by Jeff Chen
All Eyes on Strike
IT HAD BEEN a hard-fought semifinals victory, the Miners barely edging out the Tranquility Beatdown in the last seconds of the punishing playoff game. Right afterward, the Miners entered their locker room, everyone clicking out of their Ultrabot suits and collapsing to benches in dead exhaustion. A win was a win, the Miners now advancing to their fifth Ultrabowl in a row. But this one had been a heart-stopping squeaker.
Strike slumped forward, wiping sweat off his brow. The Miners had caught a lucky break, the Beatdown forced to insert a rookie at rocketback 2 after Hammer Fist had become too sick to suit up. Even with that big advantage, though, there had been so many problems with the Miners’ lineup.
There’s no way we’re going to win the Ultrabowl like this, he thought.
“Look,” Rock said. He pointed to a screen mounted to the wall, the loudmouthed commentators chattering away, Beastfire holding court, the former Ultrabowl MVP mesmerizing everyone with his folksy banter.
Lunar World News was only weeks old, formed when Raiden Zuna bought the Lunar Times and combined it with LunarSports Reports, but it had already become the most-watched program on TV. The word “Exclusive” was now flashing in big red letters on the screen, LWN cutting to footage of reporters chasing Wraith as she limped away after the game. They kept lobbing questions at her with no response, until one asked, “Who’s your pick in the Ultrabowl?”
Wraith turned, looking right into the camera. “The Miners will win. They have to.” Dark Siders swarmed in to escort Wraith away. A contingent of Blackguards kept close to them.
“Someone turn off that frakkin’ crap,” Pickaxe said, lying down on a bench. “It’s giving me a headache.” He poked his brother, who was sprawled out next to him.
“You do it,” Nugget said. “I’m so tired, not even your stench can budge me.”
“Fine,” Pickaxe said. He reached toward the screen and grimaced, letting his arm fall to his side. “Frak. Beastfire is a big-mouthed goon, but maybe he’s right.”
Strike’s stomach threatened to toss up the bitter hardtack bar he had choked down at halftime. His struggling Miners badly needed a pep talk to help build some confidence for the coming Ultrabowl. He got to his feet and turned off the TV. “Today was close,” he said. “But we got through. The Neutrons next week . . . well, don’t think about the past four years. All those losses don’t mean a thing now.”
TNT cleared his throat, a weak grin coming to his face. “I wasn’t thinking about that until you reminded us,” he said.
Everyone broke into nervous laughter, the tension cracking ever so slightly. Rock took out his notebook. “That goes under ‘Jokes That Aren’t Really Funny but Serve a Useful Purpose,’” he muttered to himself. The laughter increased, and Rock looked up in surprise. “What happened? What did I miss?”
“Nothing, buddy,” TNT said. “You just did something great. We’re going to go out and roll the Neutrons.” His face fell. “I mean, you guys are. I quit.”
Everyone went silent.
“Shut the frak up,” Pickaxe said. “You can’t quit.”
“You’re still an awesome rocketback,” Nugget said.
“Fireball Five forever,” Pickaxe said. He hesitated, then gave Nitro a friendly poke in the shoulder. “I gotta admit, Nitro is better than you right now, especially because of your injury. She is awesome. Carried us right into the playoffs. But you deserve the rocketback 1 spot. If you hadn’t taken a knife for Strike back in Kamar Colony, you’d be a sure thing for MVP.”
TNT took a deep breath, staring down. “About that.” He ground his feet into the floor, chewing on his lip. “I wasn’t trying to jump in. I just got caught in the mix.” He peered up at Strike. “I wanted to tell you the truth. It just got out of hand before I could. Not that I wouldn’t trade my life for yours. But Wraith was the one who saved you. Not me.”
TNT let the admission sink in amid the stunned silence, and then smacked a locker door. “Even if I had been some kind of a hero, this is the only choice. Nitro and I, we don’t mesh as rocketbacks. I should be the one to step down.”
Nitro shook her head. “You have way more playoff experience. It should be you out there at rocketback 1.” She thunked a fingertip into her chest. “Torch and me, maybe we are cursed. I dropped that pass at the start of the second half. Would have been a sure touchdown. It’s only going to get worse next week, when the pressure’s way higher.”
“There is no such thing as a curse,” Rock said.
“Enough,” TNT said. He stood up and offered a handshake to Nitro. “You earned your spot, fair and square. Frak, you can even throw better than me out of the rocket booster option. Better than Strike, even. Your arm is a cannon.”
“There is an easy and logical solution to this dilemma,” Rock said. “I’m not nearly as good a rocketback as either of you. I will continue to sit on the sideline so that both of you can play.”
“No,” TNT said. “We need your stabilizing influence on the field. You anchor everything. Without you, things are gonna continue to spiral out of control. Right, Coach?”
All faces turned to Strike, the room going quiet again. He froze at the sudden attention, realizing that he had been sitting back, hoping someone would make the decision for him. It felt like it wasn’t just the eyes of his teammates locked onto him—it was the eyes of the moon.
TNT had worked so hard for redemption. At 100 percent, he was the best rocketback in the league, bar none. But there was no doubt that he was still suffering from his injury.
Then there was Nitro, who had exploded as a potential MVP candidate, spending so many hours practicing her fumble drills, carrying an Ultraball whenever she was suited up in order to cure her of her one glaring flaw. Was all the talk of the Curse, Part II, still haunting her, though?
And then Strike knew what he had to do. It was going to be the toughest week of his life. He took a deep breath, anticipating the pain and exhaustion that the coming days would bring for every single Miner. “Let’s head back to Taiko Arena,” he said. “We have a ton of work to do.”
“Who’s it going to be?” TNT asked.
Focusing on the door, Strike motioned everyone ahead. He bit his lip at the thought of what he was going to have to say to his teammates, struggling to figure out some way to break the news to everyone as gently as possible.
The Fireball Five had played their last Ultrabowl together.
17
Starting Lineup
BERZERKATRON’S AMPLIFIED VOICE filled Saladin Stadium. “Welcome, all, to the eleventh annual Ultrabowl, the biggest game of the year. Ultrabowl XI features yet another rematch of the perennial top dogs of the Underground Ultraball League. It is only fitting that they finished at the number one and two seeds at the end of the regular season. I hope you’re ready for some lights-out Ultraball!
“Now, introducing this year’s second seed. The team that has appeared in the past four Ultrabowls, but has lost each one in heartbreaking fashion. In the bright blue of Taiko Colony, with a regular season record of five wins and two losses, five hundred ninety-five total points scored over those games, I give you . . . the Taiko Miners!”
The crowd was mostly dressed in the red jumpsuits of North Pole Colony, but the few pockets of blue went berserk, jumping up and down, sending a wave of vibrations through the stands. Governor Katana was front and center at the fifty-meter line, surrounded by a pack of bodyguards. He forced out a smile when a camera trained on him, but the corners of his eyes were creased with lines of worry.
“Introducing the Miners’ starting lineup. At crackback 2, in the Miners’ number 9 Ultrabot suit, it’s Nugget!”
A round of cheers went up as Nugget ran onto the turf and did a double backflip. He landed and immediately rebounded, jumping high into the sky and punching up a victorious fist.
“Joining his brother at crackback 1, locked into the blue number 7 Ultrabot suit, it’s . . . Pickaxe!”
Another roar surged, Pickaxe eating it up as
he raced toward his brother. Nugget charged back at him, and they both leapt into the air at the same time. They collided with a thunderous boom, locking arms together as they spun into a dizzying blur. They thudded back to the turf and both slammed punches into the ground.
“Next up, the Miners’ rocketback 2. They call him their foundation, their steadiest player. Introducing Rock, in the number 5 Ultrabot suit!”
The crowd briefly went silent. Rock jogged out with no swagger, no display of bravado, no nothing. Then a couple of polite cheers went up through the Miners’ die-hard fans, but it was far from wild. Some even booed.
Strike gritted his teeth. That was fine. The fans didn’t have to like his decision right now, but they’d call him a genius when the Miners lifted the Ultrabowl trophy into the air.
“And at rocketback 1, holding some of the Underground Ultraball League records, including an incredible twelve touchdowns scored in a single game, in the number 3 Ultrabot suit . . . it’s TNT!”
The pockets of Miners fans whipped into a frenzy once again, as TNT blasted out of the tunnel like a missile, just a blue blur shooting toward the other Miners. Pickaxe and Nugget stood a meter apart, each crackback catching one of TNT’s arms as he raced in, and together, they slung him skyward. His momentum redirected, TNT flew all the way to the ceiling, cracking into it. He kicked off into a wild horizontal spin, his limbs sticking straight out as he whirled back to the turf like a helicopter blade. Rock caught him, and all four Miners punched their fists into the air at the same time.
The sins of TNT’s past had been forgiven. If the Miners won, TNT’s slate would not only be wiped clean: he’d be lionized for all time as one of the most famous people in the history of the moon.
“Finally, quarterbacking the Miners, in the number 8 Ultrabot suit, it’s . . .”
The Miners on the field turned to look at the tunnel. Everyone in the stands focused in, too.
The announcer cleared his throat. “It’s Nitro!”
The entire arena erupted in chaos. Nitro jogged out under the spotlights, her visor set to reflective. Like always, she carried her Ultraball tucked safely away, cradled into her left arm. She joined her teammates at the center of the field, high-fiving and butt-slapping, trying to ignore the roars of confusion and disbelief echoing through the stands. The Miners set up in a slingshot V. TNT sprinted forward, and Pickaxe and Nugget catapulted him downfield, hurling him up toward the roof. Nitro reared back and hit him with a cannon of a pass, the long bomb barreling in with meteoric speed. Hitting TNT right in his outstretched gloves, the ball blasted him into a blue whirl, the flashy completion sending all the Miners fans into whoops and roars.
It was a full five minutes before the announcer was able to speak over the crowd’s noise. “And coaching the Taiko Colony Miners . . . Holy frakkin’ heck, this is huge. Officially announcing his retirement from the game of Ultraball, I give you the Miners’ coach: Strike Sazaki.”
A spotlight trained on a lone figure in a blue jumpsuit walking up the stairs to his team’s coach’s box, his hood pulled low over his eyes.
Strike had been mentally preparing for this moment all week, but his world still began to crumble. His teeth gritted, his chin quivering, he tried in vain to fight back the tears.
18
Ultrabowl XI
NEUTRON NATION WAS out in full force, on their feet, swearing, stomping, and screaming at a deafening pitch. Strike could barely hear himself think, much less make out what his players were saying through his headset. With helmet comms unreliable due to the earsplitting noise, his Miners would have to rely on hand signals and reading each other’s lips during huddles.
Every cell in his body screamed at Strike to leap out on the field and demand his number 8 Ultrabot suit back. It was pure agony to no longer be one of the ten machines of war battling it out in the arena. But there was no doubt that he had made the right decision. Rock had even admitted he had suspected Strike’s secret all along, having compiled a list titled “Evidence That Strike Might Be Outgrowing His Ultrabot Suit.”
There was nothing Strike could do now except sit back and watch, hoping that he had done everything he possibly could to prepare his team for this do-or-die game. Strike prayed that the team’s intense week of practice with the new lineup would pay off, and that Fusion’s drills had set in for good. Nitro had been carrying an Ultraball cradled away in her arm every moment she was suited up, the other Miners trying to knock it out at any opportunity. After hundreds of hours of learning and drilling to protect the ball, today would be her ultimate test.
As the pregame players’ meeting took place on the field, Strike looked nervously to the domed ceiling of the massive cavern, where all eight teams’ logos had been etched for today’s big game, and then to the luxury boxes high in the stands, where Zuna was sure to be sitting. He had already used a deadly weapon from a similar spot last year. If it looked like his Neutrons might lose, what would Zuna do this time to stop the Miners? Strike forced his gaze back to the field, but he couldn’t shake the knowledge that Zuna would go to any length to win the massive bets he had placed upon his Neutrons.
Strike jolted back to the game when a chorus of boos erupted through the crowd. The small pocket of Miners fans dotted around the stands were chanting Nitro’s name as the girl in the blue number 8 Ultrabot suit caught the opening kickoff.
“Torch!” she screamed into the helmet comm.
What with the stadium noise, it took a moment for Strike to figure out what Nitro had said. Then he grinned. Maybe Nitro had finally forgiven Torch. As if she didn’t have enough motivation to win this game, doing it for her brother was going to fire her up even more.
Nitro juked a fast-approaching Neutron hard, making him fall over. She grabbed another defender’s arm and threw him toward one of Saladin Stadium’s all-new magnetic tornado zones. The Neutron bounced off the turf and then drove his boots into the ground, struggling in a desperate attempt to escape the zone’s pull. But it yanked him backward off his feet and sucked him into its center. Accelerating quickly, the Neutron slammed into the turf at the center of the tornado zone, locked out of the rest of the play by an invisible force field.
In the meantime, Nitro had taken off running, the steel Ultraball safely tucked under her arm. She hurdled over another Neutron who had punched through the wedge of Miners blocking for her. She cut toward another tornado zone in the middle of the field. A Neutron defender had the angle on her and came in hot, flinging himself at her. But at the last second, Nitro cut back and leapt high into the air, throwing herself forward into a spin, just clearing the edge of the tornado zone. The incoming defender still managed to crack a fist into her, but she grabbed his glove and flung him toward the tornado zone. His eyes widened as he strained against the pull, his limbs wildly flailing as he got sucked into the electromagnetic black hole.
One last Neutron threw himself at Nitro, but she lowered her shoulder, curling both arms around the Ultraball. The Neutron slammed into her like a cannonball, both of them rolling toward the end zone. Although her arms were busy protecting the Ultraball, she bull-rushed her way across the goal line with the defender hanging all over her.
She thundered out a victorious bellow before rearing her arm back and hurling the Ultraball skyward. The missile of a throw sliced through the air and cracked into the exact center of the Neutrons’ logo etched into the high ceiling, sending down a mist of gray moon dust. “No such thing as a curse!” she yelled, jabbing a finger toward the roof. “This one’s for Torch!”
The rest of the Miners came in, chest-bumping and turbo butt-slapping Nitro. “Torch!” they screamed back.
The boos and swearing came raining down out of the Neutron Nation fans, Nitro’s throw riling them up. But the contingent of Miners fans around Strike went wild, eating up her show of bravado. A radiant glow filled Strike’s chest. After just twenty seconds, the Miners were up 7–0, and Nitro was on fire. Strike pumped a fist, saying a silent word of thanks to
Fusion. The former quarterback’s fumble drills had cured Nitro of her one glaring problem spot, turning her into a true superstar who would lead them to a title.
Then sharp pangs of guilt stabbed at Strike, his stomach churning. Nightmare images filled his head, of Fusion rotting away in jail, maybe even being tortured. There was nothing Strike could do about it right now. But winning this game would mean that Zuna would lose his fortune, and thus his power. Maybe then Strike could figure out a way to free Fusion.
There was no doubt that the Neutrons were talented, well deserving of the first seed in the playoffs. During the first half, White Lightning scored two rushing touchdowns and threw for two more. He danced around the edges of the tornado zones, elbowing Miners into them, once even knocking both Nugget and Pickaxe into a tornado zone one after the other. Defensively, he almost single-handedly broke up two touchdown passes, when he read the Miners’ plays perfectly. If it hadn’t been for Nitro’s incredible accuracy, hitting TNT on full-field passes that locked right into the tips of his gloves, White Lightning would have had pick-sevens both times.
But White Lightning also took a few too many chances, slinging one pass to what looked like a wide-open Meltdown streaking toward the end zone, only to have TNT outleap Meltdown and return it for a touchdown. White Lightning also fumbled once when Nitro tackled him, throwing both of them into a tornado zone, her fist slamming into his arm as they whipped into the eye of the hurricane. The costly turnover allowed the Miners to pull ahead to a 49–35 lead.
With a minute to go in the first half, the Neutrons had the ball at the Miners’ forty-meter line, fourth down and a long way to go. If the Miners could stop the Neutrons on this play, they could simply run out the clock and go into halftime with a fourteen-point lead. Or the Miners could then take a shot for another touchdown. Strike rubbed his hands together, knowing exactly what he’d do if the Miners got the ball back: he’d stick the dagger into the heart of Neutron Nation, with a highball bounce off a slingshot V. The entire game, Nitro had thrown with uncanny precision. Even with TNT ricocheting crazily off the high ceiling, she’d sling a perfect full-field pass to him, the Ultraball lasering right into his outstretched gloves. A twenty-one-point lead at halftime would be devastating.