INTERLUDE 5

Valhalla Club, Silesia,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
October 1, 3074

The atmosphere was electric. Stable owners, mechwarriors, and technicians from all corners of Solaris VII gathered at the elite watering hole at Solaris City for a tournament kick-off, sponsored by VEST, the most prominent battlemech factory in Solaris system. A tournament like this was a haven for everybody, from flashy glory hunters to up-and-coming opportunists looking for a fast track to make a name for himself.

The gaming life that was the beating heart of Solaris VII came to a screeching halt when Word of Blake invaded the world in 3068. All fighting effort was directed toward purging the Word of Blake out of the gaming world. Mechjocks worked together with gangsters and underground mafia to fight the common foe. When they finally succeeded in 3072, only one company managed to continue operating, although but a pale shadow of its former self before the Word of Blake invasion.

"Welcome to VEST Invitational!" the CEO of VEST declared, followed by raucous cheers and hoots and protracted applause by the club's attendants. "Jihad changed everything. As the only operating battlemech factory in Solaris, VEST feels obligated to bring back the gaming industry that is the heart and soul of Solaris VII. We are walking toward a great future, and this tournament is only the first step to rebuild Solaris. I'm happy to see quite a big turnout. We are going to have a great tournament, and it is an honor for VEST to stand behind every endeavor to build the greater Solaris! To the future!"

The hall rattled with ovation.

"At this point I want to recognize the participants of the first VEST Invitational," the CEO continued after the cheers subsided. "Bronze Dao Stable is the top-20 stab le from Cathay. Please welcome Ms. Wun Jingzen from Bronze Dao Stable!"

An old woman drapped in traditional Chinese attire bowed in the midst of cheers. Next to her stood a medium-built man wearing a Liao-green long frock coat.

"The Bronze Dao Stable will be represented by Mechwarrior Henry Laxon!" the old woman announced. "He was the pride of Thunder Blast stable, but those days were long gone. He is now the best mechwarrior of the Bronze Dao Stable." The crowd cheered for Henry as he nodded and smirked.

"From Kobe," the VEST CEO continued, "rooting back from the ferocity of ancient Azami warriors, please welcome Jamil and his Qishan Stable!"

The guy referred to as Jamil, a slim average-height young man with brown hair long brown hair drapped in turban-like cloth and a dark-blue jacket with gold colored trims, walked pretentiously to the center of the room. Sandwiching him were two mechwarriors, a tall athletic man with short red hair and red eyes, and a heavily-built man with a metal plate that covered most of his face save for his left eye.

"Qishan Stable is fortunate to qualify two mechwarriors for this tournament," Jamil spoke in a conceited fashion. "Goltas," he pointed at the large man, "and Masrur," he pointed at the re-haired man.

The crowd cheered again, but both mechwarriors maintained their stoic faces, as if the crowd's energizing cheers did not affect them.

"From Montenegro, this is a stable that has long history of collaboration with VEST, and I am pleased for them supporting this tournament," the VEST CEO shot a gaze at an old man in a wheelchair. "I am honored to present you Major Tom, operating manager of the Ground Control Stable!"

A red-haired girl wheeled the old man out of the crowd to get a warm recognition. Next to her stood a well-built man with dark brown mullet, a cocky smile, and a katana sticking out on his back.

"The honor is ours," the old man referred to as Major Tom replied. "VEST testbeds had increased Ground Control's fortune in the arenas for the last ten years, and for that, we are eternally indebted. The Ground Control Stable will be represented by Mechwarrior Jeremy Stewart."

The crowd cheered for the man called Jeremy, but instead of replying to the crowd, he shot a tender look and a warm smile at the red-haired girl, who returned the favor just as lovingly.

"From Strategic Technologies and Research System, please welcome Ian and Saranya Saint John of Valhalla Chosen Stable!"

A middle-aged couple waved to the crowd, followed by a young man in drab trench coat. "The Valhalla Chosen Stable will be represented by Mechwarrior Zuko Fen-Wi!" the middle-aged man announced, as the young man bowed in respect.

"The arenas are also packed with independent mechwarriors who are not associated with well-known stables," the VEST CEO carried on. "Representing himself, please welcome Mechwarrior Drake from Pummelo Academy!"

A young man wearing a simple red vest with spiky dark hair that reached his neck stepped out of the crowd, throwing a quick smile and a one-second wave, then went back into the thicket of mechwarriors.

"Also representing himself, a Kobe native, Mechwarrior Isamu Oyama!"

A tall muscular man with dark crew-cut hair and camo jacket broke through the crowd and pumped his fist into the air, boasting his kempt teeth through his wide grin. His antics energized the crowd, but some individuals laughed mockingly, as if the Isamu guy did not deserve such recognition. Yet it didn't stop Isamu to continue showboating through the mix of cheers and jeers, vainly waving to the crowd like an interstellar celebrity.

As the VEST CEO continued recognizing participants, Isamu approached the Ground Control Stable. He tossed a quick salute to the old man in the wheelchair. "Major Tom, much respect to you," he bowed slightly. Then he looked at Jeremy, bleeding travesty. "Still paying for this loser?"

"This loser happens to be the buoy upon which Ground Control Stable floated during FedCom Civil War and Jihad," Major Tom replied witih monotone voice. "VEST wouldn't be interested in investing in Ground Control if not because of him."

"It's called 'job security', Isamu," Jeremy chimed in. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, since nobody has ever employed you."

"I like to be the boss of myself," Isamu ranted. "I walk at my own drumbeat. Nobody yells at me. Nobody puts me under their microscope, nitpicking at my quirk. I don't have to be scared if the corporation brings in a new guy. Life is good."

"You're right, Isamu. In fact, I envy you," Jeremy grinned. "You find home at the the Solaris 'bush league', having played there for almost a decade now…"

"You think you're the hot shot of the stable, Jeremy? You think you're the God of The Arena?" Isamu bit back at Jeremy's snide remark. He stole a glance at the red-haired girl. "We both know Amber could kick our asses. Your stable is putting money on the wrong mech."

"That might be true, but Jeremy is more bankable," the girl called Amber replied in an exotic Chinese accent. "He's suave, handsome, eloquent, smooth with the ladies…" She shot a mischievous smile, which met a sour smirk from Jeremy. "It's called entrepreneurship, Isamu. There's more to Solaris games than just bashing other mechs in utter violence."

"I guess I am just a simple man," Isamu stepped forward, going face to face with Jeremy. "Money comes with records. The better your records, the more money you bring in. Simple as that."

"And which records are you talking about?" Jeremy squinted.

"The records where you're going no farther than the second round in this tournament," Isamu hissed.

"I thought we were talking about your records. How far do you see yourself in this tournament, hm?"

"I'll be the one that'll end your run in this tournament. You see Jeremy, you may be the poster boy of Ground Control Stable, but you're just a fraud. You're just a rich kid from periphery who came to Solaris to steal somebody's credit. You stole Mac Storm's position, you stole Mac Storm's girlfriend, and even then you still can't fill his shoes."

"Oh, I fill 'something', alright!" Jeremy winked.

"Jeremy!" Amber shrilled and gave the man a hard slap on his arm. "You have to say that?"

"He brought it up! I have to tell him that I'm not an 'early finisher' he believes I am!" Jeremy turned to Amber with impish grin on his face.

"You think Solaris games are just games? I'll be seeing you in the arenas, and I'll show you how wrong you are!" Isamu growled.

"I look forward to it," Jeremy chuckled lightly. "I guess I'll see you in the arena."

As the exchange between the two mechjocks continued, the young dark haired mechwarrior called Drake slipped past Jeremy and Amber, and proceeded to the exit. Outside the club, he drew his personal comset from his jacket and punched in some numbers. A soft beep chimed from the comset, and he put it on his ear.

"Drake?" somebody muttered.

"Stage One is complete. I'm in the game," he replied, half whispering. "How's things on your end?"

"On schedule."

"Good. Go on Stage Two. Proceed as planned." Drake turned around lest anybody overheard him. "Send the word. And uh… Tell the princess it won't be long until my return. I miss her and I can't wait to hold her in my arms again."

"Right away."

Drake turned off his comset and put it in his pocket. He stood still for a minute, making sure nobody was paying attention to him, then went back in the noisy, stuffy club.