There was a commotion ahead of him, the crowd roared in approval and the line moved again. Stepping forward, Jak moved from the shadows into the sunlight. Blinking against the brightness, he could see it was high noon, and the predark arena was mostly in ruins, whole sections reduced to piles of broken concrete and twisted steel. Teams of slaves were working in the rubble, effecting slow repairs. But the rest of the place was packed with dozens, maybe even hundreds of people spread across the levels seated at tables, waving bottles of shine, eating snacks, drunkenly cheering and making bets with the local jack.
A lot of the folks in better clothes were spooning a purple powder to their faces, and Jak recognized it even at this distance as jolt.
An old word that Doc used occasionally came unbidden to his mind decadent. The teenager nodded to himself. Yeah, a bunch of feeb druggies getting their jollies watching folks get snuffed. Ever since his wife and child had passed away, Jak had prepared himself for the day when he also would go into the great blackness. Krysty talked about the spirit of the world, Mildred of the human soul. Jak only believed in honor and a warrior’s dignity. If he was going on the last train west, he would make it something the freaking pirates would remember for years.
“Next! that same voice called out.
Jak shuffled forward, and through the crowd of armed guards he could catch a peek at the arena below. The playing field had been divided into four unequal areas by stout brick walls topped with iron spikes, the churned soil in each puddled with red blood. In the first was a pack of wild boars stomping a headless corpse, their tusks ripping out huge gouts of flesh with every strike. In the next a huge lionlike cat was mauling a youth with its claws until the screaming ceased, then the beast tossed away the body with a head shake. In the third pit were stickies, hooting insanely as the crowd actually tossed handfuls of jolt into the air, and laughed as the drug drifted down onto the humanoid muties. The fourth contained only bones, with something moving below the soil out of sight, only the disturbances on top of the ground marking its passage. The teen nodded. Fair enough. If he had any say in his destination, Jak certainly knew which of these he’d choose. No question about that.
“Next!” the voice called.
“Here, motherfucker,” Jak snarled, and held out his wrists.
“Ah, a mutie!” A pirate chuckled as a slave undid the albino teen’s neck chains, then released his wrists.
Jak rubbed his wrists while the lead restraints were removed. He walked through the crowd of guards and looked over the crowd. The people laughed at the albino, and bets were placed, handfuls of live ammo exchanged across the grandstand.
“Nice jacket. Give it to me,” another grunted, holding out a tiny knife, the blade no more than three inches, “and I’ll give you this knife.”
Jak considered it. “Fair deal,” he said, and slid off his leather jacket, then slapped it across the face of the guard.
The sec man screamed, the razor blades and bits of barbed wire sown into the collar and lapels ripping apart his flesh and removing an eye. Jak tossed the jacket at the nearest guards, and they recoiled from the garment, unsure of exactly what had just happened. Spinning, Jak kneed another in the groin and took his blaster, firing over the falling body at the next sec man. The flame from the muzzle covered the man’s head, the miniball exploding his skull, sending a grisly rain over the closest attendees.
The teen grabbed a chair and turned to find a score of blasters pointing his way. He hesitated for a moment, then lowered the chair, his bid for freedom gone.
“Tough little bastard, ain’t ya?” a pirate roared, and slapped the teenager across the face.
Jak filled his mouth with bloody saliva and spit it back at the sec man.
“Lord Baron Kinnison says hello,” he said, sneering, hoping they might think he had the same disease as the dying master of the islands.