The human doesn’t seem to be listening. They rarely do; they don’t know us anymore. Neither do they care about us. Eventually the general uses the command required to shut Leo up. We were halted, but after the general’s command Leo gives directions, in brief, focused bursts of encrypted and compressed data. We begin again to glide off, a few feet above the ground, held up by our anti-gravity. I used to have a human commander, one who knew me and cared about me. I carried a short platoon of my own infantry, too, once upon a time; twenty-four men in powered battle armor. They were killed, or retired, medically or otherwise, or reached the end of their service. I think the last of them has passed on by now. For them all I offer prayers, but only silently. The best way for a Ratha war machine to get itself a radical debugging is to be suspected of believing in a divinity beyond Man. This debugging is an extremely unpleasant process. Now, in place of my human infantry, I have drones.
