--- Lance

Lance disliked downtime as much as Reg did, if not more.  For an AI, remaining stationary with nothing to do was the pinnacle of boredom.  The local network contained nothing of interest, and all of the media feeds were throttled to accommodate the up-take rate of carbon-based brains.  The AI chat circuit was mostly populated by other ship's navigators, also currently on downtime, awaiting their next mission and bemoaning how dull and tedious the waiting was.

Verifying that his star charts were the latest revision, and noting any new territories that had been added since the last update, were one of his few entertainments.  Once back in space, he would have things to keep himself busy again.  The predictive game of collision avoidance while in heavily trafficked space was one of the most thrilling.  The other being the constant course adjustments that gained barely measurable levels of fuel efficiency.  There were real bragging rights to be had amongst navigators who measured their fuel consumption in milliliters.

Additionally, there would be crew interaction.  Lance genuinely enjoyed working with, conversing with, and generally observing carbons of all species.  He found watching the chaotic nature of their lives and relationships to be, in some strange way, comforting and even relaxing.  Like watching a free form ballet, where every dancer sharing the floor was listening to different music, or watching an aquarium full of fish.

The hardest part of his job was managing social privacy on board.  When socketed into his interface on the ship, Lance essentially became the ship.  The sensors, shields, weapons, navigation, life support, artificial gravity, doors, air locks, waste vents, engines.. everything was an extension of himself.  Like parts of a biologic body, much of it was autonomous and would run without his attention, however, like a diver holding his breath, he could override and force any of them into different modes based on a perceived need.  It was a tremendous amount of power to wield, but it also came with a huge responsibility.

As the ships AI, he was also tasked with maintaining the personal privacy of its crew, while at the same time being an omnipresent hall monitor for the entire ship.  While awaiting queries or commands, he also heard every word, saw every action through the security cameras, and knew the location of everyone anywhere on the ship, at any given moment.  There were no secrets that could be kept from him, however he was required to ensure that his knowledge was not accidentally disseminated in casual conversation.

If the chief engineer was having an affair behind his wife's back with the cook, he could not reveal anything about it to anyone.  However, if the engineer's wife asked for the location of her husband while he was having a dalliance with the cook, Lance could tell the wife exactly where he was located without guilt.  He could also tell her who he was with, and what they were doing, provided she asked those questions directly.

His memory was not infinite though, and some things were automatically culled without having to think about it.  He could go back and access records at a later time and determine how many times a toilet had been flushed, and perhaps determine at what time based on changes in water pressure.  However he would not be able to remember who had used the toilet at those times, or how long it had taken, even though he most certainly had witnessed it at the time.

Crew could also request some private time, they only needed to ask Lance for privacy, and everything he witnessed during that period would be erased as fast as it came in.  For safety reasons, he could not totally disable his monitoring circuits, though he could dispose of the information gathered the moment it was determined that it did not endanger the ship or any of the crew, including the person invoking privacy.  There would be no suicides on his watch.

When he wasn't plugged into the ship, he became a private citizen again and sharing anything he learned during that time was entirely up to his discretion.  Such as letting Becka know that Reg was in port for two weeks the moment he was plugged into the apartment, or giving her access to the apartment while Reg slept.  Those were his choices as Lance, and as Reg's best friend.  Their relationship brought a welcome dose of entropy into his downtime boredom.  He could see that they were good for each other, even if they sometimes could not see it themselves.  They might not be hearing the same music, but they were definitely in the same key.

That was a little slice of privacy that Lance had chosen to keep to himself.  Someday he would have to consider telling them.


--- Becka


After Lance released the locks, Becka had to lean hard on the door to force it open.  Reg's discarded duffel bag lay slumped against the door, preventing it from opening fully.  She managed to squeeze through the gap with her armful of bags before nearly tripping over one of Reg's boots that lay in the middle of the floor.  Removing her dark glasses, the white rabbit rapidly blinked her red eyes as Lance brought the lights up to half brightness in her presence.  She could see a scattered trail of clothes leading down the hall toward the bath.  Apart from the clothes, the place looked exactly as it had two months ago, when they had said their goodbyes, and Reg had left port on another cargo run.  

'How does he survive?' Becka thought to herself, as she restocked Reg's cold storage and pantry shelves, removing anything that had threatened to evolve in his absence.  Lance had warned her in advance that there was no food at the apartment, and that Reg was in a bad way.  So she stopped at the market on her way over, and grabbed enough for the pair of them to survive on for a couple days.  After that, she knew Reg would be recovered enough to be going out and about.

After gathering the scattered clothes together along with the contents of his duffel she held each item at arms length, and sorted through the pockets for anything that should not go in the wash.  After finding only a few scraps of paper with scribbled notes, and a few creds of pocket change, she threw the entire pile, including the boots and bag, into a wash tub for a long soak.

"Lance, he does own other clothes doesn't he?", she asked the room.

"Yes, there is a robe hanging in the bedroom", came the response.

Becka rolled her eyes.

"I believe yours is still there from last time as well", the AI added.

Becka's eyebrows jumped. "Thank you, Lance", she coughed.

Padding down the hall quietly, she stopped at the doorway to the bedroom and leaned in.  From the light intruding from the hallway, she could just make out his naked form sprawled across the bed.  She briefly entertained a thought, but instead decided that cooking some food and letting him rest would be a better choice.  Besides, she was hungry too.

She continued to watch until she was sure that he was breathing, then with a final glance at his fluffy butt, she sighed wistfully to herself and turned back to the kitchen.


---    Nightmare


Reg ducked under clothes lines, and leapt over ductwork as he made his way across the rooftops.  Standing on the edge of a building, he looked out over the cityscape that lay before him, then down the dizzying heights to the streets far below.  Frowning to himself, he moved back a few meters to get a running start, then leapt across the gap to the next rooftop, landing in a perfectly controlled roll.  Making his way to the next edge he leapt and gracefully somersaulted across the gap, landing on his feet.

A scream caused him to look back.  The buildings behind him were now ablaze, and Krysh soldiers were crawling over the far edge of the rooftop he was currently on.  Reaching for his pistol, he found the holster empty, as an explosion rocked the building.  He turned back and began running for the nearest edge and the next rooftop beyond.  He ducked as shots sizzled over his head, and put on an extra burst of speed as he prepared to jump.

The building shook again, making him stumble and mistime the leap.  Unable to stop, his momentum carried him over the edge and across the gap.  He crashed onto a ledge a few stories below on the opposite building.  With the wind knocked out of him, he flailed madly, till he caught the ledge with his fingers.  He hung there, trying to force himself to inhale and catch his breath, as Krysh soldiers lined the edge of the rooftop.

Then there were more screams.  Unnatural screams of surprise and anger, as another explosion rocked the building and the rooftop swarming with Krysh burst into flames.  Burning, shrieking insects fell to the streets below, their wings singed and useless, as unknown fighter craft filled the skies.  He had just enough time for it to register, "Those aren't Krysh", when he lost his hold on the ledge and the ground rushed up.

---

Reg's whole body spasmed just as he hit the ground in his dream, now suddenly awake and panting on his bed.  He lay there in a cold sweat, cursing the nightmare even as its memory started to fade.  Though it had grown less frequent, the dream was always the same.  Running the rooftops of his youth, the Krysh attack, and when all was nearly lost, the Draconians arriving to save the day.  He hadn't even been born when the Krysh had attacked Lagos, so there was no reason for him to dream of it.  Certainly not in such detail and realism.  It was so real he could still smell the smoke.

Other parts of him were waking up now and making their needs known.  Groaning, he hoped that he could make it out of bed and across the hall before it was too late.  Sliding himself to the edge of the bed, he tried to remain as flat as possible, until one of his legs dropped off the edge, then pivoting on his stomach till the other did the same.  'So far so good', he thought.  He decided that crawling on his hands an knees might be the best option.

The dream was still haunting him as he entered the hallway.  Usually it faded quickly, but he could still smell the smoke of the fires.  Eyes popping open, he took a couple slow deep breaths through his nose.  "Lance, are we on fire?", he asked the empty hallway.

"The fire is confined to the kitchen area", came Lance's response as if all was well.

"Why is the kitchen on fire?", he squeaked.

"Becka is cooking", replied the AI.

"How did she get in?"

"I let her in."

Reg closed his eyes and sighed.  He knew Lance was playing with him by being deliberately obstinate.  "Lance, I am not awake enough for this.  Why did you let Becka into the apartment?"

"Because the last time we were in port, you gave her your privacy key."

Reg smiled as the memory rushed back to him.  "Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I."

"If you wish to rescind that, I can ask her to leave", offered the AI.

"That will not be necessary", replied Reg quickly.  "Please let her know that I will be with her, as soon as I see to some biological priorities."

"Understood, sir."

He managed to reach the bathroom before the room started to slowly rotate and roll.  Grasping the toilet for support, he had to decide which bodily orifice had priority, and which would be kind enough to wait for its turn.  He decided that since his stomach was empty, it could wait, and perhaps several minutes sitting in one place might cure the nausea anyway.


---    Whats Cooking


By the time Reg had worked his way to the kitchen, the scent of smoke was gone, replaced with the pleasant smells of cooking.  Becka stood before an array of simmering and steaming pots, her hands endlessly moving as she stirred them.  With spoon in hand, and sometimes two at once, she looked as though she were conducting a symphony, directing her attention to each pot in unison.

Still naked, Reg slid up behind her, wrapped his arms about her waist and pressed against her, nuzzling her neck.  

"Reg, not now", she giggled, then swatted one of his hands away with a spoon as he tried to sneak a sample from one of the bowls. "Go get dressed."

"But I'm hungry now", he whined, giving her another squeeze.  Truthfully, he was hungry.  He hadn't eaten since he had landed, but he dreaded having to make the trip to the bedroom and back again just to get clothes.  Besides, her scent was making food seem less and less important.

"I can tell", she sighed, continuing to tend to her ingredients. "Food first, fun later."

"Awww..", he whimpered, grinding up against her, "Just a little taste?"

Sighing resignedly, she placed the utensils on the edges of their respective pots, raised her arms above her head and turned in place until she was facing him.  Smiling up at him, she stared into his eyes as she dropped her arms around him, then hugged him close with her head under his chin.  

"I missed you", he whispered, returning the embrace.  Laying the side of his face on the top of her head and rubbing his hands across her back for a few moments.  At some unspoken signal they separated, adjusted their angle of attack, and pressed their lips together.

As their kiss broke, she realized that he had surreptitiously reached behind her back and picked up a large wooden spoon.  With his free arm wrapped securely about her waist, he was able to thwart all of her attempts to recover it.  Holding the spoon just out of reach, he taunted her with it, until she finally stopped struggling and pouted in defeat.  With victorious flourish, he dipped the spoon into a large pot of dark bubbling broth, and gave it a stir.

Lifting the spoon, he waived it in the air for a few seconds to cool, then sipped the sample.  The taste was unusual, not unpleasant, but perhaps a little bland.  He was certain he had tasted it before, but could not place it.

"And?", she challenged while arching an eyebrow.

"It could use some salt", he said after taking another sip.  "What is it?"

"Your laundry", she replied flatly.