Ultraball #2

by Jeff Chen

  The locker room went quiet. No one moved, except for Rock nodding in a daze. He raised the phone, scrolling through the recording until he found the giant map of the Dark Siders’ tunnels.

  Then TNT exploded. “You want us to leave the game? No frakkin’ way. We’d forfeit. You heard Boom. She told us that we had to go defeat the Neutrons. Plus, who knows if that thing up there is a weapon or not? Maybe it’s just a communications satellite or something.”

  “The nuclear spear that Zuna used to nuke Chain Reaction,” Strike said. Chain Reaction’s cryptic statements and the way he had raised his arms toward the ceiling—it was all making sense now. “The Deathstrike Device is an enormous version of that.” If that was the case, its focused beam might be able to shoot lethal radiation through tons of moon rock, nuking the Dark Siders to hell.

  Rock grabbed the front of Strike’s jumpsuit with one hand, holding up his phone with the other. “There’s a hidden passageway to the Dark Side airlock, accessible through the Tunnel Ring. We can get to the surface. We have to go. Now.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” TNT said. “Even if it is a weapon, we couldn’t stop it. Can’t you see how stupid it would be to abandon this game? We can’t forfeit.” He swallowed hard. “Please, Strike. We have to win this game.”

  Strike’s gaze bounced back and forth between his two players, the opposing views smashing into each other. What if he led his Miners up to the surface of the moon, only to see something harmless, like TNT had said? The Miners would be a laughingstock, the butt of jokes everywhere. The Underground Ultraball League might even take away the franchise for forfeiting the Ultrabowl.

  And there was the issue of Raiden Zuna betting his entire fortune on his Neutrons winning the Ultrabowl. No one but the Miners stood in the Neutrons’ way now.

  A buzzer sounded through the stadium, echoing down the tunnel and into the locker room. All eyes were trained on Strike, waiting for him to make the biggest decision of his life. Whatever he decided, it might lead to Raiden Zuna taking over the moon. The fate of thousands of people rested upon his shoulders.

  Gathering his resolve, Strike straightened his jumpsuit, hoping against hope that he hadn’t just doomed them all. “Everyone get suited up,” he said.

  20

  Hail Mary

  STRIKE CLUNG TO the back of TNT’s Ultrabot suit, a mere speck of a boy on the back of the giant robot, as the Miners raced through the secret tunnels. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, ghostly images flaring in the blackest corners of his mind. The emergency lights on the Ultrabot suits barely held back the darkness, casting terrifying red shadows that leapt at Strike as the Miners tore through the turns.

  At this breakneck speed, Strike might die if he slipped and fell, slamming to the ground with no protection. But he willed TNT to run even faster. He prayed that they’d see nothing above the moon except a harmless satellite, even though that would mean facing severe penalties from the Underground Ultraball League for forfeiting this playoff game.

  Charging along behind Rock’s lead, the Miners soon arrived at the Dark Siders’ airlock door leading to the surface of the moon. Rock skidded to a halt by the control panel, studying it intently.

  “We still have time to get back to the game,” TNT said.

  “We have to do this,” Strike replied through his headset. “You know that.”

  “No, I don’t. We’re making a huge mistake.”

  Following Rock’s instructions, Strike carefully punched in a series of buttons on the control panel, the sequence of numbers Rock had seen on Boom’s map. With a low rumbling of gears and motors, the door slid open, revealing two airlocks.

  Rock pointed to a small room on the other side of one of the airlocks. “I think that’s an observation chamber,” he said. “Strike should be able to see what’s going on from there.”

  “You should go up to the surface instead of me, Strike,” Pickaxe said. “Take my Ultrabot suit.”

  “No time,” Strike said. “I’ll watch from inside the observation chamber. Everyone else, go.”

  “Strike,” TNT said. “We have to return to the game—”

  “No!” Strike pressed two buttons, starting the process of cycling both airlocks. “I order you to get up there.”

  TNT held his ground, looking back the way they came, his jaw set in determination. “You can’t make me.”

  Strike bit his lip. “You’re right. I can’t force you to do this. But I’m asking you. I’m begging you. As one of your closest friends. Thousands of lives are at stake.” He pointed to the airlock leading out to the surface of the moon. “Please.”

  After a pause, TNT nodded, joining the others.

  Strike’s airlock door closed behind him, pumps and motors whirring as the system cycled. Two minutes later, a green light flashed, and he quickly scrambled through the far door into the small observation chamber.

  Strike sucked in a sharp breath, his brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He had heard so many stories about the horrors of outer space, the deathly blackness that the Moon Dock airlock door kept at bay. But no one had prepared him for the dazzling glory of a billion stars. The epic panorama of shimmering lights stunned him, freezing his feet to the floor. Dizziness washed over him, a mix of amazement and sheer panic, that only a clear window separated him from the unparalleled majesty of outer space. He nearly fell backward, stumbling as he plopped down onto a bench. Something this beautiful was impossible.

  Strike sat in awe until a shout came into his headset. “Airlock’s done,” Rock said. “We’re heading up to the surface.”

  Banks of monitors lined the observation room, cameras giving Strike a remote view of the five suited-up Miners racing up the tunnels. They zigzagged through curving switchbacks as they made their way to the surface of the moon.

  Strike leaned in to study the bank of monitors, focusing in on a camera that was aimed into space. A bolt of panic shot through him. He worked the controls to zoom in on something floating above the surface of the moon. Glowing with an orange hue, lights flashed down the entire length of the giant machine. “It’s just like the thing Chain Reaction described—the nuclear spear that Zuna used to nuke him,” he said. “Only a whole lot bigger.”

  The five Miners emerged onto the surface of the moon, finally coming into Strike’s direct view through the panoramic window. In shock, TNT jabbed a finger toward the giant weapon. “You were right,” he said. “That’s no ordinary satellite.”

  Rock slammed his fists against his helmet. “It’s too far away to leap at, even inside an Ultrabot suit.” He swiveled to Nitro and grabbed her shoulders. “Throw me at it. Heave me with everything you’ve got.”

  “No,” Strike said, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “There’d be no way to get back to the surface of the moon. You’d float off into outer space and die.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rock said. “This is all my fault. I have to do this.”

  “Even with a slingshot V, you wouldn’t get there,” TNT said. “It’s too far off.”

  “We have to do something,” Rock said.

  Everyone went silent. Strike could only watch as the Deathstrike Device floated through space away from them. Waves of sickening nausea crashed through his chest, drowning him. Leading his Miners up to the surface of the moon had been the worst mistake of his entire life. Like TNT had said, this was all for naught. He had done nothing to save the Dark Siders. Worse yet, by abandoning the Ultrabowl against the Neutrons, he had cleared the way for Raiden Zuna to take over the entire moon. When Zuna won his bets on the Ultrabowl, he’d make an arsenal of weapons like this one.

  They were too late. There was no way to stop the Deathstrike Device. It was so far away that they’d need a slingshot zone to reach it. Or one of the Farajah Flamethrowers’ arm cannons.

  Arm cannons . . .

  An idea came to him. It wasn’t a good one. But they had no other options. “Nitro,” he said. “Are you carrying your Ultraball?”


  “Now isn’t the time to be thinking about Ultraball,” Rock said. “We have to—”

  “Nitro!” Strike shouted. “Did you bring it or not?”

  She turned toward the observation chamber window in confusion. Slowly, she raised the Ultraball she always carried around with her. “Yeah. Just like Fusion told me to. Why—”

  “You can hit the Deathstrike Device,” Strike said. “It’s far away. But you can make this throw.”

  Nitro stepped backward, shaking her head. “No way. I can’t make that shot. You have to come up and do it, Strike. I’m heading back to the airlock so you can suit up.”

  “You can do it,” Strike said. “You’re the best person for this. Even if we did have time for me to get into a suit, I’d still pick you to make the throw. You hit the Neutrons’ logo, dead center in the high ceiling. And remember that pass you lasered into TNT’s outstretched gloves on the third play of the game today?”

  “I was shooting like a frakkin’ missile off the slingshot V,” TNT said. “You hit me right on the dot. Not even a centimeter off.”

  “But this is different,” Nitro said. “If I miss, people will die. I can’t do it.”

  Rock grabbed her shoulders. “You have to make the throw—now. Every second, the Deathstrike Device is moving farther away. Do it. Now.”

  “Please, Nitro,” Strike said. “You have the best arm in the league. You have to do it.”

  She shook her head, trembling with fear.

  “Magnetize the ball,” Strike shouted.

  The Miners all turned to look back at the observation chamber, silent in their confusion.

  “Nitro, give Rock the Ultraball so he can magnetize it,” Strike said, his words rushing out. “That way, you’ll only have to get close with your throw. It’ll be easy.”

  “What?” Rock asked. “But—”

  “Rock,” Strike shouted. “Magnetize. The. Ultraball. Like that list in your notebook. About all the ways of making hardtack bars taste better? Remember the title of that list?”

  His brow wrinkled, Rock thought for a long moment. Then he held his hand out to Nitro. “Give it to me.”

  Nitro looked up, flipping her helmet visor to clear. “You can really magnetize an Ultraball? How?”

  Rock snatched the heavy steel ball from her and snaked his gloved hands across the ball’s length, stroking it slowly, carefully, from nose to nose. He repeated this five times. “Done,” he said. He held it back out to Nitro.

  She took it in her gloved hands, hefting its weight. Raising it to eye level, she squinted. “Doesn’t seem any different.”

  “Just get it close and it’ll lock on,” Strike said through his headset. “You got this. You’re Nitro.”

  After a long pause, she nodded.

  Strike sat forward in his seat. With every moment she delayed, the throw would get more difficult. But Nitro didn’t move. Each second that ticked away became more excruciating. Why doesn’t she just let it fly? Strike thought in aggravation.

  And then it hit him: everyone was staring at her. The pressure had paralyzed her. “Pickaxe,” he shouted into his headset. “Atomic wave blitz, stunt red.”

  “What?” Pickaxe said. “Why the frak would we rush her?”

  Strike took a deep breath. “Miners, I need you all to listen to me and follow my game plan,” he said, his voice commanding. “Game time. Atomic wave blitz, stunt red. Do it.”

  Pickaxe turned to look at Strike through the observation window. He nodded and raced off a few steps. He got into a three-point stance, his right glove in a fist touching the ground. “I’m charging in at you in three seconds. Nugget, too.” He waved his brother over.

  “What are you doing?” TNT said. “Just leave her alone and let her make the frakkin’ throw.”

  Nugget ran over, joining his brother. “We’re coming after you, Nitro.”

  “I’m taking you down,” Pickaxe said. “You can’t make this play, you little girly.”

  Nitro’s face hardened, her eyes slitting down. “What did you just say?”

  “You throw like a girl,” Pickaxe said. “That puny girl arm can’t get a throw past the mighty Pickaxe. I’m gonna frakkin’ bury you.” He snapped his head up, growling.

  “TNT and Rock, line it up,” Nitro said. “Let’s show these frakkin’ big mouths how it’s done.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Nugget squeaked.

  Pickaxe shushed his brother and shoved him into a three-point stance by his side.

  Nitro put the Ultraball on the ground, holding it with one hand as TNT and Rock lined up on either side of her. “Fly fifty-four,” she yelled. “On two. Hut hut!”

  As she picked up the ball and backpedaled, Pickaxe and Nugget came blitzing in with full heads of steam. TNT and Rock smashed into the brothers, but each of them rolled around the outside and then charged in toward Nitro.

  She stepped forward in the pocket and reared her arm back before heaving the Ultraball at the Deathstrike Device. It flashed through the blackness of space, a silver blur blasting into the stars.

  As soon as she let it go, she turned to Pickaxe, who was coming in hot. Lowering her shoulder, she crashed into his chest plate. She wrapped him up with both arms and pile-drove him into the surface of the moon. “Don’t ever call me a little girly again!” she shouted.

  His helmet smashed into the ground, Pickaxe grumbled. “I was just trying to motivate you.”

  “Oh,” Nitro said. “Gotcha. Sorry.” She picked him up and put him back on his feet.

  Rock pointed at the Ultraball, streaking like a comet toward the Deathstrike Device. “It’s on target,” he said.

  Strike pressed into the observation window, locked onto Nitro’s throw. The chatter on helmet comm went deathly quiet as the Ultraball closed in. At first, Strike thought it was right on course, but now, he dug his fingernails into his legs.

  The throw was soaring high.

  Strike got to his feet, pressing his face against the observation window. Bending backward, he willed the ball to pull down just a hair.

  The five Miners on the moon’s surface stared, watching the ball soar. “It might go high,” Nitro said. “Good thing it’s magnetized.”

  “Uh,” Rock said into the helmet comm. “About that.”

  “Not now,” Strike said into his headset. “Wait until—”

  “I didn’t really magnetize the ball,” Rock said. “That’s impossible, as impossible as making a hardtack bar taste good. Strike just needed to trick you into making the throw.”

  “What?” Nitro shouted. “I’m going to kill you both!”

  “Quiet,” Strike said. For a horrible moment, it looked like the Ultraball would sail over the giant spear-shaped object. But it cracked into the top of the spear, the heavy steel ball smashing a hole straight through its target, a spray of electronic shrapnel bursting out the other side.

  No one said a word as the weapon tilted off-kilter. Going into a slow spin, the Deathstrike Device continued to glow with its orange aura.

  Strike’s eyes widened in horror. Had they actually made things worse? What if they had just made the weapon shoot an intense beam of focused nuclear radiation all over the moon? Nightmares clawed into his head.

  I might have just wiped the entire human race off the face of the moon.

  But then a storm of white sparks burst out of the Deathstrike Device. Orange and red crackles of electricity arced down the length of the giant spear. Strike flung himself away from the window as a blinding flash lit his retinas into firestorms of agony. A moment later, he was thrown off his feet, slamming into the back wall of the observation chamber.

  His head spinning, his ears pounding, Strike tried to stand up. He immediately collapsed back to the ground. Pressing his hands against the sides of his head, he felt something sticky. An ooze of red covered his fingers.

  Still woozy, Strike blinked furiously through the burst of intense light still imprinted on the backs of his eyes. A billowing cloud of gray sm
oke was expanding out from where the Deathstrike Device had been, furious eddies swirling through the angry mass, as if it were alive. The cloud of death billowed toward him.

  Strike reached for his headset, which had been blown off when he had hit the wall, and pulled it back on. All five Miners were shouting over each other in a frenzied panic. Then he picked out Rock’s voice, repeating himself in an impressively stoic fashion: “Everyone calm down and wait for your suits to finish rebooting,” he kept on saying.

  Strike looked out the big window, nearly choking at the sight of his Miners all lying on their backs on the surface of the moon. “Are you guys okay?” he screamed.

  “The blast shorted out and reset all our suits,” Rock said. “But we’ll be fine, even if the cloud reaches us. You, on the other hand, need to get through your airlock. Now.”

  Strike ran for the airlock door, but a horrible thought stopped him in his tracks. “That cloud. Have we just killed everyone on the moon?”

  “Only focused radiation can penetrate through tons of moon rock,” Rock said. “The blast cloud is dispersed. Get back underground—far underground—and you’ll be safe. Don’t wait for us. Run.”

  “Okay,” Strike said. “But get the frak out of there as soon as you can.” Then he frantically pushed the airlock’s activation button. The door slowly opened. It would take two minutes for the airlock to cycle. That was two minutes the dark cloud of deadly radiation would have to creep toward him, enveloping him in its toxic embrace.

  The clear airlock door closed, oxygen hissing into the chamber. There was nothing Strike could do but wait, watching the countdown timer and the cloud in their deadly race. Strike pressed himself against the back wall, shoving himself into a corner, as far away from the lethal cloud as possible.

  As the seconds ticked away, Strike’s worries turned to his Miners, still on the moon’s surface. An Ultrabot suit was designed to protect its wearer from just about anything, at least for a while. But what if the suits never came back online? Dread built into an overwhelming panic as he imagined his closest friends pinned in place, imprisoned by their inactive suits. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of his Miners struggling in their armored prisons, slowly suffocating as their oxygen stores drained away.