As you know, Jeri and I are doing a round-robin story game. There are sixteen collaborators in this game; each one will write twice.

Part 1: Nathan
Part 2: Shawn
Part 3: MWT
Part 4: Eric
Part 5: Matt Warnock
Part 6: Jeri
Part 7: Saqib
Part 8: Michelle K.
Part 9:Vince
Part 10: Kimberly-Ann
Part 11: Tom
Part 12: Kate
Part 13: Justin
Part 14: Bryan (below)
Part 15: Tania
Part 16: Charles

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And here’s my alleged contribution:

Sophie from Shinola, Part 14:

Farthum Bardabuff was not having a good day. At all.

First, any day the tactical officer had to actually speak to the Supreme Councilor was by definition a bad day. Have the SC yell at him only made it worse. But the worst, the worst of all, was dealing with indoctrinated warships, especially the new ones.

“Bardabuff to warship WA-11. Come in 11.”

A few crackles of static. Nothing else.

“WA-11! Report!” Nothing came through the speakers on Farthum’s console. Once again Farthum cursed the Military Procurement office’s unending quest-to-screw-up-through- better-use-of-low-bidder-contract shenanigans.

Farthum was well aware that WA-11 was going to be a challenge. While the hunter-seeker droid’s report indicated the mind it had appropriated for WA-11 was exceptional, and would be a gifted destroyer of worlds, some of the readings were, well, eccentric. WA class cyber warships, armed to their metal-polyplastic teeth with everything from laser disrupters to, well, metal-polyplastic teeth, were a very efficient means of sterilizing troublesome life forms off colonizable worlds. Trouble was, to make them that good, they were loaded with the stolen intelligence of a lifeform; it was thought to be best that the lifeform was one from the world about to be wiped out. That might have had more to do with the innate cruelty of Farthum’s race, rather than actual results, but it was how it was done. The resulting AI tended to get a little batty just before making the planetary kill.

WA-11, however didn’t seem like it was hesitant. Just weird. Somehow the blasted thing had gotten into some old entertainment files while charging after the hunter-seeker transfer. The HS droid must have been watching old Earth tapes on its off time.

Farthum gulped a deep intake of the liquid oxygen which surrounded his body. Calm, I have to be calm, he thought. 11 was still functioning, and the readouts showed the warship was near striking distance to the target. The computer schematic on his console showed the ship charging up for the attack. But Farthum had no control, and that worried him greatly, especially since his ship was still nearby. “11,” he said intensely into the com, knowing from early calibration of the ship that by throwing in a few key words he could trigger a response, “I think I’m entitled to answers about the mission. I think I’m entitled to the truth this time.”

“You can’t handle the truth!” 11 screamed over the com. “I don’t give a DAMN about what you think you’re entitled to.”

“WA-11, cut the figgle crap. What’s your status?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Clarify, 11.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Surely you can tell me more than that, 11. Turn on your visual receptors.”

“Receptors on. And don’t call me Shirley.”

Farthum could see the target, or at least what WA-11 was labeling “the target”. But while roughly round, the “target” was not a planet. It was a multi-limbed creature with short fur and limpid, intellegent eyes. “Sophie,” Farthum heard the target saying through the com, “what’s wrong? Why are you shivering?” By the buzzes and clicks coming from Farthum’s monitoring console, he knew that 11 was charging weapons, readying for the kill. The tac officer could tell, however, that 11 was confused, a confusion he shared hundred-fold.

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Tania is next.