A few hours of digging through gravel, mud, slag and metal in a search for sharp rocks in the dark is enough to meet anyone's share of exhaustion. In this case, it also satisfied their planned demand for Be-esunium.
While being very careful to keep it away from anything electronic, Dank carefully tapped at the stuff with a mallet and chisel. It needed to fit the brackets formerly used for the capacitors precisely.
Dank was relieved that, after a quick charge, his terminal was back to its flickery old self.
While Trixie May fitted the tiny stones into the electrical system, Junior pounded the crumples out of the hood. He hoped the phoenix wasn't a total loss, but things didn't look so good from a paint job stand point.
Before frustration set in, Trixie May suggested that they head up front for a drink. Junior accepted the suggestion by instantly dropping his rubber mallet.
Dank declined, not looking up from his engrossing and delicate work.
As Trixie May and Junior walked into the bar area, the scent of the smoke of synthetic cigarettes washed over them. As usual, Big Roy and his gang sat at the center table, Lizzie obediently perched on his lap.
"Well, lookee here! If it ain't the mowin' racin' champeen!" Big Roy laughed boisterously.
Junior bristled, but Trixie May calmed him with a hand on his shoulder, "Let it go, Junior. You know he ain't worth it."
They sat at the bar, Doc greeting the two of them warmly and pouring cold beer into twin mugs.
"Trixie May, I thought you had a project out back?" He asked.
"Jus' takin' a break, Daddy," she smiled over the rim of her mug.
"Junior here's been the talk of the bar all night. I'm afraid the talk ain't been kind." He smiled apologetically.
"Don't you worry about it, Doc. The new Beater will whip the pants off 'em," Junior tried to inject more confidence into his statement than he felt.
"I know it, son. Just wait 'til you are ready this time, ya hear?" Doc made a show of polishing an invisible stain off the surface of the bar.
Trixie May and Junior sat in relative silence. When the seemingly spontaneous bursts of laughter behind them seemed to take on a more directional nature, Junior slowly spun his stool around.
He stared daggers at Big Roy until the laughter lapsed into uncomfortable silence.
"You got a problem, Roy?" Junior took another courage drink to steel his nerves from his quickly emptying mug.
"I wuz jus' tellin' th' boys that I should git back in the game, Junior. If your Beater drivin' is the best you kids can do these days I'll jus' keep m' title forever", Roy grinned broadly.
"You do that, Roy," Junior agreed, "I'd just as soon whip your ass in a real arena next time instead of some dusty old street."
Trixie May seemed to melt behind her mug.
"I wuz a hopin' you'd say that, Junior," Big Roy's grin became impossibly wide, "Jus so happens my agent called an' wanted me to find an exhibition fight. You know, get me back in the game, show the crowds I still got what it takes. Sounds like you jus' volunteered." His voice dropped, "Unless yer chicken."
Junior knew he'd been tricked. He also knew he wasn't a chicken.
"When, Roy?"
"One week, Junior. My agent is settin' up camera crews an' a regulation size ring'll be set up at the bottom of the crater."
So he couldn't even back out over fuel costs. Damn, thought Junior.
"One week it is, Roy."
Without another word, Junior and Trixie May went through the back door and into the workshop to share the new deadline with Dank.
Chapter Six Interlude
File: Datanet Core Server Alpha Epsilon sixty-three, Galactic History, Era: Modern -500, Index Religious Rituals, Extinct Civilization, Data Compiled by [message reducted]
Often, the number of participants in a single-elimination tournament is fixed as a power of two; for example, the Benevolent States United Faithful Wimbledon singles championships are tournaments of 128 players. This ensures all competitors will face opponents who have previously played the same number of matches. The full schedule of pairings across all rounds (the bracket) may be allocated before the start of the tournament; or each round may be allocated at the end of the preceding round. Each successive round halves the number of competitors remaining (assuming there are no byes — see entry titled "Unfair Advantage for the Non-Faithful Eliminated" and "Ancient Organized Crime and Evil"). The round in which only eight remain at the start is generally called the quarter-final round; this is followed by the semi-final round in which only four are left, the two winners of which then meet in the final, or championship round.
In cases where the number of competitive entities at the start of the tournament is not a power of two, some competitors may receive a bye in the first round, which entitles these competitors to advance to the second round automatically without playing. Often, these byes will be awarded to the highest-rated competitors in the event as a reward for some previous accomplishment; indeed, in some Benevolent States United team sports - most notably Galactic Hockey - the number of teams qualifying for the post season tournament will be intentionally set at a number which is not a power of two, in order to provide such an advantage to a high-achieving team in the just-completed regular season.
However, in the case of the all-but-forgotten hangers-on who at one time may or may not have lived on EcoHope 11, a very simplistic "King of the Hill" format may or may not have developed.
The essence of single-elimination, "Beater" combatants are removed from competition after a single defeat. The matches are supposedly chosen through random drawing or, less often, through intoxicated personal challenge.
Junior greeted Dank with a simple, "One week, Dank."
"The rematch is in one week?"
"Yep."
"She'll be ready," Dank assured him.
Junior wondered if the same could be said of himself.
The first test run of the new and improved Beater began in the cold, grey light of dawn a few hours before the scheduled shipment for the day would "touch" down in the crater.
Junior climbed in the recently fueled machine and fastened his safety harness.
There was some debate among Beater match spectators as to whether or not the safety harness assured any true measure of safety, but any pilot would tell a person that not being knocked out of Beater onto the ground beneath another was a good thing. Also, remaining connected to the control systems was important for victory as well as simple survival.
Junior powered up the Beater and waited as the new crystalline capacitors charged. The now familiar blue glow seemed twice as bright as normal.
As Junior'd thoughts turned to facing Big Roy's Beater in a few days, Dank stared at the read outs on his terminal, conferring in relative silence with Trixie May over the ability of the stones to handle the generated electricity. For her part, she looked confident if concerned.
With a "thumbs up" signal from Dank, Junior took his first steps forward.
He was relieved and more than a little surprised that his leg articulators didn't explode. In general, the Beater was more responsive. His controls were as close to real time as he could detect.
Tentatively, he raised his arms inside the cockpit. The joints on the top half of the Beater glowed brightly as the arms were raised.
Junior brought his hands together and was treated to a loud cracking sound as his oversized slag mitts slammed together.
Trixie May pointed to the hulk of an old refrigeration unit. Junior had been eyeing it since they wheeled the Beater down in darkness.
The large, dark box was twenty feet on a side, coated in rust except for the dented corner where, presumably, the rust had been scraped off as the unit was flung from the delivery rocket. One side was still covered in carbon strengthened metal tubing.
Junior, on a whim, raised both feet at once and took a long hop in the direction of the target. The ability to hop at all was new, and a credit to the enhanced limb strength.
However, Junior did not anticipate the distance. He landed off-center, one foot teetering on a small metal dome shaped object. He managed to put his other foot down again to stop his fall, but not without his small audience seeing his Beater mimic his involuntary wild, circular arm movements.
Junior re-oriented himself on the target and tried not to feel embarrassed about his near fall. With perhaps more care than was needed, he stepped forward and raised his left arm.
With a shower of sparks, the slag mitt came down on the already dented corner of the box.
Foam insulation and bits of shattered plastic flew from a new hole the size of a car door. Junior was impressed.
To test the strength, he jammed both mitts into the opening and spread his arms wide, tearing the metal into a long and jagged gash.
He stepped to the side and back a bit before leaning into a kick against the side of the box, sending it flying several yards to land, top down, upon what was left of a pile of picked over electronics. The carbon strengthened metal tubing faced him in an unspoken challenge that spoke to the tiny part of all men that demands proof that all things can be broken into smaller things.
Junior hunched down and prepared an uppercut that would catch the tubing in the center and, hopefully, at least knock a section loose.
Elbow and shoulder joints glowing blue, Junior brought the Beater's mitt forward and connected with the tangle of tubing with a blinding flash and a thick smell of ozone.
As his vision cleared, Junior saw that he had, indeed punched a hole through the carbon reinforced pipes, as well as the steel wall behind it.
Dank crawled on top of the box and stared into the newest hole.
Reaching in, he pulled out a smoking plastic box which trailed wires and dripped fluid.
"Looks like you hit a battery," Dank announced.
"The Be-esunium must have drained it, powered your capacitors and destroy the source," Trixie May seemed quite impressed.
"Just like that?" Junior asked, climbing down from the Beater.
"Yep," Dank smiled, "Just like that."
