Thereās a Valkyrie in my repair bayā¦
āInā is a sort of operative word here, because the only parts āinsideā are the crown and 60% of the torso. The legs and three of remaining wings are hanging out clear into the scrapyard. And the fourth wing is still sitting in the crash site half a mile down the hill.
If a drone or any Colonial Empire ships pass over theyāll spot her. And then sheās done for. And my entire family probably will be too.
But we couldnāt just leave her out there.
*Patriotic, brassy tune plays over drone footage of a Valkyrie with red, blue and black styling, disappearing into a rendering of an eagle screaming as voiceover begins*
āHave you ever wondered where your government gets kids to fly a Valkyrie? Today weāre going to get into that, with profile pieces on Kevin and Amy Dalton, twins from Reclaimed Nebraska, who both tested into the pilot program atāā
I cut off the propaganda piece with distaste, turn my attention back to the slab of meat at hand.
āAlright, 7723, letās teach you what you need to know.ā
The family has taken to calling her "Pi" or just "Little Sister."
We had to take a cutter to the "helmet" to get it off of her. Apparently the fasteners were just there to reduce strain on the control harness. The control harness which, when we disconnected it from the neurolink connection in her skull, sent her into a tonic-clonic seizure. Her brain not adjusting well to being disconnected from the machine.
SEVERAL YEARS PRIOR
The problem is that humans are inordinately complicated machines. Itās easy for some of the brass to realize that some shmuck from a downwell nowhere on Terra or Mars or whatever costs, on average, several orders of magnitude less than the AIs we were trying to use early in the Valkyrie program. But then you realize for their bright idea to work you need to make a human, or something kinda like a human anyway, from scratch. And thatās just not easily doable.
So we didnāt.
I got outvotedā¦
The family decided that if she could adapt to walking in an exoframe, then she learn to use the heavy loader, and that would be a boon to the whole family.
I argued that she was too dangerous.
They said she couldnāt do much without an ion cannon that can level buildings or a sword as thick as hullplate.
I said that she didnāt need a weapon to be dangerous. I still got outvoted. But at the same time no oneās questioning why Iām holding a rivet gun in the med bay.
āAlright, Pi,ā Martine said as he stood next to the bed they had her laid out on. āIām gonna jack the frame controls into your neurolink, if thereās any problems or anythingās wrong just start shaking your head okay?
The frame barely fit her, it had to be cut down in a lot of places and it still barely fit. Not designed for children.
The girl nodded her head and Martine proceeded. The second it connected her whole body convulsed and half the people in the room jumped with her.
āMartineā¦ā Uncle Rica started.
He was about to answer but then the girl started seizing violently.
āShit!ā Martine shouted. āHelp me disconnect her!ā He went to grab for the control jack and suddenly she stopped seizing and had ahold of his arm.
I raised my riveter, worried that my fears had come to fruition.
Then nothing happened.
Everyone was still.
And then she sat up. She let go of Martine and stared at her hands, flexing them open and closed.
āHoly shitā¦ā Martine mumbled.
She slid off the table and stood, unsteady at first. Everyone backed up to give her space. She took one step then froze. Those green eyes wide and staring, thinking, analyzing.
She took off like a bolt, full sprint out the door and down the channel.
āWeaver! Look at her go!ā Uncle Ortega laughed.
Martine and I took off after her, a few of the smaller cousins in tow.
āShit sheās fast!ā Martine wheezed as he struggled to keep up.
I could see her ahead of me, full tilt running down the mile long channel that ran the length of the old colony ship we lived in. She didnāt seem to be doing anything, going anywhere, just running.
Until she stopped. Slowed her pace and collapsed to her knees. Ten seconds later Iād finally caught up to her, thoroughly out of breath. As I came around her I saw her face, eyes wide and staring forward. She was trembling slightly.
āPi,ā Martine huffed, as he finally arrived. āWhatās wrong?ā
I knelt down in front of her, trying to figure out why she suddenly stopped, those green eyes latched on to me and I saw tears starting to roll down her cheeks. She was in pain, a lot of pain, so much pain and she canāt even scream. āFuck!ā I shouted. āMartine disconnect it!ā
āWhat??ā He asked, confused.
āTurn it off!ā I screamed. āItās hurting her!ā
āFuck!ā He lunged for the control harness. The second it disconnected she collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, taking a massive inhale.
Apparently, she hadnāt taken a breath since the frame was connectedā¦
By my count there are three people on the troop-carrier who know about the cores. First the political officer, a devastatingly beautiful woman Iām terrified of, then a Handler, older with glasses, then me. Officially Iām Technical Officer Riggs, Biomechanical Interface Systems Specialist.
I do goo.
Itās inspection day.
I hate inspection day.
The whole family has been so busy this past month dealing with the Valkyrie that we forgot about it and now we have a Titan-class war machine hanging out of the shop and its fucking inspection day.















