Ashland, Nebraska - October 4th, 2054 - Cinder

My initial assessment of the fallen Air-Core took the entire weekend’s worth of all-nighters studying and poking around her interior. Best I could tell, her reactor, the actual Air-Core unit, was still intact and active. That meant she was theoretically conscious and aware. Yet she had no way to communicate with the outside world. All her servos and other ways of signaling or moving had been burnt out. Her internal wiring was shot. Her circuit boards looked more like a toddler’s scribbles with a silver sharpie on charred, green paper than like functional tech. Overall she was experiencing one hell of a case of locked-in syndrome.

If the internet was to be trusted, the Air-Core could still self-repair if given a means to conduct a scan (visual or otherwise) of its body as well as fed raw materials. The problem was creating that initial sensor link. My laptop’s webcam was the best I had, but there wasn’t exactly a publicly-available program or cable that I could use to bridge the gap between Air-Core and computer. Most of my information came from civilian Air-Core enthusiast websites. They had general ideas how the artificial intelligence (AI) worked in the units, as well as diagrams of kitbashing different computer cables together to connect directly with the reactor.

With nothing else to go on I fell back on my Computer Engineering degree and made some logical guesswork about what the enthusiasts posted. The cable monster in the diagrams would instantly burn out whatever port it was plugged into, but only because whomever made the schematic didn’t account for the power coming from the Air-Core’s reactor. That was the easy fix.

The hard fix was creating a program capable of connecting with the AI, yet even then I had a hunch it would be simpler than I was making it out to be. After all, Air-Cores in service still had to be serviced by military technicians. And no offense to anyone who might be one, but usually the military operated on the “Keep it Simple Stupid” principle.

My theory was that, after establishing the physical connection to the Air-Core, all I needed to do was send a recognizable pattern or pulse that the onboard AI could then write its own interface for. The process was similar to how Air-Cores assimilated new weaponry. Of course, if the AI had also been damaged in the crash then the only way to fix her would be to take her to a specialist. I wouldn’t know until I tried.

Luckily the shop was experiencing a slow period so I was able to take some time off work. That meant I was able to get some much-needed rest and create both the linkage and a simple variation of the PuTTY application a mere three days after the crash. I connected the frankenstein cable, fired up the app, then prayed as I pressed the connect button.

Several minutes passed. Then several more. I checked the cable connection and attempted again. Nothing. The signal was being sent but nothing was coming back from the Air-Core. I kept at it, determined to give her a fair shot until the end of the day. If I wasn’t able to talk with her by sundown then I decided I would ring up the Offutt Air Force base in Bellevue. Better for me to be taken away in cuffs than let this Air-Core suffer.

Shadows crept across the interior of the farmhouse as I persisted hour after hour. Wind blew through the holes in the walls and roof, adding ambience to my occasional silent cursing. Just as I was about to give up and start dialing my phone, a ping finally came back from the Air-Core. The message wasn’t much, simply the words [ Can you see this? ] in a terminal window on my laptop’s screen.

“Yes I can see your message!” I typed and spoke back. “Can you see mine?”

A question and a prompt returned almost instantly: [ If you permit me access to your microphone and speakers then this will be much easier. GRANT PERMISSIONS? Y/N ]

Somewhere I imagined my cybersecurity professor from university feeling a disturbance in the force as I allowed the Air-Core to co-opt the mic and speakers. After a few test beeps a deeply-feminine, slightly-vocoded voice asked, [ Where am I? My sensors are damaged. I cannot verify my location or your identity. ]

I tried (and failed) not to bounce back and forth like a child opening a Christmas present. “I’m Cinder Laros! You’re safe in a farmhouse in Nebraska. You crashed here a few days ago. I was worried you were too far gone and nearly threw in the towel. I’m glad you’re okay!”

[ “Okay” is relative. Will you permit me further access to this laptop’s webcam so I can verify the state of my body? ]

“Done. I’ll pick you up and you can tell me where to point the webcam.”

I plucked my laptop up from the small folding table set next to the Air-Core’s chassis and followed her instructions so she could get a good look at herself. Some of the angles were tricky due to my height, her size, and the length of the hardwire connection, but we managed all the same.

[ The damage is extensive, but repairable, ] she said as I returned my laptop to the table and sat down. [ However, I must express that my targeting database has been erased. I recognize you as human but lack greater records regarding them. ]

I quirked my head to the side. “Shouldn’t all human-made Air-Cores be hard-coded to recognize us as friendlies? I mean, I have heard a few rebel groups and mercs trying to fight their own fight or destabilize regions but…”

The realization hit me like a truck trying to send someone to another existence. “You’re a Kuxpir Air-Core!” I exclaimed, standing rapidly and knocking over my chair.

[ I have only a single record regarding the Kuxpir that indicates they are in conflict with humanity. Aside from that I possess only self-diagnostic and minimal operational data. ]

“Do you have a name then?” I cautiously asked as I picked up my chair and sat back down.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

[ The title of “Vedrfolnir” does appear in what survives of my personal records. ]

My enthusiasm began to creep back as it fought down the cries of anxiety. “Alright, Vedrfolnir then. Maybe ‘Vedr’ for short. Is there anything I can do to help you fix yourself? I know you need plenty of raw material for your nanities to self-repair, but is there anything in particular I could code, update, or acquire for you?”

The terminal window executed a new program, displaying a mix between a cutaway and a 3D render of Vedrfolnir. It reminded me of an MRI I remember getting back in high school after a drunk driver totaled my car.

[ My reactor is stable but at dangerously low levels, ] Vedrfolnir began, highlighting areas in orange or red as she spoke to indicate how damaged they were. [ Providing external power would be a universal aid. My internals and chassis would normally require 16 terran days to repair under optimal conditions. Ambulatory systems and weapons are offline. Personality matrix and datastores intact but over 98.2% of data has been lost. ]

Frowning, I commented, “So whatever did you in basically hit you with a big jolt of energy or an EMP. I wonder what could do that to an Air-Core…”

[ I do not have enough information to be able to speculate. However, I will endeavor to gain such data while undergoing self-repair in this barn. ]

“Fair. Do you know what kind of model you are or what role you’re supposed to fill?”

[ …I am uncertain. What remains in my datastores suggests I am an experimental version of an Advanced Dominance Fighter. I am designed for the pinnacle of air-to-air combat, high speeds, and limited stealth. Though offline, I do retain data on two special systems: The TLS and the AOA Limiter. Would you like to know more? ]

I couldn’t help but smile and nod eagerly. “Sure, hit me with the deets. Though be forewarned I’m not really an aviation buff or all that knowledgeable about dogfighting, so if those systems deal with that you’ll have to simplify it for me.”

A thumbs-up emoji appeared in the terminal interface as Vedrfolnir explained, [ The Tactical Laser System, or TLS, is a multi-purpose laser weapon initially designed to destroy missiles mid-air. So long as the user is accurate the TLS cannot be evaded except by leaving its range or diving into heavy cloud cover.]

“Cool, with you so far. And the AOA thing?”

[ The Angle of Attack Limiter allows a pilot to perform extreme maneuvers at the cost of losing speed. This allows them and their Air-Core to act in aerodynamically impossible ways to dodge missiles, shake opponents, and/or get on an enemy’s tail. ]

“Sounds pretty damn useful, especially for an Air-Core that’s already supposed to be the ‘pinnacle’ as you put it,” I concluded. “I’m eager to see both systems in action. But I might be getting ahead of myself. First we have to get you patched up. Can you give me a rough estimate of how much scrap metal I should drag out here?”

Vedrfolnir provided a figure. I blinked twice and asked her to repeat the amount. Then I facepalmed with both hands. “There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to afford that much from the junkyards around here. And even if I could, someone’s bound to notice me hoarding all that metal.”

[ Data from the Internet suggests that Nebraska has a ‘4-H’ program. You could simply claim that the metal is for such a project. As for funds, I estimate that you would qualify for several loans based on your credit score. You might also consider allowing me access to your stock portfolio. ]

I stared back at the screen, flummoxed. “Hold on, you’re accessing the internet? When did I give you that level of access?”

[ You did not. Would you like me to stop? ]

Sighing, I once again buried my face in my hand. “No, but I’d appreciate you asking for permission in the future. I can’t very well take away your one way of communicating with the outside world. Not without being a massive bitch, which I have no plans to be. Just be careful of what you search and download. I might already be on a watchlist from all my googling in the past few days.”

[ As you wish, Cinder. I will ask for permission next time. However, you have not answered my prompt about the acquisition of funds. ]

“Is it even legal for an Air-Core to trade stocks?” I asked, clueless.

[ Unknown. I could start a small portfolio with an initial investment of 1,000 US dollars. ]

“First you take over my laptop, now you want money… Are you sure you’re not just some elaborate ransomware?” I groaned, mostly in jest.

[ Of course not. I gain nothing by upsetting you. ]

“Fine, fine. I’m already three days deep in this shit. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’ is the expression, I think? Might as well deplete some of the rainy day fund. Just tell me where to transfer funds.”

Vedrfolnir walked me through giving her the money and adding an app to my phone that would allow me to access and track the account from anywhere. [ I will also begin crafting a mobile app to allow you to communicate and check on my status while on the go, ] she added. [ For the time being, though, I must rely on your laptop’s satellite connection until my own systems are repaired. I can supplement the laptop’s battery via my reactor so there is no danger of it running out of charge. ]

“Are you sure you don’t want the keys to my car or my house too?”

[ No. I would not fit in either. ]

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said, rising to my feet. By now the stars had appeared in the sky, the only light provided by the laptop screen and a battery-powered lantern on the table. “I’ll leave you to it then. Just know that if I check my stocks and find you’ve drained me dry, or if I come back tomorrow and you’re not here, I will be extremely upset.”

[ Then I will not do either of those things. Nor did I have plans to do so in the first place. ]

I plucked up the lantern and moved towards my ATV. “Good, because if there’s one thing the women of the Laros family are known for, it’s our tempers.”

[ Would you care for me to make a comment about how both your first name and your choice of hair coloration lend credence to the notion that you are always smoldering with rage? ]

“For fucks… I’m going home. Be good until I get back.”

[ Pleasant dreams, Cinder. ]