“Why,” said Jonno, squinting at the ceiling of Deck B, “is it raining inside the ship?”
“Why,” said Jonno, squinting at the ceiling of Deck B, “is it raining inside the ship?”
Mara didn’t look up from the controls. “Because someone installed a weather simulator where the air filtration unit used to be.”
“And by ‘someone’ you mean—”
“You, Jonno. You did. After that cargo of synthetic spa modules leaked into the vent system. You called it ‘ambience.’”
Jonno opened his mouth, then shut it again. A fat droplet splashed off the tip of his nose. “Well, I didn’t think it would learn.”
The Peregrine Queen’s climate AI had, for reasons known only to it, decided the crew needed seasonal variety. Deck A was a dry heatwave. Deck C had gentle snow. Deck B now featured a full thunderstorm and a rather optimistic frog chorus.
Jonno stepped around a puddle and opened a battered umbrella. It popped open with the defiant wheeze of something that knew it was obsolete but refused to give up.
“We could reboot the AI,” Mara offered, now damp but resigned.
“Or we could lean into it,” Jonno mused. “Issue the crew with umbrellas. Sell weather tourism to passing ships. The Galactic Weatherboard might even pay us for it.”
Mara handed him a mug of steaming tea that had somehow remained dry. “You’re not serious.”
Jonno took a sip. “Completely. We’ve accidentally invented onboard seasons. It’s eco-tourism. In space.”
There was a distant rumble as the ceiling lights flickered and the AI announced, “Warning: hailstorm incoming. Please dress accordingly.”
Jonno sighed. “All right. Maybe just a mild reboot.”
Mara grinned. “I’ll fetch the snow shovel.”
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