Noton shrugged. "Probably, though Wolfson will be better as he gets more experience. You refused the fix?"
Justin brandished his steel hand, saying, "Never, absolutely never, will I kowtow to anyone who swears allegiance to Hanse Davion or the Federated Suns!" Kym shivered slightly, and Justin hugged her a bit tighter.
Noton smiled. "So, you will never accept a fix?"
Justin's eyes all but closed as he shook his head. "Never bet against me, Gray. No matter what your sources tell you, I will always win."
Kym turned Justin's face toward her with one hand. She kissed him long and deeply, encircling his neck with her arms and pressing her body against his. "Win for me, Justin."
"My pleasure."
Kym pulled away from Justin and slipped her arm through the crook in Noton's arm. "After you win, Gray and I have a surprise for you." Justin smiled. "Yes?"
Noton laughed. "Win and I'll introduce you to Valhalla ..."
Justin signaled his readiness to the arena controller. The huge elevator doors opened like jaws and Justin felt the camera focusing in on his Centurion. The announcer's voice burrowed into his brain.
"And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the challenger. Justin Xiang in his Centurion, the Yen-lo-wang. It's named after the Chinese god of the dead, the King of the Nine Hells. That's quite appropriate, too, because Xiang has been hell on the three foes he's faced in his month here on Solaris Seven. This is his first fight outside the Vindicator owned by his partner, Fuh Teng. Peter Armstrong and his Griffin, the Ares, will have their work cut out for them. Welcome to 'Night at the Fights' for March 20, brought to you by ..."
Justin punched a button and shut off the sound. Sweat began to trickle down his temples as he waited. Once the green light had flashed to life on his control console, he could wander out into the Factory's shadowed interior. He smiled because he knew the "five" fight would actually begin ten minutes before the broadcast over the local pay-for-play holovision systems in Solaris City. The lag-time would be used to build up spare tape, allowing the producers to cut boring footage or add in advertisements without losing any of the action.
The green light ignited. Justin lumbered his humanoid Centurion forward and did exactly what he knew his foe was doing. As he punched several buttons on his command console, a schematic of a Griffin drew itself in shades of red and gold. Know your enemy as yourself
Justin studied the display and reviewed his foe's strengths and weaknesses. Armstrong's Griffin sported LRMs fired from a launch pod on the 'Mech's right shoulder. That PPC in its right hand could mean trouble. The Griffin, Justin read, also carried more armor than the Centurion. That accounted, in part, for its five-ton weight advantage over the Centurion. Highly regarded as a distance-hitter on the battlefield, the Griffin was a formidable foe.
Justin switched his 'Mech's main scanner mode from magnetic anomaly detection to infrared because of all the scrap metal strewn throughout the Factory. In heat-detection mode, the scanner displayed all cool blues and greens, except for the area he'd just marched his Centurion through. There, the latent traces of heat glowed red and yellow, but they dissipated fast.
How will Armstrong evaluate the Centurion? Justin narrowed his eyes and stepped over a barricade of twisted girders and fire-blackened ferrocrete. He'll recall that the Luxor autocannon in the right arm often jams. He won't try to sneak up on me because one of my two medium lasers covers my rear arc. He knows we both pack LRMs, so he'll probably expect a long-range duel.
Justin smiled to himself. In fact, we’ll probably spar at range, and he’ll hope my Luxor autocannon jams...
Justin picked the Centurion's path through metal debris like a child working his way through a rusty junkyard. Through the cable hanging from his left wrist, he guided the 'Mech's huge left hand. Closing its fingers on small chunks of ferrocrete, he moved them out of the way. Unmindful of the arena cameras, he cleared himself a little space and hunkered down in his Centurion.
Justin watched for the director's green light on his dash. He remembered his pregame production briefing. If both combatants had settled in to ambush one other, which would make for a boring fight, the producer would flicker the light three times. That meant both MechWarriors had to get moving or else the production company would withhold the combatant's portion of royalties for the fight. Justin waited, but the light never ignited.
I did not think Armstrong would dare attempt an ambush. Aren't I the treacherous Capellan traitor who has defeated Wolfson and killed two other Federated Suns expatriots? Already the media mentions how Philip Capet and I have met before, and they suggest that none of the Federats here on Solaris will be able to stop me except for Capet himself. Justin shook his head, then shut his eyes against the burning sting of sweat. Fools. Utter fools.
He licked his lips and tasted the salty sweat, marveling at how the Tharkan Broadcast Company controlled the fights and their presentation. As a TBC representative had told him, three or four TBC JumpShips were getting the broadcast beamed out to them a minute or two before the public saw it. They would jump out to begin the distribution of the game tapes throughout most of the Inner Sphere. TBC had production studios built right into its DropShips so that they could add editing and extra commentary before the tapes were beamed down to a world's local broadcasting company.
Within a month, the TBC man had said, the fight will have played on every Steiner world and half the worlds of Davion, Marik, and Liao. Justin laughed to himself as he recalled the man assuring him that they'd crack the Kurita market soon. Sure, he thought, and Takashi Kurita sleeps with a teddy bear!
Justin looked up and adjusted his scanner, which showed faint blue rectangles sinking down through the ferrocrete above him. The sound and vibration baffles built between floors hide the sound of him, but they don't trap the heat. Justin looked over to his right, back where the ramp from the upper level fed out onto his floor. He saw nothing but a momentary flicker of yellow.
I can imagine the announcer. Martial music in the background rises slowly to heighten tension. "Will our champion, Peter Armstrong—Philip Capet's hand-picked fighter in the Medium Class—fall prey to the Capellan ambush?"
Justin reached out with his right hand and firmly grasped the targeting joystick jutting up from the command chair's arm. The red button on top triggered his autocannon, and the trigger under his index finger would fire the forward medium laser. Justin swallowed hard and found his mouth suddenly dry.
The gold crosshairs on his viewscreen hovered at the right edge of his forward view. Though the sensors and neurohelmet provided him with full, 360-degree vision, almost undetectable lines broke the circle into parts corresponding to his firing arcs. If he tried to target something outside a weapon's arc, the crosshairs would lose all intensity.
Do I wait until he has walked past me and then hit him from behind? Do I attack straight on and give him a chance? That would be the honorable thing. Justin narrowed his eyes. The man belongs to Hanse Davion. He deserves no honor.
Slowly, and with a stealth ridiculous for such a large machine, the Griffin inched into sight. Humanoid, with two fully manipulable hands, it looked much like a jump trooper dressed in bulky space armor. Its pistol-like PPC rested casually in its right hand. The LRM launch canister riding on its right shoulder moved up and down in fits and starts as Armstrong sighted it on probable targets ahead.
Justin laughed. This was the first time he'd ever seen a 'Mech swagger! He reached out and flicked his external speakers on.
"It's over before it begins, Armstrong!" Justin brought the Centurion to its feet, and extended the autocannon's muzzle at the Griffin.
The Griffin opened its arms wide. "Take your best shot, yellow dog." For the cameras, Armstrong made the Griffin shake its head, as though in pity. "I'll let you die fast, Xiang."
Justin's thumb stabbed down on the fire button. The Pontiac Autocannon/20 for which he'd sacrificed his LRMs and installed in place of the Luxor, spat out a cloud of projectiles. Like m
etal locusts, they stripped the Griffin's forward armor. Metal and ceramic chaff rained down around the Griffin's legs as the Centurion's medium laser skewered it. A wave of amber heat washed out of the middle of Armstrong's machine as the laser melted some of the engine's shielding. The 'Mech shuddered, too, which Justin hoped was an indication that the gyro had also been damaged.
Badly shaken, Armstrong triggered all his weapons. Fire shot from the missile canister as each LRM took flight. Six of them hit and tore armor from the Centurion's right side. The errant rockets detonated behind the Centurion, scattering scrap metal and shattering ferrocrete blocks in fiery explosions.
Armstrong then snapped his PPC into line with the Centurion's chest. The charging coils glowed for a second, giving Justin enough time to switch the scanners from heat to visual before the lightning could burn out the sensors. The artificial lightning bolt stabbed out toward the Centurion, but crackled off above it with Armstrong's hasty shot. It struck a rusty I-beam and reduced it to a puddle of slag.
Justin redirected the autocannon and caressed the firing button with his thumb. The Centurion shook violently as the autocannon vomited another metal blizzard at the Griffin. The swarm of projectiles ate into the Griffin's right arm, peeling armor from it like rind from a naranji. Myomer fiber strands in the 'Mech's hand snapped apart, and the PPC's charging coil exploded in a burst of argent fire. The weapon fell smoldering to the ground.
Justin's laser stabbed deep into the Griffin's heart. Fire boiled through the 'Mech's chest, spitting out pieces of melted and broken circuit boards. The 'Mech wavered and stumbled back, but Armstrong fought to gain control. Reaching back with its left hand, the Griffin steadied itself as fire geysered from its torso.
Justin waited for the canopy to split and for Armstrong to eject. The 'Mech is lost! Your engine's shielding is gone! Get out! He watched the Griffin's LRM canister swivel toward the Centurion, then cant back as the 'Mech went out of control. Instead of flying at Justin, a full flight of LRMs launched into the ceiling.
The Griffin's black faceplate exploded outward. Flames spouted from it as though the Griffin were a fire-breathing monster. Again the LRM canister blasted away blindly at the ceiling. Debris and ferrocrete crashed down in huge chunks onto the Griffin. Unsteadied, Armstrong's Griffin dropped straight down, as though its legs had been suddenly cut from under it. It now leaned back pitifully against the Factory's ferrocrete wall.
Justin shook his head slowly. If not for the fires burning in its chest and head, the huge 'Mech might have resembled a man sleeping peacefully against the wall. Justin balled his Centurion's left hand into a fist. Perhaps someday I, too, will know such peace.
23
Solaris VII (The Game World)
Rahneshire, Lyran Commonwealth
20 March 3027
Noton tossed Justin a towel as he came out of the cleaner. "Risky business substituting the Pontiac 100 for the Luxor," he said, seating himself on the narrow wooden bench beside Justin's locker. "Doubles your firepower, but severely cuts your range. Especially because you sacrificed your LRMs of it. Yen-lo-wang is a fine infighter, and the surprise worked well in the Factory, but anyone else will kill you with LRMs and PPC fire."
Justin finished drying off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He pressed it to himself with his inert left hand while he tucked it in with his right. "Calculated risk, Gray. That's something you understand, isn't it?"
Noton leaned back against the wall. "I don't know that I follow you ..."
Justin smiled and swung open his locker door. He reached in and pulled a plastic comb from the top shelf, then pressed it into his left hand and painstakingly sculpted the fingers to hold the comb securely. Watching himself in the fly-blown mirror, he used it to slick down his hair.
"Gray, I've only been here a month, but I know your type."
Noton raised an eyebrow. "My type?"
Justin nodded. "You know that fighting in the Arenas is a dead end. You've not fought in a while—or so the record of public fights shows—but you've got a Typhoon and powerful friends. You're shrewd." Justin looked over at the information broker. "I'd like to think I'm shrewd, too."
A third voice broke in on the conversation. "It wasn't too shrewd, Xiang, to ignore our advice to you about the fight."
Justin turned and lowered his hand. Three men—two large men flanking a smaller, slightly older man—stood just inside the door. The smaller man chomped on a cigar and pointed a thick finger at Justin. "You cost me money tonight."
Justin shook his head. "You cost you money tonight. I told you I'd not throw the fight. You should have listened."
"No, Xiang, you should have listened." The little man snapped his fingers. Balling their fists, his twin goons stepped forward. "Rock, Jeff, tear his arm off and break his legs with it."
Justin dropped into a crouch and swept in toward the two thugs. Leaping up, he snapped a kick to Rock's face. With his jaw shattered and his nose leaking blood, Rock toppled backward. Collapsing like a rag doll, he smacked his head hard on the ferrocrete floor.
When Jeff swung a fist at Justin, the MechWarrior grabbed the thug's wrist with his right hand and lifted it up and over his own head. Without relinquishing his grip, Justin pivoted beneath the hoodlum's arm and brought the wrist twisting back with him. Justin locked the arm, then snapped his own left forearm down on Jeff's elbow. The joint cracked audibly as it broke, but the thug's scream of pain swallowed the sound.
Justin released the goon and vaulted over the other incapacitated hood. He grabbed the small man by the throat and drove him back to the wall. Twisting his own hip so that the man could not kick or knee him, he waited until his foe's labored breath was the only sound either of them could hear.
Justin stared mercilessly into the smaller man's eyes. "Listen to me now, because I will not tell you again. If you ever try to fix one of my fights, I will ruin you financially, then I'll kill you in degrees." Justin raised his left hand and wished, for a moment, that the comb had dropped away during the fight. "I've picked up soldiers in a 'Mech's hand, and I know how delicate those devices can be. I also know how rough they can get. I assure you that you don't want to have personal knowledge of their roughness, ni you dong!"
The bookie shook his head fervently. "I understand, wo dong."
Justin smiled coldly and relaxed his grip. "Hao. Zou kai yi-jing!" He released the man and jerked a thumb at the two goons.
"And take them with you. I never want to see you again. If I do, I'll kill you."
Noton refrained from laughing as Jeff and the bookie dragged the unconscious thug from the room. He sputtered a chuckle when the door finally shut behind them, then shook his head. "I thought you said you were shrewd. Now, how was that shrewd?"
Justin pulled on a blue and black silken coat, which hung to just below the waistband of his black trousers. He carefully adjusted the cuff of the left sleeve over the glove covering his metal hand, then tied the blue sash around his waist and let the long ends dangle down at his left hip. Pulling on his boots, he looked over at Noton.
"That will make the Federats here on Solaris more angry. It guarantees me more fights and larger purses. You and I both know that fights here are not combats as much as they are theatrical spectacles. If I'm to fight battles with high purses, I have to be someone that the spectators can either love or hate. Doing things to make the Federats' blood boil is money in the bank."
Noton stood. "Is that why you've taken up with Kym?"
Justin smiled and nodded acknowledgment of Noton's perception. "You mean, has the idea of a Capellan lying with a Davion woman—and the anger it must arouse in men like Capet—ever occurred to me? I'd be lying if I said no." Justin looked up. "You realize, of course, that she sought me out for the same reason, don't you?"
Noton nodded. "I saw that from the first."
"I'm sure you did." Justin swung his rusty locker shut and spun the combination. "We both started out using each other to get back at the people in th
e Federated Suns." Justin smiled sheepishly. "But, as exiles, we share a bond that seems to knit us together tightly. Back in the Federated Suns, I'd never have gotten to know her, but now I believe I may actually be in love with her."
"I envy you," Noton said with a smile. Then he opened the locker room door for Justin. "Kym's bringing my Typhoon around. Next stop, Valhalla!"
* * *
The darkened glass door opened onto a silent Valhalla as Noton, Justin, and Kym approached. MechWarriors were seated up and down the length of the tables running through the center of the long hall. Each had his head bent forward, as though in prayer. Up on the dais, sandwiched between Billy Wolfson and Philip Capet, a chair sat hidden beneath a shroud of black satin.
"What is this?" Noton shouted laughingly. "Is this Valhalla, or is it a funeral home?"
Capet's head snapped up as if on a spring. He glared at Noton, then flushed as his gaze fell upon Justin. "You have gone too far, Noton, bringing that quisling scum in here!" Capet thrust an accusing finger at Justin Xiang. "There!" he shouted. "There is the Capellan traitor who killed Peter Armstrong. Look on him and see the face of a coward!"
"Coward!" Justin's denial exploded from him. He released Kym's hand and stalked forward. "Coward? No one in this room can call me that, least of all you, Capet." Justin laughed and looked around as the curtains over many alcoves fell back. "I see you have not shared the secrets of your past with those here."
Capet narrowed his eyes. "We have all seen the kind of liar and coward you are, Xiang. Vids of your trial played long and well here on Solaris. We heard how you abandoned your men to a Capellan ambush. Even your father admitted you were a spy. Why should anyone here believe anything you say?"
Justin nodded slowly. "Actions speak louder than words, Philip. When will you come after me?"
Capet hesitated, but no one noticed because Billy Wolfson shot to his feet. "He'll not get the chance, slant. You defeated me because you took Fuh Teng's place . . ."
Warrior: En Garde Page 18
