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 Victorhad knocked the rival Orionoff 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?"