I saw a 3rd person view of a humanoid plane. The view slowly closed in on it until I was that plan creature. As the small amount of residual pain from the disengagement of the fuel rods ran through his system, it flinched. A huge male raised his left hand and rubbed most of the spilt fuel from his pecs. Large, articulated fingers deftly graced his divine form, soft tips filled with tactile sensors driving vast quantities of data to his positronic brain -- home to a composite personality matrix, produced from a multitude of cerebral scans of human volunteers compiled into a living consciousness. That consciousness of his was now mine. His hand travelled from his chest to his mouth, jet-back lips parting and a gunmetal-grey tongue worming its way out from its den. The serpentine tip of the tongue licked his stained fingers, tasting the fuel. A 'purr' was heard by some as the aeromorph revelled in the sweet taste. Then, without much extra movement, he returned his arms to his sides, waiting for things to clear up. I did not want to bump into anything, so I had to be really careful. Squishing was bad.
Obviously, questions had arose in government briefings about the program, and this didn't stop when the corporate contractors got involved. Questions surrounding the efficacy of such a... unique solution to pilot fatigue, human error, and other sundry issues of long-range aerial transport. Making the pilot and plane 'one and the same' was certainly a novel way of looking at it. Some would say wasteful. Nevertheless, the green light had been given, and the aeromorphs were the result. When designs for the A.L.I.C.E. (Autonomous Lift Inter-Continental Express) prototype had been unveiled, they certainly raised a few eyebrows. "Rest assured," people in the know were told, "any resemblance to the form or function of a female or male adult human is purely coincidental, a mere byproduct of the design goals specified." Not sure if anyone believed this, but in the eyes of the decision-makers it had been agreed. There was no turning back, and now, after years of painstaking effort, they were ready. I could see several of the other prototypes here as well looking at me. I nodded to them all.
Another loud CLANK broke the rumbling peace of the hangar. The forty-foot assembly that had sported the fuel lines locked itself against the far wall a safe distance from the mammoth machine-me. I turned my head and regarded the installation coldly. Lifting my leg, I was taking my first step closer to my "maiden" flight. Looking at myself, my streamlined form was built for high speed: perfectly inclined wings, the latest avionics for lightning-fast flight control, and an efficient turbojet engine burning in the core of my body. I strode forward, my slender frame head-to-toe covered in new, never-before-seen stealth compounds. Radar-dampening materials infused into the very fibre of my being; synthetic skin drizzled in classified tech. I had potential to be a good spy plane for reconnaissance, and this flight trial would be cool. On each limb, hard metallic fuselage flowed, with softer synth-flesh exposed at the joints. My hands and finger followed a similar design -- flexible where it was needed, very solid otherwise. My back bent, leaving room for the wing-pack jutting from below the shoulders.
