I was able to conclude my initial assessment after three days of research and prodding around in the Air-Core’s interior. Her reactor, the actual Air-Core unit, was still intact and active, which theoretically meant she was conscious and aware. However, all her servos and all her other means of movement had been burnt out. Most of her internal wiring needed replacement as well. And don’t get me started on the burnt-out scrap that used to be her circuit boards. If she was conscious then she was trapped in a void with no means of escape or way to communicate - one hell of a case of locked-in syndrome.

My research suggested that I could jumpstart the Air-Core’s self-repair abilities by restoring her sensor suites. From there she would theoretically be able to restore herself to working order if fed enough raw materials over time. This would also hopefully give her a way to speak with me and allow her to direct me through the more complicated repair work. I may have been a wizard when it came to fixing cars, tractors, combines, and all things on the ground, but I knew the only way this Air-Core would fly again is if she helped me through the process. I just had to get her talking. Easier said than done.

I spent the rest of the week studying videos online, driving around the state, and ordering online in order to gather the necessary replacement parts and raw materials. Some things I was able to source through the workshop, though I had to lie to my boss and make up reasons why I needed certain items and half-made components. The good news was that he bought every word on account of my stellar performance up until that point. I think he assumed I was simply trying to trick out my Camaro. If only he knew I was working on something far, far cooler.

Replacing the Air-Core’s wiring was more physically-demanding than anything else. Though crude, the various vehicle sensors I cobbled together would provide a means to “jump start” the repair of her far more advanced sensors. I just had to be careful what connections I soldered together and in what order. The mess of wires, cables, and circuits that pooled from and next to the Air-Core wasn’t pretty in the slightest, yet I felt I was making progress.

Each day from 7 AM to 5 PM I half-daydreamed about what I could try next while I fixed whatever came through the doors of the workshop. The moment the shop closed I hurried home to grab my toolbox and return to the Air-Core’s side. I labored for four or five hours, then tried to ping her Air-Core before turning in for the night. On weekends I’d spend all my waking hours at the farmhouse. This continued for two weeks before I finally received a return signal beep via the hardwired connection from the Air-Core’s head to my laptop.

I keyed on the laptop’s microphone, exclaiming, “Yes! I did it! Can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

Twenty seconds later a deeply-feminine, slightly-vocoded voice emitted from my laptop’s speakers: [ Where am I? Who are you? ]

With the same excitement as a child opening a Christmas present, I gushed, “I’m Ivan Miller! You’re safe in a farmhouse for now. I hope I didn’t damage any of your systems! Well, more than they already were. I’ve been working the last several weeks just to try and kickstart your sensor suites so you had a way of talking to me.”

There was a pause in which I worried I had been too eager in vomiting out that word salad. That feeling was somewhat confirmed when the Air-Core replied, [ Then you are human. ]

“Last I checked!”

[ My targeting database has been erased. I do not know if I am supposed to trust humans or not. ]

I was about to reply when my brain finally caught up to my mouth. Shouldn’t a humanity-created Air-Core be hard-coded to recognize humans as friendlies? Well, certain types of humans, but humans nonetheless. It then dawned on me what the only kind of Air-Core that would say something like that was.

“You’re an Invader unit!” I said as my eyes widened and I took a step back.

[ I have no records on “Invaders” either. I only possess self-diagnostic and minimal operational data. ]

“Do you have a name then?” I asked cautiously.

[ The title of “Wyrmpulse” does appear in what remains of my personal records. ]

I returned to my previous position and nodded as my enthusiasm returned. “Got it, Wyrmpulse! I’ll keep working to bring you back up to speed. Is there any specific area I should focus on now that your sensors are functional?”

A diagram appeared in a new window on my laptop’s screen. It was a mix between a cutaway and a 3D model of Wyrmpulse, similar to an advanced MRI. Most areas of the model were tinged red or orange depending on how damaged they were.

[ Querying… My reactor is at 23% and falling. Chassis intact at 78%. Ambulatory systems offline. Weapons offline. Personality matrix damaged. ]

I cocked my head to the side, frowning, “Your personality matrix is damaged? I have no idea how to start tackling that. But I do have an inkling when it comes to your reactor. Is the problem something you can walk me through fixing? There’s no way I’m going to find information about an Air-Core reactor on the internet. Trust me, I tried. It’s a miracle the FBI or Homeland Security or whomever hasn’t broken my door down by now.”

[ I will transfer the data over to your terminal. May I access your webcam? The rear-parking camera you have hooked up to my temporary sensor grid is woefully low resolution. ]

“Sure, go for it.”

A new window popped up with instructions on what needed fixing in the reactor. This was followed by my laptop complaining that the webcam had been accessed and turned on. Then Wyrmpulse said, [ So this is what a human looks like. You are quite small. ]

“Maybe you’re just big?” I quipped while parsing through the data she’d sent over.

[ I am a perfect size for my role. ]

“Which is?”

[ ...Uncertain. My database is damaged. What records remain suggest I am an advanced air superiority fighter with stealth functionality. ]

I whistled back, “Guess that explains the variable-geometry wings and the rest of your design. I’ll nerd out about that later, though. Looking at these instructions makes me feel like I’m back on the first day of my job where I had tons of book knowledge but no practical knowledge. It’s equal parts exciting and anxiety-inducing. You’ll need to talk me through this as I work.”

[ Understood. To start, open the ventral panel located in my torso… ]

I moved to the indicated panel and pressed in on her sides where her paint switched between gold-orange and black. A grating, scraping sound followed as her abdomen split down the middle and receded to either side. Inside were widgets and doodads I had no words for aside from the reactor itself. That looked like a buckyball where all the hexagons were filled in dark metal while light leaked from the pentagons. What I could make out through the light was some form of liquid or plasma churning within to provide energy. Thankfully there were multiple layers of radiation shielding between me and that reaction.

Wyrmpulse’s instructions were succinct and easy to follow. The reactor’s housing required several new welds, two outright strut replacements, and a multitude of rewiring. Her coolant systems also needed adjustments, which were difficult for an entirely different reason given their location and what they looked like. Once I finished everything all I had to do was toss in metal scraps and watch as her nanities broke them down and repurposed the raw material.

It was well into the witching hour by the time I could close Wyrmpulse back up. I was covered in more sweat, grime, and oils than I usually was after a day at the workshop. Yet I felt energized and eager to keep working.

“How’d I do, Wyrmpulse?” I asked as I wiped my brow. “Everything working as it should?”

[ You are an efficient worker, Ivan. My reactor levels have stabilized, ] she replied with a note of praise in her voice. [ I will require large amounts of metal and other materials to break down in order to complete the self-repair process. In optimal conditions, this will take a period of 16 days. ]

“Not half bad, given how advanced you are,” I laughed. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve been stockpiling this entire time. I hope what’s here is enough.”

I motioned around at the farmhouse and the piles of metal I’d dragged out there. Wyrmpulse had me move the laptop around so she could see before replying, [ What you have gathered will provide 50% of what is required. ]

My face blanched as I repeated, “50%? It took most of my rainy day fund and driving all over the place to get this much.”

[ Data from this “Internet” and your notes suggests there other venues to obtain the necessary materials, ] Wyrmpulse offered.

“You’re accessing the internet and my notes?” I asked as my stomach fluttered faster than a milonga dance.

[ They have been most helpful in efforts to restore my database records. I can stop, if you so wish. ]

I seriously considered whether I should take away her access or not. The way I saw it, the ease in which she’d co-opted my laptop meant she would find her way past any parental controls or other security roadblocks. Which meant the only thing I could do was take away the laptop itself, which felt unnecessarily cruel.

I therefore settled on telling her, “Be careful of what you search, okay? I’m probably on a watchlist already. And don’t go corrupting yourself or trying to break past any passwords. There’s also supposedly all sorts of hunter-killer viruses out there on the internet. Just be mindful of what you’re doing.”

[ As you say, Ivan. Thank you. Have pleasant dreams and enjoy your time at the workshop. I will see you soon. ]