Factory Arena, Montenegro,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
January 17, 3064
If there were fanfares on the factory arena, I was sure it would be merry. If there were fireworks on the sky, I was sure they would lit the dark arena with their lively brilliance. If there were spectators at the side of the arena, I was sure they would be chanting the names of their darlings. But none of them existed. The Marik Factory Arena, although hosting the medium-weight final, would remain dim and bleak barring flares from dying mechs. No fanfares, fireworks, or spectators to cheer on us, only mute machineries and walls.
Sixteen combatants had assumed position, ready to deliver their best performance. Another year had past, and once again I was a finalist. This time I won my place fair and square, winning the semifinal instead of being called as a wild card like in the lightweight championship a year ago. This fact was a double-bladed sword; it gave me poise but anxiety, because the Grey Wolves had me on their crosshair. I did not know for a fact what they were planning to do, but at the very least, I could expect Liao partisans playing tag team on me.
The Grey Wolves should be carrying Liao banner, or at least the crest of Liao-backed stable. So far I could only find one mech with Liao crest, a Griffin. Others scrapped their crest or repainted their mechs in a funky camouflage to disguise their emblems. As much as I wanted to believe, it was impossible to have only 1 Grey Wolf in the medium final.
Fortunately, Kyle Garret was still eager to work with me.
"I've got an Arctic Wolf bearing Liao logo two mechs on my right flank," he crackled through the comlink. "This sonofabitch covered his crest with spotlight, but damn him if he fools me. I can see he's not interested in me. If he lunges at you, I'll take care of him. You just watch yourself back there."
"Copy," I replied shortly. I did not understand this Kyle Garret. I had been all but nice to him, and he still gave me support, whether I needed it or not. And I did not understand why I could not like him, despite his abiding kindness. Perhaps I was jealous of him for having everything I did not. Perhaps he and Natalie depicted, in their innocent inadvertence, what I could have had with Evee. Or perhaps it was simply my competitive nature. I did not know the answer. I was mad and confused. Had Evee been here, she would have assisted me through it.
Stravag, I missed her.
The horn ripped me off my daydream, and I knew the time was nigh. Scanning the battlefield, I realized the Crab on my left, the Liao Griffin, the Arctic Wolf, and a Hunchback moved toward my position, while others spread in random. Kyle broke free from two mechs that cross-fired him and hit the Arctic Wolf from the back as it made a sprint. The autocannon from his Centurion tore a bad gash on the Wolf's thin rear armor. The Wolf almost lost its balance, but it managed to stay on its feet and quickly turned around to face Kyle.
I could not watch the outcome of the duel. I had a Crab pouring lasers at my left side, and a Griffin - Hunchback duo gearing up toward me. The Griffin posed the most threat, so I twisted and slapped a double-shot LBX-10 at the Crab. As it wobbled, I punched my jets to get away from it, and slammed my foot on the accelerator to bring my mech sprint toward the Griffin.
The Hunchback was still a little further away, so I swung to my left, putting the Griffin right between the Hunchback and me. The Griffin cleared the obstacle and quickly unloaded its entire arsenal at me. The charged particle beam almost hit me on the shoulder, but the rushed shot missed me by a mere centimeter, carving a big hole at the machinery behind me. His missiles streaked the ground, and two warheads punched the armor on my right leg. But aside from chipped armor, my Black Jack remained unharmed.
Earthwerks designed the Griffin with long-range fire support in mind, apparent in its PPC and LRM setup. The pilot clearly understood this drawback as he turned over, drawing me closer toward the Hunchback. But I refused to play his game. With the Crab behind me shooting crazily, I charged full speed at the Hunchback, waiting until the distance between us was just more than 350 meters, then turned hard to the right. The Crab had an unobstructed sight at the Hunchback, and foolishly opened fire with full force. Two laser darts turned the front armor of the Hunchback into orange blob.
I slid past the Hunchback easily as it was occupied by the Crab. The Griffin fired its weapons, one of which grazed the skin of my right arm. He refused to fight me at close range, and continued his run while peppering me with its PPC. His position did not allow him to score a good hit, but I could not get close to him to make use of my weapons. This went on for some time, until a BSW-X1 blocked his path. Realizing that he had nowhere to go, he turned around and faced me, raising his guns and attacked me with reckless abandon.
My jump jets pushed me to the left, missing his murderous PPC blast, but his LRM found mark on my torso. A soft tremor enveloped the cockpit, but I did not need much effort to realign my crosshair at the Griffin. I fired my lasers to soften the armor, then followed up with one scattershot hit to the torso. Multiple sparks blossomed upon impact, covering mostly on the left torso. The Griffin centered his aim at me, but I ruined his shot by another salvo of LBX-10. It twisted right; arms flailed as my munitions snapped it. The blue bolt spearheaded across the battlefield to carve yet another machinery setup.
The Griffin came back, but the Bushwacker snapped a pot shot from behind. Its autocannon lashed the Griffin's rear armor, pulling off large cracks, and its missiles cored the left torso. The Griffin had his PPC ready for me, but the pilot decided the Bushwacker was the more potent enemy. Why exactly, I did not know. It wound left and hurled his mighty cannon, grilling the Bushwacker's left-side armor. Temporarily shorted did not deter the Bushwacker. It realigned the torso and fired its laser, puncturing the front armor in a glowing, dripping pockmark.
Involuntary or not, I welcomed this new development. It was not an ordinary situation where I could conserve my ammunition and armor by watching other players shooting at each other. The Griffin used its blazing speed and agility to pepper the Bushwacker left side, but the Bushwacker large-bored autocannon wore down the Griffin, shredding its front armor.
In the end, the Bushwacker hit the harder. One burst of missiles seared off the Griffin's right arm just above the elbow, cutting off half of its firepower. The Griffin retaliated with a clean shot of LRM, but the Bushwacker did not even flinch. It absorbed all missiles, then barked its autocannon and laser simultaneously. Large swath of molten armor painted the air as the autocannon shell blew the bubbling armor clean, exposing engine and reactor casing to the surface. The humanoid mech staggered and backpedaled, showering the Bushwacker left side with missiles. Three consecutive blows finally tore the left torso. Fire and smoke burst from the crack, and burning splinters arced away in the air to mix with sparks and smoke.
But the Bushwacker weathered the damage. It compensated by leaning to its right leg, then pounded the Griffin with everything it had. Short stream of autocannon munitions pumped titanium gristles into the air, while the missiles ripped the torso further. The crimson laser came last, torching the reactor casing and ammunition bins. The Griffin body snapped into 2 parts as the stored warheads erupted in unison, triggered by radioactive spill from the breached reactor. A mighty fireball bloomed, taking up the space where the Griffin had been.
Wasting no time, I whipped my mech forward, firing my entire arsenal at the Bushwacker's right shoulder. My clustered munitions plowed the armor and lodged into the myomer, and my lasers cut through the hinge. A geyser of sparks roused to the air, preceding a mini fireball that enveloped the Bushwacker's right-arm joint. The mighty gun clanged to the hard plaster, and the 55-tonner leaned on its left leg, compensating the loss of mass.
But in a swift counterassault, the Bushwacker's large laser burnt a slab of armor on my torso. My Black Jack teetered, and before I could regain full control, missiles struck my left torso, pushing me further to the right. I felt like my mech was seconds away from toppling, but I manipulated the jet thrusters, regaining balance, time, and a much-needed space at the same instance.
Deep down, I respected the Bushwacker pilot. He knew his mech well and could use it like he was born to. But he overestimated his mech's endurance. His over reliance on the Bushwacker's armor became his undoing. The Griffin managed to punch a hole on its left armor, and I exploited it further. I linked my twin LBX-10 together and let him have it. One-two shots of my LBX cannons twisted the Bushwacker, and the shockwave finally heaved its left leg. The mech toppled to its right, on top of its stump that was its right arm. Chain explosion consumed the mech's left torso, starting from the Griffin-cored hole and spread through its entire left side. I readied my lasers to guarantee a kill, but it was not necessary. The Bushwacker would not come back.
A couple hundred meters from me, Kyle and the Arctic Wolf were still locked in a stalemate, and there was no sign this duel would end soon. The Liao pilot proved to be a worthy adversary for the young Davion. The Arctic Wolf's streak 6-pack missiles pounded the Centurion almost unabated, but its torso was shredded in several places, a clear testament of Kyle's ferocity in medium circuit.
"Do you mind if I chip in?" I readied my guns.
"He might," Kyle replied in mirth. "Knock yourself out."
At his concession, I put my crosshair at the Arctic Wolf's left side. The Liao pilot realized a new threat, but his reflex was not fast enough to save him. My shells found home at its left torso. I could almost see the wrath bubbling on the eyes of the pilot when he realized that his plan to tag-team me now work against him. He quickly regained balance, but a brutal punch from Kyle's AC-10 slammed it left torso, precisely where my shells landed a second before. Losing balance, the Arctic Wolf had nowhere else to go but down.
As the Liao struggled to get up, I observed the battlefield. There were only 5 mechs left on the arena, and the Liao Hunchback was one of them. It obviously got over the Crab, and was now handling a Shadow Hawk. The ancient Star-League-era battlemech could not handle the Hunchback's AC-20, and the duel would soon end in the Hunchback favor.
"Hunchback is still alive," I told Kyle through private channel. "We have to finish this Arctic Wolf fast."
"Got it," Kyle's response came sharp and crisp. "Same place, same time, on my signal."
The Arctic Wolf had rose to its feet, and streak missiles charged me like tidal waves. I held my joystick firmly as the warheads flogged every inch of my mech, flaying armor and reducing the level to orange. My mech slouched backward, teetering at the heels, almost toppling over if the computer did not recalibrate the balancing. It trod back down in a savage thud, but nevertheless ready for the counter attack. My mental image danced on my head, picturing the fear in the pilot's eyes as all guns trained at its weakened torso.
"Fire!" Kyle remarked, and my thumb reacted at his command. The combined assault forced the Arctic Wolf to bend and contort, weathering the massive impact. Coolant bled out hissing, and the remaining structure of its left torso was wiped out, leaving only twisted metal as memento of what it had been. Once again the Arctic Wolf stumbled, and with one arm less, it took longer to get back on its feet.
"Would you do the honor?" Kyle quipped.
"No, it is yours," I replied, shifting my attention to the Hunchback. "I have two already, and my mech still has enough armor to take on the Hunchback."
"Stay away from its autocannon. I'll meet you once I'm finished with the Arctic Wolf."
I could tell that the Hunchback's pilot was almost as good as the Arctic Wolf's. Bagging two kills, the most damage was at its left torso, the place that held no significant weapons. He surely knew how to maneuver, and even if he was a lousy shot, his AC-20 was a menace to almost any mech in existence, even assaults. On the other hand, he might have been ammo-deprived. But I did not want to speculate.
I met the Hunchback's dash, sprinting full sped, until I was less than 500 meters away from it. I blasted my LBX-10's at its torso. At that range, the fragmented shells did not have enough power to penetrate the entire armor, but there was only a latex-thin armor on the left torso that my shot managed to squeeze out sparks and smoke. The Hunchback keeled over, but quickly restore its stance. Its arms twinkled, shooting twin ruby darts at my shoulder. My console rang, shouting critical damage when my armor tracker of my left torso blinked in red. But I could care less about his lasers. If he still had enough ammunition for his monster autocannon, he would use it now.
I quickly sidestepped, and a quarter second after, the mammoth nozzle at the Hunchback's right torso flickered. Yellow traces of ballistics zipped past my head and floated into futility. It turned around to track me, but a set of missiles hit its torso. Six warheads clobbered the flaming left torso, and a bright explosion breached its left arm, spinning in the air before skidding gracelessly on the ground.
The Hunchback turned its guns at Kyle, but realized that he was still out of range. It came back to me, but I was ready. The sound of my LBX-10's made my ears ringing, but the explosion of the Hunchback buried everything. Splinters in various sizes shrouded my mech; some nagged the plexiglass canopy of my cockpit. Nevertheless, no further damage was done.
And then, there were only Kyle and me left standing, just like the lightweight championship. This time, my mech was in better condition than his Centurion. His mech had reached combat loss grouping, blinking red on every section. I knew, and he might as well knew, that this championship belonged to me. But I did not have the desire to win. He could have watch me fighting the Grey Wolves alone, then mowed down however was left standing. The fact that I only received moderate damage was due to his effort. No, I did not want to win without an explanation.
"Why did you do it, Kyle?" I could not suppress my anxiety. "Why did you help me?"
"You are critical in our quest to bring the Grey Wolves to their knees," Kyle stated. "It is for Davion's interest that you don't die in the hands of Liao partisans. Besides, Evee would appreciate it very much."
As much as I abhorred being used as political means, it was his last comment that annoyed me to the core. Could he for once stay away from my personal matter? What was Evee to him that he kept treating me like a lost kid? "Evee and I are finished," I spat my curt reply. "You can stop giving me charities on her behalf."
"We both know it is not true."
How dare he accuse me of lying? Damn freebirth! I throttled up, putting my crosshair squarely on the Centurion's midst. I hated the fact that the fight was heavily in my favor, but if I did not finish him, I concurred with his insult. I could, and I should, call for Trial of Grievance. But finishing him would suffice. "Your effort is greatly appreciated, but none is taken as debt. Guard yourself, Kyle Garret. May the best warrior win."
"May the best warrior win," he zipped to the right. He was still fast, despite his crumbling mech. I fired one of my LBX, but he slid easily, letting my clustered round swerved harmlessly behind his back. His missiles stampeded toward me. I knew they were not guided, so I fired my jets, taking me airborne 50 meters, missing the missiles that slammed into the wall. I jetted forward and fired my other cannon, but he flinched effortlessly. His AC-10 belched, hitting my wrecked torso, wiping off the last ton of armor, rendering my medium laser useless.
The blast served as a wake up call for me. I had been consumed by wrath, and I relied entirely on my strength to quickly destroy his damaged Centurion. I lost a weapon as a result. Kyle Garret was not a type of enemy that could be overwhelmed by firepower. I had to penetrate his mind, seeking out what he was planning, and cutting off his move before he had a chance to execute it. And I could not do it with rage.
So I leaned back in my command couch, letting him douse my mech with his missiles. The sound of explosions echoed through the cockpit, turning my stomach upside down. But I twisted, exposing my good side toward the missiles. The quake lasted several seconds, until my left side was bright red in hue.
I dashed forward, quickly eating up the distance between us. My right LBX roared, but Kyle ducked, sliding to my right. Lasers peppered my right side as the Centurion swerved past my blind spot. I triggered my jump jets, flying and pivoting in the air, giving me an unadulterated view of the Centurion. Kyle abruptly reversed direction, expecting me to fire my left cannon. Had I done that, I would have missed, and he would have had two free seconds to sink his AC-10 slug into my chest.
Smart play, but I was not about to be outsmarted.
I held my trigger for another second, waiting for Kyle to get into a stable run, then fired off. Tongues of fire licked as the entire right torso exploded. The lanky mech sprawled, its legs flailed in vain attempt to keep standing. It fell flat on its face. Defiant to the bitter end, Kyle prepped up his mech using his remaining arm, but my right LBX-10 had clanged to the ready. I pulled the trigger, watching the munitions shredded Kyle's left arm to pieces. The Centurion fell again, and without arms, it remained stationary on the ground.
I trained all weapons to Kyle's mech, lying haplessly on the ground, but I did not want to finish it. I hated this victory. I felt cheated from a fair match. I did not deserve to be the champion, because my triumph was semi-premeditated by House Davion. And in a blind rage, I beat the true champion who was Davion's lamb in a lopsided match. It was everything I abhorred in a zellbrigen. I simply lowered my weapons, waiting for the announcer to proclaim my victory, then walked toward the hangar. I would need a lot of liquor to get out of this mental torment.
Yes, a lot of liquor.