benefits
it affords you."
"Heh. Will do," he said, scratching her head.
"While we're on the subject of bizarre behavior, you seemed a
little unsteady after you tried hacking the door back in the space
station."
"An acute observation. Though I included my
decryption module in the subset of functions loaded into Squee, it
is a resource-intensive task. My low level access to the
neurological processes of this creature allow me to divert
additional neurons to the module, and to force them to function at
a higher than normal capacity, but doing so is enormously taxing on
the anatomy involved. Prolonged use of such methods could cause
lasting damage, or even complete failure, and speed the degradation
of data integrity."
"You could think yourself to death?"
"A more accurate analogy would be 'I could
think myself brain-dead.'"
"That's a little scary."
"My full systems are, presumably, still
running in Karter's complex on Big Sigma. The death of this
instance of Squee would result only in the loss of approximately
two weeks of memories and experiences that I have accumulated since
occupying it. Regrettable, but ultimately inconsequential."
"If you say so. Say, why did Karter name the
female funk Squee? Soul Brother was a pun on some song from
hundreds of years ago. Is Squee another song from the same
guy?"
"No. Karter indicated that 'Squee' was the
sound that he anticipated women would make upon seeing her. If your
girlfriend's reaction is typical, he achieved an impressively
faithful approximation."
"My girlfriend... Crap! What time is it?"
"17:48, galactic standard time."
"I'm going to juice the throttle a little
bit, so we make it to our first stop in the next twelve minutes,"
he said, tapping at the controls.
"Why?"
"Because it's almost Mitch o'clock, that's
why!"
Ma flicked an ear. "That reply only compounds
the lack of clarity of the preceding statement."
"Michella is a busy lady. She's always
digging through dumpsters and interviewing whistle blowers and
whatever else investigative reporters do. That takes her all over.
I'm a busy guy. I'm doing deliveries and helping you and Karter out
and carting people around the cosmos. That takes me all
over. Since our schedules align about as often as the planets do,
we both decided that if at all possible, we'd keep 6PM every Friday
free so we can talk to each other. We haven't missed one yet."
"That is an impressive amount of dedication
to devote to what appears to be a highly impractical relationship,"
Ma said.
"What can I say? She's my lady."
"Perhaps, while you are awaiting your
appointment, you could prepare a burrito from your bag."
"Sure thing, Ma," he said, reaching down and
tugging at the bag beside his seat until he unearthed the package
of frozen treats.
Thanks to the fancy, high tech thermal
wrapping, they were still frozen solid. If the advertizing on the
bag could be believed, they would stay at a safe temperature for
long term storage for 'up to three weeks without the need of a
refrigerator.' That was enormously useful for people like him, who
would probably be hauling them along on long trips without access
to a freezer. Of course, he didn't have access to anything to heat
them up, either. Fortunately, the snack food industry thinks of
everything. A twist and a tug at the InstaFresh HeatTab™ hanging
off the end of each individually wrapped burrito would create a
chemical reaction in the packaging that would make it 'oven fresh
in minutes.' He activated it, and as the cockpit filled with the
sort of vaguely nauseating yet mysteriously appetizing smell that
only frozen food can manage, Ma looked longingly at his
shoulder.
"You can climb up, if you really want to," he
said after a few seconds.
"Processing... Thank you," she said, her
freshly minted willpower proving woefully under-equipped to deal
with her current form's whims.
She carefully propelled herself up to his
shoulders and draped herself across the back of his neck, her
massively fluffy
it affords you."
"Heh. Will do," he said, scratching her head.
"While we're on the subject of bizarre behavior, you seemed a
little unsteady after you tried hacking the door back in the space
station."
"An acute observation. Though I included my
decryption module in the subset of functions loaded into Squee, it
is a resource-intensive task. My low level access to the
neurological processes of this creature allow me to divert
additional neurons to the module, and to force them to function at
a higher than normal capacity, but doing so is enormously taxing on
the anatomy involved. Prolonged use of such methods could cause
lasting damage, or even complete failure, and speed the degradation
of data integrity."
"You could think yourself to death?"
"A more accurate analogy would be 'I could
think myself brain-dead.'"
"That's a little scary."
"My full systems are, presumably, still
running in Karter's complex on Big Sigma. The death of this
instance of Squee would result only in the loss of approximately
two weeks of memories and experiences that I have accumulated since
occupying it. Regrettable, but ultimately inconsequential."
"If you say so. Say, why did Karter name the
female funk Squee? Soul Brother was a pun on some song from
hundreds of years ago. Is Squee another song from the same
guy?"
"No. Karter indicated that 'Squee' was the
sound that he anticipated women would make upon seeing her. If your
girlfriend's reaction is typical, he achieved an impressively
faithful approximation."
"My girlfriend... Crap! What time is it?"
"17:48, galactic standard time."
"I'm going to juice the throttle a little
bit, so we make it to our first stop in the next twelve minutes,"
he said, tapping at the controls.
"Why?"
"Because it's almost Mitch o'clock, that's
why!"
Ma flicked an ear. "That reply only compounds
the lack of clarity of the preceding statement."
"Michella is a busy lady. She's always
digging through dumpsters and interviewing whistle blowers and
whatever else investigative reporters do. That takes her all over.
I'm a busy guy. I'm doing deliveries and helping you and Karter out
and carting people around the cosmos. That takes me all
over. Since our schedules align about as often as the planets do,
we both decided that if at all possible, we'd keep 6PM every Friday
free so we can talk to each other. We haven't missed one yet."
"That is an impressive amount of dedication
to devote to what appears to be a highly impractical relationship,"
Ma said.
"What can I say? She's my lady."
"Perhaps, while you are awaiting your
appointment, you could prepare a burrito from your bag."
"Sure thing, Ma," he said, reaching down and
tugging at the bag beside his seat until he unearthed the package
of frozen treats.
Thanks to the fancy, high tech thermal
wrapping, they were still frozen solid. If the advertizing on the
bag could be believed, they would stay at a safe temperature for
long term storage for 'up to three weeks without the need of a
refrigerator.' That was enormously useful for people like him, who
would probably be hauling them along on long trips without access
to a freezer. Of course, he didn't have access to anything to heat
them up, either. Fortunately, the snack food industry thinks of
everything. A twist and a tug at the InstaFresh HeatTab™ hanging
off the end of each individually wrapped burrito would create a
chemical reaction in the packaging that would make it 'oven fresh
in minutes.' He activated it, and as the cockpit filled with the
sort of vaguely nauseating yet mysteriously appetizing smell that
only frozen food can manage, Ma looked longingly at his
shoulder.
"You can climb up, if you really want to," he
said after a few seconds.
"Processing... Thank you," she said, her
freshly minted willpower proving woefully under-equipped to deal
with her current form's whims.
She carefully propelled herself up to his
shoulders and draped herself across the back of his neck, her
massively fluffy
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