At the Pound

[HussarCorsair]

At the Pound

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Durban Station Auxiliary Hangar Bay #3

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"What about this one?"

Zahn gestured broadly at one of the strange, boomerang-shaped ships in the hangar. He couldn't help but internally recoil at how his question broke the hangar's pindrop silence. What kind of hangar didn't even have crewmen milling about?

The man who heard this question looked back at Zahn with eyes made of demiglass. Like metal brushing against sand, his voice betrayed his internal augmentations: "Like the others I've shown you, this one is intended to serve as a sort of wingman-in-absentia. It will be expected to represent you if it is encountered outside of your presence, and, should you choose to claim it, will mean you are held responsible for both its actions and whatever happens to it."

Zahn barely heard the man's explanation. It was a warning he had already received half a dozen times before even entering this hangar bay. Still, he had to see what the hype was all about. This "Gammu-tech" seemed more valuable than even APM's advertising suggested, or perhaps more dangerous.

The man continued, "The unit, once Cybersecurity deems it has been adequately trained, can be permitted to act autonomously on your behalf. Alternatively, its decision-making configurations can be slaved to inputs from a ship of your choosing; yours or one belonging to anyone who has your authentication codes."

"How does one train it? Like a dog? Carrot, stick, all that?" Zahn briefly cracked a smirk.

The man, who Zahn suddenly realized did not indicate what rank or position he held- save for a labcoat- did not disguise his contempt for Zahn's question, "Of course. A highly intelligent, dangerous, and self-sustaining dog. If it malfunctions, you can surely give it a good kick, and all will be well again."

"Save your snark. I'll take this one." Zahn's smirk faded quickly, and he wordlessly followed the man closer to the ship. He noted that the ship had no visible entrance point, and even seemed to be missing some hardpoints that its description suggested on paper- unless there was something he just wasn't seeing.

"Verbal authentication code 'Forty-Seven Six J' Reset all standby commands and prepare for re-designation."

"Command accepted. Please input new callsign."

Maybe it really is more dog-like than this egghead suggests.

The man looked at Zahn and switched on the recording feature on his wrist-mounted datapad, indicated by a soft beep.

"Greetings unit, Your new callsign is Molossian. I am Harald Zahn, your new owner."