Top Gear 3025

by JA Baker

Tonight, on a very special Top Gear: James gets a little agitated, Richard goes very fast, and I get a little hot under the collar. All that and more, tonight, on Top Gear!

It's all owned by someone else.

People with a lot more money than I have.

Top Gear 3025

Theme "Jessica" by Allman Brothers Band plays.

Clarkson (VO): Tonight, on a very special Top Gear, James gets a little agitated...

May is shown punching buttons, seemingly at random.

May: WHERE ARE THE #BEEPING# JUMP JETS?

Clarkson (VO): Richard goes very fast...

Hammond is shown being shaking up and down violently

Hammond: How do you steer this thing?

Clarkson (VO): And I get a little hot under the collar...

Clarkson is shown, stripped down to a vest and shorts, sweat poring off his body

Clarkson: I will admit, it is a tad warm in here right now...

Clarkson (VO): All that and more, tonight, on Top Gear!

Cut to the presenters looking out over a crater-pocked landscape, parts of which are still on fire.

Hammond: It could have gone a little better...

Theme ends.

Fade to interior of Top Gear studio. Clarkson is standing on the news stage.

Clarkson: Hello, and welcome to the 31st Century!

Audience applauds.

Clarkson: Yes, we have reached a point in human history where, finally, Porche have finale released a version of the 911 that is truly different to its predecessor.

Audience laughs

Hammond (off camera): I heard that!

Clarkson: You were supposed to. (beat) Anyway, the BBC has sent us here, at great expense, to test out the future of weapons technology; the BattleMech!

Cut to a silhouette of a number of vaguely humanoid shapes, surrounded by a swirly cloud of smoke, as O Fortuna from Carmina Burana, by Carl Orff plays.

Clarkson (VO): First deployed by the Terran Hegemony in 2443, the BattleMech has remained the undisputed king of the battlefield ever since. Standing between 30 and 40 feet in hight, massing from 20 to 100 tons, these futuristic knights in shinning armour have enough fire-power to demolish entire cities. And someone thought it would be a good idea for us to play with them.

Cut to a close up of Clarkson, grinning like an idiot.

Clarkson (CO): We were each given 10-million C-Bills, and told to report to a proving ground on the planet Galatea, where we'd be set a series of challenges...

Cut to Hammond, standing on an expanse of ferrocrete.

Hammond: As you can see, I'm the first to arrive, and that's because I played it smart and picked this.

Camera pans back to show a squat, hunched over BattleMech.

Hammond: This is the Skobel MechWorks MCY-98 Mercury, one of the fastest BattleMechs of its time, with a top speed of just over 80 miles an hour, which isn't bad for something that tips the scales at 20-tons.

Cut to various close-ups and panning shots of the Mech.

Hammond (VO): Built for the discerning Star League Defence Force, the Mercury is a dedicated scout that still manages to carry two medium and two small lasers, all wrapped up inside 4-tons of armour. It was also the first Mech ever to use modular components, drastically cutting into repair and maintenance times, something that wouldn't be seen again for hundreds of years.

Cut to a close up of Hammond.

Hammond: It is, in many ways, the Porch 911 of its time; fast, agile, and beautiful to look at.

Clarkson (VO): Fortunately for all concerned, I arrived before Hammond could start humping his Mech's leg, and I had chosen something a little more practical.

Cut to Hammond, eyes wide in shock.

Hammond: Oh my god, he didn't, did he?

Cut to a much larger, more humanoid BattleMech lumbering across the tarmac, massive shoulders swaying back and forth.

Hammond (off-camera): I honestly thought he was going to pick the Atlas...

Clarkson (VO): This, ladies and gentleman, is the CGR-1A1 Charger from Wells Technologies; 80-tons of Death & Destruction. And it's all mine!

Cut to inside of cockpit, where Clarkson is humming The Ride of the Valkyries.

Clarkson (VO): Despite the fact that it weights four times as much as Hammond's puny little Mercury, the Charger is still capable of reaching over 50 miles an hour, which is rather impressive for something with the shoulders from one of Joan Collins' power-suits.

Cut to the foot of the Charger, where Hammond is watching Clarkson try and descend a rope-ladder.

Hammond: You utter tit, why do you always make such stupid choices?

Clarkson: What's stupid about it?

Hammond: It's a joke! No one takes the Charger seriously. It's an 80-ton clown armed with pop-guns!

Clarkson: It has five lasers...

Hammond: Five small lasers, as in "not very powerful".

Clarkson: Yes, but five of them, together...

Hammond: Is still utterly useless!

Clarkson: Okay, how about we get back into out Mech's, and have have a boxing match. I'll even let you have the first hit.

Hammond: They're not designed for boxing; they're designed for shooting at each other!

May (VO): Fortunately, I arrived before they actually came to blows.

Cut to a shot of Clarkson and Hammond looking around in surprise.

Clarkson: Can you hear a jet engine?

Cut to a wide shot of a futuristic looking jet-fighter passing low over the proving ground, banking hard, as The Dambusters March plays.

Cut to the cockpit, where May is dressed in a vintage leather flying jacket.

May: Chocks way, boys!

Cut to footage of the fighter being put through a series of acrobatic manoeuvres.

May (VO): This time, I managed to find a true gem; a rare working example of the Allied Aerospace PHX-HK2 Phoenix Hawk LAM, a truly remarkable machine by anyone's standards.

Cut to a close up of Clarkson.

Clarkson: That blithering idiot!

May (VO): Well, anyone that matters, that is.

Cut to a wide shot of the fighter coming in to land.

Hammond: He hasn't lowered the undercarriage. This is going to end badly...

The fighter suddenly changes shape, arms and legs folding out of the fuselage, jets in its feet allowing it to come to a controlled stop, before gently setting down. It then continues to unfolds until it has taken on a much more human-like appearance.

Clarkson: That's cheating!

Cut to a shot of May walking up to the others.

May: So, chaps, what you think?

Clarkson: Where the #beep# did you get a Land-Air 'Mech from?

May: Ah, there's an interesting story there...

Hammond: Oh god, here we go again...

May: It turns out that the Precentor Martial of the Com Guards is a direct descendant of Oz Clarke, and felt like doing me a little favour.

Clarkson: Are you telling me that Anastasius Focht is related, by blood, to Oz Clarke?

May: Yep.

Clarkson (VO): Normally, a bombshell like that would be a cue to end the show, but a man in a white coat arrived with our first challenge...

Cut to Hammond holding a envelope while Clarkson and May stand either side of him.

Hammond: "Your first challenge is to see just how fast your Mech's can make it around our specially constructed obstacle course."

Cut to Clarkson.

Clarkson: Normally, for something like this, we'd turn our rides over to our tame racing driver, but he took a wrong turn in the space-time continuum, and ended up somewhere else...

Cut to The Stig, trident in hand, circling a man dressed in a ripped golden shirt, in a futuristic gladiatorial arena.

Cut back to Clarkson.

Clarkson: So instead we had to find a replacement.

Cut to a different camera angle.

Clarkson: Some say that he once successfully impersonated the First Prince of the Federated Suns, and that his bones are made of pure germanium. All we know is he's not The Stig, but he is The Stig's MechWarrior cousin!

Cut to a tall figure in a full body coolant suit, complete with visored helmet and gloves. A huge fireball erupts behind him.

Cut to the presenters, all looking a little taken aback.

Hammond: This should be interesting.

Cut to the Mercury, standing at the top of a small sand-dune.

Hammond (VO): As mine was the fastest...

May (VO): Only on the ground!

Clarkson (VO): Shut up, you cheater.

Hammond (VO): As I was saying; as my 'Mech was the fastest, Mech-Stig chose it to start with.

Cut to a light changing from red to green, and the Mercury setting off. It seems slow at fast, it's feet finding it hard to get traction in the loose sand.

Cut to Clarkson, a worried expression on his face.

Clarkson: Oh god, if that dinky-toy is having trouble getting off the line, what are our 'Mech's going to be like?

May: That is a concern.

Cut to the Mercury, now moving much faster, as it passes through a small stand of tress, pushing the smaller ones aside, but having trouble with the larger ones.

Cut to the presenters.

May: You see, this is where having a bigger 'Mech will pay off; my Phoenix Hawk will just brush them aside like saplings.

Clarkson: And my Charger will stomp all over 'em, which will give the echo-mentalists yet another reason to hate us.

Cut to the Mercury, which has cleared the trees and entered a mock-up town. It effortlessly side-steps parked cars and even a school bus.

Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is listening to the main theme from the original series of Battlestar Galactica.

Clarkson (VO): Mech-Stig there, getting a little bit confused, I fear.

Cut to the Mercury exiting the fake town and approaching a small river.

Clarkson (VO): This could be tricky here; small Mech with no jump-jets in a fast-flowing river...

Cut to Hammond, a worried expression on his face.

Cut back to the Mercury, which is wadding out into the water, only to be pushed down stream towards some rocks.

Cut to the presenters. Hammond has his back turned.

Hammond: I can't watch!

Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is fighting hard against the controls.

Cut to the Mercury, fighting its way up the far bank and out of the river.

Cut to the presenters.

Clarkson: Well, that was disappointing...

Cut back to the Mercury, which has entered the final part of the obstacle course; a firing range.

Clarkson (VO): To finish, all Mech-Stig has to do is take out three targets as quickly as possible.

Cut to the Mercury, its arms snapping up in line with a pop-up wooden silhouette of a tank. Emerald beams of light lash out, vaporising the sap still inside the wood and making the target explode. A second target, this time a Panther, pops up to the far right.

Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig snaps one of the joysticks hard over.

Cut to the Mercury, opens fire with all of its lasers, heat now visibly rising from its broad back. The target falls apart under barrage. The final target, this time a VTOL on a pulley system, starts to make its way across the far end of the firing range. The Mercury opens fire, its first few shots missing wide, but Mech-Stig walks the laser bolts onto the target and obliterates it.

Cut to the presenters. Hammond is jumping up and down excitedly.

Hammond: Ha! Let's see your lumbering hulks do better than that!

Cut to the Phoenix Hawk, standing atop the sand dune.

Cut to the cockpit, Mech-Stig relaxing to the Battle of Britain March.

Clarkson (VO): Nope, he's still not getting it right...

Cut back to the Phoenix Hawk. The light goes green, and it takes off down the embankment, the feet sinking deeper into the sand and finding more traction this time.

Cut to the presenters. Hammond looks confused.

Hammond: How's that work?

May: Ah, you see, with more than twice the mass of your Mercury, my Phoenix Hawk compacts the sand beneath its feet, creating a more stable surface upon which to...

Clarkson & Hammond: Shut up, James.

Cut back to the Phoenix Hawk, which has reached the trees.

Clarkson (VO): Now we'd see just how well Captain Slow's Transformer handled the first obstacle...

Smoke and flame erupt from the back of the Phoenix Hawk as Mech-Stig uses its jump-jets to avoid the trees totally.

Clarkson (VO): ...like a cheating bastard, it would seem.

The Phoenix Hawk entered the town, avoiding the cars with ease, but clipping the side of the bus, knocking it over onto its side.

Cut to the presenters.

Hammond: You're going to lose points for that!

Cut back to the Phoenix Hawk, which has reached the river, and yet again uses its jump-jets to simply ignore the obstacle, landing on the far back with all the grace you can expect from something that weighs 50-tons.

Cut to the presenters.

Hammond: I'm starting to see where jump-jets might have been a good idea.

May: I did try telling you that back in the 21st Century.

Clarkson: The annoying thing is, he did.

The Phoenix Hawk enters the firing-range without slowing down. A different tank pops up, but rather than shooting it, Mech-Stig ignites the jump-jets and performs a perfect Death From Above attack.

Cut to the presenters.

Clarkson: I knew I should have splashed out on the Highlander I saw in that second-hand Mech yard on Northwind...

Cut to the firing-range, where a wooden Centurion pops-up, only to take a large laser to the head. A second tank then appears, only to be racked by machine-gun fire and medium lasers.

Cut to the presenters. May looks rather happy.

May: I think that went rather well.

Clarkson: Don't get too excited, boy-o, because my Charger is up next!

Cut to the start line, where the Charger has sunk ankle-deep in the sand. The light turns from red to green, and it lumbers off, its feet dragging slightly.

Clarkson (VO): Despite being 30-tons heavier, the Charger has the same top speed as the Phoenix Hawk, and all that extra weight mean the trees should prove no trouble what so ever.

The Charger reaches the trees and doesn't even try to slow down as it barrels into them, snapped branches and splintered trunks falling left and right.

Cut to the presenters. Clarkson is punching the air.

Clarkson: Oh yes! Who's your daddy?

Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is listening to the Imperial March from Star Wars.

Clarkson (VO): Okay, now he's not even trying...

The Charger reaches the town and lives up to its name as it barges along main street, flattening several cars and crumpling the bus, leaving total destruction in its wake. It carries on until it reaches the river, and only here does Mech-Stig slow down, but still strides confidently into the water. Water buffets against the Charger, but it seems totally unaffected, and emerges from the other side almost directly opposite where it entered.

Cut to the presenters.

Clarkson: And that, gentlemen, is why you always pick an Assault Mech.

The first target in the firing-range is a Commando, but rather than fire any of the Chargers lasers, Mech-Stig simply punches it, crumpling the wood to kindling. The second target, this time a pill-box, appeared directly in the Charger's path, and is stopped on without even braking stride. The final target is again a VTOL, forcing Mech-Stig to fire the lasers, but evidently his previous goes have improved his aim, and he catches it right in the middle with all five beams of bright blue light, incinerating it.

Cut to the presenters. Hammond and May are standing, mouths agape, while Clarkson is doubled over, laughing almost uncontrollably.

Clarkson: What did you say about a clown with a pop-gun?

Hammond: Shut up...

A man in a slightly more ornate white coat turns up and hands them an envelope.

May (VO): Thankfully, we were quickly handed our next challenge.

Clarkson: "You will now test your 'Mech's ride and reliability by taking them to a service bay outside of Galatean City. Please get there as quickly as possible."

May: Nice ride through the country? How hard can it...

Clarkson & Hammond: DON'T SAY IT!

Cut to Hammond, sitting inside his Mercury's cockpit.

Hammond: Okay, let's fire up the SatNav and see what it says...oh, that's not good.

Picks up radio.

Hammond: Guys, you want the good news, or the bad news?

Clarkson (on radio): What's the bad news?

Hammond: Galatean City is over 500-km away, on the other side of a swamp.

May (over radio): Okay, so what's the good news?

Hammond: There isn't any. I lied.

Cut to a series of panning shots showing a seemingly endless expanse of jungle like trees intermixed with large rivers and lakes.

Clarkson (VO): Richard wasn't joking about it being bad news; we were about to enter an area known locally as simply The Bayou. It stretches for over two thousand miles along the coastline, separating the peninsular we were on from the planetary capital. It is a hot, humid hell-hole the likes of which you simply can not imagine. There are almost zero inhabitants, and the few roads there are are little more than dirt tracks, certainly not enough to support a BattleMech. Crossing it would take skill, intelligence and teamwork. Not exactly things we're known for at the best of times. And, in the best traditions of these challenges, the producers had arranged a backup, should any of our 'Mech's fail to make it.

Cut to the presenters, looks of absolute horror and dismay on their faces.

Hammond: Please tell me that's not what I think it is?

Clarkson: Unfortunately I think it is.

May: Oh bloody 'ell!

Cut to a forth BattleMech, this one painted a bright cannery yellow. O Fortuna plays again.

Clarkson (VO): This is, in case you didn't recognise it, the UM-R60 UrbanMech, perhaps the single most despised BattleMech ever created.

Cut to panning shots and close-ups of the UrbanMech as the music continues.

Clarkson (VO): Despite weighing in at only 30-tons, it can barely reach 20 miles an hour, flat out. What's more, as it lacks proper arms, if it falls over, as it is likely to do in the swamps we would be facing, it would be almost impossible to self-right.

Cut back to the presenters.

Hammond: Okay, there is no way any of us want to end up in that thing, so let's agree that this is a team exercise.

Clarkson: I think, for once, that we can all be in agreement with you on that.

May: Hang on, if there are no roads, and even Mech's find this swamp difficult, how are the film crew going to follow us? Because I don't see any helicopters.

Clarkson: That's because there aren't any. Instead they will by using a pair of Toyota Hilux's.

Hammond & May: WHAT?

Cut to a pair of slightly modified pick-up trucks.

Clarkson (VO): It's true; it may have been around for over a thousand years, but it seems that, try as they mite, no one has been able to improve upon the dependable old Hilux. Yes, the latest model may have a 3-litre ceramic diesel that can run on pretty much anything combustible, and yes, some of the materials used in their construction are a little more advanced, but the basic design remains unchanged. It's certainly a much more impressive piece of hardware than the UrbanMech.

Cut back to the presenters.

Clarkson: Okay, so Hammond, you go first, then Captain Slow and I will follow on.

Hammond: Hang on, why doesn't James just fly ahead and find a rout?

May mumbles incomprehensibly.

Clarkson: I know I'm getting on a bit, but my hearing isn't that bad. Do you mind repeating yourself.

May: Between my acrobatics earlier, and Mech-Stig playing around on the assault course, we've used up most of my jet-fuel. And as there isn't any around here to top-up the tanks, I'm limited to a few short hops with the jump-jets.

Hammond: James, you utter tit!

Clarkson: What is the point of having a Land-Air 'Mech when you can't use the 'Air' part?

Hammond: Says the man who's Assault Mech is out-gunned by my Scout...

Clarkson: Shut up!

May: This is going to be a fun couple of days...

Cut to a high angel shot of the edge of the testing ground, not far from the start of the swamp. The Mercury, Phoenix Hawk and Charger are all lined up, the UrbanMech slightly further behind.

Clarkson (VO): And so the next day, after a hearty breakfast, we prepared to set out.

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury; Hammond is playing with the tilt controls on his command couch.

Hammond: Chair goes up, chair goes down. Chair goes up, chair goes down...

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk; May is running through a full set of system checks.

May: Reactor, on-line. Sensors, on-line. Weapons, on-line. Communications, on-line. Environmental controls, on-line. All systems nominal.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger; Clarkson has fallen asleep with his neurohelmet over his eyes.

Clarkson: ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

The radio squawks, waking him with a jump.

Hammond (on radio): I just had a thought; we should have call-signs, like real MechWarriors do.

May (on radio): Well, we could go back to calling you 'Brokeback' if you want.

Hammond (on radio): Very funny, 'Captain Slow'.

Clarkson (laughing): Calm down now, children.

Hammond (on radio): Ah, so 'Bonzo' is awake at last.

Clarkson: what did you just call me?

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury.

Hammond: You're in a 80-ton clown-car, so, ipso facto, you must be a clown.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk; May is laughing uncontrollably.

May: Or we could always call him 'Sleepy'

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger; Clarkson looks confused.

Clarkson: I was not asleep!

Hammond (on radio): You fell asleep with your hand on the transmit button; we could hear you snoring.

Clarkson: Oh, #bleep#

Cut to a tracking shot of the Mech's stepping off the ferrocrete and into the swamp.

Clarkson (VO): With a little prodding from the director, we set out on our journey into the unknown, a trio of hardened, experienced explorers.

Hammond (on radio): I don't suppose anyone knows if this thing has windscreen wipers?

Cut to long shots of the three Mech's struggling to find a way thought the dense foliage.

Clarkson (VO): While the trees on the obstacle course may have been little trouble, even the mighty Charger found the going a little tough here in The Bayou, where the trees for an interlocking network of roots and branches that are almost impossible to breach. Unusually, it was James who came up with the solution...

Cut to a close up of a tree, which suddenly explodes, revealing the Phoenix Hawk standing behind it, the baral of its pistol-like large laser smoking.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk.

May: Take that, you bastard!

Clarkson (VO): This could lead to only one possible outcome...

Cut to a wide-shot: all three 'Mech's are blasting away at the trees with wild abandon.

Hammond (on radio): THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE!

Clarkson (on radio): I have finally found a method of gardening I actually enjoy.

Clarkson (VO): My good mood was not to last long.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger; Clarkson has stripped down to a vest and shorts, and sweat is poring off his body.

Clarkson: Okay, I should point out at this time that BattleMech's are powered by self-contained fusion engines, as there simply isn't anything else capable of producing the amount of raw power needed to move something so big, let alone power the various weapons systems. And before anyone writes in to Points of View, I can assure you that they are all perfectly safe, tried and tested designs. They do, however, produce an awful lot of heat as a by-product, and that has to be dealt with. Normally, that would be done by a number of massive heat-extractors built into the engine. But unfortunately the swamp is rather warm and humid, which means that they're working at less than optimal capacity. Firing all the lasers like that has not helped. I will admit, it is a tad warm in here right now...

Cut to a wide shot, where all four 'Mech's are covered in a heat-haze, moving sluggishly as their heat-sinks struggle to cope.

Clarkson (VO): We were genuinely worried that we might have to all try and fit inside the UrbanMech, when we suddenly had a stroke of good luck...

Cut to the Mercury, which is standing between two trees.

Hammond (on radio): Guys, I think I've found a short-cut.

Cut to a long shot of a rough dirt track, parts of which are overgrown with immature trees and shrubs.

Clarkson (VO): It was a logging road cut into the swamp years before and then abandoned. Fortunately for us, it was still passable, and led in roughly the right direction.

Cut to a tracking shot of all three Mech's marching down the road, Hammond's Mercury in front.

Hammond (VO): It was at this point, we got some very bad news.

Clarkson (on radio): Guys, my 'Mech's got an I-Pod dock!

Cut to a near identical tracking shot, only now Land of Confusion by Genesis is blaring out from the Charger.

Hammond (VO): And so our trek into the heart of darkness continued...

Cut to a series of shots showing the Mech's marching down the road, inter-cut with shots of the presenters in the cockpits, looking increasingly board as time passes. Finally settling on Clarkson in the Charger.

Clarkson: BattleMech's do not have cruise control or auto-pilot, forcing us to remain vigilant at all times. That's seriously tiring, as they're partly controlled through these helmets you see us all wearing, which basically pick up the pilots sense of balance and feed it through to the gyroscope that actively keeps it from falling over. Any loss of concentration, and you can end up face-first in the mud.

Clarkson (VO): It's no small wonder then that we called it a day with over an hour of sunlight left.

Cut to a shot of the three 'Mech's lined up at the side of the road, the sun only just starting to set over the swamp. Tents have been set up at the foot of each 'Mech, with a small fire outside the middle one.

May: That was bloody hard work.

Hammond: I have not felt this worn out in a very long time.

Clarkson: And today was an easy day; what happens when we have to leave the road?

The other two look thoughtful for a moment, then glair at him.

Hammond: That's for that wonderful mental image; you really know how to kill the mood.

May: Yeah, thanks a lot Jeremy.

Clarkson: I do apologise, and I hope this'll make it up to you.

Clarkson reaches into his tent and pulls out a plastic cooler chest, which he opens to reveal a number of pyramid-shaped cans, one of which he throws to each of his companions.

Clarkson: Behold, I bring you the gift of beer!

Hammond: BEER!

May: The cause of, and answer to, all of life's little problems.

The open the cans and proceed to drink the contents.

Hammond: Not bad stuff. Think we'll be allowed to take any home with us?

Cut to a stunning shot of sunrise over the swamp, the sky turning from turquoise to powder-blue as the blazing, bright yellow run appears.

Cut to the inside of one of the tents, where Clarkson is slowly waking up, rubbing his eyes and looking around in some confusion.

Clarkson: I hate planets with shorter nights.

Cut to the camp-site; all three presenters are up, hung-over and less than happy about what the day has in store for them.

Hammond: I found this track on the SatNav; it goes strait on for another hundred miles or so, then veers off towards a river, which is probably how they got the wood out.

Clarkson pulls out a map and spreads it on the ground before them.

Clarkson: It must be this river here. Looks like if we were to follow it upstream a little, we'd be able to get within a couple of miles of this highway that leads directly to Galatean City.

May: Well, we know the 'Mech's are all water-tight, so getting across the river shouldn't be that hard.

Hammond: And again he tempts fate!

Clarkson: You have to wonder if he's ever been on one of these little jaunts before?

May: Oh for gods sake, can't we just get on with it?

Cut to tracking shot of the Charger and Phoenix Hawk marching down the road together.

Clarkson (VO): And so get on with it we did. While Hamster went ahead in his Mercury GTI, Captain Slow and I followed on behind. Unfortunately, some time during the night, someone had caught up with us...

Camera pans back to show the UrbanMech following behind.

Cut to the UrbanMech's cockpit: 'Mech-Stig is listening to The Archers.

Clarkson (VO): I'm not sure what was worse; our mood upon seeing the bight-yellow bastard, our 'Mech-Stig's choice in listening material.

Cut to the Mercury, which is making its way down the track at a much faster pace.

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury.

Hammond: While the other two plod along like the pair of middle aged old farts they are, I am seeing just how well the Mercury can handle rough terrain. Now she's not going to get anywhere near her top-speed, what with roots and potholes to look out for, but I can ease the throttle open just a little bit...

He pushes a lever forward slowly, but it suddenly jerks forwards and sticks.

Hammond: Oh, that's not good!

Cut to a tracking shot: the Mercury is now running at near top speed. One foot catches on a fallen tree and it trips, arms flailing, before it hits the ground with a loud bang.

Cut to the cockpit: Hammond has been thrown against the harness, and blood is seeping for a cut lip.

Hammond: Owch! Okay, that #beep#ing hurt.

He looks at the controls.

Hammond: Okay, don't look like there's been any real damage, aside from to my pride. Except there.

Cut to close-up of one of the screens; it shows a wire-grid outline of the Mercury. It's green, aside from the the right ankle, which is flashing yellow.

Cut back to Hammond.

Hammond: That might be a problem; that's the ankle actuator, and its reporting some structural damage. Which might be a problem if I try for full-speed again. Or put too much weight on it by, say, trying to stand up after a fall.

He puts his hands into a pair of gloves, and activates a control.

Hammond: Let's hope it holds.

Cut to an exterior shot. The Mercury's arms flex and move until they push it up into a kneeling position, then the left leg moved forward.

Hammond (VO): Now the really hard part; keeping the 'Mech balanced while I get it back on its feet. Not something we covered in much detail during our two days of basic piloting school.

Clarkson (VO): Fortunately for Brokeback, help arrived.

The Charger and Phoenix Hawk arrive.

Clarkson (on radio): Enjoy your trip?

Hammond (on radio): #beep# off, Jeremy.

May (on radio): In all seriousness mate, do you want a hand?

Hammond (on radio): ...Yes.

Clarkson (on radio): Okay, James, you go round to his left side, and I'll take the right. We'll have him up in a jiffy. And remember; none of us want to end up having to keep place with the metal slug back there.

Camera pans back to she the UrbanMech slowly but surely catching up with them.

Somewhat clumsily, the Charger and Phoenix Hawk take hold of the Mercury by the upper arms and half-pull, half drag it into a standing position. This takes time, with several loud clangs and a lot of bleeped-out swearing over the radio, but eventual the Mercury is righted.

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury, where Hammond is double checking the readouts.

Hammond: Okay guys, looks like she's still in one piece. Thanks for that.

Clarkson (on radio): No problem, Hamster.

May (on radio): Anything but having to put up with that bloody UrbanMech.

Cut to a shot of the road; all three presenters have exited their 'Mech's, and Hammond is being checked over by the film-crews doctor.

Doctor: There's no sign of a concussion; just some cuts and bruises, but take it easy and call me if you start to feel sick, dizzy or faint.

Hammond: Okay.

Clarkson: Well, that was a little less impressive than your last high-speed crash. Says a lot about 31st Century safety features.

May: Vorsprung durch Technik, as they say in the Lyran Commonwealth.

Clarkson: With all seriousness now, no more show-boating by any of us; the last thing we want is to be stuck waiting for Big-Bird back there.

The camera pans around to show the UrbanMech, standing over them menacingly.

Cut to tracking shot of the three 'Mech's continuing down the track together.

Clarkson (VO): With Hammond back on his feet, we set out again, all be it a little slower. Unfortunately, the damage to the Mercury's ankle was the least of our problems.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger.

Clarkson: This 'Mech is close to six-hundred years old, and it is a testament to the shear Brunellian build quality of the time that it's still working. That said, there are one or two little problems.

He takes a deep breath.

Clarkson: The hip-actuators are out of sink, the shock absorbers in the right knee are shot, according to my main display here two of the heat-sinks are operating at less than 70% capacity, every so often there is an odd grinding sound from the left should that I'm pretty sure is strands of Myomer cable, the artificial muscles that allow a Mech to move, being ground away and snapping. And to top that all off, the command couch smells like an old sweat-sock.

He looks at the camera and smiles.

Clarkson: Still, no worse than the last used-car I bought...

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury: Hammond looks miserable.

Hammond: When I first got this 'Mech, there was a slight hint of static around the edge of the main view screen, which I could live with. But that little fall must have knocked something loose, as I'm now getting the occasional white line, and some wired, high-pitched humming noise that's setting my teeth on edge.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk: May looks surprisingly happy.

May: By now the other two will be discovering that three centuries of near constant war will void the warranty on even in the most dependable of machines. My ride, however, is not some scrap-yard clunker patched together from the salvaged parts of a dozen other, less fortunate 'Mech's. No, this Phoenix Hawk is pretty much factory-fresh; it even has that new-'Mech smell of industrial lubricants and pine. And yes, I know that I didn't buy it as such, but it just goes to prove that there are still some good 'Mech's out there, if you know the right people.

Cut to a series of shots showing the 'Mech's moving along the track.

Clarkson (VO): The hours seemed to drag by, not helped by the seemingly unchanging scenery; mile after mile of rugged jungle, with nothing but the odd fallen tree to break the monotony. It was proper hard work to keep on track and not zone-out, hypnotised by the endless sea of green that surrounded us on all sides. Then, just as we were about to call it quits for the night, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Hammond (on radio): Water! I see the river!

May (on radio): About bloody time!

Clarkson (on radio): Oh thank god for that.

The three 'Mech's come to a halt beside a small, prefabricated hut next to a dilapidate dock. A small crane juts out over the seemingly unmoving river. The presenters dismount, looking relived.

May: You know, it's not a bad view from here.

Clarkson: You're only saying that because it's something other than trees, mud and dust to look at for the first time in two days.

May: There is that, I grant you...

Hammond: No, no; I'm with James on this one. You've got the jungle on either bank, a tranquil blue river, and one hell of a sunset.

Cut to show the almost perfectly white sun going down over the river, the last few rays turning it into a sheet of liquid golden fire.

Clarkson: Okay, I'll admit it's not bad.

Clarkson (VO): Inspirational view or not, it was time to set up camp for the night and get some sleep. For tomorrow, we would tackle the river...

Cut to a shot of the river at dawn; a light mist is rising up of the surface of the water, while local insects buzz around. Dueling Banjos plays in the background.

Clarkson (VO): Dawn yet again came all too early, and we faced a conundrum; try and make our way along the river-banks, where the roots of the trees reach out to the water like Satan's own mangrove swamp, or risk the unseen obstacles of the riverbed itself.

Cut to a close-up of the three presenters.

May: I vote we go for the river; this is a time where ignorance is indeed bliss.

Hammond: I don't know, mate; I found it hard enough when I could see what was in front of me.

Clarkson: You both make good points, and I honestly can't pick between you. So, in the spirit of fairness.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a 1 C-Bill coin.

Clarkson: Heads the river, tails the river-bank?

Hammond: Sounds fair.

May: Okay.

Clarkson tosses the coin into the air, catches it and slams it down onto his wrist. All three lean in closer for a better look.

May: Is that supposed to be the 'Head' or the 'Tail'?

Cut to a tracking shot of the river, slowly panning back to show the three 'Mech's. The water comes up to the lower chest of the Charger, shoulder hight on the Phoenix Hawk, while the Mercury is almost completely submerged.

Hammond (on radio): I am not enjoying this one bit.

Clarkson (VO): Thankfully all three 'Mech's were water-tight, meaning that we at least remained dry. Unfortunately, they weren't exactly hydrodynamic, slowing us down considerably, which unfortunately led to the arrival of an uninvited guest...

Cut to a shot over the Charger's right shoulder; there is a faint wake on the surface of the water, but there is no sign of what's causing it. The theme from Jaws starts to play as the wake grows bigger, until eventually the curved head of the UrbanMech breaks the surface, it's much more rounded design allowing it to cut through the water with ease.

Clarkson (VO): Despite all our best efforts to lose it, it remained doggedly on our tail.

Cut to a different shot of the three 'Mech's: the Phoenix Hawk in in front, while the Charger is moving into deeper water in an attempt to overtake the Mercury.

Clarkson (on radio): OH #BLEEP#!

The Charger suddenly vanishes from view, leaving only a large ripple and a couple of small bubbles.

Hammond (on radio): Jeremy?

May (on radio): What's going on?

Hammond (on radio): He just sort of vanished.

Clarkson (on radio): I'm okay!

The Charger's right hand emerges from the water.

Hammond (on radio): What happened?

Clarkson (on radio): There's a very sudden drop off here; it's only a couple of foot, but it's almost vertical.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger: Clarkson is illuminated solely by the instrument lights.

Clarkson: No apparent damage, but I can't see a thing down here.

May (on radio): Try backing up... slowly!

Clarkson: Okay.

He slowly pulls the throttle lever backwards, the entire 'Mech shaking as its feet struggle to find traction in the soft mud.

Clarkson: Not happening; can't get a good footing.

May (on radio): Bugger. Okay, try making your way across the river and up the other side.

Clarkson: I was worried you'd say that...

Clarkson (VO): James was right; with no way of going backwards, my only option was to press on and hope the other side of the river was passable.

Cut to a shot of the Charger's hand slicing through the water like a sharks fin.

Hammond (on radio): Left a little bit... little bit more. Okay, straiten her up. Good, good; keep going like that.

Eventually the Charger's head emerges from the water, covered in mud and weeds.

May (on radio): It's the Creature from the Black Lagoon... and it's piloting a BattleMech!

Clarkson (on radio): Very funny James, but just how are you planning on getting across?

Hammond (on radio): That is a very good question.

Cut to a shot of the Phoenix Hawk backing up against the trees.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk: May is running systems checks.

May: Vents open. Fuel mix optimal. Trajectory plotted. Everything seems to be ready, so I just need to...they should be...before they were...

He looks around, utterly confused.

May: WHERE ARE THE #BEEPING# JUMP JETS?

Hammond (on radio): Didn't you use them when you landed?

May: It was in AirMech mode then; the controls were set up differently.

Clarkson (on radio): Use the foot pedals.

May: Excuse me?

Clarkson (on radio): You need to press down on the foot pedals to activate the jump-jets.

Hammond (on radio): How the hell do you know that?

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger: Clarkson is reading a well-thumbed copy of BattleMech Piloting For Dummies, several pages of which have been bookmarked.

Clarkson: I'm not a complete imbecile, I'll have you know.

Cut to the Phoenix Hawk crouching down slightly, before suddenly taking to the air in a cloud of flame, smoke and steam.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk: May has been pushed down into the command couch by the force of the acceleration.

Cut to a wide-shot of the Phoenix Hawk flying through the air somewhat majestically, only to miss the far river bank and land amid the trees with a loud crash.

Hammond (on radio): I am definitely glad I didn't go for a 'Mech with jump-jets.

Cut to a close up of the Phoenix Hawk: it is laying face-down amid a mess of broken branches and crushed foliage.

May (on radio): Remind me to thank the producer for coming up with this little outing.

The Phoenix Hawk slowly rights itself; large dents can be seen in its armour, and it's once pristine paint job is covered in green and brown smears.

Clarkson (VO): Something told me James wouldn't be getting back his deposit.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk: May is bleeding from a cut across his forehead.

May: Okay, that didn't go exactly as planned. Think I may have pushed down a little too hard.

He flips several switches and examines the displays. One is showing only static.

May: Going to have to run a Physical Impulse Routine.

He brings his fist down upon the top of the monitor, and it blinks to a readout of engine output.

May: Works every time.

Cut to a wide shot of the river. The Phoenix Hawk has joined the Charger, while the Mercury wades deeper into the water, eventually disappearing completely.

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury: the interior lights are low, lending it a cramped, almost claustrophobic feel. Hammond looks less than happy at this.

Hammond: Can't help but remember all those old WW2 movies I watches as a kid, where the submarine would be diving down to escape the enemy warship, only to be depth-charged. Kind of wish I hadn't seen quite so many of them.

Clarkson (VO): Fortunately for Das Hamster, James and I were all out of depth-charges. But that's not to say we didn't have some fun at his expense...

Suddenly, the unmistakeable sound of a sonar pulse echoes through the cockpit of the Mercury.

Hammond: WHAT THE #BLEEP# WAS THAT?

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk: May is holding up his phone to the microphone for his 'Mech's external speakers. He taps the screen, and it emits the same loud bleeping noise.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger; Clarkson is doubled over in laughter.

Hammond (on radio): Guys, you sure we're alone here?

May (on radio): DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury.

Hammond: Oh, very funny, guys, very funny.

Clarkson (on radio): We thoughts so.

Cut to a shot of the river; the Mercury slowly emerges from out of the water, it's head covered in seaweed like plants.

Hammond (on radio): Can we get back to finding that road now?

Cut to a series of shots showing the 'Mech's once again forcing their way through the forest. Even the massive and powerful Charger is finding it hard going. Several trees prove too difficult to move, and are blasted to kindling by laser fire, but they are a lot less trigger happy then before.

Clarkson (VO): While the road and river may have been eventful to say the least, they did get us to within a few miles of the highway. All that was left now was one last push through the trees, until open ground. It was hours of hard work, even in BattleMech's, proof if ever it was needed that Mother Nature can still stump you. But, after what felt like a life-time, the trees started to thin out.

Cut to a shot of the 'Mech's making their way between trees, crushing saplings and shrubs under foot. The greenery become sparser, until it finally gives way to grass.

Hammond (on radio): Guys, I can see the road!

Clarkson (on radio): Good man. How far?

Hammond (on radio): Half a mile, maybe less.

May (on radio): About bloody time.

The three 'Mech's come to a stop beside the multi-lane highway; it is a ribbon of tarmac stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction. In the very distance, a convoy of massive vehicles can be seen making their way through the heat-haze.

Clarkson (on radio): Are those Prime-Movers?

May (on radio): Only one way to find out.

The Phoenix Hawk steps forward and raises its left arm, thumb up.

There is a moment of silence, then the Charger and Mercury adopt the same pose.

Clarkson (VO): Never let it be said that we are too proud to accept help when offered.

Cut to a wide shot of the three 'Mech's being loaded onto the Prime-Movers and secured in place. With their cargo secure, the convoy pulls off, passing a road-sign proclaiming Galatean City: 200km.

The camera pans around to show the lumbering UrbanMech appearing out off the bush and stopping at the side of the road. It's upper torso rotates first right, then left.

Cut to an over-shoulder shot, showing the UrbanMech looking at the distant Prime-Movers and their cargo.

Cut to the cockpit of the UrbanMech; 'Mech-Stig sits at the controls, his expression unreadable behind his visored helmet.

Cut back to the road; the UrbanMech turns and starts down the road after the Prime-Movers, shoulder-barging the road-sign as it goes.

Clarkson (VO): I couldn't help but wonder what regular Stig was getting up to...

Cut to a rubble strew street; smoke hangs heavy in the air, while distant explosions indicate that the battle still rages elsewhere. A short, stocky creature with wrinkly grey skin and yellow body armour steps into view. It is holding a large, oddly-shaped pistol in one hand, it's face covered by what looks like a respirator, and it seems to be looking for something.

The roar of a powerful engine can be heard; a dented and scratched M12 LRV crash through the window of an abandoned shop, and using some rubble as a ramp, takes to the air. The alien can only look up in shock as the ATV passes cleanly overhead, crashing down onto the road. The Stig can be seen at the wheel, beside a tall figure in green and black armour, who is firing a shotgun from the passengers seat. A man in military fatigues is in the back of the vehicle, blasting away at everything in sight with a large, triple-barrelled machine gun.

Marine: WHOO-HOO! I'M RIGHT HERE! I'M RIGHT HERE! YOU WANT SOME O' ME?! YEAH YOU DO! COME ON! COME ON! AAAAAH!

Clarkson (VO): Well, at least he looks like he was having fun...

Cut to the crew cabin of one of the Prime-Movers; Clarkson is sat at a table, reading a newspaper, Hammond is making a pot of tea, and May is relaxing on a bunk.

May: You know, we should do more challenges like this.

Hammond: What? Where we sit around and drink tea while someone else does all the driving?

May: Yep.

Hammond: I could get behind that.

Clarkson: Guys, you're forgetting something; this trip's only half over.

Hammond & May: So?

Clarkson: When have you ever known our producers to let us off this easily?

There's a moment of silence.

May: Permission to say 'Cock'?

Cut to a shot of the Prime-Movers driving along a moonlit highway. In the distance an orange glow seems to hug the horizon, a road-sign proclaims "Galatean City Welcomes Free Spending Mercenaries". The convoy crests a ridge, and a futuristic metropolis comes into view; massive skyscrapers, some over a kilometre high, lord over a sea of light and noise. A number of truly massive buildings, built like sports stadiums but on a far grander scale, dominate the immediate area. Illuminated billboards proclaim nightly BattleMech duels, while others display advertisements for everything from Pharaoh Beer to used BattleMech yards. Turning off onto a large ring-road, the three Prime-Movers and their convoy raise little attention from the motorists who are use to seeing similar sights in and around the city.

Clarkson (VO): Galatea has the well deserved title of the Mercenaries Star; it is home to a number of large hiring halls, where everyone from the great house of the Successor States to the lowliest Periphery world can find guns for hire. It's a world of last-chance heroes and master-less Samaria, of those looking to make their name, and those looking to forget them, the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. It's a world of contrasts; it's possible to go from rubbing shoulders with the elite of the MechWarrior community, then cross the road and get stabbed in the back by a dispossessed pirate.

Cut to a tracking shot showing a large residential estate set against the backdrop of the city centre.

Clarkson (VO): It's also home to some half a billion inhabitants, with no one knowns how large a transient population. This means there are a lot of restaurants to chose from...

Cut to a bustling street; the presenters have changed into civilian clothing, and are arguing over where to eat.

May: Capellan?

Hammond: No!

Clarkson: There's a nice looking Marian place over there.

May: I really don't fancy pizza.

Clarkson: Kuritan?

Hammond: Bit spicy for my liking

May: Taurian?

Hammond: I don't know...

Clarkson: It's a steakhouse.

Hammond: Done!

Clarkson (VO): Once again the Hamster's notoriously picky palate meant that James and I couldn't experience anything truly indicative of the culture we were visiting. Fortunately, we would have our revenge.

Cut to the interior of a restaurant. The presenters are sat around a table, beer glasses before them, as a waiter brings over a large platter of basted chicken.

Clarkson: Ah, the spicy chicken wings!

May: I can taste them already; this is going to be brilliant!

Hammond: Is chicken meant to be that shade of red?

Clarkson: Oh for Gods sake, Richard. We selected the medium strength, so will you just shut up and eat for once?

Hammond: Okay, if it'll shut the two of you up for once.

He picks up one of the chicken wings, sauce dripping down his fingers. He gulps, then takes a large bight.

Clarkson (VO): Of cause, by 'medium', I meant by Taurian standards. And those guys would think a Phall was for softies...

Hammond looks shocked for a moment, then his eyes bulge out as his face turns bright red. He drops the chicken onto his plate, fanning his wide-open mouth with both hands while he looks around for something to quench the burning sensation with. Spying his beer, he quickly grabs it and downs the contents in one. Still feeling the effects of the spices, he grabs first Clarkson's then May's and quickly finishes them off too.

All three pints downed, he sits back, breathing deeply as the other two happily tuck into their starter.

May: Not bad, not bad at all.

Clarkson: I've had hotter...

Cut to later on: the three presenters are enjoying large, well-cooked steaks with the works.

May: What do you think the producers are up to?

Clarkson: Going over our Mech's with a fine-toothed comb, looking for anything they can use against us.

Hammond: I'm just glad that I've got hotel room with a shower.

Clarkson: We're all glad you've got a hotel room with a shower.

Hammond glares at him over his steak.

May: Come on chaps; we're in a nice restaurant, having a really nice meal with decent cutlery for the first time in days. Can't we just enjoy it?

Clarkson: He's right. Truce?

Hammond: Truce.

May: Good. Now all we have to worry about is what the tech's find wrong with our 'Mech's.

Cut to the outskirts of Galatean City, as an all too familiar yellow UrbanMech lumbers into view.

Cut to the studio: Clarkson and Hammond are standing in front of a blank Cool Wall.

Clarkson: Okay, so as we are in the 31st Century this week...

Audience cheers loudly.

Clarkson: ...thank you. As we are in the 31st Century, we decided that the old Cool Wall, with it's collection of early 21st Century cars was a bit pointless.

Hammond: That's right. So, as an extra- special treat, we'd do a BattleMech Cool Wall!

Audience cheers even louder.

Clarkson: And first up, we have... The Charger!

Mixed reaction from the audience.

Hammond: Now, I'm going to have to agree with Jeremy on this one...

Clarkson: You are?

Hammond: While I still hold that it's an utter Clown Car, the simple fact that it is so big, and over-the-top and pointless, kind of makes it Cool. Not Sub-Zero, but I will allow it in the bottom half of the Cool section.

Clarkson: Deal.

He places a picture of the Charger on the board.

Hammond: Now we have something a little smaller; the Centurion.

Clarkson: Uncool!

Most of the audience seems to agree with him.

Hammond: What? Why is it Uncool?

Clarkson: Because it's boring. It's the kind of 'Mech a Volvo driver would pick.

He walks up to a man in the audience.

Clarkson: You said it was Cool; are you really that mad?

Audience Member: It's a very good 'Mech that gets the job done.

Clarkson: So does my lawnmower, but I wouldn't say it was 'Cool'.

Audience Member: I have to disagree with you there; a lot of people underestimate the Centurion to their peril.

Clarkson: Who are you, Justin Allard?

Audience Member: As a matter of fact, yes.

Clarkson: Seriously?

Audience Member: Yes.

Clarkson: 'Cool' it is then...

He grabs the picture off of Hammond and places it on the board, a close to the Sub-Zero as he can without touching the line.

Clarkson: Now something we can all agree on; the UrbanMech!

Hammond: Oh my god, that is so Uncool we're going to have to take the picture all the way back to Earth in the 21st Century.

Clarkson: Indeed. Now, I know there are some people out there, sad, strange little people, the sort of people who read The Guardian, who try and claim that the UrbanMech has a purpose and shouldn't be mocked quite so much. But they are all barking mad, and don't know what they're talking about.

He places a picture of the UrbanMech on the very far left hand side of the board.

Hammond: Now, something the UrbanMech wants to be, but fails at; the Panther.

Clarkson: Now I like the Panther; it's small, it's economical, it's fun to pilot, and it carries a PPC, which lest you shoot lightning at people.

Hammond: In many ways, it's a Hot Hatchback kind of 'Mech.

Clarkson: It is, and that is why I'm putting it here in the Sub-Zero section.

He places the picture beside the Centurion.

Clarkson: Now, something you should all recognise; the Orion.

Hammond: Sub-Zero; the Orion was the 'Mech of choice by Aleksandr Kerensky.

Clarkson: It looks stupid; it's a box with arms and legs.

Hammond: It is one of the definitive BattleMech's, and they have a well-deserved reputation for being reliable and easy to fix.

Clarkson: If it's so good, why didn't you buy one instead of that stupid little Mercury?

Hammond: Because I couldn't find a decent one within the price range.

Clarkson: All I'm hearing is that they're all crap.

He slaps the picture on the top of the board in the middle of the Uncool section.

Hammond: Okay, let's go with probably the best-known 'Mech to set foot on the modern battlefield; the Atlas!

Clarkson: Sub-Zero, all the way.

Hammond: It's a bit over-the-top, isn't it?

Clarkson: It's a hundred-tons of utter, pants-wetting terror! It can lift smaller 'Mech's clean off the ground and use them the bludgeon opponents to death with.

He looks at the audience.

Clarkson: Who here agrees with me?

The audience nodded and murmur their agreement.

Clarkson: See? If you arrive on the battlefield in an Atlas, people know you're being serious.

He takes the picture and places it on the board in the Sub-Zero section.

Clarkson: Now, something to make everybody cringe, in a different way; the Whitworth!

Hammond: Oh my god, that is hideous!

Clarkson: It's the ugliest thing I've seen outside of a Essex nightclub. It is truly hideous and utterly pointless, so it goes down here with the UrbanMech.

He places the picture on the wall below the UrbanMech.

Hammond: Time for one more, and it's a classic; the Warhammer.

Clarkson: Not sure if it'd say Sub-Zero, but definitely Cool. It's a design that has lasted the test of time, and unlike the Porche 911, it hasn't become a self-parody.

Hammond: Enough with the 911 jokes! And, I'd say that, for all the reasons you've just stated, it deserves to be in the Sub-Zero section, simply because it is such a classic.

Clarkson: Okay, you let me have the Charger, so I'll give you this.

Hammond: Thank you.

He places the picture on the board, to the left of the Atlas.

Clarkson: That's all the time we have for the Cool Wall, so let's get back to the challenge!

Cut to a 'Mech Hanger at dawn. In many ways it resembles the outside of the Top Gear studios. The three presenters walk in from the side, all look a little hungover; May sporting a pair of dark glasses.

Before they can enter the hanger itself, a man in an elaborate white coat hands them an envelope.

Clarkson: "Your 'Mech's are still undergoing a full inspection. So in the meantime, we thought you might want to test out some combat vehicles. Please give as a tougher a review as you can."

Hammond: So, what? We get to drive some tanks?

May: That's what it sounds like.

Hammond: Excellent.

Cut to a shot of a cramped cockpit; Hammond is struggling to fasten a six-point restraint.

Hammond (VO): Some minor comfort issues aside, I felt confident that I had chosen wisely.

Hammond: Get in there, you #BLEEP#!

Eventually he manages to secure himself, and sets about starting up the vehicle.

Cut to a shot of a small hovercraft rising off of the ground in a cloud of dust.

Hammond (VO): I had chosen the S. L. Lewis Incorporated Savannah Master scout.

The hovercraft starts moving forward, slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed.

Hammond (VO): Capable of speeds in excess of 130mph, yet still carrying a medium laser, the Savannah Master is used to seek out and harass light 'Mech's and infantry, relying on speed and manoeuvrability over armour.

The hovercraft starts to fishtail spectacularly, spinning completely round before leaving the track and heading out across the grass at a seemingly random angle.

Cut to the cockpit; Hammond is fighting the controls, and loosing, while being shaken about somewhat violently.

Hammond: How do you steer this thing?

Cut back to outside; slowly, and with a few false starts, he manages to bring the craft under control.

Hammond (VO): True, the controls take some getting use to, something you may not have time for in a combat situation, but it is still a very cheep and economical. It is emencly fun to drive, with controls that handle kind of like a motorcycles.

The Savannah Master attempts to take a corner, only to spin off yet again.

May (VO): While Hamster has, as ever, gone for speed, I have chosen conform and functionality.

A far larger, wheeled vehicle rumbles past the stricken Savannah Master under perfect control.

Cut to May, who is sat in a comfortable seat inside a spacious cockpit.

May: Ladies and Gentleman, the Wheeled APC. Not as fast as the space-hopper out there, but still capable of hitting 60mph on a good day. It also has room in the back for either a fully equipped infantry squad, or your average family weekly shop. It is also technically road-legal, so you can use it every day. How good is that?

Cut to a wide shot showing the APC take the hammerhead a little wide, while the Savannah Master once again is sent careering off the tack, backwards.

Clarkson (VO): Yet again, my fellow presenters are talking out of their trousers, while I was the sole voice of reason. And that is why, instead of picking a little weekend run-around, I had gone for something a little more practical for a time when the only constant is war.

A massive tank rumbles into view.

Clarkson (VO): While it maybe almost painfully slow at 40mph, Defiance Industries' Manticore Heavy Tank carries a veritable arsenal of weapons, certainly more than enough to take out Tweedledum and Tweedledumber out there.

Cut to the interior of the tank; Clarkson is sat surrounded by controls and displays that wouldn't look out of place in an airliner. His helmet is decorated with the Peace Sign and the words 'Born To Kill'.

Clarkson: This is, in many ways, the 31st century answer to the Sherman or the T-34; simple to build, rugged, but highly effective.

Cut to a tracking shot that shows the Manticore rounding a corner, clipping the struggling Savannah Master and sending it spinning once again out of control.

Hammond (on radio): Jeremy, you great ape!

Clarkson (on radio): Sorry, didn't see you there.

Cut to a high angle shot showing the three vehicals making their way around a carefully laid out course.

May (on radio): Is it me, or does this track remind you of something?

Hammond (on radio): Can't say it does.

Clarkson (on radio): That's because you've spent more time off of it then on.

May (on radio): Guys, I can see something up ahead...

Cut to a close up of all three vehicles lines up at the side of the track; the Savannah Master is back to front and covered in mud and grass stains.

All three presenters dismount, and walk over to just in front of the camera, looking at something off side. They all have a shocked expression on their faces.

Clarkson: How the hell did that get here?

The camera slowly pans around to reveal the familiar shape of a Kia Cee'd

May (off camera): Well, I guess we'd better find someone to put in it then...

Cut to the studio; Clarkson is sat on the central stage beside the Star In A Reasonably Priced Car chart.

Clarkson: Well, as you can imagine, it was kind of hard to find anyone to take part: no one had any books, films, TV shows or albums worth plugging to an audience from a thousand years in the past. So we tried calling up the Successor Lords, to see if they'd be interested, but after two hours of very, very detailed death threats from Romano Liao, we called it a day on that. So, instead, I just headed into town and grabbed the first two MechWarrior's I could find. Thankfully, I think it hit the jackpot. Ladies and Gentleman, Natasha Kerensky and The Bounty Hunter!

The audience erupts into applauds as two figures make their way towards the stage. The first is a tall, slender woman in her late fortes to early fifties, dressed in a powder blue tank-top, tan jacket and leather pants. A few steps behind her is an imposing figure in a Star League vintage full-body MechWarrior combat suit, their face hidden behind a tinted visor.

Clarkson stands to greet them, hesitating slightly before kissing Kerensky on the cheek and shaking the Bounty Hunter's hand.

Clarkson: Welcome, welcome to the show! We are truly lucky to have two of the biggest names in the MechWarrior community here today...

A laser bolt, fired from somewhere in the audience, burns a hole through the top of the Star In A Reasonably Priced Car chart.

Clarkson: ...not forgetting, of cause, reigning Solaris VII champion Justin Allard, who we met earlier. Charming and level headed chap; not the type to take anything personally.

The audience laughs.

Kerensky: I am only here to prove, once and for all, who is the better pilot.

Bounty Hunter: I'm only here to get a better look at Natasha in those wonderfully tight leather pants.

Kerensky's hand drops to her holster, but it's empty.

Clarkson: Yes, probably best that we had you both disarm before coming on-set.

Kerensky: I have killed men for less!

Clarkson: It's wasn't me; it was our health-and-safety inceptor who insisted upon it.

Kerensky: I shall deal with him later.

Bounty Hunter: I have to hand it to you, 'Tash; you've really improved your social skills.

Kerensky: SILENCE! I kill you!

Clarkson coughs loudly, somewhat obviously disguising the fact that he's laughing.

Clarkson: Anyway, no point asking about your car histories, because you're both famously tight-lipped about your past, how about we get on with the times. How do you think you've done?

Kerensky: It goes without saying that I have surpassed all of these so-called "celebrities" you have there.

She gestures towards the board dismissively.

Bounty Hunter: I'd be happy with anything under 1:44.2; Cranston Snord made me sit through Eyes Wide Shut and Top Gun 2 on a bet once, and I have never forgotten just how bad they were.

Clarkson: No argument from me there on the first one, but I'm still waiting for the chance to avoid seeing Top Gun 2 when it comes out. Anyway, let's see how Natasha did, shall we?

Cut to the recreated Test Track; the Kia Cee'd sits on the line, engine revving.

Cut to inside the car; Kerensky is sat behind the wheel, a look of total concentration on her face.

Cut back to the outside: a man in a long white robe drops the green flag, and the car takes off in a cloud of smoke.

Clarkson (VO): Little wheel-spin there off the line, but I've seen worse.

Cut to a tracking shot on the first corner; the Kia seems to be travailing too fast to take the corner without spinning off, but at the last possible moment, it snaps round to kiss the apex.

Clarkson (VO): Very well done that; I'm sure The Stig would have been impressed if he'd been here.

Cut to what at first seems to be a salon in the wild west, only with a neon sign behind the bar and a large TV in the corner. The Stig is stood at the bar, a long brown coat over his coveralls. The rather drunk man behind him eyes him carefully, before lifting a pool cue with the obvious intent of using it as a club.

Cut to the outside of the salon; the drunk is thrown bodily out through the doors, landing in a bruised head outside. He is followed shortly there after by the two broken ends of the pool cue.

Cut back to the test track; the Kia powers into Chicago, the back end kicking out slightly slightly, but still under control.

Clarkson (VO): I have to say, for someone who spends most of their time piloting a 'Mech, you are a very good driver.

The Kia turns into the Hammerhead, actually power-sliding part of the way round.

Clarkson (VO): Never seen the See Apostrophe Dee do that before.

Cut to the interior of the car; Kerensky's expression is unchanged.

Clarkson (VO): The very embodiment of concentration there.

Cut back to a wide shot of the Kia as it enters the Follow-Through, the tyre-wall shaking visibly.

Clarkson (VO): Flat out there; not even a hint of lifting off as you come to the second-to-last corner.

Cut to a tracking shot of the Kia cornering tightly.

Clarkson (VO): Only Gambon left now; can you keep it together...

Skidding slightly, the Kia takes the last corner and crosses the line.

Clarkson (VO): Yes you can!

Cut to the studio; the audience is applauding loudly.

Clarkson: Now, that was a very impressive lap; few people have ever handled such a... reasonably priced car so well.

Kerensky: You expected any less?

Clarkson: Okay, point taken, point taken. But, before we find out just how well you did, lets see how our other guest did.

Bounty Hunter: Oh, this should be interesting.

Clarkson: That's one way of putting your lap...

Cut to the test track; the Bounty Hunter is trying, unsuccessfully, to climb into the Cee'd.

Clarkson (VO): Yes, you had a little trouble there...

The Bounty Hunter rips the drivers seat out of the Cee'd and dumps it on the grass beside the track before climbing in.

Clarkson (VO): Oddly enough, that's exactly how Lawrence Dallaglio handled the same problem with our old Lacetti.

The Cee'd takes off down the track in a cloud of smoke, the engine howling as it is pushed to the very limit.

Cut to a wide shot of the first corner. The Cee'd executes a perfect Scandinavian flick, the two left hand wheels actually leaving the ground for a moment.

Cut to the studio; the Bounty hunter is sat with their arms folded across their chest, feet up on the table. They nod slowly.

Cut back to the test track; the Cee'd kisses the apex on Chicago, over-steering slightly, but recovering quickly.

Clarkson (VO): Very impressive so far.

Cut to the Hammerhead; the Cee'd power-slides round the hairpin, smoke billowing from all four wheels.

Clarkson (VO): Little bit of a tank-slapper there at the end.

Cut to a tracking shot of the Cee'd taking the follow-through so fast one of the tyres actually falls off of the wall.

Clarkson (VO): Never seen that happen before.

The Cee's moves into the second-to-last corner, smoke starting to escape from under the bonnet.

Clarkson (VO): Yes, it was at this point that you threw a rod...

The Cee'd powers into Gambon, turning so tightly it spins around through 180-degrees that tips onto its side, skidding across the line moments before the engine catches fire.

The driver-side door opens, and the Bounty Hunter emerges, seemingly unparsed by the experience.

Cut back to the studio; the audience is dumbstruck. The Bounty Hunter jumps up, giving the peace sign with both hands.

Bounty Hunter: Who's the Daddy?

Clarkson: That was... well... words fail me.

Kerensky: HA! You drive just as well as you pilot a BattleMech.

Cut to the top of the scoreboard.

Clarkson (off camera): Okay, so Matt LeBlanc is at the top with a 1:42.1.

Cut to Clarkson, looking somewhat nervous.

Clarkson: Natasha Kerensky, you did it in... 1:41.5!

The audience goes wiled as Clarkson places the time at the top of the board.

Cut to Kerensky; she is leaning back in her chair, smiling smugly.

Kerensky: I expected nothing less.

Bounty Hunter: Not bad, I'll give you that...

Kerensky: SILENCE!

Clarkson: Okay, so that's one time. Now, Bounty Hunter, you did it in...

He cringes.

Clarkson: 1:41.4!

The Bounty Hunter leaps up onto the couch, one fist thrust strait up while the other hand grabs their crotch provocatively.

Bounty Hunter: HAIL TO THE KING, BABY!

Kerensky tackles him and they tumble off the stage into the audience, trading blows and insults.

Cut back to Clarkson.

Clarkson: Think it's best if we go back to the challenge now!

Cut back to outside the 'Mech hanger; the presenters stand by impatiently as the massive doors slow grind open, revealing a massive dark chamber beyond. Spotlights flick on illuminating the Charger, Mercury and Phoenix Hawk standing in maintenance bays. Mech-Stig's bright yellow UrbanMech is in a forth bay at the end.

May: So that's where he got to...

A man dressed in a flowing hooded robe with gold and silver emblems embroidered around the hem hands them an envelope.

Clarkson: Okay, so it's minus five points for any extra minor faults they found, and ten for anything major?

Hammond: Yep.

May: Sounds about right.

Clarkson opens the envelope.

Clarkson: James, they found five new minor faults and no new major faults. Which gives you a total of minus twenty-five.

May punches the air.

May: You beauty!

Clarkson: Hamster, they found six new minor faults, and two new major faults. Which leaves you with minus fifty.

Hammond: That bloody ankle...

Clarkson clears his throat.

Clarkson: With my Charger, they found no new minor faults, and only one new major fault, so I'm on minus ten.

Hammond: What?

He grabs the card and double checks it.

Hammond: What the hell is a broken secondary pressure seal?

Clarkson: Remember when we got a little trigger happy in the jungle? Damaged one of my heat sinks. You, on the other hand, managed to face-plant your Mercury GTI, while Evil Kenevil here,

He points at May.

Clarkson: ...went all "Rocket Man" across the river and miss-judged his landing ever-so-slightly.

May: That is true; I did cock that one up a bit.

Clarkson: I was the only one of us who treated his 'Mech with anything even approaching care and respect.

Hammond: They're bloody massive armoured war machines; they should be able to survive a few knocks and bumps!

The hooded figure appears from off screen and hands them a new envelope. Clarkson opens it.

Clarkson: And that's exactly what we're about to test next, because the producers have rented the combat range next door, and we're going to have a little fight!

May: With live ammo?

Hammond: Don't be stupid, James; they wouldn't do that to us... would they?

All three exchange worried looks.

Cut to a large area of open ground; a number of bombed-out buildings huddle in one corner, trees another, while a small river snakes through the middle. Large rocks and patches of deep mud can be seen.

Clarkson (VO): This was the crucible where we would settle, once and for all, who had chosen the best 'Mech. Would it be the Good?

Cut to a close up of the Phoenix Hawk, which is standing amid the trees.

Clarkson (VO): The Bad?

Cut to the Charger, half hidden behind the skeletal remains of a house.

Clarkson (VO): The Ugly?

Cut the the Mercury, knee deep in the river.

Clarkson (VO): Or the down-right Insane?

Cut to the UrbanMech, atop a low bolder.

Cut to a computer-generated map of the combat range: each Mech is located in a different corner, equal distant from the others.

Clarkson (VO): As it happens, the producers weren't trying to kill us, this time, so our lasers would be cut down to a fraction of their normal power, while projectile weapons would be loaded with blanks. A computer would log any hits made and damage taken, and instruct our 'Mech's to react accordingly. It's the same training program used by most MechWarrior's across the Inner Sphere, as it's a little cheaper than blowing holes in otherwise irreplaceable machines.

Cut to a serious of shots showing the cockpits of the 'Mech's; while the three presenters look apprehensive, 'Mech-Stig remains unreadable behind his visor. In the end, it settles on Hammond in the Mercury.

Hammond: This is actually a lot closer than any of you watching this at home may think. The producers have drained the last of the fuel from James' jump-jets, giving me the edge in speed and manoeuvrability, while he still has an edge in fire-power. Jeremy, well, while I may make fun of it, that Charger is a walking tank that'll take a lot to bring down. The only good thing is that we've been banned from making physical attacks, otherwise he could literally pound James and I to death with that things fists.

Cut to the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk.

May: Jeremy is just as fast as I am, but if I can keep out of his range, he's not going to be much of a problem. Hammond is going to be snipping at us both, but in order to do so he'll have to get within range of my Large Laser, and one hit from that could cripple him.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger: Clarkson is weaning a stars-and-stripes banana as a sweat-band, and has covered his face in camouflage cream.

Clarkson: To survive the war, you must become the war...

Cut to an open shot of the middle of the combat range.

Hammond (VO): Thankfully, the producers decided to start the festivities before Jeremy butchered a live donkey...

A loud siren emits two short burst, then one long one, indicating that the trial has begun.

Cut to the Charger; it is trying to move through the bombed out village, but catches the side of one of the buildings with its over-sized shoulder, and the roof collapses, sending up a massive cloud of dust. It pauses for a moment, then takes half a step to the side and continues down the street as if nothing had happened.

Cut to the Mercury; it is crouched down behind a low ridge, observing the cloud of dust from a distance. It slowly rises to its full hight and moves along the ridge in a bid to catch its opponent from behind.

Cut to the Phoenix Hawk; it is making its way across an area of open grassland, but pauses when it sees the cloud of dust on the horizon. Unlike the Mercury, it veers away from the disturbance, towards the other side of the combat range.

Cut to the UrbanMech; it remains motionless on top of its boulder.

Cut back to the Charger: it has found the skeletal remains of a building large and solid enough for it to hide inside, and has carefully backed into the gap.

Cut to the Mercury: it enters the town from the other side, keeping to the side-streets as it seeks out its prey.

Cut to he cockpit of the Mercury: Hammond looks a little apprehensive.

Hammond: I have absolutely no idea who's out there or where; the producers have disabled our active sensors, and the passives on this particular Mercury are, to be honest, pants. I am hoping it's 'Mech-Stig in the UrbanMech, because if I can get behind him, I should be able to get through his armour before he can turn that 120mm autocannon on me.

Cut to the streets; the Mercury is approaching a large, brick-built building.

Cut to the cockpit of the Charger.

Clarkson: Be vewy vewy quiet; I'm hunting wabbits!

Cut to the street; the Mercury has stopped a hundred metered from the building.

Hammond (VO): I could see something through the windows, I just couldn't tell what.

The Mercury raises its arms and fires at the wall with its Medium Lasers. One manages to find a window.

The wall suddenly collapses as the Charger steps back through it, bricks and roofing tiles cascading down its back.

Hammond (on radio): Oh, #BLEEP#!

The Mercury back peddles, feet slipping slightly on the rubble strewn street as the Charger turns to face it. Beams of azure light flickers through the brick dust, lash out, striking the Mercury on its right arm and shoulder. It returns fire with twin jade lances as it backs into the shadow of an apartment building.

Rather that try to follow the Mercury and face it head-on, the Charger lives up to its name by crashing through the building, bring the roof and part of the wall crashing down on the scout 'Mech. Carrying too much momentum, the Charger then crashes into the Mercury, sending it stumbling across the street and into the side of what had once been a factory.

Hammond (on radio): NO PHYSICAL ATTACKS, YOU GREAT OAF!

Clarkson (on radio): That was completely accidental, I assure you.

The Mercury struggles to regain its footing while the Charger has become entangled in the wreckage of the now fully collapsed apartment building. As the two pilots battle to be the first to regain control, the Phoenix Hawk appears at the far end of the street, it's pistol-like Large Laser held at the read.

Cut to the gun-camera on the Phoenix Hawk; the targeting radical moves from side-to-side between the 'Mech's, before finally settling on the Charger and changing from red to green, indicating a solid lock.

May (on radio): No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!

Cut to an over-shoulder shot of the Phoenix Hawk, a wire-diagram of the Charger in the bottom left corner, the Mercury in the bottom right. A bright crimson bolt momentarily overwhelms even the filters on the cameras, and the left arm of the diagram of the Charger turn yellow, indicating a direct hit. The machine-guns in the medium 'Mech's forearms then open up, spent shell casings as strikes start to register on the legs of the Mercury.

Cut to the cockpit of the Mercury; several alarms are sounding at once.

Hammond: Oh god, he's hit the damaged ankle; that can't be good.

Cut to an areal shot looking down. The Phoenix Hawk and the still stranded Mercury trade shots, the dust in the air making it increasingly hard to see anything, while rising heat levels mean that both 'Mech's are starting to get sluggish, even as wire diagrams shows where damage is starting to mount. Unseen by either, the Charger is able to free itself from the rubble and steps out into the street. It seems to consider the Mercury for a moment, then turns and starts running strait at the Phoenix Hawk.

Clarkson (on radio): RAMMING SPEED!

Spotting the more imminent danger, the Phoenix Hawk switches targets and unleashes a full Alpha Strike, pushing its heat levels into the red. The diagram of the Chargers shows fresh damage, but there is simply not enough time to get through its thick armour to the vital components inside. Veering off at the last moment, the Charger raises its right arm and clotheslines the Phoenix Hawk, both 'Mech's crashing into the remains of a corner shop.

Hammond (VO): It was at this point the rules went out of the window, health and safety be damned.

The Charger and the Phoenix Hawk trade punches and laser blasts even as they struggle to rise, while the Mercury tacks pot-shots at them from a relatively safe distance.

Somehow, the Phoenix Hawk manages to get the Charger in a headlock.

May (on radio): SAY UNCLE!

Clarkson (on radio): NEVER!

The Charger slams its elbow back into the Phoenix Hawk, denting the torso armour and loosening its grip enough to get free.

Hammond (VO): At this point, it could have gone either way, but fate intervened...

Cut to a shot looking back over the Mercury's shoulder; 'Mech-Stig's UrbanMech lumbers into view, travailing at its maximum ground speed, despite the debris on the ground. It ignores the three targets in front of it, and seems more intent on making the next corner, but what looks like a bolt of lightening tears through its right leg just below the knee, and it tumbles to the ground. Its head splits open an the command couch rockets free at the last possible moment, sending 'Mech-Stig arching high over the brawl below.

Hammond (on radio): Um, guys, I think we've got a problem...

The camera pans around somewhat hurriedly, zoom-focusing in and out until it settles on a pair of BattleMech's, one a close black Warhammer, the other a bright-green Marauder.

Clarkson (on radio): Oh, #BLEEP#! I wondered where those two go to after security threw them out of the studio.

May (on radio): Does it even matter? They're here now, and it looks like their in a bad mood!

The Warhammer fires its PPC's at the Marauder, but the shot goes wide, the twin bolts of man-made lightning flash-melting the surface of the road.

Hammond (on radio): I don't think they even know we're here...

Clarkson (on radio): Gentlemen, given that our weapons are locked into practice mode, and they are, without a doubt, two of the deadliest MechWarriors of this or any other generation...

Hammond (on radio): Not forgetting Justin Allard?

Clarkson (on radio): NEVER forgetting Justin Allard, might I suggest that we relocate to somewhere a little less hazardous to our health?

May (on radio): If by that you mean "run away like scared little girls", then I'm for once I'm completely in agreement with you.

Hammond (on radio): Gentlemen... RUN AWAY!

The Mercury turns to head towards the camera, but takes a flight of SRM's to the back. It staggers and falls into a nearby house, the roof collapsing the bury it. Meanwhile, the Charger and the Phoenix Hawk struggle to rise, but have become entangled with both each other and the debris that surrounds them. In a last-chance bid for freedom, the Phoenix Hawk engages its jump-jets, and the two 'Mech's are sent skidding across the ground, away from the battle but totally out of control. They crash through the supports for an old advertisement for a freight company called Careless Spaceways, and a twenty-ton grand piano drops onto what use to be a Morris Marina dealership. The entire building explodes in a massive fireball.

Somehow, the force of the blast separates them, and the Charge is sent flying off at an angle, coming to rest in the local duck-pond, while the Phoenix Hawk continues to streak down the middle of the road, arms and legs flailing uselessly. Eventually the fuel runs out, and it screeches to a halt, a black and broken mess.

A large shadow looms over the wreckage, and the cockpit slowly turns to look strait up.

May (on radio): And where the hell have you been?

Cut to a low angle shot looking up; a pristine Atlas stands backlit by the blazing sun. It is painted white, except for a black stripe across the front of the head that resembles a massive visor.

Cut to the cockpit of the Atlas; The Stig is sat at the controls, cracking his knuckles before turning on the radio, filling the compartment with the sound of Pipes and Drums playing The Black Bear.

Cut to a high angle view of the village. The Atlas starts to advance of the still battling Warhammer and Marauder, the ground shaking with every step. It passes the Charger, which is slumped up against an ornamental fountain, and the Mercury, of which only the legs can be seen. Eventually it is spotted by the two combatants, who break off so they can take a step back and face it. The Atlas raises is massive arms and points a finger at each 'Mech, then gives them a come hither gesture before adopting a fighting stance.

There is a moment of near total silence, broken only by the sound of Hammond trying to dig his Mercury out of the rubble, as the two MechWarriors try to determine what to make of the newcomer. The camera shifts between close-ups of all three Mech's, and the ominous sound of a bell tolling can be heard.

Time starts to slow as, at the exact same instant, all three 'Mech's start to raise their arms, each targeting the other two. The image pauses on a over-shoulder shot from behind the Atlas, and the sound of weapons fire can be heard.

Cut to the presenters looking out over a crater-pocked landscape, parts of which are still on fire. Clarkson has his right arm and left leg in plaster, Hammond is on crutches and has his head bandaged up to a near comical degree, ans may is sat in a wheelchair.

Hammond: It could have gone a little better...

The Stig walks past, his overalls slightly singes, holding a broken neural-helmet in one hand, the leg of a Star League vintage full-body MechWarrior combat suit in the other.

Clarkson: He had fun.

May: Oh, I'm so chuffing glad someone did.

Hammond: Can we go home now?

Cut the 21st century studio; the presenters are still bandaged up, but looking slightly better. Behind them is an elaborate looking scoreboard.

Clarkson: Well, as you could see there, all three of our Reasonably Priced BattleMech's were reduced to so many spare parts by the end there.

May: I didn't half get into trouble with ComStar for that.

Clarkson: But that renders our board here completely useless.

Hammond: Yes, so our Top Gear Top Tip has to be this; if you do find yourself in a 31st Century Taurian stake-house, don't order the Spicy Chicken Wings as a starter!

May: No, it has to be; if you do want to buy a second-hand BattleMech for less then 10-million C-Bills... don't.

Clarkson: And on that bombshell, it's time to say goodnight. Goodnight!

The End!