Mech Pilot who was just told by their doctor that they need to start thinking about a career change.
"No. But do it anyway."
The doctor twisted, and locked the arm into the shoulder socket, the woman screamed. Long and loud. She bit off the scream, panting heavily.
"Ow."
"Sorry, there's nothing to do about that pain, but you did well."
"Thanks, I guess."
"Some fine tuning first, then you're free to go, but the painful part is done."
She nodded, "thanks, doc."
"You know, piloting is a dangerous profession. Have you considered doing anything else?"
The pilot was silent for minutes, watching the doctor work on her shiny new arm, "I'm not sure I'm cut out for anything else. I've been a pilot for... as long as I can remember," she finished with a chuckle, "Tonka was my first chassis."
"Miss Stennerman, if I may humbly remind you, you had your entire arm blown off, and have an appointment a scant two weeks away to replace the ruins of your eye. How many body parts are you willing to lose to your job?"
The pilot rolled her good eye, "had anyone told you your bedside manner sucks?"
"Constantly. But I've also been told it's 'part of my charm.'"
"That's fair." She took in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "I have tried finding other work before. A few years of school, and applied to be veterinary assistant."
"I sense a 'but' coming."
"But my resume is almost totally redacted. Almost everything I've done is top secret. My only two options are hand in a resume that ends in my teens, or hand in three pages, where every word is blacked out. Aced my exams, never got a call back. Went back to the drop after that. Folk in the biz know what a redacted resume means."
"I'm... I'm sorry."
She shrugged, "It's fine. No dreams to chase after that. I was put in this galaxy to be a pilot, and I'm damn good at it."
"What about piloting a construction mech?"
"Same problem. They look at my resume, and don't see my skill as a pilot. They see time lost to PTSD. War pilots aren't as stable as they'd like. I mean, I'd be fine. I'm tough as shit. But they'd never give me the opportunity."
"Well. That is quite the pickle."
"Like I said. It's fine. I knew what this life had in store for me. We burn bright, but pilot's like me, we burn out quick."
The doctor was silent for a moment. Tinkering with the inner workings of the arm, and it's connections to the meat and nerves. "Do you still have your transcripts from veterinary school?"
"I think? Somewhere, probably."
"I have some friends in the field. I can put in a good word. No resume needed."
"You'd do that?"
"Technically, it's wildly unprofessional. But I'd hate to be replacing your other arm. Or a leg any time soon."
"Can," she paused to swallow, "can I have time to think about that? I had all but given up on that. And as stupid as our higher ups can be, we're fighting a good fight. Helping people. Preserving freedom."
"Take all the time you need. Just know you don't need to fight this fight yourself. There are other pilots out there. Ones that haven't already lost as much as you."
"You say that, but who's going to keep those pilots from losing anything if not me? I have the skill to keep everyone safe. My team. The people."
"What about keeping yourself safe?"
She shrugged one shoulder, the other not yet activated, "I'm not the one that matters. Everyone else is."
"That is wildly self destructive, you know."
"It's why I do what I do."
"Promise me you'll genuinely consider my offer? As a medical professional I'm deeply concerned about your current career. I'm sure you're fit for duty by their standards, but..." they trailed off.
"But what?"
"There are other ways to help people. Ways that won't risk life and what limbs you have left."
She sighed heavily, "promise. But even if I say yes, and that's a big 'if,' I have contractual obligations. Can't just up and leave, you know?"
The Doctor nodded, "understandable. Now make a fist, please. No, the other hand. Good."
Stacy "Tanks" Stennerman Pilot of the 415th Legion of the Liberation Front
Dr. Heidi Graham