LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory

by Loren L. Coleman

  Drew peered further back into the corridor, impatiently tapping the golden lion's head of his walking stick against the palm of one hand. "Susuma?" he asked.

  "Politely declined our invitation," Michael said. Riding high on his victory, no snub could dampen his spirits. How Yoki Susuma chose to deal with his mistake wasn't Michael's to decide. He knew from experience that couch-warriors would be second-guessing the Combine MechWarrior's actions for weeks to come. He privately wished the young gladiator luck.

  "That is perhaps for the best," Drew said. "Garrett will be more likely to behave himself without a Combine 'Warrior around to provoke him."

  Michael shrugged. How Drew's pet Clanner comported himself did not concern him. He saw Garrett lurking alone on the other side of the room, refusing a drink being offered to him by a server. It surprised Michael that the man had deigned to come into Kobe sector at all. Garrett was one of the Smoke Jaguar warrior renegades who'd chosen to make Solaris VII his home after the destruction of his Clan. Until just eighteen months ago he'd also been a prime contender in the arenas.

  Garrett had developed a hatred that bordered on pathological for anything smacking of House Kurita. If he was at this party, it was at the command of Drew Hasek-Davion, possibly with the aim of engineering a new grudge match against any available Combine-stable fighter. That was fine with Michael. He didn't care what games Drew played at with Garrett, so long as they didn't interfere with his own rise to the top.

  Then he spied another lone figure moving through the crowded room, a whipcord-thin man who Michael recognized at once. "I should greet some of these folks," Michael said, trying to disentangle himself from Hasek-Davion.

  Drew's gaze had followed Michael's. "Consorting with the enemy again?" he asked. The tone was light enough, but Michael sensed the dark undercurrents of disapproval.

  "Karl Edward is not the enemy," he said, defending his friend.

  "He belongs to Starlight Stables. You to Blackstar. What would you call him?"

  Michael conceded that the owner of Starlight Stables certainly went out of his way to interfere with Drew's plans for Blackstar, though it was nothing compared to the animosity that raged between Blackstar and the Skye Tigers. The difference was that Starlight, like Blackstar, was known for its ties to House Davion's Federated Suns, while the Skye Tigers backed the Lyran Alliance. And though rivalry between the various stables—even supposedly friendly stables—was unavoidable, Michael couldn't buy into it when it came to Karl. He was the only man Michael trusted on all of Solaris, a place where it was nearly impossible to find a true friend among so many only looking out for themselves.

  "The loyal opposition?" Michael ventured, half in jest.

  "Karl promised to monitor some fights for me tonight. I'd like to get his take on them."

  Drew wasn't giving up so easily. "I have others acquiring vids of those fights." He guided his young star toward a knot of people gathered at the room's center as if holding it by force against all comers. Michael recognized a few Black Hills politicos as well as some corporate honchos. A few of the guests also wore the dress uniforms of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. "They can get you any information you require."

  "I prefer Karl's opinion," Michael said, keeping a wary eye on those uniformed figures. Even from here he could identify the shoulder patches as belonging to the Capellan March, an area with long-time ties to the Hasek and Hasek-Davion families. Michael saw too that these officers belonged to the same AFFC division from which he'd been cashiered. How far back had Hasek-Davion dug into his past?

  He stopped in his tracks, forcing Drew to halt as well. Hasek-Davion had to know that trying to drag Michael where he didn't want to go wouldn't play well to their audience. Michael glared at him. "Are you wanting another pet Mech Warrior or a Champion?"

  Drew glared back, knowing that his protege was using the fact that they were out in public to manipulate the situation. "You've learned well," he said. Then he pretended to notice Karl Edward for the first time and steered Michael in that direction.

  "Very well, dear boy, I will indulge you." He put heavy emphasis on the word boy, reminding Michael who held the important cards, a hand that would be played only behind closed doors. "You think you know Karl Edward, but this is Solaris. Don't forget that he's still your opposition, even though you left him behind in the standings. He's jealous and would betray you if it was to his advantage."

  Jealous? Perhaps a little. With only three years on the Game World, Michael was already ranked seventh overall. Stormin' Michael Searcy might not be Kai Allard-Liao, who had fought his way to the top in a single year back in '54, but he was damned good. Karl, on the other hand, had only recently earned the Class Six license that allowed him to fight in the Open Arenas of Solaris City. He was rising in the ranks, but slowly. That he didn't make the Grand Tournament roster simply gave him a goal to shoot for in '63. Maybe '64.

  But betrayal? That was a subject about which Michael had learned more than he ever wanted to know. The Lyran officer who had cut short his military career had taught him well. If Karl Edward was that kind of man, Michael would have known it by now. Not that he left himself vulnerable to anyone, but at times it helped to know who you could trust at your back. Or at least, who would be the least damaging.

  As he and Drew came up to Karl, Drew stepped over to speak with Garrett while Michael greeted his friend with an easy hand clasp. As a native of Solaris VII, Karl was technically a Lyran by birth. He'd fought his way up through the blood pits—the lower-echelon arenas outside Solaris City—then had met up with Michael on the Class-Three circuit shortly after Michael's arrival. He'd refused early sponsorship in a stable known for its long-time ties to House Steiner. That public—and dramatic—refusal had earned him very high marks in Michael's book at the time.

  Michael and Karl had watched out for each other in the lower-class arenas, doing their best to resist the strong-arm tactics local tongs employed when trying to fix the fights. For a few months they'd even shared a ride—an old, beat-up Centurion. The 'Mech had been well past its prime in the technological renaissance the Inner Sphere was enjoying, but with a few good fights left in it.

  Karl had switched to citizenship in the Federated Suns only two months before he and Michael were both picked up by Blackstar, though he'd been traded away quickly to Starlight. Since then Karl had become a vocal advocate of Prince Victor and, more important to both Michael and Drew Hasek-Davion, a critic of Katrina Steiner. Which was very possibly the real reason Drew tolerated the inter-stable friendship.

  "Who do you want to hear about first?" Karl asked without preamble. No congratulations. He was all business this evening.

  It set Michael immediately on his guard. "I'm assuming Theodore Gross won at Boreal Reach, or else everyone would be talking about it," he said, accepting a nonalcoholic drink from a server. No liquor for him this week, but he needed something to replace the fluids sweated away earlier. "So then, how about Kelley Metz?"

  Karl's eyes sparked with brief interest. "She won, but she was shaken up pretty bad. You'll get a bye if she can't fight tomorrow night."

  Michael sipped his drink, a fruity mixture that would have gone very nicely with some alcohol. "Her win can't be sitting well with Zelazni Stables. It'll spark a new round of grudge matches as soon as the tourney is over." He mentally reviewed other matches set for Day Three, considering only the top players. "What about Craig Orme?" he asked, mentioning one of the Steiner-affiliated champions. "How is he looking?"

  "Dead."

  The answer came from over Michael's shoulder as Garrett intruded on their conversation. The former Clansman wore a Spartan gray uniform, its only decoration the Blackstar patch on his right sleeve and a Smoke Jaguar crest on his left breast. His mouth was a hard, cruel line drawn across a stern face. Michael might have put the intrusion down to the slight enmity he and Garrett shared, except for two things. That Garrett did not immediately leave the conversation and that Drew Hasek-Da
vion was standing nearby, close enough to eavesdrop if he so desired.

  "Teresa Dale fired a PPC point-blank into the head of Orme's Rakshasa. It burned right through the cockpit," Garrett said.

  "They ruled it an accident," Karl said at once, but he sounded dubious.

  Of course there would be questions. Two fatalities in the Grand Tournament and both in matches between Federated Suns and Lyran Alliance MechWarriors. Still, 'Warriors sometimes died in the games. All the rules and restrictions, all the safety precautions, couldn't prevent it.

  "An accident," Garrett said, his tone mocking Karl's. "Try explaining that to the witnesses." The Clanner still couldn't abide calling the spectators an audience. To him, they were witnesses to a contest of skill. Paying witnesses perhaps, but Garrett did not fight for them. "They nearly tore Boreal Reach apart. Two Mech Warriors exchanged live fire in the main BattleMech bay, damaging a power relay for the arena's holoprojectors."

  Michael shook his head as he listened. More rioting in the streets of Solaris City. And this time Boreal Reach had been damaged! The high-tech arena in the Davion sector was impressive, using holographic media to generate a variety of terrain and conditions. It made the Steiner coliseum's detonator grid a poor second, in Michael's opinion.

  "Who fired first?"

  For some reason Karl flashed him a look of irritation, but Garrett was ready with an answer. "Sarah Anne Wilder," he said, "of Starlight Stables. She was disqualified from the Grand Tournament, though she claims it was self-defense."

  To Karl's credit, he didn't rise to the Conner's bait, though it must have been galling to be needled on a point of honor by a Smoke Jaguar.

  What would have happened next, no one would ever know. Drew Hasek-Davion was already shouldering his way into their little group. "Garrett," he said, as if surprised to see him. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to. A word, please." The tone of the request brooked no refusal and instantly cut off any further discussion.

  "You knew about Orme's death?" Michael demanded before Drew could turn and walk off with Garrett. Drew should have given him information of such import immediately, rather than arranging for Garrett to give him the news.

  "Of course," Drew said smoothly. "That ought to shake things up a bit, don't you think? Some of the ticket-filler matches have already been rearranged to meet this new demand for Steiner-Davion brawls." Drew's blue eyes cut hard at' Karl. "Speaking of which, good luck in the Coliseum on Thursday, Mr. Edward."

  Then Drew and Garrett withdrew, though the Clanner looked sullen as he went.

  "What's this about the Coliseum?" Michael asked, rounding on Karl. He would be fighting in the Coliseum in two days as well, providing he beat Metz tomorrow night.

  "It's my grudge match with Tom Payne. We're being bumped up a week." Karl shrugged uncomfortably. "If you win—when you win tomorrow—I'll end up following your Day Five match."

  And with their friendship a known fact, Karl would gain some publicity for his match by leeching off Michael's prominence. It was a smart move by Starlight Stables. Michael only wished that Drew hadn't tried to plant doubts in his mind about Karl's loyalty. He preferred to believe that Karl wouldn't actively seek to capitalize on their friendship, but why hadn't Karl mentioned it himself?

  As if reading his mind, Karl said, "I was informed by messenger during your match with Susuma."

  Nodding, Michael offered his friend a camera-shoot smile. "It's all right, Karl." But from the awkward silence that followed, both of them knew that it wasn't quite all right. But it would be, Michael decided. When he was Champion, everything else would pale by comparison. And Karl would be welcome to a piece of that. Drew Hasek-Davion, too. As a Blackstar fighter even Garrett would benefit. It would be something he'd always known he could achieve. Something truly noteworthy. Something historic.

  And something no one could ever take away from him. Ever.

  * * *

  Across the room, Drew Hasek-Davion leaned on his walking stick and sipped at a watered-down bourbon. He nodded at all the right places as some Black Hills bureaucrat droned on about the cost of each hour of rioting. Drew wasn't about to explain how for each of those hours he made back at least triple the cost to the city. The man simply did not know how the games were actually played on Solaris VII. But, then, not many people did. Only the true masters of the world—the stable owners, the media, and the big entertainment concerns. Oh, and the criminal element, though they seemed mostly content to allow men like Drew to handle the day-to-day affairs while they plotted long-term rape on the flow of money the 'Mech games released. Drew had his fingers in more than a few of those deals as well.

  So instead of debating the bureaucrat's delusional view of what Solaris City should be like, he observed Michael and Karl Edward's conversation over the smaller man's shoulder. His interest was much more than curiosity, though not quite pleasure. Very little in life gave Drew actual pleasure, though some things came close. Power was by far the leading candidate. The power he wielded on Solaris and back in the Federated Suns. Power over profitable ventures and over the lives of the people around him.

  Power over Michael Searcy.

  Through carefully nurtured paranoia, he had Michael second-guessing everything outside the arena, even his friendships, which was how Drew wanted it. Michael would soon believe he had nowhere to turn except to the master of Blackstar Stables. Drew had seen that the young firebrand was destined for greatness from the start. Under his coaching and care, Michael Searcy now stood within reach of what he'd wanted for so long. What they both wanted.

  A pet Mech Warrior? Not hardly. Drew had a stable full of those. No, he wanted a Champion. And more than that. He wanted to own a Champion, not just manage one. He would own Michael Searcy. And then all the prestige and influence of the Championship would also be his to use in furthering his plans, just as once that power had been allied against him. Drew had enemies to deal with, such as the Skye Tigers on the other side of Solaris City. He also had alliances to forge.

  Michael Searcy would be Champion. He'd been groomed for it, just as one might breed and train a racehorse. Drew didn't even mind if the 'Warrior believed he was winning for his own-reasons, his own purposes. Perhaps he was. He guessed that Michael thought Drew's plans nothing more than little games, power-plays meant to make it look like Drew was the ultimate source of Searcy's successes. Michael wouldn't see until it was too late that not only was appearance easily accepted as reality, but that all too often it became reality.

  Drew Hasek-Davion smiled thin and hard, knowing that he represented a greater danger to Michael Searcy than any opponent the Davion favorite might face in combat. But in Hasek-Davion's arena, the young 'Warrior never stood a chance.

  5

  The Paradise, Kobe

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance

  14 August 3062

  Today, the Paradise would become an arena as deadly as any in Solaris City, though not as a threat to life and limb. It would be the site of a more subtle duel, and one not for public consumption. Here, influence and alliances of convenience would rule the day, might even affect who would reign supreme over the Game World, if only for a few days or weeks or months.

  Drew Hasek-Davion was already seated in the restaurant's private dining room, waiting as the fragile-looking hana josei silently escorted the other stable owners to their places at the low, round table. The women seemed to glide over the hardwood floor in their silk kimonos. Each wore her raven hair tied up in a simple bun, and the only color on their pale, white-powdered faces was deep red lipstick and high spots of rouge on their cheeks. They stood by patiently as the guests awkwardly arranged their bodies on low stools that let them rest in a half-kneeling position without putting strain on their legs.

  When everyone was seated, the women bowed deeply as they retreated from the room, tracing an unerring path backward to the door. One stopped, knelt, and pulled open the shoji panel, and then all glided thr
ough as silently as they'd come. Another then knelt on the other side to pull the panel shut.

  Gathered around the low table, various members of the group commented on the restaurant's rich hardwoods and authentic Japanese antiques imported from Terra itself—the statuettes worked in bronze to exquisite detail, a Shinto shrine of light gray and blue marble, shoji panels that seemed sewn together from the wings of butterflies, and elegant charcoal sketches on rice-paper. Alongside the antiques were contemporary works of fragile beauty to contrast the timeless pieces.

  Drew had arrived early enough that he'd already drunk his fill of the Emptor's Chamber. Joining him now were his fellow members of the Solaris Stable Owners Association, each with fighters still in the Grand Tournament. His peers. His enemies. He watched them with some amusement as the sweet and spicy scents of the food finally pulled their attention back to the table— laid out just before their arrival so that no rattling dishes or clumsy servers might ruin the atmosphere of the Paradise.

  Only Thomas DeLon seemed as comfortable in these elegant surroundings as Drew. He sat directly opposite at the table and waited for Drew to open the meeting. DeLon could be trouble. As stable master for Theodore Gross, the defending Champion, his word carried some extra weight. DeLon and his 'Warriors did not indulge in the usual pre-fight rhetoric to jack up the challenges, grudges, and normal rivalries on which the Game World thrived. He didn't need to; his fights were always in high demand.

  Drew shrugged that aside. The Combine was a different culture where showy displays were not as admired. Also, the games were still a new treat for its people, having become legally available only these last six years. DeLon could afford to hold back, for now. But that would change. Drew had the history of the Game World on his side. On Solaris nothing remained constant. Though Drew had nearly been ruined learning that lesson, eventually he'd used it to raise his personal fortune, and fortunes, to new heights. Now here he was, master of Blackstar, one of the strongest stables on Solaris VII. Vying for leadership against DeLon and a very few others for the power to direct the course of the Game World.