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-1AMech 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 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.