Rachel-7 was about to get into her first fistfight.
While Daniel was talking to the Tour Guide, Rachel-7 was busy hating her new body and busy taking the tour.
And she was doing much more hating than touring.
Rachel-7 had never wanted a body.
She knew some Aye’s dreamed of it, but the thought had always made her uncomfortable. And now, the reality was making her very uncomfortable.
Any vessel would have been preferable: A pizza-delivery shuttle to the planet of Namees (where inhabitants are known for under-tipping.) An interplanetary hearse (some species can complain long after they are legally dead.)
She'd even choose the Afterthought – a drifting deathtrap — over this- this- this- … she didn’t have a word to describe her new form correctly. Junker? Jalopy? J- J- Gods, I can’t think of the word!
Rachel-7 estimated she now had maybe 10 percent of the memories she’d had as a pilot aye. And that was a high estimate.
Blast! Blast and bother! Blast, bother and blizzard! … That last one doesn’t sound right.
And an encyclopedic vocabulary wasn’t the only thing she’d lost.
She had lost radar, lidar, sonar, b-sense, r-sense, omnidirectional targeting, and a hundred other sensors a ship would use to find its way around.
Her coordination was shot. She couldn't think clearly. It took forever to get the hang of the simplest movements.
Before, she had balanced at the edge of an event horizon, danced through the shining light of ghost flora, raced between armadas locked in life-or-death struggles. And that had been for fun.
But, now, she found herself holding her new head in pain because she’d walked into a wall … again.
