Mech Pilot who was just told by their doctor that they need to start thinking about a career change.
"Calling you 'a concussion risk' is the polite way to put it. I'm shocked you're still able to operate that thing."
Hugo scoffed. "It's not model-building. You don't need the finest motor skills in the Orion arm to pilot the damn thing."
The doc sighed, swiping through a stack of test results and images on their tablet. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, captain. It's reaching the point where you aren't even fit to operate the mechanized cavalry equivalent of a wooden club. We're talking about compounding injuries here. Each one makes the next one worse. Here."
The doctor swiped a CT scan onto a larger display as Hugo made more grumbling noises. He pointed at the screen, indicating a particularly frayed looking area. "That's the damage to your left shoulder."
"So what? You folks have replaced half my body at this point."
Hugo flexed his left arm, a clunky metal prosthetic- over the years, prosthetic technology had advanced, but he had always opted for a more upgraded version of the same heavy, boxy prosthetics he'd had since he lost his arm during his third battle. He'd been fitted for different versions, even had the option of grafting a new vat-cloned arm on, but he'd always insisted this one "felt right". Hugo was a legend among middle-aged pilots. One of the first in the mechanized cavalry program from his homeworld, he survived two brutal tours of duty before the program evolved into one where pilots had lifespans measured in years, instead of weeks. At this point, most of the left side of his body had been replaced with prosthetics, including vital organs. Half of his heart was artificial, a surgical feat that had landed both the captain and the surgeon who operated on him in military- and medical- textbooks. He had a reputation for being as tough as the fifty-ton steel beatsticks he piloted, and his attitude reflected that.
As if to prove a point, he picked up his cane and tapped the doc on the shoulder with it. "Hell, even this thing didn't keep me down."
The doc sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is what I'm trying to get at, captain. You've had parts of you get blown off and replaced, then you've had those replacements replaced... doctors have worked miracles on you but at some point, you start running out of raw material to work with."
"So grow some more grafts!"
"Captain... Hugo. Look. We've grown grafts. We've replaced and upgraded your prosthetics. You've had bones and organs and muscles replaced, but you've had them replaced so many times that we're running out of nerve endings to connect to them."
Hugo puffed his chest out as though he were preparing another stubborn remark, but for the first time in the last 20 minutes, he paused. Removing his cane from the doctor's shoulder, he leaned back in his seat in the exam room, and looked at the image they had pulled up. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid eye contact.
The doc softened their tone when they spoke again. "What I mean is that there's only so much we can do in the face of neurological damage. We can grow grafts and use stem cells to patch the disconnects, but every time we do, it's like redoing a weld. We have to start replacing more and more to make up for the damage from the last patch job, and eventually... at this point, one more significant injury, and the only way we're getting you back into a cockpit is through flash cloning."
Hugo nodded, still keeping his face turned from the doctor. "I see." He sighed, and, pushing his weight on his cane, stood up.
"I'm sorry to be so blunt about it."
Hugo nodded again, and he turned to face the doc. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing again before turning his eyes over the their shoulder. "I've lost track of how long I've been doing this."
"And you're pushing 70, relativistic. Captain, you're a legend. Hell, I almost went into the pilot corps because of the stories I heard about you. No one can take those away. I'm just saying... if you want my opinion, I don't think you can keep going this way."
Hugo finally met the doctor's eyes before he spoke again. "Professional opinion?"
"Personal opinion, too."
Hugo grunted, some gruffness returning to his voice. "Most folks in my profession go out burning bright."
The doctor shrugged at that. "You've never been one for doing things the way other pilots do. I'm pretty sure retirement would be another record."