LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory

by Loren L. Coleman

  And Drew Hasek-Davion was a very careful man.

  6

  Viewpoint, Black Hills

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance

  14 August 3062

  On top of the world, and deservedly so.

  Exactly how Michael Searcy felt standing before the holocams of the three news crews, holding his press conference atop the Viewpoint. The highest promontory in the Black Hills sector, it towered over the city and was enclosed by a concrete guard rail on all sides. A brisk wind whipped across it, ruffling his short blond curls with cool fingers, but otherwise the weather cooperated beautifully. The rains had lifted their gray veil, allowing for a magnificent view and a wonderful backdrop.

  Michael felt himself master of all he surveyed. Soon to be Champion. Or so Drew Hasek-Davion kept promising. Those promises were barely worth the air behind them, though, when it came to the bottom line. Drew could not gift him the Championship. That Michael would have to win on his own, which sat perfectly fine with the Davion favorite.

  "So you aren't worried about tonight's match against Kelley Metz. Think it's a foregone conclusion and already looking forward to tomorrow, Day Five."

  Michael smiled for the cameras and the small audience that had gathered to watch the free show. He knew how to play to the media. "Was that a question, Adam, or are you working on your mind reading?" His touch of humor won a laugh from the crowd and even some spontaneous applause. Adam Kristof chuckled dryly and bowed his head, acknowledging the point.

  "For the record, then. No, I am not concerned about Kelley Metz. I respect her skill, but she's already coming in under three handicaps. She was hurt in last night's match against Karufel. Doctors are calling it a cerebral contusion. She bruised her brain when her 'Mech toppled during the fight. She can compete, but she'll be fighting some light nausea and dizziness as well as me. Second, her Emperor gives up ten tons to my Pillager. And then there's the fact that we're in Boreal Reach, my home ground. Despite the tonnage difference, I've won enough points to choose the simulated terrain. We'll be fighting in Hell's Canyon among the lava flows, which won't help her heat curve."

  Federated Suns Broadcasting edged in with the next question. "A Pillager? A Davion fighter in a St. Ives assault 'Mech?"

  The other reporters shook their heads wearily. Fed-Suns Broadcasting was not known for stellar field journalism. Michael treated the question as serious, though. No sense making an enemy—even an incompetent one— in the Black Hills. "The Pillager design was made possible with information recovered by NAIS on New Avalon. HildCo fielded the trials and first few production runs, but GM on Kathil has been turning out limited numbers since 3060. I had one brought in for the second half of the tournament." He tried for a crooked smile. "Time for the big boys to come out and play."

  "So you expect an easy match." Adam Kristof again, trying to pin Michael down on his personal opinion of Metz as a contender.

  "Metz isn't about to go down easy. But I'd rather see her bow out than risk combat. I've no reason to want to see her get hurt."

  "There's more than MechWarriors getting hurt this tournament, though," put in Veronica Sherman of the Solaran Broadcasting Corporation. The Lyran-based SBC had sent out their ace video journalist to try and set him up. Michael saw her delivery coming from kilometers away. Now the game would turn more interesting. "It took the Silesian police force until nine this morning to declare the riots under control. Those weren't the fights that started in the heat of the games around Boreal Reach or the Coliseum, but Black Hills residents prowling Silesia intent on destruction and mayhem. Sixteen deaths reported as of an hour ago. Comments?"

  Adam Kristof tried to head off the trouble. "You can't put all that on the Black Hills, Ronnie. You know full well that your police arrested three Silesia citizens in connection with some of that trouble."

  Sherman ignored him. "Comments, Mr. Searcy?"

  "If you're looking for my personal take on the matter, Ms. Sherman, just ask. I don't have details of what goes on in Silesia. Neither do you, from the sound of it." Michael threw Adam a conspiratorial wink. "But let me say that I do take the damage done to Boreal Reach very personally. Not just the collateral damage caused by the impromptu 'Mech battle in the bays, either. But every broken bench and smashed window and all the graffiti that has appeared in the last twelve hours. I admit that when I heard about that, I felt like walking my Dragon Fire into Silesia and kicking down some doors. Whoever was responsible ought to get a taste of their own medicine."

  "Is that how you justify Craig Orme?" she asked, trying to edge in with a low blow. "His death in exchange for Stephen Neils?"

  Except Michael had purposely left the opening for her. He frowned darkly, no need to feign his anger. "Neils's death is just as much a tragedy as Orme's, though the SBC has gone to great lengths to imply otherwise. A finding of 'no fault' has been handed down from the officials, but your impartial journalism seems to ignore that."

  Michael waited for Sherman to just begin speaking, then cut her off. "If Solaran Broadcasting wants to boost its ratings in the Alliance, that's no concern of mine. But I will not allow you to do it at the expense of the Federated Suns. You've even played up Victor Vandergriff, of all people, as a local hero defending Alliance honor, since he's Silesia's last hope for a Champion this year. But that's not choice, that's a lack of options. I actually wish Vandergriff luck tonight, because if he wins, then I get to meet him tomorrow in the Coliseum, where I'll show everyone what he really is."

  Icy stare. "And what is that, Mr. Searcy?"

  His challenge had been accepted. Michael grinned cruelly. "A Lyran pretender to a Federated Suns crown."

  That drew a round of hearty applause from the Davionists present. Adam Kristof waved down a heated rebuttal from his Lyran counterpart, then waited for the applause to subside before leaning in with the logical follow-up. "By your statement, should we infer that you also disagree with Archon Katrina Steiner-Davion's attempt to steal her brother's throne?"

  "Attempt? Adam, what papers are you reading? It's stolen." Michael crossed his arms over his chest, twisting just enough that the Blackstar Stables crest on the sleeve of his jacket would be highly visible. Time to feed out the material handed him by Drew Hasek-Davion. The material he agreed with, at any rate. "But to be fair, it's not her brother's throne. Not exactly. That throne belongs to the people of the Federated Suns. Not to any one man, and certainly not to her."

  "Is that why you've never dedicated a fight to Prince Victor?" FedSuns Broadcasting again, voice eager and eyes glowing with delight. "Because you don't recognize him as the legitimate ruler?" The reporter even earned a jealous look from Adam Kristof for that question. No reason that an inexperienced reporter can't get lucky, though.

  Careful now. On the Game World and throughout most of the Inner Sphere, being a die-hard Federation citizen and a staunch Davionist were thought of as one and the same. "I think Precentor Martial Victor Steiner-Davion was once our legitimate ruler. And maybe he will be again someday. But he has, in fact, refused to press his claim. And his isn't the only family we can look to in times of crisis. We've got the Haseks and Hasek-Davions. The Sandoval family on Robinson. The Duvalls, whose ancient family helped found the Federated Suns. I'm proud to dedicate fights to them."

  As if on cue, the clouds broke in several places, and some thin shafts of sunlight fell onto Solaris City. One just happened to shoot down on the Viewpoint, like a sudden spotlight. Michael paused to lift his face to the warm rays, then looked back into the cameras. "I'm a loyal son of the Federation. I'll defend that honor against any enemy, foreign or domestic. Just as I'll defend my personal honor and that of my stable.

  "And if Victor Vandergriff gets in my way, it will be his turn to look to his life."

  * * *

  Ranking right up with "appearance is so easily accepted as reality" was another of Drew Hasek-Davion's cautions: "Know when to walk away a winner." Michael had accompl
ished all that he wanted to in the interview. He'd given the media their show, had made all the statements he'd planned, and so thanked the cameras for their time and made a rapid exit.

  And not a moment too soon. The brief sun break over Viewpoint vanished almost immediately, and within five minutes not a ray of golden light still shone over Solaris City. SBC had already packed up and driven off, with the various Federated Suns services not far behind. The first peal of thunder rolled through the sky, and a light squall spattered Viewpoint with fat drops of rain.

  You could quickly sort out the tourists from the Solaran natives by who bothered with umbrellas or ran for their vehicles and who simply stared up into the sky to welcome those first few drops. Michael laughed and walked to the concrete railing, pleased with himself as he surveyed the whole city from here. Across the river, Ishiyama rose dark and brooding over the sluggish Solaris River, and in Montenegro the Factory was nearly hidden back among other abandoned industrial sites. Then his gaze traveled to the long, gray pillbox of Boreal Reach and over to Cathay, where the Jungle loomed like a huge temple devoted to the gods of war. And further east the Steiner Coliseum.

  All his domains.

  That was what the Grand Tournament was all about, wasn't it? Mastering Solaris City and proving that no one could hope to stand against you. That no one else could. Seven fights in seven days to make Champion. Victories in all five arenas. All manner of 'Mechs and MechWarriors out there as opponents. House-affiliated stables, the independent cooperatives, and the rogues. One way or another they all took their shot at you this week. The Champion would have to survive them all. And that's what he was— what he would be. Sole survivor. Champion.

  He would beat Kelley Metz because no Liao—especially a brain-addled one—ever had a prayer against House Davion. Tomorrow he'd take down Victor Vandergriff, showing the Lyrans once again that the Federated Suns knew no equal in thirty-first-century warfare, reminding them that it was the Federation armies who'd defended them when the Clans came. As for Theodore Gross, wasn't the heir of House Kurita alive and free right now because of help from Victor Davion? And in the finals, maybe it would be Jasmine Kalasa, the Diamond Shark trueborn now fighting for Lion City Stables, that he'd have to beat. Wouldn't that be fitting, the final match fought between Inner Sphere and Clan?

  Standing atop Viewpoint it all seemed so clear. Part of the natural order. He would beat them all because he was the Federated Suns favorite. Davionist and Black Hills and Blackstar Stables all rolled into one package of natural talent and skill. So what if he'd been railroaded out of the AFFC? There he'd been subordinate to the weaknesses of his superiors. His rise to the highest levels of the Game World vindicated his worth—the trials and trial of New Canton notwithstanding. And if Drew Hasek-Davion had helped him create his Solaris persona, it was only possible because the foundation was already there. If it all rested on him, then it all had to be a part of him. He was Stormin' Michael Searcy. Had always been, in fact. He couldn't lose.

  There could be no other way.

  * * *

  Even if he'd tried, Michael couldn't have picked a worse terrain for Kelley Metz. A short five minutes into the battle, he knew he had it won.

  Boreal Reach comprised roughly half a square kilometer and boasted technological sophistication matched only by the Steiner arena's detonator grid. A system of holographic projectors, solid terrain modules, and full climate control could simulate almost any imaginable terrain and conditions. Hell's Canyon, with its rough, broken ground framing islands of impassable terrain such as lava flows and deep fissures, was a recent favorite among the stadium-goers. It was easy to end up cornered in a bad location unless the Mech Warrior had the skill to maneuver in the ever-changing maze of small eruptions and shifting flows. For most 'Mechs that meant jumping.

  Kelley Metz couldn't jump.

  Her Emperor was equipped for it, certainly. Pitban LFT-50 plasma jets had been built into its legs and back, enough to cover a solid ninety meters of ground. But Michael had made some inquiries that afternoon about cerebral contusions. All the experts he contacted agreed that unstable motion and jarring impacts would aggravate the condition. Well, riding ninety tons of upright metal through the air wasn't necessarily smooth sailing, and landing a jump-capable assault 'Mech often kicked a 'Warrior's spine up into her skull. It seemed that Metz was out of luck.

  Michael used his own jump jets whenever possible, goading Metz by taking positions she couldn't reach. When finally she was forced to jump because Michael's Pillager had pinned her against an expanding lava flow, the landing was more like a crash. Her Emperor fell, sprawling very unmajestically onto its left side where it lay helpless while Michael hammered with the gauss rifles built into each arm of his new Pillager.

  Then he noticed that the Emperor wasn't even trying to right itself. Keeping his targeting reticle over the 'Mech's broad-shouldered form, Michael moved in closer. He dialed for their shared frequency, dropping his jaw to engage the contacts for transmission. "Kelley? Are you okay?"

  "No, Michael. I don't think so. I've fallen, and I can't get up."

  "You have to flash a surrender to the judges. I can't break off unless you do."

  "If I could find the switch, don't you think I would have by now? I think I'm going to be sick."

  A new voice broke in. It was one of the arena officials monitoring the channel in case their chatter would make for good dubbing over the video later. "Ms. Metz, this is arena control. Do you surrender and do you require medical attention?"

  "Yes. And, I think, yes."

  Then it was over. Michael stayed on site until the paramedics arrived to remove Kelley, then took his Pillager on a victory tour around the stadium. Blackstar Stables and the Boreal Reach managers had arranged a little publicity stunt. Every four hundred meters the holographic projectors materialized an enemy 'Mech in front of him. First a Striker, which disintegrated under a single hit from his large laser. Following in quick succession were a Devastator, a Zeus, a Banshee, and a Berserker— all of which went the way of the first. A new Hauptmann guarded the door to the 'Mech bays. With one shot it crumpled to its knees, where it remained as the Pillager stalked past in disdain. Each was a 'Mech design common to the Lyran Alliance. Each was painted in the well-known color known as Steiner blue.

  The message was clear, especially for Michael Searcy. He would let nothing stand in his way. Vandergriff would beat Albert Mayetska this evening, and tomorrow afternoon he and Michael would go 'Mech to 'Mech in the Steiner arena. And there Michael would destroy Victor Vandergriff.

  There could be no other way.

  7

  Thor's Shieldhall, Silesia

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance

  14 August 3062

  Michael hadn't planned this event.

  "FedRat bastard threatening me!" Victor Vandergriff's bellow overrode all other conversation. "Come on, Searcy!"

  Vandergriff was just about to pass through the main door of Thor's Shieldhall when he turned and caught sight of Michael using the VIP path roped out along the entrance. He actually shoved Trevor Lynch, his own stable master, aside as he fought his way back, hands outstretched to wrap around Michael's neck. A righteous anger raged up in Michael. Stormin' Michael Searcy was not about to pass up a challenge.

  Except that Larry Acuff stepped in first. A Cenotaph gladiator and Grand Tournament contender himself, Acuff blocked Vandergriff's path and shoved him back into the arms of Roger, the Shieldhall doorman. Trevor Lynch moved to help restrain his fighter while Acuff spun around to catch Michael around the chest in a bear hug, pinning one of Michael's arms to his side.

  Karl Edward, who was part of Michael's group, leapt forward. But instead of helping his friend against Acuff, he grabbed hold of Michael's free arm to help restrain him.

  Michael struggled to get free. "Let me go, damn you!"

  Karl shook his head and held on tighter. "Not here, Michael." Karl glanced bac
k, possibly concerned for the third member of their group. But Garrett simply stood by, sipping the Vita-Orange sports drink he'd carried from the car. The Clanner's pale eyes missed nothing, but he made no move to assist or hinder.

  Also of little help was the line of arena fans queued up to gain entrance to Thor's Shieldhall, the most famous—some would say infamous—bar in Silesia or, in fact, the whole of Solaris City. Its ultra-exclusive Valhalla Club attracted the top Mech Warriors of the Game World, and the Shieldhall filled nightly with those hoping to catch a glimpse of an arena star. Now here as a new entertainment that many would have paid good money to see, a fistfight among two of the top tournament contenders. Some shouted encouragement to one or the other, or even both, in hopes of keeping it going. A few punches were thrown as Silesian and Black Hills residents decided to settle their differences themselves, adding to the chaos and merely fueling Michael's desire to reach Vandergriff.

  Lynch and others had managed to wrestle Vandergriff through the door and into the neon-lit bar beyond, the Lyran still cursing Michael with a spacer's fluency. Michael made another effort to break free of his restrains, but Vandergriff was already gone.

  Acuff appropriated a drink carried by his date—from an earlier party apparently—and splashed the last of it into Michael's face. The alcohol-tinged fruit drink burned in Michael's eyes, and he breathed a slug of it down his throat. That took the last of the fight out of him as he lapsed into a choking fit.

  Cameras were flashing, and security for the Shieldhall moved out to cordon off the fistfights and protect the small group of MechWarriors from getting further involved in the growing fracas. Acuff and Karl pinned Michael against a nearby wall. Though Michael was no longer struggling, he noted that Acuff turned his body away in case the young fighter decided to use his feet. Smart man.