The Ruins of Power

by Robert E. Vardeman

  Austin felt she wasn’t telling the complete truth. He hesitated to brand her words a lie, but they carried a feel of . . . untruth.

  “That phone. The portable one. Is that part of your Span-net?”

  “Here,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket and handing it to him. “Use it like a standard phone. Or you can punch one of those small blue buttons for news reports, weather, that sort of information.”

  “Fair, twenty degrees, wind from the north at ten kph,” reported the phone when Austin thumbed the weather information button.

  “The news available to Span-net is still sketchy, but when the moon stations are finished and the entire world is under a decent reception footprint, there’ll be more,” Marta said. She obviously thought more of this small communications device than she did the looming ’Mechs on the line.

  The truth is mightier than the ’Mech? he wondered. That was hard for him to believe; it sounded too much like something his father might say.

  “Do you mind if I take one for a test drive?” Austin asked.

  “Keep the phone,” Marta said.

  “Not the phone. One of those.” Austin pointed to a MiningMech standing at the end of the assembly line.

  “It might not have been checked out yet,” she said.

  “Who do I contact to find out?” Austin held up his phone, giving her the goad to reach the plant supervisor. Marta showed him how to use the device by dialing up the super. Austin spoke to the supervisor for a few minutes, then tucked the phone into his pocket.

  “All settled. The super said I could take one out, as long as I didn’t redline the equipment.”

  “They only have internal combustion engines,” warned Marta. “Not a fusion unit like on your simulator.”

  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 cal
l. 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.

  The AgroMech had been extensively refitted with autocannon and two missile launchers. Something had gone wrong with the launchers. Austin saw thin tendrils of black smoke twirling away from the unit mounted on the AgroMech’s right shoulder, betraying a serious malfunction. If the other pilot tried firing another barrage, one or two of the missiles might reach Austin. The rest would explode, causing a fiery suicide.

  Austin forced his ’Mech forward at top speed, in spite of increasing accuracy by the AgroMech’s autocannon. Smoke filled his cockpit, choking him, but Austin had no choice but to get as close as possible. If he tried to run, the other ’Mech’s autocannon would blow him to metallic bits.

  The impact of his MiningMech crashing into the other snapped his head back. Austin recovered fast. He brought the digging scoop up, then drove it at full power as if he scraped once more at the ground. Huge blue sparks leaped away when the digging edge crashed into the other ’Mech’s leg.

  This was the only chance he got at damaging his opponent. Dozens of rounds from the autocannon blew away the top of Austin’s ’Mech. Hot air and cloying dust began to fill the cockpit. He could hardly see, much less control his ’Mech. But he had to keep fighting if he wanted to survive.

  He guessed where the AgroMech had to be and charged again through the dust cloud. Austin knew his gamble had failed when the surge of heavy depleted-uranium slugs cut off his ’Mech’s legs just below the knees. His ’Mech whined in almost human agony as metal tore away. Then the engine hit a crescendo that was unsustainable. The ’Mech died around him in metallic pain.

  Austin felt the ponderous machine toppling to the side and was powerless to stop it. The impact against the ground rattled his teeth and caused him to see a collapsing black tunnel for a moment, but he never quite lost consciousness.

  “Austin, Austin! I’m coming! Are you alive?”

  “Hanging in there,” he answered Marta on the phone. Somehow, it had bounced around the cockpit and had come to rest beside his head. He pressed it to his ear. “What do you mean, you’re coming?”

  At first he thought he heard an explosion. Then he realized it was the crash of metal against metal relayed by the phone. Whatever Marta had done, it had stopped the incessant hammering of autocannon rounds into his disabled ’Mech.

  Through the clouds of dust whirling around like a tornado, Austin caught sight of an APC grinding into reverse, then launching forward again to smash into the AgroMech. The armored personnel carrier didn’t have anything to fire, so Marta was using it as a battering ram.

  And he saw the AgroMech turn an arm toward her. Smoke belched from the autocannon as they fired.

  “Marta!”

  Austin realized that warning her was pointless. If she didn’t know the autocannon fired at her, she was already dead. He frantically worked the controls of his MiningMech, hunting for something that still functioned. The digging scoop swung in a wide arc parallel with the ground and caught the AgroMech’s metallic ankle.

  Metal twisted and the hot burning smell of tortured steel filled his nostrils. Then there was only silence.

  Austin hung in his safety harness, too stunned to move. Slowly pulling himself together, he hit the releases on the web straps and fell almost a meter, cutting his hand against ragged metal. He got his feet under him, ducked around cracked polymer plate that had once been his window, and tumbled to the ground.

  He had hoped to breathe easier outside the devastated ’Mech. He was wrong. The dust, the smell of burned metal and cordite and something more that sickened him, was worse outside. Austin wiped his mouth after retching, then staggered forward, fearing what he would find.

  “Marta!” He saw the APC flipped onto its side. Flames lapped fitfully at the exposed skeleton where it had been ripped open by vicious autocannon fire.

  “I’m all right,” came the woman’s choked voice.

  She pulled herself out of the rear emergency hatch and flopped to the ground. Austin knelt beside her. She was bruised
and bleeding and filthy, but she spoke before he could.

  “You look a mess,” she said.

  He realized he was in no better condition. Somehow, that struck him as funny. Then hysteria seized him until tears ran down his grimy cheeks.

  “Sorry to lose control like that,” he said, holding his sides. They ached from laughing so hard. Austin swiped at his eyes, then found the AgroMech.

  “You really did a number on it,” he said. “You rammed it head-on.”

  “The digging claw on the MiningMech finished the job,” Marta said.

  “Finished?” Austin said grimly. “It’s not finished. Not yet.”

  He stumbled across the chopped-up field to where the AgroMech lay smoking. As he approached, he saw how it had been extensively refitted for battle.

  He picked his way through piles of smoldering scrap metal and pulled the cockpit hatch all the way open. The cockpit was empty and the enemy driver had fled. Kicking his way through the debris, he hunted for the neurohelmet.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Marta, peering in from behind.

  “The identity of the driver,” Austin said. His heart sank when he saw how badly the neurohelmet had been damaged. He held up a few wires and the melted helmet itself. Destroyed beyond forensic recovery. “There’s no way this can be used now to match brain wave patterns.” He turned and saw Marta’s expression.

  “Do you know who this ’Mech belonged to?” he asked. She didn’t have to answer. He read the answer on her face.

  17

  Palace of Facets, Cingulum

  Mirach

  1 May 3133

  “What would Manfred be doing there at all?” Austin Ortega stared at his father in disbelief. The Governor’s office was bright with sunlight but so deathly quiet that Austin could hear the hammering of his own heart. “He hasn’t gone rogue, has he? Being transferred to the Home Guard didn’t please any of the FCL, but this would be treason. Unless—” He stared at his father, realization dawning.