EIGHT

Thor's Shieldhall, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
July 3, 3063

Saying goodbye was not an easy thing. On one side, I never really wanted it to end. Deep down I still kept a glint of hope that someday I would find a way to get back together with Evee. Perhaps one day I could regain my memory. On the other side, our last time together opened my eyes that she had moved on. She found a job that suited her best, a job that her father held until the day he died. She was doing what she was born to. And there was no place for me in her new world. A bitter realization, but nevertheless I was happy for her.

So I had to move on the way she did. Captain Morton informed me that the fickle mobs of Solaris had forgotten about the light championship, where Kyle and I tag-teamed Thunder Thorley. The new season had begun, and several big names had wiped out the memory of the light championship. My Wasp was totaled, so John Daniels collected the money I made on the final and, combining it with the junk refund of the Wasp, bought a BJ2-OC Black Jack. That meant I had to move up to medium circuit.

As champion and runner up of light circuit, Kyle and I were eligible to fight in the elite arenas. But since we missed 3 months of qualification rounds, we had to crawl from blood pits again. I remembered fighting in blood pits last year. Most of the combatants were in desperate need of gunnery practice. They could not shoot straight. In medium circuit, the combatants should be a lot better than in the light circuit. I just hoped that the fight would keep me occupied and helped me forget Evee.

"I've seen that look," Emi stopped by my table. "I've seen a face like yours too many times in this place. Care to elaborate?"

"Thank you Emi, I am fine," I smiled at her.

"You know Parker, sometimes the best solution to a grievous predicament is by coughing it up," she took a chair in front of me. "We listen to you, and even though we are not trained in psychology, we can come up with the most plausible solution to your problems. So try me. It won't hurt talking to a waitress."

"I do not have any problem," I sipped my beer. "I just… miss someone."

"Girlfriend? Wife? Family member?"

I look at her, watching the honest aura in her face. "The best thing that ever happened to me."

"I heard that one a lot. A man can't have two passions in his life. Women and fighting are just not match."

I smiled. Of course she assumed that I lost Evee because I spent too much time fighting in the arenas. Yes, I understood if it was a regular occurrence in a bar like Thor's Shieldhall. But I had no desire explaining every little detail of my problem to Emi. She was a nice girl, but I was not an extrovert.

"Would you let your husband or boyfriend fight in the arena?" I deflected her question.

"I dated one, years ago," she sighed. "I had no problem with it. Life is short, and if you don't make the most of it, you'll die miserable. No, my problem is not the fighting. It's the social status of Solaris that I hate the most. You know, as soon as a mechwarrior gains a rank, he has to assume a new lifestyle and go to Valhalla Club." She mused for a moment, then jerked from the chair. "Uh… I'm sorry Parker, I don't mean to unload it on you. Sometimes I talk too much. Let me just get back to work before I flood you with more problems."

I watched her galumphed back behind the counter while pondering about what she just said. Life is short. She had a very good point. I remembered Evee once said that she preferred a short happy life than a long empty one. I saw the logic, although my proud Clan mind still would not accept it as the truth. I was confident that I made the right decision by walking away from Evee.

"You're Parker, right?"

I turned my head to the speaker. He was a middle-aged man, dirty from head to toe, nervously sucking the life of his cigarette as if he wanted to swallow the entire length. He gazed left and right, watching people on the other table intently. His hands trembled a bit, and I knew he would not pose me any danger.

"What can I do for you?" I sat up and readied myself to fight, in case he tried to harm me.

"I have something that might be of your interest," he put the hood on and sat in front of me, right where Emi was a minute ago. "I know the people that tried to harm you the other day. The police couldn't find them, but I know where they went. I know some people in the street who can bring you to them."

"Why would I want to go to them?" I cringed.

"You don't understand. These people…" he lowered his voice even more. "These people had declared war on you. And all Davion loyalists. They're gonna harm you in any possible way. If you know their position, you can strike them before they strike you. That way you don't have to tiptoe through the street of Solaris."

"And this is because I killed Thunder Thorley with Davion's aid?" I suggested.

"You're right, you're right! You can end this madness by get them once and for all!"

"And I suppose you want a reward for this?"

The man finished his cigarette. "Nothing is free in Solaris, man. You give me somethin', I give you somethin'. It's just the way it is."

"What do you want from me?"

"I wanna win in the arena. I have to win in the arena. I'm in too deep, man, I have to get money from the arena. I want your cooperation. You help me fight in the arena and I'll give you the guys that tried to harm you. I'm happy, you're happy. Whaddya say?"

I could not just believe him. I did not know him, and for all I know, this could be a trap. But I noticed the anxiety in his eyes. Nobody could coin such an intense expression. I decided to play along with him. "How do I know if you are not messing with me?"

"You will be fighting at Death Dance arena in 3 days," he slipped in another cigarette between his lips. "I'll be there in a Daedalus. I won't shoot you until the last mech standing. After that, I want you to surrender to me. I will give you the information once I win the round. You won't be disappointed!" he quickly zipped, passing Emi who just arrived to take his order.

"Hey! Watch out punk!" she yipped as he almost knocked her over.

"Do you know that guy?" I asked. "Is he a regular customer?"

"Never seen him before," she replied. "Did he give you any trouble?"

"No, no, we just chatted."

"Good, because I don't want my best customer to be disturbed when I am working," Emi said proudly. "Call me if you need anything."

As Emi left, I thought over the past encounter with the mysterious man. I knew what I was capable of inside and outside of a mech, and I could take care of myself. I did not need this information, but someone might. I remembered Kyle's explanation about his quest to beat the Grey Wolves. He should like this development.

So I got up from the chair and walked toward the payphone. I punched some numbers, spoke to the operator, asking him to connect me to Gemini Stable, and waited for long minutes. When I heard a voice on the other side of the connection, I made sure that no one was watching me, then spoke with low voice, "Kyle? Parker. I have something that may be useful for you…"


Death Dance Arena, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
July 6, 3063

The Black Jack was an omnimech, so I felt a bit home. It was in a fair condition, and I did not have difficulties in steering it through the rough terrain of Death Dance arena. The arena was a mundane plain where 6 contestants were placed in facing each other, and there were only little covers for us. The designers must have had quick and brutal fights in mind when they built this arena.

When I brought my mech to the designated place, Kyle contacted me from private channel, "The guy's name is 'Kid' Gordo, a street rat. He's not a real mechwarrior, and I have no idea how he got himself a Daedalus. His name is not even in the list. I think he's playing you, but give him the benefit of the doubt. Just play along with him, get him out of trouble, but never yield to him. Captain Morton is checking on him, but we want him alive and see what he's got up in his sleeves. Can you do that?"

"Sure can."

"Stay sharp and good luck," Kyle cut off the comlink.

Just then, another channel blinked. I pushed the button, and Kid's voice flooded my ears, "Are you up to it, Parker? Remember, I will not shoot you, but if you shoot me even once, the deal is off, and you are my enemy!"

"Deal," I concurred, and watched closely as the Daedalus stepped into the designated spot on my far right. A Nightsky separated me from him, and a Hatchetman perched right in front of me. A Huron Warrior and a Cobra stood side by side on my left. The Huron sported the most lethal threat with its Gauss Rifle, but I did not want to underestimate others. I never knew what would happen.

The fight started, and the Huron quickly traded fire with the Cobra. The Nightsky and Hatchetman turned to attack Kid, while Kid struggled to make his mech work. The lanky mech moved like an old man having a seizure: one step at a time while swaying left and right, flailing its arms as if it was losing balance all the time. As it comically teetered about, the Nightsky and Hatchetman started peppering its torso with well-placed laser salvos. The center torso started to glow, and from my armor tracker I noticed his armor level quickly turned to orange.

Kyle told me that Kid Gordo was not a real mechwarrior, but this was downright abysmal. All the kid had to do was to push the throttle forward to make the mech walk, or run. The neurohelmet would take care of the mech's stability. What was he doing? Was he wearing his neurohelmet right? It occurred to me that he was not even wearing a neurohelmet. I pushed my throttle to help him out when something dawned on me: he was fine a minute ago, when he walked his Daedalus out of the hangar to his designated spot. He knew quite well how to drive a mech. I smelled foul play, and I pushed my throttle to maximum to help him out.

As I pounded the uneven ground of the arena, the Nightsky and Hatchetman had come close enough to use their hatchets. They started hammering the Daedalus away, ripping its limbs, tearing its torso, bludgeoning its head, and shredding armor and chassis like paper. Twisted screech reverberated with every blow, and sparks burst as metal ground against metal. Kid did not even fight back. He just let the blows sunk into his mech, writhing and trembling as the two mediums chopped him to pieces.

"Kid, what are you doing?" I yelled. "Do not leave everything to me! Fight for your life!"

"Sonofab… ugh, this mech is not… Jesus! I can't get this thing to work! Urkh! Help! Help me!"

"I cannot help you enough if you do not help yourself!"

"Goddamn… it's not working! The goddamn mech is not work… working!"

Just as I thought: his mech was sabotaged. I linked my LBX-10 together and when I came into range, I blew my loads at the back of the Nightsky. The 50-ton mech arched forward; pieces of armor went airborne as my fragmented shells flogged its rear. It lurched forward, leaning on Kid's Daedalus, then quickly regained its footing. But instead of turning to face me, it continued to pillage the Daedalus.

In normal circumstances, no pilot would deliberately expose his back at another mech, let alone a well-equipped workhorse like my BJ2-OC. I became convinced that somebody impaired Kid's mech, then the Nighthawk and Hatchetman were to take the most advantage of the situation as if Kid's doom was the result of mechanical failure, or his inaptness in fighting. I reckoned somebody saw us talking, and they would not let Kid pass something to me. If that were true, then Kid had more value that I suspected.

Suddenly a raucous impact jarred my cockpit. I bit my own tongue and swallowed my own blood as my mech tipped to the right. The command couch creaked as I yanked my joystick in reversed direction. My mech regained its footing, but a hot blast cut through the armor plating on the left torso. I smelled the burning ferro-fibrous, and when I checked the tracker, it was all red. The Huron had delivered substantial damages to the Cobra, and now was latching on to me.

I had no choice but to switch target and leave Kid on his own. I had to neutralize it quickly before the Nighthawk and the Hatchetman finished Kid. I hated to do this to Kid, but my survival was more important than his information. While waiting for its big-caliber guns to recycle, the Huron moved to my left, trying to outflank me. But I hit the jump jets to help me maneuver around, then let it rip. Two splintered shells battered the Huron with such a force it twisted and fell down on one knee.

With twin LBX-10 cannons and twin medium lasers, the Black Jack handled like a miniature Red Baron, my old mech that was beaten to scrap at Wotan when I dueled Jerome Helmer. While the Huron struggled to get up, I pumped my jets to quickly get out of its line of fire. Landing behind the Huron's back, I scored a hit with my laser, then sprinted to its left as it swiveled its torso to bring its Gauss Rifle to bear. It fired, missed, and followed up with its large laser. A mild vibration enveloped my mech as the laser blast evaporated a ton of armor on the chest. I put the Huron on my crosshair when out of nowhere the Cobra appeared on my right flank, showering me with missiles and lasers.

I was too late to take evasive maneuver. Almost two-dozen missiles slammed into my right torso, pelting armor like it was made of wood. I had to close my eyes when the quake took over the cockpit. The armor level dropped down to orange. The impacts – and subsequent explosions – almost topple the Black Jack, but I managed to keep it on its feet.

I was at the center of a potential crossfire between the Huron and the Cobra, a very disadvantageous position. But when I checked the Cobra's status, I realized that it was fighting at the brink of its existence. Its armor was stripped down to the internal structure, and tongues of fire licked from the majority of its body part. I simply raised my right arm and barked my LBX-10. A brilliant flash blitzed through the field as the Cobra went off.

Unfortunately, I gave the Huron enough time to recuperate. A blue trail zipped from its large-bored rifle, and I felt my mech reeling to the back. My left torso burst, taking away the medium laser and dangerously threatening the ammunition for my left LBX-10. Before I could realign my crosshair, the Huron fired its laser. Lucky for me, it went wide, and my left LBX-10 was still functional. Nevertheless, the power output of my Black Jack was reduced to 73 percent.

Now it was my turn.

I quickly fired my left LBX-10. The force was not strong enough to drop it, but it washed away half of the armor on its right arm. Its medium pulse flashed, sending flickering needles at my direction, but I ignored it and stabbed its right arm with my remaining laser. Its large laser recycled, and it aimed its gun at me, but I ducked and blasted my other LBX-10, aiming it at the shredded armor of its right arm. The Gauss Rifle blossomed into a reddish fireball, and the explosion took away the remaining armor of the right torso, weakened by the Cobra. A series of explosions consumed the Huron until it lurched to the side, leaning on its left arm. By this time, my left LBX-10 was at the ready. I mashed the trigger, and the Huron disintegrated behind a huge bonfire.

Packing two kills under my belt, I turned to see if there was anything left of Kid Gordo. Sadly, there was none. The Daedalus lied on the ground with its head split open, and I suspected there were not many things to recover. The Nighthawk and Hatchetman now marched toward me, the former a little closer to me.

The Hatchetman was practically unscathed, but the rear armor of the Nighthawk was weakened. I had to keep them in a line, so I only had to fight one of them at a time. I boosted my jets to bring me to the side, crisscrossing under laser barrage, and regained my footing right in front of the Nighthawk. The Hatchetman was right behind it, so it could not fire its weapons. The Nighthawk sprayed its pulse lasers, half of which baked my armor on the midst, but I linked my cannons together and fired it in unison. Brute force jerked the mech behind, knocking it down, ceasing its laser bursts momentarily.

The Hatchetman grew anxious and swung to its right, but I rotated to my right flank, keeping the Nighthawk perfectly between the Hatchetman and my mech. The Nighthawk arose, showering me with blistering array of pulse lasers, but the excessive heat hindered the targeting computer. With the Nighthawk practically half blind, I swerved past it and put the stunned Hatchetman in my crosshair. One click at the trigger and the 45-ton mech jolted, whipped by hundreds of munitions that grated its armor like drones.

Meanwhile, the Nighthawk had its heat controlled, then continued peppering me with pulse lasers. I fired up my jump jets and slid behind the Hatchetman. The Nighthawk continued firing, and inadvertently grilled the Hatchetman with half a dozen laser bursts. Utterly provoked, the Hatchetman blasted its LBX cannon that caught the Nighthawk in the left torso. Blue sparks spewed from the arm joint, and the Nighthawk left arm flew in the air before crashing to the ground.

Suddenly I got to watch two hatchet-wielding metal trolls bashing each other with raw power. The Nighthawk buried its hatchet on the Hatchetman's left torso, while the Hatchetman sunk its ax into the Nighthawk's abdomen. The sound of grinding metal filled the air, and the two mechs continued chopping each other to pieces, to the point that they were reduced to walking, swinging titanium beams. But in the end, the Hatchetman proved to be the better butcher. One swing to the head and the Nighthawk's skull caved in, crushing the pilot underneath millions of pound force.

And it was me who reaped the result. The Hatchetman did not have any weapons left except its melee weapon. It tried to close the gap with me, but I quickly decked it with a double shot to the midst. The mech roared into a fireball.

When everything went calm, I walked past the remnants of the Daedalus, wondering what was in Kid's mind. I would never know. Everything was lost under tons of steel that buried Kid Gordo. I could only hope that Kyle and Morton would find something out of this kid, regardless his untimely doom.