CHASE 3: ARG (part 1)

After the final battling in the city of Dara, I arrived in the city of Arg that evening. I drove my jeep for about half a day, relying on the terrain information for planet Melkia stored in Berserga’s mission disc.

Because Berserga had previously engaged in combat on Melkia under the hands of its previous owner, Sha Bak, it had terrain information for a radius of 20,000 km centered on Coboto. Therefore, I was able to travel around the towns. I was about 200 km north of Dara. By the time I arrived, the five 3-liter jerry cans of gasoline I had loaded as spare fuel were empty.

The city of Arg was in a huge crater surrounded by sand and rock. Melkia had many craters on its surface, especially in the northern part, where industrial cities were once concentrated. Most of them were built during the Hundred Years’ War as a result of attacks by the Balarant Space Army. However, according to the data, this crater was created several years before the ceasefire when a military facility suffered a major accident. Arg is a layered city that was built using this as a base just before the ceasefire.

A layered city has a structure unique to Melkia, where the opening of a crater is covered and the inside is used as living space. Usually, the living space is divided into several levels, and buildings stand on the surface of each level. Arg is relatively large among these layered cities, with three levels contained within a crater about 10 kilometers in diameter and three kilometers deep.

This crater has only four passages on its perimeter that lead to the inner city. I entered through the gate on the south side. I passed through a long tunnel-like passage with exposed rock surfaces, and the orderly cityscape of Arg soon spread out before my eyes.

A large avenue radiated from the center of the city, and tall buildings stood along it. They were connected by passageways like bridges in places, giving the impression that the entire city was a single building. However, this city also bore the raw scars of the Hundred Years’ War. Buildings that once reached the ceiling had lost their upper halves, as if they had been smashed with a blunt object, and bent steel beams protruded from the top.

As a remnant, steel beams hung down from the ceiling of the city as if reaching out to the buildings below. Some still retained their original shape and were desperately clinging to the ceiling, which looked like it was about to collapse. It was not completely closed in the center, perhaps because development was halted midway through, and through the gap you could see the sky, dyed red by the sunset.

This was the city located on the top level of Arg.

I drove the jeep from the south gate to the center of the city. According to a rusty sign at the end of a bent iron pillar, this avenue was called Layton Street. It must have once been a major artery, but now it was nothing like it used to be. It was probably the area most heavily attacked during the war. There was no sign of people around, and rubble was piled high on the road.

I dodged the piles of rubble with exquisite handling and passed Layton Street, and suddenly the road disappeared about 20 meters ahead. I slammed on the brakes. The jeep stopped just in time, emitting the unpleasant smell of burning tires.

The central part of this first floor was not completely closed off as a ceiling, and there was a vent about 500 meters in diameter. A stuffy heat was rising from the underground through the vent. I heard that there were many volcanic belts in the northern part Melkia, and that many cities used geothermal energy. Arg was probably one of them.

I heard at the checkpoint just past the west gate that the city’s arena was on the second level. I drove my jeep along the edge of a wind tunnel and entered the main tower, the only structure on the first floor that stood as if it was supporting the ceiling.

The main tower ran through the city in a straight vertical column, and most of the traffic between the floors passed through it. For this reason, the main facilities related to the city’s politics and economy were concentrated around the tower.

I drove my jeep into a large service elevator next to the main tower and descended from the first floor to the second floor in one go. Although it was called an elevator, it was more like a gondola, consisting of only four pillars and a floorboard. I descended about one kilometer in about three minutes. My ears started to hurt. As we descended, the temperature rose. The second floor was about five degrees warmer, compared to the chilly first floor.

The elevator stopped at the ground level of the second floor. I drove the jeep out and parked it in front of the Chamber of Commerce headquarters, which was set up next to the main tower. I took out the key and entered the headquarters through a wide glass door.

Arg was still an old-style town run by the Chamber of Commerce. To participate in battling, you needed to register as a player here. At the counter, a female staff member gave me a map of the town and a registration card. The registration card contained data on my body measurements and physical characteristics.

Kain McDougal. 20 years old. Height 176 cm, weight 65 kg. Hair brown.

“As always, you seem to be in good condition.”

A man called out to me, pretending to be elegant. He had his hair slicked back, a thin face and goggle-like glasses. He was wearing a dark brown pressure suit around his thin body, but at a glance, I could sense that he had a different aura from someone involved in battling. His name was Mima Sencutter. I knew him. He called himself a wandering matchmaker, and he’d been pursuing me relentlessly.

“You’re here, too?” I asked.

Mima spoke in a gentle tone. “Blue Knight, I heard a rumor that you had come to this town. By the way, have you decided on a matchmaker yet?”

“No, not yet. I just arrived. I just got my registration slip.”

“How about it? Still not interested in trying out our A.T.?”

“Rising Tortoise — that tortoise custom type?”

“Yes.”

“You’re so persistent,” I told Mima as I tucked the registration slip into my breast pocket. “I’ve said it many times, but I have no intention of riding any A.T. other than my Berserga.”

“That’s a pity,” Mima said with a blank look, as if wearing a mask. “You have the skill to freely control a Berserga, which is exclusive to a giant Quentian. I’d be happy if you could lend your strength to our team. Are you going to make a deal with a matchmaker the usual way?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, be careful. It seems like the bosses in this town are pretty rough. So…I’ve got some interesting information for you,” Mima added.

“Information? How much do you want for it?”

“Well…” Mima said, raising his hand to his glasses, “how about 1,000 Gildans?”

“That’s expensive.”

“It’s something to do with the Black A.T. I think it’s worth it.”

“A rumor about him…” I was startled. “You owe me 5,000 Gildans from that time in Wada. Take it from that.”

“Very well.” Mima laughed. “There should be a wandering Votoms pilot named Kevec in this town. Look for him. He seems to have information on the Black A.T.”

“I see, I’ll give him a look if I get the chance.”

“Well, if you find out anything about the Black A.T., please let me know.”

“By that time, it should be scrap.”

With that, I left the Chamber of Commerce Headquarters. I drove the jeep past the side of the main tower onto First Street, which runs toward the outer wall of the town, and after driving about a kilometer, a circular building came into view. It was Arg’s arena.

I entered Rober Street, a major shopping strip heading east from the side of the arena, and parked my jeep next to a bar with a large sign saying BH. A bar near an arena is a popular gathering place for Votoms pilots. It was the perfect place to satisfy my hunger and find information about the Black A.T.

BH was on the first floor of a building that stretched almost to the center of the second level. The dirty windows were covered with curtains, so the inside was not visible. I opened a wooden door and entered the bar. It was dimly lit, but it felt quite spacious. The previous customers, who were clearly Votoms pilots at first glance, were making a lot of noise with an oddly cheerful energy. However, everyone’s gazes were sharp. It made me realize how skilled they were.

“Give me something to eat,” I said to the bartender, sitting at the counter without hesitation.

The bartender opened the menu with a friendly smile. “What would you like?”

“What’s good?”

“The synthetic bacon steak, but it’s expensive at 12 Gildans.”

“I’ll take that,” I said, and the bartender smiled.

“Here’s a deposit.” I took out a 50 Gildan coin from the waist pocket of my pressure suit and placed it in the bartender’s palm. “I don’t need any change. Instead, I have a few questions.”

The bartender quickly put the coin in his pocket. “Are you a drifter? When did you get here?”

“Just now.”

The bartender rubbed his hands together and said, “Well, you don’t know anything about this town, do you? I’ll tell you all about it. Do you want to eat while I talk, or…”

Just as he said that, another voice arose. “Hey, are you a drifter?”

A loud voice came from the table in the back, and a man wearing a Votoms suit stood up. He was a big man, about two meters tall. And fat. His neck was almost completely embedded in his torso, and his pressure suit, which was tightly attached to his body, looked ready to burst at any moment.

The man approached. His eyes were slightly red, but his feet were firm. At that moment, the bartender whispered, “Be careful. Whenever he sees a young guy like you, he’ll pick a fight and force you into a real battle. Whenever he finds someone young and weak, he uses them as bait to survive. It’s been going on since before I came to this town…”

“What are you talking about? You!” The man threatened the bartender.

“Well, I’m going to go make some food…” the bartender replied so the man could hear clearly, and retreated to the back of the counter.

“You’re a wandering Votoms pilot?!” the man said as he sat down next to me. “You don’t look like a Votoms pilot at all. Wearing a bandana like that, you look like a sleazy woman.”

The man put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you hear that the payouts in this town are good? But you better forget it. This town has an abnormally high battling level. Look at the people around here. They’re all tough guys. So I thought I’d take care of you.”

“Take care of me?”

The man grinned. “Yeah, let’s team up and fight a real battle. No matter how weak you are, I’ll make you more money than any other Votoms pilot.”

“Is this a setup?” I asked.

The man’s mouth twitched and he leaned forward slightly. “Cut the jokes. This is business. You need brains to survive in a town like this. You can’t just be a former soldier who only knows war.”

Behind the counter, the bartender waved his hands at me, signaling, “Just brush it off and walk away. If you refuse, you’ll play right into his hands.”

But I said, “No way.” I pushed off the man’s hand and rejected him.

“You bastard! How could you say that? I was just trying to be nice!”

“I don’t need your meddling,” I challenged him.

“Let’s settle this,” the man said with an angry look on his face. “You came to this town for money, didn’t you? Have a real battle with me. You’re a drifter. I’ll arrange a matchmaker for you.”

“So far, everything’s going according to plan.” I sneered, further provoking him.

“What!?” The man bared his gums. His fist, with its fingers three times as thick as mine, began to shake. “Now that it’s come to this, I’ll have to make you fight!”

I looked at the man’s face with cool eyes and a mocking expression. “I don’t mind a challenge. But it has to be right now. Or do you need some time to go rig the arena?”

“Come on, let’s do this,” the man yelled, his ears glowing red. “Get outside! Someone bring me my A.T.”

Hearing this, several men in the bar rushed out.

The man glared at me. “You’re using your A.T. without a bet? If I win, I’ll take your head.”

“If I win, you’ll answer my questions,” I answered.

The man sneered. “Whatever. You’ll be a dead body in a little while.”

Such simple men are easy to manipulate, I thought to myself with a smirk. To get information from Votoms pilots, you can’t use weak threats. After all, they don’t think they’ll die. But even so, they have absolute trust in their A.T. The A.T. is the source of their power. It’s only when it’s destroyed that they feel fear.

That’s why I provoked this big man. According to the bartender, he’d been involved in some pretty nasty battles. He probably knew a lot about the local situation. With a little luck, I might be able to get information about the Black A.T.

When I heard the heavy footsteps of an A.T. from outside the store, the man said in an intimidating voice, “Looks like my A.T. is coming. Let me see yours.”

“I won’t use an A.T.” I said, pulling out my gun from my waist. “I’ll use this.” The man’s narrow eyes lit up for a moment.

“Armor Magnum?! That gun has been discontinued. Can a shrimp like you even handle that?”

“This’ll be more than enough for you.”

The Armor Magnum was the standard pistol of the former Melkia Front Armored Cavalry. The smallest weapon for use against A.T.s, with enough power to penetrate 20mm armor plating. It could be used as an anti-personnel shotgun if it fired shotgun shells, but because it used the same liquid powder as the explosives in an A.T.’s heavy machine gun, it had many drawbacks, such as a serious recoil and a small number of rounds, so it was discontinued five years ago. The unique style with a triple magazine on the bottom of the barrel is unforgettable once you see it.

The footsteps of the A.T. had stopped outside the bar.

“Seems your A.T. has arrived.”

“I’ll crush you. Don’t you dare regret it after you’re dead,” the man said, shaking his huge body and lunging outside. I followed him and approached the door.

“Wait.” A voice came from the back. I turned around and the owner of the voice came toward me with a glass in hand. The man’s messy silver hair and deep wrinkles stood out. He was wearing a thick cape with gold decorations on his shoulders.

“What do you want?”

“You think you can win with just that Armor Magnum? He may look like an idiot, but he’s a skilled man. Otherwise, no matter how much the match is fixed, he wouldn’t be able to keep winning in real battles. You, a Votoms pilot, know that better than anyone.”

The man’s eyes were sharp. He looked at me as if he was judging me.

“Are you a matchmaker?” I asked.

“Yes, my name is Nail Covarn. But I’m not on his team.”

“I see, so what do you suggest I do?”

Covarn grinned. “Run away.” He exhaled with smoky breath. “When I see a young guy like you who doesn’t know his limits, I can’t help it.”

“You never know until you try, that’s the way it goes.” I said, and left the bar.

The big man, already cramped in the cockpit of the A.T., shouted, “You’re late, what the hell were you doing?”

His A.T. was painted moss green, with red stripes on various parts of the body. It was rather plain for an A.T. that specialized in battling, and real battle. The head was a semicircular turret with a triple lens, so it was a slightly older beetle-type A.T., a heavy class.

“What do you think of my A.T.? Why don’t you get into yours now?”

“I don’t care about that,” I said, spitting it out.

“Then die!” He roared and closed the cockpit hatch. He took three steps back and held a Pentatrooper on his right arm at his hip. The Pentatrooper’s official name was GAT-45 min, a versatile catapult launcher for A.T.s. It could fire any bullet, from rockets to shotguns to musket rounds, as long as the caliber was right. It was originally a single-shot, but the military type he had was equipped with a six-shot standard magazine.

The beetle’s fingers moved slightly, and the muzzle of the Pentatrooper erupted with a roar. At the same time, the ground about 30 centimeters away from me was carved away with a sharp vibration.

He was a good fighter. As Covarn said, he didn’t seem to be a real battle specialist for nothing — or so I thought. But I started the battle with this man to get information on the Black A.T., so I couldn’t lose.

The beetle aimed its Pentatrooper at me. A.T.s were originally developed for anti-personnel sweeps in urban warfare. They have anti-personnel sensors, so there’s no way they couldn’t turn someone they’ve targeted into a bloody rag.

Attacks had to be aimed accurately and carefully at the weak points of the A.T. The targets are the parts with thin armor. That is, the camera on the head, the joints behind the knees, the air intakes on both sides, or —

Suddenly, the gliding wheels at the beetle’s feet rotated at high speed, and the high-pitched metallic sound of the roller dash echoed through Rober Street.

The beetle’s frame approached within five meters. The Pentatrooper’s gun barrel fired. There was only one roar. It was a single shot. I flipped my body and rolled out to the outer side of the beetle’s legs. It passed right next to me with a loud gliding sound.

I placed my left hand on the handle of the gun, steadied the Armor Magnum, and aimed it slightly below the PRSP pack in the beetle’s backpack. I pulled the trigger. With a roar, I desperately tried to hold back the impact of the gun barrel trying to bounce upwards.

Almost at the same time, the beetle’s hatch popped open, and vaporized polymer Ringer’s solution spurted out from the pilot’s crotch. The armor-piercing bullet of the Armor Magnum had destroyed the variable compressor built into the back, penetrating all the way to the pilot seat.

With a thunderous roar, the beetle fell on its back, and the deteriorated, black, dirty polymer Ringer’s solution began to overflow from the edge of the hatch.

“One shot? That’s incredible,” Covarn shouted as he burst through the bar door. “You’re one hell of a fighter, aren’t you? That arm of yours is worth at least 5,000 Gildans.” He ran up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. “Take my word for it. How about it? Want to work for me?”

I stopped Covarn. “Get lost.”

I ran up to the beetle’s side and said to the pilot, who opened the hatch and leaned forward, “Now, I want you to answer my questions as promised.”

“Promised? I don’t know anything about that,” the pilot said with a sullen look on his face. “This is just a fight. I didn’t make any contract with you.”

“I see…” I waved my Armor Magnum in front of him. “You’re a Votoms pilot, so you should know how it works. I only used one bullet in this fight so far.”

I pointed the gun at his chest. He screamed. This man seemed to be more scared than necessary of the gun that destroyed the A.T., but that was also convenient for me.

“I heard that there’s a Black A.T. in this city. Tell me, where is the Shadow Flare!?” I said in a commanding tone.

“Black A.T!? Are you one of those fools who’s thinking of killing to make a name for yourself?”

“You just answer my questions. There’s no need to say anything else. Tell me where he is and everything you know about him. That’s all I need.” I tightened my grip on the gun and pressed it into his ribs. He groaned and began to speak.

“The Shadow Flare is definitely in this city…and it’s located–”

The moment he said that, an impact ran through me, so strong it nearly burst my eardrums. The right half of the man’s face was shattered into pieces.

I reflexively closed my eyes, so I didn’t see it, but the mist and the copious amount of blood that spurted out stained my face red. When the warm liquid flowed down my face and neck and into the collar of my pressure suit, I felt a chill run down my spine.

It was a gunshot — that’s what I instinctively knew. From the way it splattered, I determined the enemy’s position and hid behind the fallen Beetle. I took out a shotgun shell from my pocket and loaded it into the magazine of my Armor Magnum.

I aimed at the enemy. There was a man standing there, his Armor Magnum still smoking, held up at his shoulder as if enjoying the sensation of firing a bullet. He paid no attention to the gun I was pointing at him.

He had short black hair and a fearless face, and looked to be around 25 years old. But there was something sinister about his sharp gaze. He returned his gun to its holster on his chest and began to walk slowly toward me from the front gate, which was surrounded by three iron plates sticking out of the distorted wall of the arena.

The iron plates of the front gate, reflecting the setting sun shining in from the hollow space on the surface, could be seen swaying behind the man. He approached, his shoulders swaying in his tight, pressure-resistant suit, and stopped right in front of me.

He was about one head taller than me. He was a standard class Votoms pilot, but he exuded an unnatural aura that made him seem twice his size. With the gun in his right hand, there was no doubt that he had killed the big man lying in front of me.

“Who are you?” I said as I stood up. Anger welled up inside me. Of course, if this man hadn’t interfered, I would have been able to find out the location of the Black A.T.

The man spoke in a sharp voice from his tight mouth. “If you want to fight the Black A.T., you’ll have to fight me first.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you,” Covarn said, approaching without me noticing. “This man’s name is Radolf Discohma. As you can see, he’s a Votoms pilot. But this bastard is known as the ‘plague god’ among us second-tier matchmakers. Because of him, Votoms pilots who have finally grown strong enough to earn some money are being killed one after another.”

“So what?” I said. Covarn’s explanation didn’t make much sense.

“Hold on,” Covarn interrupted. “The story’s just getting started. Regardless of whether they win or lose, any Votoms pilot who catches that bastard’s eye will be challenged by the Black A.T. a few days later. The rest is obvious. The day after the match, that A.T. will be paraded around the arena on this level and the pilot will be dead. My young men were killed the same way just the other day. And for some reason, I can’t challenge him to a match.“

“I see…” I turned around, “Radolf, is what this old man said true?”

“That’s pretty much it,” Radolf said with a fearless smile.

“You’re not seriously thinking of fighting this guy…” Covarn said in a panic.

“That’s what I’m planning.” I interrupted him. I missed the location of the Black A.T., but this was a good opportunity.

“Is that so?” Radolf grinned and said, “Blue Knight, if you really have the power they say you do, then you’ll be able to fight the Black A.T.”

Covarn glared at me. “Blue Knight? Are you the Blue Knight who pilots the Berserga?”

“Yes. How do you know my nickname?” I asked Radolf. “You haven’t seen the Berserga, have you?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, even your appearance. I heard about some idiots making a real battle-like fuss in the streets, so I came to check it out and found you.”

I pointed to the body of the big man lying at my feet with the right half of his head missing. “Why did you kill this man? Is there something you don’t want me to know?”

Radolf looked at me coldly. “I’m the type who acts before he thinks. Besides, I’m being paid by the Black A.T. team to keep an eye on Votoms pilots. I don’t want anyone interfering with my business.”

“I see. I heard there were guys like that in the army during the war. You’re a Red Shoulder, right?”

“I’ll handle the match,” Covarn said. “A match between the Blue Knight and a Red Shoulder will definitely sell tickets. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this excited.”

“You’re a Red Shoulder after all?” I asked Radolf. “I heard they were wiped out in the battle on Sunsa just before the ceasefire…”

“No,” Radolf said lightly. “There are survivors like me here.”

Red Shoulder’s official name was “Gilgameth Interstellar Army 24th Melkia Front Armored Division Special Task Force X-1,” and they were commonly known as the “Bloodsuckers,” feared by both enemies and allies alike. They used the M-class A.T. Scopedog, whose left shoulder was stained blood red, so they were also commonly called Red Shoulders. I’ve heard rumors about them, but they were a group of pilots worth a thousand men, and even today many people still speak the name with respect.

“Well…” Covarn turned to me and said in a calm voice. “You just came to this town, and you haven’t decided on a place to stay yet, right? You can use my office. You need to sign a contract anyway.”

I let Covarn in my jeep parked next to the bar and drove off.

A few minutes later, I was at Covarn’s office. It was about two kilometers east on Civilian Street. It was on the first and second floors of a building that extended to the center of the second level. According to Covarn, the area was a junk town, a perfect location for repairing and maintaining A.T.s.

When we got to the office, Covarn suggested that I take a shower. I gratefully accepted the offer. After all, the blood that had splashed into my face was starting to dry up. Moreover, the blood that had seeped into my pressure suit hadn’t dried yet, and had a creepy, slimy feel to it.

Covarn led me to the shower room on the second floor, and I quickly took off my jacket. The smell of still-wet blood made me feel nauseated. I wiped the inside of the pressure suit with the running shirt I had just taken off, which was soaked in blood in places.

The smell of shampoo wafted through the air. It seemed someone was already there. One of the frosted glass panels in the three shower room windows lined up next to each other looked pure white, combined with the diffuse reflection of the water vapor. I didn’t pay it any attention as I took off my clothes.

At that moment, I heard a woman’s voice, “Pff…pff.” As if she was gasping.

Why was there a woman in a place like this? I turned toward the voice. Suddenly, the white window door opened, and a naked woman with wet blonde hair stuck to her forehead leaned out.

“Ventilation…”

The woman gasped, stretching her arms and feeling the wall. It seemed that she had forgotten to turn on the ventilator, and was choking on the steam. When she twisted her torso to turn it on, her small but fully developed breasts swayed.

Suddenly, she screamed, “Caaah!” and hurriedly closed the door. She must have been startled by my blood-stained face. There was a thud as she pressed her back against the door.

“You…you saw me!”

I smirked.

After taking a shower and freshening up a bit, I returned to the reception room. When I opened the light steel door, I found a room with steel beams sticking out from the walls in places, Like any matchmaker’s office in any city. There was a cracked glass window in the back, and iron bars were installed behind it.

On the sofa in the center of the room, Covarn, who had changed into loose clothes, and the woman from before were waiting. She had now changed into light, active clothes, an overall jacket with both shoulders slightly protruding outward. Her short blonde hair was tied up on top, and her rather intense blue eyes were impressive.

She walked briskly towards me and yelled, “I finally found you, you cold-hearted bastard!”

I was stunned. “Huh?”

“You haven’t forgotten about me, have you? I took such good care of you on the way to this planet.”

“You…?”

I remembered — she was the woman who was imprisoned on the smuggling ship we stole from Balarant and returned to this planet. The one who got into a Fatty and drove away as a decoy just before landing. It wasn’t just her hairstyle that had changed. Her whole aura was completely different from back then.

“I see, you’re still alive. You were lucky.” The moment I said that, Ronni’s palm, supple and sharp like a whip, hit me on the cheek.

“Don’t you dare say that. Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered since then?” After she said that, her palm hit my cheek again. “Finally, I feel satisfied…”

With that, Ronni dropped into the sofa with a thud. As I stared blankly, Covarn recommended a sofa across the table, with a couple of holes and a spring sticking out, which was hardly a sofa at all.

Covarn gave a thumbs up and pointed to the woman sitting next to him. “So you know this one, Blue Knight? Right now, she’s the only Votoms pilot in the office. She’s just 17, but she’s good.”

I finally pulled myself together and spoke. “More importantly, have you arranged the battling?”

“Yeah,” Covarn said. “The arena is open at 1pm and 4pm tomorrow. The rest of the time is already booked. Which one would you like?”

“4pm.” The later it gets, the more customers there are.

“All right,” Covarn said, taking notes in his dirty notebook, which had ballooned to twice its original thickness.

“Radolf only specializes in regular games. Is that okay? I’ll pay you 5,000 like in a real battle. But I’ll negotiate it so that you can use the Berserga’s pile bunker. You can’t call yourself the Blue Knight if you can’t use the thing that’s killed 200 Votoms pilots.”

Covarn kept talking. He wrote down everything he said in his notebook, making sure to confirm. “Is that okay?”

“That’s enough,” I replied. “You weren’t going to change it anyway, were you?”

“I see, that’s quick.” Covarn flipped over the piece of paper on the table. It was a contract document that was already mostly filled out. He handed me a pen with a flat tip. “Sign this.”

I took it, wrote “16:00” in Gilgameth characters in the blank field for the match time, and signed it.

“Well then,” Covarn said, standing up with the documents in hand, “I’m heading to the Battling Association in the arena now…”

I interrupted. “Before that, can you tell me about the Votoms pilot who was killed by the Black A.T.?”

“All right. But let’s move somewhere else first.”

Continue to part 2

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