Episode 2: The Gladiator
The sun radiates fierce heat, spilling over his shoulders from the clear sky. He pants, sweat running down over his chest and arms, and stares down at the man lying at his feet in the dust.
Tolar. He's a big guy, every muscle defined in the gleam of sun and sweat. Pete defeated him against all expectations, fighting hand-to-hand in the primitive amphitheater before a crowd of screaming humans. No one expected or even wanted him to win, except of course Galen, somewhere up there in the spectators.
Pete bends, picks up the sword from the dirt and hoists it in his hand. He switches his gaze upward, searching desperately for his chimpanzee friend, but the figures blur in the heat and the bloodlust beating down on his head. He turns in a circle, his thoughts coming randomly, adrenalin disrupting them like bursts of static.
Alan's face, desperate, stubborn, watching Barlow take the disk from the dust, away from Alan.
Then Galen.
I'll get your disk.
Tolar waits, chest bellowing up, down, up, down. The crowd chants. Pete keeps staring up at the benches, the sweating, screaming villagers. The heat clings to his body like a hot, wet blanket, almost unbearable.
"Kill him, kill him!"
If he were the one down in the dirt, they'd be screaming for his blood. Doesn't matter whose. As long as they get it.
Insane.
He can't get enough air.
The blade slips in his grip. He points it down at Tolar. The villagers scream louder, down a long tunnel.
Tolar's one of them. If he'd won, Burke would be dead now, blood sinking into the dust.
He feels his heartbeat, feels it pound in the sword trembling in his grasp. His vision is tinged with darkness. Out of nowhere comes Alan's voice.
It's hope. It's home. I can't forget it.
Alan's hope. Laughable.
Isn't it?
Maybe he's crazy, but he's the sanest crazy man I've ever known.
It's as if someone flings cold water in his face. His fingers let go of the sword.
He backs away, calling Galen's name as the crowd surges down the steps.