Ultraball #2 Read online




  Dedication

  To Jake and Tess, and their bottomless appetites for books

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Ultraball Rosters for the 2353 Season

  1. Strike’s Secret

  2. The New-Look Neutrons

  3. The Earthfall Eight

  4. Showdown vs. The North Pole Neutrons

  5. The Offer

  6. The Guardian

  7. Scoreboard Highlights

  8. Rock’s Surprise

  9. Loose Cannons

  10. Roster Controversy

  11. The Lunarsports QB Forum

  12. Fallen Star

  13. Ins and Outs

  14. Rocketback 1

  15. Wraiths and Ghosts

  16. All Eyes on Strike

  17. Starting Lineup

  18. Ultrabowl XI

  19. Making the Call

  20. Hail Mary

  21. The Fireball Five

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Jeff Chen

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Ultraball Rosters for the 2353 Season

  Cryptomare Molemen

  Farajah Flamethrowers

  QB Wraith

  QB Supernova

  RB1 Smuggler

  RB1 Afterburner

  RB2 Cutter

  RB2 Firestorm

  CB1 Big Bertha

  CB1 Asbestos

  CB2 Catacomb

  CB2 Inferno

  Kamar Explorers

  North Pole Neutrons

  QB Shootout

  QB White Lightning

  RB1 Tombstone

  RB1 Meltdown

  RB2 Lasso

  RB2 Fuel Rod

  CB1 Gunner

  CB1 Radioactive

  CB2 Scout

  CB2 Ion Storm

  Yangju Venom

  Saladin Shock

  QB Serpent

  QB Transformer

  RB1 Fang

  RB1 High Voltage

  RB2 Viper

  RB2 Live Wire

  CB1 Rattler

  CB1 Electrocution

  CB2 Toxin

  CB2 Discharge

  Tranquility Beatdown

  Taiko Miners

  QB Destroyer

  QB Strike

  RB1 Uppercut

  RB1 TNT

  RB2 Hammer Fist

  RB2 Rock

  CB1 Chokehold

  CB1 Pickaxe

  CB2 Takedown

  CB2 Nugget

  1

  Strike’s Secret

  THE FIRST GAME of the 2353 Ultraball season hadn’t gone to plan.

  This was supposed to be the year that the Taiko Miners went all the way, to win their first Ultrabowl. But the worst team in the league had shocked the Miners right from kickoff. Throughout the entire first half, the Cryptomare Molemen had outplayed the Miners with a brilliant game plan.

  The Miners had regrouped during halftime. They had fought their way back into the game. With only thirty seconds left, the score was tied at 70–70. The Miners were driving. Strike had the ball in his hands.

  Just the way he liked it.

  In the huddle, Strike stared into the clear helmet visors of his four teammates, ending with TNT. His rocketback 1’s lips were pinched with determination. He nodded at Strike and asked, “Same play?”

  “You know what they say,” Strike replied. “Why mess with . . . the best?” He cocked his head at Rock. “Why mess with . . . less?”

  “I think what you’re looking for is ‘Why mess with success?’” Rock said. “I’ll show you after the game. Page sixty-seven of my notebook.”

  Strike thumped Rock’s and then TNT’s chest plates with metallic clonks. “Okay, everyone. Digger three, fly.” The Miners had been killing the Cryptomare Molemen with this play during the second half. It was so hard to defend, TNT immediately diving into the underground maze—Cryptomare Stadium’s signature field feature—and then outmaneuvering every defender before blasting out of whatever exit was unguarded.

  “As soon as I shoot out of the maze, throw me a bullet,” TNT said. “Hard as you can.”

  His jaw clenched; he was a man on a mission. The deal he had made two years ago—betraying the Miners in order to keep his mom safe—had caused him to become Taiko Colony’s public enemy number one. Now that his mom was safely hidden deep inside Taiko, TNT was a one-man wrecking crew.

  Strike lined up over the solid steel Ultraball. His two crackbacks stood on either side of him, ready to smash any defender racing in. This is our drive. This is our game. Strike checked the power bar on his heads-up display—at 5.6 percent, plenty of juice left for one killer play—then barked out the snap count through their helmet comm. “Hut one. Hut two . . .”

  He trailed off in confusion as the Molemen shifted into a formation he didn’t recognize. Two of them came rushing up front, and a third jumped atop their shoulders. The final two Molemen had set up far back but were now sprinting in at full speed.

  What the frak are they doing? Strike thought. But he quickly shook his head back into the game. It didn’t matter what the Molemen were doing. Strike would connect with TNT and finish them off. “Hut hut!” Strike yelled.

  But even before he started to backpedal, the two remaining Molemen were already running at top speed toward their tower of teammates. The Molemen defender on the top of the tower grabbed both streaking teammates, one with the left arm and one with the right. The Molemen had formed a megarobot, the five players making up the giant’s arms, body, and legs.

  Strike stumbled, his legs frozen in place for a moment at the monstrous sight. He threw himself to the left as the Molemen’s megabot flung one of its arms at him, whipping in the defender. It was all he could do to duck the incoming missile, the defender nearly locking a magnetic glove onto his shoulder plate.

  But the other defender shot in a split second later, smashing a fist into Strike’s helmet. His head whipped backward, his helmet flashing a blinding array of warning lights at him. The defender chopped at the Ultraball. Then a sharp kick blasted into his wrist. Even though Strike’s glove electromagnets were engaged at full power, the ball popped out.

  A barrage of voices jolted his eardrums, his teammates yelling, “Fumble!” over the helmet comm. Strike scrambled for the ball bouncing along the ground, but another defender pancaked him to the turf. By the time he had wrestled his way out, Molemen in smoky gray Ultrabot suits swarmed around the ball, punching and kicking at the Miners wearing bright blue.

  “Copernicus hot!” called a voice.

  Strike’s heart leapt. TNT had somehow muscled out of the bottom of the pile, the Ultraball cradled in his arm. With a roar, he burst free, high-stepping and juking to shake off defenders. He scrambled toward the sideline, but two Molemen had him contained. There was no way he’d turn the corner toward the end zone.

  “Go down, go down!” Rock screamed.

  That was the safe choice, running out the clock and sending the game into overtime. But with two coded words, TNT told Strike everything he needed to know. Reversing course and streaking toward the opposite sideline, Strike vaulted over one of the entrances to the underground maze and picked up speed. He looked over his shoulder just as TNT torqued his body in a crazy twist, heaving the Ultraball in a cross-field lateral. Its reflective steel surface gleamed in the overhead lights. The pass arced high, soaring across the field.

  A Molemen defender gave chase. Strike kicked off the turf, leaping for the incoming ball. The defender jumped almost at the same time, the two players elbowing for position. Activating his glove electromagnets, Strike strained desperately to stretch his fingertips past the defender’s.

/>   But he couldn’t do it. At the last moment, the ball snapped into the defender’s grip.

  Strike swung wildly at the Moleman, trying to knock the ball out as they fell. When they slammed back to the turf, Strike lashed out with a barrage of furious punches. One connected, smashing into the Ultraball. The Moleman bobbled it, and Strike slapped it away.

  As Strike lunged for the loose ball, two other players crunched into him, everyone punching and kicking each other in a mad scramble. Just as Strike picked up the Ultraball, a defender popped out of the underground maze from below Strike and yanked it out of his grip before disappearing back into the maze.

  More players crashed into Strike, collapsing him to the ground. He tripped and plummeted halfway into a maze entrance, trapped on its edge by the mass of players crushing him. He fought desperately to escape his coffin. Panic choked his throat as he struggled against the thousands of kilograms pinning him into place. He thrashed in a frantic attempt to break free, hyperventilating against the walls closing in around him. With a surge of terror-driven strength, he scrabbled out of the maze hole, taking deep, ragged breaths, trying to hold back his desperate need to click out of his Ultrabot suit. All he could do was watch as the Moleman who had stolen the ball from him popped out of the underground maze, broke a tackle, and took off in a run. With jukes and spins, the player faked out Pickaxe before hurdling clear over him.

  TNT was the Miners’ last hope, running three steps behind the Moleman in a race to the end zone. TNT kicked into fifth gear, somehow closing the gap. With a final leap, he launched himself upward, locking a magnetized glove onto the ball carrier’s ankle. But with writhing twists, the Moleman dragged TNT along. TNT heaved backward, finally tripping up the Moleman. Off-balance, the Moleman spun around and lunged for the end zone.

  The scoreboard flashed the final result:

  Molemen

  77

  Miners

  70

  Strike dropped his head to the turf, still unable to move. His eyes fuzzed over as he tried to figure out what had happened.

  The Molemen all raced into the end zone to celebrate their incredible win. The five of them leapt at each other in a frenzy of chest-bumping, ecstatic hugs, and turbo butt-slapping.

  Strike slowly got to his feet, dragging his legs as he made his way to his teammates. The Miners had been out-strategized and outplayed by the Molemen, a win stolen from under their noses. This should have been an easy romp against the perennial cellar dwellers of the league. Instead, the Miners had started the season with a gut-punching loss, their backs already to the wall.

  A sickening thought ate at him:

  Had his horrible secret contributed to the loss?

  TNT was on his hands and knees, slamming his fist into the turf. Strike went to give him a hand up, but TNT kept on going. “No,” he moaned over the team’s helmet comm. “No.” He punched the ground harder and harder, divots flying.

  “We’ll come back from this,” Strike said. “We’ve lost games before and come back stronger.” As the Miners’ coach, he had to say something. But his words came out empty, laced with disappointment.

  “Going undefeated on our way to an Ultrabowl championship was my way of making everything right,” TNT said, his voice hollow. He stopped punching and let his helmeted forehead thunk to the turf. “To you guys. To our fans.” He turned toward Strike, his eyes bloodshot. “I have to work even harder. We all do. We have to go practice. Now.”

  It hadn’t seemed possible to feel any worse than before, but now Strike’s throat went dry. The Ultrabot suit felt tighter than ever, its armored panels seeming to squeeze his body like a hydraulic vise.

  Pickaxe walked by, grumbling. “Not this again,” he said with a scowl. “We need to rest and regroup. You sound just like Boom, with all her stupid frakkin’ talk about nonstop practice.”

  The other Miners went quiet at the mention of last year’s star rocketback, who had nearly died in the plan she had orchestrated to save Taiko Colony.

  Rock stormed up to Pickaxe, bumping him chest to chest. “Don’t you ever insult Boom again,” he said. “Take that back. Right now.”

  Strike ran in between Pickaxe and Rock, pushing them apart. “Cut it out. Time to go shake the Molemen’s hands.” He motioned to the Ultraball players in dark gray, still celebrating.

  Strike unclicked his helmet, the giant impactanium dome lifting up over his head and rotating back. The rest of the Miners followed his lead, approaching the Molemen.

  One of the Molemen noticed the Miners approaching and went to meet Strike. With a pop and a hydraulic hiss, the Ultrabot suit’s smoky gray helmet opened up and rotated back, the rookie quarterback’s sweaty black hair covering half her face. She motioned for all her teammates to undo their helmets, too, the five Dark Sider girls heading toward the Miners.

  There were so many questions Strike wanted to ask. In the ten-year history of Ultraball, no team had ever featured an entirely new roster, much less five Dark Siders. To keep it quiet all the way through the preseason was an unparalleled stroke of genius.

  But before he could speak, Wraith leaned in close, the Molemen’s quarterback whispering into Strike’s ear. “Pretend like we’re talking Ultraball.” She clasped a gloved hand behind his neck, holding him in place. “Stay quiet and listen.”

  Strike’s first instinct was to jerk away, but there was something in Wraith’s voice. He gave her a tiny nod.

  “I can’t tell you details now,” Wraith said. “We’re being watched. But the rebellion needs you. Boom needs you.”

  Strike’s eyes widened. “She’s alive?”

  “Shh.” Wraith held him even closer. “She’s safely hidden away, trying to gather an army to take down Zuna. Most Dark Siders don’t want anything to do with this side of the moon, though. So she needs you. You’re the key to it all.”

  “Me? I’m just a quarterback.”

  “You’re way more than that.” Wraith stole a glance over her shoulder toward a team of LunarSports reporters making their way over. “More later. Smile for the cameras.” She pushed away. Waving toward fans in the stands, she walked off, the rest of the Molemen following her.

  Strike stood frozen for a long moment before joining his teammates, Wraith’s words ringing in his head.

  RESULTS AND STANDINGS, AFTER WEEK 1

  RESULTS, WEEK 1

  Molemen

  77

  Miners

  70

  Explorers

  63

  Venom

  28

  Neutrons

  105

  Beatdown

  84

  Flamethrowers

  84

  Shock

  63

  STANDINGS, WEEK 1

  Wins

  Losses

  Total Points

  Neutrons

  1

  0

  105

  Molemen

  1

  0

  77

  Flamethrowers

  1

  0

  84

  Explorers

  1

  0

  63

  Beatdown

  0

  1

  84

  Miners

  0

  1

  70

  Shock

  0

  1

  63

  Venom

  0

  1

  28

  2

  The New-Look Neutrons

  THE FIVE MINERS trudged toward the Ultraball tram, their armored boots clomping along the ground. The fans cleared the way, giving the players a wide berth. Strike led his team into the high-end tram, fitted out to the max by the Underground Ultraball League. Everyone silently docked their suits into their spots along the far wall before clicking out of them. Strike breathed a sigh of relief as his helmet rotated clear. His chest plate unclicked, and he jumped out of his suit as soon as the final panel
opened.

  The Fireball Five, nicknamed after the Fireball Blast tragedy that had taken the lives of at least one of each of their parents nine years ago, had never started with an opening-day loss. Guilt ate away at Strike. How much longer can I hide my secret?

  And Wraith’s words . . . Strike shook his head. It was incredible to hear that Boom was still alive, hidden on the Dark Side of the moon. But whatever her rebellion was, and as important as it was to stop Raiden Zuna, it would have to wait. This season was probably Strike’s last shot to secure his teammates’ futures. He had to redouble his efforts toward a singular goal: winning the Ultrabowl. Who did Boom think he was, anyway? Strike Sazaki was an Ultraball player, not the leader of a revolutionary army.

  “Hey.” TNT pointed to the TV hanging on the side of the tram, tuned to LunarSports Reports. “What the frak is going on?”

  Strike turned to watch highlights of the Neutrons game. He blinked. “That can’t be right.”

  “Who’s that at quarterback?” Nugget asked.

  “It’s Fusion, dummy,” Pickaxe said. “Who else would quarterback the North Pole Neutrons . . .” He trailed off, his mouth hanging open. “That’s not Fusion.”

  Strike peered in, all of them crowding the screen.

  The screen cut to a press conference, the five Neutrons sitting behind a table, all lined up on either side of the team’s owner, Raiden Zuna.

  A seething rage surged inside Strike. Zuna had fired his deadly Meltdown Gun at Boom during last year’s Ultrabowl in an attempt to kill her. But nothing had happened to him afterward. Minimal questioning. No arrest. Nothing.