The Ship Who Sang

"You're shorter than I expected."

Niall could have sung along with the comment. It was how people who had met him first on vidcall reacted. He laced his hands behind his back. "The good lord made up for it in other ways," he replied, laconically.

An act, a persona. Insufferable, Helva had scoffed. Yet it worked.

He never asked his parents why he hadn’t been shelled. His stature was written in his genome, his epigenetics, from the getgo. He would have qualified.

But he’d rather stand on his own two feet. Even as close to the ground as they were.

She had deactivated the hologram. It wasn't healthy, after all, to continue with this ersatz Niall, as if he were still alive. He was gone, she had to come to terms with that, and making a hologram of him was not helping.

Helva, are you there?

Strange how his voice still seemed to come to her, as she flew between the stars. It wasn't a dream; she didn't sleep, her blood chemistry was perfect. Perhaps she might be a little mad? She should make a psychologist appointment when she returned.

Please.

No - a remote psychologist appointment, sooner.

I love you.

The class was particularly still, Helva noted, which was almost as interesting as the lesson itself. They rarely had actual lectures, there being more efficient ways of imparting knowledge to shell-people.

The speaker was tall and bronzed, her voice pleasant, but it was the details which were making Helva wheel herself closer.

"So, a Brawn is affected by the mental state of their Ship. It is not just their partner, but their house. If their Ship is unwell, then so are they."

Helva felt cold, though her temperature was perfectly adjusted. Not me, She thought. That will never be me.