Chapter Text
Pistons wide and long as a human arm.
Servos whirring, moving lumps of metal that could crush trees.
The rat-tat-tat of armor piercing bullets, and the waterfall clink-clink of casings upon the concrete.
This was Dial Greene's home away from home. Gunpowder, oil, and soot stained Dial's dull orange jumpsuit. With sparse visitors and the only roommates being her tireless helper bots, her workshop was just as she liked it.
Dial was one of the lead engineers of the Empire's Mechanized Warfare Research and Development department, and she was damn good at it. Here, all sorts of requests would arrive on her terminal; there were the typical jobs, sure, like reinforcing armor plates on a frame design, or tweaking some specs here and there for better energy efficiency or more firepower.
But the real meat was in the strange requests. Reverse engineering esoteric weaponry, figuring out how to compress warp drives into less than a cubic meter, or developing explosive payloads that wouldn't immediately melt on account of the hyper-corrosive Antarean acid within. She loved the problems that really let her sink her teeth into them.
Dial wasn't explicitly told what these projects were for, but she could guess. She also was sure this was a terrible time to be anyone up against the Empire, be they rebel or pirate. Poor sods. Probably a dozen new ways to die that've been developed in this very room, none particularly pleasant nor merciful. Not that it bothered her; keeping the order was good, and the job sure paid well.
It was then that her doorbell sounded, a clear toned digital ring that went right through her headphones.
A visitor. How unfortunate.
Setting down the prototype aim-assist visor she was working on, Dial went to answer the door. What awaited her outside was a tall woman with a dour expression wearing a hat and coat indicating her position as some varietal of commanding officer. Hard to keep up with military fashion trends.
What struck Dial immediately was her eyes. Like daggers weren't enough, and she'd skipped straight to staring machetes at you. Cold and unnerving, it felt as if she could cut you open with but a word.
"C-can I help you?" Dial stammered out, still a little startled.
"I have a request," said the officer, "I need a pilot headset design with fully customizable display and stimulant injectors. Marie said you would be able to do that for me."
"You went straight to my director? Okay, I can handle that. Just give me the specs and I'll get it done. Actually, I've been working on a similar headset lately, so I can just modify-"
The officer thrusted a sheaf of papers into Dial's face, interrupting her.
"Need it done within a week," the officer said impatiently.
"What? I've got other projects I'm working on, I can't just drop everything for you."
"Yes, you can, and you will. I am overseeing an experimental program and have authorization from Central to request any engineering project I need," the officer said, pointing to a stamp on the papers.
Dial grabbed the papers and examined the stamp.
Authentic. Fuck. Who the hell was this woman?
She had only received projects with such high priority a few times before, and usually only during crises.
Dial started dejectedly, "Alright ma'am, I'll get it done. Come back in a week."
[--------------(...)--------------]
A week passed without much buzz, though Dial was glad to be done with the assignment. Well, almost done. Still needed testing. It wasn't that it was hard; rather, it was that it was mostly quite simple, and thus, boring. The specs provided were thorough, leaving no room for creativity. It was mostly just a matter of putting it together. It took her time and energy away from more interesting projects. A half-finished plasma projector with wires and tubing exposed sat in her storage, calling out like a hungry kitten wondering why her mother wasn't feeding her.
Back on the topic of the headset, like all pilot equipment, it needed live testing before deployment. Requisitioning a test subject always involved a lengthy back-and-forth with Incarcerations. That officer lady would just have to suck it up and wait a while longer. As she had that thought, she realized that she'd never gotten her name. When she'd gone to notify her about the delay, she'd found the documents just had a string of numbers where the name would be.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang again, and Dial knew exactly what to expect this time. The fashion in which her hubris and surprise contorted her face as she opened the door would have haunted her for years if she had a mirror.
The officer lady was standing in the hallway, carrying a duffel bag. She looked as if she had walked over to this week from the last in but a few steps; not a hair was out of place. That wasn't surprising.
What was surprising was what, or rather who, was accompanying her. She looked like a pilot, certainly had the right uniform, but there was a bulky metal collar around her neck. On it were electrical components, including some small displays showing what looked like basic vitals - heart rate, blood pressure, and the like. She was wearing a full pilot's helmet usually reserved for space combat, obscuring her whole face. A pair of plush mitts seemed fastened on each hand.
It took a moment longer for Dial to register the leash attached to the collar that terminated in the officer's hand. No... Handler? The uniform started looking a little more familiar.
Before Dial could even speak, the officer-handler pushed past her into the workshop, pilot in tow.
"Ms. Greene, you needed a test subject, yes? Here it is," said the officer-handler, gesturing to the pilot.
"I'm sorry, what? You want me to test it on an actual pilot? Look, I do good work, but you both must have an awful lot of trust in me for something like this. Besides that, this is highly irregular. My boss would kill me if she found out I -"
The officer-handler interrupted, "Your boss already knows. In fact, if I like what I see today, I have been given full authorization to transfer you to my team's engineering department."
Dial stood in stunned silence for several seconds. The idea of someone having enough power to cut clear through all protocol and red tape like this was preposterous. Was she some kind of royalty? Or was this "project" of hers truly that important? The whole time, she was smiling clinically at Dial.
"You can speak freely, Ms. Greene. I don't mind, and the dog here can't hear us right now. By the way, you can call me Helena. I'm the handler directing the new program. I can explain more of the details to you after your demonstration," the handler said, placing a hand on the new headset on the worktable.
Dial shook her head to clear her thoughts and took the headset, carefully slotting in the (noticeably unlabeled) vials "Helena" had brought. When she was done, she flicked a covered switch on the back to turn it on. Dial gingerly handed it to Helena.
"Look, ma'am, I'm flattered that you see so much in me, I really am. But, uh, for this demonstration, would you mind being the one to do it?"
"Whatever could be the problem, Ms. Greene?"
"Ma'am, I wasn't born yesterday. Whatever relationship you've got going on between you and this pilot, I want no part in it. You've got a fucking leash on them, and frankly I'm concerned for my well-being if I put my hands near their head." Dial paused, "Apologies for the language."
"Here, I'll compromise. I'll remove the helmet, and you can put the new one on. I promise she won't bite."
Helena stood behind the pilot pressed a button on the back of the helmet, releasing a lock, and pulled off the helmet. Revealed was a tangled mass of black hair that resembled a sea urchin that had wilted more than it did a human being. Dial thought she could just barely make out a dark eye glaring at her between the strands.
The new headset had a utilitarian design; there wasn't time to make something nicer. Faintly lustrous grey plasteel covered most of the head except for a tinted acrylane visor for vision and an open mouth area that could fit any modular respirator or armor plate if necessary. Two small antennae poked up by where the ears would be. A small compartment in the back contained the computational systems, as well as space for the vials. Still, it was something Dial took a little pride in.
Dial took the headset and carefully put it on the pilot, then walked around to press the button to latch the helmet and tighten the chin strap. Helena observed silently a few meters away, still with leash in hand. A faint click-click-click came from the headset as it tightened to fit.
No sooner than the third click sounded, the pilot bent forward and then sprung backwards, striking Dial in the face with hard plasteel. Dial fell, back against a counter. She felt a wet trickle on her forehead as her vision started to clear.
Just in time to see the pilot lunge towards her.
The pilot's collar flashed blue, and a jolt of electricity sent her collapsing onto Dial. Even then, she mustered the strength to open her jaw and bite down hard on Dial's arm.
Dial struggled, but every time she pushed, the damn beast clamped her teeth a little bit harder. She started to panic. Helena couldn't activate the shock again without the risk of it going through Dial, too.
"THE REMOTE! GET THE DAMN REMOTE! BEHIND YOU! RED BUTTON!" Dial managed to scream while gritting her teeth and punching ineffectually at the pilot.
She could hear the handler moving about, and then a faint mechanical whirring as the headset scanned the pilot's neck and administered whatever was in the vials. Here's hoping that at least one of those was a sedative. She had a hunch.
Blissfully, the pilot's jaw loosened up, and Dial was able to push her off to the side. Rolling up her left sleeve, she saw that the pilot had drawn blood, through the fabric, but not much. The bruise was going to hurt like hell though.
Tapping a few commands into the screen on her right arm, two helper bots came to life, holding the pilot's wrists and ankles firmly against the ground, just in case. She tapped a few more times. Two more helper bots sprang to action and cornered Helena, who looked unfazed, if breathing slightly faster.
Dial stood up.
"This is MY. WORKSHOP. Are you treating this as some kind of game? You knew this would happen," Dial shouted, "I can throw you out right now, or worse. These bots are operated by me; they have no friend-or-foe identification, no limits on force applied to a human body save what I give them. Give me one good reason I shouldn't."
All caution she had in her voice had vanished. Dial wasn't in too much pain to be intimidated by rank or stature right now.
"You passed," Helena said, calmly.
"Fuck you," Dial spat.
"I will admit, I fully expected something like this to happen. The fact that she landed right on top of you after activating the collar however, was not intentional. For that, you have my sincere apologies."
Dial glowered at Helena while grabbing a first aid kit from a drawer.
"I understand we've started off on a bad footing. However, now that I've seen that you can make solid gear that stands up to on-the-spot field tests, and how you react in a dangerous situation, you've qualified for the transfer."
"..."
"I know what you're thinking, but please let me show you the facilities before you decide to do something rash."
"Fine," Dial sighed resignedly, "But infirmary first. I don't want to get an infection from your rabid dog's saliva. The little shit drew blood."
Dial finished up applying bandages to her forehead and forearm before commanding the helper bots to move away from Helena.
They left the workshop, heading through the winding halls to the infirmary. Helena informed her that some members of her team would be coming by to pick up the pilot shortly; the sedatives would keep it sleeping soundly for at least half a day at that dose.
Helena accompanied Dial as she got treated. There was much to talk about.