Chapter TwelveGo to chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ==February 19, 2096, 6h Trent pushed away the offered cup, protesting that he just needed to get adjusted. Shrugging, Jonus poured him a cup of orange juice (real oranges, Trent noticed approvingly), drained the remains of his coffee in a single gulp, and headed downstairs to his simulators. By the time Trent arrived, Jonus was already looking for a free server. Finding an open spot in WAR's South American hub, he pounced on it, then breathed a sigh of relief as the computers, having noted his status as a tournament semifinalist, granted him host-level access. Ten seconds with the server options and Jonus' virtual domain now included a featureless desert and a message warning "Experts Only". The preliminary work finished, Jonus prepared the simulator chairs for himself and Trent, still nursing his cup of juice. As the universe dropped out from under him, Jonus relaxed and prepared himself for his first training session (if he could call Trent his student). Trent awoke as a Jaguar - not his old familiar model, but one of the new ones with a boxy, vaguely humanoid design. Jonus piloted what appeared to be the same model, and both of them were standing on an endless desert plain. Jonus' voice came through as direct input to his auditory nerves; commlinks had long since been replaced by a more efficient method. "OK, I'm going to get straight to the heart of your problem. Why did I beat you?" "It's a complicated question," Trent responded, "but I've obviously been thinking about it. There are a couple key reasons. First, I'm not used to competition. You're the only one I've met who can combine the martial arts training and the HAR-piloting ability to really use these machines to their full potential. Besides me, of course. But the biggest reason is your ability to anticipate my attack patterns." A small pause. "No, you can't have anticipated them, you'd never seen some of those moves before. You must have been running on instinct, trusting that I would stick to a pattern and going on defense until the time was right. And that brings me to the third reason: I'd studied all your fights I could get my hands on, especially in the Arena. You're very offensive by nature, and inclined to take risks. Admittedly, your hands were tied in those fights, but I still didn't anticipate someone changing his strategy mid-match." "Well then, let's work on the basics for a while to get warmed up and then move on to the big stuff. There are three rules for this particular session: "One. You have no strategy. I don't want you trying to anticipate my moves, because I won't be using a strategy either." "Two. You do not go on the offensive. If I wanted a sparring match, I'd say so. This is just to see what you can do on defense." "Three. You can use only one move from any fighting stance. This way, you'll have to constantly shift your responses even if I get repetitive, and you'll be more unpredictable yourself." "Is that everything?" Trent asked, adding with more than a touch of sarcasm, "How about making yourself invincible?" Jonus chose not to take the bait. Instead, he shifted his weight and leapt at Trent with one hand outstretched, going full speed. With no time to prepare properly, Trent simply caught his hand and flipped him over his shoulder. Jonus caught himself on the way down, rolled out of harm's way, and launched a flying spin kick. Of course, he caught only air as Trent rolled sideways to put himself at his back, but he continued to press the offensive with a vicious backfist toward Trent's position. Trent's response was an arm lock straight out of a barroom brawl, with the gut punch to match. As Jonus doubled over, he swept Trent's legs out from under him, bringing them both to the floor. They recovered in tandem. "Good," Jonus grinned. "Again!" * * * * In her small staging room at LBC News, Eliza Laim casually browsed the nets to the WAR-related message centers, expecting to find nothing out of the ordinary. Instead, the news was out everywhere: "Trent takes on Augardi! Right now, 6h15!" Like hundreds of other enthusiasts (albeit for a much different reason) Laim went immediately to WAR's servers and joined the simulation as an observer, set her cameras on "cinematic", then settled back to waste a few minutes before the morning news. Three seconds later, she was frantically inputting the commands to save this match. Even a neophyte to HARs like her could tell that this was lightyears above any other HAR fight to date. She rewound the simulation to its beginning, then played it back at half speed (bringing the combatants' speed down to a manageable level). On her portable console, she started playing back Trent's first tournament match, also at half speed. A few quick calculations confirmed what she already knew: Trent was 30% faster and was doing almost 160% the damage to his opponent as he'd done against his previous challenger from Systex. What could have caused this? On the main terminal, Jonus threw Trent to the ground so hard he bounced, then jumped on him for the finishing blow. As he arced slowly through the air, Laim's eyes were on Trent as he rose to a crouch in what seemed like realtime speed, then unleashed a flying uppercut that carried him (and Jonus) thirty meters into the air. For good measure, Trent kicked Jonus' Jaguar model to the ground while still airborne, then switched foot position and landed on his stomach with a metallic crunch. Hundreds of viewers winced; Laim simply narrowed her eyes in suspicion and set the portable to work comparing Trent's behavior to Jonus' old Arena fights. As Laim suspected, the correlation was definitely there. Jonus was obviously spending time training Trent. What this meant for her own plans she couldn't fathom, but one thing was sure: she needed a backup plan. Within minutes, she was on the secure holophone with Steel Claw. "In case you haven't heard, you can catch Augardi versus Trent on the WAR servers right now. I'm not interested in the specifics; what I want from you is a way to beat our friend Trent. Call in Menaza if you need to. As soon as you've found something, leave me a message. Talon out." Quietly covering her electronic tracks and hiding the ultramodern security features of the phone from view, she turned her attention to the impending news broadcast. All she could do now was wait and see whether her newest ally would turn traitor. * * * * Not surprisingly, the last one to hear about Trent's appearance on the WAR simulation servers was the man nominally in charge of them, Dr. Ibrahim Hothe. The network techs, registering an unusual jump in the percentage of observers to combatants, took their time forwarding him the information, and when he took a break from design tweaks on the Mantis virtual prototype and got around to checking his messages, it was already 6h30. The news spread like wildfire, and before long, the entire morning shift in WAR's HAR design division was watching the fight on the biggest monitor in the building, supposedly reserved for testing the HAR prototypes at full size. "Find out what they're doing in there and how they're doing it!" Hothe demanded irritably of a junior engineer. The man had barely left on his new errand when, from the other end of the catwalk, Hothe noticed Shirro Lang coming over to meet him. An unusual spot for a PR man, he reflected, but if the President had something important to tell him, he'd probably send Shirro. With that in mind, he greeted the older man warmly and gestured over the catwalk to the screen where Trent and Augardi were duking it out in near life-size. "So, what brings you here? Something to tell me, or just anxious to watch the show?" "I'm sorry, IB, but I've got some bad news. Since we're friends, I'll cut to the chase. The Mantis project is cancelled." "Whaat!? This doesn't make sense! We've spent millions already, and the whole tournament - our biggest PR success in ten years - hinges on the prototype as a prize!" "I don't like this any more than you do, but my orders come straight from President Kreissack. Your team is to stop work immediately and concentrate on producing the Shadow model. As for you, gather your twenty best designers and engineers and report to conference room D at 10h. The President has a special project in mind." Hothe seemed more than justifiably annoyed. "I've got a bad feeling about this. What with the Nova project moving to our top-secret Mars headquarters, and now the Mantis being brushed aside after a substantial time and money investment, it looks like ol' Kreissack has something major planned, and you know how THAT will turn out. Remember the fiasco back in '83?" "Yeah, the tabloids are still reporting about WAR's private cyborg army and their ultra-powerful combat HARs. You have no idea how annoying that was to clean up for the networks. Well, regardless, if Kreissack says it happens, it happens. Not much you or I can do about it." Unwilling to say anything more for fear the other engineers would get wind of his concerns, Lang made a terse farewell and left for the elevators. Most of the crew was now looking at Hothe expectantly. With a small sigh, he turned to address them, feeling more defeated than he'd been in years. It was not going to be a good day. * * * * On a featureless desert plain somewhere in cyberspace, Trent picked himself up from the ground slowly and painfully. He noted with some satisfaction that Jonus looked like he felt; it was surprising how much emotion a faceless robot could convey just through body language. They had been training for what seemed like the whole day, a feeling he hadn't had since he got out of school. Although the simulators made it possible to keep going long after real HARs would have been destroyed, the mind behind the body could still feel pain, and become weary. Shaking off the sand from his Jaguar, Trent settled into an aikido stance, ready to dodge anything Jonus could throw at him. By now, the training had moved past pure defense and offense to in-depth strategy and HAR analysis, and while Trent suspected Jonus didn't know anything more about handling a Gargoyle 'bot than he did, he was willing to try his hand against its aerial stunts, if only for a change of pace from the Electra and Jaguar models Jonus suspected the other competitors would use. To his carefully hidden relief, however, Jonus put up a hand and called a halt to the fighting. "Not all of us have superhuman endurance, and I'm ready for lunch. Let's take a break and talk things over, OK?" Trent nodded his assent, and almost immediately felt the world recede from him. The desert didn't grow darker, exactly, but it seemed to be far away, vague, almost dreamlike. Soon he could see nothing but the sun shining on Jonus' armor, and then there was the sudden pressure of light on his eyelids. Not as regretful as usual about leaving the simulators, possibly because of exhaustion, he got up and followed Jonus back upstairs to grab a bite to eat. The two of them had been eating for less than five minutes when the house computers announced someone at the door, alone and unarmed. With a quick glance at Trent, who seemed faintly amused by the fact that Jonus was scanning all his visitors for weapons, Jonus walked to the door, read the scanners' readout, and let the visitor in. It took all his self-control and training to keep the surprise from his face. Aidoann Traillieu wore a denim jacket despite the warm temperatures outside. She paused for an instant on seeing Jonus, then gave him the Venusian salute: right hand to the forehead, then to the shoulder. Jonus returned the salute, then stepped aside to allow her to enter. With only a raised eyebrow, she walked quickly over to Trent and attempted a smile. "Surprised to see me?" "Not really, I suppose. Somehow I don't think Faraday would leave a message when he could send someone in person. I suspect you've got some bad news for me, but it's good to see you again anyway." That brought the smile into full bloom. Turning to Jonus for a moment, she asked, "May I sit down? Trent and I have some business to discuss." Smiling as usual, he answered, "Of course. I don't feel like eavesdropping on other people's conversations today, so I'll leave you two to your business." Aidoann waved her hand to dismiss the matter. "No, stay. I think you should hear this too, before it becomes public knowledge." She didn't wait for his thanks, but sat down and turned to Trent. "This morning, there was an attack on WAR's South American servers. A group of terrorists managed to lock down one of the public simulator rooms and 14 people were caught. "One of them was Marcus Faraday." Aidoann paused for a moment, finding it difficult to continue. Trent attempted to be stoic, but failed miserably and simply sank back in his chair as he absorbed the news. Jonus, who had never heard the name before, wondered who he was, but more importantly wondered how this had happened. A room was "locked down" when it was taken over by the hacker responsible, and no one was allowed to enter or leave. All sensory input would be removed from the room and time slowed down until everyone inside went insane. The equipment on the client side to protect from this attack was still too expensive for most, so most people relied on the server's defenses to protect them from any attack. Offhand, Jonus could only think of one hacker good enough (and brave enough) to crack WAR's servers, and she worked at a desk next door to the Talon herself. Jonus didn't think the Talon would risk arousing the Company's ire, so that meant either a huge payoff to the mercenaries or a security leak within WAR itself. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "Since Marcus is going to be incommunicado for who knows how long, my associate Milano Steele and I are running his operation for the time being. I'm sorry, Trent, but we don't have the resources to devote to you right now. I do, however, have something for you." Handing the files to him, she continued: "These are our files on all the top competitors in the Mantis Project tournament. Aside from your own file, you should take a look at Raven Menaza. A couple of the articles we found on him were rather surprising." Trent nodded. "Thank you, Aidoann. I don't know what I'd do without you." He managed a weak smile. "Sorry to change the subject, but have you had lunch?" asked Jonus. "You look rather shook up, and if you'd rather not take the trek back to your place at the moment, you can stay here for a while." Sighing in relief, she gratefully accepted. As Trent, obviously unsure of what to do, moved to comfort her, Jonus paged through Menaza's file and came across two words he definitely didn't expect to find: Iron Fist. "Trent, do you know anything about Iron Fist? I was looking through the files on Mr. Menaza here, and..." "I see. Sorry I didn't tell you two, but about a week ago I contracted a small job from Iron Fist -- to remove Dr. Hothe from the tournament." In response to Jonus' raised eyebrow: "At the time, I thought he was my biggest competition: he knew how to handle a HAR and wasn't a bad fighter. Now, I don't need the Talon's help, but what's done is done." "I see. Well, I'll have the house computer alert you whenever Menaza signs on to the public simulators. Meanwhile, I have a call to make, to my contact at LBC." Trent, his curiousity piqued, asked not quite casually, "Contact at LBC? Who?" "Eliza Laim." Jonus watched Trent's face carefully as he told him, and was rewarded with a brief raise of the eyebrow and a strange look the older man couldn't interpret. Satisfied that he wasn't giving away any secrets, he placed his call. * * * * "Hello, this is Eliza Laim speaking. How can I -- oh, hello, Jonus." "Eliza. Long time no see. Well, I have a substantial favor to ask you." "Mm-hmm?" "You know our mutual friend Trent? Well, I want a prime-time spot for him on LBC News after the tournament is over. He's got an interesting story to tell, which will draw plenty of attention for you if you don't mind taking a few pokes at World Aeronautics and Robotics." "Trent... Look, Jonus, you know this isn't my sort of thing. I'll forward you over to Kathy and she can take care of the whole business." "You know I'd rather have it be you. Don't be foolish." "I'm sorry, Jonus. It's just that -- I'm finding it harder and harder to be Eliza Laim these days. I've got a lot of stress in my job. Too many things going on at once, if you know what I mean." "Wait, I think I know what to do. I won't bring anybody else; it'll just be me and you and the wonderboy here. You can relax, be informal for a little while. Come on, it'll be good for you, and totally risk-free." "...I suppose it could work. All right, I'll call you tonight with the details. Don't look so exasperated! After all, if you can't trust someone like me, who CAN you trust, n'est-ce pas?" The call was terminated from the other end and replaced with the LBC logo. Letting out a breath, Jonus closed his own terminal and leaned back against the wall. At least something was going right around here. Everything depended on Trent pulling off his victory, but Jonus found it hard to tell how he really felt underneath the top layer of unshakable self-confidence. There was nothing left but to give Trent all the help he could and hope that God had stacked things in their favor. |