Main event

by James D. Long

  Though most of Solaris City did not live up to the glamour some associated with the bloody 'Mech games, the metropolis was unique in the Inner Sphere. Each of the city's sectors reflected the national and cultural bias of one of the five different star empires, yet citizens from the different states lived side by side in multicultural harmony.

  Rose's destination was Seventh Heaven, an infamous bar in the Davion sector. He used the brief respite of the cab ride to massage his neck and rub his eyes. Having been without sleep for more than forty hours, his body was slowing down.

  The cab driver was confident and aggressive, making the trip in what seemed to be record time. When Rose paid him, the man seemed disgruntled that payment was in C-bills rather than Davion house script, but accepted the money just the same. By the time Rose got to the front door of the bar the cab was long gone.

  Three hours later Rose still hadn't found what he was looking for. Six different bars and nothing to show for it but a throbbing headache and bloodshot eyes. The only satisfaction he felt was in observing how gloomy and squalid was the Black Hills sector, a grim contrast to the almighty Daviens' public image as paragons of virtue and defenders of civilization. He thought more people should see the crime, corruption, and violence of these slums lying in the shadow of the magnificent Black Hills.

  He'd come to what he promised himself would be his last stop of the night—or the morning. The sign read The Pelican, and it was the haunt of elite MechWarriors and their friends.

  Be that as it may, the Pelican was as wild as any bar Rose had ever visited. Towering trivid screens replayed the 'Mech matches of the day with full stereo sound. The place was brighter than most of its type, but not so light that Rose could see into all the corners. The noise and lights gave him an artificial jolt of energy as he mingled with the crowd. What little vigor he picked up, however, he quickly spent fighting his way to one of the secondary bars. The crowd was the usual mixture of avid game fans, MechWarriors, MechWarrior wannabes, groupies, and people just out for a good time. He saw some patrons trying to have conversations, but most seemed to be concentrating on the trivid. With effort he managed to make a space for himself at the bar and catch the bartender's attention.

  "A bottle of Li Lung," he called out, and the young man behind the bar looked like he'd been shot.

  "Easy going, ace," the bartender said in a low voice. "You're a little south of the river to ask for a bottle of that snake juice. Of course, if you really want Snake brew—" the bartender leaned across the slick surface and looked both ways—"ask again just a little louder and I'm sure one, or ten, or more patriotic customers will be happy to toss you all the way to Kobe." The young man smiled and straightened up. "Now, how about a nice bottle of Conner's Dark?"

  Rose nodded silently and thanked the stars the noise level was loud enough to cover his mistake. He should have known better than to order a Kurita beer in the middle of Davion territory. He blamed it on the lack of sleep, but that was precious little consolation. Rose was still grinding his teeth at his stupidity when the beer arrived. This would definitely have to be the last stop. Any more and his fatigue could get him into real trouble.

  "One warm Conner's, just the way you like it. At least, just the way you should like it if you were a real beer drinker."

  "Thanks, and thanks. I'm not usually that stupid."

  "Shot goes wide and it's a clean miss." The youth smiled at Rose's obvious confusion. "Lord, you must be new. Don't you listen to Ian Owans and Buck Blaylock? They're the number-one announcing team at F-C Broadcasting. It's what Buck always says when a 'Mech pilot misses an easy shot in the games. You know, 'No harm done, but you got lucky.' By the way, they call me Dillon."

  "Rose." Jeremiah leaned across the bar and shook Dillon's hand. "Here's for the beer." Again Rose reached across and handed Dillon a twenty C-bill.

  "C-bills? You must be new in town." Rose shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile. He was beginning to think his plans to get a new 'Mech were not going to work as smoothly as he'd hoped.

  "Problem with C-bills?"

  "Not really a problem." Dillon held the note to the light and examined the other side. "It's just that, well, you see ..." He reached under the bar and stashed the bill in a drawer. He squinted and began counting to himself as he made change. "It's just that C-bills are so . . ."

  "Conspicuous?"

  "Yeah, conspicuous. It's a dead giveaway that you're new in town and haven't learned to fit in yet."

  "I see."

  "It's not bad, really. It's just that most merchants in this quarter, and all the others, for that matter, would rather be paid in house script. National pride, and all that. Now, C-bills are the next best thing, but with that little affair up in Tukayyid last year, C-bills just aren't what they were."

  Rose hadn't thought about it, but what the bartender said made perfect sense. Despite the fact that the Com Guards troops had stopped the Clans on Tukayyid, many people of the Inner Sphere still held a grudge against ComStar for its centuries of monopoly on interstellar communications. He'd been warned that nationalist feeling ran high on Solaris, but he hadn't really expected it would run this high.

  "So you're suggesting I get some D-bills as soon as possible."

  Dillon handed over the change and smiled. "I can see that a man of your obvious mental abilities doesn't need a humble bartender to tell him which way a 'Mech tumbles."

  "Maybe not, but then again maybe there's something you can do to help me."

  "Help, in this city?"

  "Help is probably the wrong word. Any chance of hiring you to lend me some temporary assistance that will not in any way conflict with your current employment at this establishment?"

  "I'm your man," Dillon said.

  Rose leaned into the bar, and Dillon did the same. He palmed a fifty C-bill note, slid it toward the barman. "I need a contact with one of the stables. Someone who might be willing to take on a new pilot this late in the season. All I need is a name of someone I can make a pitch to."

  Dillon stared at the note and glanced up and down the bar. Most of the patrons were enthralled by the final stages of the latest Blackstar-Tandrek battle. A jarring right-handed punch by the Blackstar Victor had knocked the rival Orion off its feet just as Dillon opened his mouth to speak.

  "You've got a better chance of wedding Isis Marik than hiring on with a stable. There's less than a week left in the season. Next season's tryouts won't start for another few months. Why don't you wait till then?" One look into Rose's eyes and Dillon knew later was not acceptable. "Okay, if you need a name, I can give you one, but my normally sterling conscience forces me to warn you first."

  Rose forced himself to be patient, but only with effort. He was convinced that Dillon wanted to help, but the young man just didn't understand how important this was to him. He decided to concentrate on breathing as Dillon searched for the right words. This was worse than combat.

  "Brachall. As far as I know, that's his only name. He's kind of like a broker. Probably the only guy in Black Hills who can put you in touch with a stable, assuming you don't want an independent." Dillon's eyebrows went up in a silent question, but Rose didn't even acknowledge it. "Anyway, he hangs out at Seventh Heaven. Oh, you've been there?" Rose dropped his head and took a deep breath.

  "I was there earlier this evening and was told nobody was around who could help me."

  "Yeah, that makes sense. Those techs are a strange bunch, and if you'll pardon me for saying so, you don't exactly look the part."

  "Okay, so I don't look like a tech. Shoot me."

  "Easy. Easy. Tomorrow, or later today, depending on when you sleep, go to the main bar and ask for Brachall by name. He'll be there, but you've got to ask for him by name. That's the only way he does business." Dillon looked down at the C-bill. "That good enough?"

  "Yeah, that's good enough. Thanks."

  "Oh, by the way, if he asks who sent you, don't mention my name."

  "Any reason?" Rose lifted hi
s hand and left the C-bill on the bar. Dillon scooped up the note in a smooth, practiced motion.

  "Yeah. I don't think I want to be any part of what you're about to get yourself into. Nothing personal, you understand?"

  "Shot goes wide and it's a clean miss."

  7

  Solaris City, Solaris

  3 August 3054

  "Jeremiah Rose, to see Mister Warwick."

  Rose turned toward the security camera mounted high on the gate. Though there was little light this late in the day, he had no doubt the camera's operator could see him in vivid detail.

  He'd met with Brachall the night before, a meeting brief and to the point, exactly the way Rose liked it. The man had turned out to be an entirely unpleasant fellow who charged Rose an astronomical fee to put him in contact with the "only man on Solaris still looking for a 'Mech pilot." Like every weasel Rose had ever known, Brachall could sense when another man was desperate. After a quick exchange of funds, Brachall was on the phone to Desmond Warwick, owner of the aptly named Warwick Stables. Twenty-four hours later Rose was standing in the drive of Warwick's home—or mansion, as it turned out. The estate was huge, with extensive, beautifully manicured grounds to match the imposing three-story villa that dominated the landscape.

  The side gate buzzed open and Rose went on foot up to the building. The walk took well over ten minutes, but he was not surprised that no one came to escort him to the house. He felt like a beggar approaching the king's table, which was doubtless how Warwick intended him to feel.

  With only a single day to learn whatever he could about his prospective employer, there hadn't been enough time to do a thorough investigation. The little Rose had been able to learn was that Desmond Warwick, like many wealthy members of Solaris society, had arrived on the game world already possessed of a sizable fortune. Although originally from Quincy in the Federated Commonwealth, he quickly became known as a man without loyalties, except, perhaps, loyalty to money and power. He'd started his stable modestly, competing only in the secondary circuits until his group of warriors had proven themselves against a variety of opponents. It was only last year that he'd become a minor player in the Solaris City circuit, but to date his team had yet to score any victories against the major stables. Yet, from what Rose could discover, Warwick sounded like an able manager employing some good talent and, more important, he was the owner of 'Mechs. Rose ran the facts over in his mind one last time as he knocked on the gigantic door. Midway through the second knock the door pulled open.

  "Yes?" Rose was greeted by a towering doorman. Well over two meters tall, the ancient man's gray hair flowed with abandon over his elegant uniform. It was one of the rare times in Rose's life when he was forced to look up, rather than down, into someone's face. He hated that. Another point for Warwick.

  "Jeremiah Rose. I have an invitation for dinner with Mister Warwick." The giant stepped aside and motioned Rose inside. The foyer was like something out of a dream. A marble floor and staircase were framed by gilt-framed paintings over teakwood paneling. Arches to either side of the stairway led into other parts of the house, providing glimpses of even more opulence. Everywhere Rose looked, the house screamed elegance and money. Having been forced to walk up the drive, then dwarfed by the doorman and overawed by the entryway, many another individual would have been intimidated by Warwick long before the man ever stepped into the room. Rose, however, had a reaction exactly opposite. The ire that had begun to build during the walk surged within him by the time of the greeting at the door. Now that he was in the house, it turned into a fury. How dare this man, who did not even know Rose, try to intimidate him, try to make him feel insignificant? Rose refused to let it work on him.

  Or perhaps it worked only too well. Down on his luck, dispossessed, and frustrated, Rose had had enough. He wanted, or needed, a 'Mech, but not bad enough to put up with a man so obviously self-important. He felt like a caged animal standing in the elegant foyer. Although it had been only moments since he'd entered, Rose felt as if he couldn't stand it another instant. He was just turning toward the door when he heard a sound at the top of the steps.

  "Mister Rose, how good of you to join me for dinner." Rose turned to look up at his host, instantly seeing how right he'd been about the man's self-importance. A tiny, little man, Warwick was dressed in a formal silk suit. A garment undoubtedly tailored to his diminutive frame, the suit's gray silk caught, then reflected, the light of the room, making Warwick appear almost to shine. His close-cropped black hair was perfectly in place, and the too-perfect white teeth threatened to dazzle Rose in a too-sincere smile. Warwick stopped on the third step, which made him slightly taller than Rose.

  "I trust you had no trouble finding me."

  Now it was Rose's turn to smile. "No trouble at all. Brachall was most explicit." Warwick's nose wrinkled as if what Rose said had an unpleasant smell. "In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to find you as quickly and easily as I did." Warwick looked annoyed at the suggestion that it was easy to get to see him, especially in person. Turning away from Rose, he descended the final three steps and began to walk across the foyer.

  "If you'll accompany me, we can begin our dinner. I'm sure you'll understand if I'm forced to dispense with some of the normal formalities. With the upcoming match, I suddenly find myself in much demand." Warwick began to lead Rose through the house, with only an occasional glance over his shoulder to make sure the other man was still following. Rose discovered, with some delight, that he could look over Warwick's head and still see perfectly.

  "I should think you would find that very gratifying," Rose said, making Warwick stop suddenly and turn toward him.

  "I beg your pardon, Mister Rose."

  "Having your team in the upcoming match. I understand this is the first time you've placed a team in a Solaris City championship."

  "Yes, it is quite an achievement. Considering this is only the second year my stable has been dueling in Solaris City, it is very gratifying." Warwick turned back to face front, talking as he continued the trip to the dining room. Rose could barely keep from laughing aloud at the little man. Not only was he vain, but sensitive about it, too.

  "I understand this is something unusual for Solaris City. Haven't the games always avoided team championships in the past?" Warwick turned and smiled back at Rose as he entered the dining room, where a waiter was quietly serving soup at two place settings.

  So, thought Rose, I got to take the long road to the dining room. Like the other rooms of the house, this one was expensively, if gaudily, furnished with linen cloths, oak furniture, china place settings, and silver utensils. The soup, which seemed to be some kind of chowder, smelted delicious. Despite himself, Rose found his mouth watering. Warwick took the seat at the head of the table and motioned Rose to the place at his right.

  "This is something of a new event for the city, I must admit," Warwick said as Rose took the offered chair and unfolded a linen napkin. Then Warwick crossed himself and mumbled into his chest, before resuming the thread of his discourse. "There have always been various kinds of team championships in the matches held outside the city, but the idea has never really caught on in the major circuit." Warwick paused to sample the still-steaming chowder. Rose did likewise and discovered it tasted even better than it smelled.

  "The chowder is quite good, isn't it?" Rose looked up to see Warwick smiling at him and realized he must have inadvertently allowed his opinion to creep onto his face.

  "Quite good."

  "As I was saying, the Solaris City games have always featured individual matches, but lance versus lance combat is growing in popularity. I've tried to get the audience to identify with my team, rather than with a single pilot.

  "People are growing jaded here in the city, Rose. They want something new. More conflict, more carnage. One-on-one combat is all well and good, and it will never go away, but melees are where the future of the sport is heading."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yes. It's a situat
ion where everybody wins. The gamblers have more angles to cover with the different potential confrontations, the spectators have more action packed into the same amount of time, and the stable-masters can register for events by team instead of by pilot."

  "And the pilot, does he win?" Rose had stopped eating while Warwick talked. Even with his limited time on Solaris he could well imagine that the crowds had become desensitized to the violence of the duels. It was even starting to happen to him. On a planet where life was held so cheap, it was easy to forget that the 'Mech pilots putting on the show were also made of flesh and blood.

  "The pilot? Well, sure the pilot wins. He's part of a team and has his lancemates to back him up. Somebody will be there if he makes a mistake." Warwick smiled triumphantly. It sounded all right, but Rose had broken in enough rookies to know that real teamwork, the kind that solves more problems than it creates, could take months to develop. So far he'd seen nothing on Solaris to indicate that any of the teams ever got that kind of time to practice before a match. Only the best, or luckiest, teams would advance more than a few rounds in any tournament. His opinion of his host, and the power brokers backing this plan, sank to a new low.

  "I believe the concept will only increase in popularity over the coming years, which is where you come in," Warwick was saying. Rose snapped back to attention and refocused on his host.

  "Where I come in?"

  "Yes. You told Brachall that you were a pilot in need of a 'Mech. Well, I need someone who can lead my team to victory. I currently run a stable with five pilots and five 'Mechs. All are suitably skilled, but none have the spark."

  "Spark?"

  "Spark. That elusive ability to snatch victory from defeat. That extra edge that makes a contender a champion."