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eatthepenOriginally written for Cohost for the prompt 'Mech Pilot who uses Keyboard and Mouse controls'
The Condition of the Operant
Outwardly, the WALTZ OF VERMIN looked fine, modified and customised as any Frame that long in service could expect to be. Sganch, the pilot, was scruffier than their file photos, but that was only natural after the eight-day journey to Felicity Outpost. Their quills stuck out long and faded from their short-cropped hair, and the hands they pulled slowly, carefully, out of the contact gel had ragged talons that would need attention pretty soon.
It was the cockpit itself that was baffling. Twisting her neck to peer down, Elra figured that at some point the whole seat/harness had been tipped forward so that Sganch could dangle over their readouts in something like ride-astride pose. The digital and holo readouts that had made up the stock consoles had been half-interspersed, half-buried in a mess of old electronics. She recognised oscillators from the displays, and while she couldn't read any of the text around the dials, she knew modular synth components when she saw them.
Even that wasn't entirely unheard-of, though. The fleet might conceptualise Frame Phonists as pilots, but piloting was a musical act, and many pilots brought elements of digital instrumentation into their setups over time. Further back, and also upside-down, there were even a pair of keyboards which Elra realised Sganch must play with their feet, wires trailing from them both to the synth nest and into the rear cockpit bulkhead. Usually pilot modifications were a bit tidier and more limited than this, but that wasn't what was making her screw her eyes up in the effort not to glare at the new arrival.
Unfortunately, before she could figure out how to broach the topic, Sganch looked up and spotted her. "Wingleader," they whistled, eyes sliding slowly closed and open again. "One is Flight Officer Echersen Sganch, WALTZ OF VERMIN. I delight in making your acquaintance."
Elra pulled herself together. "Welcome aboard, Flight Officer. I'm Flight Lieutenant Elra Visqueen, A CHORD OF VEILS. We've been looking forward to your arrival. The Quartermaster will see to your Frame, just bring your flight bag for now. Is there anything…?" She trailed off, knowing that the question was both appropriate and necessary but dreading the answer.
Sganch reached above their head and gripped some hidden handle amid the tangle of loose harness straps. In one fluid, powerful movement, the monitor hauled themselves up, swinging their legs forward and then over their head to land on all fours on the cockpit's upper spar. The baggy grey flight suit didn't entirely hide the tail-stump at the base of their spine. Elra had been briefed about that and was ready for its implications when they manifested.
The pilot looked up again. "Wingleader, your question?"
"Your Frame, uh…" She waved a hand. "These… cages."
"One uses them for rhythmic generation." Sganch bent to point one long talon at the row of white wire cages that lined the right-hand side of the cockpit. "Based on a human design, one believes it is called the Operant Conditioning Chamber originally. Of course, one uses them to condition oneself, not the other way around. Adults for tempo, usually, and the young for low frequency modulation and delay taps."
Despite her best efforts, Elra stared at the monitor, their pointing finger, their bizarre cockpit. It made a kind of absurd sense. Sganch's record noted their extraordinary longevity in the field. The SREP cloud was an extremely potent extrapolator, necessarily much weaker against randomness and improvisation. That was why Phonistry was so important to the war effort, why she could command such substantial resources for her wing of extremely effective misfits.
But a cockpit full of live mice was going to be hell to explain to the quartermaster.
The Condition of the Operant
Elra pinched the bridge of her nose. It was a bad habit, she knew, one that Davin had chided her for many times while training her to succeed him as wingleader. You can be kind, he'd say, but you can't show that they're getting to you. Unfortunately, what Elra was looking down at from the hangar gantry as the wing's newest member, Davin's replacement, began to disembark, was very much getting to her.
Outwardly, the WALTZ OF VERMIN looked fine, modified and customised as any Frame that long in service could expect to be. Sganch, the pilot, was scruffier than their file photos, but that was only natural after the eight-day journey to Felicity Outpost. Their quills stuck out long and faded from their short-cropped hair, and the hands they pulled slowly, carefully, out of the contact gel had ragged talons that would need attention pretty soon.
It was the cockpit itself that was baffling. Twisting her neck to peer down, Elra figured that at some point the whole seat/harness had been tipped forward so that Sganch could dangle over their readouts in something like ride-astride pose. The digital and holo readouts that had made up the stock consoles had been half-interspersed, half-buried in a mess of old electronics. She recognised oscillators from the displays, and while she couldn't read any of the text around the dials, she knew modular synth components when she saw them.
Even that wasn't entirely unheard-of, though. The fleet might conceptualise Frame Phonists as pilots, but piloting was a musical act, and many pilots brought elements of digital instrumentation into their setups over time. Further back, and also upside-down, there were even a pair of keyboards which Elra realised Sganch must play with their feet, wires trailing from them both to the synth nest and into the rear cockpit bulkhead. Usually pilot modifications were a bit tidier and more limited than this, but that wasn't what was making her screw her eyes up in the effort not to glare at the new arrival.
Unfortunately, before she could figure out how to broach the topic, Sganch looked up and spotted her. "Wingleader," they whistled, eyes sliding slowly closed and open again. "One is Flight Officer Echersen Sganch, WALTZ OF VERMIN. I delight in making your acquaintance."
Elra pulled herself together. "Welcome aboard, Flight Officer. I'm Flight Lieutenant Elra Visqueen, A CHORD OF VEILS. We've been looking forward to your arrival. The Quartermaster will see to your Frame, just bring your flight bag for now. Is there anything…?" She trailed off, knowing that the question was both appropriate and necessary but dreading the answer.
Sganch reached above their head and gripped some hidden handle amid the tangle of loose harness straps. In one fluid, powerful movement, the monitor hauled themselves up, swinging their legs forward and then over their head to land on all fours on the cockpit's upper spar. The baggy grey flight suit didn't entirely hide the tail-stump at the base of their spine. Elra had been briefed about that and was ready for its implications when they manifested.
The pilot looked up again. "Wingleader, your question?"
"Your Frame, uh…" She waved a hand. "These… cages."
"One uses them for rhythmic generation." Sganch bent to point one long talon at the row of white wire cages that lined the right-hand side of the cockpit. "Based on a human design, one believes it is called the Operant Conditioning Chamber originally. Of course, one uses them to condition oneself, not the other way around. Adults for tempo, usually, and the young for low frequency modulation and delay taps."
Despite her best efforts, Elra stared at the monitor, their pointing finger, their bizarre cockpit. It made a kind of absurd sense. Sganch's record noted their extraordinary longevity in the field. The SREP cloud was an extremely potent extrapolator, necessarily much weaker against randomness and improvisation. That was why Phonistry was so important to the war effort, why she could command such substantial resources for her wing of extremely effective misfits.
But a cockpit full of live mice was going to be hell to explain to the quartermaster.