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Jenna put her heels up on the flight console. She did this with gentleness, reassured that Zen did not mind, as "he" knew she had complete respect for the pilot's seat where she felt the most comfortable of all places on the Liberator.
Whereas she could be sitting in comfort down on the deck couches, she believed this is where she belonged on her watch: at her station, ready for the unexpected. This particular watch was already more boring than she had anticipated and she actually craved the unexpected.
She found herself suddenly taken by nostalgic thoughts of her time as a pirate, when she was the sole commander of her own ship and hadn't had to deal with bickering crewmates engaged in onboard powerplays. Yes, she sighed, those had been the days: peace and quiet, just herself on a smuggling run.
Whimsically, she began to imagine herself with her own ship again. No offense to the grandeur that was the Liberator, but she had always fancied her own onboard conservatory. Yes, her own little traveling space garden, bright and plentiful, full of vegetables and herbs. And flowers. Yes, she would love to see flowers again one day.
She rubbed her forehead, sighing yet again at such a frivolous thought. Flowers. I'm getting soft in the head.
Then she was startled by a quiet voice announcing:
++Information: Jenna Stannis, please consult the reference point.++
Jenna almost did not recognize Zen's voice which was now quieter than she had ever heard it before. It was almost as if Zen was whispering a secret to her.
"What is it, Zen?" She was alarmed, prepared for the unexpected.
And that was exactly what she got.
The hexagonal screen that was Zen's "reference point" was suddenly doing a strange and marvelous thing: all of the formerly yellow and blue bands of light were now scattering and reforming, turning to shades of rose, crimson and violet. They swirled about until they finally settled on a pattern.
Jenna had never seen Zen's screen do this before. It was—
"Beautiful," she gasped. "Zen, it almost looks like—"
Flowers. It looked just like flowers. Zen was reading her mind (as "he" sometimes still did. They shared that special link, after all.) "He" began to fill it with wonderful images of flowers from many worlds, many galaxies. And she was enchanted.
"Oh Zen, I don't know what to say," she gasped. "Thank you."
Zen still spoke in that odd, non-booming, intimate voice. ++Jenna Stannis was experiencing regret. This computer wishes Jenna to be pleased with her accommodations here on the Liberator.++
"Accommodations?" Jenna laughed. "Is this a luxury space hotel now?" She leaned forward and put her chin in her hand. "You said 'wishes', Zen. Do you have wishes too, like all of us?"
There was a moment of silence, then the whirring sound of Zen preparing to answer. However, the moment was abruptly shattered as there came a sudden gasp from elsewhere on the flight deck and a deep voice cried, "What the hell—?"
All the beautiful colors and floral patterns faded abruptly from Zen's screen and it reverted back to its somber browns and typical bands of yellow light. Jenna spun and faced Blake with irritation.
"As usual, terrible timing, Blake," she sighed. "I think I was just about to get the privilege of the Liberator's heart."