Jay and Johnny's Excellent Adventure (Part Two)

[Bonnie Blue]

The city beneath the dome is a marvel to behold; an intermarriage of ultratechnology with primordial Nature. All the buildings are connected works of stone, shaped by tools yet unimagined by modern science, to create a seamless complex. Just like outside, the streets are lined with split logs sunk into the dirt in neat, perfect lines wide enough to accomodate something the size of, say, a Sherman tank. And it is through these streets that our intrepid adventurers are paraded, much to the amazement of the city's inhabitants.

Dominating the center of one quadrant of the sprawling city is a large, rounded structure; doors are dotted all along the outer wall at regular intervals. This is obviously a public building. In front is a statue of two saurian creatures engaged in hand-to-hand combat, while a third looks on in evident judgment. Jay glances uneasily at the statue, then nudges Johnny with an elbow.

"I'd say that looks like a courthouse," he suggests, in a low, urgent whisper.

"Nah," Johnny replies. "It's an arena."

"Maybe it's both," muses the Corporal. "I got a bad feeling about this."

Their discussion is cut short by a sharp order from one of the saurian captors; none of them understand, but the tone is pretty clear: Shut up. The "or else" is implied.

Behind them, the city's inhabitants seem to be falling into step, trailing after the soldiers toward the structure. While they file in through the front entrances, Jay, Johnny, and the rest are taken around the back way. Down a flight of steps, through a maze of corridors, all lit by harsh flourescents; until, at last, a final set of doors leads them to a broad, open space with a dirt floor. Here, the soldiers withdraw, locking the doors behind them.

Initially, it appears that Johnny's summation is the correct one. Closer inspection, however, reveals that there is something suspiciously like a judge's bench situated on a balcony that extends out over the arena floor. Beneath it, right where a person on the balcony would have direct line of sight, are two round metal platforms with a handrail, large enough for one very substantial person to stand upon.

All around the vast, circular building, seats are filling up. There are evident differences in class here, to judge by the seating arrangements. At the highest levels, all but invisible beyond the bright arena lights, are the poorest of the city's populace, clad in patched and ragged coveralls. The central levels are occupied by the evident middle class -- including the military -- many already enjoying fermented beverages from disposable cups, and eyeing the seven strangers eagerly.

The closest seats are reserved for the cream of saurian society. Though they wear less than their lower class neighbors, the clothing is nonetheless of the finest materials available. Fingers, wrists, and necks are weighed down with sparkling gems, and natural facial markings are highlighted with bright colors. Some lift opera glasses to their eyes to peer at the captive time travelers before breaking into peals of guttural laughter.

All at once, the lights dim, and the crowd falls silent. Somewhere above, hidden speakers play an odd-sounding kind of fanfare. The people stand, as one; some sweep hats from their heads and place them over their hearts, while others stand with a clenched left fist against right shoulder. As the triumphal -- and slightly Wagner-esque -- music comes to a close, a solitary figure steps onto the balcony, draped in a long white robe, and takes a seat. The audience does likewise.

Two more saurians join the humans on the arena floor, each wearing only a leather loincloth. One promptly steps onto one of the platforms, which rises a few feet and hovers. The other walks over to the humans, looking slightly nervous, and begins to speak to them slowly. His words are completely unfamiliar to Johnny, well-traveled as he is, but Jay appears to be paying rapt attention.

"You get all that?" Reb asks, when the creature pauses for a breath.

"Not a word. But I know someone who might."

Before Johnny can say anything else, Omega reaches into his back pocket, withdraws his mask, and slips it on. He says something to the saurian, who looks a little puzzled, then repeats everything it just said. Omega nods in partial understanding, then says something in return.

"Well?" says Johnny.

"Water. But in other news, as far as We can understand -- this dialect they're using is crazy weird -- apparently we done violated some kind of treaty. Us bein' here is somehow an aggressive display of aggressiveness, and now we's gonna be tried as war criminals. This dude," he nods to the saurian at their side, "is our legist, which We think means lawyer. He seems to think the case is open and shut, but he didn't exactly say whether that was good or bad for us. We're gonna go with bad."

The lawyer is busily inspecting his claws, apparently unconcerned for the fate of his clients.

"How 'bout we do our own lawyerin'?" Reb suggests.

The saurian seems to catch the gist of this, and interrupts with a comment of his own. Omega translates: "He says we'd be better off throwing ourselves on the mercy of the court, and hoping that death comes swift and clean. We don't think they have due process here."

"Any other options?"

Again, a brief discussion between the saurian and the masked man. With a terse nod, the lawyer takes his position on the other platform; then the pair rise up to the judge's level. An argument commences immediately, picked up by microphones and relayed all throughout the arena. The Omega Man translates as best he can.

"Your Honor, the Court surely will see that trespassers these; spies truly from the K'rvigian Hive. An attack on our nation, a direct violation, of the Treaty of Xyklosia Fi -- "

"Untrue! Not spies, my clients are travelers, and clearly not very bright. They barely even have language; to torture them wouldn't be right. Hardly better than work beasts, Your Honor. There's no way -- "

"A ruse, clearly!" interjects the prosecutor. "Not fools! They brought weapons and tools! Your Honor, the Law is clear! I'll hear no more lies; they no doubt are spies and their payment shall be most dear!"

The judge raises a clawed hand for silence. Rubbing its chin, the creature appears lost in thought for several moments.

"The prosecution is correct. Any humanoid found on this planet is in direct violation of the Treaty and is to be executed following trial. There can be no other outcome."

"Then with soaring heart I proclaim to the court that there will be a show for all. We can end these proceedings and move on to the beatings; my clients invoke Prachta'al!" cries the defense attorney, somewhat dramatically.

There is a collective "ooooh" from the audience. This isn't entirely unexpected, but rare. Humanoids almost always submitted to execution. The judge looks mildly surprised, then nods and bangs a golden hammer on the desk.

"The judgement is ....Prachta'al! To take place in fifteen local time units! Let the warriors prepare themselves!"

The prosecutor climbs down off his perch and looks over the humans, scaly lip curled in a sneer. Their own attorney walks over to join them.

"The best I can, this is. At least a small chance there is. But now over the trial is, and represent my People and my Clan in the Prachta'al I must. Fight with honor, gentlemen, and die well."

With that, he wanders away to join the other attorney, and the pair retreat across the wide circle. Johnny watches as they start taping up their hands, and it dawns on him what's about to happen.

"Does this 'Prachta'al' mean what I think it means?" he asks casually.

"That really depends on what you think it means. If you think it means practice making cookies, then no. If you think it means a fight to the death against dinosaur men, then...yes."

"What about them?" Reb nods to the commandos, who look nonplussed at this turn of events.

"They are spectators. If we die, they'll be executed on the spot. If not... we all get to leave. We think."

"You think? You don't actually know?" Reb is incredulous. "Ain't you an expert on...aliens and stuff?"

The Omega Man sighs, his patience wearing thin. "Look, We got the gist of what they were saying, We ain't no jive turkey. They're using a very old, nearly forgotten dialect of one of many languages in which We are versed, a language which has several dozen sub-dialects. We weren't even sure this race actually existed until today, they vanished well before that Jeebus dude colonized the desert.. The point is, though, we ain't got much choice. It was either this, or they'd have melted us where we stood as soon as the judge decided we were guilty."

"Melted?"

"Yeah. Plasma bath. It's not as pretty as it sounds."

Johnny looks a little pale at this news. Not for long, however. The fanfare begins again, and a saurian clad in a striped shirt steps out onto the arena floor. The former lawyers-turned-fighters amble easily to the middle of the ring, relaxed and smiling. Omega and Reb make their way forward as well, with as much confidence as they can muster. Each competitor is patted down, then handshakes are exchanged while the rules are explained. There are no pinfalls, countouts, or disqualifications. Submission is allowed, but is followed immediately by execution and permanent dishonor to the submitting party's Clan.

"Foreign objects," continues the official, "will be provided by the referee at five minute intervals -- assuming the humanoids last that long. Good luck!"

A single trumpet blast signals the start of the fight. One of the saurians makes a grab for Omega, who sidesteps and fires back a European uppercut that takes the larger creature by surprise. Johnny nails the other with a running knee lift. Neither saurian is put off for more than the few seconds it takes to recover. They smile at Jay and Reb in an unnerving way and rush the pair with twin clotheslines, knocking both of them to the packed dirt floor. Coughing, Johnny gets to his feet, Omega right behind him. Cautious now, the two of them circle their saurian opponents, keeping just out of reach.

The crowd is on its feet now, jeering at the humanoids, urging them to fight. Someone hurls a cup, still half-filled with amber colored frothy liquid that smacks Johnny right in the face. One of the saurians takes advantage of the distraction and leaps at Reb. Kneeling on the Inveterate Confederate's chest, he raises one clawed hand, ready to deliver the coup de grace -- when suddenly, a length of chain whips out to wrap around the saurian's neck; the first of the foreign objects tossed into the arena. Jay Omega, at the other end of the chain, yanks on it hard; there is a sickening crack, and the saurian topples to the ground, where he doesn't move again.

"Damn! Thought I was a goner. I owe ya one," Johnny tells him.

"We'll hold you to that."

Now it's the other saurian's turn to be cautious. The crowd is booing even louder, now. This never happens. The guilty never overcome the just. And yet...

With a fearsome battle cry, the second adversary launches himself at the two humans, but by now, Reb and Omega have an understanding of the creature's physiology. While physically imposing, and fast, they aren't particularly agile or quick to adapt to different fighting styles. They usually don't need to be; brute force has always been sufficient. Omega and Johnny stretch the chain between them, and the saurian's momentum puts him flat on his back. Reb applies a sleeper hold, much to the dismay of the audience.

"What do you think you're doing, Johnny?" Omega demands, voice full of disbelief. "It's to the death, remember? You don't kill him, you shame his entire Clan..."

"Ain't no reason to kill," Reb argues, putting on more pressure.

Meanwhile, the saurian fights to remain conscious, one hand feeling around in the dirt beside him. At last, his fingers seize on something long, hard, and gray-white with a knob on either end -- the thigh bone of a previous combatant. He swings it clumsily at Johnny's head; Reb is forced to release his hold, and the saurian struggles, gasping, to his feet. There is a little puff of dust as another object is tossed in. Reb and the saurian both dive for it, but Johnny is quicker. He comes up with a slightly oversized push dagger. Before he can think, the creature is on him, and only Reb's reflexes save his life this time.

The saurian staggers back, eyes wide with surprise, the blade sunk to its hilt in the creature's chest. There is a long silence. The crowd waits, as their champion draws a final, ragged breath... and then collapses in the dirt. A mixed reaction erupts from the audience -- cheers for the spectacle, and cries of anger for the death of two of their own. It isn't long before someone decides that the humanoid intruders must have cheated and soon they are calling for vengeance. The referee sidles up to Reb and Omega.

"You and your friends should run. Now." He points to a door set into the wall just beneath the judge's balcony. "That'll take you outside."

Neither man is in the mood to question their good fortune. Instead, they haul ass for the indicated door, the commandos falling into step right behind. This hallway is neither well lit, nor quite as wide as the one they'd arrived from. This is clearly a maintenance passage, with occasional access to the city's systems. A little judicious hacking gets them a look at a map of the city, and pretty soon, Johnny has an escape plan. He points to something on the map, and Omega nods in agreement.

The corridor does, indeed, take them outside. Instead of heading back the way they'd come -- obviously the expected thing, if the heavy police presence is any indication -- they take a meandering path of back streets until they arrive at a fenced in area. Within the enclosure, a number of large dromeosaurs are picking at the remains of a carcass. Each has a saddle strapped securely to a broad back, and a ring through the nose to which reins are attached. They glance up eagerly at this new distraction.

"Well, it ain't a tyrannosaur, but... " Johnny says, shrugging.

"Any port in a storm, dude." Omega replies, opening the corral gate.

The dromeosaurs -- relations of the velociraptor, with a light covering of brightly colored feathers -- are perfectly docile as all seven men mount up, tossing their heads like sauropod horses, and pawing at the ground with impatience. A kick to the flank gets them started, and a click of the tongue urges them from a walk to a flat out run. The party is at the edge of the city before law enforcement realizes what's happened. Even then, it's too late. Each of the dromeosaurs is fitted with a transponder allowing them to pass through the transparent dome at will because, frankly, no one has ever attempted to steal them before.

By the time they reach the river, the sounds of pursuit are distant -- but closing -- and the dromeosaurs are exhausted. Once across the river, the party is forced to turn the beasts loose and continue on foot. It isn't long before their pursuers are near enough to start firing, which they do with great enthusiasm but not much accuracy. Not much, but enough; another commando goes down to the steady hail of projectiles, leaving four soldiers to protect Reb and Omega. The joke, this time, is on the saurians. In a final act of bravery, with his last ounce of strength, the mercenary yanks the pins from his grenades; seconds later, a substantial explosion decimates nearly an acre of jungle and everything in it.

Meanwhile, the ankylosaur grazing nearby has gotten over its dislike of the Ranchero and is currently trying to figure out how to mate with it. The party is obligated to wait in the treeline, where several chicken-sized animals with bony neck frills hop from one foot to the other, squawking at the intruders who have stumbled into their rookery among the roots of towering redwoods. When it becomes evident that the party isn't the least bit interested in either the animals themselves or their eggs, however, the creatures settle down. The confused ankylosaur nudges the unresponsive Ford one more time, then snorts in disgust. Clubbed tail held up in what might be haughty indignation, the beast lumbers off in search of more social creatures.

The saurians are nearly upon them, now, as Johnny, Jay, and the soldiers burst from cover and make a mad dash for the Ranchero. Reb doesn't even bother with the door, instead doing a Dukes of Hazzard style vault into the driver's seat. The soldiers pile into the bed, taking up defensive positions. Omega comes last, his mask removed and his pack cradled carefully in his arms. The commandos lay down covering fire; the saurian forces return the favor. Bullets hit the Ranchero's exterior, most glancing off harmlessly, although a few penetrate a little too close for comfort.

As soon as Jay is inside, Reb turns the tape around and jams the reverse side into the player, throws the car in gear, and guns the engine. Once more, they are surrounded by a swirl of color as the vehicle disappears into the transtemporal matrix. When reality resolves itself around them again, the Ranchero is right back where they began, safely on the helipad atop Omega's mansion -- except about thirty six hours later.

"You didn't, uh, remove anything back there, did ya?" Johnny asks, as the commandos unload their gear.

Omega puts on his most innocent expression. "Who me? Remove anything? Do I look like someone who would do something like that?"

Reb casts a suspicious glance at the pack Omega is holding, then shakes his head.

"Y'know what? I don't think I wanna know..."

"Yeah, that's probably for the best," Omega replies with a wink. He gets out of the car, then hesitates. "So... about Sunday night..."

"This don't change nothin'," Johnny assures him. "Business is business."

Jay stands away from the Ranchero as Johnny gives a final wave, then disappears in a flash of brilliant light.