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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 inyour next fight?’
‘A Warhammer?’Trev-R could not believe it. Many MechWarriors never got to pilot a heavy Mech. He had fought against Warhammers15 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 fight?’
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 Warhammeris 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 Atlasdoesn'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. I 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 Warhammerthey 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.’
Bo
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.