by Jeff Chen
14
Rocketback 1
CHAIN REACTION’S CRYPTIC comments and gestures had haunted Strike for days. Not even Rock had been able to figure out what they meant. Whatever Chain Reaction was tormenting him with, it held the key to Operation Deathstrike. This was Chain Reaction’s ultimate taunt, his crowning achievement in a lifetime of jeering and jabbing, asserting his dominance over Strike at every turn. Strike could still picture Chain Reaction, laughing maniacally at Strike’s complete inability to decode the puzzle, even as the boy was slowly eroding into a corpse.
Rock had focused in on something Chain Reaction had said: You think so small, you pea-brained imbecile. Think big. An inkling of what that could mean had begun to dawn on them, especially given what Zuna had said about wiping the moon of all its filth. But Strike couldn’t bear to face the magnitude of that idea:
What if the Deathstrike Device is a weapon of mass murder, to be aimed at the Dark Siders?
And the definitive knowledge that there was no way to enlarge an Ultrabot suit hung heavy over Strike. He’d been so sure that he’d find an answer. Now, all he could do was bide his time until his number 8 suit would no longer close up around him, slamming the coffin door on his Ultraball career.
But as huge as those problems were, there was something even more pressing on Strike’s mind. The Miners sat inside the locker room before their week-seven game against the Tranquility Beatdown. TNT was at the end of a bench, his arms folded across his chest as he scowled at Strike. The rest of the team was quiet, bystanders to the icy staring match.
Finally, Strike could take it no longer. “I know I owe you my life,” he said. “I’ll never forget that. But I can’t put you back in yet. You’re not fully healed.”
“So what if I’m not?” TNT said. “Even if I was only at fifty percent—and I’m a lot higher than that—I’m still better than most of the rocketbacks out there.” He kept his gaze trained on Strike, but he stole the slightest of glances at Nitro, who sat quietly on the other end of the bench. “Nothing personal against Nitro. But we have to do everything we can to win this game. I have to make things right with everyone in Taiko Colony. For what I did two years ago.”
“I know how much that means to you,” Strike said. “But you have to let it drop. Our fans have already forgiven you. Everyone knows that you took a knife for me. Now that’s sacrifice.” He looked to Nitro. “Speaking of forgiveness and sacrifice, Torch has more than made up for last year now. Both you and TNT have let go of the past. What’s important is the future. Winning the Ultrabowl.”
Nitro turned away. The way her face usually hardened upon hearing her brother’s name was easing. After the great lengths Torch had taken to help out Strike, she had to forgive him. But it still tortured her.
“I have to do this,” TNT said. “Please, Strike. I personally have to make things right.”
“What do you want me to do?” Strike said. He got to his feet. “Look at how well Nitro has been playing.”
“I should step aside,” Nitro said. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“See, she doesn’t even want to play,” TNT said. “Back at Kamar station, you had to beg her to step in.”
Strike studied Nitro. The idea that someone might not want to suit up was crazy, especially considering that he had no choice about his own Ultraball days being numbered. But as recently as three weeks ago, Nitro had told TNT that she couldn’t wait until he was ready to take back his roster spot. “Do you actually want to play?”
She looked nervously at TNT, then nodded. “More than anything,” she said. “I admit, I hated the idea at first. And when I had all those fumbles, I’ve never felt worse in my entire life. Not even when Torch told me what he did last year.” She stood up a little straighter. “But things are different now. I’ve worked so hard on my game. I love that feeling of my suit closing up around me, transforming me into a mech weapon. I love Ultraball. I’ve never loved anything more.”
“Berzerkatron says she’s in the running for MVP,” Strike said. “I can’t take her out. As the coach of the Miners, I have to field the team that I think has the best shot at winning.”
“The best shot at winning the Ultrabowl,” TNT said. “That means me. I may not be fully healed up yet, but I will be by the time the Ultrabowl rolls around. The team needs time to get used to the old lineup again.”
“We have to make it to the Ultrabowl first,” Strike countered. He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the rage that was rising inside him. “Look. I’ll get you worked back onto the roster next week for the semis. But today, we have to focus on taking down the Beatdown. They’re going to be fierce. We have to win, and win big. We cannot fall into the fourth seed.”
“All the more reason to put me in,” TNT said. “I’ve played the Beatdown. I know how to use the giant boulders on the field. I have experience. That counts for a lot.”
Everyone looked up at the speaker mounted overhead as the announcers started their pregame chatter.
“Just a couple of minutes left to turn in a roster change,” TNT said. “What’s it going to be?”
“Don’t pressure me,” Strike said. “I—”
“Take me out,” Rock said.
Everyone turned toward him, the room falling silent except for the banter of Berzerkatron and the Mad Mongol on the overhead speakers.
“It’s the only move that makes sense,” Rock continued. “I’ve always been the weakest rocketback on the team. In the league. We’d have a much better shot at the title with TNT and Nitro as our rocketbacks.” He got to his feet and went over to his number 5 Ultrabot suit. “We’ve had quite a run together. But she’s yours now, TNT.”
“Whoa, whoa,” TNT said. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take your spot.”
“You have to,” Rock said.
TNT shook his head, crossing his arms tight. “I won’t do it.”
“Then I quit,” Rock said. He turned to Strike. “Now you have no choice but to put TNT in.”
“Everybody just hang on a minute,” Strike said. “Let me think.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Rock said. “The logical decision is to insert TNT into the roster alongside Nitro. They’re both better rocketbacks than I am.”
“What about team chemistry?” Nugget said. “It takes a while for a new roster to gel.”
“Yeah,” Pickaxe added. “Look what happened in Nitro’s first two games.”
“It took me three games, plus the constant fumble drills, to get into the swing of things,” Nitro said. She interlaced her fingers, squeezing them together, her knuckles white with the strain. “I think you guys ought to go back to the Fireball Five lineup. That’s a known quantity.”
Strike held up his hands, trying to keep the pressure at bay. “Can everyone just be quiet for a second?” he said.
Rock looked up at the clock mounted high on the wall. “I don’t mean to rush you, but any final roster changes have to be submitted in the next five minutes. That’s barely enough time to get to the announcers’ booth.”
Strike took a deep breath. He gave TNT the stink-eye before taking out the team’s roster form and slowly filling it out. He folded it in half and then handed it to Rock.
The Miners lined up just inside the tunnel as the announcers prepared to introduce the visiting team into Beatdown Arena. At the front of the line, Strike turned to give everyone a final nod.
Nitro and TNT stood at the back of the line, both of them restless, on edge. TNT raised a thumbs-up sign and forced out a smile.
The announcer called out Strike’s name, and he raced forward. An immediate chorus of boos came raining down on him like an avalanche of rocks. Pickaxe came out next, followed by Nugget, and then Nitro, each one greeted by a similar round of jeers from the crowd filled mostly with fans wearing the purple jumpsuits of Tranquility Colony.
The world seemed to stop when TNT’s name was announced. The stadium quickly filled with a low buzz of confusion. Then
the boos rained down once again. TNT raised his arms, goading on the crowd. “It’s great to be back,” he yelled into the Miners’ helmet comm. “I’ve even missed the booing.”
The Miners huddled up as the announcers shifted to the home team, everyone in the arena jumping to their feet as the Beatdown raced in through their tunnel. Takedown. Chokehold. Hammer Fist, who seemed to be limping. Uppercut. And their quarterback, Destroyer. The five members of the Tranquility Beatdown had played together for years now, and their chemistry burned bright as the five purple-suited players chest-bumped and whooped it up in perfect coordination.
Chemistry isn’t all that important, Strike willed himself to believe.
“Set up for the kickoff return,” he said into the Miners’ helmet comm. “Black hole fifty-four.”
The Miners strode to their end zone with Strike in the left side of the field. TNT and Nitro bumped into each other as they both headed to the rocketback 1 position on the right side of the field. “Oops,” Nitro said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” TNT said. He pointed over to the rocketback 2 spot behind him. “Maybe you’ll earn the 1 spot one day.” He threw her a grin, but she didn’t smile back.
“Cut her some slack, big shot,” Pickaxe said. “She’s been our go-to player for the past two games. You can’t just waltz in and take your spot back.”
“Whoa,” TNT said. “I was just kidding around. Trying to lighten things up. Nitro’s done a great job at rocketback 1. She and I are going to blow up the Beatdown. Together.”
Strike furrowed his forehead, keeping his eyes trained on the Beatdown, five players in gleaming purple looking to put the hurt on the Miners. On paper, this lineup gave the Miners their best chance of winning. Rock might actually be more valuable as a coach than a player, too, able to analyze every little detail as the game unfolded, helping them make critical corrections. But it felt so wrong that their steadiest and most consistent player—part of the Miners’ very foundation—wasn’t suited up. Strike glanced to the stands at their coach’s box, where Rock was huddled over his notebook, scribbling madly into it.
A ref in black plate armor blew a whistle, and the Beatdown sprinted forward, the kickoff man slamming his boot into the Ultraball. But instead of kicking it high into the air, it came shooting like a missile down the field, just a meter above the turf.
“Incoming,” Strike yelled. “Charge.” He raced forward, accelerating to full speed in a few steps, his boots clomping into blurs of motion. The other Miners flanked him, and they sped along in a tight wedge formation.
“Wait,” Rock’s voice chimed in, loud over helmet comm. “Spread out. It’s headed toward boulder four.”
Strike turned briefly to catch sight of Rock in the stands, jumping up and down in the Miners’ coach’s box. “Spread delta blue,” he yelled to the others. The other Miners broke off at different angles to fan out.
A second later, the Ultraball blasted into a giant boulder on the thirty-meter line, cracking it apart with a thunderous boom. Pieces of rock went flying in all directions. A cloud of gray dust burst out, and Strike lost the Ultraball in the confusion. Scanning his heads-up display, he picked up the blinking red dot. “TNT, your side!”
TNT was already on an intercept course. He threw himself at the bouncing Ultraball, snatching it off the turf. The ball locked into his magnetic glove, but as he tried to switch it from his left to right hand, he bobbled it. A Beatdown defender smashed into TNT. The ball popped straight up into the air.
The defender leapt for the Ultraball, stretching to full extension. He locked the ball into one of his gloves, but TNT came in swinging wildly, one of his punches knocking it out. The ball took an awkward bounce, and TNT leapt on it.
“Lateral!” Nitro yelled. She was toward the other side of the field, holding her hands up, ready to catch a pass and take off.
TNT popped to his feet, ducking just in time to avoid a Beatdown defender flying at his head. As another defender charged at him, TNT whirled and heaved the ball across the field to Nitro. But the lateral was low and behind her. She slid to a halt and doubled back to get to it, barely snagging it near the tips of her boots. That was all it took to enable a Beatdown defender to catch up to her, locking a glove onto her Ultrabot suit. He dragged her to the turf, trying to slam the ball out of her grasp, but Nitro held on tight. The rest of the Beatdown came in to smother her at the forty-meter line.
“Tough throw,” Strike said as he held out a hand to pull TNT up.
TNT’s helmet visor was on reflective mode, but Strike could almost see the wince of pain as he got to his feet. “Just a little rusty, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Strike said. “Huddle it up.” He tried to listen over the helmet comm as Rock relayed in a play from the sidelines, but it was hard to concentrate. At his best, TNT was a one-man wrecking crew, a weapon who could tear up the league. How long was it going to take him to get back there?
“Did you hear me?” Rock said over helmet comm.
“What?” Strike asked. “Yes. What did you say?”
“Avalanche two, fly intercept,” Rock repeated.
Strike thought about Rock’s call: a long bomb to a streaking TNT. Nitro would be in the middle of the field, waiting to heave a giant boulder at TNT’s defender as he passed. It might be brilliant, but it could be a disaster. “No,” he said. “Sharpshooter shield to TNT. Let’s work him in a little easier.”
“I’m okay,” TNT said. “Turn me loose. Avalanche two, fly. It’ll be an easy catch when my man gets blasted by Nitro. Right?” He flipped his visor to clear, nodding at Nitro.
“I’ll do whatever I’m asked, for the good of the team,” Nitro said, her visor still set to reflective.
“Run avalanche two, fly intercept,” Rock said over helmet comm. “It’s the best percentage play.”
For years, Strike had called every single play for the Miners. It was weird having someone chirp play calls into his ear, even if that person was his best friend and one of the smartest people on the moon. “Time’s running down,” he said. “Sharpshooter shield, on two. Set it up.”
Nugget dutifully got into position over the Ultraball, Strike setting up right behind him. Pickaxe lined up wide, right next to a giant boulder numbered with a huge five. TNT and Nitro both retreated into the deep backfield, hiding behind boulder number eight.
Strike eyed the Beatdown defenders, two of them stacked right at the line, twitching, ready to take off at Strike and spear him with everything they had. “Make it happen, TNT,” he said. “Nitro, give him protection. Hut hut!”
Nugget hiked the ball to Strike, who scrambled backward, ducking as one of the defenders hurdled over Nugget to launch himself at Strike. With a quick spin, Strike evaded the defender and scrambled right.
At the same time, TNT came flying over the boulder he had been hiding behind, charging upfield. He slammed a defender off his feet and crossed the line of scrimmage. Strike zipped him a hard pass, the ball clanging against TNT’s chest plate as he snagged it at full speed. With Pickaxe as his lead blocker, TNT took off.
A Beatdown defender smashed into Pickaxe, knocking both of them into a heap. Another defender shot in and latched a magnetic glove onto TNT’s boot, tripping him up. The Beatdown man almost reeled in TNT, but Nitro heaved a giant boulder into both of them, smashing them to the side. The defender slammed to the ground, and his grip on TNT popped loose. TNT stumbled as he got up, looking around in a state of disorientation. He ran toward the corner of the end zone, more in a zigzag than a straight line.
“Look out!” Strike yelled over helmet comm.
TNT was at the fifteen-meter line when a shadow grew around him. He looked up and cried out, just before an enormous boulder plummeted onto him, smashing him to the ground.
Whistles blew as refs came in to untangle the pileup. One of them carried a maglev lift that he used to roll the boulder off TNT.
As soon as he was free, TNT popped to his feet, yelling at Ni
tro. “Why the frak did you throw that boulder at me so hard?”
Nitro took a step back at first, but stopped, holding her ground. “I got you free of your guy,” she said. “That was my job, and I did it.” She kept her visor at reflective, letting her implication about TNT’s failure hang heavy in the air.
“Quit it, both of you,” Strike said. “Set up for the next play or we’ll have to take our time-out.” He looked over to Nitro, who walked away from TNT, her body language showing her frustration with the Miners’ rocketback 1. Then he trained his gaze on TNT, not sure which of the two he should be yelling at.
Strike knew TNT all too well. TNT’s eruption of anger at Nitro was just a front. The person he was really mad at was himself.
The old TNT would have scored that touchdown ten out of ten times, Strike thought.
RESULTS AND STANDINGS, AFTER WEEK 7
RESULTS, WEEK 7
Miners
91
Beatdown
84
Molemen
70
Venom
0
Neutrons
140
Shock
21
Flamethrowers
91
Explorers
84
STANDINGS, WEEK 7
Wins
Losses
Total Points
1-Neutrons
6
1
749
2-Miners
5
2
595
3*-Beatdown
5
2
546
4*-Molemen