Ultraball #1
Page 12
Pickaxe jabbed him with an elbow. “There.”
Strike caught a glimpse of Boom turning the corner onto another dim street. They raced over, hiding behind the edge of a tall building. A cluster of run-down apartments, this neighborhood was one of the worst in all of Taiko Colony. The lighting grid mounted to the roof of the massive underground cavern barely lit the streets here, eerie shadows thrown across the ramshackle structures. Strike moved in tiny shuffling steps, making sure to keep low to the ground.
After they nearly lost her three times, she finally arrived at a giant apartment building with a flight of stairs leading up to the main entrance. Hardly anyone was around. They waited behind a recycling dumpster as Boom bounced up and opened the door.
“Go!” Strike hissed. There had to be dozens of individual apartments inside, so they had to move quickly to follow her. Strike raced toward the front staircase behind Pickaxe. With one giant leap, Pickaxe bounded up the full flight and raced toward the main door.
Strike was right behind Pickaxe when he caught a blur of movement. “Look out!” he yelled.
But it was too late. Someone sprang out of the door, launching a karate kick at Pickaxe’s chest. He flew backward, spinning head over heels.
Strike leapt in, ready to fight. But when he saw the person’s face, he put down his fists. “Boom?”
Bouncing on her toes in a fighting stance, Boom stepped into the hazy light. “Why did you follow me?”
Strike gulped. “You knew we were following you?”
Boom pushed up her sleeves. “Because you don’t trust me? We’re never going to win the Ultrabowl if we don’t trust each other, on and off the field—”
“I heard something about you,” Strike blurted.
“Yeah?” Boom said. “That I’m in Zuna’s pocket? That he paid me to throw games?”
Strike’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“After getting stabbed in the back like you did last year, you’d be a fool if you didn’t worry about the same thing happening again. And you may be a lot of things, Strike, but you’re no fool.” She looked toward a flickering lighting panel mounted to the cavern’s ceiling, her eyes narrowing. “I bet TNT is behind this, isn’t he? He thinks I turned traitor, just like he did.”
Strike exchanged surprised glances with Pickaxe. How could she possibly know so much? Strike thought. The only people he had told about TNT were Rock and Pickaxe. Not even Nugget knew, the crackback being too young to understand these kinds of things. It was like Boom had ghostly Dark Side powers, pulling bits of information straight out of his mind. “Yeah,” Strike said. “That’s exactly right.”
Pickaxe rolled up onto his elbows with a groan. “How come you wouldn’t say anything about what happened to your face?”
“Who beat you up?” Strike asked. “How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t trust me?”
Boom touched the dark purple bruise on her face. Her stony gaze melted away. She sighed and sat down on the top step, motioning for Strike to sit next to her. “Two of Zuna’s goons jumped me,” she said.
“What do you mean, jumped you?” Strike asked.
“I mean, two guys came out of an alley on my way to practice this morning. Two on one—that’s Zuna’s idea of a fair fight. They told me to take payoffs to throw games, or they’d break my legs.”
Strike’s throat went dry as a hardtack bar. “What did you do?”
“What choice did I have?”
Strike slumped, putting his head in his hands. It was happening all over again. Last year it was TNT; this year it was—
“We had to break their legs,” Boom said.
“You did what?” Pickaxe said.
“You took on two of Zuna’s thugs?” Strike asked. “And who’s ‘we’?”
“Some of my Dark Sider friends. How do you think I was onto you two so easily?”
Strike looked around the nearly deserted area. “Where are they?”
“You’ll never see them. In blue jumpsuits we stole for them, they blend right in. But they’re around. And Dark Siders have built all sorts of secret tunnels all over the moon. We use them when we need to.”
“Is that how you originally got into Taiko Colony?” Pickaxe asked.
Boom shrugged. “How many times do I have to tell you to respect my frakkin’ privacy?”
“Zuna’s got a lot of power,” Strike said. “And a lot of money. He’s going to come after you.”
“No, he’s not,” Boom said. “We told those guys that anything I get, Chain Reaction’s going to get it twice as bad. Even if they do manage to break one of my arms, Chain Reaction is going to find himself with two broken arms.”
“But you couldn’t do anything to Chain Reaction,” Strike said. “All the Neutrons are living large in North Pole Colony. Probably protected by Blackguards.”
“Secret tunnels. And Dark Siders cast no shadows. So Zuna now knows he can’t do a thing to me. He knows that without Chain Reaction, his Neutrons are dead meat.”
Strike’s head was even more jumbled than usual. Not just one Dark Sider showing up out of nowhere, but a couple? Popping out of tunnels, wherever they pleased? “I want to believe you,” he said. “But look what happened last year with TNT.”
“There’s a big frakkin’ difference between me and TNT,” Boom said. “Without the Ultrabot suit on, TNT is just a scared little turd eater. I’m not scared of anything.”
“Even death?” Pickaxe said. “If what you say is true, Zuna’s goons are seriously going to try to kill you now.”
“I’m not afraid of Zuna. Or death.”
“But Raiden Zuna—”
“Raiden Zuna is coming after the Dark Side. His alliance has already tried to seize one of our ice mines. They killed ten people, including . . .” Her nostrils flared, her breathing quickening. “Including my parents. I must make him pay. Even if it costs me everything, I will make Zuna pay.”
Boom’s words covered Strike in a toxic haze. For years, Strike had sought vengeance on whoever or whatever caused the Fireball Blast that took his parents’ lives. No wonder Boom was so focused on beating down Raiden Zuna. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? And how do you know it’s Zuna that killed your parents?”
“Their charred faces . . .” Her eyes lost their focus, her voice going hollow. “My parents were found in an ice mine cavern, with eight others. Oxygen levels were normal, no signs of a struggle. But everyone’s bodies were all burned, skin peeling off everywhere. There’s only one weapon on the entire moon that could have done that: the Meltdown Gun.”
Strike and Pickaxe looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Strike had known that Zuna was one of the most crooked of the moon’s Colony Governors. He had paid off TNT to throw last year’s Ultrabowl, after all.
But maybe Zuna was even shadier than Strike had thought.
“Are you and your friends doing this on your own?” Strike asked. “Or is it a Dark Side plot, like Berzerkatron says?”
“Just us,” Boom said. She shook her head in disgust. “The government sealed off the tunnel Zuna came in through, plus a whole lot more. The Federation of Free Territories doesn’t want anything to do with the United Moon Colonies. They’d never send people over to this side, especially when doing so could start some kind of war. So it’s up to me and my friends to stop Zuna. To destroy the Meltdown Gun.”
They sat quietly for a minute. Everything Boom said was making sense. But the way TNT had plunged a knife into Strike’s back last year would never be forgotten. “Swear to me that you haven’t taken money from Raiden Zuna,” Strike said.
Her deep brown eyes filled with determination, she put a hand to her heart. “On my parents’ souls, I swear that I’m going to destroy his Meltdown Gun.”
Strike nodded. There was no doubting Boom anymore. No matter what happened from here on out, he would trust his star rocketback without question. She had a raw thirst for vengeance. “Miners together?” Strike said, sticking out his hand.
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“Who are you going to listen to if TNT makes accusations about me again?” Boom asked.
“You. I swear it on my parents’ souls. Come on. Miners together?”
She studied Strike’s hand and shook it. “Miners forever.”
“See you tomorrow morning,” Strike said. “We have a game plan to put together. The Explorers are looking really strong.”
“We’re going to crush the Explorers into dust.” Boom headed into her apartment building and closed the door.
Strike and Pickaxe started down the road. Pickaxe kept stealing glances over his shoulder, peering into alleys and dark corners. A couple of blocks away, he nudged Strike and whispered, “Dark Siders just popping up whenever she needs them? Breaking the legs of two hired goons? That story is crazy.”
Strike nodded. “It is hard to believe, but—”
“And what was all that about Zuna killing people? He’s a Colony Governor. Colony Governors don’t kill people. I don’t know what she’s up to, but we can’t trust her.”
“Yes, we can. We have to. All those stories do sound weird, but she is giving her all to help us win the Ultrabowl. I believe her.”
“What about TNT insisting that there’s a traitor on the team?” Pickaxe said. “He risked his life to find that out. He has to be right.”
Strike scuffed his feet along the dusty road. A notion struck him:
What if TNT is right . . . but only partially right?
Dark inklings swirled around Strike’s head, slowly gelling into a story that might finally make sense of everything. He tried to push the sinister notion away. But it kept on tugging, willing him to listen. It was the only explanation that made sense if both Boom and TNT were to be believed.
What if someone else in his Miners family—someone in the original Fireball Five—was planning on stabbing him in the back?
He shook his head and swore at that nightmarish thought, squashing it back down into its pit of despair.
13
Game 3 Vs. The Kamar Explorers
THE MINERS CRANKED up to a new level in preparation to play the Kamar Explorers in their home opener at Taiko Arena. Practices pushed everyone to their max, starting with full calisthenics during the mornings while wearing weight jackets filled with rocks, followed by eight intense in-suit sessions with only short water and hardtack breaks in between. Film watching and review went to five nights a week, each person being quizzed for hours by Boom and Strike on what they saw. Deafening artificial noise was screeched into the helmet comm so everyone would read hand signals and body language better. Pickaxe complained bitterly about the aches and pains and all the practice time, but by the morning of their home opener, all five Miners were playing together like never before.
In the Taiko Arena locker room, Pickaxe and Nugget stretched while Boom and Rock sat on a bench together. Over the past week, the two of them studying Rock’s notebook had become a common sight. She pointed at a tattered page. “Shouldn’t this one be categorized under ‘One-liners,’ not ‘Humor Based on Exaggeration’?”
“That was my first thought, too,” Rock said. “But I can only place each joke into one spot, so I have to make a judgment call. This one was particularly tough, since it’s actually two lines. And not very funny.”
“No doubt.” Boom read out of the notebook. “‘Yo momma’s so stupid, she got hit by a delivery rover. One that was parked.’ That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yes, it does,” Strike said. “It’s parked. Who gets hit by a parked rover?”
“Exactly my point,” Rock and Boom said in unison. Rock peeked at Boom out of the corner of his eye. He cautiously held out a fist to her. A huge grin came to his face when she bumped it.
“Let’s get ready for the game,” Strike said. “And it was funny.”
Everyone gathered around Strike. “This team is not the Molemen or the Venom,” he said. “The Explorers are the real deal. Our first real challenge of the season. If we give them even the slightest opening, they’re going to punch our helmets off. So let’s go out there and score a couple TDs right off the bat. We have a lot of points to score if we’re going to catch up to the Neutrons. Score early. Score often.”
The four Miners nodded, placing their hands on top of Strike’s. “Rip out their frakkin’ throats,” Boom said. “No mercy.”
Rapidly becoming a Miners pregame tradition, Boom’s ominous words didn’t have the raw energy and noise of TNT’s rock-’em-sock-’em cheers from years past, but they had a similar effect. A chill ran up Strike’s spine. “Line it up,” he said as the announcer’s pregame routine started on the overhead speakers in the corners of the locker room. “Get ready to make our fans proud.” He got behind the rest of his team, rubbing his neck. It was aching more than ever after Boom’s extra-hard workouts during the week, but Strike was getting used to it. And his muscles were starting to feel bigger. Stronger. Faster. Strike liked it.
The announcer finished calling out the other team’s lineup, his voice echoing through the tunnel leading into the locker rooms. “And now, the home team, the runner-up in each of the three past Ultrabowls, the pride and joy of Taiko Colony, I give you . . . the Taiko Miners!”
The crowd roared, sending a surge of pride through Strike’s chest. Pickaxe got called first, running into a shower of cheers from the home crowd. Nugget followed behind his brother. Rock bounded out next.
The announcer called Boom’s name. But Strike put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.
“What are you doing?” Boom said.
“We’re going together, you and me,” Strike said. “If that’s okay with you.”
Boom nodded and fist-bumped Strike. They ran out together to an eruption of noise, a wall of sound penetrating through their Ultrabot suits. Strike marveled at the crowd, Governor Katana front and center at the fifty-meter line, leading everyone in cheers, screaming at the top of his lungs. It made Strike think about all the fan letters he had gotten over the years telling him how important the Miners were, how they gave people a glimpse of sunshine in a lifetime of darkness and misery.
After winning the coin toss, the Miners elected to kick off. Strike lined up behind the teed-up ball on the goal line and raised a hand. Studying the Explorers’ lineup, he scowled. “They’re in a modified I-formation,” he said into his helmet comm. “Cover three package.”
As the Miners moved into position, Boom nudged Strike. She pointed to the sidelines, where Torch was waving in a complicated set of hand signals. “Cover red two two?” Boom said. “Smart call. The Explorers might try a full-field lateral.”
Strike looked over to the coach’s box and gave Torch a thumbs-up. For more than a week now, he had been attending practices and film sessions after work, racing over to Taiko Arena to join the Miners after his shift at the mines ended. Torch’s body might have outgrown the Ultrabot suit, but his head was still in the game.
“Okay, everyone,” Strike said. “Cover red two two.” He charged forward, booting the ball high. Soaring through the dusty air of Taiko Arena, the ball arced and dropped to the corner of the end zone. It went over the receiver’s head and hit the back wall, bouncing off. The Explorer grabbed it and set up behind his wedge of blockers.
“It’s the reverse pitch,” Strike said. “I’ll take out the lead man.” He widened his path, circling toward the Explorer with the ball.
The ball carrier charged right at him in a collision course. When he was only ten meters away, he pitched it back to the man behind him, who swept the other way.
“Boom, your side!” Strike said just before the Explorer smashed into him, driving him to the ground.
“Double-teamed,” Boom yelled back. “Rock, get in there.”
Strike turned to see two Explorers wrestling with Boom. He swore under his breath. Even with Boom’s phenomenal skills inside an Ultrabot suit, not even she could tear away from a full-on double-team. “Pickaxe, cover the lateral!”
“Got it!” Pickaxe said.
Pickaxe sprinted in. He chugged along, closing the gap. It was going to be close. Either Pickaxe would bat the ball away, or the Explorers would have an easy touchdown.
“Go!” Strike yelled.
Spurred on by his QB, Pickaxe launched himself into the air, soaring. His left arm fully outstretched, he caught the nose of the Ultraball as he passed, sending it wobbling high and out of everyone’s reach. His arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance, Pickaxe fell back to the turf, slamming awkwardly onto his side.
A whistle blew, and a ref dressed in armor plating jogged to the sideline where a pile of players had fallen on the ball. “Explorers’ ball, first down,” the ref announced over the arena’s speaker system. The crowd erupted in a cheer, calling out Pickaxe’s name in a hypnotic chant.
“Nice work,” Strike said as he jogged toward Pickaxe, who was still on the ground. “You saved that touchdown.”
But Pickaxe didn’t reply. Writhing on the ground, he groaned. He clutched his right shoulder.
Nugget came over. “Nice play, fart face.” He offered his brother a hand.
Letting out a moan of agony, Pickaxe shook his head. “I’m hurt. Bad.”
Dread seeped into Strike’s bones as the rest of the Miners approached. “What’s going on?” Boom asked.
“Crap,” Strike said when Pickaxe changed his visor to clear, a pained grimace on his face. Standing up, he waved his teammates over. “He’s hurt.” He flipped his own visor to clear and bent down. “How bad is it?”
Pickaxe’s eyes were squeezed together tight, a flood of tears running down his face.
Strike’s head swam with disbelief. The impactanium Ultrabot suits made it nearly impossible to get hurt. No one in the nine-year history of the Underground Ultraball League had ever gotten hurt on the field. A team could call up a sub for the following week, but one of the core principles of the Underground Ultraball League was that all five people had to be on the field for every single down.