Sapience #1
This week, our writers had 10 minutes to personify a non-human object in their writing exercise.
Sapience of Doom #1 by William C. E. Fortune
"Fuel at 17 percent. Hull integrity... ooh, not good, Chief. Not. Good. At. All." "Where's the nearest jump point, damnit!" "Easy there, chief. No need for the gronko tone." Shamiitz balled his fingers into fists, popping blood vessels in both hands. When Tolonolon had sold it to him back on Ryai he'd talked up the vessel's sentient AI like he was selling his daughter to a Promklokit Farmer on H'Taz. And now, Shamiitz was ten points off the rimward boundary of Zenyx Alpha with a fialing ship and an ship who, as it turned out, was like the promised daughter revealing on her wedding night, an obese body hidden within cunning corsets. Put simply, the ship had an attitude. Shamiitz took a deep breath, held it and let it go and big heaving huff. His fingernails came away bloody when he finally unclenched his fists. He reached out and shut off the fuel warning on his glowing console and turned to the vid-cam in the corner of the cabin. "Listen... ship. We're sitting mluks out here. We gotta get to Zenyx Alpha before the cargo spoils and we ab-so-lute-lee gotta get outta Orbit of this junker before any cargo-cutters sense us and rip us open." "I get you, chief. I get your predicament. Really sticky precicament. Yes. Sir. Ee." "The Great PTak damn you, ship. Damn you to frot." The fuel warning light came back on.