Chapter 10

"Gorgeous! Just gorgeous!" Fred exclaimed, as he walked into the hangar. Following repairs to the 'Mech, his previously "baby blue" Hellhound had been repainted. The lean 50-tonner now sported a pristine lowland camouflage, with a bluish-green color on the feet that gradually transitioned to a swampy green at the top, mottled with light and dark bits to mimic foliage. Fred grinned widely and strolled up to the machine to give it a closer inspection.

Randi, following behind him, just quirked an eyebrow. "I take it this paint scheme is... less un-manly, yes?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. Anything is more manly than baby blue." Fred ran his hand over one of the armor panels on his 'Mech's foot and then gave it a couple solid thumps with his fist. "Hmm," he mused, considering the very solid rapport from the armor, "looks like Zettle's techs did a pretty good job. It's nice to have good ol' Beo back aright."

"...Beo?" asked Randi.

"Yeah, Beowulf. You know—big, tough warrior? Tore off Grendel's arm and beat him with it."

'How in Kerensky's name do you beat a Grendel with its own arm?!' Randi wondered. She fused her brow a little. "What Clan was he from?"

"Clan Geat. Didn't they teach you about this in school?"

This only confused Randi further. "Eh, who—"

"Yes, now, on to more pressing matters! I have our next contract lined up since Zettle no longer requires our services."

"What is it?"

"Defense and escort duty for Quikscell Company. They manufacture tanks, a few weapons, components and powerplants," explained Fred. "The last merc outfit they hired chose not to renew their contract. I think I can guess why..."

"And what would your guess be?" she asked, frowning a little.

At this, Fred paused as if searching for his words. "Well... not to speak ill of our soon-to-be employers, but Quikscell is not exactly know for, eh...commitment to quality, shall we say? I guess it's like they say... You cannot have good, fast, and cheap at the same time; you only get to pick two."

"I see..." she replied hesitantly. "So, where is it that we are going? I guess I should have paid a little more attention to the map."

"Ah, no problem." Fred reached into his pocket and fished out a low-resolution paper map showing several planetary systems, and offered it to Randi.

She took it and began to examine the region. One of the first things she noticed was that "Terra" had been crossed out, and written in place of it was "Toasterville"; several of the planets within a few jumps of Terra had also been marked through with an X. Now scanning the Steiner-Marik border, she spotted Solaris VII, circled with red pen. From it, a path was drawn to Hyde, which was also circled; the path then continued to Uhuru, Rochelle, and lastly, Kalidasa.

"Kalidasa itself seems like a pretty decent place to be," Fred continued. "Our main source of concern would probably be Kali-Yama Weapons. They've got a whole battalion of 'Mechs stomping around as 'security.' Apparently, they've been rivals with Quikscell for awhile now, and their CEO is getting kinda uppity."

The ex-Wolf's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "A battalion? You think the two of us can take on a whole battalion?" She paused for a moment. "How big is a battalion in the Outworlds?"

Fred rolled his eyes a little. "I know how big a battalion is, Randi. Look, I don't believe for a minute that we could thump all thirty-six 'Mechs on our own. However, the fact that we're there at all is likely to make Kali-Yama think twice about making the rivalry physical."

"If you say so," Randi conceded. She wasn't entirely convinced, but she knew there was no use in arguing.

"Cor. Anyhoo, the skiff's gonna be here soon. Have we got everything loaded up?

"Yeah. Everything is packed and ready to go. That just leaves the 'Mechs." Randi looked back at "Franken-Cat," as the 'Mech was apparently dubbed, which had been quite well repaired. Nyx still needed a good bit of repairs, but the armor had been replaced while she and Fred had been hunting the last of the Spitfires. 'Now that I think of it, that is kind of odd,' she thought. "Say, Fred? Um, why did Zettle's people fix up my Mad Cat? I never used it during our contract. I thought Zettle wasn't going to repair it or the Bushwacker."

Her partner shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "No, but..."

"...You...you paid for it?"

He shrugged again and smiled, unable to keep a good poker face. "Let's just call it a business expense."

Solaris City was no less pleasing to look at in the waning afternoon light than it had been the previous night. Now, however, the myriad of steel and glass angles that comprised the classier portions of the metropolis glistened with a strong, warm gold light instead of the plethora of unnatural but comparatively weak neon colors that had lit it during the night. The slums looked exactly the same in this day's pleasant weather as it had in the rain.

Akela hummed a little tune from his own head as he walked along the street, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his vest and a rucksack slung over his shoulder. With a little rudimentary sewing, he had modified the right vest pocket to conceal a switchblade that he could easily access if the situation called for it. He generally preferred the standard-issue hunting knife that the Wolves used, but having an uncovered blade in a pocket over one's torso was decidedly ill-advised. He hoped that he would have no need of the switchblade, but he had always understood that luck favored the prepared.

'And I have no idea what this Marcus fellow is like when he is sober...' he thought to himself, as he came up to the bloodpit arena. He instantly cursed himself for not having the presence of mind the previous evening to get a more precise answer concerning the location he should meet with this new contact. Still, he managed to locate the nearest arena, which he assumed was likely the one to which Marcus had referred.

The building that housed the arena was immense and also immensely ugly. It seemed to have been a factory of sorts at one time, stretching up towards the sky several stories from a crumbling foundation afflicted with mosses and slimes. Rebar twisted out of the concrete here and there like rusted saplings, and a portion of the carbon-caked smoke stack had caved in upon itself. The windows were dirty, broken, or completely missing, and the rusting, wide hangar-type doors were shut fast.

As he contemplated simply trying to find an alternate entrance, a sharp metallic screech shrilled from the hangar doors, followed by various mechanical groans and whines of rust against rust. As the doors opened, a steady stream of people and loud, pounding music overlaid with commentary on the match flooded out into the street. Among them, joined by a small group of men and women, was Marcus. He appeared to be noticeably less drunk today.

"Hello, Marcus," he said, as the man started to pass by, apparently have failed to notice him.

The man stopped abruptly and turned. "Eh, who're you?"

"Akela."

"Akela...?"

"Kerr," the Clansman replied swiftly. He kicked himself for not thinking of a more inspired "surname," but it was a better choice than "Wolfe" and definitely safer than using his true bloodname.

Marcus gave him a suspicious look, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Do I owe you money?"

"No. I—"

"Do you owe me money?"

Akela frowned a little. "No. We met last night at a bar. You told me to meet you here today."

He waited a moment, watching Marcus' face contort into a pondering expression, apparently racking his brain for information that intoxication had stolen from him. After a little bit, Marcus nodded in understanding, apparently having remembered the situation.

"Right, right." He began walking and motioned Akela to follow him. "So, first thing's first. Gotta figure out where Fred got to."

"Fred?" Akela shook his head. "I do not care where he has gone. I want to find Randi."

"I highly doubt they've split up. I only saw the chick a couple times, but she seemed kinda clingy with Fred, and she was pretty damned protective of him, too. Yeah, they'll be together, alright."

Akela just frowned and gave an angry grunt in acknowledgement of Marcus' assessment, remembering his act. "Well, then, where would Fred be? It sounds like I may have to personally punch his lights out."

"The spaceport's probably got his itinerary on file, still. Problem's gonna be getting them to let me have a look at it. But I think I can pull a few strings and find out."

"How do you propose to do that, if I may ask?"

Marcus flashed him a sly grin. "Let me put it to you this way... Pigs love to roll in filth. People love to roll in filthy money."

"So it seems." Akela chuckled but inwardly, he just felt sickened. 'I often thought that tales of the InnerSphere's corruption were hyperbole. Of course, there had to be some of this sort of thing but... to think that anyone can be bought for the right price is intensely disturbing,' he thought to himself. 'The Wardens really are fools for thinking that the Founder would want us to simply sit back and baby-sit a population of spoiled, greedy bratlings.'

He hoped Marcus' information-gathering would be the only instance of these sort of duplicitous actions. It all smacked too much of the Dark Caste for him to feel at ease. Of course, his own travel documents were falsified—much to his chagrin—but that was necessary evil done for his own safety and the security of his mission. With Spheroid attitudes such as they were in regards to Clanners, he didn't doubt the possibility that he might be murdered for his origins should anyone find out.

"Where are we going?" Akela asked after a bit, still largely unfamiliar with the sprawling city. Clan cities were so much more orderly and easier to navigate.

"Remember how I said Fred took my 'Mech?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm gonna need to find one, ain't I?"

Akela paused for a moment. The use of "ain't" tended to throw him off a little. "So, where do you intend to get a new 'Mech before we depart?"

Marcus just chuckled at this. "You'll see."

A few minutes' walk took them from the decaying factory to another very similar structure which was also apparently an arena. There was a line at the door, but Marcus merely walked past the bouncers without so much as a nod, and motioned for Akela to follow him. Once inside, they took a wide spiral staircase into a large room with arena-style seating. In the center of the room was a large trivid display showing an intense battle between an Enforcer and a Dragon. Shrapnel flew from both 'Mechs as they tore into one another mercilessly.

Largely ignoring the action on the trivid, Marcus continued walking along the brim of the arena seating to a fringe portion in the stands where there were fewer people. He sat down, fished a noteputer out of his jacket and began typing.

"Not to nag..." said Akela slowly, "but time is of the essence, I believe..."

"Yeah, but there are a few things to be taken care of first. Just sit back and enjoy the match, okay?"

'Easy for you to say, Spheroid,' Akela thought glumly. The combat might have been interesting from a military standpoint except that it was not military but a ridiculous bloodsport. The Clansman fought the urge to ball his fist in frustration. 'BattleMechs are not toys, so why do Spheroids treat them as such? Why do civilians in these realms act so enamoured with recreating war? War is a terrible thing...'

Despite how much the Solaris games disgusted him, he feigned interest. It was, at the very least, an opportunity to observe combat between two InnerSphere 'Mechs—albeit both were likely modified quite a bit for the games.

The combat arena seemed to be a very large, enclosed structure flooded with an oddly sterile fluorescent light. The walls were a metal of some sort, heavily rusted and in some places, completely corroded and scarred from weapons' fire. The floor was merely packed earth, though it was not packed quite firmly enough. As a blow from the Enforcer's A/C 10 sent the Dragon reeling back a step, its foot sent up a cloud of dirt.

Red laser fire stood out against the drab environment sharply, racing from the Enforcer's guns to the Dragon's high-arching shoulders. One of the shots went a little high and hit the ceiling. At that precise moment, Akela heard—and felt—a tremor in the floor beneath his feet. Several people screamed or shouted at this, reacting in fright, but the panic died down swiftly.

Apparently, the combat was not only teal-time, but it was taking place directly below the audience. Perhaps this was the closest the bloodpits could put their patrons to the action, without access to the Star League-era force shields that protected the Steiner Coliseum.

The Dragon, recovering from its wounds, began circling around the 50-ton 'Mech which had shaken the building. A stream of autocannon fire from the Dragon lit up the dust could with the light of its tracers, and bored into the torso of its rival. Several moans of frustration rode up from the crowd as a further attack of LRM-5s sheered off the Enforcer's laser. The pilot, in a fit of unintentional hilarity, actually tripped over the 'Mech's own severed arm as it tried to flee the Dragon's LRMs. The crowd booed and jeered, and many of the audience members stood up, gesturing wildly and throwing papers or drinks angrily.

Akela chuckled a little at the Enforcer's tumble in a small moment of Schadenfreude. It was a terribly pathetic thing to witness, but also rather amusing. He quickly returned to silence as he caught a rather irate-looking audience member eyeing him warily from a few seats away.

At this time, Marcus closed his noteputer and walked off towards a door at the far side of the stands, and disappeared into another room. He returned perhaps twenty minutes later, after the audience had largely dispersed, and plopped back down in his seat next to Akela.

"Well, that's taken care of," he said, grinning. "I convinced Arai to...lend me his Dragon for an extended period."

The Clansman guessed that in this case lending was a euphemism for extortion of some kind. He decided not to dwell on the matter. "The Dragon that was just fighting?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's gonna take about a week or maybe two for repairs. But that's that quickest I can get a 'Mech on this short notice."

"I see. Well, in that case, would you happen to know where I can find a good library or bookstore?"

Marcus looked a little puzzled, but nodded. "If by good, you mean big... Hm, well there's a pretty decent-sized library up ten blocks from here in one of the better parts of Black Hills. It's on the corner of Fifth and Larch."

"Then that's where you can find me when you're ready to leave."