Thursday, December 07, 2006

Chapter 41

The Perth arena was less grand than the Datanet had indicated. While the vid feeds showed gleaming metal surfaces and a stadium packed with fans, it was obviously a computer generated overlay concealing the dirt floor, mud brick walls and scattered groups of spectators who looked more like refugees than affluent enlightened Faithful enthusiasts.
Junior was disappointed, but not depressingly so. He was learning to take nothing at face value.
Each competitor set up shop under a sun filtering tarp somewhere out in the barren ground surrounding the arena and league officials, appointed by the Benevolent States United according to their badges, patrolled the grounds with entropic rifles looking for any sign of cheating.
Junior and his pit crew of three set up Firebird under a black tarp about a hundred meters from the south entrance. Dank was verifying that nothing had shaken loose during shipping.
"Schedule posted yet?" Junior asked McComb.
"You fight second today by the draw," he answered, "First up is Lobster and Power Man."
"That should be a good fight," Junior replied, trying to concentrate on anything but his own match, "Power Man is slippery and fast, but not strong enough to get away if Lobster gets a grip on him."
"It sounds like you did some reading last night." McComb commented, "That's good."
"Who do I fight?" Junior asked.
McComb glanced down automatically and replied, "You need to beat Alpha Dog to advance to the next match tomorrow."
"Alpha Dog, huh?" Junior acknowledged, thinking. "I need to stay out of the way of the tripping cables or he'll stomp me flat."
"It shouldn't be a problem, Sir," McComb nodded, "I've seen Firebird jump."
"Dank!" Junior called, "Let's take a look at the leg motivators one more time before the first match."
"Leg motivators're fine," Dank answered, "Better'n fine. I replaced the springs n' clamps last night."

Chapter Forty One Interlude

File: Datanet Core Server Gamma Beta Sixty Three, Galactic Entertainment, Era: Modern -0, Perth Mechanized Combat Exposition, Index Earth Prime Protection Force, Data source EPPF Press Corps

A prominent High Fleet Colonel has taken a voluntary leave of absence to pursue the Southern Hemisphere Mechanized Combat Championship title. While recently promoted, he has been piloting mechanized combat suits successfully for some time. His own heavily modified, custom crafted suit, affectionately named "Firebird" features new Benevolent States United energy management technology merged with quaint rustic elements in a surprising synergy. The Faithful of Perth and all of Earth Prime wish him the best of luck in his upcoming debut professional bout against two time Western Hemisphere Semi-finalist Alpha Dog.

Junior watched as the remnants of Power Man were carted out of the arena by Benevolent States United drones. Lobster has obviously upgraded her graspers before the match, judging by the way she had ripped both arms off Power Man before kicking it over and prying off armor plating.
He felt Firebird's skeleton was up to the challenge, but he didn't relish the thought of testing that out.
Across the arena, Alpha Dog was cycling through a systems warm up sequence. At first glance, Alpha Dog was impressive. Bright metallic purple paint accented with green flames covered the armor and contrasting white and red lights seeped from the joint vents.
She was smaller than Firebird, but had thicker limbs. Junior could just make out the launchers at waist level that fired high strength tripping cables. The large feet made her look bottom heavy, but Junior suspected that just made her harder to tip over. That would be an important feature to avoid being pulled over herself in mid-trip attempt.
"Watch for a jet of steam just before the cables launch, "McComb advised.
"So a jet of steam is the tell?" Junior asked.
"Tell?" McComb asked, "What's a tell?"
"You ain't never played poker?" Junior sounded concerned.
"No," McComb answered, wondering what he'd been missing.
"I'll teach you later," Junior promised, "Only thing is, this is a 'live fire' exercise, so bring plenty of credits."
"Good luck, Sir," McComb said, stepping back as the match official walked into the center of the arena.