LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory

by Loren L. Coleman

  We. Karl knew that meant Hasek-Davion. It was amazing how the man kept himself hedged against any flanking maneuvers. He looked past Garrett, at the intersection that would take him toward his 'Mech and away from the nightmare that had descended on Solaris City.

  "Out of my way, Garret," he said, his voice deadly cold.

  Garrett bristled. "Try another direction."

  Karl started to turn away, as if avoiding a confrontation, then spun back around for a hooking punch that Garrett was too slow to ward off. The right hook smashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling.

  Karl looked down at him, fists still clenched, but Garrett didn't move. That surprised him, but he quickly stepped over the Clanner's unconscious form. In his anger and desperation, Karl must have mustered a blow hard enough to catch even Garrett unprepared. He'd downed his enemy, but no video cameras, no witnesses were present to trumpet his victory.

  And that suited Karl Edward just fine.

  15

  Green Mansion, Black Hills

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance

  17 August 3062

  The media room in Green Mansion made a big impression on the quartet of video journalists Drew Hasek-Davion had gathered together. They sat in overstuffed leather chairs pulled up to a table in the beautiful grain of New Syrtis golden oak. Cocktails of their choice rested on linen napkins, but mostly went ignored as they swiveled about to follow the panorama of news reports displayed on four large wall screens. The scenes were constantly shifting between the numerous feeds pulled in from all across Solaris City, and a state-of-the-art sound system delivered the voices of the commentators.

  The commentaries had been expertly edited to make a huge audio collage of the troubles on Solaris VII. Not more than a few seconds ever followed the cut to the next report. Though it would have been a dizzying assault on the senses for most people, these were media pros, used to such rapid-fire deliveries and crisp summations. They followed along, caught up in the spell of the moment.

  In an adjoining room, peering in through a hidden camera, Drew Hasek-Davion smiled whenever he noticed someone straighten perceptibly as they recognized a fragment from one of their own reports.

  He had left them alone to view their own handiwork— mostly footage of the violence that still ruled the streets of Silesia and the Black Hills. They listened to reports on the fires that broke out in Kobe the night before, reducing a large section of its slums to ash and charred brick and even now barely under control where it had spread into neighboring areas. An illegal tap into the closed-circuit feed of Cathay's Jungle arena provided some close-up shots of the ongoing 'Mech battle between warring Liao stables, then cut back to a failed push by Federated Suns police to retake one of its own security compounds captured by Lyran sympathizers. They also saw clips from the Tong war for control of the Black Hills riverfront and of Skye Tiger 'Mechs defending Jerry Stroud's estate from a raid by a lance of Blackstar 'Warriors.

  Many of the clips showed today's heavy assault against the spaceport. No control facilities had been touched, only the auxiliary buildings. The spaceport proper was the only area that all sectors recognized as neutral and no 'Mechs had threatened it. The fighting had edged closer, however, as Black Hills forces sought to flank the small Lyran contingent guarding the port warehouses. In the background, DropShips continued to arrive with their manifest of tourists and future gladiators.

  One screen froze on a shot of a Monopole Lines DropShip touching down on the tarmac, about a full kilometer back from one exchange of firepower. Soon a second screen paused on the same scene. Then the third. Carrying his usual bourbon neat, Drew timed his entrance to coincide with the fourth wall screen turning to the same static image.

  "Interesting, don't you think?" he said, obviously startling his four visitors from their contemplation. "For all the danger of the riots, of BattleMechs fighting in the streets and not the arenas, we continue to be flooded by aficionados—the gamblers and spectators and simple tourists. Very few have altered their travel plans or are remaining in safety at the recharge station facilities. The current unrest seems only to have heightened the appeal of the Game World. Yes, an interesting situation." He paused. "Which you all help to promote."

  Veronica Sherman of the Solaran Broadcasting Corporation glared at him. She was antagonistic to Drew as she'd been to Michael at the Viewpoint press conference. "We report the news. We do not create it. That is easily left to deviants such as your Michael Searcy."

  "Or Victor Vandergriff," Adam Kristof reminded her. "Also Srin Odessa and Jasmine Kalasa and any other Mech Warrior who has taken to the streets." He glanced at Mason Wells, the popular Federated Suns journalist, apparently looking for support.

  But it was Julian Nero who spoke up next, which pleased Drew. "The MechWarriors may take center stage," he said, "as always, but the riots are fed and maintained by the ordinary citizens of Solaris City." He shrugged uncomfortably. "We bear some responsibility for that, being the self-declared opiate of the masses. But I'd say it's safe to assume that no one in this room is about to cut them off 'cold turkey,' as it were. That would be professional suicide." The others nodded agreement.

  So did Drew. "You mistake my intentions, Mr. Nero. I've no desire to limit your journalistic freedom. Only to regulate it . . . slightly."

  He sipped at his drink, appreciating its heady taste and enjoying the looks ranging from consternation to sheer rage on the faces of his guests. Each one acting predictably—so far.

  Drew meant to have the cooperation of these four people. He needed it. Solaris VII was a media-driven world. Normally the stable owners wielded the controlling influence, deciding who would fight where and which media would be allowed to cover it. With most stables currently lacking any real authority over their fighters—except for his stable, of course—the media now held the upper hand. As usual, Drew was ready to take his place at the forefront of the crowd, to be seen as its leader. To be its leader.

  Before any of the four could take issue with him, he went on. "The betting, both legal and illicit, is as heavy as ever. The odds are fluctuating like nothing ever seen now that the controlled environment of the arenas isn't functioning, and the money is pouring in. Even Solaris scrip is seeing the strongest upsurge in some time, with everyone wagering their House-bills on the violence."

  He set his drink down on a low table. "Be that as it may, we've all been hurt in the second-most profitable venture of the Solaris VII, which is the commercialization of the games." The vidcasters were only cogs in the wheel. Their livelihoods depended on the profitability of their networks. "You've been enjoying some extra freedoms lately, but the truth is it's hurting your studios and owners. I don't have to tell you that no one is immune to the imperative of the bottom line."

  Mason Wells leaned forward in his seat, hands folded elegantly on the table. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Hasek-Davion?" His voice gave away nothing.

  Drew smiled and spread his hands expansively. "Merely that you provide more of your old showmanship-style reporting and help me in coordinating sponsorship efforts. I've made arrangements for several high-stakes deals that will benefit your studios, and you specifically. The sponsors cannot possibly show favoritism to the Mech Warriors or to any of the various factions. It would limit their cross-market appeal. However, they can sponsor independent reporting of the events here on Solaris. Bluntly put, the media is currently more marketable than endorsing the fights."

  "Then allow me to be blunt as well," Julian Nero said. "Why do we need you?"

  Drew held his temper in check, knowing it would give him no advantage at the moment. Nero's question was a fair one. "You may have the talent, Mr. Nero, but you haven't the contacts the stable owners have developed over the years. And you've no time to acquire them. You could leave it to your studios, but they've no reason to cut you in. I would arrange the sponsorships directly, which can then be negotiated with the studios at more favorable terms than you
normally receive."

  "This is an outrage!" Veronica Sherman slammed one hand flat down against the table. "I see no reason that the Lyran news agencies should bow to your management."

  Drew turned to look at her calmly. "I don't see why not," he said, a wintry edge to his voice. "They've always been responsive to the influence of the Solaris Stable Owner's Association. Within two days, other stable owners will recognize the value of this opportunity, and the SSOA will formally take over as your representative."

  Mason Wells smiled cynically. "You expect to remain head manager of the project, of course."

  "Of course." Drew shrugged. "Someone must be in charge and held accountable." He didn't say that he intended to reap the benefits of being in control, while holding the journalists themselves ultimately responsible.

  Adam Kristof glanced around at the others, then back at Drew. "You don't mean for this to end with the four of us, then, do you?"

  "Not in the least. Once other media representatives and studios see the deals being struck, they'll come aboard as well. But that shouldn't matter to the four of you. As the first, you will automatically receive the best deals. It will also let you remain at the forefront of this crisis. More air time. Wider distribution of your commentaries into syndicated broadcasts. Greater recognition and prestige."

  These four people had been in the game long enough to know the score. Hadn't they watched the same scenario play out with the MechWarriors who dominated the arenas? The 'Warrior became hot property, leading to bigger purses and a demand for more fights.

  "You did mention returning a touch of showmanship to our reports," Mason Wells said.

  Nodding, Drew warmed to his secondary motive for bringing the media under his control. "Love them or hate them, the MechWarriors are the property we sell. Even at their worst, the riots can't compete with video footage of BattleMechs blasting away at each other. There is no denying that the, strong central personalities of the Game World have been sacrificed for a more generalized view of the fighting. I want to see that competitive flavor brought back to your reporting."

  "With an emphasis on Michael Searcy's exploits, no doubt."

  Veronica Sherman was determined to force Drew's hand. All in good time, though. If she could not be brought on board, he would simply redouble his efforts to snare Julian Nero. "Michael Searcy is a man in search of his own destiny. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that he has very few ties left to Blackstar Stables. He is a 'Federated Son' warrior. You should treat him as such in your reports."

  Even Veronica Sherman couldn't help showing an interest in that surprising bit of news. Was Blackstar Stables officially relinquishing all ties to its favored 'Warrior?

  Drew's words certainly suggested that, even though it wasn't true. It was all part of his insurance plan. Eventually, the price for the riots would have to be paid. Drew had every intention of coming down on the winning side, which meant he had to be ready to sever all relations with Searcy should the young hot-blood fail to carry the fighting for the Black Hills. Drew wasn't about to leave his future in the hands of any one person.

  "If we play up the divisive factions any more than we do now," Nero said, "we open ourselves to charges of feeding the violence."

  "Or, of trying to put the focus back on the various fighters," Drew returned calmly. "Lure the people back to their screens and leave the fighting to the professionals." It was the justification that would cover everyone's actions if played correctly to the viewing public. And weren't these the people responsible for the presentation? "As for the MechWarriors, you will be instrumental in declaring the champions and the vanquished. Tried in the media. Judged by the public."

  "It could work that way," Nero said cautiously. "Though I think that each sector—each nation—will prefer to choose their own champions. And enemies."

  "Which means we eventually reclaim the same system Solaris VII has been operating under for the past several years," Drew said. "Either way, it makes for one hell of a story."

  In the SSOA meeting of four days prior, Drew Hasek-Davion had carried the day through a well-played game against Thomas DeLon. Manipulating his peers, dominating them where necessary, he had steered the outcome of the meeting to within a hair's breadth of the victory Jerry Stroud then handed him. He still savored the memory of that maneuver, with all its tension and the delicate care he'd needed to take with each step.

  Compared to that meeting, this one was child's play. He'd owned Adam Kristof and Mason Wells from the start. The lure of direct sponsorship was too enticing. Also, the journalists recognized the power Drew could bring against them in the Black Hills and were wary of him. Julian Nero was nobody's fool, though, and could retreat back into Silesia where Drew's reach was not so long. Or so he might think. Still, Drew read it in his eyes that the Lyran 'caster was nearly solid. The benefits far outweighed the dangers of dealing with Hasek-Davion. That left . . .

  Veronica Sherman shook her head emphatically. "I'll have nothing to do with any scheme proposed by a Fed-Rat. By the time I've had my say, I doubt many others will either."

  "Damn it, Veronica," Kristof chided. "If it had been one of your Lyran merchant-masters who had come up with this, you would be first on line with holocam already running."

  "Well, it wasn't. And that makes all the difference to me."

  Watching her with his own mask set carefully into place, Drew simply removed the wireless from his belt and asked, "Is that your final answer?"

  "Close enough," she said. "In fact, I think Adam's right. I see no reason why the same plan can't be put into effect by going through a Silesian stable master. Jerry Stroud can be counted on, I'm sure."

  Veronica had gone one step too far, her fate sealed by her refusal. Not that Drew would think to harm her directly. Nothing could turn the media against him any faster than to threaten their persons. But he had many other ways to accomplish the same end, ones not so easily traced back to his hand. .

  He speed-dialed one of his agents at Boreal Reach on his wireless, then spoke into it. "I'm concerned about some reports I'm getting," he said, gaze centered unwaveringly on Veronica Sherman. "I want the SBC protected. Yes, the Solaran Broadcasting Corporation. We have forces in the International Zone? Good, make certain they respond. And I'll put up a fund of one hundred thousand C-bills for any warrior who can hold out against the expected Lyran attack." He snapped the wireless closed.

  Veronica Sherman's face paled. The others shifted uncomfortably, realizing the implied threat to all media concerns. "You can't do that," she demanded. "Everyone needs the SBC facilities to put on their programs."

  "No," Drew disagreed. "The SBC only makes it easier. It wouldn't be impossible to get along without it, though most studios would certainly be harder pressed to rely more on their own talent and facilities. Which is why I want it protected." Of course, by sending Black Hills troops to defend the site, it would become an instant target for the Lyran forces. "Not one Federated Sun warrior will fire on the buildings intentionally." And so it would appear that Drew Hasek-Davion had worked to defend Solaris City's central broadcasting facilities.

  And appearances were, indeed, everything.

  "They won't have to. The Lyran forces will destroy it."

  "I do hope you are wrong. But if the worst should happen, I'd say you would be out of a job, Ms. Sherman." Time to clinch the deal. "What do you think, Mr. Nero? Would your studio be likely to offer Mrs. Sherman a place to voice her opinions?"

  Julian Nero's struggle played out quickly. Drew could practically read the other man's mind, knowing the options left to him. Should he show solidarity with the Lyran-affiliated media and risk a similar ploy to drive his own studio out of business, or should he work within the parameters just outlined in this room? Drew counted on Nero being a newsman before he was a patriot.

  The man did not disappoint.

  "Very unlikely, sir," he said, throwing a quick glance at his former associate.

  Sherman seemed to have collapsed
inwardly, her legendary stamina deserting her with the implications of Hasek-Davion's actions. If the others had similar reservations, they were careful to keep them hidden. Power had just been transferred this afternoon, shifting from the media concerns back to the stable owners. Perhaps any true independence had never been the media's to begin with. Until now, power had been spread among the stable owners; it had never rested in the hands of single master.

  All in an afternoon's work for Drew Hasek-Davion. He was now the most powerful force on Solaris VII, and he meant to hold on to that newfound strength with every means at his disposal. Searcy would either carry the fight and be dependent on Drew's media influence to vindicate him, or he would fail. In which case Drew was now in position to denounce Searcy and still come out the winner. Garrett remained a secondary insurance plan against Searcy, just as Searcy remained one against the Clan renegade. And always there were Jerry Stroud and Skye Tigers Stable to contend with. Drew's nemesis could not help but fall now. Stroud had no real hope.

  Not so long as Drew Hasek-Davion remained in control of the Game World. And, so far, there was no one in place to stop him.

  16

  Executive Wing, The Triad

  Tharkad City, Tharkad

  Donegal Province, Lyran Alliance

  17 August 3062

  The palatial estates of the Triad on Tharkad demonstrated a regal splendor of immaculately kept grounds, grand arches and cathedral ceilings, rich tapestries and richly carpeted halls. As the seat of power for the Lyran Alliance, it demanded nothing less.

  Nondi Steiner's office in the Triad's executive wing, however, showed more Spartan tastes. As General of the Armies, she thought it more seemly. The tiled floor had been polished to a mirror shine, and the room's only furnishings were her desk and chair and two seats for visitors. The expansive desktop of pale blue marble streaked with gray was kept fastidiously clear. A small holovid monitor sat on its left side. A large nameplate was place prominently on the front edge, as if anyone entering the office would not know who presided there. On the desk's right-hand corner was a miniature flag in a pedestal. It showed the symbol of the Lyran Alliance, a blue gauntlet set against a field of white.