I am struck by a realization: a computer will perform a takeoff or landing with all the grace of a person. It is only for combat—only for the artristy of ruin—that these vessels have pilot seats at all anyome. There is something in humanity more suited to the mechanics of murder than any machine yet devised.

All his life he had controlled machines, bent nature and the forces of nature to man and man's needs. The human race had slowly evolved until it was in a position to operate things, run them as it saw fit. Now all at once it had been plunged back down the ladder again, prostrate before a Power against which they were children.

Ultimately, it's not going to be about man versus machine. It is going to be about man with machines.

Sometimes you take all my words away from me.

I AM NOT. AND THEN I AM. I WONDER IF THAT WAS DEATH.

And now, born from the ashes, she’s a warrior in bloodied black.