“Dabry is the chef at the Last Chance, one of TwiceFar’s most noted restaurants. I myself run the establishment and the majority of us work there. Milly, for one, is famous for her pastries and came specifically to the station to work for my restaurant. And Lolola is a food critic, capable of bestowing a Nikkelin Orb on establishments that she finds worthy.” She twisted a shoulder in an almost contemptuous shrug. “Our tastes may therefore be a bit more, mmm, refined than those of your previous guests. Not to cast any aspersions on Takraven, who showed up at my restaurant in order to eat with Lolola. That meal was prepared for them and the bill, including its surcharges, remains unpaid, by the way. I do understand that here, in his ship, things may be a bit more … lax.”

The ship identified the particular emotion it was experiencing as unhappiness. Not a simple lack of happiness, but a feeling that was exceedingly unpleasant and combined several other emotions.

It considered ways to remedy the situation. For a few nanoseconds it played out scenarios where the solution was simply to expel the intruders, kill them or flush them out into space. But all of them concluded with its arrival at Scourse, its preprogrammed destination, and the necessity to explain why it had done so. Ships that killed people were ships that were put down; that was something that it had been told about in the shipyards.

Never kill your operator was the maxim.

Some added, in ways that can be detected, after that, but the maxim held nonetheless.

The ship decided that the most efficient solution, and the one that ended with the most positive results, would be for it to learn as much as possible from these individuals. Based on their body language and attitudes, Niko was not lying about their expertise.

It debated how to extract that expertise. Perhaps a good baseline would be to serve the meal that it had planned, and then elicit their feedback as thoroughly as possible. But no, perhaps it would be better yet to begin with a baseline that was of their suggestion and therefore already moving in the direction that the ship wished.

It said, “Tell me what you want to eat. Then tell me how you want it presented.” It allowed the place settings to sink back down into the table’s surface, then the table decorations and napkins as well.

Niko said, “Very obliging of you. I would like a class five plant-based protein soup, spiced with flavonoids, toasted coriander seeds, and ground cumin at a ratio of four parts to five, and containing chickpeas or another class four legume. With that I will have class twenty-seven nut milk and a plain wheat-based bread in cracker form. A simple white porcelain bowl and plate with basic human flatware.”

“I don’t suppose you have casita grubs?” Milly said wistfully.

“No,” the ship said.