"And you're clear," called someone from the wings as the screen was turned over to canned footage of the riots and on-site journalists commenting on the action. The studio was quickly abuzz with activity as aides and support personnel worked furiously to ready the set for the next live spot. No one hurried Julian Nero away from his desk, however.
No one dared.
Reclining back, stretching tired muscles, Julian worked a cramp out of his neck, then reached into an inside pocket of his jacket to draw out a folded missive. It had been delivered to him by private messenger five minutes before air time, delivered by a woman who had apparently evaded studio security with a quiet competence. He instinctively knew she would make a good feature, whatever her story. Listening to those instincts was how he had built his reputation for being infallible, that and a lot of hedged bets that let him claim success no matter what the outcome of any particular fight. But something in her eyes—yellow-green like a cat's—kept him from proposing such an interview. Instead he simply accepted the message, which he read three times after breaking the verigraphed seal. Once in haste and then twice more carefully. It was an invitation to attend a private meeting of ranking journalists from all across Solaris City.
An invitation and the offer of safe conduct to the estate of Drew Hasek-Davion.
He tapped the folded paper into one open palm, as if he could weigh its significance. What did Hasek-Davion have up his sleeve? Just when Julian thought he had pegged the stable owner into a particular group or on a given issue, the man shifted. He was a chameleon, always placing his own best interests first. But the message vaguely promised that the discussion would include ways to improve broadcast rights and place the vidcasters in a more prominent position. Isn't that what Julian was looking for?
The studio might balk, safe conduct notwithstanding, but in the end would go along with whatever he decided. It would have to be kept quiet, though. Julian had no doubt what Silesian officials would say, parroting the local Lyran Alliance governor who was Katrina's man through and through. No discussion. No room for negotiation, whatever the deal. The Archon's interests were unlikely to coincide with those of Drew Hasek-Davion.
But meeting with Hasek-Davion would land Julian a story if nothing else, and if that kept him on top of the world, then so be it. He would meet with the man, with them all. He would stay "in the know." Julian had his own interests to look after as well.
That was simply how the universe worked. Especially on Solaris VII.
14
Boreal Reach, Black Hills
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance
17 August 3062
In the warrens under Boreal Reach arena, now sealed off from Solaris City's main tunnel system except for one well-guarded arterial, the MechWarriors and tech personnel supporting the Federated Suns moved with purpose about their established base. Damaged machines walked or dragged into the 'Mech bays were repaired as quickly as possible, made ready for the next day's fighting. 'Warriors grabbed food and rest as they could, some of them checking in with Michael Searcy for an update on events. The more practical-minded simply found a holovid station and tuned into any one of several news programs—the same channels and vidcasters that normally covered the arena games.
One such station was set to the Solaris Official Book-making Channel. Two exhausted pilots argued over the odds that had been assigned to the battle they'd fought earlier today. One of them had made a small fortune betting on the outcome of their raid against Silesia.
Not every area of the Game World suffered under the current chaos.
A host of armed guards—some members of the Federated Suns Police Department and others drafted into service from Boreal Reach security—kept careful watch over the access passages leading to the surface, wary of the rioters in the streets above. Several city blocks were no more than fire-gutted shells, and the violence continued. A new Rakshasa had already been lost when a crowd of Lyran fanatics stormed one of the BattleMech storage bays and lobbed grenades into the open cockpit, destroying the control equipment beyond repair.
Michael nodded curt greetings to a pair of guards as he passed their station, then bumped into Aubry Larsen at the door to the large room he'd commandeered as his office. Aubry was one of his aide-de-camps, mostly by virtue of having fought her way free of Silesia with him and Karl Edward. She handed him a stack of battle reports, which Michael dropped heavily on a table as he entered the office alone. His muscles protested the long days, having carried him through another six hours in his cockpit just this morning. A chair stood by invitingly, but he ignored it in favor of slow pacing along a giant high-resolution wall screen.
Originally a meeting room for technicians and engineers to discuss the performance of various BattleMech designs fighting in Boreal Reach, the large table now held a spread of reports on the fighting and the status of all units currently defending the Black Hills. The wall screen, usually devoted to showing a 'Mech's technical data, was currently loaded with a tactical map of Solaris City. Large red stars anchored each sector—marking important areas such as the spaceport in the International Zone, the various sector arenas, and other known BattleMech staging sites.
Arrows showed paths of advancement and retreat and told an interesting story of who was fighting whom. Cathay was a tangle of green arrows showing the various factions within the Confederation engaging in their own private wars. Tandrek and Zelazni Stables had practically beaten each other into bankruptcy with furious, no-holds-barred combat and would require years to recover their once-strong positions. Tentative stabs of green and purple over the Solaris River indicated the skirmishes being fought between Cathay and the Free Worlds League sector of Montenegro. Montenegro was also tangling with Kobe on the west and Silesia to the east. Kobe's red arrows spread several strikes toward the Black Hills, but many of them stopped on their side of the Founder's Bridge. Michael knew that was due to the tenacious efforts of Garrett and the other few Smoke Jaguar renegades who had joined him in opposing the Combine MechWarriors. Garrett was racking up an impressive set of kills, though he still remained back-page news to most.
Regardless, Cathay's preoccupation and Garrett's line-of-death defensive strategy left the bulk of the Black Hills' combined military effort free to cope with the riots and the Federated Suns' main opposition, namely Silesia. Blue and gold arrows traded long-reaching strikes across Cathay. On the sector's western border, shorter but more numerous stabs lanced between Black Hills and the International Zone, which was still controlled by the Lyrans. But for how much longer? Michael studied the map, doubting they would last another two days, not with his latest plans being set into motion.
A voice at the door startled him, and he glanced over to see Karl Edward standing there. "And Alexander wept," Karl said, "noticing that out of the vast multitude of worlds, he had yet to conquer one."
Michael frowned and turned back to the screen. "I'm not Alexander the Great, and I'm not weeping," he said, recognizing the lines from Plutarch, who was still taught in the Federaled Suns academies. "But I will conquer this world. It's the reason I came to Solaris VII."
He gestured to the map. For a moment, all the lines and battlefield notations displayed for Michael reminded him of the strategy board once laid out for New Canton. There he had not been in on the planning, only expected to follow. And look where it brought him. "I've never had to plan a campaign before, and it certainly wasn't a talent I thought would surface on the Game World. Not quite how I expected it to happen, but it will serve."
Karl came up alongside him and also looked up at the map of the city. "How wonderful. Have you decided where they will erect the statue in your honor?"
"Atop Viewpoint," Michael said, giving no sign that he even noticed the sarcasm. Coming from his best friend, the implied criticism stabbed deep. "It's the highest point in the city. From there, everyone can see it." Michael rubbed one hand along the side of his face, the rasp of two-day stubble har
d against his palm.
He turned back to Karl. "I missed you at the briefing this morning."
His friend's voice softened only slightly. "I was attending a quick memorial service for Aaron Harper."
The name tugged at Michael's memory, but he couldn't put a face to it. "Who?" he asked.
"He was the one killed by Victor Vandergriff in Silesia yesterday during the takeover of the Riverside District. I thought we agreed that it was too dangerous for one 'Warrior."
"You agreed and then turned down the assignment. I said I'd think about it." Or something along those lines. Had Michael actually agreed? So many decisions coming so fast. "I had to make the call," he tried to explain. "We have people on the ground there."
Now it was Karl's turn to ask, "Who, Michael? Who do we have on the ground there?"
"The people getting hurt. FedSun loyalists."
"No, who exactly? Who have you talked to and what are their plans to aid us?"
The questions stopped Michael for a few long seconds, mostly as he didn't have any answers. Silesia's Riverside District was now under the control of the Federated Suns. Wasn't that enough for Karl? He turned to face his friend, who stood with arms crossed defiantly and a look of frustration on his gaunt features. "What are you getting at, Karl?"
"I want to know if you made the call, or was it Hasek-Davion?" Karl asked quietly. "I didn't know we had infantry on the ground, anywhere. So why are we—why are you—supporting the rioters? We should be putting a stop to this madness, not making it worse."
What did Karl think Michael was trying to do? The crowds followed the MechWarriors, didn't they? The riots continued because therp was no dominating faction. No Champion to set things right. Appearance was too often accepted as reality; Michael could not appear weak in the face of a Lyran advance. He had to meet it. Retaliate. Win! On the Game World, people only respected a winner. Stormin' Michael Searcy had to hold on to that respect if he was to do anything about the troubles.
He tried to explain that to Karl. "I'm not blind to the situation. I know people are getting hurt out there in the riots, but they won't follow if we don't lead. So we need to act, and I've got a plan." He turned back to the map, running a hand over the border between the Black Hills and the International Zone. "With ComStar ordered off planet by Katrina Steiner, she unknowingly left the spaceport undermanned. The Fifty-sixth may not have been an official garrison force, but the Lyrans relied on them nonetheless."
A shadow of doubt flickered in Karl's eyes. "What's so important about the spaceport?"
"The customs area," Michael said, stabbing a finger down on a cluster of buildings at the spaceport's northwest corner. "More specifically, the Solaris City 'Mech bays and warehouses, which are part of every sector's logistics chain. You bring a 'Mech or even any parts onto Solaris, and they go into this set of buildings until processed. The small Lyran contingent still guarding the spaceport is sitting on a treasure trove. If we can push them back, or simply aside, we can grab the supplies and use it to equip another two companies easy. Then we smash the Lyrans completely and hold the International Zone ourselves. It stops the two-front war we've been fighting and gives us access to a supply line." He glanced back at his friend. "What do you think?"
"Very high-profile," Karl said. "It will make for splashy headlines."
"Exactly." Michael beamed his satisfaction. "And I want you to lead the first strike."
"You what?"
Didn't Karl understand that Michael was trying to help him? They'd always watched each other's backs. Now it was Michael's turn to offer a hand up to his friend. "There's enough glory to go around, even if the riots do cast a shadow over everything. Look, I know Garrett's way isn't yours, but he's accomplished something for himself in his vendetta against Kobe. You could do the same. Build some prestige. Move to the forefront of the fight, with me."
"Another of your calls? Or did Hasek-Davion plan this move as well?"
"What does it matter who thought of it?" Michael asked, exasperated, though it was true the idea for this operation had originated with Hasek-Davion. Well, so what? The man had more years watching for opportunities such as this than did Michael. "It will take MechWarriors to make it happen. We make the difference."
"You really believe that? Michael, wake up! You're not 'Stormin' Michael Searcy.' That man doesn't exist except in the media. You're a Mech Warrior, and you're being used. Hasek-Davion's plans benefit one man only, and that's himself. He's got his hooks buried into you so deep that when he twitches a finger your head jerks around like a puppet."
Michael shook his head. "You're wrong, Karl. This is an opportunity. And it's a necessary move."
"The last necessary move you made cost a friend of mine his life."
"Is that what this is about? That Aaron Harper was a fellow Starlight fighter?" Michael remembered Drew's warning—had it only been four days ago—that Karl was jealous of Michael's standing and might betray him. "Would it still be an issue if the dead man was a Blackstar or a White Hand gladiator?"
Karl Edward's face drained of color. "What's wrong with you? This isn't about stables or rivalries. People are dying out there! It's not a game anymore. It hasn't been a game since you and Vandergriff smashed through the Coliseum wall. Not when people's lives are at stake."
Michael couldn't believe Karl would turn on him like this. Was he hoping to use the downfall of Stormin' Michael Searcy to rise in the ranks himself? "You're jealous," he blurted without thinking.
Eyes wide with shock, Karl could only stammer out, "Excuse me?"
Righteous anger rose up in Michael. "Jealous, I said. Admit it. I've risen to the top of the Game World in only three years, and you can't stand that I've left you behind. But it's been no secret. You know what it takes to get ahead on Solaris VII, I've showed you. You've held yourself back. Even when I offer to share some of the glory, you throw it back in my face. So what is your problem, Karl? What stopped you from following a proven formula for success?"
When Karl spoke, his was voice deadly calm but laced with contempt. "Because if I had played the game your way, you wouldn't have a friend left on this world and you'd be even more the creature of Drew Hasek-Davion that you are now. A want-to-be Champion on a very short leash."
Venting his fury, Michael lashed out at the pile of reports sitting on the edge of the table, scattering them into the air. "To hell with you then! Go on, get out!"
Karl turned for the door, and Michael almost called him back—wanted to—certain the damage could be undone. His pride stopped him, however. Michael had expected Karl to back him, just as he always had. To discover instead that his friend had held a low opinion of him for some time, remaining close only out of some desperate loyalty, chipped away at his resolve and his confidence. It reminded him too much of earlier betrayals. Of the reasons why he had come to the Game World in the first place.
If not Champion, then what?
"Karl!" Michael's call stopped his friend just short of the door. The silence drew out for several long heartbeats. Finally, "Tell me something. Do you think I would have won?"
"Won?"
"The Grand Tournament. The Championship. If things had proceeded normally, do you think I would have won?"
Karl looked at him sadly. "I don't know, Michael. You're good, no one can deny that. But Champion?" He paused, shrugged. "Most of the Champions I've ever seen didn't need someone else to tell them so.
"Goodbye, Michael."
* * *
Tran Ky Bo had been right, Karl decided, the taste of failure bitter at the back of his throat. The master of Starlight Stables had predicted that Michael wouldn't listen to him. Argued against even attempting to influence the Black Hills' self-anointed champion, worried that Stormin' Michael Searcy might turn against his former friend. But Karl thought he owed it to Michael to try.
He'd failed, and now his decision weighed heavily. It would put him on a path leading away from his friend, who wouldn't listen, wouldn't see that he was b
eing used. Or if he did see, he wouldn't admit to it. Just as Michael did not hear the finality in Karl's goodbye.
Someone else had, though. Garrett waited just outside the door to Michael's lair, pretending to relax against a corridor wall, though Karl doubted the Clanner had relaxed once from his militant vigil ever since arriving on the Game World. Or since losing his Clan. Garrett looked upon everyone as an enemy. Even those few Smoke Jaguar renegades who'd also come to Solaris VII were potential rivals. Karl pitied the man his lack of peace, but that didn't mean he felt sympathy.
"Going somewhere?" Garrett asked.
"Valhalla. Thought maybe I'd toughen up our competition for network time." Karl stopped as Garrett stepped into his path. "Why? You want to come along?"
Some of the Solaris elite had been at the exclusive club when the fighting broke out. Hollis Security and a few Silesian PD 'Mechs quickly cordoned off Thor's Shieldhall, allowing Lyran warriors out to join Silesia's defense but leaving the others under a kind of house arrest. Over the last several days there'd been talk among the Black Hills defenders of going to "Free Valhalla." Talk was all it was, though. Most of the gladiators didn't miss the competition, seeking their own fifteen minutes. Any effort to free the 'Warriors trapped in Valhalla would have to come through an independent effort.
It was a lie that Karl would make that effort with the meager resources available to him, but he hoped it sounded credible. Especially in light of his actual plans to quit Solaris City, answering Tran Ky Bo's summons to rendezvous with a number of disillusioned MechWarriors at Starlight Sables' remote training grounds. Karl felt like he'd do anything that would get him back to his Cestus.
"You aren't heading into Silesia," Garrett sneered. "We know you've been talking to Tran Ky Bo."
LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory Page 15