Junior wandered over to where Bessy smoked in a crumpled heap.
He could not believe what had just happened. He was relieved to see movement within the wreckage. As much as he hated Big Roy, he hadn't wanted to actually kill him.
It was apparent the fight was over, and furthermore that Junior had won.
He paused, waiting to see the healers run over to help Big Roy or hear the crowd noise, angry or exultant, that he expected.
He heard a voice very unlike that of Scooter's over the loud speaker, but he could not make out the words over the hum of his rapidly recharging power grid.
Junior turned in time to see a sleek, glossy black, completely custom Beater launch a weapon into the crowd and then aim the same weapon at him.
Wow, he thought, this is some show the Professional Beater League puts on. Not wanting to jinx his chances at a contract, he turned to face the custom Beater, which he noticed had been joined by many others all along the edge of the crater, and clapped his slag mitts together aggressively. If he wanted to be a champion, he intended to start acting like one.
He'd trust the League healers to take care of Big Roy, this was his time to demonstrate his showmanship.
After verifying that his systems were back to full charge, he leaped aggressively towards the custom Beater's side of the arena.
As he landed, he brought his mitts down hard on the ground in front of him, kicking up a large cloud of dust.
Apparently (though Scooter and Hank could have had the decency to warn him about this) he had responded appropriately. The custom Beater stepped lightly down the improvised path to the arena floor. Junior marvelled at the design. He'd never seen a machine crafted with such fluidity, such unity of design. The metal seemed to flow into place around the whims of the pilot, who Junior could not make out through the glare of the windscreen.
He wondered if the pilot were actually Hank or Scooter. He suspected Scooter, since the voice over the loud speaker had not been his.
That made sense. He couldn't be in the suit and in the broadcast box at the same time.
Still, the custom Beater was beautiful, and the closer it got the more Junior was impressed.
Consciously, he knew technology that seamless just didn't exist around Impact. The fact that the Professional Beater League would go to such lengths to simulate off-planet tech spoke wonders of their ability to come through with a decent contract deal. He'd have to remember to bring that up during negotiations.
As he assumed his most comfortable, left arm leading, defensive posture, he was again impressed by the life-like lights and power up whine from the large, tubular weapon prop on the Beater's left shoulder.
Chapter Twenty Two Interlude
File: Datanet Core Server Gamma Beta Sixty Three, Galactic Military Protocol, Era: Modern -0, Systems Tests, Index Earth Prime Protection Force, Data source EPPF Press Corps
Diligent scientists in Benevolent States United laboratories, while working on pollution-free energy production processes to maintain the availability of power services the Faithful citizens enjoy, have developed an energy field casting device. The device, as intended, can theoretically safely (and with no negative environmental impact) fling massive amounts of electrical energy over long distances. This would allow settlements far from power production facilities to maintain the constant power uptime enjoyed throughout the Benevolent States United.
After the unpleasant incident where a mis-aligned reception grid deflected the field into a public commuter transport, another application for the technology was developed by the Earth Prime Protection Force. Smaller versions are mounted on all production models of the mechanized defense suits used by our protectors in the field. Electrical systems targeted are instantly disabled, allowing for a peaceful end of the conflict as quickly as possible.
Fleet Colonel Martin Stevens looked at the creature posturing before him with disdain. He'd read about struggles for pack dominance among less evolved species on the Datanet, and felt he knew it when he saw it. As he stepped down the narrow ramp towards the floor of the crater, he switched from the Public Address channel to his command channel, instantly activating the speakers in each mechanized defense suit surrounding the primitive arena.
"Men," he began, "I'm going to end this now so that we can complete our mission. Belay my order to return fire. I'll eliminate my competition for 'pack leader' and we can put these animals to work."
He switched off his microphone, then opened a channel to McComb, "Set a live feed of this directly to Earth Prime. I'm about to show the Faithful what their tax dollars can do."
After initiating a system scan of his primitive opponent, Stevens powered up his various weapons systems. As his shoulder mounted energy launcher came on line, his on board computer spit out its report. He listened as the androgynous voice of his computer called out:
"Long range weapons: None"
"Short range weapon: None"
"Shielding: None"
"Melee weapons: Twin, arm-mounted, metallic fists"
"Power readings: Above normal"
"Threat level: Below normal"
What a waste, Stevens thought, all that power and nothing power up with it.
Knowing that blasting the machine and its pilot to tiny pieces could be viewed by these primitives as dishonourable or even as an assassination (no matter how entertaining it might be for Stevens), he chose instead to power down his own ranged weapons. He then cut off the alert chimes from his own computer, which was attempting to rapidly adjust the threat level.
Does this computer not know who I am, he thought. He made a mental note to reprimand McComb as soon as they got back to the ship.
As the glow faded from his weapons, his Fleet Colonel insignia seemed to materialize back out of the finish of his shoulder plate.
Now that he was closer, he looked at the pile of junk in front of him. The thing looked like it would fall apart at any second.
Scrap metal armor was welded over a barely connected internal matrix while a carbon fueled engine belched black smoke out the back. The LED illuminated joints were flicker-free and solid, but they made glowing targets out of the thing's motivators. To top it off, the pilot sat behind yet another obvious target -- some kind of bird painted on top of the black metal.
The creature driving the device was causing it to posture almost cartoonishly, slamming the fists together and stomping around.
Stevens hoped for the sake of the creature's dignity that it wasn't actually trying to intimidate him, but either way he didn't care. The device would be destroyed as an example both to the residents of this mud hole and to the Faithful back on Earth Prime.
He stepped to the edge of the arena to wait for the driver to stop dancing the machine around like an idiot.
