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Patricia shook her head. "The reactor passed theoretical verification. Fabricating a working prototype is a different timeline. Could be weeks."
Ryan frowned but let it go. You couldn't rush precision manufacturing, no matter how badly you wanted to.
"However," Patricia said, and the word carried enough weight that Ryan looked up again. "There are other deliveries."
"What kind of deliveries?"
"Your new neural link hardware. Plus replacement components for every system on Scrapper that was flagged in the last diagnostic. Cables, joint assemblies, the works. Everything that was running on borrowed time gets swapped out today."
Ryan was on his feet before she finished the sentence.
He grabbed the research team on his way through the office building, pulling them out of their meeting room mid-discussion. They followed without complaint. When the project lead moved with that kind of urgency, you moved with him.
"How's the study going?" Ryan asked as they crossed the yard toward the workshop.
Kyle fell into step beside him. "We've hit a wall. Cross-discipline knowledge gaps. The neural link documentation requires understanding of mechanical systems. The mechanical documentation requires understanding of the software layer. The software requires understanding of the neural link. Everything references everything else."
"Yeah, that tracks. Mech engineering isn't modular. Every system talks to every other system. You can't understand one in isolation."
"We're setting up cross-discipline study groups. Teaching each other the basics."
"Good. That's the right approach." Ryan paused. "Also, Patricia mentioned that Aegis is putting together a teaching team. Professors who've been studying the documentation I released. They'll be running structured courses for you once they're up to speed."
The relief on fifteen faces was visible and immediate. Several of the women on the team looked ready to hug Patricia, who accepted their gratitude with the composure of someone who'd been managing grateful subordinates for years.
They entered the workshop.
Scrapper lay on its back under the gantry crane, armor panels removed, technicians on scaffolding working through the internals. This had been the routine for weeks. Disassemble, study, reassemble. Repeat. The five technicians could now strip and rebuild Scrapper's major systems from memory, which was exactly the kind of fluency Ryan needed before the real upgrades began.
Several crates sat in the corner. Fresh delivery.
Ryan opened the first one and stopped breathing.
The new neural link gear was black. All of it. A full-coverage helmet with a polished polycarbonate shell, sleek as a racing helmet, with a magnetic port at the base of the skull for the neural cable. A sensor vest in the same material, split-front design with automatic clasps at the chest and shoulders that would seal and unseal with the cockpit's power cycle. The surface had a subtle sheen, the kind of finish that came from high-grade engineering polymer, not spray paint.
The gloves were two-layer. Inner glove: a flexible polymer weave embedded with neural sensor filaments that caught the light in faint gold traces, like circuitry printed on silk. Outer shell: polycarbonate armor covering the knuckles and wrist, with a magnetic coupling for the cockpit's cable system.
Matching boots with contoured slots on the soles, designed to lock into the cockpit's foot pedals.
"This is perfect," Ryan said, running his fingers along the helmet's visor edge. He'd designed the specs. Seeing them realized in physical form was something else entirely.
"Custom fitted to your measurements," Patricia said. "There's also a universal-fit set for test pilots."
The research team gathered around the open crate. Fifteen pairs of eyes staring at equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction film, not a prefab workshop in Massachusetts.
Kyle's expression could best be described as "religious experience."
The other crates held replacement components: neural transmission cables, joint actuator assemblies, sensor arrays, wear-critical parts that had been flagged in every diagnostic since Crestfield. Everything that had been limping along on substandard materials was about to be replaced with properly engineered hardware.
Ryan mobilized the team. Technicians stripped Scrapper's armor plating. Ryan climbed to the cockpit and swapped the old neural link rig for the new one himself, handling each component with a care that bordered on tenderness.
He handed the old gear down to Patricia. The headband. The bargain-bin vest. The gloves that had connected his nervous system to a forty-foot mech through sheer stubbornness and bad materials.
"Finally," he said, looking at the new helmet in the cockpit's mounting bracket. "No more looking like I got dressed at a thrift store."
The replacement work took the rest of the day. New cables threaded through Scrapper's frame. New actuator assemblies seated in rebuilt joint housings. New sensor packages installed at every critical monitoring point.
When it was done, Ryan ran the diagnostic.
The screen populated with green. Line after line, system after system, every flag cleared. No degradation warnings. No lifespan alerts. No caution notices.
NO ISSUES DETECTED.
Five words in green that meant Scrapper was, for the first time in its existence, operating at full specification.
Ryan strapped into the new gear. Helmet on. Vest sealed. Gloves locked. Boots clicked into the pedals. Hit the switch.
The neural link engaged.
And it was different.
The pressure was there, but lighter. Dramatically lighter. The old system had been like wading through mud. This was like stepping into a pool. Cool, enveloping, present, but not crushing. The new materials reduced signal resistance. The upgraded cables transmitted cleaner. The integrated pressure-dampening system, which the old rig hadn't had at all, actively managed the neural load in real time.
The connection felt smooth. Natural. Almost comfortable.
Ryan raised Scrapper's arms. Stood it up. Walked.
The footsteps boomed through the workshop. The team backed against the walls, watching. But Ryan barely noticed the neural strain. The headache that had started within minutes during previous tests didn't arrive. The hand tremors didn't appear. He felt alert, focused, in control.
He walked Scrapper the full length of the workshop. Turned it around. Walked back. Turned again. Kept walking.
He could have stopped at any time. He didn't want to.
Twenty minutes later, he finally powered down. Not because the pressure was unbearable. Because the team on the ground had been waving their arms and shouting for five minutes, and he'd only just noticed through the cockpit cameras.
He opened the hatch and climbed out. The team surrounded him before he reached the bottom of the ladder.
"What happened? Why didn't you stop?"
"Everything okay up there?"
"We were trying to reach you on the radio for ten minutes!"
Ryan pulled off the helmet. His hair was damp with sweat, but his hands were steady. No tremors. No splitting headache. Just ordinary fatigue, the kind you'd feel after a long run.
"Everything's fine," he said. "Better than fine. The new rig cut the neural load by at least forty percent. I could have kept going."
The implications hit the team one by one. Forty percent reduction. That meant longer operational windows. That meant more complex maneuvers. That meant, eventually, real deployment capability instead of five-minute test sessions.
Kyle was the first to notice the other thing.
"Hey," he said, holding up his phone. "While you were in there playing test pilot, the rest of us were getting notifications."
Ryan looked at the screen.
The SAT scores had been released.
He'd completely forgotten he was still a student.
Plz Throw Powerstones.