TWENTY
Boreal Reach Arena, Black Hills,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
April 30, 3065
My lips curled into a smile as the sight of the red Gladiator monopolized the otherwise dull-coated mechbay. Four years ago I left it unrecognizable, stripped to the bone by Helmer's fire. None of them was present. Fully restored and fully loaded, my mech had come back from the grave, carrying with it the arrogant smile that was always its trademark.
I did not know how Kyle got it back. I did not know how he handed it to Omar without giving the impression that the Davion was trying to help me. But like Kyle said, it was not important. I had a chance to redeem myself by helping the Davion winning the civil war, and I would use it to regain my confidence.
"Happy now?" Omar stood beside me. "Now that I gave you what you want, it is your turn to give me what I want. This opening game is your inauguration. If you succeed, you'll move to bigger games, with bigger payload and bigger fame. Loose, and you'll succumb to oblivion. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear," I replied.
"Good! Then off you go and win the game."
The platform rose, taking me to the cockpit. Nothing changed. I claimed my place in the command couch, powering up the metal giant. The whirring sound of reactor startup felt like music to me. I pushed the joystick gently, and the mech responded smoothly, taking me to the arena.
Seven assault mechs had waited inside, the biggest being a Grand Titan. The hundred-ton monster was billed as the best Inner Sphere mech ever built, but it never dethroned Atlas as the 'sovereign of the battlefield', contrary to the manufacturer's high expectation. Other ranged from the versatile Awesome to the squat Warhawk. Other than the Titan and the Warhawk, nobody was formidable enough to give me real threat.
I did not know if it was reuniting with my old mech or helping the Davions that gave me a boost in morale. Gone was the ignominy of disgrace, replaced by thirst of victory. And it was not for my own fame. It was the realization that the more victories I bagged, the closer I was to watch the fall of Omar's Wildcats.
Cheer for me, Omar, I chimed mentally, and I will cheer at your grave.
As the match started, I slammed my feet on the pedal. Always a runner, my Gladiator responded with a strong jerk forward, bringing the 95-ton mass to the center. A Mauler met my challenge, showering me with long-range weapons. Two missiles slapped me on the right torso, and a string of ballistics cored my left. My armor stopped every attack, but the Mauler had enough ammunition to exhaust my armor.
On my left a Stalker pounded the ground, raining down its lasers at me. I sidestepped the laser, but the missiles had a hard lock on me. Three of them peppered my rear armor. I twisted left, firing two rounds of lasers at the bird-like mech, while set my course toward the Mauler. Missiles and ballistics ravaged my right side, pressing the armor gauge on my right arm to yellow. I ignored the attack, firing two more rounds at the Stalker, then made an abrupt turn behind the Mauler.
The Stalker fired its missiles, but the Mauler blocked me, so the warheads smashed the unintended target. The Mauler retaliated with its own missiles, followed by lasers and ballistics. The right side of the Stalker started to bleed smoke and coolant. But it would not go down easy. Twin large lasers singed the bulk of armor on the left arm. Steamed hissed as the armor plating turned into orange jelly.
I could wait until they wore each other out, but such was not the way I wanted to win. I raised my cannons and hit the Mauler's left arm. The 90-ton mech shook hard, leaning on its right leg as its left arm rolled in the air. Minor fire consumed the left torso, turning the myomer stubs into wrinkled thread.
Strangely enough, the Mauler did not answer my challenge. It trudged forward and attacked the Stalker. Perhaps the pilot knew that he would not survive the game, so he sought for kills instead of overall victory. And it showed in his fighting pattern. Ignoring heat, it pounded the Stalker in a curtain of ballistics. The Stalker threw everything it had, answering each of the Mauler's hard blows with its own. But careless heat management quickly sent it overheating. It fired its last round, then bowed down in idle, leaving the pounding for the Mauler alone.
Fighting with an assault mech was all about shooting. Maneuvering was scarce, since only a handful of assaults could make the most of its maneuvering aptitude. Fortunately, mine was one of them. I swung to the Mauler's right, and while it continued to hammer the shut-downed Stalker, I ripped its right arm. The long-barreled laser broke into several pieces, and the Mauler swayed to the left, sustaining the impact. But still it ignored me.
The Stalker came back, but it already accumulated too much damage on the hull. The Mauler fired the full gamut of its weapons, shredding the last bit of armor that covered the Stalker's fuselage. Fire broke out of control, and the Stalker pilot knew there was no point in continuing. He pulled the ejection lever, seconds before the entire fuselage exploded.
Finally the Mauler turned to face me. Its front armor was mangled, a testament of just how fierce an ancient mech like the Stalker was if used right. Before it had an unobstructed path, my lasers stabbed its right torso, turning the oblique launcher into a contorted slant. My twin LBX-20's followed suit, clobbering what was left of the launcher. Stored magazines exploded, and the Mauler fell back on its butt, a result of late compensation of the explosion force.
As the Mauler struggled to get up, I circled to the left, away from its potential retaliation. Suddenly a massive force struck me from the left. My console went static and gauges blinked in useless fashion. Waste heat seeped into the cockpit. I felt my mech tipping over, but I yanked my joystick to the left, and released it before I overcompensated. Such a brutal attack could only come from one source: the Warhawk. Only a PPC blast fried the electronics, ripped the armor, and spiked the temperature up at the same time. And by how far I swayed, I knew I was hit by more than one bolt.
My console went online, and the signature of a Warhawk leapt into my eyes, 700 meters on my left. My armor turned dangerously orange. I pushed the throttle to maximum and sent my lasers at the sneaky attacker. Two emerald beams cored the upper left arm of the omnimech. Molten armor splattered over the wall as the Warhawk spread its legs wider, seeking better weight distribution. Missiles rained down on me, and I turned right, covering my left side. The impact only jarred the cockpit slightly, not even enough to reduce to armor gauge to yellow.
The Mauler arose to its feet, and fired whatever it had left at me. I bobbed and weaved, missing the majority of its ballistics, but its missiles raked my leg armor. For a reason alien to me, the Warhawk switched target and fired all PPCs at the Mauler. The mangled giant did not have any chance. A brilliant flash took over the mech, ripping it to pieces.
Killing the Mauler while it was attacking me was a bad mistake, and I did not understand why such a blunder still existed at the assault class. Now the Warhawk had to wait for 6 seconds for another attack. But why did I complain? It was mine for the taking. I sprinted forward, harassing the Warhawk in a one-two punch. Three laser hits weakened the front armor, and when I reached 300 meters, I let my cannons loose.
The munitions hit the omnimech over a large area, creating impressive fissures all around the body. The 85-ton Warhawk jerked behind, taking several steps to maintain balance. The pilot knew that his PPCs were only half as accurate at best, so he opted to use his secondary weapons. Barrages of missiles and smaller caliber of lasers sprinkled my mech from every direction.
My armor could handle them just fine, so I circled the Warhawk, waiting for my cannons to reload, then linked them together. As soon as the bells rang, I pounded its right hip, first with my lasers, then my cannons. The immense force cracked the hinge casing and jammed the leg in place. The Warhawk squirmed frantically, trying to free the immobile leg, but the hinge was badly mangled. I waited for my laser to recycle, then blasted the hinge. The squat mech careened and slumped to the ground, crushing the PPC barrels on its left arm under its own weight.
Then, it was the Grand Titan.
The Warhawk was still writhing on the ground, and I did not know if it counted as a kill, but I could not stay around for long. The Titan, albeit smoking and bleeding fire from several places, was the virtual king of the arena. Blood-red lasers zipped left and right, followed by missile rain that rocked my mech. I sent my lasers across the field, nagging the Titan's left arm that was torn open, a sure sign of Gauss hit. Fire burst from the wound, and although the arm was still in place, I was confident that the missile launcher had been disabled.
The Titan fired its pulse laser, two of which hit my left arm, a direct mirror of what happened ten seconds ago. A ton of armor was gone, and the armor gauge blinked in red. One more shot like that and my left LBX-20 would be gone. I turned left, but two more lasers cored my right shoulder. The pilot surely knew how to use his mech.
I stepped on the pedal, bringing my mech into a sprint. My lasers found its left torso, but with every hit, the Titan came back and scored similar hit. I could not let it taking pot shots with its pulse lasers. I did not want a pyrrhic victory. And one was avoidable if I could bring my LBX cannons to bear. So I turned my mech straight toward the Titans. Laser strands of various calibers chipped the armor off my mech, so much that my center torso started blinking. But I weathered the storm, knowing that it would be over soon.
I pounded the Titan from long range, trading fire with its deadly pulse lasers, until I reached 250 meters. The Titan spat its short missiles, hoping to distract me, while raining its pulse lasers at incredible rate. I sidestepped the missiles, then fired my left cannon. The Titan keeled over as fragmented shells tore a crack on its right torso. It realigned its torso, but I followed up with my right, pushing it further. The gash turned into a smoke-gushing hole. Teetering, the Titan still had a fight in it, but my lasers were ready. I sank two emerald beams into the hole, and the entire right torso exploded in colorful flares.
I had to give some of the credit to whoever weakened the Titan's armor. Had it not been damaged, I would have not dominated this fight. Nevertheless, the hundred-ton avatar showed incredible fighting spirit. Stripped to one-fourth its original punching power, it came back at me and fired the remaining missiles. I bobbed; missing the unguided missiles, then put my crosshair right at the smoking torso.
My next wave proved to be lethal. A series of explosions tore the mech apart. Blue flame seeped from the crack, hinting reactor breach. I backpedaled as the Titan gave the final defiance to stand, then collapsed like a timber log. A moment later the reactor erupted in a mushroom-like cloud, taking the mech apart.
Before I could check my mech, the dark figure of a Highlander challenged me in a duel. Its Gauss slug lodged in my right leg, threatening to snap it. My Gladiator staggered, swaying in response of the disturbed balance. I did not compensate, instead I spread the legs wider. The Highlander peppered me with its missiles, then took off to the air, legs aimed at my cockpit.
I did not understand why Spheroids liked this maneuver. It was risky, and it exposed the bottom part of the mech. Before the sturdy legs hit the cockpit, I raised both arms and blasted its crotch. The impact shifted the course of the 90-ton mech. It lost balance midair, and its feet flailed 10-degree upward. The mech flew over my head, then slammed the ground not 20 meters behind me. The quaked jarred the entire arena.
The Highlander writhed on the ground for a while, then used its jets to get up. I scored two good hits on its torso, then ducked as the Highlander's Gauss slug flew inches away from my right arm. I noticed that the Highlander's movement was hampered. It must have been the crotch shot while it was trying to smash the cockpit. I could easily position myself behind the Highlander and blast its weak rear armor. But the pilot did not seem to offer much. I opted to fight him in the old-fashion way.
I waited until all my guns were ready, then slugged the Highlander with an alpha strike. The ancient mech instantly toppled behind. Major fire enveloped the torso, ripped open by my alpha strike. It rose to its feet, pulling off its last effort to stay in the game, hanging its life entirely on luck. But I was ready for it. Once again my twin LBX-20's barked, carving the torso that was nearly stripped to the bone. There was nothing left to hold. The Highlander fell back and crashed in a furious flame.
So, there were only two mechs left standing, mine and an Awesome. In normal condition, I could take on an Awesome without much difficulty. But considering I had only less than half armor left, and five ammunition left on each cannon, I had to be prudent. One wrong move and the Awesome would put me into misery. On the other hand, the Awesome had lost its right arm, reducing the number of PPC.
This was a contest of strategy.
Naturally the Awesome would want to stay away from me, while I would try to fight close-quarter combat. But I had another advantage: the Awesome's broad torso made a good target at long range, while my lanky mech was hard to target, especially if I twisted perpendicular from its line of fire. I decided to play his game.
The Awesome took the offensive. Twin PPC bolts streaked over the great plain. I leaned on my left leg and twisted, making my area as small as possible. I could feel the heat as the twin bolts passed through my cockpit. The threat gone, I put my crosshair on the Awesome's midriff and pumped my lasers. Molten armor streaked down its leg, and the big mech reeled behind.
Then there was a lull as we waited for our guns to recycle. My lasers were ready before its PPCs recycled, so I hit the Awesome again. Its shoulder glowed in red. Then I twisted left, carefully protecting my damaged left side. Alas, a PPC bolt hammered my right arm. Warning sign intruded my ear, screaming critical damage. My damage screen did not show weapon offline, but the armor level dropped to a thread-thin bar.
Six seconds was enough to sprint toward the Awesome to bring in my short-range killers. Once again I paced myself until I reached 300 meters. I linked all guns together and let it rip. The Awesome took the hit pretty well, although the left torso blackened and chafed. It retaliated with its PPC, but this time only one bolt leapt from the tube. It grazed my right leg, pulling off a crack that spurted coolant and gear fluid.
The Awesome did not stop. Six missiles leapt from the tube, streaking a mere centimeter in front of my torso. Lucky for me that the missiles were unguided. My laser found home on its right torso, practically wiping out its long-range weapons, then my ballistic silenced the short-range launcher. Standing mutilated, without any working weapons, the pilot knew that his only logical choice was to yield. And so he did.
My confidence flew sky high. It felt good to be back in my Gladiator again.
Taking my mech back into the hangar, I noticed that Omar was waiting for me, escorted by his bodyguards. He was carrying a portable holo-video. What was his intention? As the platform brought me back to the ground, Omar gestured me to meet him.
"We've received an invitation," he informed me. "A duel invitation."
"Sanctioned duel?" I pondered. "How well this will sit in regular season and the championship?"
"I can make it sanctioned," Omar replied. "This guy is a hardcore Steiner. I guess our stable starts to make them nervous. They know that you are now untouchable, so they tried different way to make you perish from the competition. They tried to kill you in a duel. Watch this message."
Omar pressed a button on the holo-video, and a message hologram appeared. A man with African descendant appeared. "Greetings, Mister Parker. My name is 'Killer' Knauer, Overlord Stable. Your reputation precedes you, and I would like to challenge you in a duel at The Labyrinth. No reinforcement, no repair and reload, just the two of us. I will wait for you at noon, 2 weeks from now. If you are what people say you are, you will regard this invitation with utmost respect. However, should you opt to spurn me, then I can only address you as a coward. We'll know what your true color is in 2 weeks."
"What do you know about Knauer?" I asked Omar.
"Second-in-command in La Cosa Nostra. A ruthless warrior. Even more ruthless as an individual."
"What would it benefit us if I win?"
"It sends a message that it might be the Steiner that rules the Inner Sphere," ambition reeked from Omar's voice. "But here at Solaris, it's the Omar's Wildcats."