INTERLUDE 6
Author's Note: Jeremy Stewart, Amber Wang Chung, and the cast of Ground Control Stable was the center of my old story Rubber Match. It is an absolute joy of mine to bring back Jeremy and friends to make cameo in this story, along with some characters from my good friends. I hope you have fun reading as much as I have fun writing Jeremy's adventure in Solaris arenas.
King of The Mountain Arena,
Xolara, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
December 21, 3074
The Hachiwara's short-ranged radar picked up a hostile unit on the other side of the 6-storied mount. Isamu pulled down his joystick, coaxing his 70-ton gladiatorial mech to squat behind a ridge. His console blipped, showing a heavily-damaged Champion coming his way, trying to stay in the game by avoiding major engagements. Half of its weapons were toasted, and the one still intact probably didn't have ammunition either. Smoke billowed from the rear end of the mech, and coolant trickled down its legs, a sure sign of critical hits.
Isamu engaged passive sensor, waiting for the Champion to come around the bend. The unsuspecting Champion continued its course, tottering on the slope, oblivious of the shadow lurking behind a ridge like a white-masked psychopath waiting for half-naked twinkies with a butcher's knife. A sinister chuckle escaped his lips as the shadow of the Champion sprung from the corner.
As the snout of the Champion cleared the corner, Isamu maxed out the throttle, coupled with the supercharger. The Hachiwara bolted forward with impunity. The Champion was caught off guard. It twisted right to bring its remaining weapons to bear, but Isamu was a second faster. The Hachiwara raised its right arm and drove its 5-meter-long vibroblade into the Champion's delicate machinery. Sparks burst like a geyser as the Champion rocked violently. Isamu retracted the vibroblade and flinched left, seconds before the Champion's left torso erupted. The 60-ton mech jolted and lost its footing. It tumbled and rolled down the slope, all the way to the bottom of the mount.
"Chalk up another kill for The Brave One!" Isamu hoisted the mech's right arm, waving the vibroblade towards the crowd. He couldn't hear the spectators but he knew they were cheering for him. Solaris fans were notorious for brutality. But he didn't care about the fans. All he cared was winning. With 2 kills under his belt, the path to championship was two mechs closer.
The VEST Invitational, the first major tornament after Solaris VII was liberated from the Word of Blake in 3072, was in full swing. Mayflies, journeymen, misfits, and washed-up mechjocks were all left in the dust. The time was ripe for serious contenders to showcase their skill in the arena. Isamu never considered himself great, but he belonged in the upper echelon. He won two elimination matches against dregs and losers. And now, he was in the big league with the elites. Seasoned mechjocks. Professional mechathletes. Arena star mechwarriors.
One of them was Jeremy Stewart, Montenegro's poster boy, one he despised the most.
"Show yourself, little prick!" Isamu paced his Hachiwara to climb the mount, a heap of radioactive waste turned into a battlemech arena, from which its name came from. Three battlemechs popped up in his radar. A Shootist and an Ostsol were locked in a circle of death, blowing each other's limbs off, while the third - Jeremy's VEST-engineered Apocalypse - stayed in the distance lobbing missiles to the closest mech.
Isamu heard some dribs and drabs about Jeremy Stewart, a wussy kid from the Periphery that came to Solaris to prove that he had bigger balls than the bloke who stole his woman. For Solaris-born mechwarriors like Isamu, Solaris arenas were sacred ground. Any reason to fight in the arenas other than the love of the game was heresy, and he would cheer for the fiery death of outsiders like Jeremy. Yet somehow Jeremy navigated his way to become the front man of Ground Control Stable, bed its best mechwarrior, and attract VEST to invest in it, saving it from bankruptcy. It made Isamu mad, to think that someone with the wrong reason to fight in Solaris could get so many things going his way.
One lucky shot from the Shootist's AC20 hit the Ostsol in the waist, crushing the gyro. The Ostsol wobbled, flailing its arm to keep on its feet. The Shootist fired all lasers for the killing blow, but only one medium laser bolt found the mark. The excessive waste heat turned the mech sluggish.
The Apocalypse raised its Plasma Rifle, but Isamu wasn't about to be outdone by Jeremy. He charged forward, blasting his UAC10 and M-Pods at the Ostsol. The Ostsol jerked forward and exploded, throwing scorching debris at the Shootist. The splash staggered the Shootist, forcing it to backpedal. Isamu hurled his battlecry as he thrust the mech's vibroblade into the Shootist's midsection. The vibroblade cut through power conduits and exited from the back. The Shootist buckled, then slowly tumbled backward. Isamu retracted the vibroblade and let the Shootist roll to the ground, sliding down the mound.
"Two kills with one strike, that's impressive," Jeremy chimed over the comlink. "About time, too."
"I have four," Isamu hissed. "It's about to become five."
"Five? Pretty good man, you're hot. I only got one."
"That'll be the only one you get because I'm going to end your bid for the championship!" Isamu lined up his crosshair with the Apocalypse. "Come on, Periphery Boy! Let's dance!"
The Hachiwara's armor-piercing projectiles strafed the Apocalypse's carapace, tossing ferro-fibrous slivers onto the wall. Panic screams echoed as jagged-edged shards whizzed above the spectators, tearing up billboards on top of the arena. But it only added to the spectacles, as cheers quickly drowned the screams of anguish.
The Apocalypse staggered under the onslaught, but quickliy recovered. Its missile boxes flared, spitting guided missiles in white plumes of smoke. Isamu sidestepped the salvo, but two hit the mark, one of which slammed into the shoulder guard inches away from the cockpit. His ears rang as the cockpit jarred. His console blinked like a kaleidoscope, yet only high-pitched ring accompanied the colorful display.
Jeremy noticed Isamu was in trouble and he capitalized on it. The Apocalypse's RAC5 blasted in full fury, goring the Hachiwara's midsection. The Hachiwara jerked backward and lost its footing, but impulsively Isamu yanked his joystick, slamming the Hachiwara's vibroblade to the ground, using it to anchor the 70-ton mech. He pulled his mech back up and readied his lasers, but the Apocalypse had already moved.
Logic dictated that he who controlled the high ground controlled the battlefield, so Isamu floored his pedal and catapulted his mech toward the apex of the mound. There were only 2 battlemechs left on the arena, which made Jeremy his last obstacle to win the match. And it was no surprise that Jeremy was gunning for the top. Wicked grin sprang on Isamu's face as the Hachiwara outclimbed the Apocalypse, thanks to the supercharger. Acrid rubber smoke seeped into the cockpit, a sure sign he had blown off a gasket or two, but he ignored it. He held the high ground. It was time to use it and seize the day.
"Get out of here, wussy!" Isamu screamed and fired everything he got. Heat tracker spiked up dangerously to the shut down level, but he didn't care. Jeremy was vulnerable and he wanted to take the most of it. His lasers turned the Apocalypse's right torso into red-hot molten slag, and his HEAP blew a hole through the missile box. The launcher exploded in a fireball, throwing its Plasma Rifle spinning in the air before crashing on the ground with a heavy thud.
Any other mech would've crashed and rolled down to the bottom of the mound, but the Apocalypse stood fast. Its stubby legs shuddered, but carried the weight well. Jeremy restored the balance and sent his answer. Isamu yanked his joystick to flinch, but with the heat level flirting with the shut down sequence, the myomers responded like those of a sloth. Jeremy's laser softened up the torso armor, paving the way for the missiles and armor-piercing ballistics that soon to follow. Sharpnel of molten armor sprayed, as the missiles and canon rounds carved a crater on the Hachiwara's right torso, dangerously close to the rotator cuff.
With his hearing coming back, Isamu acknowledged the damage his mech sustained. The blow destroyed 2 heat sinks, making heat dissipation even more of a strain. All weapons remained online, but with less-than-effective heat management, he knew he couldn't use his cannons for a few turns. His only available option was his vibroblade. It was going to be tough to clobber the Apocalypse, but it was the only logical thing to do until the mech was ready for another shot.
So Isamu kicked his supercharger and lunged at the Apocalypse, arm cocked for the hacking. He threw the remaining munitions from the M-Pods to cover his advance. The Apocalypse staggered, bleeding shards and sparks as the explosive sharpnels peeled the remaining armor off its body. Isamu swung the blade, but at the right time the Apocalypse twisted left. The vibroblade sliced the Apocalypse right torso, breaching the entire structure. But no harm was done to the Apocalypse, since Isamu had already destroyed that part.
Realizing he just wasted a perfectly good offense, Isamu retracted his blade for a follow up, but the Apocalypse kicked the Hachiwara's knee. The Hachiwara's knee joint was no match against the Apocalypse stout, trunk-like leg. It lurched backward as the leg twisted in an awkward way. The cockpit erupted with klaxons and warning sign and blinking LEDs. The computer ceaselessly regurgitated the state of the leg, while the damage screen flashed like a strobe light, as if Isamu was not paying attention.
Isamu knew he was in deep trouble. He had been in this situation before. Jeremy was good, not great, but certainly capable to close the show against a mech with one-and-a-half legs. He knew Jeremy would exploit his damaged actuator. He twisted and swung his blade as hard as he could, sweeping the place where he thought Jeremy would be. To his horror, he found out that he was wrong. Jeremy was not there.
Jeremy pulled his Apocalypse backward, pulling a 50-meter gap between the two mechs. As the Hachiwara leaned on its twisted knee, the Apocalypse fired a long burst of RAC5 at the Hachiwara's midsection. Isamu covered his face as his console exploded. The torso structures caved in, and the body reeled past the breaking point. The twisted knee snapped in a loud crunch. The Hachiwara toppled sideways and rolled down the mound.
When Isamu came to his senses, he pulled himself up from a clutter. The cockpit was dark and dead. LCD screens were ripped out of the consoles. Cables dangled from the wall, which now became the ceiling, since the mech was lying on its side. The joystick was nowhere to be found. He rolled to the side, and winced as the throttle lever stabbed his ribcage. Why everything hadn't disintegrated in a blaze of glory, he didn't know.
Through the broken windshield Isamu watched in helpless frustration as the Apocalypse descended from the mound, bruised, battered, but victorious. He strapped off his neurohelmet and threw it as far as he could, as if it would hit Jeremy on his face. But that was just as much as he could do in this state.
"Then again, Isamu, I would rather have few kills and advance to the next round, than chalk up spectacular numbers in a game short of the championship," Jeremy said through the external speaker. "It's been a pleasure to share the arena with you. I hope to fight you again in the future."
Isamu's long litany of curses was drowned by the thunderous cheers from the spectators.
