I guess this ship will have to do.”
“ Have to do ?” snapped a female voice. “First you call me a tin can , and then without any knowledge of my capabilities you say I’ll have to do ? Really, I never!”
Quentin looked around for a moment before realizing the voice had come from the gnarled walls.
He looked at Bumberpuff. “Who said that?”
“Rosalind did,” the captain said. “You’ve never heard a ship speak before?”
“Oh, you mean a ship’s computer? Yeah, sure, I just never heard one with a surly attitude.”
The walls let out a heavy, feminine sigh. “Honestly, Bumberpuff, where did you find these rubes?”
Bumberpuff’s body rattled — definitely from embarrassment this time, Quentin was sure of it.
“That isn’t a computer talking,” Bumberpuff said. “It is the ship . Rosalind is a Prawatt, just like me.”
The walls sighed again, an overly dramatic sound that conveyed exhaustion with the whole endeavor.
“Bumberpuff, I haven’t been just like you since my explorer days a century ago. And as for you, Human, are you some kind of formist?”
Quentin looked to the ceiling, the walls, automatically trying to find the source of the voice, to find something to look at .
“I have no idea what formist means,” he said.
“It means judging someone or dismissing them as a person because of their form,” the walls said. “It’s like being a racist. Or do I need to explain to you what that means, too?”
“I am not racist ,” Quentin snapped. “Or speciesist or sexist or ableist or formist or whatever other damn ist someone creates next, all right? I’m, uh, just not used to a person ... I mean, a sentient , of your size.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
Quentin felt that all-too-familiar hot sensation in his face as his cheeks turned red. Another new species — or another new form , at least — and he found himself once again saying the wrong thing. And then it clicked ... this ship, Rosalind, was trying to get a rise out of him.
Two could play at that game.
“You actually look pretty trim,” he said. “Aside from your aft section, of course. That part’s a bit chunky.”
There was a silent pause, then a rollicking, carefree laugh.
“Bumberpuff, your friend is funny,” Rosalind said. “Why didn’t you tell me he was funny?”
“I was unaware,” the captain said. “Quentin Barnes is not exactly known for his sense of humor.”
Rosalind made a harrumph sound. “Well, so far he’s hysterical. I like him. Shalom, Quentin.”
“ Shalom ?” Quentin said. “What does that mean?”
Bumberpuff’s metallic body rattled slightly, once again with obvious embarrassment.
“Rosalind is a little ... different ,” the captain said. “She doesn’t worship the living god, Petra. Instead she’s ... well, she’s Jewish .”
“I converted,” the ship said. “Some seventy-five years ago. Quentin, are you religious?”
“Uh ... sort of. I was in the Purist Church.”
“Purism? Well then, perhaps we heretics could have a nice kibitz.”
“That depends,” Quentin said.
“On?”
“On what a kibitz is.”
“A chat,” Rosalind said. “A talk about our various faiths. It will piss off Bumberpuff, but into each life a little crap must fall.”
Bumberpuff rattled again, this time in anger.
“Rosalind,” the captain said, “we can do without your usual poking and prodding. I’d rather focus on finding Quentin’s sibling as opposed to your need to rile everyone up all the time.”
The walls sighed.
“Fine, fine,” Rosalind said. “I don’t mind if you ignore me. Quentin, perhaps when our quest is finished, we could chat. It gets so tiring being around barbarians who invented their own religion. I mean, Petra is only seven hundred years old. My god has been around for millennia. I believe your High One is a variation on Yahweh, so yours is also thousands of years old. Petra is really just a whippersnapper when you think of it.
“ Have to do ?” snapped a female voice. “First you call me a tin can , and then without any knowledge of my capabilities you say I’ll have to do ? Really, I never!”
Quentin looked around for a moment before realizing the voice had come from the gnarled walls.
He looked at Bumberpuff. “Who said that?”
“Rosalind did,” the captain said. “You’ve never heard a ship speak before?”
“Oh, you mean a ship’s computer? Yeah, sure, I just never heard one with a surly attitude.”
The walls let out a heavy, feminine sigh. “Honestly, Bumberpuff, where did you find these rubes?”
Bumberpuff’s body rattled — definitely from embarrassment this time, Quentin was sure of it.
“That isn’t a computer talking,” Bumberpuff said. “It is the ship . Rosalind is a Prawatt, just like me.”
The walls sighed again, an overly dramatic sound that conveyed exhaustion with the whole endeavor.
“Bumberpuff, I haven’t been just like you since my explorer days a century ago. And as for you, Human, are you some kind of formist?”
Quentin looked to the ceiling, the walls, automatically trying to find the source of the voice, to find something to look at .
“I have no idea what formist means,” he said.
“It means judging someone or dismissing them as a person because of their form,” the walls said. “It’s like being a racist. Or do I need to explain to you what that means, too?”
“I am not racist ,” Quentin snapped. “Or speciesist or sexist or ableist or formist or whatever other damn ist someone creates next, all right? I’m, uh, just not used to a person ... I mean, a sentient , of your size.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
Quentin felt that all-too-familiar hot sensation in his face as his cheeks turned red. Another new species — or another new form , at least — and he found himself once again saying the wrong thing. And then it clicked ... this ship, Rosalind, was trying to get a rise out of him.
Two could play at that game.
“You actually look pretty trim,” he said. “Aside from your aft section, of course. That part’s a bit chunky.”
There was a silent pause, then a rollicking, carefree laugh.
“Bumberpuff, your friend is funny,” Rosalind said. “Why didn’t you tell me he was funny?”
“I was unaware,” the captain said. “Quentin Barnes is not exactly known for his sense of humor.”
Rosalind made a harrumph sound. “Well, so far he’s hysterical. I like him. Shalom, Quentin.”
“ Shalom ?” Quentin said. “What does that mean?”
Bumberpuff’s metallic body rattled slightly, once again with obvious embarrassment.
“Rosalind is a little ... different ,” the captain said. “She doesn’t worship the living god, Petra. Instead she’s ... well, she’s Jewish .”
“I converted,” the ship said. “Some seventy-five years ago. Quentin, are you religious?”
“Uh ... sort of. I was in the Purist Church.”
“Purism? Well then, perhaps we heretics could have a nice kibitz.”
“That depends,” Quentin said.
“On?”
“On what a kibitz is.”
“A chat,” Rosalind said. “A talk about our various faiths. It will piss off Bumberpuff, but into each life a little crap must fall.”
Bumberpuff rattled again, this time in anger.
“Rosalind,” the captain said, “we can do without your usual poking and prodding. I’d rather focus on finding Quentin’s sibling as opposed to your need to rile everyone up all the time.”
The walls sighed.
“Fine, fine,” Rosalind said. “I don’t mind if you ignore me. Quentin, perhaps when our quest is finished, we could chat. It gets so tiring being around barbarians who invented their own religion. I mean, Petra is only seven hundred years old. My god has been around for millennia. I believe your High One is a variation on Yahweh, so yours is also thousands of years old. Petra is really just a whippersnapper when you think of it.
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