The green light ignited. Justin lumbered his humanoid Centurionforward and did exactly what he knew his foe was doing. As he punched several buttons on his command console, a schematic of a Griffin drew itself in shades of red and gold. Know your enemy as yourself

Justin studied the display and reviewed his foe's strengths and weaknesses. Armstrong's Griffin sported LRMs fired from a launch pod on the 'Mech's right shoulder. That PPC in its right hand could mean trouble.The Griffin ,Justin read, also carried more armor than the Centurion.That accounted, in part, for its five-ton weight advantage over the Centurion.Highly regarded as a distance-hitter on the battlefield, the Griffin was a formidable foe.

Justin switched his 'Mech's main scanner mode from magnetic anomaly detection to infrared because of all the scrap metal strewn throughout the Factory. In heat-detection mode, the scanner displayed all cool blues and greens, except for the area he'd just marched his Centurionthrough. There, the latent traces of heat glowed red and yellow, but they dissipated fast.

How will Armstrong evaluate theCenturion? Justin narrowed his eyes and stepped over a barricade of twisted girders and fire-blackened ferrocrete. He'll recall that the Luxor autocannon in the right arm often jams. He won't try to sneak up on me because one of my two medium lasers covers my rear arc. He knows we both pack LRMs, so he'll probably expect a long-range duel.

Justin smiled to himself. In fact, we’ll probably spar at range, and he’ll hope my Luxor autocannon jams...

Justin picked the Centurion'spath through metal debris like a child working his way through a rusty junkyard. Through the cable hanging from his left wrist, he guided the 'Mech's huge left hand. Closing its fingers on small chunks of ferrocrete, he moved them out of the way. Unmindful of the arena cameras, he cleared himself a little space and hunkered down in his Centurion.

Justin watched for the director's green light on his dash. He remembered his pregame production briefing. If both combatants had settled in to ambush one other, which would make for a boring fight, the producer would flicker the light three times. That meant both MechWarriors had to get moving or else the production company would withhold the combatant's portion of royalties for the fight. Justin waited, but the light never ignited.

I did not think Armstrong would dare attempt an ambush. Aren't I the treacherous Capellan traitor who has defeated Wolfson and killed two other Federated Suns expatriots? Already the media mentions how Philip Capet and I have met before, and they suggest that none of the Federats here on Solaris will be able to stop me except for Capet himself.Justin shook his head, then shut his eyes against the burning sting of sweat. Fools. Utter fools.

He licked his lips and tasted the salty sweat, marveling at how the Tharkan Broadcast Company controlled the fights and their presentation. As a TBC representative had told him, three or four TBC JumpShips were getting the broadcast beamed out to them a minute or two before the public saw it. They would jump out to begin the distribution of the game tapes throughout most of the Inner Sphere. TBC had production studios built right into its DropShips so that they could add editing and extra commentary before the tapes were beamed down to a world's local broadcasting company.

Within a month, the TBC man had said, the fight will have played on every Steiner world and half the worlds of Davion, Marik, and Liao. Justin laughed to himself as he recalled the man assuring him that they'd crack the Kurita market soon. Sure,he thought, and Takashi Kurita sleeps with a teddy bear!

Justin looked up and adjusted his scanner, which showed faint blue rectangles sinking down through the ferrocrete above him. The sound and vibration baffles built between floors hide the sound of him, but they don't trap the heat.Justin looked over to his right, back where the ramp from the upper level fed out onto his floor. He saw nothing but a momentary flicker of yellow.

I can imagine the announcer. Martial music in the background rises slowly to heighten tension. "Will our champion, Peter Armstrong—Philip Capet's hand-picked fighter in the Medium Class—fall prey to the Capellan ambush?"

Justin reached out with his right hand and firmly grasped the targeting joystick jutting up from the command chair's arm. The red button on top triggered his autocannon, and the trigger under his index finger would fire the forward medium laser. Justin swallowed hard and found his mouth suddenly dry.

The gold crosshairs on his viewscreen hovered at the right edge of his forward view. Though the sensors and neurohelmet provided him with full, 360-degree vision, almost undetectable lines broke the circle into parts corresponding to his firing arcs. If he tried to target something outside a weapon's arc, the crosshairs would lose all intensity.

Do I wait until he has walked past me and then hit him from behind? Do I attack straight on and give him a chance? That would be the honorable thing.Justin narrowed his eyes. The man belongs to Hanse Davion. He deserves no honor.

Slowly, and with a stealth ridiculous for such a large machine, the Griffin inched into sight. Humanoid, with two fully manipulable hands, it looked much like a jump trooper dressed in bulky space armor. Its pistol-like PPC rested casually in its right hand. The LRM launch canister riding on its right shoulder moved up and down in fits and starts as Armstrong sighted it on probable targets ahead.

Justin laughed. This was the first time he'd ever seen a 'Mech swagger! He reached out and flicked his external speakers on.

"It's over before it begins, Armstrong!" Justin brought the Centurionto its feet, and extended the autocannon's muzzle at the Griffin .

The Griffin opened its arms wide. "Take your best shot, yellow dog." For the cameras, Armstrong made the Griffin shake its head, as though in pity. "I'll let you die fast, Xiang."

Justin's thumb stabbed down on the fire button. The Pontiac Autocannon/20 for which he'd sacrificed his LRMs and installed in place of the Luxor, spat out a cloud of projectiles. Like metal locusts, they stripped the Griffin 'sforward armor. Metal and ceramic chaff rained down around the Griffin 'slegs as the Centurion'smedium laser skewered it. A wave of amber heat washed out of the middle of Armstrong's machine as the laser melted some of the engine's shielding. The 'Mech shuddered, too, which Justin hoped was an indication that the gyro had also been damaged.

Badly shaken, Armstrong triggered all his weapons. Fire shot from the missile canister as each LRM took flight. Six of them hit and tore armor from the Centurion'sright side. The errant rockets detonated behind the Centurion,scattering scrap metal and shattering ferrocrete blocks in fiery explosions.

Armstrong then snapped his PPC into line with the Centurion'schest. The charging coils glowed for a second, giving Justin enough time to switch the scanners from heat to visual before the lightning could burn out the sensors. The artificial lightning bolt stabbed out toward the Centurion,but crackled off above it with Armstrong's hasty shot. It struck a rusty I-beam and reduced it to a puddle of slag.

Justin redirected the autocannon and caressed the firing button with his thumb. The Centurionshook violently as the autocannon vomited another metal blizzard at the Griffin .The swarm of projectiles ate into the Griffin 'sright arm, peeling armor from it like rind from a naranji. Myomer fiber strands in the 'Mech's hand snapped apart, and the PPC's charging coil exploded in a burst of argent fire. The weapon fell smoldering to the ground.