted with pain. "No, you keep Zoinks off of me, is what you do, Pink!" she said. She fired her triple blaster, and I heard the sound of a body hitting the ground with a thud. "Damn pesky Zoinks!"
"S-sorry, Green." Angie fired her own blaster. "Got one!" she called out.
"Try using your stick, Pink." That was from Toby, who was also pounding on Mr. Big. "It's more powerful than the blaster."
"Has anyone seen Lily Lee lately?" Shelley asked suddenly.
I said, "I . . . saw her around mid-field . . . when I ran up to help you guys. Haven't . . . seen her since." Mr. Big felt like he was squeezing the life out of me. I was having to take quick, shallow breaths just to keep the air moving.
"Stay with us, Indigo," Shelley said, a note of urgency in her voice. "It won't be long now."
"Doing my best, Red," I gasped. I tightened my grip on the Escrima stick and tried to ignore the sparks that were showing up in my field of vision.
"Lily Lee?" asked Angie. "She's that Chinese girl we met, right, Indigo? Isn't that her, running toward us over there?"
"Damn!" Shelley exclaimed. "Pink, get out of her way!"
There was the sound of bodies hitting each other, and I heard Angie cry out. Mr. Big was covering me up so that I couldn't see anything, though. "What's happening?" I shouted. "Is Pink okay?"
"I think so," Shelley said grimly. She didn't say anything after that, although I heard the sounds of her fighting someone.
"Pink is just dazed, I think," Trina said. "Lily Lee knocked her down, but she is starting to get up now."
"Whew! What was that?" I heard Angie say confusedly. Then, in a more alert voice, "Red, let me help you!"
"Stay back!" Shelley said sharply. I still couldn't see anything, but it sounded like Lily was giving Shelley all she could handle. "She's very dangerous."
"Don't use your weapons," Trina warned Angie. "They won't work on that one. Only fists and feet work."
"Do you need our help, Red?" Mike asked.
"No," Shelley said curtly. "I'll handle Lily. You three help Indigo. Pink, do whatever Green tells you to do. Wizzit, let me know when you're ready."
"Green, what should I do?" Angela asked frantically. "I want to help."
"Shoot at monster," Trina told her. "Keep Zoinks off of me."
"Okay, but . . ." Her voice trailed off, and a few seconds later I heard her ki-up. She must have been fighting especially hard.
"Behind you, Pink!" Shelley called out.
"Got it!" And she did another ki-up.
"Pink, you've got to back off," Shelley rapped out. "You're getting too close!"
"Sorry, Red, I--" Her words were suddenly cut off by another ki-up, followed by another, louder yell, almost a scream.
"What happened?" I cried out, imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to my sister. No one said anything at first; all I could hear was the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I heard a female voice cry out, and then the sounds of fighting stopped. "What happened?" I yelled again.
"Wizzit, get us out of here!" Shelley snarled. "Now! I don't want to lose her again!"
For once, Wizzit didn't have a snappy comeback. "Teleporting now," he said meekly.
"What happened?" I nearly screamed. "Is Pink all right?"
"Pink's fine, mate," Mike said. He began laughing, the sort of relieved sound you make when something bad didn't just happen. "It's, um, Lily who's got the problem."
"Pink knocked out a Zoink," Toby said slowly, "and then picked it up and heaved it at Lily Lee."
"Knocked her off-balance," Trina picked up the story. "Right into Red's foot. Probably broke her jaw."
"That was . . . a good thing, right?" my sister asked uncertainly. "I mean, I just . . . acted without thinking. Was that okay?"
Mike burst out laughing again. "Pink, you have no idea."
"It was very good thing," Trina assured her.
After that, destroying Mr. Big came as something of an anticlimax. Shelley reappeared after a few seconds, muttering something about the Nansen Ice Sheet. A few seconds later, Wizzit announced that it was time, and we all came together for the final strike.
The sports reporters descended on us even before the sparks had stopped flying and all the Zoinks had teleported out, every one of them wanting an exclusive interview with a Prime. It's times like this that I don't envy Shelley in her role as our spokesman. After a tough battle, the last thing I'd want to do is answer questions from a bunch of people who were intent on finding out more about me and my background than I wanted to let on.
Still, this Q&A session was more entertaining than most. A lot of the questions were couched in sports terms, naturally enough, and Shelley handled them all with good humor. She praised the Browns and Steelers players for their help in keeping the Zoinks out of our hair; she allowed as how she might possibly consider trying out for the NFL some day; and, in answer to one sharp-eyed reporter's question, she explained that Pink was a first-time walk-on who might be hoping to get an actual spot with the Primes.
Then, after Shelley declared that she had answered all the questions she intended to, we all teleported back to HQ.
(Note to self: Never get stuck underneath a monster when it vaporizes. It stings like the dickens.)