‘Don't forget to mop that up. Trev-R.’ yelled the barkeeper.

There was no one else in the place this evening. Slainte, a white-haired old troll of a man with abnormally developed arms, came over to see if they wanted anything. Trev-R ordered a bottle of Cthonian whiskey for himself and another of R-thing Cola for the kid. Along with drinks, he ordered two plates of grits and pseudoburgers as a meal. ‘You're buying, kid. O.K.?’

‘ It's the least I can do.’ Hero worship gleamed in the young man's blue eyes. ‘I'm. uh. Vayil Oonthrax, and I'm going to be a MechWarrior someday, too, Mr. Trev-R.’

‘Just Trev-R.’ The old man gave a mocking Arena warrior salute with his artificial left hand. The smooth, cool plastic of the fake hand just did not fit with the grizzled features of the man.

Vayil Oonthrax, nobleman of Solaris VII. could hardly believe his eyes. The character across the table from him could have emerged from any docu-drama or vid-cast about space pirates or MechWarriors. He saw a man of average height, but that was the last average thing about him. His face and skin had that peculiar sun-burned glaze acquired only by exposure to many different suns and some of the hard ultra-violet of space. A mane of bleached white hair grew low on his forehead and was cut in such a way that it padded the top and back of his skull but could never fall into his eyes. His deeply lined face showed an old burn scar running from chin to hairline on the left side. Where his left eye should have been, a white patch, apparently fixed in place with some super adhesive, covered the socket. He squinted out of a pale blue, almost colorless, right eye. When the other man spoke, Vayil noticed that one of his bottom incisors was missing, and the remaining teeth were stained yellowish-brown with age. He wore a ragged blue tunic and trousers, but a good pair of old brown boots.

‘Where's yer bodyguard, kid?’

‘He's ill with Kentares flu. I didn't think I'd need him just to get over to the 'Mech-stable and back.’

‘Well, that was yer first mistake. What were you doin' at the 'Mech-stable?’

‘'Mech practice,’ Vayil explained. ‘I'm in training.’

‘Ya don't look it, kid,’ growled Trev-R. ‘Ya make too many mistakes.’

‘But I've got to be one!’ Desperation entered his voice. ‘It's what my family does. My father is spending a fortune to make a MechWarrior out of me. If I let him down, he'll kill me!’

‘If ya make mistakes in a 'Mech, you'll kill yerself.’

The food arrived, and Trev-R dug in. Vayil only played with his.

‘Yes, I do make too many mistakes.’ Vayil admitted, hanging his head, but it popped up again as he had a thought. ‘Maybe you could help me...be my tutor. I could make it worth your while!’

‘Is that a bribe, kid?’

Vayil looked embarrassed.

‘Say, yes.’ laughed Trev-R, ‘and I'm your man.’ A new source of income had just appeared to him.

‘Yes! Yes! Consider yourself bribed’ Vayil bobbed up and down like a happy puppy. ‘How about 50 C-bills a week?’

As they ate the cheap but nourishing food that Slainte had brought, they tound themselves talking about many things. ‘Why did you save me?’ asked Vayil.

‘I can't stand muggers.’ explained Trev-R. ‘Thirty-odd years ago my brother Bill-R and me were ambushed in an alley on Acter by four thugs who'd have killed us for loose change. They beat us with clubs after taking our few C-bills, beat us into unconsciousness. I woke up in a hospital. My brother never did wake up. The bastards killed him.'

‘Gosh, Trev-R.’ blurted the kid. ‘I'm sorry. But thanks for helping me!’

‘Forget it, kid. Yer payin' for dinner It all works out.’

‘So when can I have my first lesson?’

‘Let's start tonight. D'ya know about the private MechWarrior radio frequencies?’

‘No What do you mean?’

‘In combat, we MechWarriors sometimes like to talk to each other. Ya can't do it on a public band, or ya might give your position away, so every warrior has his own special channel. Mine is the third down from 100 Megahertz.’

‘That would be 99.7 Megahertz.’ calculated Vayil.

‘Ya got that right Remember it! We might need to talk some day.’

‘Tell me about some of your adventures,’ Vayil demanded.

‘All right. Just keep the Cthonian whiskey flowin' and I'll talk yer ears off,’ said Trev-R with a laugh. ‘I mind me of the time I was with the Second Stives Lancers back in ought two. We were pinned down by superior forces on Pinard...’

Solaris City is the capital of Solaris VII. and the place that everyone thinks of first when Arena 'Mech combat is mentioned, but there are half a dozen other arena cities on the planet Though places like Xolara were definitely the minor leagues, they could put on a pretty good fight once in a while. When the rumors started that Xolara would stage a major Mech battle between an Atlasand a Warhammer.The MechWarriors and gamblers of all Solaris took notice.

As everyone knows, the AS7-D Atlasis the biggest BattleMech in the galaxy. It is usually reserved for generals like the Draconis Combine's Vasily Cherenkoff. For a place like Xolara to even own one was unprecedented. It went without saying that this was an old. old machine, one that had been destroyed and rebuilt time and again Still, it might have remained a frontline unit somewhere if Baron Irvxx Oonthrax had not spent a major fortune to buy it for his son Vayil.

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!’