Fallon Deux
Fed Suns
30th December 3032
The cockpit glass of the DigLord not only filtered out the harsh UV rays of the sun, it also blocked most of the noise coming from the massive rock slicer as it slid through the local sandstone. Cutting blades made (according to the ads) to spaceship armour standards, designed for cutting through solid rock, made quick work of the soft sedimentary deposits. Getting close, Digger thought. ’Bout ten more minutes ‘till we’re done, then into town for the celebrations t’morrow. A hard earned thirst means a big cold beer, eh?
The whine of the cutter suddenly turned into a noisy clatter, loud enough to make the ‘Mech operator wince. Another bloody boulder! What sort of flamin’ mess was this place a hundred million years ago? Occasional lumps of volcanic granite showed up in the sedimentary beds laid down long ago, which was the main reason the Five Hand Ranch had hired an IndustrialMech to build their new irrigation channels. The boulders, weighing hundreds of tons, were too heavy for standard earth-moving equipment to move. Fortunately, Digger had another option.
With practiced ease, he cut power to the rock slicer, and pivoted the DigLord until its left arm approached the obstacle. With an intimidating whine, the multidrill head which the IndustrialMech carried instead of a hand swung up to speed. While not as capable of breaking large quantities of stone as the rock cutter, the multidrill could cut its way through almost anything – including ‘Mech armour, Digger remembered fondly. Strewth, that Stinger pilot is never going to forget that in a hurry!
At 65 tons, the DigLord weighed as much as a heavy BattleMech, and certainly looked armoured and intimidating. Digger knew full well though that it was no match for a real heavy ‘Mech, oe even many medius. Doesn’t mean I can’t bully any lights slow enough for me to catch though. He’d done many exercises with the Fallon militia, mainly working with their engineer company on hasty fortifications or disaster exercises, but he’d managed to use the ‘Mech’s fluid guns and mining gear to intimidate infantry. They’re still sore about Keong’s Stinger, though. Yup, I shouldn’t have powered the drill, but he was such a mouthy bastard, I swear he was asking for an ‘accident’.
Once the bounder had been chewed out of the way, and he’d finished the cut up to where the lock would be installed, he noticed it was an hour past finishing time. Turning around, he grunted. More or less as he’d expected, the dump trucks and front loader who’d been clearing the spoil were long gone. Unexpected was the ute belonging to the Five Hand manager, Dave O’Fleer, parked back from the dry canal. Digger waved the rock slicer at the car, then marched the ‘Mech over to it.
Opening the cockpit bubble let the hot, arid dusty air in for the first time in hours. Swearing under his breath, Digger dug out a pair of tinted goggles and a disreputable bush hat, and put them on. He slid down the chain ladder. There was more than usual grit in the air, much coming from the neglected spoil heaps. “Arvo, O’Fleer” he said. “That lot”, jerking an elbow at the heaps, “is going to be blown back to buggery by the time the shovel mob are back. What brings you out here?”
O’Fleer shrugged. “Figured you’d appreciate if I gave you this today.” He handed over a thick envelope.
Digger riffled the D-bills inside with his thumb. “Bit more than I was expecting. Holiday bonus?”
“Termination bonus.”
“What?” Digger stared at the manager. “But … “
“No, you didn’t do anything – this time”, the manager explained. “But we’re shutting down the project. Water allocations came through, and we missed out. Bigtime,” he spread his arms. “What can you do?”
“You can bloody well march on the buggers at Hydro and –“
O’Fleer sighed. “No use, Digger. The desal plant’s down again.”
“Those fancy goddam filters again?”
“Yup”, O’Fleer nodded. “Crock of shite they’ve been since they built the plant. Looks like NAIS isn’t quite as clever as they thought they were. Anything remotely potable’s going into the cities for the foreseeable future – certainly not wasting any on dry-land cropping.”
Digger slumped. “Shite. Shite, shite, shite.”
“You’ll get work, won’t you? Horrabin is still hiring?”
Digger spat into the dust. “I’ll root my own drillhead before I’ll work for those clowns again. Besides, no way will they hire me again. Dumb mercs might fall for the company store, but not Mum Drager’s little boy, no way. And since the war, all the reconstruction money’s gone to war-hit planets, not here. And I was just about to make the last payment on Chesty here!” He looked at the envelope again, more carefully this time. Might be enough, if I don’t pay me rent until I get some more work. Coughing, he said “Well, thanks for the bonus, O’Fleer. Appreciated. Hope things turn out for you soon. Mind, ‘fraid I don’t have enough diesel to make it back to town – got ahead of schedule, you know how it is.”
O’Fleer visibly relaxed. Probably worried I was going to lose it, thought Digger, smiling faintly. The manager thought, and then said “Look, you did a good job for us – not your fault this has fallen to pieces.” He grabbed his comm from his belt. “Jenkins? No? Where is he? Oh, doesn’t matter. I’m sending Digger up to you. Fill his tank for him, right – yes, diesel. Yup, and a decent fill. My authority.” He looked up. “Hit Depot 3 – you got enough to get there?” When Digger nodded, he continued. “I’ve told them to top your tanks – consider it a New Year’s bonus. You’ll have plenty to get back to town, and a bit extra to tide you over. Thanks, Digger – hope the new year brings us all some luck.”
The two men shook hands, then O’Fleer climbed back into his ute and drove off. The roostertail of dust spread out behind the car. Digger thought for a moment, then began climbing back up the chain ladder.
Once in the cockpit, he started up the twin diesels powering the IndustrialMech, and began to move off. A sudden fancy struck him, and he checked his control panel. His gauges showed four and a half tons of water still onboard, in six tanks. He pivoted, approached the dry canal he’d laboriously dug, and then triggered the ‘Mech’s fluid guns to empty all but one tank of water at low velocity. For once – and probably the only time – water ran down the canal.
There’s a fine line between “fill his tank” and “fill his tanks”, Digger thought. And five extra tons of fuel aren’t going to hurt if I’ve got to find another job toot sweet. He'd enjoyed the work for Five Hands; O'Fleer was a bastard, but all bosses were, and he was a human bastard. Not like the suits at Horrabin. But with the drawdown in the local economy as the Suns tried to repair its economy post 4th-War, his big DigLord was turning into an expensive luxury. With the Militia likely to pull their contract with him, he was likely to find himself proud owner of a multi-million D-bill IndustrialMech, without the funds to operate it.
"This does not look good, me old china plate."
Fallon Deux
Fed Suns
2 January 3033
Digger had reached the conclusion that New Year's was absolutely the worst time of year to look for work. Anyone not on holiday was drunk, or hungover, and you just spent your time and money trying to comm people who weren't interested in talking to you. Worse, he'd seen a couple of MiningMechs - smaller, less capable, but undeniably cheaper to run - at the DropPort being painted in Horrabin colours. Looks like there'll be no work on this flamin' planet for an honest digger, at this rate.
He'd managed a frugal New Year celebration on money that should have gone to his landlord, and was sipping on a mug of Donegal Roast instant erzacaff - it might taste like crap, but it's cheap, and after one cup of this, nothing else seems quite so bad - when an ad caught his eye.
Technician, check. Own tools of trade, check. Board paid for, check. Well, might be worth trying. Reaching for his comm, he began punching numbers.