Shots ring out, rattling the massive frame and the small, fragile pilot within.
QUERY: Input from Handler?
The positive feedback continues as another frame falls out of the sky before her as she dodges out of the way, a masterfully executed maneuver.
QUERY: Handler? Input?
>_Good dog. Almost done, darling.
CONCLUDE: Come back to Handler?
She wants nothing more than to please Handler, to make Handler happy and proud of her. Her real body may be weak but within the steel of the frame she is strong. Strong enough to make Handler proud. Strong enough to keep Handler safe. To keep everyone safe. She knew that Handler had a name, one beyond the title, but she couldn't remember it. She didn't need to remember, right? Just needed to please, to help, to keep Handler safe.
>_Not just yet. 2 more, can you do that for me?
CONFIRMATION: Yes Handler. Engaging.
A final series of shots rings out, distorted in the abnormal atmosphere of the now-inhospitable planet, glassed towards the start of the war. One enemy frame's boosters are blown out, and it careens sideways in a spiral, colliding with the other frame. The tangled mass of steel limbs and weaponry fall through the clouds on a direct collision course with the dead ground below.
QUERY: Come back to Handler?
>_Yes darling, come on back. Wonderful job.
---------------
The cockpit of the frame hissed open, the light of the hangar bleeding through into the darkened interior. The woman within curls up slightly, flinching away from the light. A crew of mechanics scurry away as her Handler approaches, climbing up to the cockpit and cooing encouragement and affection in the pilot's ear.
>_Wonderful job, dear. Such a good hound.
A hand brushes over her hair, gently working out the various neural plugs and cables from the back of her head and neck while her mind drifts away into the words of Handler. Her ears merely registered the words, translating them into plain text for the pilot to easily comprehend.
>_Such a good job today, so many wonderful little tricks. Such a good girl.
The pilot's body had been modified countless times over the past several hundred cycles, removing anything unneeded and adding dozens of small optimizations to interface with her frame.
>_Just breathe, dear. I've got you.
Her ears were modified, only registering sounds to translate into plain text to prevent the potential deafness resulting from dogfights.
>_You're all done for today. You're okay, my darling pilot.
Her spinal column and brain riddled with implants to let her plug directly into the mass of steel, her true body.
>_Such a good dog.
Her vocal cords... those never worked. Not really. To solve that, any intention to speak was translated into plain text as well, a readout sent directly to Handler.
QUERY: Did... good?
Handler scoops her up into a gentle embrace, carefully lifting her from the cockpit. Handler would keep her safe, let her rest...
>_Very good, darling. So, very good.
Her head rested on Handler's shoulder with one hand in her hair, the other on her back, gently lifting and carrying the pilot through the halls from the hangar to Handler's bunk.
QUERY: Rest with Handler?
>_Of course, sweet thing. Such a good girl. You've done so, so well today.
Handler lays the pilot down on a large mass of pillows and blankets at the foot of the bed, where she sleeps. Her bed. Last time she slept in Handler's bed, she'd fallen out and gotten hurt, and Handler couldn't have that happening again. The pilot couldn't bear to sleep in the bunks with the other pilots, couldn't bear being so far away from the comfort and warmth and love of Handler. She knew that even if she startled awake, haunted by nightmares, Handler would be there to calm her down, keep her safe, kiss her and hold her gently...
STATEMENT: I love Handler.
QUERY: Handler loves me?
From the bed above her, Handler spoke.
>_More than anything, angel. More than anything.
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