TWENTY TWO

Note: Thank you very much for keeping up with me, especially Kat Wylder. As of today, this story has received more than 4000 hits, which averages 200 hits a week since it was launched in January. Knowing that this work appeals to many readers gives me considerable spirit to write.
I have only 4 more chapters and I will try to make an ending that you'll never forget. Stay tuned.

Factory Arena, Montenegro,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
June 30, 3065

I was just powering up my mech when my comlink came to life.

"Listen to me, kid, for I just say it once," a pompous tone scrambled my ears as I connected the comlink to my headset. "This is Hauptmann-Kommandant Seats Robinson speaking. You have shown your worth disposing Killer Knauer. You have been invited to join La Cosa Nostra. You have one chance to submit yourself to us. When the white Atlas asks your surrender, power down and exit your mech. Then La Cosa Nostra welcomes you."

"My affiliation is Omar's Wildcats, Hauptmann-Kommandant," I fibbed resistance. "I cannot serve two masters at a time."

"I do not ask your opinion, kid," the voice turned bitter. "Whether you do it or not, it's up to you, although it's a wrong decision to stay with Omar. Smaller stables like the Wildcats come and go. If you join us, you can go to places you've never thought possible before."

That was the sign I had been waiting for. He did not explicitly refer to Omar's downfall, but I could see it from his choice of words. La Cosa Nostra was planning to bury Omar, and they want to salvage whatever they could, including me. Besides, adding me to their arsenal would propel their reputation through the roof. Or perhaps they simply did not want me to fall to Davion's charm. Like Emi once said, I had built a formidable fan group.

Play them, but never yield. That was what Kyle said.

"I am flattered by your invitation, but I am not free to decide," I gave them the impression that I was working under contract. "As a man of my word, I would like to honor my agreement with Omar until the end of the season. After that, perhaps we can talk if your invitation has not expired."

A curt chuckle sprung on the comlink. "Wait until you see what we can do."

The comlink cut off, and I brought my mech into the Factory Arena. It was dim inside, but it was not hard to spot the white Atlas, right in front of me, on the far end of the arena. There were sixteen mechs total, including me, and at this point it was impossible to know how many combatants were Steiner loyalists. I spotted two mechs bearing blue Lyran fist, not including the white Atlas. Others deftly hid their emblems, and this phenomenon had become a trend since the civil war started.

So what would happen if I refused to stand down? How many mechs would attack me? I always expected that some combatants would gang up on me, but in this assault class, it was surprisingly scarce. La Cosa Nostra focused more on administration rather than physical combats like the Grey Wolves. But I could not rule out physical harm, and I had a feeling it would happen today.

Unfortunately, I was right. Too right.

As soon as the horn sounded, all combatants turned their guns at me. All fifteen of them! I only had less than a second to get confused before countless laser beams, ballistics, and missiles speared me like torrential rain. Lucky for me, half of them were lousy shots, but those who were not landed critical hits that hurt my mech in less than fifteen seconds. Before I knew it, I was leaning backward. I quickly pushed the joystick forward, but soon realized I was too late. I could only braced the armrests of my command seat as my Gladiator toppled, flat on its back. My neurohelmet slammed into the headrest of my command couch, turning the world to grey haze.

"I think Hauptmann-Kommandant Robinson had explained how this game worked," somebody hailed me from general frequency. "This is the right time to do it. Power down and submit before we do too much damage to your mech."

They already did. My left torso was blinking red, the combined effect of two Gauss slugs, three laser beams, at least 2 PPC blasts, and about half a dozen missiles. My right arm was next to worst, with only half the armor left. My gyro was damaged, and coolant seeped and hissed from a nasty gash on my center. Gout of fire was visible from my window. Everything happened in less than 30 seconds, without me firing a single shot.

My mind raced to find a solution. I was no stranger to this situation, but never this bad. I faced overwhelming odds at Engadine, and again at Arc Royal, and once again at Wotan. I survived Grey Wolves onslaught several times. But I always had time for careful planning. Today, I had no such luxury. I had to buy time, and I had to do it quick.

"Even if I did, Omar would not let it happen," I said while I got up. "You are asking the impossible."

"All you have to do is submit, Parker. We'll make it happen."

I wondered how long I should keep playing this game, when my life was the wager. Was it worth trying? Was revenge worth dying? It might not, but I was the one that put myself in this situation. I agreed to help the Davions, and accepting Steiner's invitation – enforced invitation – meant I defected. I did not think there was a way to get around this situation. Should I die, I wanted to die with decency.

"No, I cannot."

More missiles and lasers strafed the ground, creating a cloud of dust and smoke that covered my rise. I put my throttle to maximum, knowing that the agility of my mech was my only saving grace. If I had to go down, I wanted to take some of them with me. Turning left, two PPC bolts snagged a ton of armor on my left hip. My radar went static, disabled by the charged particles. It was impossible to trace the source of the attack, so I ignored it and focused on a Zeus that stood right in front of me.

Missiles and lasers zeroed in on me, turning my front armor into bubbling mess. Then its large-bored autocannon flashed, sending 120-mm depleted-uranium droplets into my midst. I felt my stomach churn as the munitions cored my mech, and at such a close range, the effect was doubled. My cockpit shook, weathering the autocannon storm, and lucky for me the blast stopped at half the armor platting.

I realized that I only had a small window for retaliation, so I put my crosshair at the Zeus' kneecap. I linked all weapons together and fired in unison. My lasers melted the armor, and my LBX munitions ripped half of the myomer bundles connecting the thigh and the calf. The Zeus lurched to its right, staggering heavily to deal with the damage.

Before I could follow up my attack, my proximity alarm screamed. More than 3-dozen missiles streamed on the air, dropping its explosive on me like confetti. I could only raise my right arm to cover my cockpit. The blasts came in cascades, one after another, pushing me to the left. Some clobbered my right torso, dangerously threatening my large laser. But at such condition, I could care less about my lasers. As long as my LBX-20's stayed intact, I could take down a mech or two.

The Zeus spotted my damage, and buried a good salvo of lasers at my right torso. Warning sign wailed, and my right laser went offline. I felt waste heat swept over me, and smelled the acrid smoke seeping into the cockpit, beating another warning signal about major fire. I flushed the coolant to help with the heat, then lined up with the Zeus' mangled kneecap.

A quick tap on the trigger and my cannon roared, tearing the kneecap further. The laser cut through several layers of myomer like a scalpel, and the fragmented munitions gouged the hinge like a giant arm. The Zeus rocked back in its feet, trying to hit me with its autocannon but the quake threw its aiming away. I was so close to the Zeus that I raised my right feet, and kicked the Zeus on the knee. The sturdy leg snapped like a twig, and the 80-ton machine tumbled forward, face flat against the ground.

I had never used physical attack before I ran out of weapons, but now was not the time for zellbrigen. There was an opportunity to end the Zeus in a quick fashion, and I intended to take it. I twisted left and shoved my left cannon against the back of the Zeus' head. I pulled the trigger, and the cockpit burst into flames. Splinters of glass, metal, and flesh blended with sparks.

Another wave of attack came. This time a Gauss slug punched me in my center, forcing my mech to keel over. Three laser bolts singe me from behind, and missiles screamed in the air, ravaging my mech from every direction. Two warheads smashed into the cockpit, and I felt a snap of hot air gushed into me as the window broke. I twisted right, but another nickel-ferrous ball slugged me on the right shoulder. There was little left to hold the right torso, and it went off, taking away my right LBX-20 with it.

The explosion made my mech careened. I yanked the joystick hard to the right, coping with the instant force that threatened to put my mech to the ground. Several cannon rounds and lasers zipped past my right, but two PPC blasts fried my console. Sparks geysered from the console, and busted cables dangled from the ceiling. But I did not need them anyway. Damage assessment was superfluous at this time, and I just went on with my rampage, focusing the last bit of my energy at a Warhawk, the source of the PPC blasts.

Two Gauss rounds slammed into my right hip, and I felt the jerk, not sideway like I expected, but forward. The hit must have damaged my leg. The harness burnt my skin as it strained to keep me at the command couch. The Warhawk sank another two-punch PPC blast on my damaged leg, denying my attempt to further decrease the distance. At 350 meters, I could not bring my LBX cannon to bear. The Warhawk pilot knew this fact, and he backpedaled to safety, waiting for his PPC to recycle.

I abandoned my quest to singe it, and turned to the closest enemy, a Solaris-made Cudgel, sneaking behind my back to break my backbone with its club-like arm. It would be the last mistake he would ever do. Pivoting with a damaged leg was not an easy task, but I used my bad leg as the pivot point. The metal screamed in protest, threatening to breach, but I did not have any choice. My crosshair burnt blood red just when the Cudgel was ready to hammer me. I fired my cannon, and at point-blank range, the result was devastating. My munitions hit its right torso, twisting the mech halfway to the right, arms flinging to find lost balance.

While the Cudgel swayed, the Warhawk fired its PPC quartet in razor-sharp precision. All landed on my lower left arm, instantly rendering my left cannon useless. Three more PPC bolts ripped my left torso, destroying my remaining laser before I had a chance to use it. Missiles dug deep into internal structure, and three consecutive explosions turned my mech into a walking titanium skeleton.

But I was not about to let the Cudgel go. I was not trained in hand-to-hand combat, especially because I had been a Clan mechwarrior, but I could do it if needed. The Cudgel had regained its balance and launched a powerful swing at my cockpit. I leaned back, missing the club by a mere centimeter. I could feel the wind swooshing on my face as the battering arm zip in front of my face. When it turned, I pushed my mech forward and rammed the stub of my left arm, with the defunct LBX-20 on it, right into the Cudgel's face. Half of my arm snapped into three parts, and the last part drove into my left torso. But the lower arm smashed into the Cudgel's cockpit. The Cudgel jerked behind, taking several steps like a drunken man, then stumbled forward and crashed to the ground.

Then a gush of missiles swept my mech from its feet. The Warhawk launched a full-blown assault that sheared my right leg off. There was nowhere to go but down, and once again my mech fell, facing the ground this time. I was suspended on the command seat by the harness, and for one moment, I really thought it was the end of me. I simply could not fight this war alone.

Hanging on the harness, waiting for the grim reaper to take my soul, I simply closed my eyes and played the highs and lows of my life in a quick flash. I did not have that many memories. The life I had come to know started at Engadine in 3058. I was a man with no history, until Phelan revealed my colorful history prior to 3058. But it was not part of me anymore. I had only 8 years, three years of which was a bondsman of Jade Falcon.

For truly 5 years of life, there was not much pride to revel, except Evee. She once said that it was better to live a short happy life than a long empty one. It did not make much sense when she said it, but it was the only thing that mattered to me now. If only I knew that I would meet the end of my life within 8 years of our courtship, I would not let her go. If only I knew that nothing in me could harm her, except for my reckless acts, I would not let her go. I would turn every single day of the last 8 years into heaven, so she would always remember it as the best 8 years. I would give up everything to go back and change history. But remorse always came late.

I just wished I could see her one last time.

And then I realized that time seemed to stop. My grim reaper did not come, and through the broken window I could hear thumps of mechs. Not explosions, but the rhythmical steps. Since my mech was facing the ground, I did not have visual access to the arena. What were they doing? What were they waiting for? I was afraid that if I exited my mech, the white Atlas saw it as a sign of submission. But after some more minutes passed by, I knew there was some new development that I was not aware of. Curious, I unbuckled my harness and climbed out of the hatch.

The arena was flooded by mechs – police mechs, Chimeras with white cammo carrying SCPD emblems. The combatants, including the white Atlas, were routed on the far side of the corner. These mechs could easily destroy the police force, but I guessed the Steiners did not want to be the enemies of Solaris people. That would make the Davions as the sole protagonist in this civil war atmosphere. The sight of lumbering giants being held back by pesky midgets was a real treat, and for a moment I made myself enjoy the scenery.

A tractor stopped by my mech, and none other than Captain Morton exited the vehicle, escorted by some officers. He smiled, more of a quip than relief, and the stare in his eyes told me that he could not wait to make fun of me. "I never think that a much-celebrated mechwarrior like yourself will ever need a police assistance."

"What happened?" I asked.

"The Solaris Gaming Commission decided that this match was ill-posed. They declared a 'no contest'."

"Decided?" I sensed an unspoken truth.

"Yes, decided… with interference from 'friends in the high place', if you must know."

"I thought your jurisdiction does not cover Solaris arenas."

"Who said it was my interference?" Morton winked. "The less you know, the better. So just thankful that it happens this way, Parker. You're given a chance to live another day. Use it well."

I remembered Kyle said that it was Davion's interest that I did not die in the hands of Liao partisans. Perhaps it was also Davion's interest that I did not die in the hands of Steiner's supporters. I was sure Kyle was a part of this plot, but to stop a Solaris game in a class-six arena required authority far beyond Kyle's and Morton's combined. I could only wonder who my guardian angel was.

But then, it did not matter.

"If you meet this man, Captain Morton, please send me my highest gratitude."

"Will do," Morton nodded his approval. "And it's Major Morton now. I am the Chief of Solaris City Police Department."

"Congratulation on your promotion," I offered a handshake. "I am glad to hear it."

"So am I," he smiled while grabbing hold of my hand. "You take care."

As Morton went, more tractors collected the remains of my mech. It would be hard to rebound from this arena, and even if Omar decided to do it, it would take considerable time and money to rebuild my mech. I could see Omar selling it as a junk. That was what I would do if I were him. It was sad to part with my mech after only a short reunion. But it was ill fated from the start.

But then, it did not matter. As a matter of fact, nothing else mattered anymore. Today's fight changed my perspective about how I saw things in my life. Money, revenge, the championship, nothing could come close to what Evee meant to me. I had wished that I wanted to see her again. My wish came true, and like Morton said, I had to use it well.