The medium lasers in the Blackjack’s forearms carved molten furrows through the armor on the Vindicator’s right arm and center torso, blackening the red-and-gold paint job. Beyond that, they did no serious damage to Lightning Jack’s ’Mech. But the large lasers both nailed the Vindicator’s left arm. They slashed from shoulder to wrist. Half-melted armor plates sloughed off like dead skin. The actuator controlling the ’Mech’s left hand combusted. The lasers reduced the arm to a blackened skeleton.
Lightning Jack returned fire. The small laser in the ’Mech’s left arm missed wide, but everything else hit. Three of the long-range missiles blasted armor over the Blackjack’s heart, pulverizing ferro-ceramics to dust. The medium laser built into the ’Mech’s head disintegrated armor on the other ’Mech’s left flank, leaving only the thinnest layer of protection.
But the particle projection cannon—which had always proved to be Lightning Jack’s most lethal weapon—did the most damage. The jagged azure beam stabbed deeply into the Blackjack’s torso, ablating the diaphanous shred of armor that remained and voraciously consuming everything it touched. In the blink of an eye, the hellish beam melted the gyros. Walter’s ability to control his ’Mech evaporated. Likewise, the particle beam pierced the ’Mech’s engine housing. Had the Blackjack been powered by a full-blown fusion engine, the reaction would have run rampant and melted the ’Mech to nothing. Instead, a scalding wave of heat passed up through the cockpit.
Walter remembered struggling to keep the ’Mech upright and feeling it begin to fall. Then the heat hit him, and his world went black.
The audience, led by Allison herself, applauded Lightning Jack Caine heartily.
Jack, blushing, raised a hand in acknowledgement, but he said nothing.
Allison grabbed his hand and kept it aloft. “Jack, you should know that the audience that viewed the fight live declared your takedown of Wallace’s Blackjack the best battle result of The Big Tournament, round two. Because of that, our sponsor, Barringtons Industries, is contributing ten thousand C-bills to the charity you’ve chosen: the Lyran Fund for Education, which makes sure that the children of Lyran Commonwealth soldiers have a chance at the best education available.”
“Thank you, Allison. That contribution will help lots of people.” Jack couldn’t seem to extricate his hand from Allison’s grasp. “I do want to say that the fight was closer than most people will ever understand. Yeah, I shot Wallace out, but my Vindicator went down, too. I was so unbalanced that I couldn’t keep my ’Mech up. If I’d missed, he would have had me dead to rights.”
Allison glanced at Walter. “That’s very magnanimous of Jack to say, don’t you think, Wallace?”
“He gives me far too much credit.” Walter smiled for the camera. “In fact, with shooting like that, I think Jack’s got to be a favorite to get into the semifinals. I mean, he’ll be the guy I’m watching.”
“Well, there you have it, people, and we are out of time. I’d like to thank my guests, especially Lighting Jack Caine. We’ll be back tomorrow night with the first of the round three fights. Until then, be safe and keep watching.”
Walter thanked Allison for having him as a guest, and pretended not to notice that she fled from him as if he were radioactive and on fire. She headed straight for Jack Caine, linking her arm in his. Walter exchanged a glance with the sound engineer pulling the battery pack and lavalier microphone from beneath his shirt.
The engineer shrugged. “You’re good to go. A limo is waiting outside for you.”
“Thanks.” Walter tossed the engineer a quick salute. “Nice to have a taste of how the champions live.”
As promised, a dark limo hovered up when Walter emerged from the studio’s side door. The driver hopped out, opened the back door for him, and guided him in with gentle pressure at the small of his back. It took Walter a couple of seconds to realize the passenger compartment was already occupied, at which time the pressure on his back intensified into a shove.
The other passenger, a small man of Asian descent, was inspecting one of his fingernails. “Please, Mr. de Mesnil, join me.”
Walter caught himself on the bench seat opposite and sat with as much dignity as circumstances allowed. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ambassador Wen.”
The Liao diplomat looked up and smiled. “But you have seen me here before.” The man touched a button on the armrest, and a holo burst into life at the center of the compartment. It showed Walter, smiling, his arm around the shoulder of his new companion.
I never noticed him in the scrum.
Wen Xu-Tian shrugged apathetically, as if he had read Walter’s mind. “Not surprised you don’t remember. If you thought of me at all, I imagine you would have placed me on Sian, being disciplined for my failure to acquire Ivan Litzau.”
Walter leaned back as the limo began moving. “I didn’t think of you at all.”
Wen again inspected his fingernail. “Hardly a surprise. Once you left Maldive, I ceased to be a factor in your mission of protecting the Litzaus.”
“And yet here you are.”
The man smiled slowly. “More by accident than by plan. Initially I sought to escape my former masters and their retribution for my failure. I moved quickly and often, and save for the occasional curse sent in your direction, I did not think of you at all, either. I moved from DropShip to DropShip at random, without a destination in mind. And then, at the end of September, I happened to watch homemade holos of circuit fighting on Solaris. Lo and behold, I saw you, my friend.”
“Should have just had ComStar get in touch. I would have gotten you plenty of holos. No need to come here.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world…” Wen hit the button again, and more holos began orbiting the first. Images of Sophia, the Vulture’s Egg, Ivan and Aniki, as well as more shots of Walter. “…seeing my old friends and how they fare now. In fact, all this makes me so happy I can barely contain my joy. Or the news that, somehow, the Litzau family is far from extinct.”
An icy snake slithered through Walter’s bowels. “How much?”
“So quick to business, and to money. You are a mercenary after all.” Wen extinguished the holograms with the touch of a button. “I haven’t determined what I want yet, or rather, how much I want. You should know, however, that all the information I’ve amassed is locked away safely with individuals who, if they hear of my untimely death, or fail to hear from me at all, will send the information to Sian and Maldive. If I get hit by a hovercar—by accident or otherwise—you will find the consequences rather disastrous.”
Walter nodded. “Point made.”
“So glad you understand.” Wen opened his hands. “You should know I bear neither you nor the Litzaus any ill will. I assume you wish to make enough money to finance a retaking of Maldive. I applaud that and, really, intend to do no harm to your effort. Instead, I should like to profit as you do. Toward that end, I’ll be in contact with you soon.”
“I’ll speak with my compatriots and…”
“No, you will keep this between us.”
Walter frowned. “Why?”
“You may have been Ivan’s Companion, but I spent far longer dealing with him on Maldive than you did. I have insights into his character you’ve likely overlooked. Realizing the pressure I’m putting on you, he would happily sacrifice himself to save you. He would, if you will, kill the goose laying golden eggs for me; and that just won’t do. If he were to reveal himself, I would be forced to move directly to deliver him and Sophia to Sian, as this would be the only way I could be accepted back by my old masters. I think neither of us wants to see that happen.”
“Your extortion is never going to end, is it?”
“My living requirements are not extravagant, but they will be ongoing. Think of it this way, Walter: you and I both have it in our best interests to keep the Litzaus here and safe. As long as we work together to that end, life should go on blissfully for all involved.” The limo sli
d to a halt, and the passenger compartment’s door opened. “Your ride is at an end, my friend, but our journey together is just beginning.”
Chapter Nine
_____________________________________________
_____________________________________________
Solaris City
Solaris VII (The Game World)
Rahneshire, Lyran Commonwealth
20 December 3001
Walter looked around at the restaurant Sophia had chosen. Dark wood predominated in Praha, which was dimly illuminated with low-wattage bulbs and candlelight. The wood was best described as “rough hewn”; any scratches or cuts in it were just varnished over. The tables and chairs likewise had a blocky, hand-crafted feel to them, with leather upholstery secured with brass tacks. Beyond that, all the decorations—no matter which culture had given rise to them—tended toward the primitive and hand-carved.
He smiled. “I didn’t know this much wood existed on Solaris VII.”
Sophia’s eyes brightened. “I know. We innkeepers share the secret of little places like this, just in case bright and industrial aren’t suiting a patron’s mood.”
Walter flipped the leather-bound menu open. Faint light made the selections difficult to read. “What language is this?”
“Czech, I think. The owner is from the Free Worlds League and very traditional.”
“You can read this?”
“Their site has translations. You’ll want number twelve to start, then number thirty-three, done medium, for your main course.”
Walter scanned those menu items in fruitless hope of recognizing at least a word or two. “You’re sure?”
“Are you worried?” She shook her head. “Worrying about a meal, from a man who makes his living in a BattleMech?”
“When you put it that way…” Walter closed his menu. “I trust you.”
“I won’t steer you wrong.”
“Not a fear.” Walter sat back and gave the surroundings another look. They sat at one of a half dozen circular tables in the center of the floor. Booths ringed three-quarters of the room, with a small bar on the remaining wall. Only a third of the tables were occupied, but it was relatively early in the evening for diners in Solaris City. Just one person was seated at the bar, and based on how the bartender deferred to him, Walter guessed the patron was really the manager or owner.
A server appeared from the kitchen, and Sophia placed their order. He returned quickly with a dark beer for Walter and sparkling water for her.
Sophia lifted her glass. “To success.”
Walter touched his glass to hers. “I only wish mine could have matched yours.”
“Walter, you got knocked out of the tournament, but no one—including yourself—ever expected you to even be in it. Going from a circuit fighter to the tournament in less than a season may not be unheard of, but it’s very rare.”
“So about a billion people told me.” He sighed. “And I know I’ve been talking—we’ve been talking—about our project here taking a lot of time. Years. But to come so close so quickly…”
Sophia took his hand in hers. “You were the one who cautioned against our getting our hopes up. You and Ivan have been working really hard…”
“As have you.”
“…thanks, but the point is that the success of the Vulture’s Egg is measurable. I had a budget. I had projections. We’ve done better than expected, which is great, but what I’m doing isn’t nearly as risky as what you’re doing. I mean, I can already project revenues for next month, and have bookings for the month beyond that.”
Walter drank, then wiped foam from his mouth. “Whereas I’m unemployed until The Big Tournament season is over, and maybe until March, when the circuit revs up again.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m doing this wrong, Walter. I wanted to come out with you this evening to let you know that I’m very proud of you and of what you’ve done, not to make you upset or depressed. Given where we were and what we were doing this time last year, this is a huge step up.”
“So long ago and far, far away.” He frowned. “Still no word from Maldive?”
“I’ve spent a small fortune to get news, but no, nothing really. There have been a couple of pieces about Maldive, but given the content, I get the feeling these filler pieces were produced back before I was born and are slowly filtering coreward. Stock footage remains the same, with new presenters recording an old script to make it look like current material. In the short term, I suppose that’s good, since it decreases the chances of anyone on Solaris recognizing Ivan or me.”
Save that Wen Xu-Tian already knows you’re here and wants a payoff to keep quiet. Walter forced himself to smile. Not that I trust him to keep his end of the bargain. Extortion doesn’t work that way.
Sophia mirrored his smile and did not relinquish her grip on his hand. “But I am cultivating patience. I have accepted that this endeavor may take years, and I have started thinking it all might be better measured in decades. I hate saying that, but I have to be realistic.”
“Will you ever get to the place where you abandon the idea of liberating Maldive?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Maldive isn’t like other places. The Litzau family had power because of the corporate structure of the world, not because of any hereditary claim to a throne. But that doesn’t absolve me of responsibility. As my father once explained it, that actually makes our responsibility greater than your average ruler’s.”
Walter arched an eyebrow. “Go on…”
“Hereditary rulers, be they good or grotesque, can get swapped out without much ado if any changes occur in the lives of the people they rule. Bad rulers, in fact, can be neutralized by their advisors and others who control factors such as the economy. On Maldive, however, the corporations are the economy. What we do has a profound impact on everyone, from stakeholders to employees, and from employees to all those who make their living providing goods and services to the employees. The damage we can do is more immediate and has consequences much more severe—it cuts a much broader swath through society than a political problem.”
“That explains much.”
“How so?”
“Just the way you’ve been dealing with those employed on the Vulture’s Egg. While we’re all in this together—those of us who have been in it from the start—you’re treating the others more than fairly. Your father’s lesson took.”
“Ivan understands matters as I do. It is a lesson he will impart to his children, whether they are born here or there.” She sat back. “And here is our food.”
Number twelve turned out to be a salad of mixed greens, seasonal berries, some nuts, crumbled blue cheese, and a vinaigrette dressing to which peppers imparted a tantalizing amount of heat. His entree consisted of a strip steak which, while thin, remained moist and fairly melted in his mouth. A red wine and peppercorn reduction covered it and mixed well with the garlic-mashed red root vegetables.
After the first bite of each, he bowed his head toward her. “You chose perfectly.”
She, in turn, had a lettuce wedge with dressing on the side, and a fish and vegetable soup in a clear broth. Sliced green onions provided color, and the dish smelled of clear vinegar. Sophia blew on the soup to cool a spoonful, then sighed contentedly. “Even better than I was told.”
“Good.” Walter looked up from his plate. “Do you think it’s likely Ivan’s children will be born here?”
She shrugged. “Probably they will. Whether they’ll be the ones who liberate our world or will be welcomed as the victor’s children is the open question. That’s likely the prudent case to plan for, but will children born here have any interest in returning to Maldive? If news transmission remains the same, they might learn of the coup by the time they’re teenagers. Hard to imagine their developing a passion to liberate a backwater world they know only from stories their father and aunt tell them.”
“You have a point.”
>
“What about you, Walter? You served as my brother’s Companion, but how long will that last?”
“I made a promise.”
“A promise no one will hold you to.” She set her spoon down. “Please, don’t take this as me questioning your integrity, but look at you now. You’ve been bounced out of the tournament and are looking at three months before climbing back into a cockpit to entertain folks between pie-eating contests and bouts of pig-calling. That’s not the sort of lifestyle you’re going to embrace until you’re old and gray.”
“I have a duty, Sophia, a sworn duty.”
“You also got a fight, kid.” Traeger plopped himself down in the empty chair next to Sophia. “Hi, sweetie, hope you don’t mind if Wallace here and I talk some business. Of course you don’t.” He signaled the waiter. “And I’ll have whatever she’s drinking, but with twice the vodka she has in that, okay?”
The waiter hesitated, but Walter gave him a nod. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“A fight. I got you a fight.” Traeger flashed bright teeth in a broad smile. “Look, so you tested well, in The Big Tournament. Sponsors, they liked the money. Barringtons put you on their ‘must have’ list. So, this big fight—it’s a big deal. Lots of money made, right, all the holovision rights and everything going on? Well, those fights are prime time here, but this here globe, you know, has nights and days.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Most worlds do.”
“Cute and smart. She’s a keeper, Wallace.” Traeger accepted his drink from the waiter and downed half of it before continuing. “I want another of these, quick-like. Anyway, turns out that night riders don’t like staying up late, and they can’t make micro bets when they’re not watching live. So, this time around, the broadcast cartel put together a package of fights that’s basically the losers’ bracket. They’re calling it the High Noon Tournament. You were popular enough and enough people thought you got screwed that you’ve got a spot. You go in four days, on Christmas Eve. You fight here in a four-way. First man out makes 25,000 C-bills, while the top one gets four times that and another fight a week later. Who’s got your back, huh, buddy?”
Catastrophe Unlimited Page 8