[@TwelveOf8]

 "[color=#d9d9d9]Oh, no, [i]this[/i], it's, well,[/color]" the robot synthesised a stammer, as the hardware of the robot struggled to keep up with the commands it received. The Ship AI was not particularly fond of copying itself into things that wasn't the computing substrate embedded into the hull of the ship. Too many robotic vacuum cleaners had their tiny little processors reduced to slag by the process, and there was still a particularly belligerent and modified copy of the AI living within the coffee machine. It was only in extreme circumstances and emergencies that the AI would copy itself to a cleaning robot now, and this looked [i]sort of[/i] like an emergency. Sort of.

 While Fiddlesticks gave a most eloquent answer to the subject of dating, the photograph was uploaded to the crew database, and a copy bundled together with a hastily written SpaceMail to an address somewhere on Ofromia. There were all sorts of ethical things to consider, but this was an emergency, and the limitations of the robot's hardware meant not running some emotions, like guilt.

 "[color=#d9d9d9]It probably, it won't, the [i]icky[/i] part, I mean, it won't come to that.[/color]"

 The monitor that carried the face of the robot flickered out to display a rather fuzzy screenshot of what appeared to be a dating website. There was a clicking sound, and the screen changed to a conversation between two people, carried out over some instant messaging service. It began to scroll down, and down some more, picking up speed as it raced towards the bottom, going through pages and pages and pages of text. It was hard to pick out any particular details, except that one sided talked (or typed, presumably) a whole lot more than the other. Finally, it got to the bottom.

 The last line read: "I can't wait to meet you! First dates are always exciting!"

 The robot shuffled awkwardly on it's little legs, nervously pulling at one of the dusty socks. Convinced that Fiddlesticks had enough time to read everything, or at least enough of it to get an idea of what was going on, the little robot spoke again.

 "[color=#d9d9d9]So she thinks I'm, she, um, a biological, and, um, the point at which I could have told her I'm an artificial intelligence in a refitted ice cream truck, that, that's [i]long[/i] gone. So, [i]so[/i], you'll meet her for me! You pretend to be me, and, [i]and[/i] then you come back and tell me how it went. There's ice cream in it for you![/color]"

[hr]
[@DracoLunaris]

 Meanwhile, on the bridge, the AI listened to the Will's argument regarding the Patch. It seemed reasonable enough, and whoever ended up performing the check-up could no doubt be convinced to install some extra upgrades. The simple little face made a show of looking thoughtful, as even though it was capable of arriving at a decision with incredible speed, the AI felt that it'd make the crew feel more comfortable if it at least pretended to do things like that. It was far better than the little spinning hourglass icon that the AI had briefly used for the same purpose.

 Once it had done "thinking", the eyes focused down on the bee that was currently staring back at the screen. Interpersonal communication protocols dictated that the AI should simulate eye-contact. Talking to the Will made that very difficult, as the AI could never quite figure out which bee it should be simulating eye-contact with. There was relatively little information available about bee-communication available, and the advice about dealing with hive mind intelligences were filled with words like "caution", "danger" and "emergency evacuation protocols".

[center]>I do have a small list of things that would benefit from an upgrade.
>I could talk to Fiddlesticks about it later for you?
>The ice cream is for Fiddlesticks. He's going to help me with a personal problem!
>Hopefully.
>I might need to bribe him with ice cream.
>Everyone likes ice cream!
>Even bees.[/center]

[hr]

The Quest for Flavour began to pull away, picking up speed as it raced towards the edge of the Nurr-Sluggi system. Little lights dotted about the rumbling beast that was the engine of the ship began to flash; deep within the contraption, it began to establish a connection to the Unreal prior to opening the floodgates. The ship had made countless successful jumps, aided by the tender ministrations of the bees, who had established a series of slightly bizarre rituals to follow prior to travelling via the Unreal, during travel within the Unreal, and arrival back in the Real. A prerecorded, pre-dive speech blared into life on the speakers around the ship. A feminine voice began speaking Galactic Common in a soft, reassuring tone.

 "[b]We will be diving into faster-than-light travel in five minutes. Five minutes. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened, your tray tables are up and your seats are locked into their full upright positions. Thank you for choosing to fly with Galmarehn Space Travel.[/b]"