Junior had already started unboxing equipment in the back of the shed. He pulled out a fuel tank, hoses (most completely intact), shocks and struts with enough life in them to make them useful, pulleys and flywheels and hubcaps, as well as less interesting bits of steel rods, PVC pipes and the seat from a vintage 1994 John Deere 425 Lawn Tractor. The foam core was as soft as the day it was made. He couldn't contain his grin.
"Let's build it right now!" Junior's enthusiasm bubbled over.
"We still need a few odds and ends." Dank stared at his reflexion in the black
"Like what?"
"Like some capacitors fer one thing," Dank was building a mental laundry list,"And some assorted circuit boards, a fuel pump, and an energy source."
"Dank, those things fall out of the sky every day."
"I know," Dank sat down. "I just never thought we'd get this far."
"'Course we would!" Junior was still smiling, "It's been our plan all along."
As they started to modify and assemble the various parts laid out in front of them, they lapsed into the comfortable silence native to long-time friendships. Bodies working almost automatically, their minds wandered along a path forged as their design took life.
Junior dreamed of victory after victory, his fallen adversaries giving graceful post-match interviews proclaiming him the superior pilot.
Dank thought of the applications for the designs he had developed and being proclaimed an innovator. Just the power distribution system, blown up to a much larger scale, could handle the energy needs of any of the smaller out-lying communities.
After that, those communities are a simple radio wave connection away from access to the Datanet. Information would liberate and educate. Hopefully, he could break the encryption to allow everyone on EcoHope 11 to send as well as receive before too long. Bigger dreams.
The structure they assembled began to take on a vaguely humanoid form before they ran into an insurmountable need for more hardware.
Donning protective clothing to protect them from the chilly EcoHope 11 nights, the two slipped back into the crater with crank-powered flashlights.
After two hours and four trips back to the shed, they had the supplies to continue. What they didn't have was the energy to continue the project. Both needed a personal recharge, and badly.
They cleaned up as best they could and headed into Impact proper.
The town of
Still others are employed as healers, local and regional political figures, service personnel, militia and even entertainers.
Impact had one full-time barkeep, complete with his own bar (The Rusty Tankard) which served as a town hall and general meeting place.
The building, like most structures in Impact, was constructed out of the hollowed-out hulk of a cargo container.
It was to The Rusty Tankard that Junior and Dank went, bypassing the closed store fronts and dark and shuttered dwelling places.
As one of the few businesses open after dark (as well as the only one open so close to midnight) the battered neon sign in front of The Rusty Tankard drew in local workers like a dead pile rat draws flies.
Junior and Dank wandered to a dark and quiet booth in a corner and began to quietly discuss their next steps.
It wasn't long before someone was by to take their drink orders.
A familiar face is almost always a comfort, and Lizzy's face was familiar to both of them. She had gone to school with them, same grade, and had been working the past year or so at The Rusty Tankard.
She smiled, looking directly at Junior,"What'll it be, y'all?"
Junior felt his face go red, "Two beers, Lizzy. Same as always."
She touched his arm, "Cooler's busted. Mind drinkin' 'em warm?" Her hand didn't move.
"Busted?" Dank perked up immediately. "Think Doc would mind me takin' a look?"
"I'm sure that'd be fine, sugar," Lizzy kept her eyes on Junior.
For his part, Junior made the mistake of looking back.
As Dank hustled off behind the bar, Junior was caught in Lizzy's gaze.
Lizzy always told people who asked that her eyes were her best feature. She secretly was more pleased with other, less publicly viewable features, but that was what she told people either way.
They were a warm and dark green, rimmed with long lashes that felt like they could physically capture the eyes of anyone else.
Her hair, if not naturally blond, probably cost her a year's worth of peroxide rations a week. Fortunately, she made a lot in tips.
She slid into the booth next to Junior, casually pressing her hip against his leg.
"How ya been, Junior?"
Junior felt his chest tighten,"Good, Lizzy. How 'bout you?"
"Oh, I'm real good, sugar," she laughed in a small, high-pitched titter as if she'd been remarkably clever. "I heard Buck knocked you down for beating him this morning, but your face is as handsome as ever."
Not sure how to respond, Junior tried,"You heard about the race?"
"Oh, yeah. It's been all the talk tonight. People say you are a cheater, but I know there is another explanation."
Not wanting to go into the details about fuel economy and electronic boosts (and not totally understanding them himself) Junior defaulted to a slightly defensive,"I ain't no cheat."
"Buck's been talking to Big Roy about it all night."
Junior glanced over at the table. Big
A local legend, Big Roy had moved from debris jockey up through the ranks of Beater pilots to three global championships about ten years past. He had retired and moved back to Impact after that, but to hear him tell it, he had left the big leagues to give the others a chance.
How kind of him, thought Junior.
Chapter Two Interlude
File: Datanet Core Server Gamma Delta Thirty-Seven, Galactic Sociology, Era: Modern -75, Index Foreign Culture, EcoHope 11, Entertainment, As reported by anthropological research drone
A curious sidebar to the cultural state of the prison planet EcoHope 11 revolves around the phenomenon of arena based combat. Throughout humanity's long and sometimes barbaric history, primitive cultures have turned to stylized arena combat as a form of religious practice, as part of the justice system and for the simple entertainment value.
The primitive culture which has emerged on EcoHope 11 is no different.
Through salvage and rudimentary ingenuity, the transplanted ex-patriots living on EcoHope 11 have seemingly developed robotic exo-skeletons which are used in games which seem to revolve around pounding each other into smoking piles of scarred metal.
Unlike our robotic technology in the Benevolent States United which are used to complete menial tasks, dispose of the elderly before they become a burden to us all, and act as Protectors and guardians to the Faithful, "Beaters", as they are called on EcoHope 11 are really only used for sporting events which revolve around violence and destruction.
While our more refined robotic guardians are assembled by other robots, "Beaters" are built by individual human workers.
Our robotic guardians are powered by cold fusion and solar power, run silently and are programmed to think independently, while "Beaters" are fueled by various instable blends of carbon-based liquids, roar with eardrum bursting intensity and need to be crewed by a human pilot (usually the builder himself).
Standardized robotic guardians watch over us on behalf of the Benevolent States United from almost ever corner, while "Beaters", due to scarcity of resources most likely, are exceedingly rare.
Those few "Beater" pilots who emerge from the competitive ladder-structured combat season are revered in the various communities of EcoHope 11.
Doc leaned over Dank's shoulder and tried to read the tiny text.
"That don't look like no cooler schematic, Dank."
Dank, caught in mid-read sitting next to the cooler in the back, explained his Datanet drift away, "Sorry, Doc. Got a random link and it looked interesting enough. Looks like the cooler needs the fluids flushed."
"Sounds like half my clients." Doc laughed, partially at his attempt at humor and mostly because a fluid flush didn't sound expensive or time-consuming.
"I can flush it for you in the mornin' before the shipment lands," Dank offered, "It's gettin' a bit late for me right now."
"I'm about to close up anyway. Lizzy's been spendin' most of her time with Junior and I think the other customers are gettin' a little riled up over it." The smile never left Doc's eyes.
As Dank eased back into the main room, he saw Junior choking down another warm beer. Lizzy leaned in close, whispered something to him, and he seemed to melt into the booth seat.
Big
"Girl! My boys and I are runnin' dry over here! Stop playing with the cheat an' fetch us more drink!" He took two surprisingly quick steps for such a large man and punctuated his demand with a swap to Lizzy's backside.
Dank watched as Junior's complexion shifted from an embarrassed pink, through a sickly green, and into an angry and determined red.
On shaky legs, Junior stood.
"Maybe if you wasn't such an ass yed git yer drinks quicker!" Junior slurred.
"Git back to the crater, boy. This bar's fer real men, not stinkin' cheats!"
"I ain't no cheat!"
Buck looked over from his recently refilled mug, "Y'are, too a stinkin' cheat. Racin' on a illegal mower. That race don't count, boy."
Junior bristled, "Shut up, Buck. My ride can beat yours since we fixed it, s'all."
"Mower racin' is for children, Buck," Big Roy pushed Junior in the chest.
The bench and the backs of Junior's knees (as well as Lizzy knows how many beers) conspired against him. He sat down.
Stupidly, he got back up.
"Roy, Me and Dank are buildin' a Beater that can kick the holy crap outta your old hunk any day, so it don't matter if we race mowers or fight Beaters, I can take you down a notch any time you like." Junior grinned. His eyes looked positively fur-coated.
Dank gasped. A person doesn't just challenge a Beater World Champion. That just isn't done. Dank held out hope that Big Roy would laugh or ignore the ravings of an obviously drunk young man.
Dank's hopes were dashed as
"Fine!" Junior seemed to have forgotten that his robot still lay in untested pieces on the floor of a shed.
