Torian scowled at the ceiling. “If a human takes that long to ‘perfect’ something, why would I have a specialty at all? I’m only twenty-eight.”
“You are in training. An aspiring pilot human.”
Wow. Now it sounded like Celise.
“I can fly this ship,” she grumbled. “AndI studied solar engineering. I can do both.”
“My records indicate you are also a smuggling human, something the pilot human outside confirmed. If you insist on being contrary, I can update my databanks. Pick whatever specialty you like, and I will humor you.”
So, it was eavesdropping outside, too. Awesome.
“I don’t need to pick—” Torian pressed her head into her hands. “I thought you were a delightful conversationalist.”
“I am. This is a delightful conversation. The best I’ve had in one hundred and thirty-three years.” And to its credit, the computer actually sounded pleased.
Torian paused, frowning. “How long has it been since you’vehada conversation?”
The computer went silent for a moment, then replied, “One hundred and thirteen years. Unless you count the potted plants, but they operate on a lower level of consciousness, and their complaints are limited to ‘we need more water’ and ‘that’s too much water.’” It shifted into a whiny voice, like it had recorded the plants’ complaints and translated them into a language Torian could understand. “Plants are very dramatic.”
This might actually be the best conversation Torian had had in a while, too.
She laughed. “Plants are dramatic. When I was a teenager, I used all my money to buy an imported fern. I tried heaters, humidifiers, artificial sunlight… everything. It died anyway.” She’d nearly forgotten about that fern. Its pot was still in her duffel bag, since that thing was expensive and true ceramic was hard to find on Colony 13. Nostalgia colored her tone. “I named it Palm, because it’s a fern.”
The computer replied, “That doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s the point.” Torian smirked, drumming her fingers on the table.
“A joke that is not funny. Interesting. Updating my humor module.” It continued fluidly into: “I am named Moss. Because I am moss. Although I already know who you are, you may introduce yourself. My system identifies that as an important part of new conversation.”
It had used her name before, so at the very least, it had access to ownership records for the starship. Torian briefly wondered what else it knew, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “Ah, I’m Torian Razner. You can call me Tori, if you want. Or Torian. I like both.”
“You may call me Moss. Only Moss.”
“Hello, Moss.”
“Hello, Torian.”
Torian cast another glance at the engine hatch. Still empty. Once this was over, she’d go down and sweep that room, just to be sure this wasn’t some kind of prank.
(She doubted it, now.)
Her eyes dropped to the moss she’d touched, and guilt prickled. “I’m… ah, I am sorry that I kept touching you. I didn’t realize. I grew up on Colony 13, and we don’t have a lot of plant life here. Seeing you inside this ship… it was a really nice change.”
“You said I was beautiful.”
Torian smiled. “Youarebeautiful.”
Moss considered that. “I am able to disconnect my sensors from specific patches of moss. If… that would make you happy.”
Torian blinked, something bubbling up her chest. Happiness? Incredulousness? Amusement? Whatever it was, it threatened to choke her words. “Wow, thanks. But that’s okay; especially if you aren’t comfortable with it.” She hesitated. “There are enough potted plants—I assume they’re okay being touched?”
“They are stupid enough to think your fingers are wind. And sixteen of the plants have submitted complaints about a ‘distinct lack of wind’ in the last decade. I will illuminate them for you. As theDestitute’s new owner, you may resolve that problem.”
Spotlights flicked onto nine of the potted plants in this room, and at least three in the cargo bay.
But Torian was already distracted. “TheDestitute? Is that really this ship’s name?”
“It is certainly not theTraitor.” It paused. “Although that is a suitable name as well. Perhaps I should have considered that.”
