"Michael, where do you think you're going, dear boy?"
The light hiss of static filled his ear for a moment, then he heard Michael say, "Didn't waste any time, did you? The story broke, what, two minutes ago?"
Drew's voice turned hard. "I asked you a question."
"What am I doing? I'm going to put an end to this madness. One way or another."
An end to the fighting was the one thing Drew did not want. Too many opportunities remained to be exploited for the situation to come to a premature end. He needed confirmation that Stroud was dead and that the Skye Tigers were also only a memory. Then he would bring things back under control, as spokesman for the SSOA, of course, but the savior of Solaris nonetheless. He would never allow Michael Searcy to interfere with those plans.
Time, then, to start working on appearances.
"You're going into Silesia. Michael, I told you to stay out of there. You've already brought enough down on us in the last week, haven't you?"
"Not bad," Michael congratulated him. "I'm sure you're recording the conversation, and it will play well for the media and to the authorities when they finally retake control of Solaris VII. Providing I never get the chance to tell my side, that is."
"No one will believe it, not with your past. Think before you do this, Michael. About what you risk." Drew could do plenty of damage to Michael if he tried to stand in Drew's way.
"There's nothing you can do to me that I haven't survived before. And if I win, it won't matter near as much. Appearances will out. You taught me that."
"It will matter," Drew snarled. "I'll make certain it matters. You won't enjoy any victory for long."
"Long enough. And if it means that every day for the rest of your life you'll have to remember that I beat you, that will be victory enough. One you can't spin for the media."
Drew stabbed a thick finger at the Disconnect button, breaking the connection. He was almost on the verge of losing his temper, but he wouldn't allow it. Getting angry would serve no one but Michael. Cold calculation, that was Drew's strength. If Michael wanted to play at the bigger games, then Drew would teach him a few final lessons on who truly ruled the Game World. A single MechWarrior couldn't hope to compete, not in Drew's arena. And as he began reviewing his various insurance plans, his spirits buoyed again. The worst that could happen was a break-even proposition.
Especially when he could call in a player in Michael's own league. Warrior to warrior, then. Drew would find a way to reclaim some of the prestige the wayward gladiator had carried off with him.
* * *
On its backward-canted legs, the Maelstrom stalked forward with a hunching step like some giant bird of prey. There any resemblance to a creature of nature stopped. The right-arm PPC spat a lethal stream of energies that missed wide, blasting a large piece of ferrocrete railing from the Founder's Bridge. A large laser on the 'Mech's lower left arm lanced out with scarlet destruction to dig up the ground where Garrett's Warhawk had stood not a second before.
Running his OmniMech at sixty-five kilometers per hour, Garrett raced forward in an oblique attack to close with the thick-bodied Maelstrom. He speared the 'Mech with cross hairs far more accurate than any he'd seen for some time, and the twin PPC system mounted on his left arm flayed two azure whips into the Maelstrom. One finished off the armor protecting an arm, and the other cored into the internal supports of the right side.
Though almost even up on armor, the Maelstrom was seriously outgunned by the Clan-designed Warhawk. Its only advantage was a superior movement curve. But the Kobe MechWarrior at its controls misjudged the approach, throttling into a backward walk too late to prevent Garrett from bringing his large pulse lasers into range. Sapphire needles darted out in a flurry of bright energy, the first pulses eating into the armor over the Maelstrom's chest and allowing the small cloud of misted metal to dissipate before the next darts chewed deeper.
The BattleMech shuddered violently, a sure telltale of gyro damage, but the pilot kept it on its feet.
Late, the Maelstrom staggered back into the cover of a ruined building once belonging to a Virtual World franchise. The gutted shell provided cover for the 'Mech, and Garrett immediately backed off. Already fighting a power spike in his fusion reactor that shot his cockpit temperatures up several blistering degrees, he returned to the end of the Founder's Bridge rather than charge into a possible trap. It wouldn't be the first attempt by Combine-affiliated stables, for all their talk of higher moral standards, to lure him into an ambush sprung by hidden 'Mechs.
Of course, the next one to succeed would be the first.
The Ghost Jaguar. That's what they were calling him lately. An avenging spirit for his Clan. Unstoppable. Some of this world's play-warriors had complained that he might have a sensor-jamming device. No truth to that, though his survival quotient might suggest it. Since fighting his way free of Ishiyama the afternoon of Day Five, Garrett had never returned from a foray into Kobe with critical damage worse than a wounded actuator. Well, once. That afternoon when Karl Edward caught him off guard, knocking Garrett unconscious for the first time in his life. He'd had a rough time of it on his next duel in which an Avatar opened him up from shoulder to hip, burning away engine shielding and nearly crippling his gyro. If the DeLon Stables 'Warrior hadn't been over-eager in pressing the advantage . . .
A burst of static echoed inside his neurohelmet. Then, he heard, "Garrett, this is Hasek-Davion. You are to return to the Black Hills at once."
The master calls, so he was to obey like a trained surtax? The Maelstrom hadn't reappeared, which surely meant Garrett had given a more crippling blow than he'd taken. The Jaguar did not abandon its kill. "Neg. I am not finished here."
"You will be, Garrett, if Michael Searcy has his way."
Searcy? What did the Blackstar champion have to do with his personal war? Keeping on eye on the hunkered-down Maelstrom, Garrett pulled back another fifty meters to the partial shelter of a smashed security post. "Explain."
"He defected, Garrett. He abandoned Blackstar. My guess is that he will try to join Karl Edward and the Starlight forces that are holding at the spaceport. Your Mas—your Warhawk is faster. You can intercept him." A pause. "You once asked for my permission to challenge Michael. Well, now you have more than that. I give you my full support. You will have everything you desire for your resurrected Clan here on Solaris VII."
The scent of blood from the wounded Maelstrom almost made Garrett refuse. A warrior fought for himself first; the last few days had reinforced that as he reveled in bringing down one Kobe Mech Warrior after another. But now that Searcy's inviolate protection had been removed, Garrett could bring him down and perhaps Karl Edward as well. The opportunity was too great to be refused.
The Smoke Jaguar might abandon a kill for worthier prey.
One step backward. Then another. With each meter, his hunger for the Maelstrom receded. There would always be Combine warriors to hunt. But imagine the glory of bringing down a Game World icon, of taking his place as the premier Blackstar fighter. What wouldn't be within his reach then? In his mind Garrett saw a stable composed of his former brethren, all prepared to beat the Inner Sphere at its own game. Nothing could be more glorious.
Already, Garrett was adding both Michael Searcy and Karl Edward to his list of kills. The media had gotten that much right at least; he was unstoppable.
Garrett would simply be proving it again.
* * *
"What do you mean, you don't know where Vandergriff is? We're supposed to have a field man on him twenty-four seven. Find him! And double-check for sightings of a Pillager."
Julian Nero punched the Disconnect and threw the wireless at his assistant, then rocked back in his well-padded black cloth chair. Around him the studio's secondary news station bustled with activity, while he ruled Silesia's news empire from his own little domain. Several news anchors threw him questioning looks; one shot him a hard glance, jealousy mixing with curiosity. Julian stared them down. They all
wanted to know what he had working. Wanted to ask him for some extra material they could weave into their own reports and commentaries. During his thirty-minute respite, however, no one dared interrupt him, and he could try to reach his decision.
Was today the day?
Events were coming to a head. The landing of the Thirty-second Lyran Guard and subsequent arrival of a joint force from Starlight and Overlord promised that. There was the free-fire zone Vandergriff had cleared along the eastern border of the Black Hills and also Michael Searcy's possible defection. And this rumor— still unsubstantiated—that Garrett had walked away from a battle in Kobe, recalled to the Black Hills. It wasn't hard to read the signs of an impending and explosive confrontation, but it would require more to attempt any kind of solid interpretation. Julian Nero, Mr. Infallible, the man in the know, had to make the call based on second-hand information and one hurried conversation with Drew Hasek-Davion.
"Crucify him." That had been Hasek-Davion's suggestion—demand, actually. "The rogue Davionist, out for his own ends. Hype it until every Silesian Mech Warrior is looking for a piece of Searcy. Then we give him Vandegriff." By all indications, everything was going according to plan.
Except that it made no sense, from a purely public relations viewpoint, that Hasek-Davion was the instigator of the rupture. It would deprive Blackstar of its share of any glory won by the Federated Suns favorite. This move only made sense if Hasek-Davion expected Searcy to lose. Or was actively working against him.
The only conclusion Julian could draw from the tangle of half-truths and hidden agendas was that Hasek-Davion's little empire was caving in. Somehow Drew had lost control over Searcy and now wanted Julian to stoke the fires that burned between Silesia and the Black Hills. And if Hasek-Davion wanted to keep the fights going, then Searcy must be working to stop him. The two were in a race to see who could complete his objective first, stable owner or arena 'Warrior.
Julian Nero snapped his fingers at his assistant, holding his hand out for the wireless. One thing he had learned early on. You generalized on the stable.
You bet on the 'Warrior.
20
Monorail Station, International Zone
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance
22 August 3062
The Cestus had kicked its way through the rubble-strewn streets, pausing near the ruins of what had once been the city's main monorail station. The bullet-shaped train slept on the elevated rails, no longer running but miraculously untouched by the violence that had destroyed the station. He continued along Hotel Row, where several of the city's luxury-class hostelries were still filled to capacity as the greatest show in the Inner Sphere continued.
Upon leaving the safety of the spaceport area in his salvaged Cestus, Karl Edward had no idea what kind of opposition he'd find when he reached the border between the International Zone and the Black Hills. If someone had offered him a bet, he'd never have wagered on running straight into Garrett in his OmniMech.
But there he was, the Masakari standing dead center in the street, blocking Karl's path, framed by the elevated rail system to one side and the Imperial Hotel on the other. Spectators filled the hotel windows, people intelligent enough to keep off the streets yet believing that the double-paned glass windows offered some kind of protection. It didn't matter that collateral damage from a weapons exchange could ravage the hotel front in seconds; they'd come for the show and seemed determined to get one.
"I didn't expect to find you here, Garrett. I thought you'd be in Kobe."
"I was. About to claim a victory, too. As always." Silence for a moment, then, "The untouchable. That is what Kobe warriors are calling me."
Karl smiled grimly. Explaining what that word really meant to Combine culture wouldn't be politic at the moment. He sidestepped his Cestus, thinking to lead Garrett away from the hotel. The eighty-five-ton Masakari swung at the waist to track him, raising its left arm menacingly. The apertures of its twin PPCs were threat enough to keep Karl from taking another step.
"So why are you here?" he asked. Karl needed to know who he could still trust, if anyone.
"I am here to claim what is rightfully mine. It seems I have beaten Searcy in getting here, but that is acceptable. You and I have our own score to settle."
Karl tasted the nervous sweat that beaded on his upper lip. He wasn't afraid, but duly concerned. The Masakari was designed to be a killer. Against the Cestus, its energy-weapon configuration would quickly destroy his armor protection. The only thing Karl had going for him was that Garrett had apparently come here straight from another battle, and some minimal damage showed across the Masakari's chest and arms. If Karl acted quickly, he might be able to exploit that damage.
He was troubled, though, by the implication that Michael was also on his way and that Garrett was expecting him. Were the two working together, Clanner and Champion? Was Michael hunting the task force put together by Starlight and Overlord, thinking it threatened his position as leader of the Black Hills force? Karl had wanted to tell his friend about those plans, to enlist his help, but Michael had been in no mood to hear him. He'd become the creature of Drew Hasek-Davion.
"And that's why you're here, Garrett? To settle up with me?"
"You think too highly of yourself, like most Inner Sphere barbarians. My purpose here is higher than that, and a great reward awaits me." There was a touch of amusement in Garrett's voice. "An offer I could not decline. Is not that how you play-warriors phrase it?"
"Close enough," Karl said, stalling. He paired his arm lasers into medium and large combinations, tying them into the primary triggers for each control stick and leaving his gauss rifle on the right-hand thumb button. He selected his targeting system to passive mode, relying on his own skills rather than computer-aided sensors. It was less accurate, but would give Garrett no warning. "You've become a true mercenary, then, haven't you? Where paymaster counts for more than person?"
Karl was baiting Garrett, and it looked like the Clanner had taken it. He moved his 'Mech forward threateningly. "We are not under Boreal Reach now. Out here, you are no match for me."
Tightening down on his primary triggers, Karl carefully dropped his targeting reticle over the Masakari's outline. Without active sensors, the cross hairs did not change to a golden hue to indicate target acquisition. So near point-blank range and two non-moving BattleMechs, Karl hardly needed a computer to assist him. But with the hotel so close, he couldn't afford to miss, and every second of easing into the shot increased the chance for clean hits. "This was Michael's biggest mistake," he warned. "Don't do it, Garrett."
The Masakari's left arm reached out, leveling its paired PPCs at the Cestus. Cautionary alarms rang a warning that another 'Mech had sensor lock. But Garrett held off. Perhaps it was because Karl had invoked the name of Michael Searcy, the man who was the bane of Garrett's existence within Blackstar Stables. Or maybe Garrett believed he actually was "untouchable."
"Do what?" Garrett asked.
"Start believing your own press," Karl said, carefully squeezing his triggers.
Both of his 'Mech's arms extended toward the Masakari, spearing out intense, gem-colored light. Molten scars opened up on the Omni's right arm, slashing across the chest and then down toward the left hip. Armor sloughed away, opening up the breach in the 'Mech's right side that Karl's gauss slug slammed through a split second later with devastating force. The hit rocked the Masakari back on its feet but failed to unseat it.
"You are very touchable," Karl said grimly, throttling into a backward walk and waiting for his weapons to cycle. He braced himself for the blistering counterfire.
* * *
The assault spun the Warhawk's gyro off-balance, even with the compensating signal fed to it by Garrett's neurohelmet. The 'Mech swayed back precariously, fighting the pull of gravity, while inside the cockpit Garrett wrestled the controls to keep the eighty-five-ton machine upright. He spread the 'Mech's legs into a wider stance
and thrust its arms forward in counterbalance. Ducking the Masakari hard at the waist, he hoped to rob the shove of its momentum. All of these were automatic responses to the hard-hitting assault, trained into his reflexes like instincts. And they accomplished their aim. Slowly, the Warhawk came under control, rocking forward to regain a fighting stance.
Garrett was not about to succumb to the filthy surat's opening salvo.
The damage, though, had been done. Insistent lights flashed red and amber cautions at him while alarms rang for attention, warning of damaged or upset systems. That one salvo had left him with only fifteen percent armor mass, the rest of it now a mess of molten splatters smoking on the ground. A heat sink mounted in his right torso had ruptured, which would also cost him in heat dissipation.
So he would sweat a bit more. Garrett pulled his cross hairs across the holographic head's up display his Warhawk's computer painted over his main canopy. The reticle would blink out for a long second before reappearing, jumping across the HUD to finally settle over the retreating Cestus. Jerking back on the trigger, he unleashed twin cascades of azure destruction from his paired PPCs. The energy arced out, flailing at the wide-shouldered BattleMech.
And missed.
The energy discharge spent itself impotently against a pile of bricks and plaster, geysering scorched rubble into the air. Except for a few shards of ferrocrete that rang off the Cestus's head, the salvo accomplished little.
Garrett stared in disbelief, the shock wasting several precious seconds. Another glance over his system monitors confirmed what the flashing cross hairs had hinted. The gauss slug had smashed deeper into his side than he'd thought, crushing his targeting computer. An irreplaceable piece of Clan engineering, lost in the opening seconds. Garrett had been caught unprepared.
LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory Page 20