Barren plains, 200 km north of Cingulum

Musasalah, Mirach

Prefecture IV, The Republic

3 April 3133

Twilight clutched at the hopeless world.

Nothing appeared as it should, and this bothered Austin Ortega. He had been on this range before, but it was different this time. Subtly different. Bloody light leaked from the sky and dribbled across the rocky plains, giving a surreal appearance. Hills in the distance vomited out black tailings as he remembered, but the uneven terrain where he guided his ’Mech showed mining activity at a variance with Mirach’s environment. To Austin’s rear lay vast chasms where surface mining had ripped the planet’s hide until all the tungsten ore had been extracted, with no effort made at mending the scars or closing the entrances to underground shafts. Walking the Centurion BattleMech over the broken field would be easy enough if he avoided the pits.

Austin had piloted this model before—many times before—and controlled it with expertise unmatched on the planet. But he had no idea what model BattleMech he faced. Not yet.

It was time to get to work.

Austin settled his neurohelmet firmly, tipped his head slightly to check balance response in the ’Mech, and felt tiny feedback tingles in his scalp telling him all was well; then he connected the hose from the command couch to his cooling vest. A soft sigh filled the ’Mech cockpit as the liquid coolant began circulating. He went from too hot to too cold in an instant. That would change once he engaged the enemy. A BattleMech generated incredible heat in the cockpit, which heat sinks couldn’t entirely radiate away.

He positioned his arms on the couch armrests, gripped the joysticks confidently, reveling in the feel of his fingers curling around to rest lightly on firing buttons, testing systems vital to the BattleMech’s operation, making certain that his weapons were ready for action. Austin chewed his lip as he studied the instruments, which relayed data around the periphery of his forward screen. He worried most about the Luxor autocannon in the ’Mech’s right arm, although he saw nothing but green lights across the board. The gun had a tendency to jam at the worst possible time.

Austin piloted the fifty-ton Centurion with confidence borne of familiarity. It was a medium BattleMech with excellent heat efficiency and good speed and maneuverability, especially suitable for this rocky terrain. He had his LRMs and two lasers, one protecting his vulnerable back, while the forward-aimed Photec laser mounted in his center torso showed only eighty percent charge. Austin worked with growing frustration before he decided he didn’t have time to coax the faulty laser. It would either automatically complete the charging cycle or not. His feet worked the pedals as he unconsciously leaned forward, pushing against the restraining straps in his eagerness to get moving. Myomer muscles stretching down the ’Mech’s legs contracted as he swung about in a full circle for one last operational check.

All set, Austin thought. He moved the throttle forward a third, and the ’Mech launched into motion, striding over the rugged landscape at twenty kilometers per hour. A quick smile crossed his lips when he saw the forward laser had charged and its indicator registered full.

The Centurion’s sensors showed infrared, full visual spectrum, and special seismic readouts. With lasers ready and full ranging gear powered up, he sent the Centurion at a forty-kilometer-per-hour trot toward an area he thought afforded decent cover for an ambush.

As he crunched along the ragged surface, placing his ’Mech feet securely proved increasingly difficult. The ground between the twenty-meter-high mounds of slag was curiously brittle, and more than once, the fifty-ton Centurion broke the surface, its armored feet threatening to plunge into huge tunnels cut to access subterranean veins of ore.

I need to map both surface and hard-rock mining regions, he thought, loading seismic information gathered automatically into his navigation computer so he wouldn’t make foolish assumptions about the stability of the ground in the heat of battle. Austin worried more now about how familiar—and yet different—the area looked. He dared not assume he really knew every detail of the slag-littered landscape around him. The terrain was revealing more potential for threat than he had anticipated. Austin took a deep breath and tasted the metallic tang of filtered air. He settled down in the couch, feeling it cradle his every contour, as he studied his forward screen, hunting for the opponent he knew so well. Nothing airborne. Clear sky. Austin knew Dale would want to make this fight real, down and dirty, strategy versus strategy on the ground, for a hands-on feel of victory.

Austin intended to make this his victory.

Flipping through the green-glowing displays, hunting for a target in his Heads Up Display, gave him a completely different view of the battlefield. His eyes widened a little when he detected radioactive mounds nearby.

Ore from a pitchblende mine? This was possible but unusual in a tungsten ore field. Austin considered this anomaly for a moment, then cranked up power to his ’Mech’s fusion plant and raced forward. The radioactive area provided a sensor-confusing hiding place for his opponent—just the sort of place Dale would use. It was reckless charging forward blindly, but surprise could carry him through to victory.

If Dale even lurked at this patch, using its radiation as a shield.

The Centurion surged forward in a heavy-footed gait devouring the landscape at sixty-five kilometers per hour. Austin worked methodically, using seismic sensors to check the ground for tunnels and weak spots that might hamper his advance. As necessary as it was to focus on his surroundings, Austin’s attention never wavered from the forward and secondary monitors as he sought any hint that Dale lay ahead.

Austin wasn’t certain what caused him to react. None of his screens showed danger. His index finger curled back on the LRM trigger, and ten missiles launched at a small, shadowy zone to the left of the largest radioactive slag hillock. One rocket went whining away as it creased the side of the mound. Seven blew up a patch of ground, sending cinders sailing high into the air to create a glittering fog in the dusk. The dull red light from Mirach’s distant sun reflected off the dark slag and produced a mist that both glinted like fresh blood and spun like silver confetti, obscuring visuals.

Austin felt a bit sheepish at wasting the missiles until his sensor alarms blared. Green-glowing, ghost-imaged infrared shimmer on his forward screen revealed heated heavy metal armor. His other two missiles had smashed directly into that spot. Molten metal had joined the slag.

First hit! He wasted no time gloating about his cleverness in detecting Dale before he had revealed himself. The battle had begun.

Got you now, Austin thought, pressing his all-out attack. This wasn’t his usual cautious approach, feeling out the situation, gathering intel about his opponent before engaging. Austin wanted this done fast, and changing his trademark tactics would bring him victory.

His forward 806c laser fired, a deadly amber-colored energy spike hitting its target squarely. Shrapnel flashed upward into the waning crimson rays from the sun, showing that a few hundred kilos of aligned-crystal steel exterior armor had been blown away. Austin gunned the Centurion’s fusion engine to go in for the kill.