It was the same one that had flown out of the hangar a week ago, when the Benthians had attacked. The one that had run rings around their fighters, rallied the straggling air force and then taken down an attack carrier without breaking a sweat. At the time, McCreery had been screaming at his operators to try and figure out how it had been launched. And the amount of blanks he'd drawn had made him even more furious. He was more than prepared to have the daredevil jock responsible thrown into jail for his brazen insubordination.
The frazzled, brown-haired boy that had clambered out, shaking all over, had made him reconsider much of what he knew about life.
Since then, Capital City had been recovering. ARM had provided reinforcements, and reconstruction and rehousing efforts were under way. But High Command had been pushing McCreery for answers - answers that he didn't have. All he could tell them was that the prototype had gotten out and that it had made short work of the Benthians. That wasn't good enough - they wanted footage, documents, proof. And that was something McCreery, who hated paperwork in the same way one hates ants in the kitchen, left to other people.
It had been some days since that fraught meeting. And now, here he was.
The Wyvern stood silent and still, held in place by the restraining clamps. The head was titled down at an angle, the jaws slightly parted. Nobody else had gone near it, afraid of what it might do after seeing what it could do, so it had gathered dust and damp. Yet it still looked a thing of beauty, all smooth black synthmuscle and silvery armour plating. Look at it too long and you might fancy it was breathing gently, or that it could lift a foot and scratch itself.
Even so, it was just a machine. Any mechanic could tell you that. Just an elaborate network of connected ArcStone powering a mechanical shell. There was nothing special about it.
McCreery knew better.
He stood for a while, looking the thing up and down. A wistful look seemed to come into his eye, hampered only by his stern, unmoving expression.
"I remember when they were working on you," he said, at last.
The Wyvern did not offer to reply.
"We were trying," McCreery continued, "to implement something new. Something radical. I don't quite understand the specifics - never did with this ArcTech stuff. But in summary, it was like a living intelligence inside an ArcWave system. It could record performance, display information, adjust internal systems... like having a navigator right in the cockpit. ArcWave Intelligence, the eggheads called it."
He paced one way, then the other, hand on his chin. His footsteps were like muffled gunshots in the cavernous hangar.
"And for a while, we just couldn't crack it. We simply couldn't replicate the way a human thinks via BCL - too complicated. There was... one thing we tried, though. And I admit, the ethics weren't entirely sound. But it was our best shot at getting it right the first time. Copying human brain patterns onto an ArcStone core. If we can store information on those things, we can store a man's intelligence on one, right? And then..."
He paused. He passed a hand over his eyes, as if tired, and blew through his moustache.
"I thought it had failed. We all did. Until our test pilots started flying it, and got all kinds of errors. Course correcting, flashing new flight paths, stalling... At the time, we put it down to how complex we'd tried to make it. Too many conflicting commands. And we couldn't risk letting a glitchy piece of hardware loaded with dangerous weaponry out onto the field. So we had it grounded and dumbed the tech down for the market release. Hence the XK-05's."
He looked back up. The eyes seemed focused on him, staring intently. But he couldn't be sure...
"I don't know if you're listening in there. It's hard to tell when all I can see is a big lump of metal. But I saw the way you flew out there last week, and I suspect the techies don't want to let on any more than they want to. And I'm running out of lies to feed High Command about what's been going on. So if you are listening somewhere in there..."
He took a deep breath, and steadied himself...
"Why him, Laura?"
A long moment passed. The Wyvern stood, head angled downwards, wings tucked in. The overhead lights shone off its body, picking out the teeth and the claws. But nothing else happened. The only other sound was the hum of a distant power generator, puncuated by a faint drip of a leaky pipe somewhere.
McCreery shook his head and sighed. What he he been expecting? That the jaws would part and a booming voice would impart the secrets of the universe? Expecting to find answers from a machine... He was just going to have to tell Command that the boy - Ryuga, if memory served right - hijacked the vehicle in an act of emotional recklessness. It was the one they were most likely to buy, even if it got the boy kicked out of the force. Poor lad had a bright future ahead of him, too.
I'm daft, he thought. Daft, or too old for this.
He turned towards the exit, thoughts turning to more pleasant channels. Perhaps he could get Dolores to make him decaf coffee instead of-
"Because he listened."
The General whipped around as if stung.
The Wyvern hadn't moved. But a single point on the forehead had lit up, projecting a pale, bluish light down from it. And in front of the machine, on ground level, was a figure. Female, shoulder-length hair, pilot's bodysuit. She was standing with folded arms, looking directly at him with an eyebrow quirked. And her entire body was shimmering in the same light.
McCreery stared.
Then he turned away and raised a hand to his forehead. He breathed in deeply through his nose, as though trying to stop his moustache escaping from his face. His brow knitted.
"You're not her," he muttered. "You're not really her. There's no way she survived, I saw her die on that table."
Laura snorted. "Really? That's the angle you're going for?"
"You're just a series of thaumic pulses inside an ArcStone core, projected through a glass lens," McCreery continued. "That's all you are. Just an image. There's none of her experience, none of her life, what made her real-"
"Stop it," snapped Laura. "Stop lying to yourself. I'm real, I'm her and you damn well know it. And it proves that it worked."
It was some time before McCreery could marshall his thoughts. And when he had, the conclusion he arrived at made him let off a bitter laugh.
"I thought so," he said. "Weeks, even months of testing... And all the time, they thought it was a glitch. Now the ones aboard the XK-05's look like toddlers. Because you were there, all along. The first ArcWave Intelligence."
He glanced over at the hologram, and the ghost of a smile played on his face.
"You always were a fighter, weren't you?"
Laura permitted herself a smirk. It faded when the General rounded on her, and she saw the hard glint in his eye.
"That doesn't change the facts, however," he went on, voice cold. "And the facts are that you escaped from lockdown, flew out unauthorized and engaged without official clearance. And all thanks to a boy you convinced to hack your shell program and then proceeded to drag into a dangerous firefight. Did you actually know the risks you were taking, or hadn't you thought that far yet?"
Laura shrugged, almost nonchalantly. "You know me. Always looking for the next thrill. Or maybe I actually wanted to do my bit after two years of being locked up. Shocking as this sounds, I don't think sitting and watching a city get razed is much fun."
"That boy," hissed the General, "could have died on your account. As could a lot of other people."
"And lots more would have done if I hadn't done it," the hologram shot back. "So I'd say it balances it out, right?"
"That's not how that works, Laura!" McCreery threw his hands up in frustration. "Regardless of what your actions resulted in, you're still a highly dangerous experimental weapon with untested technology on board! And you put lives in jeopardy because you chose to break out and fly like a joyriding hotshot! Gods above, it was bad enough when you were alive, and not in control of several tonnes of high-powered machinery! In a sane world, you would have been scrapped instead of grounded!"
The threat was empty, and Laura seemed to know it as much as McCreery did. She merely stood there, arms folded with a stony expression on her face, staring him down. That irritated him more than anythng, because he knew that expression all too well. The same one he used against stuffed-shirt higher-ups who cared more about the bottom margin than doing any good by the people.
He hated being reminded of his own faults.
"So why didn't you?" was Laura's reply. "I know you. When you're wronged, you take every chance to hit back. So what was stopping you from pulling this thing apart and feeding it to the crunchers?"
McCreery swallowed his frustrations. "Because Command insisted. They didn't want to throw away millions of credits in technological development because one thing didn't work. They demanded that we place you in storage until we'd worked out the kinks in the standard AI. Then we could supplant you and have you fly out like an XK-05. At least, that was the plan until now."
He looked at her. Her expression hadn't changed, and the only movement she'd made was to shift her weight a little. She wasn't buying his explanation in the slightest, as true as it was - she knew there was something else. She always did, with him.
He chewed his lip.
"And... because I hoped."
A faint flicker of a triumphant smile crossed Laura's face. "Knew it."
But she didn't get to keep her moment of triumph. The General quickly straighened up, taking on his old military demeanour once more. The kind that would stand no nonsense, not even from something that could end his life at the accidental push of a button.
"Regardless," he said, "Command wants you in the air again. They saw the footage of you in battle, and they insist that you be deployed the next time the Benthians show up. I'm working to have Ace Pilot Jeremy Croshaw cleared to fly you at first opportunity - he lost Wing Fivein that battle. And until such time as I can get the transfer sorted out, you're grounded until further notice."
Whatever effect he'd wanted, it didn't happen. Laura's eyes narrowed as though she'd smelt something the cat left in her slipper, and her voice became sharp and suspicious.
"What about the kid?" she asked.
McCreery's eyebrow twitched. "What about him?"
"Don't play dumb," was the retort. "You gonna ground him, too, or what? I mean, he's half responsible for what happened."
"I'm surprised that you care," McCreery hissed, struggling to keep composure again. "After all, you just needed him so you could stretch your wings again, right? A fine bit of manipulation, but don't try to cover your tracks by acting as though you're worried for him. Especially seeing as he's a mechanic and not a registered pilot."
The holographic figure snorted. "Like your solution's any better. You wanna stick me with one of those meatheaded jocks from the squadron? The ones who parade around in those clunky XK-05's like they just got the keys to their dad's motor? Because we both know how well that went the last time you tried it."
McCreery laughed bitterly. "Yes, and I still remember what he said when he clambered out. Screamed about the thing being possessed and ran from the base like he'd seen Styx herself."
"And the same thing's gonna happen," snapped Laura, "if you put that Croshaw creep or anyone else in my cockpit."
"But why?" McCreery's anger was giving an edge to his voice. "They're all good pilots! Very good ones! I mean, not all of them are Academy-standard, but you can't pick and choose who-"
The Wyvern took a step forward. The sound of the footfall was like a gong had been thrown against a cliff. McCreery took a hasty step backwards, realizing with horror that he never heard the clamps being turned off over his own shouting. But it wasn't enough to put distance between him and Laura's outraged face, nor to block out the growl that seemed to come from within the beast.
"You just don't get it! I don't want good pilots! They can't be taught anything, and they treat their wings like tools! And tools don't talk, right? So why follow that precision-calculated flight path for a bombing run?! No, let's all draw dicks in the sky with our exhaust whilst the ground troops get massacred! I'm not a tool, and I don't want to be treated like one by some egotistical jackass who puts his stupid haircut in the priority list above human fucking lives!"
Laura's screaming rant took a while to stop echoing. By the end of it, the General had gone ashen and one of his lapels had gone askew. His eyes kept flitting up to the Wyvern, the triangular head leering down at him. He wondered if he would feel anything if the guns should fire at that moment. Probably not - supercharged Thaumic energy had a nasty tendency to melt flesh. Too many good people had lost their limbs in the lab to learn that one.
The hologram took a moment to catch her breath, then looked away from him, her face blurring slightly.
"I want someone who will listen," she whispered. "Who'll trust what I've got to say, instead of taking it as a suggestion."
McCreery paused.
Then he straightened up and rearranged his apparel. It was done with a passing semblance of unflappable clam, which was paper-thin even to himself. He seemed to be making his mind up on the fly despite not being completely certain about it.
Definitely too old.
"I'm... a small man, in some ways," he said, at last. "Always have been. But there's a war on, Laura - or at least, there may well soon be one. Circumstances change, become unusual. I know what you're capable of, and it's the only reason I'm even considering what I'm about to do, instead of sectioning myself. Don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."
He turned and strolled away towards the hangar doors. His step was longer than usual - he clearly wanted out, away from the dangerous war machine.
Laura watched him go, and shook her head.
"When did you ever?"
-------
"So you can see, cadet, while I'm in a very difficult position."
Ryuga nodded. He didn't have much else to offer - the presence of someone who could redirect his life with the snap of a finger quashed any witty reply. He'd only seen General McCreery once before, when he'd clambered out of the Wyvern, and that was a close enough encounter for him. It had been a week since then, which he had spent confined to his room, drinking too much coffee and feeling like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He honestly would have preferred a solitary confinement cell.
"I'm surprised that you care," McCreery hissed, struggling to keep composure again. "After all, you just needed him so you could stretch your wings again, right? A fine bit of manipulation, but don't try to cover your tracks by acting as though you're worried for him. Especially seeing as he's a mechanic and not a registered pilot."
The holographic figure snorted. "Like your solution's any better. You wanna stick me with one of those meatheaded jocks from the squadron? The ones who parade around in those clunky XK-05's like they just got the keys to their dad's motor? Because we both know how well that went the last time you tried it."
McCreery laughed bitterly. "Yes, and I still remember what he said when he clambered out. Screamed about the thing being possessed and ran from the base like he'd seen Styx herself."
"And the same thing's gonna happen," snapped Laura, "if you put that Croshaw creep or anyone else in my cockpit."
"But why?" McCreery's anger was giving an edge to his voice. "They're all good pilots! Very good ones! I mean, not all of them are Academy-standard, but you can't pick and choose who-"
The Wyvern took a step forward. The sound of the footfall was like a gong had been thrown against a cliff. McCreery took a hasty step backwards, realizing with horror that he never heard the clamps being turned off over his own shouting. But it wasn't enough to put distance between him and Laura's outraged face, nor to block out the growl that seemed to come from within the beast.
"You just don't get it! I don't want good pilots! They can't be taught anything, and they treat their wings like tools! And tools don't talk, right? So why follow that precision-calculated flight path for a bombing run?! No, let's all draw dicks in the sky with our exhaust whilst the ground troops get massacred! I'm not a tool, and I don't want to be treated like one by some egotistical jackass who puts his stupid haircut in the priority list above human fucking lives!"
Laura's screaming rant took a while to stop echoing. By the end of it, the General had gone ashen and one of his lapels had gone askew. His eyes kept flitting up to the Wyvern, the triangular head leering down at him. He wondered if he would feel anything if the guns should fire at that moment. Probably not - supercharged Thaumic energy had a nasty tendency to melt flesh. Too many good people had lost their limbs in the lab to learn that one.
The hologram took a moment to catch her breath, then looked away from him, her face blurring slightly.
"I want someone who will listen," she whispered. "Who'll trust what I've got to say, instead of taking it as a suggestion."
McCreery paused.
Then he straightened up and rearranged his apparel. It was done with a passing semblance of unflappable clam, which was paper-thin even to himself. He seemed to be making his mind up on the fly despite not being completely certain about it.
Definitely too old.
"I'm... a small man, in some ways," he said, at last. "Always have been. But there's a war on, Laura - or at least, there may well soon be one. Circumstances change, become unusual. I know what you're capable of, and it's the only reason I'm even considering what I'm about to do, instead of sectioning myself. Don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."
He turned and strolled away towards the hangar doors. His step was longer than usual - he clearly wanted out, away from the dangerous war machine.
Laura watched him go, and shook her head.
"When did you ever?"
-------
"So you can see, cadet, while I'm in a very difficult position."
Ryuga nodded. He didn't have much else to offer - the presence of someone who could redirect his life with the snap of a finger quashed any witty reply. He'd only seen General McCreery once before, when he'd clambered out of the Wyvern, and that was a close enough encounter for him. It had been a week since then, which he had spent confined to his room, drinking too much coffee and feeling like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He honestly would have preferred a solitary confinement cell.
Now he was here in his office, listening to him talk about things he only vaguely understood. About High Command, about meetings and talks, and everything that had happened since the attack. But in all honesty, the junior mechanic wasn't paying much attention to it. He was just waiting for the words 'dishonourably discharged' that he knew would be rolling his way.
Why couldn't he just say them now, and get it over with?
"In any other circumstance," McCreery went on, "I would have had anyone who stole that prototype demoted, or worse. But three things are stopping me. Firstly, the world's on fire since that attack from the Benthians. All the other realms are looking towards us, waiting for some kind of response, and we don't have any beyond a confused shrug. And of course, the Benthians are denying everything, which is typical of those fish-eating bastards."
He paced to the other side of the room. Ryuga watched him from the other side of the desk. Beyond, the sloping curve of the wall-to-wall window threw sunlight onto the General's outfit, making the gold edging glimmer. Sky traffic rumbled on by outside, indifferent to the scene taking place.
"Secondly," the moustached man continued, "you're technically already grounded. Something to do with how you failed your piloting courses. I'm not going to pry, but it does somewhat limit my options in that department. Punishing you would be akin to kicking a horse that's already slipped into a coma. And, if I must be honest, it would be churlish to entirely blame you for the prototype's escape, given the circumstances."
He turned to Ryuga, and the boy resisted the urge to flinch. The dark grey eyes peered at him, scuritinizing. Judging, said his overactive mind.
"Good. Because what I'm about to say will sound like I just inhaled a pipeful of Babelfern. But I could not make this up if I tried - I don't have the imagination for it." McCreery turned away, facing the window with arms behind his back. Ryuga heard him blow through his moustache, the rustling sound distinctive, as he waited for whatever it was the General was to say next. If was to sound as crazy as he claimed, then it might mean...
"In any other circumstance," McCreery went on, "I would have had anyone who stole that prototype demoted, or worse. But three things are stopping me. Firstly, the world's on fire since that attack from the Benthians. All the other realms are looking towards us, waiting for some kind of response, and we don't have any beyond a confused shrug. And of course, the Benthians are denying everything, which is typical of those fish-eating bastards."
He paced to the other side of the room. Ryuga watched him from the other side of the desk. Beyond, the sloping curve of the wall-to-wall window threw sunlight onto the General's outfit, making the gold edging glimmer. Sky traffic rumbled on by outside, indifferent to the scene taking place.
"Secondly," the moustached man continued, "you're technically already grounded. Something to do with how you failed your piloting courses. I'm not going to pry, but it does somewhat limit my options in that department. Punishing you would be akin to kicking a horse that's already slipped into a coma. And, if I must be honest, it would be churlish to entirely blame you for the prototype's escape, given the circumstances."
He turned to Ryuga, and the boy resisted the urge to flinch. The dark grey eyes peered at him, scuritinizing. Judging, said his overactive mind.
"With me so far, cadet?"
Ryuga nodded again. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Because what I'm about to say will sound like I just inhaled a pipeful of Babelfern. But I could not make this up if I tried - I don't have the imagination for it." McCreery turned away, facing the window with arms behind his back. Ryuga heard him blow through his moustache, the rustling sound distinctive, as he waited for whatever it was the General was to say next. If was to sound as crazy as he claimed, then it might mean...
No, scolded his mind. You messed up by hacking that shell and letting the prototype out. You know what you did was wrong, so don't go looking for excuse where there aren't any. You'll be lucky to get away with a demotion. And what if your mom heard about this?
He watched as McCreery pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow.
"The third thing," he went on, "is that Command wants that prototype deployed again."
Ryuga's eyes widened like a cartoon character that had escaped the reel. "S-sir?"
"You heard, cadet," the General groaned. "I'll be blowed, frankly, if I knew why. But apparently the ability to tear apart an enemy carrier from the inside is a strategic benefit of some sort. Now, my original plan was to take Croshaw - Wing Five's pilot - and transfer him to the prototype whilst we were still recovering from that attack. It should have been simple and quick."
Should have been. Ryuga was starting to find those words awfully familiar. Things that were supposedly simple rapidly becoming complicated were becoming a recent trend in his life, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. He watched as the General replaced his handkerchief in his pocket, consternation written all over his face.
"Laura... She's taken a shine to you. I know even less about that, and heavens help me if I pretended to know. But she's very insistent that she fly with you and nobody else. Gave me a thorough bollocking, pardon my Zindovian, when I suggested Croshaw. And as far as I'm aware, Command never specified who was to pilot the prototype, just that it was in the air. So against my better judgement, I did a little digging and I made some calls..."
He watched as McCreery pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow.
"The third thing," he went on, "is that Command wants that prototype deployed again."
Ryuga's eyes widened like a cartoon character that had escaped the reel. "S-sir?"
"You heard, cadet," the General groaned. "I'll be blowed, frankly, if I knew why. But apparently the ability to tear apart an enemy carrier from the inside is a strategic benefit of some sort. Now, my original plan was to take Croshaw - Wing Five's pilot - and transfer him to the prototype whilst we were still recovering from that attack. It should have been simple and quick."
Should have been. Ryuga was starting to find those words awfully familiar. Things that were supposedly simple rapidly becoming complicated were becoming a recent trend in his life, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. He watched as the General replaced his handkerchief in his pocket, consternation written all over his face.
"Laura... She's taken a shine to you. I know even less about that, and heavens help me if I pretended to know. But she's very insistent that she fly with you and nobody else. Gave me a thorough bollocking, pardon my Zindovian, when I suggested Croshaw. And as far as I'm aware, Command never specified who was to pilot the prototype, just that it was in the air. So against my better judgement, I did a little digging and I made some calls..."
McCreery let the sentence hang for a good ten seconds. Ryuga wished he wouldn't do that. It was bad enough being kept in suspense, he didn't need the General playing silly buggers with him. He glanced at the clock - four thirty in the afternoon - and wondered if he would ever make it out in time for dinner. Maybe that nice girl would be there again today.
Then he looked back, and saw the twinkle in the grey eyes.
"I've overturned your ban. You're cleared to fly her."
"I've overturned your ban. You're cleared to fly her."
Ryuga nearly fell down as shock rushed through him. But he composed himself at the last minute, remembering where he was, and straightened up. Even so, his heart felt like it was about to burst out of him and go flying away, singing praises to all the deities. Here he was, about to be punished, only to find his life had taken a sudden, dramatic turn for the better! After all these years, he was finally going to fly again...!
"Thank you, sir!" he cried. "I'm honoured that you would-"
"Mind!" The General raised a finger. "This doesn't meant you're out of trouble, cadet! I'll be keeping a close eye on you, to ensure you're not trying any tricks. Command has no idea who I'm putting in that cockpit, and I don't want them to think I'm throwing some untested rookie's life away on a crazy whim. So if you do anything to prove me wrong, I'll reinstate that ban and have you fixing janitor droids for the rest of your career! Are we clear?"
Despite himself, Ryuga saluted. "Y-yes, General!" he squeaked.
"Good."
Then the General smiled - a genuine one, full of fatherly warmth. On such a stern figure, it was surprising to see.
"At ease, lad," he said, his voice softer. Ryuga relaxed and moved his feet apart, the ache of standing at attention for so long setting in. McCreery walked around the desk until he'd reached the boy, and put a hand on one shoulder. He no longer looked like an unflinching titan of authority, but more akin to a grandfather that you would run down to the shops to fetch a paper and some caramels for.
"Mind!" The General raised a finger. "This doesn't meant you're out of trouble, cadet! I'll be keeping a close eye on you, to ensure you're not trying any tricks. Command has no idea who I'm putting in that cockpit, and I don't want them to think I'm throwing some untested rookie's life away on a crazy whim. So if you do anything to prove me wrong, I'll reinstate that ban and have you fixing janitor droids for the rest of your career! Are we clear?"
Despite himself, Ryuga saluted. "Y-yes, General!" he squeaked.
"Good."
Then the General smiled - a genuine one, full of fatherly warmth. On such a stern figure, it was surprising to see.
"At ease, lad," he said, his voice softer. Ryuga relaxed and moved his feet apart, the ache of standing at attention for so long setting in. McCreery walked around the desk until he'd reached the boy, and put a hand on one shoulder. He no longer looked like an unflinching titan of authority, but more akin to a grandfather that you would run down to the shops to fetch a paper and some caramels for.
"I've read your profile," he said. "Damn good bit of flying, that was - a shame about the end. And you're a good boy, with no other blemishes besides that. I'm putting a lot of faith in you right now, since you seem to be the only one who can fly that thing. If Laura trusts you, then I trust you. But don't let me down, lad - we've both got a lot to lose here."
Ryuga smiled, despite himself. "Yes, sir."
The General nodded, then stood to attention. "Dismissed."
Relieved, mind buzzing, Ryuga turned and headed for the door. He reached out for the doorknob that would take him out of the office and to freedom. To his new life as a pilot, and not just the guy who hit the thing with a wrench to make it work. To being at the controls of the most advanced skyfighter the Realms had ever seen. In short, to being a Wyvern.
But then he stopped. A thought had come to him. He turned, and saw McCreery resuming his seat behind his desk, looking like a military leader once more. The older man looked up and saw him there, and despite that all that had transpired his nerves still jangled a little as the grey eyes fixed on him.
"Something on your mind, lad?"
Ryuga swallowed, bracing himself for how stupid this question would sound.
"Nothing much, sir. Only... 'The Prototype' is a bit of a mouthful. Did you have any other name for it? When you were developing it, I mean?"
The corners of Thomas McCreery's mouth turned up in a smirk of amusement.
"Well... We did have one."
-------
It was whilst cleaning the grime and dirt off the hull of his new Wyvern that Ryuga saw the nameplate.
"Nothing much, sir. Only... 'The Prototype' is a bit of a mouthful. Did you have any other name for it? When you were developing it, I mean?"
The corners of Thomas McCreery's mouth turned up in a smirk of amusement.
"Well... We did have one."
-------
It was whilst cleaning the grime and dirt off the hull of his new Wyvern that Ryuga saw the nameplate.
DVS-001 "Crystal Heart"
Developmental Variance Series
He was reading it for the third time when Laura appeared next to him.
"Cheesy, isn't it?" she quipped, looking upon the stenciled-on letters. "But then again, that's what you get when you ask ol' Walrus-Face to name something." Ryuga smiled, knowing full well who she meant by that nickname - he heard the joke often enough.
"If it's any help," he replied, "I'm still going to call you Laura."
The hologram grinned. Somewhere beneath his feet, the Wyvern purred.
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
-------
RYUGA KANZUKI AND LAURA
will return in 2019
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