Austin had to laugh. AllWorldComm had manufactured most of the simulator equipment and all the software. This was something Marta knew well.
“Have you ever piloted one before? A real one?” she asked.
“I… know my way around one,” Austin said, again not quite telling the truth. He had trained in battle armor, in every mobile unit available to the FCL, and in some of the Legate’s heavier tanks, but other than the simulator, Austin had never piloted a ’Mech. Any ’Mech.
“That’s good. It requires considerable experience to control one,” Marta said. “There’s no need for lateral agility in an industrial model, so the controls give you forward and back, not much lateral movement. The arm controllers are the most extensive, but they’re easier to figure out than autocannon loaders. The one on the right controls the drill and the other, on the left, the scoop.”
“I might dig or drill a little, to test out the handling,” Austin said, his heart racing a little faster. He should have found an IndustrialMech to try out much earlier. He and Dale could have really enjoyed themselves with mock dogfights.
His enthusiasm muted a little as he thought again of his brother, but Austin walked quickly with Marta to the ’Mech. She appeared to know her way around the metal giants as well as he did. The auburn-haired woman smiled.
“I was quite a tomboy when I was growing up. I know everything there is to know about a ’Mech. Even if I hadn’t been fascinated when I was younger, I’d still know quite a bit about them. I used to oversee all simulator software design work at AWC before I moved into management.”
He kept forgetting how capable she was. Her technical expertise was only one of the traits that had propelled her to such a position of power in such a short time. The other CEOs in the Mirach Business Association were much older than Marta.
“Here,” she said, rummaging about in an envelope taped to the wall behind the ’Mech he eyed with such admiration. “The activation codes.”
“Thanks,” he said, glancing at them. The sequences were simple, but then, these ’Mechs were still in-factory, with neurohelmets unprogrammed. Once they were put to work in the mines, Nagursky’s drivers would imprint their own neurohelmets and reprogram their access codes to something far more difficult to crack. Nagursky wouldn’t want just any employee jumping into a MiningMech and taking it for a joyride.
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.