Like Austin intended doing now.

Grinning like a fool, he stripped off his jacket and let Marta help him into coveralls. He looked around for a cooling vest but didn’t see one. He asked.

“You won’t need one. This is an internal combustion ’Mech. Remember? Cooling fins carry away most of the heat when there’s sufficient airflow above ground. Right now, the wind’s blowing at ten kph. Remember?” She tapped his pocket where he had stashed the phone.

“In the mines,” she went on, “they use huge ducted fans to keep air circulating over the ’Mech’s exterior. The pilot never gets that hot.”

“Still,” Austin said, “it must turn sweltering after an hour or two.”

“You won’t be out that long,” she said positively. Marta made a big deal of looking at her watch to remind him she had a company to run.

“Why don’t you go on and see to your business?” he offered. “You’ve gone out of your way to show me the factory. I appreciate it but don’t want to take up more of your time.”

“Industrial Giants policy is that I have to check you out if I checked you in. By the time I could get someone to pass along the authority for you, you’d be back from your little jaunt. You won’t be out more than five minutes,” she said, her eyes boring into him. Austin knew an order when he heard it. Marta had set the time limit for him to run the ’Mech.

“I’ll hurry,” Austin said, wanting to pilot it the rest of the day. He scampered up the ladder welded on the left leg, opened the rear hatch, and slipped into the cockpit. He slipped on the neurohelmet and shivered as little as it matched his brain waves to appropriate systems on the ’Mech. The minor programming would have to be erased and the neurohelmet completely recalibrated later, but Austin supposed that Marta didn’t mind. He peered out the polymer window and felt on top of the world, even if this wasn’t a BattleMech. It was close enough.

After orienting himself, he felt confident enough to run down a checklist. For a BattleMech such lists ran long pages. The MiningMech was snorting fumes and shuddering, ready to ramble, with only one page of instructions because it lacked complex weapons systems.

“Good to go,” Austin announced. When he got no reply, he hunted for the radio and found it inoperative. A few more seconds jiggling switches told him communication was out of the question. It was dead.

Austin jumped when his phone rang. He fumbled it from his pocket and heard Marta’s voice. “Go on, take it out onto the test range and put it through the paces.”

“What’s wrong with the onboard radio?” Austin asked.

“Most MiningMechs don’t use a radio,” Marta explained. “There’s no reason to unwind a couple klicks of comm coaxial cable to hook into the cockpit unit.”

Austin tried not to kick himself. MiningMechs were designed for use underground and didn’t have standard radios. If communication was needed, the unit was hardwired with the base more like an intercom than a radio. It would be like being on a tether, the coaxial cable unreeling behind as the ’Mech cut its way along mine shafts.

“All right!” He reached the last item on the checklist, closed the hatch, and then secured his safety harness. The hatch sealed with a hiss and the internal air supply began feeding into the enclosed space.

Austin grinned like a fool as he stared out the polymer window. He was strapped into a ’Mech and ready for action. He put his feet down firmly on the pedals, gripped the joysticks, and eased the ponderous machine forward. As the ’Mech strode from the assembly building, Austin experienced a flash of fear. Something wasn’t right. The ’Mech didn’t respond properly. Then he calmed. He was used to quicker BattleMech sims. There wasn’t any reason for this one to race along at sixty kilometers per hour or agilely dodge. It was built to hunker down, drill, and scoop. That was it.

Austin still was thrilled by the sensation of immense power at his beck and call. He looked down on the world from his lofty perch in the cockpit. Lined up outside the assembly building were non-’Mech military units destined for service in the Legate’s army. APCs and a few scout vehicles were parked and waiting for drivers to whisk them off to their duty stations. But they were low-slung and impotent compared to the MiningMech. The immense strength in the legs sent a chill up Austin’s spine. On impulse, he activated the right-hand drill. It whirred futilely. There wasn’t a drill bit installed yet.

He switched to the left arm and made spastic scooping motions until he found the precise rhythm. He dug a trench five meters long just beyond the rows of vehicles until he had proved to himself that he was in full control. Austin let out a whoop of glee and straightened, towering two stories above the ground. He looked out across the test range from his lofty vantage point and set the ’Mech into motion, lumbering along at about the speed a man could run. He might not have the sophisticated viewing equipment of a true BattleMech, or even the IR and other radar ranging gear of the military units, but he didn’t need them for this trial run. The pitiful sensory equipment and his own keen eyesight were all he needed as he kicked the ’Mech to greater speed.

To meet the demands placed on it, the engine noise whined upward to the supersonic range, but Austin ignored it. The simple readouts showed he wasn’t near maxing out the systems.

When the needles approached redlining, Austin reluctantly backed down the power. He was hurrying along at almost ten kilometers per hour and totally wrapped in his own feelings of power when he heard the phone’s small chiming sound. He used his thumb to press the activator button, then recoiled when Marta’s voice exploded from the small speaker.

“Austin!” she screamed. “Answer! Answer, dammit!”

“I’m here,” he said, holding the phone away from his ear to keep from being deafened. He couldn’t figure out how to lower the volume. “What’s wrong?”

“The test range supervisor reported a rogue ’Mech on the field with you. It’s homing in fast, and it looks like it’s out for blood.”

“What do you mean?” Austin shook the phone, as if it might provide him with a more logical report if he punished it enough.

“No one knows who’s in that ’Mech. No radio response. All we know is that it’s outfitted for battle, Austin. Get away from it. Turn around and get back as quick as you can.”

“It’s too late for that,” he said. Austin spotted the other ’Mech now. A brown dot moved against the dirt of the test range, but it grew fast—and responded even faster. Austin knew the other ’Mech had detection and ranging equipment from the way it swung about and homed in on him.

His ’Mech staggered as a series of blows knocked it sideways. Austin struggled to keep the MiningMech upright. It took him a second to realize an autocannon had fired on him and the hammering sounds came from rounds hitting his ’Mech. A large section on his left torso had been damaged, but the ’Mech still functioned. He hunched over to present a smaller cross section for the other ’Mech to fire at, then found himself under missile attack. The salvo whined above and around him, but two found his right arm and blew it off.

Austin grunted as he fought to keep the ’Mech upright. If he tumbled over, he knew he was dead. Autocannon fire and more missiles would end his life in a flash. He couldn’t even eject. Such safety devices weren’t included in a basic MiningMech.

For some reason the mental image of an escape pod ejecting while the MiningMech burrowed deeper into the ground amused him. Then all humor fled. Another blast from the ’Mech’s autocannon damaged his right leg, slowing him considerably.

Austin made a quick assessment of his situation and saw it was hopeless. He had no armament worth mentioning that would combat a converted IndustrialMech. Sucking in a deep breath, he tromped hard on the pedals, jerked at the controls, and pushed the engine to overload to drive directly at the other ’Mech. His frontal assault took the enemy pilot by surprise just long enough for Austin to get a glimpse of what he faced.