"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 situation 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."
"Not that I disagree, but you don't even know me," Rose said, laying down his spoon and leaning back in the chair. "Besides, you've gotten this far without me."
"I know you, Mister Rose. I know you called nearly every 'Mech shop in Solaris looking for a heavy or assault class 'Mech in working condition." Warwick smiled briefly. "I know you didn't find one. I also know there's nobody matching your physical description who has a service record with any of the Great Houses of the Inner Sphere. Of course, that doesn't necessarily tell me that you've never served any of the five House rulers, just that the record is buried deeper than normal. How's that for information?" Warwick's too-sincere smile returned.
"Not bad, but it still doesn't explain why you want me." Rose didn't like the way the conversation was going, or how much Warwick already knew, or what he knew he did not know, about him.
"You obviously want a 'Mech, and you're willing to pay for one. With the Clan invasion, prices are high and quality 'Mechs are, shall we say, scarce. Since you went looking for a 'Mech before a stable, I'd have to say you're more interested in the equipment than money or fame." Rose sat in silence. Warwick was good and he must obviously have an efficient network to gather this much information in so short a time.
"In short, you want a 'Mech, and you're willing to fight to get one. Now, the only question that remains is what do I want in return for helping you?" Rose smiled. Warwick didn't appear to need any encouragement to continue talking and it looked as though the next course would not be served until the conversation was finished.
"I need someone who can guarantee me victory in the final match. The fact that I can't turn up any information on you prior to your arrival on Solaris leads me to believe you are either very, very good or else, only a Mech-Warrior wannabe. In either case, I can discover the truth in short order. I'm prepared to wager that you fall into the first category.
"What can I offer in return? No need to ask, I can see the question written on your face. In exchange for your services, I'm prepared to offer you the 'Mech you pilot in the final match, the price of the 'Mech to be determined by an independent appraiser after the match."
"And the 'Mech?"
"I'm not prepared to divulge the actual type until we're further along in our negotiations. However, I can tell you it is an assault class machine, one that was refitted in the Federated Commonwealth." Warwick was smug. He had presented Rose with a neat answer to his problem, and the entire offer came gift-wrapped. "What do you say, Mister Rose? You're not likely to receive a better offer."
"I say no." Rose stood, forcing the chair out in the same motion. Warwick's eyes went wide as if the only possible answer to his proposal could be an unqualified yes. Rose wiped the corner of his mouth for emphasis and threw the linen into his chowder. "I haven't been long on Solaris, Warwick, but Iknow you. I know men like you. I'm not desperate enough to cast my lot with you, even if you seem to have all the answers. Thanks for the hospitality, but I'll see myself out now."
"Rose, don't be a fool!"
"I may be a fool," Rose shot back, "but you're a chopped-off little runt with delusions of grandeur." Warwick was out of his chair in an instant, overturning it onto the hardwood floor. He slammed one hand on the table and pointed the other at Rose, shouting something incoherent at the same time. He was the picture of righteous fury, except that instead of striking the oak table, Warwick hit the edge of his bowl, flipping chowder across the room and burning his hand with still-hot liquid. His roar of fury quickly turned into a yelp of pain. At the sound, the door behind Warwick flew open and two men rushed into the room.
The doorman, who entered first, went immediately to his master and took the injured hand in a gentle but firm grip. The second man was much smaller, with the body of a wrestler. His small head was perched atop a thick bull neck and broad shoulders. He smoothly stepped over Warwick's chair and prepared to seize Rose.
"No!" Halted in mid-stride, the wrestler tried to look at Warwick and Rose at the same time. Rose, despite the volume of Warwick's command and the obvious authority in his voice, never took his eyes off his opponent. "Scoggins, show Mister Rose to the gate, then return to this room at once."
"Rose, I swear you haven't heard the last of this. You want a 'Mech so bad you can taste it, and I could have given it to you on a platter. But not now. Nobody's going to sell to you, Rose—not after what I tell them—nobody."
Rose started to turn on Warwick, then saw Scoggins reach into his jacket. By the look in the man's eye Rose knew he was outgunned. He was just waiting for Rose to make a move on Warwick, but Rose pulled up short.
"No man mocks me in my own home, Jeremiah Rose. No man!"
"I'll see you later then, Warwick. Just be sure to bring a lot of friends." As Rose walked out of the room under Scoggins' watchful eye, he left Warwick thrusting his hand into a pitcher of water, teeth clenched, eyes ablaze.