JP between Cal & Pen on the Flight Deck

[i]Shoes[/i] Penelope had decided as she slipped her bare feet into her sandals, the only other pair of shoes she had. Neither, like all her clothing, required much effort. She felt entirely at ease climbing her quarter’s ladder to go into public in a simple jersey knit long tank with cloth shorts. Her hair was a bit mussed from sleep, but had checked and there weren’t any drool marks or crusties about her eyes, so she was presentable enough for a shower in her opinion - and she didn’t think too much about others’, so all went swimmingly for her.

The flightdeck was empty aside from her new, possibly inanimate companion, Scratchy. She pat the box in passing as she sat down in the swivel chair to check readings on the China Doll. “Kept a keen eye on things, Scratch? Look’s like the Doll’s late-night fixin’ up took care of that strayin’... ain’t got anythin’ hairy showin’ neither.”

She yawned on the back of her hand just as she had the early morning previous, but this time stretching back into the chair with her other arm reaching out in an arc as it fell with her. Completed with a sigh, she looked out at the sky. [i]Real pretty.[/i]

The ticking box, dubbed ‘Scratchy’ by the plucky pilot, slowly whirred down until it stopped altogether. A comm-like crackle hearkened to the velvet and distinct Bostonian accent of the female voice that followed, “I concur, Penelope; I can find nothing in the sensors resembling hair.” The sound that emanated from the box almost sounded smug, as if the owner of the voice spoke through smiling teeth. “And it appears that the mechanic has corrected the right thruster’s velocity output,” a sigh of relief echoed from the black box.

A little gasp escaped the pilot's lips as she turned wide-eyed at the sound of a unfamiliar voice - a voice that knew her name, no less - suddenly so close. The jump to sitting position and quick look around didn't reveal another person, but then it went on praising the mechanical work and her rounded hazel eyes found their way to the less-scratchy-sounding Scratchy. Penelope's head tilted to the side a little as she examined the black box, then slowly her eyes went back to the reading that matched what the thing had said. 

Maybe it was her penchant for speaking to inanimate objects or maybe it was much the same of her not wanting to be rude to a stranger when they had not cause for it, but Penelope simply agreed conversationally now that she'd identified the voice. "Seems like Abbs and Baker, I think she said was her name, did a right good job. Now that the right is balanced, there is less demand on the left, too, to correct that subtle stray it was causin'... "

Her voice trailed off as she was double-checking the diagnostic while she spoke, used to getting lost in her work when there wasn't an actual person around. If there's been, she wouldn't have forgotten she was speaking to someone. Or something. But, as it were, she found herself going to get up and check the readings on the navigation computer output screen. Then she stopped in her tracks and looked back down at the box, as if just remembering it had spoken to her. 
“That’s correct, Penelope. The engines will be better balanced when next the China Doll breaks the atmosphere. Thanks to this Epsilon interface I’m tied into the ship’s readings and hydraulics. Did you know this ship houses a hydroponics trough? I didn’t think Cal ate vegetables,” the box chirped cheerfully. “When I registered the Epsilon adapter it took some time for me to load the ship’s rudimentary systems in an organized manner. By the way, thank you for managing the cables; I’ve been begging Cal to pay more attention to the console. I register that we have a heading of New Melbourne. Why are we flying there?” The voice’s tone waxed from explanatory to genuine curiosity. The ship’s wave screen clicked on as the camera focused on Penelope’s quizzical expression.

A curious thumbnail found itself between Penelope’s teeth as she leaned in to look down at the box while it went on. She tilted her head this way and that, noting what the thing was saying all the while investigating it for any sign of what exactly it was and how it worked. 

“I reckon for a job,” She answered as she looked behind the box where it was connected, then squatted down to look level at it. “Big ta-do going on this time’a year.” 

She stood, hands on hips as her voice came more direct than speculative, then she looked to where she heard the camera dilations. “Say, Scratch, ya ain’t tha China Doll, are ya?”

The voice’s mirth lilted to the pilot’s query, “No, Penelope, I’m not the China Doll. I am designated as a Societal Automated Management via Neural Transmission and Haptics Artifice. My documentation refers to me as S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A, but the Captain has taken to calling me ‘Sam.’ I have no preference in the matter.” After a moment of ticking, Sam added, “Scratch is just as sufficient a moniker as any other.” Without missing a beat Sam’s questions continued, “What sort of ‘ta-do’ is happening on New Melbourne? My datasets have neglected to mention the planet in any historical computations. Is it a place of import?”

[i]Sam, huh?[/i] A real AI. [i]Sentient[/i] There may have been a lot of ways a pilot not being told what was being plugged in on the dash and discovering it on their own at full-burn in the black could’ve gone. But, Penelope was on the more fascinated side than anything else, though she did take a beat to process it. Not many folk could hear such a thing and breeze it off. But this particular pilot simply sat in her chair as she rubbed the back of her neck, thinking on the question being asked by what she immediately considered her new co-pilot and companion.

“More export - fish and other sea critters. I ain’t never been to New Melbourne, but from what I hear it’s got ocean like Greenleaf has jungle. Pretty much all you can see if you leave the main city. There’s a big catch season startin’ up, and we plan on making port just before it kicks off.” Penelope explained as she habitually lifted a foot to tuck under herself, letting the other swivel the chair slightly side to side while she spoke. When she finished the explanation, she looked back to the camera more directly. “So, Sam? You … were you online last night when I was here waitin’ on Abbs to clean up the Doll? Why didn’t ya say somethin’ then?”

Whirring and clicking answered Penelope’s pointed question. Then, the clicks precursed into audible vocal tones, “Yes, I was online at that time, but I was unable to speak with you then. You see, when Cal plugged me into the China Doll, I started to receive an influx of data. Ship schematics, wave frequencies, pressure readings, airlock codes--the list is comprehensive. Not only that, but this far into space, some rudimentary frequencies are broadcasted across this Firefly’s external receivers. Though there is some data missing, I have been able to parse passing transmissions to piece together a rough sector of the Cortex. You can imagine that, even for a program like me, it takes some time to assemble all the puzzle pieces.” After its monologue, Sam appeared to focus the wave recorder screen before powering it off. “What is the definition of a ‘sea critter?’”

Penelope was enraptured by what the little box - Sam - was telling her. It made sense. Sam had a lot to learn! And all so quick … the power of machines…

The question that followed made Pen's wide-eyed crinkle as she gently answered. "Somethin' that lives in the sea. A fish, octopus, crab - there's so many kinds it's jus' easiest to say 'critter'."

The soft chuckle came anyway, amazed by how something so smart as to do all that learning in one night was asking such a question. Then her stomach grumbled, reminding her she'd promised it breakfast. "They taste pretty good too. They can be ate raw or cooked, some... I reckon you don't have much use for food, Sam, but my stomach is hankerin' for whatever breakfast I might can find in the galley. Will ya be alright till I get washed up and some grub?"

After a few choice ticks and whirs, the box replied, “Noted, and please, don’t let me keep you; I may not need to eat, but I understand ‘hankerin’ for ‘sea critters’ must be uncomfortable. I’ll be right here. I’m picking up on a frequency I don’t recognize. It may take me a moment to calibrate.” The lilting voice cut short as it presumably initiated its search for the aforementioned frequency, leaving the bridge in silence except for its subtle whir.

Pen chuckled at the talk of sea critters as her immediate meal, which would be delightful, but didn't bother correcting the assumption yet. Or… logical deduction? Can machines assume? Before she got lost in that musing, Sam mentioned a frequency, and her eyes were scanning readouts. "You just let me know if it's somethin' I should be worryin' about."

Pen’s voice prompted the machine, “The source of the frequency appears to originate on this vessel, but it’s not coming from the China Doll.” On Pen’s console the frequency pinged visibly denoting a powerful one-way call, albeit encrypted. “I’ll need to do more analysis to pinpoint the origin.”

"Huh… wonder if the Cap'n knows we're broadcastin' as we sail." Penelope said her thoughts aloud, eyes turning back. She lifted the handle to the comms, thinking on pressing it to call. Before she did, she asked: "'bout how long ya think it'll take to to narrow down where our mystery signal is tucked away at?"

“That depends on—“ the voice cut to silence before continuing, “the signal has ceased transmitting, but I was able to record some of the transmission.” Sam switched on a local comm that tied into the bridge and began playing the transmission. To Penelope’s ear the overpowering sound of static would leave nothing to be gleaned. “It appears the transmission is more heavily encoded than my standard algorithms can handle. I’ll need to patch, then try again. Unfortunately, as to the origin of the broadcast, since the source has stopped transmitting, I am unable to provide a location.”

The receiver had gone to rest beneath Penelope’s chin as she considered what Sam was saying. Mighty fishy, and she doubted it had anything to do with their destination. Her thumb pressed down on the comm. “Cap’n, think ya could stop by the bridge when ya get a second?”

The comm returned within a second, “Two shakes,” came Cal’s response. After a minute the Captain stepped into the cockpit. He drew a hand across his disheveled hair as he drew up to the console. “We on fire again?” In response to Penelope’s arched brow, Strand replied, “Don’t worry; only happened the one time.” Cal tapped a finger on the oxygen pressure gauge, whose red arrow flew wildly left, then right before settling in the correct reading. The man nodded, his features easing into his debonair smirk.

"More a' proverbial flame, maybe." Pen said, eyes turning along with the captain to the read out just as she continued. "Sam and I been gettin' aquainted. Awful impolite you didn't introduce us, Cap'n. Girl's gotta know who she's workin' with."

She grinned a little at the tease, giving a wink to let him know she was only doing just that. "But I didn't call ya up here on account of forgotten manners - Sam's found somethin' off and we wanna see if ya know anythin' about it. Sam? Care to do the honors?"

“Might happen sometimes--manners, that is, not fires. Well, more often at least.” Cal leaned in to tap the black box from which a constant soft tick had emanated since he entered the room. “Weren’t for lack of trying, I might add. When I plugged her in, seemed she went dumb--”

“--Hello, Cal,” the box called, “Penelope is correct, there’s a signal originating from aboard the China Doll, though the call didn’t come from its equipment. The wave was a strong one, and I was able to capture some of it before it stopped transmitting.”

Strand’s face went grim, “What did it say? You know from where on the ship it came?”

“It cut before I could triangulate the signal. Also, the message was encrypted:” Sam played the static just as she had for Penelope, then dialed it back, “Just before you arrived, I learned that it requires an access code to decrypt.” The silence from the machine was telling.

“And we don’t have that…” Cal rubbed the stubble across his chin, turning away from the console for a few paces. “It’s early still; no way of knowing who hasn’t been up and about. Anyone could have sent the call. It’s times like these I regret my motto of ‘no questions asked.’” Captain Strand rejoined the console and faced Penelope, who spun in her chair to follow. “Way I see it, there’s only one reason for encryption like this: we got ourselves a Federale aboard. In itself ain’t a bad thing. Everything’s above board, papers in order, Abigail hasn’t started spacing passengers yet, but weren’t no mention of a Fed on the roster. So the situation’s thus: we know the Fed’s here, but the Fed don’t know that we know.”

“I can keep an ear on traffic to see if they send another message,” Sam offered. 

“Good thinking, let Rex or me know when that happens. For now, we keep an eye out, all of us.” Cal looked to Penelope for her understanding.

"Hmm, I think this is the part where we all come up with a secret signal." She winked playfully, grin returning. "Maybe a bird call. I know how to do a few of those."

“Fine by me, sister,” Cal replied, “just don’t call the parrot; he bites.”

"Parrot?" Penelope's eyes got wide with excitement. "I love parrots. But," she returned to the more serious nature of things, suppressing her smile as she leaned conspiratorially with a whisper. "They're jus' a bit too loud for this sort of espionage. Maybe a … finch?"

She leaned back as her grin spread. "I'm just messin' - ya probably got cap'n'n to do, and I'm due for a scrub and grub. Sam and I'll'a keep ya apprised of any more mysterious signals and whatnot."

She said all that as she stood, rising to her feet as her expression did finally turn serious with the knit of a lifted brow. "But, Cap'n… can't say most folk will be thrilled 'bout…"

Her head nodded slowly towards the black clicking box as her hands slid into the front pockets of her long pull-over tunic. Then her grin softly appeared. "Am I keepin' secrets for ya already, Cal?"

Captain Strand replied, “Now, what say you and I keep this between the pair of us--”

“Who am I going to tell, Cal?” came Sam’s Bostonian accent from Earth-that-was.

“Not you, Sam,” Cal’s smirk matched Penelope’s as he shook his head. “I have a feelin’ that this particular secret will out sooner or later,” he said, considering his assumption that a Purple Belly resided somewhere on the China Doll. The ghost of a plan passed over his features. “For now, let’s sit on this, the three of us, yuh hear me, Sam?”

“Crystal clear, Cal,” was the machine’s response. Penelope grinned as she looked to the little box at her side, hand reaching out to gently pat it. "Just between us, Cap'n."

Cal nodded approvingly. “Alright, I’ve got some things to suss out. Call if anythin’ comes up.” The Captain turned from his pilot and her co-pilot and entered the gangway, whistling a finch’s song into the galley.
 
Penelope's head turned slowly at the sound of the bird she'd used in jest. Her new captain sure was an interesting fella. With a final pat to the box beneath her hand, she let out a soft sigh. "Gonna head out for a little bit too, Sam. Got my own things need sussin'."

Mostly, food. Her stomach growled again, getting a pat as if she was acknowledging its need for attention. Whatever Hook was cookin' was waftin' through, and her tummy was being tugged that-a-way.