Lanis is woken by soft words that grow more insistent, and then a gentle prodding. She opens her eyes to a Fleet tech, a young lieutenant whose face is grave and full of apology.

  “Admiral Ren asked me to wake you, Navigator,” he says, awkwardly trying to still be quiet over the dull groan of the transport’s thrusters. “We’re landing soon.” Folded in his hands is a blue Fleet uniform, along with a visored helmet.

  Lanis runs a hand through her unwashed hair, squinting her eyes.

  Oh God, she thinks. They’ve started calling me Navigator again.

  “It’s for the Insertion Unit,” the Fleet tech continues, following Lanis’ questioning gaze as she stifles a yawn. “Micro-articulators heighten the Unit’s feedback against your body, reinforcing the system integration. The helmet contains protective ECG monitoring, as well as a redundant neural shunt fail-safe system—” He suddenly stops himself, snapping his mouth shut and looking at Lanis with a sheepish smile.

  “But I guess you probably know all that?” he says, trailing off.

  Lanis makes a non-committal noise as she takes the suit from the tech. She thinks that the uniform was mentioned somewhere during the Assault Unit training modules, but it seemed vastly less important than other topics, such as how to stay alive behind the Unit’s Bulwark shield, or how to move the damn thing. She un-clips her harness and unceremoniously begins to pull off her Murkata uniform.

  “There’s a bathroom through there, if you want,” stammers the tech. Lanis can’t tell if he’s blushing, or if it’s just the dim red-hued light.

  Lanis silently rolls her eyes as she keeps undressing.

  “You know, I really don’t care anymore, but if you feel the need to avert your eyes, go ahead,” Lanis says, placing the helmet in the empty seat beside her, and turning the Unit’s pilot suit over in her hands. Which way goes on front again? The man awkwardly clears his throat, makes a hesitant hand movement toward the suit, and then abruptly moves elsewhere.

  Lanis is still struggling to peel on the skin-tight uniform a minute later when Admiral Ren appears.

  “What’s gotten into your Fleet techs?” Lanis mutters, gritting her teeth as she pushes a final arm through a suit sleeve. She squeezes a small indentation at the collar of the suit, and micro-weave fibers interlace themselves across her chest, as if the suit has suddenly become alive, hugging her like a cocoon.

  “Oh. Yes, well, they’re quite green. Most of the veterans are probably dead. I suppose you’ve managed to engender a bit of hero worship too,” Ren says, adjusting the back of Lanis’ suit with a practiced tug. “What, between your status as a discharged Navigator, Arena pilot, and soon-to-be Insertion Unit commander.”

  Lanis laughs mirthlessly, turning her head left and then right to test the suit’s fit. Admiral Ren’s tug did fix a certain pinching across her shoulder. She turns to the woman, who has a cluster of gel packets in one hand. Lanis steadies herself on the back of her jump seat as the transport banks, raising her voice over the shifting sounds of the engines.

  “You know Admiral, if you’re all going to start calling me Navigator again, I’m going to want my full officer dispensation when this is done; not this cadet half-pay bullshit.” She sits down heavily, flexing her hands in the suit’s matte-blue gloves. Judging by the Admiral’s silence, Lanis can tell that the woman is taken aback. Lanis wonders if Fleet has always been this immune to attempts at humor, or if it’s the few months planet-side that’s made her a bit feral.

  The Admiral slowly lowers herself into the seat across from Lanis; she looks like she’s about to discuss the intricacies of re-evaluating Lanis’ discharge dispensation, when Lanis waves a hand, shaking her head.

  “I’m just joking, Admiral. Although I will definitely be qualifying for an Insertion Pilot retirement stipend if I survive this,” Lanis says. She arches a meaningful eyebrow toward the gel packets. Strawberry. My favorite. “So, how far out are we?”

  “Ten minutes,” Ren replies. She hands over the cluster of protein packets, and Lanis tears open three at a time, as per her normal protocol. She gestures, and the Admiral hands over a bottle of water from her seat’s mesh sleeve. Three strawberries at once always require some water.

  “Fond of those, are we?” Ren asks, raising her own pale eyebrows.

  Lanis responds, “I hope you give me a few inside the cockpit. If I’m going to die, I’d like to have the strawberry flavor in my mouth, if at all possible.”

  The admiral gives a rueful smile.

  “If only the Assault Unit’s command pod allowed for such things,” Admiral Ren answers, sadly shaking her head.

  Lanis swallows, trying to focus on the Murkata-Heisen branded artificial flavor as she pushes down the sudden glimmers of a panic attack as the reality of what she’s about to do draws inexorably closer.

  Right, the command pod, Lanis thinks, giving an involuntary shudder. I nearly forgot about that.

  Flanked by Admiral Ren, the Fleet techs, and Murkata security officers, Lanis makes her way down the Murkata transport’s ramp.

  The air is cool on Lanis’ face as she exits the transport, her helmet held under one arm, and she briefly shields her eyes from the surprising brightness of an early afternoon sun. Between the artificial light of the Murkata complex and the dim interior of the transport, Lanis had nearly lost her sense of time, but it appears that Terra has continued to spin on its tilted axis, still immune to the thought that the world is coming to an end.

  They’re immediately greeted by a flanking cadre of Murkata soldiers in tactical gear and another cluster of Fleet technicians, as well as a tall senior officer in the flowing, somewhat angelic-looking uniform of Planetary Administration. I wonder what you’ve been through, Lanis thinks, squinting at the man. Besides his pretty uniform he looks like shit, his hair rumpled, with dark circles under his eyes. But then again, Lanis thinks, that’s probably how they all look.

  She overhears Admiral Ren and the others exchange hurried words, walking as they speak. She falls in behind them, surrounded by what feels like a dozen technicians, a bubble within a bubble, carried along in their wake like a priceless piece of driftwood. Lanis doesn’t make an attempt to eavesdrop, as her attention is wholly taken up in the scene that surrounds them.

  The whole area, as far as Lanis can see, feels like a cross between a frantic construction site and a war zone, mixed along with the anxious security of a visit from several heads of state. The air thrums with the low growl of idled Murkata transports and mag-levs gliding overhead. Bulky Murkata ships and sleek Planetary Admin transports line the debris-strewn streets, auto-turrets facing outward as heavy machinery lumbers behind them. Lanis can make out several ten-ton personal security Suits interspersed beyond them, dark-green bipeds toting heavy pulse rifles that pace anxiously or crouch along the half-crumbled rooftops as they scan for approaching threats.

  The focal point of it all, toward which Lanis’ group purposefully strides, is the Heavy Assault Unit.

  It’s a colossal thing, still towering over the nearby apartment blocks even though it’s currently slumped down onto one leg, and Lanis has the sudden impression of a colossal squire, about to receive its knighthood from some god of war.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Mag-levs circle the huge mech like flies sniffing out some dead beast, occasionally coming close to inspect a point of repaired, and now hopefully benign, damage. Lanis observes that a temporary scaffold-like structure has been erected across the Unit’s back, along where the pilot insertion point is. Lanis’ sense of vertigo only increases as their group approaches the mech, coming to a small mag-lev that rests not more than a hundred feet away from the Unit. There are more words exchanged, and Lanis cranes her head briefly upward, suppressing a wave of nausea.

  Then she’s swept into the mag-lev, along with the technicians and Admiral Ren. She notices that Ether’s cortex has been moving in just behind her—it's a slightly tight fit, and Lanis rests an arm on the container that houses her co-pilot, mouthing an old prayer of fire and steel as she runs her gloved hand across the case. Then the mag-lev shudders into the sky, rising slowly up to the platform along the mech’s back.

  Time begins to move in awkward bursts. It lingers, painfully, as the group files out of the hovering mag-lev, more than a hundred and fifty feet off the ground, onto the temporary scaffold twenty stories high along the Assault Unit’s back. The waiting technicians carefully unlatch Ether’s cortex from its protective shell. A gust of wind catches Lanis hair, and she pushes it from her face as she watches the two Fleet technicians carry the AI with reverent care to a slightly indented patch of the Assault Unit’s Fleet-blue metal. Another tech rests his hand against the Unit’s back, pushing against something that Lanis can’t see, his eyes un-focusing as they exchange protocols with some other lingering consciousness.

  The two other technicians hold Ether’s cortex against the indentation. Between one blink of her eyes and the next, the patch is replaced by a swarm of metallic filament-fibers. They remind Lanis of a sea anemone seeking after its prey, or a curling, long-legged millipede.

  The filaments take Ether’s core from the technicians’ proffered hands, drawing it into the mech with a metallic hiss. The hatch slides shut, smooth again, as if the opening and the filaments had never existed.

  My turn, Lanis thinks, her heart pounding.

  She slides on her helmet, the device auto-locking under her chin, and time speeds forward along with the hammering of her heart. Admiral Ren shakes her hand and grips her shoulder, offering no final words, but simply a solemn nod over the dull groaning of the heavy mag-levs that circle overhead, awaiting orders. Lanis feels the hands of the Fleet technicians guiding her to the pilot hatch, if hatch is even the right word for the subtle groove along the Unit’s back. It would be nearly unrecognizable if not for the red and yellow warnings that have been etched into the metal around it.

  Lanis watches the metal retract with an odd hiss, opening up a space just large enough for a body to nestle into. Lanis turns, facing outward toward the faces of Admiral Ren and the technicians, and steps back into the opening. She watches as the two technicians simultaneously lay their hands alongside the hatch, their eyes again turning inward.

  It’s almost undetectable at first, but a slight pressure begins to build and move all around Lanis, a thousand dull needles pushing into her skin as the Assault Unit examines its new pilot. She feels a coolly familiar sensation as a neural shunt slides from the helmet and inserts itself into her mind.

  Lanis blinks.

  Hello? She thinks. She watches Admiral Ren turn to one of the technicians, her brow furrowed, speaking. Lanis opens her mouth to ask if everything is ok, when—

  WELCOME

  The voice rips through Lanis' body, causing her body to arch, and a scream to escape her lips, a scream that she cannot hear over the roar inside of her mind. It feels like a wave has just crashed over her, sucking her down to smash against the horrifying rocks along the seabed. She sees Admiral Ren’s spreading alarm, sees her shouting, sees the frantic pounding of the technicians as they attempt something against the hidden access panels.

  As quickly as she was subsumed, Lanis emerges. She gasps for breath, pushing her palms into her eyes as she exerts control back over her reality.

  "Ren?" she yells, uncovering her eyes.

  Oh no. Instead of Admiral Ren’s face, there's only darkness. The access point has closed.

  Lanis swallows, biting down the bile of panic as the moment lingers, long enough to lift up her hands and tentatively run them across the cool interior metal of the Unit.

  Has something gone wrong? A series of scenarios flash through her mind—her Fleet implants, somehow damaged or actually incompatible, now rejected by the Unit, or even worse, somehow blown through, about to be turned into pudding.

  She closes her eyes, focuses, and takes a deep breath.

  I’m ok. Somewhere inside of the Unit is Ether, Lanis remembers— maybe she can help, somehow?

  It’s as if the expansion of her lungs and the thought of Ether trigger a reaction: she feels a series of pressure movements run up her body, as if the pilot suit has suddenly re-awoken.

  Welcome.

  The voice is softer now, but Lanis doesn’t have time to acknowledge it. Her body has begun to move.

  A thousand small hands, the internal cilia of the Unit, shuffle her delicately, inexorably, downward. It’s as if the Unit has swallowed her, and it is now beginning its digestion, moving her deep within its cosseted core. She feels the glow of new awarenesses spreading inward from the edge of her mind as she moves, the Unit’s systems flickering on one after another, a thousand status updates and damage reports unwilling to be deferred any longer.

  Finally, with a gentle lurch, Lanis comes to rest in the command pod of the Assault Unit.

  The pod has more in common with a Navigation pod than an Arena Suit’s pilot couch: though her face is free, surrounded by a glittering heads-up display, she can’t see the rest of her body. It’s as if she’s swimming in some kind of incredibly viscous dark fluid, and only her head has broken the surface. No more drowning analogies please, Lanis thinks.

  She feels a pinch as both of her cephalic veins are accessed for intravenous hydration, and a slight questing push against her stomach.

  No PEG tube insertion right now, thank you, she commands, pushing her first thoughts against the Unit. She lets out a grateful breath as the pressure relents. She knows that if her blood glucose levels drop the Unit won’t offer her a choice, whether she’s its commander or no. The Suit’s root-level system isn’t an AI, not exactly, just as an ant is arguably not a conscious being; however, the Unit has a certain built-in instinct, one that's designed above all else to keep its pilot alive.

  Ether? Lanis thinks again, still ignoring the blossoming status reports. Ether, where are you?

  The deep instinct-mind of the Unit rumbles in Lanis’ head, something that is both part of, and beyond, her new awareness.

  Integrating AI System with Pilot. Integrating… Integrating…

  A familiar presence tugs at the edge of Lanis' mind. She turns, and is met with an embrace.

  Back together again!! Ether says, squeezing Lanis tight in the dream-field of Lanis’ constructed imagination. Except, this time, it’s not just Lanis who’s doing the imagining. Lanis feels the AI, as she’s never felt her before, feeding into the imagination. The whole scene wobbles, and Lanis pulls away slightly, looking at Ether in her dark metallic eyes.

  "Are you ok?" Lanis asks.

  Ether says,

  OK? Why wouldn’t I be-okay? I’ve never been

  better, why, does it seeeeeem like I’m

  Not Ok??

  Shit, Lanis thinks. She pulls Ether into her again, tethering them into what has become their shared imagination, just shy of integrating. Can't integrate yet; not while she’s this unsteady, Lanis realizes. Instead, Lanis forces her imagination more into being, subsuming the vivid, slightly off colors that Ether has produced.

  Fleet and Murkata pumped you too full of upgrades, Lanis thinks, stroking a dreamlike rendering of Ether’s hair as the AI projection’s rapid breathing begins to slow, and then match Lanis’ own.

  Lanis pulls back again, looking at Ether in the face. The woman who looks back at her is somehow different. Ether’s personality, at least with Lanis, has always been bubbly and eager, but this woman’s face is now furrowed with an edge of worry.

  "This is what pushing you past the Hinton limits did," Lanis says, scoffing. "Looks like they gave you some extra ego."

  Ether shakes her head, looking confused.

  “I never really knew what you meant by anxiety attack before, but I think I just had one,” Ether replies, looking at Lanis and chewing her lip.

  “Look, only one of us is allowed to have an anxiety attack in here,” Lanis says, trying to smile. She squeezes Ether’s shoulders. “You’ll be fine. Once we’re integrated, you should feel more steady. You were just... off there, for a moment. Ready?”

  Ether nods, swallowing, though she still looks slightly perturbed.

  Anyways, there’s no time to have an anxiety attack, Lanis thinks. She pulls the AI into her again, feeling Ether come into an awareness of Lanis’ own body, along with the unceasing flows of status reports from the Assault Unit.

  She feels Ether lean in next to her, like a far more capable friend overlooking a piece of incredibly complex homework. The anxiety drops away, replaced for now by the task at hand.

  Their joint minds get to work, and the Assault Unit slowly stands tall.