"I don't know," Dank replied, "Maybe we picked up a busted gauge."
"It still reads 140%," Junior called out from the cockpit, "You think any other gauges are busted?"
"I didn't know that one was," Dank was running a quick full diagnostic on the power distribution system, "Don't matter, you ain't got time to be watchin' gauges, Junior."
"You need to be watching Big Roy," Trixie May agreed, having walked up during the break to check on the damage to Firebird.
"That pig sticker looks nasty," Junior confessed, "I figger one good poke and I'm done."
"You, maybe," Dank agreed, "But Firebird can take a few hits. Her armor's thick, her vitals are well protected. She'll keep you safe if you treat her right."
He and Trixie May filed back into the improvised team boxes, which were really just folding chairs behind a thick sheet of metal, and took their seats as Scooter called the start of round two.
Big Roy moved straight forward immediately, not wasting time with clever side steps of any defensive posture other than a raised fist and ready spear.
Junior shuffled to the left. In spite of Dank's advice, his eye kept drifting to the power indicator. It still read 140%. And he was walking on it.
As he circled slowly, Big Roy continued to close the distance between them. Bessy hopped over a shallow hole and landed on Junior's side with a thunderous impact.
Junior was surprised, but remained out of range of the pig sticker. He feinted a retreat and then stepped up and swung, hard, with his left mitt.
Bessy was faster, and the pig sticker impaled the left arm of Firebird.
Junior twisted the limb, attempting to pull the pig sticker out of Bessy's hand or even snap it in half, but Big Roy leaned in to follow his twisting weapon.
He began to batter Firebird with his free hand, land blow after blow on the thick armor covering the chest and shoulder of her right side.
Junior was close enough to Bessy to see Big Roy glaring at him through her front chest vents.
Big Roy's eyes were shot through with thick veins that looked for all the world like giant red snakes chasing after his tiny, rodent-like black pupils.
Starting to worry about the constant pounding, Junior disengaged himself from the pig sticker and stepped back, thinking Big Roy would likely do the same.
However, Big Roy pressed forward, jabbing again and again with the metal spear, with Junior barely able to deflect the attacks to his thicker armored, less systems-intensive areas.
As hard as he tried, he could not get the space to launch an effective counter attack.
After what seemed to Junior hours of back pedaling, the round ended, and Big Roy took a celebratory victory lap around the arena while Junior marched back to his side to prepare for Round Three.
Chapter Twenty Interlude
File: Datanet Core Server Delta Gamma One Hundred and Eleven, Galactic Natural History, Era: Ancient -0, Human Historical Behaviour, Index Forgotten Rituals, Data source Museum of Ineffective Organisms
Public spectacles (Latin munera or ludi) took place in amphitheatres (like the Colosseum), during the latter half of the day after the fights against animals (venationes) and public executions of criminals (noxii). Initially rich private individuals organized these, often to gain political favour with the public. The person who organized the show was called the editor, munerator, or dominus and he was honoured with the official signs of a magistrate. Later the emperors would exert a near complete monopoly on staging public entertainment which included chariot racing in the circus (ludi circenses), hunts of wild animals, public executions, theatrical performances (ludi scaenici) and gladiator fights. There was usually musical accompaniment.
Gladiators usually fought in pairs (Ordinarii), that is, one gladiator against another. However, sponsor or audience could request other combinations like several gladiators fighting together (Catervarii) or specific gladiators against each other even from outside the established troupe (Postulaticii). Sometimes a trainer had to rely on substitutes (supposititii) if the requested gladiator was already dead or incapacitated. The Emperor could have his own gladiators (Fiscales).
At the end of a fight, when one gladiator acknowledged defeat by raising a finger, the audience could decide whether the loser should live or die. It is known that the audience (or sponsor or emperor) pointed their thumbs a certain way if they wanted the loser to be killed (pollice verso, literally "with turned thumb"), but it is not clear which way they pointed.
Dank looked over the injury to Firebird's arm, "Missed all yer coolant lines and yer electrical sub-systems," He swatted at the side of his flickering terminal for emphasis.
Junior was surprised to discover he'd been holding his breath during the systems tests.
He was ready to get back in. This time he'd go on the offensive. This time he'd knock the smug look off Big Roy's face.
"Yer gauge is definitely busted," Dank tapped the indicator, "Still reads over 110%. We'll get it swapped out before we have to haul Firebird to the main arena."
Junior knew Dank was only trying to encourage him, but he felt a knot form in his gut. He could not let Dank stay here his whole life, literally scraping a living out of a junk pile.
It wouldn't be right for Big Roy to get out of Impact twice in one fat lifetime.
As Scooter started talking, Junior gunned the engine. He continued to press the fuel pedal until he could no longer hear Scooter at all. He knew the round had started when Bessy started moving.
Firebird leaped out onto the crater floor from a standing position, landing on her right foot and slowing down with her left.
Junior raised the injured left arm and gestured with it, inviting an attack.
Big Roy was obviously pissed. Bessy lowered pig sticker like a lance and came forward at a run for Firebird. Junior noticed, either by fortune or design, the spear was pointed directly at the pilot's chair in Firebird. The occupied pilot's chair. Right behind the painted emblem.
Junior caught the point and pushed it down. Bessy's significant momentum pushed the tip of the weapon deep into the soft ground at the base of the crater where it stuck, briefly placing her arm and upper body at an awkward angle.
Firebird swung both fists and knocked her away from the still embedded weapon. He spun and sent a ringing back hand against the head of Big Roy's Beater, then he kicked out with Firebird's right leg and connected with the center of Bessy's chest. It wasn't a solid hit at all. In fact, Junior half expected Bessy to catch the limb, rip it off and beat him to death with it.
No one was more surprised than Junior when the impact flashed actinic blue and sent Bessy flying fifty feet across the arena to tumble and roll and end up in a smoking pile of very un-Beater looking assorted junk parts.
Junior glanced down. The power meter for Firebird's right leg read. "70%".
For once, the crowd was actually silent.
