hormonal imbalance

[warpfairy]

They study Klingon. They work out a sleep schedule. They approach Betazed.

They are two days away from the system when Isabella notices something - troubling.

She takes longer than usual to compose herself that morning, and emerges from the living quarters with carefully measured steps, and avoids eye contact.

"Do you," she asks Lalita quietly, "have the ability to fly this class of ship?"

Comments

[warpfairy]

"That is physiologically possible," she says delicately, "but I can neither confirm nor deny, lacking a mirror."

[dream_me_up]

"Does that mean you don't want to have sex again?"

[warpfairy]

She blinks.

"I - had given the question no thought."

[dream_me_up]

"Well, think about it. We have two more days," he laughs.

[warpfairy]

"I may be worn out. I can look you up in seven years," she suggests, "presuming I still don't have a designated mate at the time."

[dream_me_up]

"All right."

[warpfairy]

Speaking of which, she makes a note in her calendar for the relevant projected date. Now that she's had one, she can predict the others and make arrangements for them in advance.

[dream_me_up]

Lalita sits down in the copilot's chair.

[warpfairy]

Isabella seems inclined to adopt a policy of Not Necessarily Ever Speaking Of It Again For At Least Seven Years.

[dream_me_up]

Perhaps he should go put on a shirt, then.

(He doesn't.)

[warpfairy]

She's not going to comment on his state of dress.

She pokes around in her files, looking for what to read next; she finished the novel she was reading while he was sleeping the other day. She can't work on her essay or her diary with a passenger supervising, but it's not that urgent -

She peers at the access date on her essay.

She peers at Lalita.

[dream_me_up]

He peers back!

[warpfairy]

"The access date for one of my files suggests that it was opened recently."

[dream_me_up]

"Oh, that." He shrugs. "I was curious. I closed it when I'd seen enough to know I shouldn't be looking."

[warpfairy]

"It was encrypted."

[dream_me_up]

"Yeah, I noticed that after I read it," he says with a wry smile.

[warpfairy]

"...Are you saying you accidentally hacked into my files?"

[dream_me_up]

He laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah. That's what I'm saying."

[warpfairy]

"How does that happen?"

[dream_me_up]

He taps his fingertips against his lips, thinking hard about something.

Then he shrugs, and looks at her, and says: "Genetic engineering."

[warpfairy]

[dream_me_up]

"I'm—what is it, 2269? I'm two hundred and seventy-four years old," he says. "I was born in 1995. You seem pretty well-informed; I'm sure you can fill in a lot of the blanks yourself. That's why I soak up languages like a sponge - I know a lot more than thirty. That's why I can break medium-tight encryptions while daydreaming. I had to learn to crack a few things so I could muddle my data trails; I can pass for anything from early twenties to mid-fifties, but that still means I have to cycle identities every thirty years."

[warpfairy]

"And now you're telling me this because you read my polarbear essay and you don't think I'll turn you in."

[dream_me_up]

"I recognized the name," he says. "For some reason, anti-eugenics legislation is a topic of interest."

[warpfairy]

"...Ah. Yes, I don't actually stay out of politics debates on the nets, but free speech laws or no, I don't want it coming home to roost."