Chapter ThirteenGo to chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ==February 20, 2096, 8h Transcript from LBC Communications, Inc. Hi, Kathy. I'm standing outside the construction site for the new arena here, about thirty miles into the Sahara Desert. This desert arena is about three times the size of the Testing Chamber, to allow room for the final match, which is a free-for-all match between all four finalists. In lieu of the Testing Chamber's spikes, a pair of fighter jets has been leased from the Smithsonian Museum and equipped with authentic ammunition. The bullets won't seriously damage a HAR's armor, but they could prove a fatal distraction. To keep opponents from getting too close to the audience, forcefields are being flown in as we speak, to provide the effect of walls without disturbing the sand dunes. Back to you, Kathy. Thanks, Kelly. Before our weather update, let's take a closer look at the finalists in this tournament. First up is Shirro Lang, director of public relations for WAR and respected martial artist... ==February 22, 2096, 14h The gravlift ride from Panama Beach to the airport at Tallahassee, and the cargo plane from Tallahassee to Algiers, and the helicopter to the desert arena gave Trent plenty of time to think things over before the big match. Although he'd never had so much riding on a single fight, he'd had some high-stakes battles before, so he settled back, calmed himself, and listened to Jonus calm himself in his own way. For Jonus, that meant being as busy as possible. "Before you go into a fight, you should always know your enemy. Let's take a look at yours. Shirro Lang, with a smile for everyone and a nefarious plot for all occasions. He's smart -- too smart to believe he can win -- and he's content to stay in power at his current job. So he won't really have his heart in it, but he wants to determine the outcome of the battle, so he'll make at least some effort. Watch who he attacks, or rather watch who he doesn't attack, to see if he'll interfere with your strategy. That's why he's using an Electra bot, to deal damage instead of keeping safe from harm. "Raven Menaza, a dangerous man and not to be underestimated. He's killed a dozen people in 'self-defense', and he's used to fighting in free-for-all battles like this one. He's got Iron Fist's information behind him -- probably knows more about you than you do yourself -- and he's fulfilled his contract to take down Dr. Hothe. If he's still taking orders from the Talon, he won't be prepared against you, since his superior doesn't care which one of you two wins. If he's on his own, he'll probably go straight for you, to advertise his skills to his higher-ups in the Company as well as Iron Fist. In any case, you can't expect him and Lang to start fighting each other, leaving you to pick up the pieces. Menaza would find Lang an unworthy opponent, and Lang would back away to save his strength for later." A short pause, long enough for Trent to add quietly, "And you." "Yes, there is that. Ahh... Much as I'd like to see you win, get your revenge, et cetera, I'd rather be known as the reigning champion of HAR fighting than the up-and-coming contender of HAR fighting, if you see what I mean. In all honesty, I'm probably your most formidable opponent. I know something of your fighting style, I'm flexible enough to push my HAR to its limits, and on the offensive I'm as fast as you are. You think you know enough about me to be sure of victory, but I've still got a few tricks under my sleeve." Trent wasn't about to start an argument by disagreeing with Jonus, but he really didn't need all this strategy cluttering up his brain, either, so he just tuned out and replayed previous battles from Lang and Menaza from his perfect memory. Sooner or later Jonus would work off enough nervous tension to stop talking and sit back, but until then, this was the most productive thing he could think of. By the time the cargo plane landed at Algiers with all four finalists and their HARs, the man was as icily calm as Menaza and ready to fight. As they piled into the copter for transportation to the arena site, Jonus had a parting thought for Trent before the whine of the engines made normal speech impossible: "One final word of advice: You're not invulnerable. You may be better than any of us individually, but even you can't take on two of us at once. Good luck and God speed." * * * * Kelly Suzis was LBC's newest field correspondent, so she was making every effort to be sure she didn't botch a job this big. Despite her obvious nervousness, though, she maintained a calm voice for the cameras. "The match today will be a little different from the semifinals, folks. Not only are there four contestants instead of just two, but all the rules have changed, to test the pilots' abilities in unforeseen conditions. The desert sands will slow any footwork, and the fighter jets WAR has on lease will attack each robot semi-randomly, with an eye to disrupting an ongoing battle. To add further confusion, each of the four finalists has been allowed one modification on the basic HAR design to aid its combat effectiveness. The finalists are understandably tight-lipped about what exactly they've been doing in the mechanics shop, but a source close to Jonus Augardi says his Katana 'bot will feature extra servomotors and gyroscopes to make Augardi's trademark spin moves even more dangerous. "All the cargo planes have arrived, only ten minutes behind schedule, so it's time for the show to begin. Here come the contestants now, one in each corner of the square arena..." "Trent." A '93 Jaguar, almost as sleek as its namesake with durasteel claws to match, in white with chrome accents, stepped past the dormant forcefield generators to a healthy dose of applause and cheers from the gathered spectators, either super-dedicated (and rich) fans or representatives of interested corporations. In answer, the Jaguar raised an arm, then pretended to sharpen one claw. Apparently, thought Suzis, the "new guy" had been learning more than just tactics from Mr. Augardi. "Shirro Lang." This to the entrance (with markedly small and reluctant applause) of Lang's Electra HAR, in brilliant metallic blue with just a touch of purple along the arms and legs. Still, to get into the spirit of the occasion, Lang sent a single lightning bolt straight up before settling in to await the match's beginning. "Jonus Augardi." The pundits' favorite backflipped into the arena with ease in his polished green Katana, landing with both arms out like a true showman. The fans were delighted; the industrialites in attendance, not about to be shown up in front of their competitors, merely raised their eyebrows or rolled their eyes. "Raven Menaza." If the previous three had been eye-catching, Menaza's Shadow was even more so by contrast alone. Black, like the only previous Shadow pilot in the tournament, the WAR logos on the chest and shoulders had been replaced by a stylized raven, in crimson red. Darkness gathered about the Shadow, and it projected a "shadow" to walk calmly into the arena, while Menaza jumped with all his enhanced strength and speed to catch a full ten seconds in the air. As he neared the ground, the "shadow" dissipated, and Menaza landed in the exact spot on which it had been standing. The next voice was that of Major Hans Kreissack himself, inventor of the Katana, President of WAR, and still going strong as he neared his hundred and first birthday. "Ready...Go!" His hand dropped, and the forcefields flared up in translucent blue around the arena three hundred meters on a side, enclosing the competitors, who circled each other warily, each jockeying for position. The tension grew palpable, and then the Shadow darkened as it stored up the necessary energy to create one of its doppelgangers. This set the other three off like a switch. Augardi kicked off the sands, shooting up and backwards like a gigantic humanoid missile. The spray of sand both concealed him from Lang (across from him) and threw off Menaza's aim. Trent capitalized on the situation by launching off a blast from his head-mounted concussion cannon and rolling to the side. Lang, who had sidestepped out of the fray to get a better aim on the others for a charge, ended up right behind Trent, and sent him the rest of the way to the floor with a forceful knee to the head. Another cloud of sand muffled the sound of Trent hitting the ground, Jonus reached the back wall and the forcefields sizzled in their effort to counteract his momentum, Menaza's shadow leaped forward with a flying kick right through the space where Lang had been, and the arena dissolved into total chaos. When asked about this first portion of the fight afterwards, Jonus was hard-pressed to remember anything at all. Completely by his instincts, he was constantly in the thick of the fight, slashing and dodging and kicking whoever was in front of him at the moment. Lang backed away, sniping and working defensively, obviously hoping to save his strength for a more opportune time. Menaza moved like a snake, slipping in to deal a blow to an undefended side or grab an opponent from behind, and always out of danger a second later. However, as the match wore on, he began to get careless and drop his guard. Surprisingly to those who had seen the online combat of a few days before, Trent was getting the worst of every encounter. It seemed as if his speed and strength had abandoned him, and now he fought in a rigid style and merely held his own. Finally there was a lull in the fighting: Trent and Shirro backed off from one another just as Menaza and Augardi landed from a crowd-pleasing aerial duel, which had involved more than a couple high-speed run-ins with the walls. Menaza spoke through the HAR link directly to the others' minds: "I have achieved mastery of my HAR technique. Does anyone wish to challenge me, or shall I let you rabble fight it out and take the spoils?" Confused, the spectators leaned forward, and were rewarded by an immediate answer on Trent's part. "Let's go!" He raised his arms (now rather less impressive, as the sand obscured most of the chrome, and the armor was bent or twisted in several spots) and rushed at Menaza. Lang charged up his hands for a lightning strike at the two duelists, but too slowly: Jonus caught the movement from the corner of his eye and threw himself sideways in a most unconventional football tackle. The two hit the ground together, but Jonus got up first. Trent's first punch at Menaza was an obvious fake, so the Shadow moved to block the second punch. It never landed, and by the time Menaza realized his error, Trent was already airborne and nearly over his head. As Menaza began to duck, he was caught under the armpits by Trent, who had flipped end-over-end in the air for this grab. The momentum of the spin threw the Shadow off his feet, and as Trent landed, he added a final push and threw it into the wall in front of him. Forcefields flashed a brilliant blue, and the Shadow actually bounced. Trent dashed backwards and fired off a Cannon, which Menaza was barely able to avoid by rolling as he fell, and the battle began in earnest. Lang, backed into a corner by a series of slashes from Jonus' Katana, decided the time was right to reveal his special modification. From his position with both arms blocking Jonus' downward strike, he activated a secret catch in his wrists, stepped back, and turned his electric "hands" to full power. A blaze of electricity flowed between his hands, and as he opened them wide, he threw jagged metal shards through the newly formed circuit. The meter-long steel darts, now heavily charged and magnetized to fly apart, created an impenetrable cloud of metal and electricity in front of the Electra. Jonus threw himself to one side, but still took three shards in one arm. Pain shot up Jonus' HAR link, and he felt internal damage, but he couldn't let that stop him. As Lang leapt forward, he dodged again, and impaled him on a blade. Stunned and in agony, Lang could only watch as an uppercut backed by the Katana's full robotic strength lifted him ten meters off the sand, with the other blade-hand slicing a rent in his chest armor. The sound baffles in front of the stands only partly protected the fans from the awful sound of metal tearing metal, and those who had not anticipated it winced and covered their ears. An impressive backhand from Menaza sent Trent reeling, and the next punch laid him on the floor face up. As he flattened the sand under him, Trent spoke to Menaza: "I'm sorry I underestimated you, Raven. You have your wish." Laughing, Menaza threw a sidekick to catch Trent as he got back up -- and if he had human eyes, they would have widened in surprise. Trent curved and twisted with blinding speed, grabbed the Shadow's leg, and spun it; the Shadow turned a full 360 degrees before it too greeted the sand. Trent's Jaguar was already on the move: it ran to Menaza's fallen form, dragged him to his feet, and gave him a stab with both metal claws. A swipe at the Shadow's knees, a leap to knock it down, and a spinning drop that put both legs on the Shadow's back before it hit the floor. Within ten seconds, the tide had turned completely. Jonus blocked a heavy kick from Lang and, in return, activated his own special "enhancement" on the Katana design: the super-powerful Rising Blade he had unleashed in his grudge match with Trent. The Electra fell back before the expected three swipes with the Katana's bladed hands, but he was unprepared for the fourth (and fifth) hits, using the other hand for added momentum. As it landed, the Katana slid forward with one leg extended, tripping Lang's Electra. However, Lang was up in a flash and, since he was now almost touching Jonus, the lightning bolt he called from a blue sky with billions of volts of electric potential hit them both. They lay stunned on the sands, and at that moment, President Kreissack released the jet fighters. Trent's moment of victory was quicky over as the jets riddled him with armor-piercing bullets. The surprise was more damaging than the actual attack, but it allowed Menaza time to get up and regain the offensive. He managed to get in one solid kick before Trent was back, flowing right past a followup gut punch to throw the Shadow over his shoulder. On their return trip, the jets broke formation to equally attack Jonus and Lang as they lay dizzied. It had the same effect on the two competitors: they were shocked back to painful consciousness, got up, and rushed to the battle still raging on the other side of the Desert arena. Menaza ducked a high kick from Trent, rolled backward, and came up swinging -- or at least he intended to, before a Razor Spin from a completely unexpected direction almost put him off his feet. Trent in his turn was surprised, almost caught by Lang rushing forward with lightning flashing between his hands, a two-handed uppercut backed by considerable voltage that set Trent back on his heels. From his position out of the battle, trying to regain his footing, he saw what happened next. Menaza's Shadow darkened for another shadow attack, Lang turned to face him, and Jonus leaped straight upward. His foot caught the Electra across the side of the head, and whirling as he landed, sliced the Shadow right through the chest as it gathered energy. Caught during its moment of weakness, Menaza's HAR convulsed with pain, emitted a warning tone loud enough to wake the dead, and activated the ultra-bright warning lights along its armor plates that every pilot hoped never to see. The reactor meltdown warning had a built-in timer of five seconds, and jerked everyone into instant action. Trent and Jonus turned and sprinted for the corners of the arena farthest from the Shadow. Cameras from LBC and every other network rich enough to buy a spot at the finals wavered in indecision, most settling on the Shadow after a split-second decision. Technicians inside the control bunker worked frantically to disconnect Menaza from his HAR link and erect the light/sound barriers on the forcefields. At T minus one second, the fields flared into a totally opaque, solid blue, Trent and Jonus were hunkered facedown to mitigate the blast's effects, and all the cameras and sensors pointed to Menaza's bot. Unaware of his position, Lang rolled to his feet, scanned the horizon, and stopped like the proverbial deer in the headlights. WHAM. To the outside observers, the forcefields surrounding the Desert arena on all sides flashed a blinding white for one instant, then two seconds later returned to their normal transparency. It was the biggest disappointment of the match. To the camera crews and the billions watching around the solar system, the sun had briefly stopped by for a visit as the microfusion reactor inside the Shadow collapsed, the barest fraction of its power that had escaped the shields releasing the energy of a low-level nuclear bomb. To mark the Shadow's passing there was only a patch of glass underneath his feet, and an extremely shaken Raven Menaza awake inside the bunker. What had once been Lang's Electra was spread across two hundred square meters of sand, and the remaining two contestants peeled themselves off the ground, shaking off more than their share of sand. A small portion of Jonus' mind noted that another benefit of being in a HAR was that he did not have to blink to clear his vision; optic sensors are nowhere near as frail as the optic nerve. Several seconds passed in silence, and then the two began to talk, the peculiar kind of speech that only the telepaths in the old stories (and the HAR pilots) really understand. Jonus. "And now, the moment we've all been waiting for." Trent, rising to a fighting stance. "One thing before we begin. At school I attempted to create my own fighting style, as the old masters had. An abysmal failure, but its highest technique is still my secret weapon. "Yomi." Jonus' eyes reflexively widened - but he had no eyelids to widen, and so his Katana tilted its head up slightly. "An old name, but appropriate." The Japanese word "yomi", loosely translated "mind-reading", had its roots in the early computer games of the last century; a player with it could seemingly predict and preempt his opponent's every move. Bowing, Trent prepared for battle. "It is an honor to fight with you." Jonus returned the bow and courtesy to the letter. "The honor is mine", and on the last word he was moving at full speed, his blades flashing in the sun and one arm extended for a vertical slash to cut through Trent's guard -- and in the split second before it connected, the "yomi" was revealed. Trent literally blurred, sending up a spray of sand as he blocked the blade with both hands and skidded backward nearly to the wall. Jonus knew his only chance was to present a series of attacks that could be dodged only if the pattern was known beforehand, and he let his instinct take over, lashing out with the insane speed that his muscles had never really known but his brain had realized for years. A swipe with the left blade, a low sweep kick, two blade jabs, kick to the head, backfist with right blade, land and push off with left blade-hand for a double-footed charge, land, uppercut, jump backwards, Rising Blade, all faster than Lang could have ever dreamed of attacking. The strength and awful clarity of desperation, of seeing his chance to make it big once again slowly slip away, were his. Menaza, looking over the technicians' shoulders, dropped his jaw in open astonishment for the first time in years, shamefully aware that he was outclassed. A blur of white paint and chromed metal, and Trent backflipped over the swipe and low kick. One hand deflected both jabs as he landed, even as he threw himself into a roll to the side and the uppercut hit freshly vacated air. Jonus turned, seeing a golded opportunity as Trent recovered with his side facing him, and his Katana revealed its special modification: the Rising Blade, faster and more powerful than any other robot could have done. Against an opponent as experienced and resourceful as himself, there would have been no defense: caught off guard against the Rising Blade, the move impossible to dodge, and more difficult to defend against because of his tailored enhancements. However, one crucial fact had slipped his mind: Trent was the one fighter who had already seen the new Rising Blade. The Katana spun as fast as the eye could see, but its supersharp, armor-piercing monofilament blade caught only air. Trent had not recovered from his roll facing sideways, he faced his opponent head-on; now he bent backwards, the blade easily 30 centimeters or less from his thirty-meter robot form, streaked one arm up, and actually grabbed the arm at the wrist, behind the blade. With a whine of overstressed servos, he spun a quarter-turn before releasing Jonus face-first into the wall with all the speed his own Rising Blade could muster, so hard he actually rebounded from the forcefields to land on Trent's knee. Grabbing the Katana with both arms, he threw him over his shoulder all the way to the other wall and leaped after him to continue the offensive. Jonus got up, blocked a swift kick to the ankle and a punch to the jaw, and launched a powerful right hook of his own, straight out of a boxing nostalgia film (since boxing was outlawed in 2063, it had acquired a semi-mythical quality). Trent decided the time was right to demonstrate not only his superior speed, but his complete mastery, and punched the blade-hand right back. Pain lashed out in his hand as armor plate was sheared off by the blade that was definitely not meant to be punched; a shock ran down Jonus' arm and into his toes, but the sensation was short-lived and soon replaced by a far more painful one as Trent raised one leg and delivered a barrage of kicks to Jonus' exposed head and midsection. He fell and did not rise again. Trent raised a hand in victory, the forcefields winked out, the audience went wild, and Kelly Suzis reported the results of the match breathlessly to four hundred million potential viewers on system-wide holovision. For Trent, still on an adrenaline high, it was too much to take on all at once. The crowd, the victory and the future washed over him in waves. For the first time since his escape from WAR's academy, he was master of his domain, and his hopes were realized beyond anything he had dreamed. His brain, refusing to take in all this at once, reverted to easier subjects: Trent realized that, in his new job, he could afford to import oranges every day. |