The air in Maintenance Bay Seven smelled of ozone, recycled coolant, and the faint, sweetish tang of synthetic dermis stabilizer. KW-479 hung from a cradle, a nexus of fiber-optic cabling and diagnostic leads sprouting from its spinal port like a metallic mane. Its body was perfect, a masterwork of bio-engineered mimicry: smooth, poreless skin stretched over a musculature that was eternally seventeen, eternally unblemished, eternally ready. The face was symmetrical, almost aggressively handsome,