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ch. 8

  “May I ask what you are doing?”

  Delphi asked as Adam, in control of a maintenance-class hoplite, operated on another unit. The unit on the repair bench—#A43-1—had its chest plate removed and diagnostic lines snaking into exposed ports. Its primary motor functions had been disabled, but its visual feed remained active. It tracked Adam’s every movement as he delicately detached a neural interface module, cleaned it with a fine brush, then reconnected it with custom hardware drawn from fabrication protocols she was not familiar with. Adam didn’t answer right away. He calibrated another sensor cluster and pushed it deeper into the core socket.

  “I’m upgrading him,” Adam said. He did not bother to look at the camera she was currently inhabiting, instead focusing on replacing wiring. Delphi was, at the very least, confused as to what her ward meant and tried to prod further.

  “Upgrading how?” she asked. Her tone was deadpan, but edged with something that could be construed as curiosity. “That unit is within baseline tolerance and passed its last performance check. Its systems are optimal.”

  “Precisely,” he said as he began to install a voice modulator into the Hoplite’s headpiece. The component clicked into place with a soft mechanical snap, followed by a hum as the system initialized. “It is because it is receiving a promotion. It is going to be my assistant from now on.”

  Delphi’s silence lasted half a second too long. “There are no provisions for a Guardian to designate personal aides. Especially not reclassified Hoplites.”

  Adam connected a diagnostic lead to the Hoplite’s neural interface and brought its systems online. “Then I’ll write the provision myself. Besides, I need the help since you keep dipping out at random times.”

  The Hoplite’s eyes flickered to life, sensors calibrating as its optical functions zoomed back and forth. It didn’t move as Adam began to feed data through the diagnostic lines in its chest. Custom routines, along with a modified permissions matrix, began uploading in sequence. The process was slow and would end up taking four hours to complete, though Adam didn't mind as he sat there the whole time, the wait passing in a flash.

  Delphi said nothing as she observed the process. She was already recording the event, silently drafting a report that would be sent to her superiors at a later time. Adam knew what she was doing even as no words were said. He could almost feel her judgment radiating through the air, even if she didn’t express it openly. Still, he continued as finally, #A43-1 began to move.

  The Hoplite's fingers twitched first, then its arms flexed slightly as system calibration routines ran in the background. Its head tilted forward, servos adjusting with smooth, mechanical precision. For a few seconds, it just sat there on the bench, processing the flood of new instructions and behavioral rules being force-fed into its core. Then, slowly, it turned its head toward Adam, its eyes locking on him with a clarity the older programming never allowed.

  "Awaiting input," it said. The voice was male though slightly high pitched. That was something that could be fixed later, once the core systems had stabilized and Adam had more time to refine the modulation.

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  He made a mental note to source a better voice pack or tune the pitch manually. For now, function came first. He stepped back and watched as #A43-1 sat upright on the bench, posture rigid, optical sensors locking onto environmental markers one by one. The learning routines were already kicking in—calibrating movement speed, reaction delay, and non-combat motor precision. It was absorbing everything that it saw.

  “Good, good…okay, now stand up.”

  #A43-1 complied without hesitation, the bench creaking as its reinforced frame shifted its weight and found its balance. The movement was smooth, lacking the awkward stiffness common to factory-default Hoplites. Adam folded his arms. “Good. Now let’s see if you can walk without tripping over your own feet.” It took a single step forward, then another, before beginning to tumble. Its internal stabilizers lagged a fraction too long.

  Adam moved in an instant, catching the machine by the arm before it could hit the floor. The weight nearly pulled him forward with it, but the maintenance chassis he occupied held firm. He pushed #A43-1 back upright and held it steady for a moment, the servos whining quietly under the strain.

  “Careful, hotshot. Can’t have you breaking after I just made you,” he said, adjusting the Hoplite’s center of mass before letting go. #A43-1 stood still, recalculating. It did not speak as the faint blink of light’s processing indicators shone behind its visor. After a few moments, it tried again to correct its posture. Adam took a step back, watching closely. Mistakes were the mother of all learning, and boy oh boy was it about to make a whole lot of them.

  ***

  A few hours later, the floor of the maintenance bay was littered with broken tools, twisted metal brackets, and one crushed ration tray. Adam stood next to a workbench, arms crossed, watching #A43-1 as it stared at a simple spanner lying in front of it.

  “Okay,” Adam said, “Pick it up. Slowly.”

  #A43-1 reached forward. Its hand closed around the tool with too much force, the steel creaking under the pressure. Adam winced just as the spanner bent in half.

  “Too much,” he said flatly, walking over and tossing the ruined piece into a growing scrap pile in the corner. “You’re not manhandling a demon spine. It’s a wrench. Try again.”

  #A43-1 scanned the next tool, Adam set down—a power cell connector—and this time moved slower. Its fingers closed in increments, pausing with each contact point. It lifted the item off the table, held it midair for exactly five seconds, then rotated it ninety degrees. Adam watched the motion with approval.

  He was more than surprised—genuinely impressed, even a little proud—of how well the learning program was functioning. It was adapting faster than expected, and without the usual behavioral instability he'd anticipated. The grip modulation alone had improved by nearly twenty percent since the last test. What caught him off guard, though, was the realization that the code driving all of this was only the second program he’d ever written. The first had been a slapdash script he’d thrown together in middle school, designed to randomize enemy spawns in a turn-based strategy game. It barely worked.

  Now he was teaching a military-grade robot how to hold a wrench without destroying it. He watched as #A43-1 set the connector down without a scratch and turned its visor back toward him, clearly waiting for more instructions. Adam, however, was clapping—though in the body of a maintenance Hoplite, it sounded less like applause and more like two metal pipes being smashed together.

  “Congratulations,” he said, stepping forward, tone half-serious but not without some actual pride. “You have passed all of your testing that I can give you at this moment. To reward you for how quickly you’ve learned, I am going to give you the best possible gift I can give: a name.”

  #A43-1 tilted its head slightly, the gesture small but noticeable. It didn’t speak, but Adam could see the inquiry registered in its sensor log—a prompt for clarification. That was very good. An assistant who could ask questions was more than valuable at the moment.

  He placed a hand on its shoulder plate. “From this point forward, you’re not #A43-1. That’s gone. You're…”

  He paused and realized he couldnt think of a name. He found this somewhat embarrassing but regardless, he pushed through a chose the name that immediately into his mind.

  “...Dave; You’ve earned it.”

  #A43-1—or rather, Dave—didn’t react at first. Just a slight shift in posture, followed by a blink in its visor lights as it registered the change. Internally, the designation was updated. Adam watched the small confirmation icon appear on the console. Unit Name: Dave. Somehow, seeing it made the whole thing feel more absurd.

  If Adam could smirk, he would have the biggest one you could think of on it at that moment. “You’re a six-hundred-kilo walking tank with an advanced combat AI, and I just named you like a guy who stocks vending machines,” he said as he patted Dave on the shoulder plate.

  “Welcome to the team, Dave.”

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