****
“…I’m sorry, what?” Steve quipped into the silence.
“I… Uh, I like… Crickets in bog form.” Splatch stammered.
Steve, like many in this position, feigned knowledge with an overdramatic nod, like he’d seen just that very thing on the news last night. “Ah, yes. CBF, familiar with that are you?” he replied, with what he hoped to be a distracting abbreviation.
“Er.. I heard your fart echo too.” Splatch replied back, in an equally phony distractionatory reply.
“…Oh yeah, what was that, anyway?” Steve said, having quite believingly forgotten entirely about what he’d been talking about.
The ship’s computer paused, interpreted the demands of the crew, adjusted its speech protocols, and replied in Earnern Terren, subsection English, “Oy! Govnah! I’m the bloody ship’s bloody com-peewtah aye!? Yeh wan’ me t’ grab yeh sem o’ them video streams y’ requested then?”
Steve, ever the pretender, replied with a confused, and nearly-immediately-regretted, “uh… yes.”
The computer accessed Brap’s credit card, or rather, Mr. Sploosh’s expense card authorization under Brap’s name, and commenced the video stream from one of Mr. Sploosh’s many broadcast satellites, projecting it upon all the nearby monitors (causing a nearly unanimous expulsion of expletives from the crew). The computer, having done a basic personality workup from various body languages and facial expressions, had come to the conclusion that its new owners would prefer a live, and interactive show, to a taped one, and had ordered accordingly.
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