Star Wars Rebels by Jason Fry

Author:Jason Fry [Fry, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781484705711
Publisher: Disney Book Group

What made it worse was that Hench and Frid were the two SaberCats most excited about the chance to play for the title, reminding their teammates over and over again on the speeder bus to Forked River that it was “win and we’re in.” Zare sat in the front next to Merei, turning his helmet over and over in his hands.

When she asked him what was wrong, he just shook his head.

Zare already knew that the Mavericks weren’t a good team; they were 1–8 on the season, and even in warm-ups Zare could see that their center striker was erratic and their kicker didn’t have enough range. But more than that, they had no discipline: their coach had to yell repeatedly to get them to listen, and at any point during pregame drills at least half the team was wandering around or chatting with spectators.

The SaberCats won the roll of the chance-cube and began on offense. Before Bennis and Kelio could trot down to their positions outside the enemy scoring circle, Zare called them back to the huddle.

“Frid, get ready to run,” Zare said. “You’re going to be busy today. You too, Hench.”

The Rodian and the Aqualish looked at each other, puzzled, then nodded.

“All right, SaberCats,” Zare said. “Remember—win and we’re in.”

The starting chime sounded and the Forked River fans began to cheer. Zare called the first play: handoff to Hench. Beck drove the opposing back for the Mavericks into the ground and Hench hurdled him, making it nearly to the next octet. Zare promptly called the same play again, and this time Hench crossed the octet boundary with a short gain.

“Eighty-three epsilon,” Zare said.

Every play was coded so the opposing team didn’t know what was being called. Beck and Hench worked through the calculations in their heads, then looked at Zare in surprise. It was the same play.

“Eighty-three epsilon!” Zare repeated.

Hench bounced off Beck and rumbled to within a meter of the seventh octet.

“Get to the line,” Zare barked. “We’re not standing around today.”

“You gonna call any other plays in this game?” Beck asked.

“Yes—starting now,” Zare said, not caring if the Mavericks heard him. “Three-niner gamma.”

That was a quick strike to Frid. Zare dropped back, noting approvingly that his offense was holding the Maverick defenders at bay with little effort. Frid was juking and weaving in the eighth octet. Zare gauged the weak-side wing’s speed, then fired the grav-ball on a line right at the Forked River keeper. Frid snagged it in front of the boy’s face on the edge of the scoring circle, spun around the keeper, and slammed it through the goal for four points.

The Mavericks didn’t make a single octet during their drive and the SaberCats recovered the trap-kick in the middle of the third octet. Zare immediately ordered a handoff to Hench. Then another. Then he fired a long pass in Frid’s direction that went wide, caroming off the goal stalk and sending a cam droid diving out of the way.

A stuttering chime signaled a coach’s time-out.

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