"For most races at most times, sex is more optional than food. Although outside of actual instances of pon farr Vulcans are at least as conservative as everyone else about the subject."

"I got the impression that there was some unusual biology going on with the Orions, but not the same as yours," he says.

"So have you in fact lost count of how many languages you speak?"

"Yes. More than thirty, though, that's for sure."

"Do I know of the existence of any languages that you don't speak?" she asks.

"At this point? Probably not," he laughs.

"Wow," she laughs, shaking her head.

"I like languages."

"The fact that I sometimes go online under the pseudonym "polarbear" is of little consequence - though I wouldn't like it spread around - but can I trust that you won't go into my other files?" Isabella asks.

"I kept away from the ones that looked private. I'll try not to daydream on your computer again."

"Succeed. Please. Even if you avoid anything with 'diary' in the filename, this is a one-person ship. I'm not usually obliged to be overmuch concerned with security and labeling on things that can only be inspected with physical access to my system."

"I don't think it's going to be that difficult," he says with a shrug. "You got this ship secondhand, right? How long have you had him?"

"A couple years. I bought him from a friend of my mother's cousin who married a Starfleet officer and now lives aboard the Drake."

"Did he have another name before? Harley used to be the Eurydice," he adds. "I could never figure out why."

"Yes, I have a weakness for Greek mythology. I know it's a common name, but," she shrugs. "He was the Andes. I don't understand the motivation to name ships after geographical features."

"...I do read the news. Yes."

"Almost like somebody's stealing fire from the gods."

"So I'll do my best to stay out of your private files," he says wryly.

Isabella looks away, hands clasped in her lap.

"Thank you. My privacy is important to me."

"I noticed."

Isabella sighs, withdrawn.