The training field stretched out under a pale sky, a controlled wasteland of steel pylons, reinforced ridges and artificial canyons built specifically to break pilots who mistook size for mastery. Its ground was layered with composite plating and packed stone, scarred by years of earlier tests — deep gouges where Orbitons had stumbled, scorch marks where reactors had run too hot, fractures where a single misstep had sent tens of tons crashing down. Youri felt all of it through the Minerva. Every step sent calibrated feedback into his nervous system. The machine's balance systems corrected themselves constantly, feeding their tiny adjustments into his spine and shoulders like phantom sensations. At first it was overwhelming — too much information, too much scale — but months of brutal simulator training took over by instinct. He didn't think. He adapted.
"Maintain spacing," Varos's voice cut in. "You are not alone out there."
To Youri's left, a LEX unit advanced with thunderous confidence, every step heavier and louder than his own. To his right another Minerva moved almost silently with a smoother, more refined gait, and the pilot's ID flashed briefly on his display. Adin. Of course. Adin's Minerva surged a little ahead, deliberately pushing the edge of the formation, and Youri saw it at once — the spike in the telemetry, the calculated risk. Adin wasn't only piloting. He was posturing.
"Idiot," Youri muttered, and he turned his attention back to his own unit.
The first obstacle loomed ahead: a field of uneven pylons, some tall enough to force vertical maneuvering and others spaced just closely enough to punish clumsy footwork. An Orbiton is not a vehicle. Youri eased the Minerva forward and slowed just enough to let the machine breathe. He felt its servos adjust and its gyros compensate. When he stepped between the first two pylons, he didn't force the movement; he guided it. The Minerva flowed. The LEX behind him wasn't so lucky. Its pilot overcorrected. Its massive foot clipped a pylon, and alarms flared as the structure came down across its shoulder. The LEX staggered and barely kept its balance.
"Pilot Seven, recover!" Varos barked.
Youri didn't look back. He pressed on into a sloping trench whose walls leaned sharply inward — the place where brute force failed. The Minerva's long limbs were an advantage there, but only under control. He leaned into the link and trusted the machine, and it crouched to lower its center of gravity and rolled its shoulders inward just enough to keep from scraping the walls, every step deliberate and precise, like a blade sliding into its sheath. The numbers on his display climbed steadily.
SYNC: 61% — STABILITY: NOMINAL
"Not bad, Kronos," Varos said, more quietly now, measuring him.
Youri didn't answer.
At the far end of the trench, the ground opened into a wide basin where platforms hung in the air at different heights on gravity anchors — the vertical control segment. Adin didn't hesitate; his Minerva fired its thrusters and launched itself upward in a clean arc and landed on the first platform with practiced ease, flashy, efficient, aggressive. Youri watched for half a second, and then he chose a different path. Instead of jumping, he angled toward the wall of the basin. The Minerva's fingers dug into the reinforced surface and found purchase, and it climbed, not fast, but steadily, every movement controlled. And the machine felt… eager. That surprised him. Halfway up, its systems began adjusting on their own, redistributing power and firing the thrusters in short bursts, not enough to launch but enough to help. Youri laughed softly. "You like this, don't you?"
The Minerva crested the wall and stepped up onto a higher platform without ever fully jumping at all.
SYNC: 68%
Below him, one of the recruits misjudged a jump. Their LEX slammed into a platform far too hard and buckled it. Though its emergency dampeners fired, the unit lost its balance and crashed down into the basin, and red markers flashed across every display. "Pilot Nine is out," Presley's voice confirmed. Nobody reacted. They were past sympathy now.
The final segment began without warning. "Combat simulation enabled," Varos announced. "Non-lethal systems only. Adapt or fail."
Targets burst up out of the ground — autonomous drones armed with stun cannons and impact charges. They swarmed at once, spreading out to force the pilots to react. Youri's instincts screamed, and the Minerva moved before he had fully registered the threat, raising its shield as the first stun bolt slammed into it, the impact echoing through the link, sharp but bearable. He pivoted with the rifle coming up smoothly and fired. The recoil was immense but controlled, and the pulse round took a drone dead center and dropped it in a burst of sparks.
Two more flanked him. Adin was charging straight ahead and blasting targets with aggressive precision, pushing forward relentlessly — impressive and dangerous, because he left openings. Youri didn't. He moved sideways with his shield angled, firing in measured bursts. When a drone closed too fast, he didn't waste the shot; he stepped in and struck, and the Minerva's armored fist hit it with crushing force and sent it spinning into the ground. Youri felt it in his bones. Not pain. Power. Another drone detonated nearby. The shockwave hammered his side, and warning lights flared briefly — ARMOR INTEGRITY: 93% — but the Minerva held. He let out a slow breath. "Easy," he whispered again.
Then something changed. The drones adapted. Their movements turned erratic and coordinated; two went for Adin at once and split his attention. A third peeled away and came straight for Youri's blind side, too fast. The stun charge burst against the Minerva's shoulder and overloaded its local systems. His display flickered violently. Pain lanced through his nervous system, real pain this time, and he gasped, his fingers twitching, as the Minerva staggered.
"Pilot Five, stabilize!" Varos snapped.
Youri forced himself to breathe and to focus. He pushed past the pain and deeper into the link, and the world narrowed. He felt the Minerva's imbalance, its damaged actuators, the corrections it was already making — and he didn't fight them. He trusted them. The Minerva straightened. With a roar of thrusters it surged forward, not recklessly but decisively. Youri brought the rifle up and fired twice in quick succession. The last drones went down.
Silence fell over the basin. Smoke drifted lazily through the air, and one by one the Orbitons powered down to standby. Youri slumped back in his seat with sweat soaking his uniform and his hands shaking as the adrenaline went on burning through him.
SYNC: 74% — PERFORMANCE: ABOVE EXPECTATION
The hatch opened slowly, letting in fresh air and distant voices. Below, Varos stood looking up at the units that were still standing. "Eight pilots remain," he said. "You have passed the first live test." His gaze lingered on Minerva Unit Five a fraction longer than on the others. "This is not the end. It is the beginning of disappointment, for those who believe this was the hard part."
Youri closed his eyes for a moment. His muscles ached and his head throbbed. But beneath all of it, something else was stirring. The Minerva had answered him — not like a machine, but like a partner.