SFSS

I strongly suggest that you listen to your favorite instrumental (words deconcentrate) music while reading this piece of art.

Hard times on Solaris VII, the gaming world, meant that not much was happening in the planetary arenas. With the galaxy at war. most of the best 'Mechs and all ot the best warrior-pilots were otfworld, slugging It out for keeps on a hundred different planets. A lot of the 'Mech-businesses had shut down. The city taverns were mostly empty. And the frequency of Mech combat in the various arenas of the gaming world was greatly reduced.

But there was still some demand for 'Mech combat and arena time, and as long as there was some demand, any man who could operate the giant war robots, no matter how poorly, need not starve in Xolara City. Also, there were still a few noble houses onplanet, namely the Tandrek, Zelazni. Blackstar. and Oonthrax. that had programs to test or young scions to prove in mechanized battle.

Trev-R came out of Arena headquarters with a 50-credit advance toward his next fight. Considering that his last fight had ended with his Mech reduced to a pile of smoking rubble— thank the galactic Spirit for last-second ejection pods—he had not done too bad. Still, it did not seem like enough money to tide him over for a month or more until the next fight unless he could augment it somehow.

He pulled his old plastic cowl up to protect his head from the stinging acid rain that was just starling to fall. Overhead, thick gray clouds blotted out the sky and obscured the tops of the city buildings. Underfoot, the road was half-gravel, half-quagmire. Trev-R lurched into a rapid and peculiar walk as he headed for Mode's Tavern His left leg pivoted in a half-circle from the hip and planted firmly in the mud ahead. Then he pushed off with his right toot and took a normal half-step. Then the left foot dragged around in another half-circle. And so on. For such a jerky and awkward gait, he made good speed. The left leg, along with certain other parts of the left half of his body, was an old mechanical prosthesis. The servo-motor in the knee had burned out a few months earlier, and he had not been able to afford a replacement.

Eight years as a Tech and I can't fix my own leg. he thought disgustedly. Should have stayed a Tech. I'd have made more money. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to get back into Mech fighting as a warrior. Trev-R's thoughts were as gloomy as the weather. ‘Just one big score.’ he always told himself, ‘and I could leave Solaris. Ten years on this world is eleven years too long!’

As he turned into Rotten Alley. a shortcut between Arena HO and his tavern, Trev-R's right hand rested on the time-worn handle of his old 45 slug-thrower. It was an ancient gunpowder weapon dating back to 28th-century Terra—a replica of a 20th-century police weapon. It was the only valuable thing he had left, and it had been in his family for centuries. Over the years. Trev-R had taken care of it. even going so far as to handload his own ammunition, back in better times, and it had taken care of him. He had only two bullets left, and he did not want to use them. Rotten Alley was in the toughest part of town, though, and so he knew he needed to be ready for anything.

The local thugs, however, were busy with someone else Trev-R heard the muffled thud ot a body being thrown back against a wall, and a thin voice protesting weakly. He knew he should turn back and walk away before anyone noticed him. but old memories rose unbidden and he lurched on toward the scene of the crime.

Three figures loomed out of the rain as Trev-R approached. One was short, thin, and well-dressed in a blue pseudo-leather jacket and black slacks. Two larger men, covered with the standard gray plastic coats of the lower class had the smaller man backed into a corner. A short knife glittered at the victim's throat while the second robber rummaged through his pockets.

‘I've got his cash,’ said the second man. ‘Slit his throat and let's go!’

‘Don't kill me! I'm a nobleman,’ squeaked the youth.

‘Trev-R pointed the gun in their direction. ‘I'd leave quietly if I were you,’ he advised them in his most menacing tone.

The alleybashers looked annoyed but not intimidated. Trev-R knew they did not even recognize his weapon. The one with the knife spun his victim around in Iront of him to act as a shield. The other one started to grope inside his raincoat.

‘Blast outa this, grampers!’ sneered the knifeman. ‘Fly yer own spacelanes. and ye might live to see the sun come out.’ The second thug pulled out a slugthrower.

Trev-R shot them—one bullet apiece Very fast, very neat The double explosions of his pistol thundered loudly in the alley. Trev-R's bullet hit the knife-wielder right between the eyes, and blew him backward into the wall. The victim jerked free and threw himself down at the sound of the shots. He took only a slight cut across one cheek from the falling knife.

The second man had started to react. He squeezed off one shot, but the bullet flew wide. Trev-R's shot struck him in the nose, and blew the back of his head off.

Trev-R saw the boy lying in the alley mud like a corpse. ‘Get up. kid,’ he said. ‘We've got to get out of here.’

Trev-R did not waste any time This part of Xolara was as lawless as any frontier town in the galaxy, but one should not go around shooting people down He checked the closer body first The dead man had a Mi-kari-22 in his hand It was a cheap four-shot far inferior to Trev-R's antique. He took it anyway, and scooped up the kid's 10 and money pouch. That took only about ten seconds. The second corpse had nothing worth taking but the knife. Trev-R left it.

The kid whimpered as he climbed to his feet and tried to stanch the blood flowing from the cut on his cheek. Trev-R ripped a piece of cloth off the shirt of one of the thugs and handed it to him. ‘Here, kid. Use this.’ The youth took the cloth and dabbed at his cheek, then did a double take as he got a good look at Trev-R's grizzled face. ‘I know you,’ he blurted. ‘You're Trev-R the Mech-Warrior. I've seen all your fights, but I never saw anything like what you just did for me. Thank you! Thank you for saving my life!’

Trev-R grabbed the babbling youth by one shoulder and half-carried, half-pushed him down and out of the alley. Trev-R glanced at the ID he had recovered. This kid was Vayil Oonthrax, the only son of Baron Irvxx Oonthrax. He had about 200 C-bills on him. Trev-R thought about keeping the money, but he did not. Handing the whole wad back to the boy, he said. ‘Wipe yer mouth. We're goin' in here.’

Here was Morte's Tavern, one of perhaps twenty such places where a man down on his luck could get a cheap meal and a room in the city of Xolara. Trev-R had called it home for over a year now. He had worked out a deal with Slainte, the tavern-keeper, to do chores around the place in exchange for his nightly meal and verminous bed. He guided Vayil over to a table near the fire and threw his plastic rain-protector onto a rack made for it. Their soggy clothing started to steam in the warmth of the fire as a puddle formed beneath them.

‘Don't forget to mop that up. Trev-R.’ yelled the barkeeper.

There was no one else in the place this evening. Slainte, a white-haired old troll of a man with abnormally developed arms, came over to see if they wanted anything. Trev-R ordered a bottle of Cthonian whiskey for himself and another of R-thing Cola for the kid. Along with drinks, he ordered two plates of grits and pseudoburgers as a meal. ‘You're buying, kid. O.K.?’

‘ It's the least I can do.’ Hero worship gleamed in theyoung man's blueeyes. ‘I'm. uh. Vayil Oonthrax, and I'm going to be a MechWarrior someday, too, Mr. Trev-R.’

‘Just Trev-R.’ The old man gave a mocking Arena warrior salute with his artificial left hand. The smooth, cool plastic of the fake hand just did not fit with the grizzled features of the man.

Vayil Oonthrax, nobleman of Solaris VII. could hardly believe his eyes. The character across the table from him could have emerged from any docu-drama or vid-cast about space pirates or MechWarriors. He saw a man of average height, but that was the last average thing about him. His face and skin had that peculiar sun-burned glaze acquired only by exposure to many different suns and some of the hard ultra-violet of space. A mane of bleached white hair grew low on his forehead and was cut in such a way that it padded the top and back of his skull but could never fall into his eyes. His deeply lined face showed an old burn scar running from chin to hairline on the left side. Where his left eye should have been, a white patch, apparently fixed in place with some super adhesive, covered the socket. He squinted out of a pale blue, almost colorless, right eye. When the other man spoke, Vayil noticed that one ot his bottom incisors was missing, and the remaining teeth were stained yellowish-brown with age. He wore a ragged blue tunic and trousers, but a good pair of old brown boots.

‘Where's yer bodyguard, kid?’

‘He's ill with Kentares flu. I didn't think I'd need him just to get over to the 'Mech-stable and back.’

‘Well, that was yer first mistake. What were you doin' at the 'Mech-stable?’

‘'Mech practice,’ Vayil explained. ‘I'm in training.’

‘Ya don't look it, kid,’ growled Trev-R. ‘Ya make too many mistakes.’

‘But I've got to be one!’ Desperation entered his voice. ‘It's what my family does. My father is spending a fortune to make a MechWarrior out of me. If I let him down, he'll kill me!’

‘If ya make mistakes in a 'Mech, you'll kill yerself.’

The food arrived, and Trev-R dug in. Vayil only played with his.

‘Yes, I do make too many mistakes.’ Vayil admitted, hanging his head, but it popped up again as he had a thought. ‘Maybe you could help me...be my tutor. I could make it worth your while!’

‘Is that a bribe, kid?’

Vayil looked embarrassed.

‘Say, yes.’ laughed Trev-R, ‘and I'm your man.’ A new source of income had just appeared lo him.

‘Yes! Yes! Consider yourself bribed’ Vayil bobbed up and down like a happy puppy. ‘How about 50 C-bills a week?’

As they ate the cheap but nourishing food that Slainte had brought, they tound themselves talking about many things. ‘Why did you save me?’ asked Vayil.

‘I can't stand muggers.’ explained Trev-R. ‘Thirty-odd years ago my brother Bill-R and me were ambushed in an alley on Acter by four thugs who'd have killed us for loose change. They beat us with clubs after taking our few C-bills, beat us into unconsciousness. I woke up in a hospital. My brother never did wake up. The bastards killed him.**

‘Gosh, Trev-R.’ blurted the kid. ‘I'm sorry. But thanks for helping me!’

‘Forget it, kid. Yer payin' for dinner It all works out.’

‘So when can I have my first lesson?’

‘Let's start tonight. D'ya know about the private MechWarrior radio frequencies?’

‘No What do you mean?’

‘In combat, we MechWarriors sometimes like to talk to each other. Ya can't do it on a public band, or ya might give your position away, so every warrior has his own special channel. Mine is the third down from 100 Megahertz.’

‘That would be 99.7 Megahertz.’ calculated Vayil.

‘Ya got that right Remember it! We might need to talk some day.’

‘Tell me about some of your adventures,’ Vayil demanded.

‘All right. Just keep the Cthonian whiskey flowin' and I'll talk yer ears off,’ said Trev-R with a laugh. ‘I mind me of the time I was with the Second Stives Lancers back in ought two. We were pinned down by superior forces on Pinard...’

 

Solaris City is the capital of Solaris VII. and the place that everyone thinks of first when Arena 'Mech combat is mentioned, but there are half a dozen other arena cities on the planet Though places like Xolara were definitely the minor leagues, they could put on a pretty good fight once in a while. When the rumors started that Xolara would stage a major Mech battle between an Atlas and a Warhammer. The MechWarriors and gamblers of all Solaris took notice.

As everyone knows, the AS7-D Atlas is the biggest BattleMech in the galaxy. It is usually reserved for generals like the Draconis Combine's Vasily Cherenkoff. For a place like Xolara to even own one was unprecedented. It went without saying that this was an old. old machine, one that had been destroyed and rebuilt time and again Still, it might have remained a frontline unit somewhere if Baron Irvxx Oonthrax had not spent a major fortune to buy it for his son Vayil.

Family Oonthrax was one of the newer MechWarrior houses, less than a hundred years old. The family patriarch was McJames Oonthrax. who had bet the family estate against clear title to a WSP-1A Mech in a high-stakes game of Galaxy Poker. His four novas had been sufficient to beat the red giants and white dwarves of the foe. When he took his 'Mech into battle with Reilly's Armored Cavalry, winning a decoration tor bravery. House Oonthrax became part of the minor 'Mech nobility that dominated so many worlds. Since that time, a dozen family members had fought their Mech units all over space, some dying, and some doing well. Now Irvxx Oonthrax dreamed of glory for his only son, Vayil. and had beggared his estate to acquire the Atlas.

He hoped to get some of that money back in the games on Solaris while waiting to see what Mech troop would offer the best commission to his son. He also hoped to start off big with what should look like a notable victory for a rookie warrior. That was why he was in the office of Kandar Kant, Arena Master of Xolara, shelling out a substantial bribe.

Baron Oonthrax counted each thousand C-bill as he placed them in the comptroller's pudgy hand. ‘.. Nine ...ten thousand. Now, you're sure you can fix it so that my son can win next month.’

‘No problem,’ the Arena Master said with a sly smile. ‘I’ll pit him against my worst fighter, an old sot named Trev-R. He was a pretty good MechWarrior ten years ago. but he's over the hill now. He's lost so many fights, been shot up so many times, that he's more of a cyborg than a man. I think more than half of his body is prosthetics, and half of that doesn't work right. It he was a racehorse, they'd have put him out of his misery years ago.’

‘Good, good,’ gloated the Baron, taking out two Centauran dope-cigars and offering one to the Arena Master. ‘Still, you say he has a lot of experience, and Vayil has only standard training. Could this old guy get lucky and hurt my boy?’

‘No way! Not a chance! Sure, we're gonna put him in a Warhammer. which is a pretty tough heavy 'Mech, to make it look good. But it's an old and decrepit Warhammer. Half the offensive systems don't work. The main engine is old and half-blown, and delivers barely half power. The armor is paper-thin on the front torso. All your boy has to do is hit him a couple of times to win. Furthermore. I'll be at the arena controls If it looks like your boy is having any trouble, I'll lower all the barriers to give him a clear field of fire. He can't lose!’

The two men lit up their dope-cigars and shook hands, still laughing. The fix was most definitely in.

 

Trev-R had been waiting for over an hour to see the Arena Master. Kan-dar Kant had sent for him and then kept him cooling his heels. It did not look good, and Trev-R was wondering if despite the advance he had scored a few weeks ago, he was out of a job. When he was finally allowed into the Arena Master's office, he was ready for bad news.

The smile he got from Kandar Kant was not reassuring. It was the kind of piranha smile that made Trev-R feel that lunch was served and he was it Trev-R lowered himself into an uncomfortable steel chair and waited for the axe to fall.

‘You haven't been doing too well in your last few fights, have you. Trev-R?’

‘Been doin' the best I could, sir. i been kinda outmatched, and the equipment isn't very good.’

‘Don't blame it on the equipment! Maybe it's just loo much Cthonian whiskey. I hear you're over at Mode's Tavern every night sucking it up like water. Too many dead brain cells? You know the neurohelmet has got to have a brain to work with if the Mech is going to fight well.’

‘I'm not drinkin' that much.’ Grumbled Trev-R. ‘Can't afford to on your pay.’

‘Lost your last five fights in a row.’ continued Kant. ‘When you punched out last month, you cost me 50 big C-bills.’

‘That scrap-heap I was ridin’ was done fer anyway.’ Trev-R argued. ‘No point in me gettin' killed. Are ya tryin' to say yer lettin' me go?’

‘I ought to. I realty should.’ said the Arena Master, bul I'm going to give you one more chance—a really good chance to rehabilitate yourself. You made a lot of money for the Arena during your first couple of years here. How would you like to pilot a Warhammer in your next fight?’

‘A Warhammer?’ Trev-R could not believe it. Many MechWarriors never got to pilot a heavy Mech. He had fought against Warhammers 15 years back, and he remembered them as awesome.

‘I didn't know Xolara had a Warhammer.’ said Trev-R.

‘Just got it last week, sent down from Solaris City. It needs some work before it will be ready to fight, but you used to be a Tech. You and JoeBob work on it, and see if you can't have it ready to fight in two weeks’

-What do I have to tight?’

The Arena Master gave him a shrewd glance. ‘Does it matter? Well, you have to fight another heavy Mech. of course, to make the battle interesting. How'd you like to fight an Atlas? I've got it set up for a planet-wide telecast. The Arena should be able to make some pretty good money on this one if we play it right.’

‘Sheeee-itt!’ whined the old fighter. ‘If I wanted to commit suicide. I could just shoot myself and get it over with. A beat-up Warhammer is no match for an Atlas, and you know it.’

‘If you're chicken. I can get Delaney to do it. I just thought I'd give you one more chance.’ said Kandar. ‘Besides...’

‘Besides what?’

‘Besides, you haven't heard the whole deal yet. If you win, you'll get the 20 megaC-bill prize—enough to buy that passage back to Acter that you're always talking about.’

Fantasies of escape from Solaris flashed through Trev-R's mind. ‘But I can't win against an Atlas. Nobody could.’ Reality reared its ugly head.

‘Yeah, everyone will think that, so the betting should be pretty heavy against you. I'll lay some third-party bets to make us a lot of money whether you win. lose, or draw. All you'd have to do is hold out for ten minutes or more. And I'll be controlling the movable obstacles in the Arena, t can rig it so that you get all the protection, and the Atlas doesn't get any. Surely, you could fight him to a draw, at least, with me helping you.’

‘Reckon I could do that.’ Trev-R agreed. ‘O.K., I'm your man.’

Kandar pulled out a contract for Trev-R to sign, and a blue security pass that would get him into the Mech hangar at the edge of town. ‘Take this down and see JoeBob. You've got some work to do. The fight is in two weeks.’

Trev-R signed. What else could he do? He shook Kandar's oily hand, and allowed the Arena Master to thumpJiim on the back. ‘You won't regret this. Trev-R,’ the Arena Master said heartily, knowing that he would not live to regret it.

Damn straight! thought Trev-R. / intend to win this fight, one way or another.

As soon as the old warrior left the office, the Arena Master put through a call to the Oonthrax estate. When the Baron appeared on the screen, Kant gave him the thumbs-up sign and reported that Trev-R had fallen for it.

After talking to Oonthrax, Kant called the arena motor pool and got JoeBob, the head Tech, on the line. He told the grease monkey to cooperate with Trev-R in fixing up the old Warhammer they had just acquired, but not to use any first-class material. If the machine guns jammed after a couple of bursts, that would be O.K. If the lasers burned out prematurely, not to worry about it. JoeBob said he got the picture.

 

Trev-R came late to Morte’s Tavern that night, wearily dragging his mechanical leg. He found Vayil Oonthrax buying rounds for everyone in the place. MechWarriors. arena workers, merchants, laborers, thugs, prostitutes—the whole gameut of poor Xolara citizenry—crowded round to shake his hand and rub his head for luck, and lo each one he gave the drink of their choice. Trev-R shoved his way through the mob. accepted a glass of Cthonian rotgut from his young friend, who had seen him coming, and then dragged the kid off to his private table. Four mean-looking bruisers got up and left when Trev-R gave them the evil eye (and Slainte flourished his neural whip from behind the bar). They grabbed their drinks and mumbled something about making a place for the young hero.

‘What's this all about, kid?’ Trev-R asked as they settled down.

‘Great news, Trev-R,’ burbled the kid. ‘I'm scheduled for my first arena fight as a MechWarrior in two weeks.’

‘But yer only 16,’ argued Trev-R. ‘You couldn't get a license to fight at that age.’

‘Maybe you couldn't,’ bragged the kid, ‘but I'm a noble of House Oonthrax. A little money in the right place’—he made the sign of the bribe, rubbing thumb and index finger together—’and the record-computers think I'm 18 and have three fights to my credit already. Pretty neat, huh?’

‘Damn dumb, I'd say.’ growled Trev-R.

‘What's the matter, Trev-R? Can't get any more fights of your own? I thought you'd be proud of me.’

‘Yer not ready, kid. Ya need at least two more years of training afore I'd let ya in a 'Mech for real.’

‘Ah, Trev-R, I'm good enough. You're just jealous.’

‘Shows what you know, kid. I've got another fight coming up in two weeks also. Ya won't see much of me between now and then. My 'Mech needs repairs.’

‘Well, then,’ said Vayil. ‘That's great! Maybe we'll see each other at the arena! I know you're going to be impressed, Trev-R. Won't you wish me luck like everyone else here has? Not that I'll need it of course.’

A crooked smile appeared on the old warrior's face. ‘Yer a real fire-eater, Vayil, me boy, and I do wish you the best of luck.’

Bonnie, the barmaid, pushed through the crowd and plunked down two bottles-one of Cthonian and the other of R-thing Cola. ‘Compliments of the house.’ she smiled. ‘And, kid. if you're not too busy. I'd like to extend my personal congratulations a little later.’ She gave him a broad wink and a leer as Vayil's fair skin turned beet-red. Then she sashayed away with an exaggerated wiggle.

A few minutes later, Vayil left to talk to other wellwishers. Trev-R settled down to do some serious drinking.

 

Half a dozen Mech hangars, big, square, ugly gray buildings of Solaris mud-bricks and corrugated aluminum, stood at the edge of town beyond the arena. Trev-R had gotten permission from old Fred McBru. the custodian, to sleep on the premises in the rec room at the rear of the heavy 'Mech hangar. McBru had agreed to it when Trev-R told him that he was flat broke and could not afford to stay in town at Morte's Tavern anymore. Besides, it was far too walk every morning and every night, and Trev-R needed to spend most of his days in the hangar working on his 'Mech.

The WHM-6R had its own hangar, which was also tilled with scaffolding and gantries. Patches of gray steel showed through the flaking bronze paint on the armor. An ugly black laser scorch marred the front torso engine mounting. Broken myomer muscle cable showed where the left-arm PPC had been blown off. Dings, dents, scorches, and bullet holes covered most of the body, and the head unit, where the pilot rode, looked like it had been smashed in with a club. Just getting the head fixed was going to be a major job. Trev-R put JoeBob to work on replacing the head armor and internal controls, while he and a team of welders tried to reattach the broken PPC. The job took three days of hard work.

It seemed like every time he turned around, JoeBob was feeding him some kind of bad news. The bit that really bothered Trev-R was about the ejector mechanism. It did not work, and it would take more than a month to get a new one to replace it. Worse, when Trev-R checked, Kandar Kant refused to authorize the expense. The Arena Master swore at Trev-R and told him that he was not going to have some chicken-hearted warrior punching out if he got scared in the big fight. Trev-R began to feel that the deck might be even more stacked against him than he had anticipated.

Trev-R used all of his technical expertise to restore the Warhammer.

Cooperation and enthusiasm for the job from JoeBob and the other Techs seemed perfunctory at best, but they managed to affix new ceramic armor and smooth out the dents. Three days before the fight, the Warhammer was supposedly ready. Trev-R planned to make his own inspection after hours. He had pretended to quit early that day, then sat down to drink a whole bottle of Cthonian. ‘What a sot!’ said JoeBob as he ambled by the table and saw Trev-R leaning back in his chair and snoring.

‘Poor guy,’ said another Tech named Kfyde. ‘He probably knows he doesn't have a chance against that Atlas. With the way you've sabotaged his 'Mech. he'll be lucky to last three minutes.’

‘Oh. the Boss will keep him alive and make it look like a good fight for a little while at least. But he's as good as dead.’

‘That may be why he's getting drunk. He's looked pretty sharp the last few days. He may know he doesn't have a chance.’

The two men turned out the lights and. left Trev-R snoring. When he was sure they were really gone, Trev stopped his act and sat up. It was a real Cthonian whiskey bottle, but the contents had been 90 percent R-thing Cola, with just enough booze in it to give his breath the right smell.

Trev-R scrambled up the scaffolding with a flashlight and conducted a quick inspection. That's when he learned that the crystals in his medium lasers had hairline cracks and would probably blow the first time he tried to use them. That's when he learned that half of his machine gun ammunition was blanks instead of the high-explosive armor-piercing shells it should have been. That's when he found the damaged firing pin that would jam his left gun and that he was able to replace on the spot. That's when he found the premature timing mechanism in three of his short-range missiles. That's when he knew he had been set up to die. And that's when Trev-R decided not to go along with this foul scheme, even if it meant he'd have to cheat.

Trev-R did not get much sleep that night, or the next, and only about four hours on the night before the battle. When the big morning came, however, he was ready, and he had a plan. Perhaps not a great plan, but any plan was better than nothing.

Then, too, there was that smuggler, Toron Jones, who had agreed to get Trev-R offplanet in a hurry if he lived through the fight. And the payroll clerk who had been bribed to give him his ‘winnings’ quickly if, indeed, he should win.

 

Vayil spent most ot the days ot his two weeks before the fight strapped into his battle couch inside the great spherical head of his mighty new 'Mech. His father was spending a fortune to see that his armament was as good as it could be. Extra armor had been welded onto every vulnerable spot, especially the pilot's quarters. Ammunition was all new, too, and he had a neurohelmet and heat-insulation vest fresh from the factory. Vayil was proud to know that he had the best money could buy. Total expenses: Five million C-bills for the 'Mech and another two hundred thousand in refurbishing.

His 'Mech was a grim-looking monster of gray titanium steel, more humanoid than most ot the BattleMechs around. The word massive described every part of it, from the powerful chest to the sturdy arms and legs. His weapons included a Class 20 autocannon, four medium lasers, and two short-range missile systems capable of firing six missiles each. Normally, the Atlas would carry a long-range missile system as well, but it had been replaced as unnecessary for arena combat. The whole arena was only 300 meters on a side.

Vayil practiced diligently. As his mind attuned to the computers within the Mech. his movements got less clumsy, more skillful. By the day before the fight, he could bring his 'Mech into an all-out running charge within 100 meters. He could get up from a prone position in just under a minute. He could track a 240-degree arc with his autocannon. and hit a Solaris gullbird with his lasers at 90 meters. He felt ready.

When he woke up on the big day. he found that a card had been delivered during the night. He almost did not open it, until he noticed a number—997—in parenthesis behind his name.

He knew that his opponent was supposed to be some old sot that the Arena had hired He did not know that it was Trev-R until the announcer mentioned it in the opening ceremonies.

 

Every arena on Solaris is unique. They take the form of jungles, caverns, gigantic buildings, or even more exotic settings. The arena at Xolara was a huge, steel-walled square. The concrete floor concealed several dozen titanium walls, posts, and blocks. These obstructions could be raised and lowered by radio-control. Sometimes the controls were made available to the MechWarriors in their battle machines, and sometimes not. Each warrior would control some of the barriers, but not all They could be overridden by the Arena Master in his control booth, though, of course, he would never do that...unless he had something to gain.

The weather on Solaris is almost always dismal—high winds, acid rain, air pollution—but the day of the big fight dawned bright and clear. Two preliminary matches warmed up the crewd for the main event. Four SDR-5V Spiders engaged in a free-for-all melee until only one was left standing. Then two VLK-QA Valkyries took on one ENF-4R Enforcer, a match the Enforcer won, but only barely. The radio-controlled arena barriers had played a big part in keeping the Enforcer alive.

No crowd filled the arena stands. Instead, they filled baia and vid-theaters all over the planet Scores of hovering tele-cameras broadcast the action, first to the arena control room where the view was edited and enhanced on a ten-minute delay by vid-engineers. Sound effects—applause, music, explosions, whistles, screams, laughter—were dubbed in by the studio. The fight ‘producers’ monitored and edited the radio chatter of the MechWarriors to provide maximum drama. It was big entertainment and almost as good as a fight from Solaris City

Trev-R and his Warhammer came into the arena first from the west. His 'Mech had been repainted the day before with diamond-glint bronze paint and an image of his grizzled one-eyed face had been stenciled on the left shoulder. The 'Mech towered a full ten meters above the concrete arena floor, and looked impressive. Only Trev-R knew that more than half of his armament was worthless.

He could say one thing for the arena announcer, though. In his introduction, he built up Trev-R to sound like some epic hero. After mentioning Trev-R's experience at the battle of Pinard. the commentator went on to credit him with six other fights and a couple of medals that he had never won. An idealized picture of Trev-R as he had looked about ten years earlier was broadcast around the world, and he heard a computer simulation of himself give a little speech about the nobility of 'Mech combat in the arenas. The audience loved it. Trev-R listened with amazement and a bit of disgust. The thicker you spread it, Kandar, the harder you'll find it to eat,’ he muttered.

Then the Atlas entered from the east, a hulking gray machine three meters taller and thirty tons heavier than Trev-R's Mech. Trev-R had known tor a couple of days now that Vayil would be inside it, though he had been hoping he would not. The announcer gave the boy an equally great buildup. The picture broadcast to the world showed a smiling young man, who was supposedly 18, but looked younger. He had yellow-gold hair cut short in fashionable MechWarrior style. Slim and classically handsome, he posed for the cameras in a crisp military salute. The announcer mentioned Vayil's three fictional battles in other arenas, and said that this was young pilot to watch. By the time the man finished his phony story about the young noble from the House of Oonthrax, it sounded like this would be a real David and Goliath battle. Never mind that David's 'Mech was the real Goliath on the battlefield.

Trev-R and Vayil faced off across the arena. Trev-R heard the kid break radio silence first, his voice tinny and full of static. ‘Trev-R,’ Vayil said urgently. ‘I didn't know it was going to be you.’

‘Listen, kid,’ replied Trev-R on the radio, starting to walk in four-meter strides across the arena ‘You do yer best, and don't worry about me. Of course, if ya had a lick of sense, ya could give up now before ya get hurt.’

The studio engineer keyed in a great wave of canned laughter at that point, drowning out the radio voices. All over Solaris people laughed along To have the old guy bluff the kid was a real hoot.

The Atlas also lurched into motion. For a moment, it looked like a scene from an old holo-drama of two grim gunfighters stalking each other The Warhammer fired first its right PPC spitting lightning. Energy crackled off the bulky hip structure of the gray leviathan and ceramic armor bubbled and flew off in great steaming chunks. The arena thundered to the sound of man-made lightning until heat buildup in his weapon forced Trev-R to cut it off. A black scorch marred the gray metal finish of the Atlas, but no serious damage had been done.

‘Welcome to the wonderful world of Mech combat, kid!’ sneered Trev-R.

‘Hey!’ yelled Vayil into his radio. ‘You're shooting at me.’ It began to sink in that this was a real fight.

Trev-R saw a laser flash from the Atlas. and the computer informed him of a hit to his knee Before the searing energy could burn through the Warhammers armor, Trev-R activated a great titanium-steel wall that rose suddenly out of the concrete directly before the Atlas. The laser hit the mirrored surface and splashed for an instant like water before Vayil could deactivate it The announcer made some comment about the superior experience of the old warrior saving him in that situation, and went on to say that the best thing Vayil could do in his mighty Atlas would be try to close the range so that his autocannon could come into play.

Temporarily screened from view by the wall he had erected, Trev-R kicked his Mech into a run at a 45-degree angle to Vayil's right The Atlas's autocannon comprised its massive left arm, but the armament on its right side was considerably lighter. He hoped to surprise the kid with a salvo of missiles from his weak side.

A dozen steel poles sprang up all around Trev-R's Mech. ‘Argh. kid, yer gettin' the hang of it,’ said Trev-R as the Warhammers massive leg struck a post and ripped it from the concrete. The blow clanged through the arena and threw the Mech off balance. With its stride disrupted, the Mech started to fall, but Trev-R knew what to do. He bent both knees and extended the 'Mech's right and left PPC cannons at a 45-degree angle to catch himself as the huge machine tottered forward. He came to rest in a kneeling position and began to rise again as the Atlas emerged from the left side of the obscuring wall.

The Atlas's four lasers began to pulse with demonic energy, but Vayil fired high. One of his lasers struck the heavy spotlight mounted on the Warhammers left shoulder and melted the thick glass. Trev-R fired his medium lasers, scorching away at the Atlas's heavy leg armor. Superheated ceramics boiled away in steam, but the heavy steel underneath was not yet damaged. Then, just when it looked like the lasers would punch through and possibly tear a hole in the Atlas's left leg, they exploded. They had overheated, and the lasing crystals, flawed as they were, had shattered. Trev-R's lasers blinked off.

In the fishhead cockpit of the Warhammer, Trev-R sweated like a fountain as the heat rose and he tried to figure out his next strategy. He straightened the torso, angled it at 45 degrees to reduce the size of the target, and got to his feet. At the same time, he lowered the obstacle that he had put up. and activated another that was closer to him and would cut off Vayil's lasers. A few seconds later, the tremendous ringing of autocannon shells slamming into the barrier told Trev-R that Vayil had changed his strategy. That wall would not last long. Trev-R got moving and carefully picked his way around and over the obstacles that Vayil had thrown up.

One thing had shown up in the battle so far—Trev-R was the more accurate shot, and that was because he trusted his computers more Inside the 'Mech cockpits where the fighters were strapped into place, the battle computers put various displays up on the screen to help the pilots choose their tactics. The pilot who could make best use of this data was always most accurate. Though Vayil had been practicing with the Atlas for two weeks, and Trev-R had hardly practiced at all, a lifetime of piloting so many different Mech types allowed Trev-R to sink deeper into machine-mode, and it showed in his shooting.

Now both 'Mechs held their fire while closing on one another. The Atlas took five-meter steps and moved straight for the Warhammer. Trev-R. on the other hand, pushed his machine into a run covering six meters to the stride. He angled first to the right, then to the left in a zigzag pattern.

Trev-R saw the Atlas launch a volley of missiles. ‘Incoming,’ reported Trev-R's computer. ‘Projection: three hits out of six.’

Trev-R knew he could probably take three hits, but he did not want to. He activated all arena barriers, including one that was close to his position, and froze. Four missiles exploded on contact with various barriers. Two threaded the needle and detonated against the head of the Warhammer.

The sensors went out in a wash of flame, temporarily overloaded. A great cloud of heat and noise enveloped Trev-R, and he prayed the head armor could take it.

Otherwise, he was a dead man. When the explosion subsided, the head unit of Trev-R's 'Mech had been seared badly, but the inner armor had held and Trev-R still lived. Trev-R had closed his eye before the flash. With the additional protection of combat goggles, he was not blinded. There was a slight ringing in his ears, but the huge neurohelmet had protected him from the sound.

‘Visual scanners knocked out.’ reported the computer. ‘Switching to radar.’

The announcer was ecstatic. Six explosions had rocked the arena and two were direct hits. He was sure that Kid Oonthrax. as he was now calling Vayil. had the advantage, and it was only a matter of time.

Trev-R! Trev-R.. Are you O.K.?’ The kid's tinny voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

‘It'll take more than that, kid,’ Trev-R snarled.

With all his barriers now up. Trev-R had no idea exactly where the Atlas was. He edged around the corner of one wall and then another, moving toward the Atlas's last known position.

His radar spotted the Atlas at the same time that Vayil made visual contact with him. ‘Damn! Behind me!’ Trev-R cursed and accelerated his 'Mech. Incandescent beams began to melt armor off four different spots on the back torso. One burst through and hit an ammunition cache for one of the machine guns. The fact that more than half the ammo was blanks reduced the force of the explosion, but it still sent the Warhammer lurching forward. Fortunately, Trev-R could turn a barrier corner. In two steps, Trev-R had taken his machine around it.

‘Not bad, kid,’ Trev-R muttered.

In the control booth, Kandar Kant and Baron Irvxx Oonthrax monitored the systems of both Mechs. ‘Trev-R's almost out of it’ said the Arena Master. ‘His medium lasers are gone, and so is one gun. He has lost visual display, and the internal heat must be making him groggy. Time now for the coup de grace.’ and he hit the switch that overrode all arena barriers and lowered them back into the concrete.

When the barriers went down, there were only 100 meters between the two 'Mechs, with the Atlas closing rapidly. Vayil opened up with everything except his last flight of missiles. He squeezed off shot after shot from his autocannon in bursts of five.

Though he had Trev-R dead in his sights, the heavy explosives consistently hit to Trev-R's left. Trev-R moved his 'Mech in a circle to his right, and Vayil kept missing.

Trev-R circled right and shot back with everything he had The three remaining machine guns chattered away, most of the slugs going wide as he sprayed in an arc 60 degrees in front of his 'Mech. The few that hit bounced like peas off the side of an elephant. The guns jammed and quit firing in seconds. as he had expected. His two small lasers were alternately blazing with incandescent heat, but without visuals, he could not focus them tightly enough to do any real harm. Small pieces of armor vaporized on the approaching leviathan, but the wounds were not very deep and he could not keep them in the same spot. His left-hand PPC was blasting out its electrical fury, but the Atlas moved inside its range, and Trev-R could not hit. As for his right-hand PPC. he kept it out of the fight, shielding it with the body of the Mech. which he angled back and forth.

‘Trev-R! Trev-R!’ yelled the kid into his radio mike. ‘I'm going to try to take you alive, old pal. Don't worry!’

‘What a generous offer!’ crowed the announcer to his worldwide audience.

‘That's right nice of ya. kid,’ gasped Trev-R. He certainly sounded like a dying man. ‘But I expect to win this fight. Switch to my private frequency—there's something you ought to know.’

‘That's the true warrior spirit!’ howled the sports announcer to audiences around the world. Those who had bet on the Atlas were already beginning to demand that the losers pay up. Those who had bet on the Warhammer were griping about never again letting long odds seduce them into betting on an underdog.

All of the Atlas's firepower coalesced on the elbow joint of Trev-R's one working PPC. For a few seconds, that arm was wreathed in fire as lasers and cannon shells careened off it in thundering fury. Then the ceramic armor evaporated in the hellish heat and the metal arm fragmented into chunks of molten and broken steel For an instant, the myomer muscles and the titanium bone-work of the arm were visible, then they ruptured in a cascade of high-voltage sparks. The joint shattered and Trev-R's weapon went flying backward.

Around Solaris, there went up a great cheer from the Atlas fans.

Trev-R knew the time had come to activate his last desperate plan. He switched to his private frequency, hoping that Vayil was listening.

Vayil quit firing and raised the Atlas's massive left arm for a punch that should knock the Warhammer off its feet.

Trev-R figured the arena personnel would not be able to pinpoint his new ultrahigh radio frequency within the few seconds he needed. ‘Listen up, kid. Your life depends on it,’ he said. ‘A few days ago, I found out that this fight was rigged in your favor, and that I wasn't meant to survive. I don't have a working ejection pod. So. two nights ago. I sneaked into the hangar where your Atlas was being kept and planted a radio-controlled bomb made from some of my missile explosives there in the command center. Very soon now. I'm going to activate it and blow the head off your 'Mech. If you're still inside, you'll be dead. Get out. and get out quick.’

‘You couldn't have!’ gasped Vayil. ‘Arena security would have kept you away from my Mech!’

‘Arena security is lousy, kid, just like their equipment. To prove what I'm savin'. I also recalibrated the sights on yer autocannon so ya wouldn't be able to hit me with it Believe me. kid, yer life depends on it. Punch out real quick now.’

‘You're bluffing!’ Vayil screamed. ‘You love to bluff—you told me yourself. You think I'll back out and you can win. It won't work, Trev-R. This is my fight! I earned it! Damn you. Trev-R! You can't frighten me away like a boy!’

Trev-R could hear the fearand desperation in Vayil's voice. At that moment, the two Mechs stood almost toe to toe with the Atlas poised for a punch that would knock the smaller 'Mech on its back. Trev-R had his right-hand PPC angled upward so that its shots would come right up into the chin of the Atlas. He hoped that would disguise what was going to happen.

‘Last chance, Vayil! Punch out, kid! Punch OUT!’

‘No! Damn you! No! I don't..’

‘I figgered ya were too dumb to know what's good fer ya,’ said Trev-R. That's why I re-wired yer ejection mechanism, too. Ya will thank me fer this later, kid.’ Trev-R pulled the trigger for the PPC with one hand and pushed the button to eject Vayil with the other. The Atlas froze in midpunch as its whole enormous body was covered with the dancing fury of Trev-R's particle beam at point-blank range. The top of the Mech's head blew off and an ejection capsule shot 30 meters into the air. deploying a parachute at the height of its arc. Then Trev-R pushed the second button, and the bomb he had fabricated out of all the explosives that should have gone into his missiles detonated with devastating effect. The rest of the Atlas's head exploded in a great ball of red flame as heavy metallic plates went flying in all directions.

Viewers all over the planet were stunned as the mighty Atlas, now headless, fell over backward.

‘How on Solaris did Trev-R do that?’ blurted the announcer. ‘I don't believe it. Kid Oonthrax had him at his mercy, and he punched out. I don't believe it! The Atlas is down and out! The Warhammer wins! The Warhammer wins!’

In the arena control booth. Baron Oonthrax and Kandar Kant sat gasping at each other like beached fish. ‘You said he couldn't lose!’ croaked the Baron. ‘I bet everything on this fight. I'm ruined.’

‘Your cowardly son punched out.’ retorted the Arena Master. ‘How could I figure on that? It's all his fault! I bet as much as you did. I'm ruined, too.’

They sat there staring at each other with as much hate as disbelief.

Trev-R's Warhammer stood above its fallen foe for a moment, then slowly turned and began to trudge toward the exit. Trev-R knew what would happen next. He would dodge the publicity people, collect his reward, and be offplanet before sundown. His life wouldn't be worth an iron slug on Solaris once they figured out what he had done.

‘I'm sorry, kid.’ he mumbled to himself, ‘but you don't get to be an old MechWarrior by losin' the big ones.’

‘Yeah. I'm sorry, but if ya meet me at Jones's DropShip like I asked in the note I sent. I'll make it up to ya. My old outfit will take ya on if I recommend ya. and with them, ya can learn to be a real MechWarrior.’

#standre

Copyright 1998 FASA Corporation