#pilot/handler/mech intelligence/ship systems

[hunter-creature]

Three's a Crowd

Another successful mission. We were on a roll recently, my Dog deserves a reward. Like a good pilot it waited for me to disconnect incase of sabotage. Approaching the mass of vaguely humanoid engineering, its top mounted RX38 close combat nano-ripper still dripping with coolant of some poor fool who thought bullets were the worst tool of my Beast. Though I had my doubts that Pup was the one that actually begged for it to be installed.

Keying in my credentials the chest plates released and lifted the cockpit up to the catwalk from deep within. My Dog squinted at the sudden bright lights of the hanger, but even the temporary discomfort could dispel her dopey smile. It had done so well for me. Climbing into the cockpit with it, straddling its lap, I gently cupped its cheeks. Softly cooing, "There's my pretty puppy. You did so well. You've been such a good dog." It was starting to get wiggly from the praise, a reward on its own, its brain implant making reward and punishment functions amplified by my vocal resonance. "You've been so good lately, you deserve something nice." I started leaning in close when there was a hiss and clank. The cockpit falling back into the mech, closing, and throwing my against my Dog, shoving its face into my chest. "Damn bucket of bolts! Open up!" "She likes when they squirm-" mumbled out of my Dog before I gripped its chin and shoved my thumb into it mouth. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Mutt." Damn mech was getting sassy. Everything nowadays seemed being developing a bit too much intelligence, but the results didn't lie. Sometimes I doubted they needed a pilot, that they just liked toying with it. My Dog started sucking obediently as I dug around for the manual ejection lever. I let this damn cockpit get messy with aftermarket additions and upgrade. My Dog was perfect, moving it exact trained movement. Until it wasn't. I had been a handler long enough to notice the delays and sloppiness of an action even as simple as a lick. Pausing my search to look at the Mutt only to find her eyes blown wide, I could see the JackTack combat sedatives were leaking into her interface plugs. I tried to tighten the valve with the computerized interface, but the controls were fighting me. Growling out my frustration, I finally pinched the tube with my free hand. The ship systems beeped out an error code, but I didn't care to translate it. Watching careful for awareness to start to return to my Dog before ordering it, "Disconnect and manual eject." It's movement were a little sloppy, but its brain had memorized every inch of this mech. I watched as the interface systems retracted and the cockpit shoved forward again. Wiped my thumb off on its cheek before lifting my Dog out onto the catwalk. It simply sank into my arms. It's mental capacity had been severally reduced without the connection to two super computer. Turning to face the 50ft machine, "I am putting it to bed. We need to have a talk." The mech merely sat in silence, the ripper giving it a permanent predatory grin. The ship system beeped out an error code, something about insufficient output. If we kept fighting like this things were liable to start falling apart. I would not allow that.