Firen’s meager ration of mage salt lasted all of six hours before his reckless driving burned through the final grain. Then he had to scurry back to Supervisor Jacks and retrieve another canister, raising his quota to an additional three cartloads of ice to pay back the extra expense he’d incurred.

Pound for pound, mage salt was the most valuable material in the system. No one knew what went into the arcane mixture. The magic academy on InBelt guarded the recipe fiercely. But every mech in the outer belt ran on the stuff.

Condensation swelled into beads from the points of Firen’s wings before launching themselves in weightless globs about the cockpit. The inside of his mech was covered in moisture from the steam that continually bathed the device. Combined with the stifling waste heat from his belches of dragonfire into the cutting tool, it made for a miserable work environment.

He was exhausted. The only thing keeping him going was the thought of sweeping up a giggling Tarly into his protective arms.

These were utility-class mechs and would amplify the natural strength of their pilot by ten to twelve times. But the mech harness still exerted a precise fraction of resistance on a dragon’s limbs, and at the end of a long day, every muscle in Firen’s body was aching.

The resistance was how pilots knew they were approaching the limitations of their machines. Anytime Firen used the towering mechanical suit to mobilize a significant boulder of ice, he would feel his limbs shaking due to the resistance. If he somehow managed to push through the strain, the mech’s metal arms would begin to groan and tremble, warning that their mechanical limit was about to be breached. The behemoth ice blocks were still weightless, of course, but the greater their mass, the more they resisted a change in momentum, putting undue strain on the aging mech.

Firen shuddered to think what would happen if the mech was irreparably damaged. He’d be in debt for centuries trying to pay it back, forced into indentured servitude. The mining guild added a hefty fine to the top of mech repairs if they were due to negligence. It would be cheaper to buy a new mech outright than pay their exorbitant fees, but once you damaged one of their machines, it was too late. You could complain all you wanted, but no one in a nameless town on the outer reaches had the power to change anything. The guild had all the influence and all the money.

Firen had neither.

He parked his mech in the garrison at the end of a long row of others, then let the engine die with a sputtering gasp, popped his blast shield, and clambered free. This time, the mech garrison was packed with over three dozen of the hulking machines.

Late again.

When he tromped up to Supervisor Jacks at the mine’s exit, he wordlessly handed him the remaining mage salt canister. It still had a quarter measure remaining.

Jacks looked him up and down with a raised brow, then gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. “You made quota.”

“Barely.”

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Jacks grunted, holding up the canister between two claws and giving it a shake. “I’ll give you credit for these leftovers.” Then he pointed with his chin at an array of floating blocks near the door. “Don’t forget your daily ice allotment.”

Firen responded with a weary nod. He was too tired for words, but he did manage to land a thankful pat on his supervisor’s shoulder. Then he clasped a floating ice chunk and guided it out the door.

His talons momentarily scrabbled for purchase on the asteroid’s face before his wings fluttered in the ether and pressed him to its surface.

Now for the long walk home.

***

“Where is he?” asked an impatient Tutor Shessar in front of the school’s warren. The tips of her wings circled anxiously, and she eyed the main path with a frown.

Tarly was about to say something but opted for silence at the last moment, clopping her jaws firmly shut. The teacher was well aware that Firen’s shifts at the mine often went late, and it occurred to Tarly that bringing attention to that fact might draw her ire. The imposing female was acting anything but rational right now. Tarly took solace in the monster compendium peeking out from the pack on her shoulder, absently fingering the etched runes on its surface.

“Finally,” said Shessar, huffing in exasperation as Firen appeared from around the bend. The bedraggled miner teased his floating body into a tired gait, guiding his ice block before him with nudges from his snout.

Shessar greeted him with her brightest smile, but Firen didn’t have the strength to put on social graces. His eyes were solely pinned on his daughter, and once he finally arrived in front of them, he tossed his head in the direction of his back.

“I’ll walk,” said Tarly. “I can see you’re exhausted.”

Shessar’s smile faltered. “Firen, it’s so good to see you again. I, uh … how to say this …”

Firen turned to leave, Tarly already at his side with radiant eyes entranced by her father’s face.

“Wait!” Shessar possessively clutched Firen’s arm. “Tarly mentioned she was truly looking forward to seeing the mech battle tonight. Didn’t you, Tarly?”

The youngling halted and the obelisk thumped against her side, bringing to mind her obligation. “Oh. Uh, yes that’s right.” Her smile was pained.

How can I do this to him? I know how tired he gets after a late shift like this.

Tarly glanced at Shessar, catching a twinkle of that same fang on her left side. She cleared her throat, keeping one eye on the female.

“Dad, I know you’re tired. But I was really hoping to catch some of the mech battle tonight. Maybe we could get something to eat with Shessar and you could rest awhile to get your strength back?”

Firen shook his head. “I’m sorry Tar. We can do it another time, but not tonight. I’d collapse or fall asleep before we got there.” He turned to the teacher. “Shessar, thank you so much for the generous offer of the tickets, but we can’t tonight.”

Shessar’s brow tightened in concert with her grip. “Oh, I must insist, Firen. It will be an exceptional time tonight.”

However, Firen wasn’t Tutor Kang. He looked down at her claws with a face full of disdain and unflinchingly pried her claw from his arm.

“No.”

He said the word with such emphatic force that Shessar was taken aback, her jaw hanging slack.

Anger flitted across Firen’s face as he locked eyes with her, protectively stretching one wing over Tarly beside him.

Then they turned and wordlessly bobbed away.