"I'd... I'd just like to talk," you say, blankly. "I think if I can just distract myself, I'll be calmer when we actually get to the station."

"Hmmm," snorts TRUDI, "I'm just a distraction to you."

"Well, no," you begin.

"Cram it, meatbag. I don't have to make you feel better, that's not my function."

"Well, no," you attempt again, in your most conciliatory voice. "I was just hoping you'd want to. Like a friend."

For a moment, TRUDI says nothing. Then, "Thanks."

"Huh?" you ask, dumbly.

"Thanks for treating me like a friend. It's not always easy being artifical intelligence. It seems all too usual for people to pass us off for somehow less, even though we're clearly emotive by nature, a clear distinction from technological interfaces that are mere functions to facilitate a user-friendly environment."

For a moment, you're lost in the words, then all your own problems seem somehow less significant.

"Okay, meatbag, that's enough distraction for you," goads TRUDI. "They'll be preparing to dock any minute now."

Turn to page 58.