The times are unbalanced. Several factors in our lives which we thought were set have had to change. BattleTechnology tries not to run serial stories, but this climactic episode in the history of our favorite bar was just too good to pass up. For those of you who like to save all the parts of a serial before you begin to read it, be warned, this is part one of three. That's the thing about truly bad days, they never let you know how bad they're going to be until it's too late. I'm not talking about bad days, the ones that start with the fritzing coffee maker burning your last packet of Steiner Triple Java, and then get steadily worse. No. Truly, awesomely bad days always blindside you with something monumental that makes you sure you're on some cosmic hit list. This day was a perfect example. It started out innocently enough. Lenth called me early to say he couldn't make his shift. Since I'm chief bartender down at the Cobalt Coil, that odd little bar on the backwater planet of Solaris, the task of filling in fell to me. But that wasn't too bad. Day shift was always light, 'cept for the lunch crowd, and we have prepacks from a few local restaurants for them so there's no cooking. I figured I'd have time to balance the receipts, maybe run the weekly orders, and not have to stay late that night. What could go wrong? I threw on some cots, slipped my gun into a back holster, then hurried down to open the bar. It seemed like I'd just been there a few hours before. I had. I switched the sign on, unlocked the doors, and fixed a pot of street-lethal coffee, figuring it was going to be a long day. It was. The morning passed quickly. Tannian dropped off the latest set of over-run newzes and 'zines on her way to work. I checked for updates on the invasion. The Clans were still quiet, though I suspected that wouldn't last. The beer delivery arrived, then the lunch rush showed up and things got busy for a couple of hours. The latest arena standings were out, so I got embroiled in a long discussion about the relative strengths of 'Mechs and those who fought in them. People came, talked, ate and drank, then left, promising to return. The Coil's like that. Of all the things I've ever been part of in my life, I think I'm proudest of the Coil. I wonder if it's as unique as I think it is. And I wonder if the InnerSphere will be a darker place once it's gone. Sarah and I were discussing the latest New Tech coming onto the market and how that might help against the Clans. Since the night she told her first story, Sarah had become a regular atthe Coil. She'd found a job Teching at one of the arenas, and had paid off most of the money she'd borrowed. (Some of us advanced her the cash for reconstructive surgery on her right hand. With the new myomer implants, she now had a grip that could pulverize brick). We were just getting started with trashing Successor House military doctrines when Kio Tonera walked in, sat down, and politely asked for a draft beer. I filled a mug, took his money, and tactfully showed my admiration of the elaborate tattoos that showed on his wrists as he lifted his drink. The tattoos were a complex intertwining of flowers and waves that I didn't understand. They told something of Kio's life, sort of an illustrated history preserved on his body. Sarah's eyes opened with surprise, and the muscles along her jaw clenched once she noticed the marks. I saw her flinch towards her sidearm, and quietly pulled her further down the bar to explain things. Being from the Combine, it's not surprising that she recognized Yakuza tattoos. You see, Kio's the bag man for the local Yaks. We pay him the monthly protection money. Some of you may be shocked. Don't be. The Yaks have been part of the Inner Sphere since mankind left Terra. They had the most adaptable structure of all the criminal organizations from Old Terra and, as far as I know, they were the only one to reach the stars. They're organized along some sort of clan or family lines that make the Free Worlds League's political web look simple. The Yaks are intertwined with dozens of planetary governments and deeply entrenched in hundreds of interstellar companies. They've spread far beyond the limits of the Combine. Blake's blood, some think they're almost another, hidden Successor State in themselves. The upshot is that on a world like Solaris, you have to deal with the Yaks. The old lady paid them monthly; she grumbled, but she paid. They didn't ask for too much. Not my problem. Kio never bothered the patrons, paid for his drink, was always polite, and collected the money without comment. His only affectation was the casual-seeming display of his tattoos. Since he was missing two fingers on his left hand, I figured he had messed up big at some point in his career. Probably how he'd managed to wind up as a simple bag man on Solaris. Kio was all right for a gangster. Wish I could say the same for his boss. Toma Sakuro was the Oyabun of the Neon Orchids, the local Yak clan, and that man could give mean lessons to a Dragon POW camp commandant. Ruthless, brutal, but graced with a serious case of megalomania, Toma ran the Orchids with the style of a paranoid bandit lord. The fact that he was a sadist and bully only helped. He got results. I figured the only reason he wasn't off running a major portion of the clan himself was that he hadn't gotten the chance. His masters knew he was dangerous, and kept him bottled up on Gameworld for their own safety. To make matters worse, he was a frustrated Mech pilot who'd washed out of the Combine military for incompetence. Not a nice man, in any respect. Toma and I seldom crossed paths. A good thing, since he hated anyone from the Commonwealth and in particular, loathed ex-Lyran military. And, for better or worse, I'm about the highest-ranked Lyran expatriate on this dirtball world within his reach. I stayed out of his way and dodged his attempts to lure me into conflict. I've had more than enough war for anyone. Kio finished his beer and asked for another. Along with it, I slipped him the month's envelope of C-bills. He bowed slightly and did me the honor of not opening it to check. After draining his beer, he quietly got up to leave. People called out to him as he climbed the stairs. He paused at the top, smiled and returned their greetings. To me, he looked happy--or at least, at peace. Then he opened the door and I set out the next round for the bar. "Pleasant enough man." Sarah commented as the door swung shut, blocking sight of Kio. The rip of submachine gun fire shattered the afternoon and the big window exploded in a spray of plastic shards. I went over the bar and hit the floor, not wanting to be trapped where I couldn't maneuver. Everyone was down, weapons drawn, looking at the entrance. I pulled my Viper, scuttled up the stairs and flattened alongside the door. From outside came the hum of an idling skimmer. With the barrel of my gun, I knocked open the door, then combat-rolled outside, right into one of those weird moments when time seems to slow down. I was on the sidewalk, facing north towards the space port. Kio, was sprawled about ten meters from me, his body nearly cut in half from close range fire. Blood splattered the cinder block wall behind him, forming stretched floral patters that called to mind his tattoos. A black skimmer hovered beside him, dust rising around the plenum chamber. I saw someone duck through the vehicle door as I came up. With a whine of revving turbines, the skimmer sped toward me. I snapped off two shots, then leaped aside. The skimmer clipped the curb facing, threw sparks, and bore in. I rolled across the pavement, knowing I was about to die. Then a brilliant flash lit the street as a laser bolt burned into the speeding vehicle. It swerved, and the wind of its passage buffeted me as it shot by. It cut around a corner in a g-turn that must have plastered the passengers against the sidewall. I stood and saw Sarah in the doorway, a KK 98 laser pistol in her hand. A half dozen other people were clustered behind her. "Thought you might need some help," she said. "I never turn down a well-intentioned lady, particularly one with heavy firepower." As I got up, pain lanced through my shin. I hobbled over to Kio. Street acrobatics and skimmerdodging are for younger men than I. He was deader than a month old glowstrip, his eyes open, a look of blank surprise etched on his face. I shut his eyelids so he wouldn't stare, then quickly searched him. Yeah, I should have left it for the planetary militia to take care of. Sure. They'd tack it up to 'Homicide by person or persons unknown', and let Toma handle it as he saw fit. Somehow, that didn't seem right. I noticed at once that the protection money was missing. This was the last stop on Kio's monthly run, so we're talking about roughly 50,000 C-bilfs. It looked like someone dusted him for the cash. But if it was just a robbery, it was a wellplanned one. They knew this was the end of his pick-up run, and they knew which day of the month to hit him. The day changed each month just to prevent this sort of thing. There are a lot of desperate people on this planet, some even crazy enough to rob and kill a Yak, thinking they could get off planet before the Yaks retaliated. "Some one has to tell Toma." Sarah looked down at Kio's body. Her face was locked in an expressionless mask. I'd seen that look too many times before. It was the look of someone who wanted to care, but couldn't allow ft. I wondered if I had it too. "May as well be me; I won't send any friend of mine into that snake pit." "Mind if I come along? I've heard you and Toma aren't exactly close friends." I laughed without mirth. "Watchdog, huh? Don't worry, I won't pick a fight." I stood and winced at the pain in my leg. "Let's walk. It's only a klick." I turned to Suntroy and asked him to pull Lenth out of bed. A few of the regular people volunteered to watch the bar, and I picked two. I knew they were trustworthy (most of the regulars are) and that the receipts would balance tonight if I ever got the chance to check. This might be just the excuse Toma was looking for to fry me. Still, I wasn't going to just call Toma and tell him what happened. Kio deserved better. As we started off, I glanced back. They were draping a monofilm sheet across Kio. I got a last look at his dead face before it vanished beneath the black plastic. "I'll square it for you," I whispered, too low for Sarah to hear. Toma lived on the east side of the central star port. It was a slum, one of the worst. Toma selected ft for the anonymity it offered, then he blew that to frax and gone. He tore down the entire block and built something that looked like a high-tech version of an old Terran Japanese castle. No one ever accused Toma of being too subtle. At the front gate, a short, squat heavy-worlder so covered in armor he looked like a miniature 'Mech asked us our business. I knew he was looking for an excuse to shoot us into very small pieces. I didn't give him one. "I'm a bartender down at the Cobalt Coil, sir. We're here to tell Mr. Sakuro that one of his people was robbed and killed outside our door." Short-Dark-and-Ugly grinned, showing off a set of battered, betel nut-stained teeth. "He'll want to see you," he said, making each word a taunt. "Go to the temple; Sakuro-sama will meet you there." The courtyard was thickly planted with trees, which, considering what the city air's like, must have cost him a fortune to maintain. As I walked across, I sawthat theywere carefully planted in rows that formed good, defensible positions. The buildings, despite the fanciful designs, were made of state-of-the-art woven metal composites that a medium-sized BattleMech would have to strain to get through. This was a fortress set to defend someone who had powerful enemies - real or imagined. Since no one on Solaris was apt to tackle him, I figured it had to be his off planet masters. Just what this place needs, I thought, a Yakuza blood feud!Then Sarah pointed out something odd. Screened by a grove of trees, a few Techs were replacing the body panels of a skimmer. Beside the stripped-down body lay a stack of old, matte- black panels. Before I got a better look, we were at the temple where a half-dozen Yak enforcers with automatic rifles slung across their backs took charge. They patted us down, took Sarah's laser and my Viper, then led us into the temple. I tagged them as amateur toughs, more for show than for effect. They didn't even find the combat knife I keep strapped to my leg inside the boot. The temple was another odd mix of styles. Holos of 'Mechs topped bronze pedestals that were adorned with Japanese characters. A large statue of a bearded man in traditional samurai armor stood by the back wall, a naked katana in his hand. Wall screens showed 'Mech battles. In each, 'Mechs of House Kurita trashed opponents, mostly Lyran. Soft martial music sounded from hidden speakers and shifting red-orange light gave the room another-worldly feel. "Hachiman," Sarah shivered, pointing at the statue, "the ancient Japanese God of War." "Yes. My patron," Toma said as he entered from a side door. I'd seen him before and still wasn't impressed. For a man who wielded so much power, Toma cut a disappointing figure. He was short and squat; with bulging eyes, a wide mouth, and sagging jowls. His hairline was receding and his sparse, black mustache was lost against his dark skin, making his upper lip look dirty. You'd think he resembled an over-sized toad stuffed into a kimono until you looked into his eyes and saw only cold madness. Then you realized what you were dealing with. I knew I had to play the whole scene very carefully. Toma often killed bringers of bad news. I didn't think he and Kio were close, but you never knew what might set Toma off. He was crazy, though the madness was primarily focused on his mania for 'Mechs. Toma sometimes braved the arenas. He always went in backed by his three lieutenants, and never fought when he didn't have a substantial advantage. So far, he hadn't lost. I bowed, and he returned the gesture with the minimum possible courtesy. "Speak!" His voice was thick with contempt. I ignored the jab, determined not to be drawn into conflict. "One of your men, Kio Tonera, was killed and robbed outside the Coil. We saw the vehicle the killers escaped in." Toma dismissed my words with a negligent wave of his hand. "I will find the black skimmer you speak of." His lips twisted into a condescending smile. "The Neon Orchid will take its revenge. Do not worry; I do not think you are involved. Considering your war record, I doubt you capable of such bravery." For an instant, I felt a wash of white-hot anger at this tinplated swaggering crook washed through my mind. I fought it back, knowing it was what Toma hoped for. By now, you'd think I'd be used to it. I'd stood court martial without saying a word; there was no way this chunk of human refuse was going to force me into doing something stupid. "By your leave, we go," I said as I turned. Then the retros ignited in my mind. How did he know the killer used a black skimmer? "On the skimmer outside, did you spot the laser burn on the frame?" Sarah's whispered words confirmed my suspicion and it all fell into place. Fury overwhelmed my good sense. Anger heated my face as I spun back towards Toma. It came out in a single burst., like a salvo of autocannon fire. I never stopped to think of what I was doing. Kio had been one of us. And in the Coil, we watch out for our own. "It must take a lot of money to run this place and your pet 'Mech lance," I snapped, "so this is how you finance it, stealing profits in a way that your masters won't spot. How many of your own people have you killed in the years you've run the Orchids?" Toma recoiled as if I'd slapped him. "Your accusations mean nothing. Even if you leave alive, who would believe you, or act if they did?" I saw him reach for a weapon in the folds of his kimono. Sarah swore under her breath and I cursed myself for bringing her into this. I thought of going for my knife and trying a throw before he butchered us. But I realized that even if I killed him, we'd never fight our way past his guards outside. A needier cleared the crimson fabric of his kimono; it looked as big as a laser cannon. Then I spotted a possible way out. I laughed. "That's it, kill two weaponless people! So much for the famed Kurita honor! I thought even a failed Dragon warrior had some measure of bushido!" My words cut like knives. Toma turned purple and for an aching moment, I thought I'd overplayed my hand, and he was going to kill us. So I did the only thing I could. I played on. "If you kill me now, you'll never know if you could have beaten me in the only honorable way. With one of these!" I swept my arm through one of the hologram 'Mechs. Rainbow light scattered across the room from the worn stone in my old regimental ring. The look of insane fury ebbed from Toma's face. An evil smile of triumph swept it away. "You have a 'Mech?" he asked. I nodded. "I always suspected as much." His eyes shone with pleasure. "Very well, in four weeks you will stand against me and my lance of master warriors." Toma shouted a word in Japanese, and all the hologram displays winked out. A single large holo materialized in the room's center. It was a one-tenth scale model of Toma's lance of arena 'Mechs. In the front rank stood three machines: a gun-metal gray Griff in, a flat black Dervish, and a Wyvern painted with red and orange scales. Behind them stood Toma's Grand Dragon. An elaborate floral design said to mirror his body tattoos was painted across the 'Mech's armor. Each of the 'Mechs bore the Neon Orchid emblem on the torso. Toma walked around the display, his chest puffed out with pride. "I do not care what sort of machine you pilot," he snapped, still admiring his creation. "We will destroy you. If you fail to show or attempt to tell anyone about your groundless suspicion, I will bomb the Coil. Go and prepare. I will sell the scrap from your 'Mech and raise a fitting monument to Kio!" I stalked out. Sarah followed. She must have sensed my mood because she didn't say a thing. We collected our guns and kept going. The skimmer was gone, the only real evidence of Toma's treachery destroyed. "Sorry about that crack on ex-Dracs and broken honor," I said once we were clear of Toma's fortress. "It's history." She flexed her rebuilt hand. "I've learned to live with the consequences of my actions. What now?" "I'll see you back at the Coil. I've got things to see to." I avoided looking at her. She stopped and stared at me, her hazel eyes piercing my heart. "You can't do this yourself." Her words were soft but emphatic. "I can't ask anyone to share my grave," I countered. I knew what she wanted. She was waiting for me to ask for help from her and the rest. I couldn't. Not because of pride or any such foolishness. The Coil's special to me, as to its clientele, because of the people who make it that way, the ones who share their lives and dreams. I'm not really one of them. I'm a fixture, like the tables and taps. In a way, perhaps, I'm a catalyst for what happens, but the magic is beyond me. I left Sarah and quickly headed down a narrow side street, walking without thinking, knowing my feet would guide me where I had to go. Two hours later, I was there, standing in front of a decrepit warehouse. It was a derelict district, the neighborhood nearly abandoned as the city grew away from it. Weathered trash littered the alleyways and faded graffiti stained the decaying walls. The whole place felt tired, the buildings weighed down by broken, forgotten dreams and hopes. From my pocket, I took out an old key-card. For a long while I stared at the slice of plastic in my hand. It brought back so many memories. I'd rented the building years ago, a century's lease for a handful of C-bills. I hadn't been back since. The information printed on the card was long worn away, the plastic itself discolored with age. One corner was broken off, taken by a bullet in a fight ten years ago. In a word, the card was old, and well past its useful life. As I slotted the card, I figured it must have lost its magnetic coding. I was wrong. With the scream of un-oiled metal, the door rolled open. A few automatic lights flickered to life in the dusty interior as I stepped in to confront my past. It was crouched in the center of the cracked cement floor, its outline shrouded by crumbling plastic tarps tied with yellow cord. Huge and silent, Apshai, my BattleMech, waited for me. She'd last moved over a decade before when I piloted her into this tomb, swearing I'd never take her out again. Apshai had been in my family for centuries; her name came from an ancient god of insects. I always thought it appropriate: Marauders all look like some sort of giant, killing bugs, with their claw-like arm-mounted weapons pods and backbending legs. When I was drummed out of the service, a sacrificial victim on the altar of political necessity, the family refused to take her back. They said it was because she was stained with my dishonor, and no proper warrior would choose to pilot her now. But I think the real reason was that Apshai was a token. By giving her to me, the family was letting me know I was forgiven in their eyes. They probably expected I'd join a mercenary company on the other side of the Inner Sphere to make a new name for myself. I couldn't. The memories of that last devastating battle were too vivid. When I grounded on Solaris, I stored Apshai and planned to sell her some day. Some day never came. Now I had to ride her into battle again to defend something that mattered to me. I was sure I was going to die, but at least my friends would live. I walked towards her; fragments of the decayed plastic crackled under my feet like dead leaves. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light. I set my hand on the pitted armor of one of her legs. Apshai was cold; her star-hot engine hadn't burned in years. I had no illusions. I hadn't been inside a 'Mech since longer than most of my opponents had been alive. I'd be facing four opponents who, while not top-ranked gamesmen, knew their jobs and were in top flight machines. Apshai still bore the scars of that last desperate retreat from Severn. I wondered if the fusion plant would still fire up, or how many systems might have quietly died in the dark years she sat alone. It felt as if I'd betrayed her by letting her rest forgotten for so long. My eyes stung with unshed tears. "How will we fight, old girl?" A hard knot twisted my stomach as I reached for the access ladder. "With some help from your friends," a voice echoed from the doorway. I spun, reaching for my Viper, thinking that Toma had decided to take the easy way out. A crowd filled the door. I lowered my gun. Sarah was there, supporting a very sicklooking Lenth. I spotted Donovan with his ridiculous saber, and even the Toshiros, whom I'd thought had shipped offplanet. Most of the regulars from the Coil were here. "I followed you," Sarah quickly explained, "and called the rest when I saw where you were going. They all came, I didn't even ask. We'll help." "I've got a few ideas on how we can improve the output of your old Vlar engine," someone shouted from the back. Ling MacCormack shouldered her way to the front. "I think I can hustle a pair of pulse lasers to replace your old beam lasers," she said, adjusting her short cigar with her teeth. "Dust is bound to have pitted the focusing mirrors of those artifacts." More voices chimed in, offering advice and hardware. They suddenly surged forward and swarmed over Apshai, shouting out to each other as they poked and examined the old war machine. I laughed, feeling hope swell within me. I was a part of the magic after all. "Someone call Tsing Tao, and have a couple of kegs delivered; I'll track down food. Sarah, you're in charge of overall operations. Ling, handle any one who thinks they can do Tech work. Pherson, I'll trust you to deal with supply, and give you my account number; it's got some C-bills to work with. Lenth, get back to bed." I found myself yelling in my old parade ground voice. Years seemed to slough off my shoulders like spent heat shielding. Things got quiet and everybody looked to me. I shook my head and glowered. "Move it, people, we've got to be combat ready in four weeks!" With whoops and war-cries, they fell-to as Sarah, Pherson, and Ling shouted, trying to impose order on the friendly bedlam. I shook my head, chuckled, and quietly walked outside. I looked toward the setting sun. The red light burned my eyes, and I looked away. In that moment, I thought I saw a stocky figure in a Davion Home Guard Jacket by the doorway, but when I blinked, he was gone. I knew we had a lot of work to do. Even if we succeeded in resurrecting Apshaifrom her own ashes and I managed to kill Toma, I still might have to deal with his masters. But that was yet to come. That evening, I felt better than I had in years, even with the spector of Toma and his killers looming over me. My friends were with me, and I couldn't think of anything more worth dying for. End of Part 1 Tales of the Cobalt: Part 2 Tales of the Cobalt Coil: Part 3 Back to BattleTechnology 18 Table of Contents Back to BattleTechnology List of Issues Back to MagWeb Magazine List © Copyright 1992 by Pacific Rim Publishing. This article appears in MagWeb.com (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com