ELEVEN

Indrahar Memorial Hospital, Kobe,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
November 21, 3063

Earlier this morning, when I tried to enter the hospital to check in my wounds, fans attacked me like hungry wolves. Most of them craved my signature, but few reporters peppered me with questions regarding my feud with Fist Difalco. Questions like 'Has the Grey Wolves made a threat yet?', 'Do you think your life might be in danger?', and 'What does Captain Morton say about the rest of the Grey Wolves?' struck me over and over. Fortunately, the hospital's security guards knew how to deal with them. The pushed them back as paramedics escorted me inside.

Yes, the semifinal brought unrest to me. Everybody knew the remaining Grey Wolves would not let Difalco die unavenged. The words of Fercyn rang into my ears, 'Can't do anything quietly, can you?' Another one from the chief of local police, 'You left a trail of destruction anywhere you set your feet on.' I realized what I was, but here at Solaris I had made a paradox of myself. Solaris fans lived on destruction. They revered indomitable players, and they found it in me. On the other hand, I kept crossing path with wrong individuals. That was the reason Jerome Helmer begrudged at me. And now I had piled up dozens, if not hundreds, begrudged maniacs who wanted me dead the way Jerome Helmer wanted me dead.

This life was not the way I wanted when I chose Solaris to be my home. I never wanted to be a celebrity. I only wanted to find a way to make things right. I wanted to remember my past. Solaris seemed to be the forefront of technological marvel, aside from states' capitals. I just hoped I could find a way to fix my brain.

At the exam room, the paramedics checked my battle scars. They had removed the glass splinters off my skin and boosted my lungs with oxygen treatment, but they had to make sure that I did not have complications from smoke inhalation. I went through several procedures, then they asked me to wait while the doctors readied their final judgment.

They did not let me wait long. A doctor entered my room with a pile of papers in his hand. He took the chair in front of me and, skimming his chart, said the words I longed to hear, "Everything is good, Mr. Parker. Your lungs are functioning just fine. Looks like you are ready for the championship."

"Thank you," I nodded in relieve. "There is something I need to ask you."

He put his charts on the table and shot a stern look at me. "Is it about your brain?"

"How do you know?" I squinted, amazed on how the doctor could read my mind.

"Mr. Parker," he slipped off his glasses and rose from his chair, "When a human body experiencing pain, the brain tends to shut down other body function to cope with it. If you feel extreme pain on your left hand, you loose control of your right, and sometimes you can't even feel anything else. That's how normal human body works. In my 20 years of practice I had never seen somebody visually impaired, riddled with plexiglass, choked by burning myomer, and still managed to kill another mech. You defied all scientific functionalities of human body, so I took the liberty to take a scan of you while we treated you."

I knew where this would go.

"You have fully-developed cerebrum, yet a remarkably small limbic system, making you a natural thinker with lack of emotion. You have twice the amount of red blood cells than normal human being, making your oxygen distribution and metabolism superior than others. Your modicum nerve cells make you almost impervious to pain. These are not anomalies, Mr. Parker. Anomalies happened at random direction. Your feats are pointing at the same track: to make you a super soldier. You're a Clanner."

Well, I always knew these facts would come out somehow. It was just a matter of time. "I hope it will not change the way you look at me, doctor, because I do not want to be different. I do not want to be treated differently."

"Different? Of course! You can't just walk in here and pretend you're just a normal Solaris victim," the doctor came back to his seat. "A dozen nurses and paramedics already realized that you're not normal when they treated you in the ER. However, you act and talk like an everyday Solaran. No Clanner, in his sanctimonious conscience, would say 'please' to Spheroid. No Clanner would fight in Solaris. You're too modest to be a Clanner, but to exemplary to be a Spheroid. So I ordered a thorough CAT-scan on your brain, and voila!"

The doctor pulled out a copy of my brain. One particular area was dark red, just under the main lobe.

"Like I mentioned before, your hippocalamus is smaller than average human, to give space to your extended cerebrum. But in your case, your hippocalamus is almost dead. There are traces of blood clot around the arteries, and my prediction is that you had a massive hemorrhage a while ago. Lucky for you it's your hippocalamus. You don't lose anything, just your memory. That explains why you don't act like a normal Clanner. You don't remember anything about being a Clanner."

"Can you fix it?" I jumped at the first opportunity.

"Had you come to me earlier, I would've said yes," he sighed, hating the fact that he had to deliver the bad news. "The damage accumulates through the year, and at this stage, there is nothing I can do. I can refer you to some specialists, but I need to know what happened. Tell me how you develop that scar."

"I do not remember what happened," I began. "I was told that I was Wolf ristar by the name of Darien Kerensky. My jumpship malfunctioned as we headed for Arc Royal, and I was stranded at Engadine. That was 3058. I survived the crash, then came to a nearby town Hogye. One local held a bitter grudge against the Clans, and hit my head. That was the blow that wiped out my memory. Next time I woke up, I did not remember anything. Through the majority of 3059 to 3061 I was taken bondsman by the Jade Falcon. I went to fight Elementals barehanded almost everyday. Perhaps the repeated blows to my head worsened the wound."

"I see," the doctor took notes. "Who's Evee?"

It took me several seconds to believe what the doctor said. "How do you know about Evee?"

"You need a copious amount of morphine to calm you down, and even then you were not fully sedated. You kept calling the name 'Evee', so I think I should ask. Was she in your prior or post 3058?"

"She is," I tried to gain a composure, knowing that talking about Evee would once again tear a new cut over an old wound. "She is the one that guided me through everything. Living without a past was hard, and she helped me to find who I was and who I wanted to be. She is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Should I notify her about your condition?"

"No," I shook my head. "We moved on."

"It doesn't seem like you have."

"Can we not talk about her, please?" I fumed. "You were talking about recommendations."

"My apology," the doctor was taken aback by my sudden outburst. "At this stage, only 2 brain surgeons that I would recommend you talk to. One is at Atreus, Free World League, the other is at New Avalon, Federated Commonwealth. I would suggest you talk to the one at Free World because the FedCom Civil War might drag the one at New Avalon to meet Davion's deeds. But I must warn you: there's a good chance that the damage was permanent. And the entire procedure will need a lot of money."

"I can handle the money," I smiled. "Give me his contact information. I will give it a chance."

"Then I wish you good luck," the doctor extended his arm for a handshake. "I'll take your information to the counter."

Thor's Shieldhall, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
December 8, 3063

Once again I found myself at the top of the list of medium circuit final, outranking Kyle Garret this time. Killing Fist Difalco gave me a considerable boost in reputation. The medium-weight final would be held at Factory Arena, Montenegro. The Montenegro District was a home of Marik supporter, and although Liao and Marik had close relationship that rooted back to invasion of Sarna March, most Free World loyalists hated Fist Difalco. Many were tired of Difalco's antics, not to mention his tight relation to the notorious Grey Wolves.

The talk about medium-weight final far exceeded the talk about others, even the Grand Championship. Kyle and I created such a rivalry that there were more talks about who the better pilot was between Kyle and I than the talks about all the other championships combined. However, some 'experts' still counted the Grey Wolves as major players in the final. The Grey Wolves was severely weakened, but they were not finished. Many of their mechwarriors were still at large, and experts predicted they would make an 'all-or-nothing' performance at the medium championship.

John Daniels was reviewing the list of the contenders for final match when he brought up the subject. "I am not making this up, you know," he stated. "I have dependable source saying that the Grey Wolves were pretty pissed off by the death of Fist Difalco. They're planning something for you, something big that will avenge the death of their golden boy."

"Had I let Difalco have his way, I would have not been in the championship at this moment," I rebuked. "The game system did not give me any choice. And he made it clear that he would kill me. It was me or him."

Daniels drew a deep breath, then chugged his beer to the last drop. "Oh, you stupid jerk. How do you think Difalco get into the medium semifinal? Difalco was past his prime. We both know he did not have enough credit to be in the medium semifinal. Open your eyes, Parker, how did Difalco get into the semifinal?"

It crossed my mind that Daniels was suggesting a macabre way to get around the tight Solaris schedule. Of course, there was another way, but it required me to do the unimaginable. It required me to lower myself to the same level as the Grey Wolves: bribing, threatening, sabotage, hurting other players outside the arenas, and many more. My heart sunk just by thinking about this.

"You do not want to go there," I snarled at him. "You do not want to be a Grey Wolf."

"We are all Grey Wolves, Parker," Daniels chortled, ordering some more liquor bottles. "You obviously need to learn a lot more about Solaris. Everything here is a game. Games have rules, and like any other rules, they were created to be bent… or broken, if you will. Nobody can make it to the top using his own power. The good players know what to do in the arena, the best ones know what to do outside. Do you think your buddy Kyle Garret made it to the final just because he is good? Do you think he coalesces with Captain Morton for no particular reason? Answer me, dammit!"

I could not. I just could not. I never looked at this matter from this perspective before. This string of questions suddenly made me wonder: was I the only one that fought on the arenas with a childlike gusto? Did everybody use alternative ways to push their position through the rank ladder? If that was the case, then what was the true meaning of Solaris Champion? Why did the Spheroid worship their Solaris Champions as demigods if the champions did not need piloting skills? And what was I looking for in such a place?

"Well?" Daniels croaked, demanding a definitive answer.

Well? Yes, my relationship with Kyle was strained since the beginning. I never really trusted him, and although we grew close together lately, I still had some unanswered questions about his past. But I really could not imagine if he benefited from other sources. He was an excellent mechwarrior, and he did not seem to need such aid. Or did he? Should I listen to Daniels at all? He was drunk, but his words may hold some truth.

"If that is the way to win the championship, why did you not tell me earlier?" I emptied my bottle in a large swig. "Why did you let me kill Difalco? Why, after everything went undoable, did you bring up this matter as if we could have done it in a better way?"

Daniels did not answered. He pushed half a bottle of liquor into his throat, watching people strolling on the streets. His eyes went far as if he was daydreaming. But I knew he was not. He was trying to avoid my question, or coin an explanation. I sensed deceit in his gestures, but I always knew from the start that Daniels was not an honest man. He had his own agenda, and whatever it was, nobody would benefit much of it but himself.

Of course, if I thought about it further, his agenda was to milk money from my fights. Second place in the semifinal paid only half of the top winner, and even if he could place me on the final, he had to pay for the service. No, he did not want to do that. As long as I could bring money home, he would not do anything.

"My intention was never to condemn the past," Daniels finally replied. "I brought it up to prepare you for the worst. The medium-weight final will not be an easy path. You have cemented yourself in such imagery that every Liao loyalist wants to kill you. But now you know what you're up against. We can devise a strategy to get out of it. We will prevail, just like the lightweight circuit. This time, you're gonna be the champion. You can beat all Davion and Liao loyalists and emerge a victor."

As much as I wanted to believe him, I knew he was lying.

"Mr. Daniels, I am grateful that you gave me a chance to fight with your stable. But the medium-weight final will be my last fight under your banner. I am leaving Solaris."

His eyes bugged open. "After what I've done to you? You were a bum when you came to Solaris! I sheltered you, I gave you home, I gave you a job, and now you're leaving me? You're leaving Solaris when you're at the height of your career? Are you out of your mind?"

"No, in fact this is something I always wanted to do," I reclined on my seat. "I should have told you that I developed a brain damage. The doctor at Indrahar Memorial Hospital told me that I had a chance to get it fixed at Atreus. I want to take that chance. The money I collect from medium championship should be enough to pay the surgery."

"Look, Parker," Daniels smiled awkwardly, half pleading. "You can't stop now. You're the finest mechwarrior I've ever worked with, and I can tell… I swear by the ghost of Hanse Davion, you can be the Grand Champion of Solaris in the next 2 years. If you give up now, you'll throw away 2 years of hard work!"

"I never wanted to be a mechwarrior in the first place. I applied as a technician, remember?"

"But you're so good at mech fighting! Come on, this is an opportunity billions of people could only drool at! You have it in your hand! I tell you what. I just acquire a new mech, AGS-4D Argus. This baby is still hot from the factory, and news from the battlefield is that the Steiner had so much success with this mech. It's a 60-ton mech with enough room to mount the biggest weapons of the Inner Sphere, including the massive Heavy Gauss Rifle. You'll have a chance to commandeer this monster for the first time in Solaris. Do it one more year, until you win the heavy championship, then I'll take care of your travel and surgery expenses! How does that sound?"

As much as I was intrigued by the new mech, it was hard to believe that Daniels was willing to do this for me. Five minutes ago he revealed he was reluctant to spend money to smoothen my way up to the medium-weight final. Now he declared that he was willing to take the responsibility of my surgery. No, this was too good to be true. I did not believe it a bit.

"Mr. Daniels, I can take care of myself," I replied. "I do not want to be indebted to you."

"Parker, crucial things like brain surgery always have high risk," he persisted. "You can be crippled. You can loose your ability to walk, to speak, even to pilot a mech. You can be degenerated into a vegetable who depends on other's mercy. And at that time, no matter how much you want to pilot an Argus, you can't. So don't waste your time. We can get your brain fixed next year, but at least give the Argus a chance. Come on, one more year."

I could see his logic. That, and the anxiety to drive a new mech finally turned my decision around. "Alright, one more year. But I am going next year, no matter what happens. I promise to do this for you, so I expect you to honor your words."

"Cross my heart," he chimed, grinning from ear to ear. "You can count on me."