"No, this fight isn't over. Not by a long shot."
* * *
The clock crawled slowly past midnight, and Julian Nero rubbed at his eyes. Stepping before the cameras, he had a bad taste in his mouth from the sweetened coffee he'd been relying on for energy. His live sound-cast had eventually turned into a video-feed commentary as arena camera crews managed to get footage of the riots and 'Mech battles taking place in Silesia. It wasn't their specialty, nor was the back room of the mostly deserted Coliseum the perfect stage for his ongoing reports. However, changing location and fighting to depose the normal studio anchormen would take time. Julian wasn't about to give up the narrow advantage he held in being first on the scene. The man in the know. The infallible Nero didn't plan to fiddle while Solaris City burned down around him. He was going on his sixth straight hour with no relief—he'd refused it—and no pre-canned commercials. That had to be a first in the industry.
Someone off to the side said, "You're live in three, two . . ."
A finger stabbed out on the invisible count of one. A red light glowed to life on one camera. Julian looked over at it as if he'd just been consulting with someone off stage, getting the latest news for the viewing audience. Those who were still watching, that is, not out in the streets helping to create the news itself.
"Word of the catastrophe that began here in the Coliseum tonight spread through Solaris City like sparks in a forest fire," he said in one long breath. "Jumping from one danger spot to another and lighting new blazes, which then spread until the conflagration burned firmly out of control. Not one sector had been spared, though Montenegro may suffer somewhat less because its large industrial parks were practically tailored to 'Mechs fighting in the streets.
"The Kobe waterfront is devastated from Garrett's impressive run, which left behind a tangle of broken BattleMechs and one murdered body—that of Champion Theodore Gross. His calls for single combat have been met at least five times in the last several hours, and in the shadow of the Founder's Bridge he has defeated every one of them. He finally walked back over to the Davion side of the river not fifteen minutes ago, still crowing his derision for the once-proud Kobe warriors."
He paused for a few deep breaths to recharge his voice and let people work up a solid hatred for the Clan renegade. "Still, no sector, not even the Black Hills, has yet seen the devastation of Silesia. Madness rules in the streets as looting continues unabated and entire neighborhoods begin to organize into armed camps openly supporting either Victor Vandergriff or, surprisingly, Michael Searcy. What was once thought to be a silent minority has proven they have a voice and an impressive following. And riding the undercurrent of this unrest come the cries of support for either Archon Katrina or Prince Victor."
Julian Nero knew he had his audience, knew it in a way that told him to trust his instincts. He had them and could keep them coming back so long as he delivered on his promises. But to deliver, he first had to make those promises.
"And so we're left waiting. And wondering. Where is Victor Vandergriff? When will the Silesian Police Department restore order? Can they? Who will be next to follow Theodore Gross, Sheridan Lang, and Torrence Klein? Will they be avenged, or have they died in vain?
"More questions. And I'll be here to bring you the answers.
"This from Julian Nero. The man in the know."
12
Skye Tigers Estate, Silesia
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance
16 August 3062
Victor Vandergriff watched as Jerry Stroud's technicians swarmed over his Banshee with welders, testing probes, and an assortment of other tools. Off to one side, he warmed himself in a patch of rare morning sunlight streaming through the open doors. He'd spent the night as a guest of Stroud, but hadn't slept much. All night there'd been the distant sounds of rioting and 'Mech battles, and then the clang of tools and shriek of welding that accompanied the repair work on his 'Mech.
Stroud's estate inside the city boasted a full maintenance and repair facility to serve the lance of BattleMechs normally posted there for protection. Victor had not given permission for work on his Banshee, but he certainly didn't object to his 'Mech being brought back up to strength.
In one hand he held a bowl of warm cereal he'd picked up off a bounteous table on his way out of the mansion. Even with a liberal dash of granular quillar, the fare tasted flat. Just like the slin's rays, which seemed to offer little warmth. Victor couldn't summon much appreciation for his near-royal treatment at the hands of his former employer. Nothing could really engage him this morning; the events of the previous evening hung over him like dark storm clouds of self-condemnation.
He'd lost.
That was the hard truth, pure and simple. This had been the big ticket—his last chance. All that had truly mattered was beating Michael Searcy, the Davion favorite. Even winning the Championship of the Grand Tournament wouldn't have mattered as much, at least not this year. Beating Searcy would have been enough to complete his resurrection. A contender serious enough to draw crowds and inspire large purses. The conqueror of the Federated Suns. Oh, how well that would've played in the pre-fight media circus.
And he'd let it slip through his fingers, forced to retreat when Searcy's damnable gauss rifles tore open his torso and exposed its vital equipment. Though the fight was technically a draw, Victor knew right then that Searcy owned him. Searcy knew it too, which was even worse.
He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Jerry Shroud approaching. "Almost as good as new," Stroud said, gesturing to the Banshee.
"Almost," Victor said curtly. "But I don't get the meaning of that Skye Tigers crest on the right leg."
"Oh, that," Stroud said. "Seems only fair. We gave you sanctuary, put your 'Mech back together. I still have to keep my eye on the benefits of sponsorship. I've lost millions in the past forty-eight hours. Not counting four BattleMechs. I can't afford to be philanthropic."
Victor half-turned to study the other man. Stroud was dressed casually, but affected a clean-shaven, paramilitary look. His speech was like the clipped sentences used in combat when seconds mattered, but his vocabulary spoke of a good education.
"You asking me to fight for you again, Jerry?"
Stroud seemed to be admiring his stable's crest painted on the leg of the Banshee. "Lynch Stables still owns the prominent position. And I did work this out with Trevor last night. He's hiding in Joppo, by the way, in case you want to speak with him." He nodded toward the Skye Tiger insignia, a tiger's head against a full, blue moon. "This will show some solidarity among the Lyran-affiliated stables. A pooling of resources. It's important. For Silesia."
Victor shook his head at the long explanation. "Are you asking me to fight for you again?"
Stroud blinked, glancing from the Banshee to Victor, obviously stalling. Then he nodded, once. "If that's what you want to hear me say, Victor. Yes, I want you to fight for Skye Tigers—for me—again. For the duration of this crisis."
Victor spooned up another bite of cereal, trying to conceal the instant of satisfaction those words gave him. "And how long is that? Riots don't last. The security forces will put them down soon enough."
Stroud shook his head. "The Silesian police force is stretched way too thin along our borders with Cathay and Montenegro. Most of Hollis Security as well. They're fighting a losing battle to prevent inter-sector clashes between civilians. That leaves very few to police Silesia itself, and entire neighborhoods are at war within the sector. Same with the Black Hills."
He pointed out two more battle-ravaged 'Mechs, racked in nearby stalls and waiting their turn with the technicians. "The Mech Warriors, of course, are striking at each other wherever they can. The tunnels beneath the city are murder holes. Streets along the sector borders aren't much better—they've been hit the hardest by both the 'Mech battles and the rioting."
Frowning at the news, Victor studied the two Skye Tiger 'Mechs waiting for repair. He walked slowl
y over to the nearest one, trying to figure out what it was about it that bothered him. Then he had it. "This Nightsky took quite a bit of damage from behind." He shot a glance over at the second 'Mech, noting the run of melted armor now solidified into a permanent cascade. Until the techs took their grinders in there, at least. "So did that Hollander. Those are medium-class laser hits. Your people let FedRats in-that close behind them?"
"That damage is from Lyran—ex-Lyran—BattleMechs." Stroud glared at the damaged machines, as if they were to blame for their condition. "A few of our own went over to the Davionists after being ordered to control a neighborhood openly declaring for Victor Davion. Doesn't matter to any of them that the prince shows no desire to retake his throne." He looked back at Victor. "My people were in the way when it happened."
The thought of Lyrans declaring for Davion turned Victor's stomach. "Setting 'Mechs against civvies is never a good idea," he said, stalling. "I'd say the riots should burn themselves out before too long. They always do."
Stroud shook his head. "This is no ordinary riot. I lost the eastern gatehouse last night. Obliterated. Similar attacks were launched against Skye Tiger Mall near the border. Infantry SRM packs, Victor. Since when do civilians find easy access to military-issue equipment?"
"Well, this is Solaris City."
Stroud didn't smile. "It's Hasek-Davion's doing. Has to be him. He won't be satisfied until he personally shovels the dirt over my grave."
Victor winced at the fresh reminder of last night's debacle. "You think Drew Hasek-Davion is feeding the riots?"
"I know he is. But my only witness is not what you would call credible, at least not in a court of law. I suspect Hasek-Davion is behind the sabotage of the Coliseum and my own losses as well. The man is powerful, especially so long as he controls Michael Searcy."
Victor nodded. Hasek-Davion's position rested heavily on Searcy's success or failure. No matter how strong a stable owner was, much depended on his premier fighter. If Victor hadn't been forced into a retreat last night, the troubles gripping Solaris City might already be a matter of history. But he hadn't. Now Jerry Stroud stood to lose even more as Blackstar increased the pressure under cover of the riots. Victor's only path to redemption still seemed bound to the rising star of Stormin' Michael Searcy.
"What about the Com Guards? Haven't they tried to maintain order?" he asked. ComStar maintained a full regiment on the Game World. They were posted well outside Solaris City, but could be brought in easily enough.
"They've been ordered to stand down, for now. Victor Davion is their new commander, don't forget. Would you want him claiming credit for putting down a civil war on a Lyran world?"
Victor should have thought of that himself. But if the Com Guards couldn't be allowed to interfere, that left five fairly evenly matched sectors struggling against one another, each with internal factions of stables and independent cooperatives looking after their own concerns. Solaris VII could draw together better than ten regiments of BattleMechs, but with no standing garrison force, the Lyrans couldn't hope to dominate.
"You paint a bleak picture," he said finally.
"That depends on what you're looking for, Victor. Drew Hasek-Davion has proven that any situation offers its opportunities, no matter how bad it looks on the surface. So has the Clanner, Garrett, who's taken his private war against the Combine into the streets.
"We can't just sit back and do nothing. That would make the Black Hills look stronger than Silesia. That's the reason I want you on my side. So the question becomes, what is it that you want?"
Turning back to his Banshee, Victor Vandergriff stared at the damage still to be repaired, damage inflicted by the one man who stood between him and redemption. A man who championed the cause of Jerry Stroud's enemy. What did he want?
Victor loaded his words with pure loathing. "Just give me Michael Searcy," he said.
* * *
In the tunnel system beneath Cathay's notorious Tenement Area slums, Michael Searcy struggled to maintain his balance as a torrent of water washed down the narrow tunnel and over the feet of his Pillager. The passage ran down a steep slope, diving into the deepest part of the Solaris City labyrinth—the tunnels running under the Cathay lowlands. Thousands of liters rushing by, riding a meter-high crest, impacted with enough force to throw him off-step. The gyro strained to recover, while Michael deftly worked the controls to remain standing. Water splashed off his legs high enough to hit his cockpit canopy. But it evaporated seconds later as the ruby energy of a medium pulse laser hammered a flurry of bolts into the side of the Pillager's head.
The Dragon Fire that had fired on him ducked into a side passage to escape retaliation. Not so lucky was the Penetrator three hundred meters further down the narrow tunnel. Michael's large laser stabbed scarlet fire into its leg, then punched through the breach with a slug from one of his gauss rifles. The kinetic force imparted by the nickel-ferrous slug was enough to snap the titanium limb in mid-femur. From behind the Pillager, Karl Edward's Cestus shot a gauss slug just past Michael's shoulder to smash away a ton of armor off the hapless Penetrator's right side.
Not necessary, Michael knew. He had already put it down.
Deprived of half its support, the Penetrator lost its fight with gravity. It collapsed against one wall, its other leg splayed out to partially block the tunnel like a makeshift dam. The mysterious flood of water broke wildly over the obstruction, knocking the 'Mech prone before making enough headway to continue. The canopy burst open under emergency-escape charges, and a Mech Warrior quickly evacuated the flooding cockpit. He climbed out onto his 'Mech's chest, then apparently decided to risk the current rather than the good graces of his former-allies-turned-enemy. He jumped into the raging torrent and was quickly swept away.
"What's going on, Karl?" Michael asked. The water was getting deeper, now swirling around his Pillager's knees.
Karl Edward was acting as comm officer for the two-man team, staying in touch with Boreal Reach, which Blackstar and most of the other Federated Suns stables were using as their command post. Even Starlight Stables, known for its long-standing feud with Blackstar, had contributed 'Warriors. Except for the three defectors Michael and Karl had been tracking through the tunnel system.
"It's the Solaris River," Karl said. "Apparently Tancred Stables and some Montenegro MechWarriors came to blows on the Cathay side of Steel Bridge. Someone blew the bridge, so the fight went underground as the Montenegrans attempted to get home. No one is sure what happened next, but my guess is that someone lost containment in one of the under-river tunnels. The river is pouring into the tunnel system and running downhill, straight into Cathay."
"Well, Cathay always did need a good flushing out."
Michael walked his Pillager down to a nearby intersection, the same one that had sheltered the Dragon Fire. The turncoat 'Mech was nowhere on his sensors, having ducked out through the next cross-tunnel. South led deeper under Cathay. West would eventually lead to Silesia, no doubt the destination of the turncoats. East would take Michael and Karl home.
"Do we pursue?" Karl asked.
"They're your buddies. What do you think?" The three renegades were Starlight 'Warriors, and Michael saw no reason to make it easy on his friend. Everyone had to choose sides. Karl's stable-mates had chosen poorly.
"I think your Pillager has taken some good damage to the head and torso. If you've lost integrity and water floods in, you might lose your 'Mech down here." Karl's slight pause let Michael check the water levels for himself. "It's only going to get deeper the further we get under Cathay."
Karl was right about having to fight the water as well as the renegade Starlight 'Warriors if they took up the chase. Michael was glad that least they'd gotten one of the fleeing 'Mechs. "All right. We wrestle the Penetrator back toward the Black Hills for salvage and forget the others for now. Maybe the MadCaps will get them if the flood doesn't." He couldn't resist gloating a little. "If someone doesn't get isolation doors down soon, Cathay mig
ht sink even further."
The two 'Mechs waded over to the Penetrator. Holding its seventy-five-ton bulk between them, they dragged it into the eastern passage, heading upslope and out of the water's immediate grasp.
"Too bad," Michael said, more to himself than anything else. Except that he'd left his throat microphone keyed open.
"Too bad about what?" Karl asked.
"That there's no media camera-system down here. Only security cams and our guncams. A running fight along narrow passages, ending with a flood and a pretty good finish taking the leg off the Penetrator would have made for some good video footage. Don't you think?"
Karl didn't answer for what seemed like a long time. "Yes, Michael. I suppose it would have sold quite a bit of Vita-Orange sports drink or the latest Sunspot concert holovid disk. Properly edited and cut with commercials, of course."
Well, of course. Karl made it sound like there was something wrong with it, but that was how Solaris VII worked, and no one could afford to forget it. Not if he wanted to stay on top of the Game World, which was exactly what Michael Searcy intended to do. The prize was within reach, and one way or another, he would have it. Arena fighting or battle in the streets, it was still faction against faction. Warrior against warrior.
Steiner versus Davion?
Michael thought back to the "MechTalk" interview opposite Jarman Bauer. He'd played the game but bent the rules where it suited him. He'd suckered Bauer into his trap and laid him out clean. The next day, Storming' Michael Searcy triumphed in Ishiyama over the "farmer." Presentation, and then demonstration. Appearance becoming reality. And really, that's all he was still doing. Wasn't it? He was the Federated Suns favorite, expected to defend the honor of his nation and Blackstar Stables.
Appearance and reality.
What really was the difference?
13
LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory Page 13