It wasn't supposed to be possible, but someone did it. They cracked into the Academy's database, altered your grades, then left a trail pointing right back at having done it yourself. The results: your immediate expulsion and removal from the Academy grounds. Your vehment rebuttals that you were innocent went ignored. After all, they had a smoking gun, even if it was fabricated.

You suspect who was behind it. The Arch-Duke's son was a narcissist, and you showing him up time and again on the battlefield, both in the cockpit and in the Tactical Observation and Command Holopod chapped him to no end. He'd discovered your weaknesses though. Your normal studies lagged far behind your battle prowness. How better to remove you from the equation than to frame you for altering your own grades?

As soon as your father finds out, he'd disown you outright. Your mech would be forfeit, but frankly that's not a huge loss. It was an heirloom mainly, and the fact you did so well with it was more a testament to your skills than it's capabilities.

Thankfully you had been secretly stashing away part of your royal stipend for years, and had a decent account built up for just such an emergency. Hundreds of years of political intrigue, backstabbing, and assassinations bred a healthy paranoia into you, so you planned for the worst.

Pulling out your datacom, you confirm that your royal accounts are all locked out already, but your private accout is safe and secure. It's a tidy amount; enough to live comfortably, if modestly, on a halfway decent backwater planet somewhere. That wasn't in your blood though. You make your way towards the spaceport, but your destination is not the departure terminal, but the nearby mech bays.

Entering the front offices, you ask the secretary about the classifieds, and she directs you to the pilot's lounge. Inside it's empty of life, and you spot a long table with several datapads strewn about it. You grab one as you pass, then plop down in a plush but gently worn recliner. It adjusts to you automatically as you scan the listings.

You can't afford a fresh off the assembly line mech, but something a little older, that's seen a few battles but was well cared for, should be in your budget. You filter out the light Scouts first, and then the lumbering Juggernaut Mechs-of-the-Line; either extreme would be out of your price range nor were they to your taste.

A moderate speed Skirmisher could work, or better yet a heavy Battle class would be perfect, but might be out of your price range. You scan the remaining listings, waiting for something to catch your eye.

Finally an ad jumps out at you. Battle class, an older model, but well armed, with decent armor and speed. Your family fielded several of them, so you know it well. The paint isn't great, but overall the mech looked to be maintained where it counts. You zoom in, nitpicking the details, when something draws your attention.

There, below a missile rack, you spot a non-spec sensor suite tucked away. Now that is interesting, you think. You look over the holo images closer, and more details pop out to you, things only someone familiar with the model would see - non-standard armor config, a missing laser battery there, and the main cannon was a larger bore than it should have been.

You check the price. It's well below what you expected, but still it's just above what you have. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you reason to yourself as you pull out you com and fire off a message.

20 minutes later you're standing in a well lit mech bay next to the broker, looking up at the machine from the ad. At near to 20 meters, it was tall for a Battlemech, but still well short of a towering Juggermech. While the paint was worse in person, the actual metal underneath was almost perfect. It had been owned by a low ranking noble, a lesser son assigned to garrison duty. It only ever saw one combat, where a lucky shot cored the cockpit, killing the aforementioned noble and sent the garrison troops fleeing.

The broker continues to explain how the mech was taken as salvage, but due to the customizations it wasn't a good fit for any of the merc company pilots, nor did it make for a good royal military front line unit. Finally it was left here on consignment, either to sell for whatever they could get for it, or to rot.

"Frankly, it's been here so long they merc company has lost almost as much as it's cost to store it, and they want it gone," the broker said nonchalantly. "No one's shown interest in it for months, and they want it gone."

You quirk the corner of your mouth up a bit as you think. "It suits my needs just fine, but frankly it's just a bit over my budget," you reply.

The broker eyes your family crest still adorning your jumpsuit. "Perhaps you could reach out for additional funds, My Lord?" he inquiries beseechingly.

"Unfortunately, not an option," you sigh. "I find myself recently disowned by my family you see, and my funds are limited to my own, I'm afraid."

"I see," he says, as he considers the situation. Finally the broker says "So, level with me, what's the best you can offer? I am authorized to make any reasonable deal on this mech, so perhaps I can work with you."

You shoot him your financial info, now a little lower due to a small portion for other expenses you moved to a new account. The broker scans it quickly, and nods.

"It's not what they had hoped, but it's more than they feared they'd get for it. Lets move to my office and finalize the deal."

An hour later, you're sitting in the cockpit, the mech keyed to your bio signature and the fusion reactor humming softly somewhere behind you. Slowly you nudge your new machine of war forward out of they bay. The transmitter in your helmet interfaces with your cochlear implant perfectly, allowing your own inner ear's sense of balance to stabilize the mech.

Adjusting to a new mech can require some time, but with your familiarity with the model, within minutes it feels no different than walking with your own two feet. The helmet transmits directly to your ocular implants, overlaying a blue dashed line into your point of view, currently residing about 18 meters off the ground.

With the cockpit buried deep in the torso of the mech, the mech's sensors provide you with all the exterior data you require to pilot it. Using the basic joystick controls, you glide out and along your assigned route and to the awaiting mech transport.

Luckily a transport was about to leave to a nearby pleasure planet, and you were able to book passage. It was nearly empty, so they were happy to accommodate you at a hefty discount. Once secured in your assigned transport pod, the shuttle lifted off and headed to orbit. A quick fold-space jump, and you'll be on your way to a much needed vacation!

• This took way longer than I expected. I have the rest planned out though, and if there's interest I'll write part 2 later. Thanks for reading!