Follow the River
When she is two weeks old, Jenny discovers alcohol.
The shuttle has chosen to stage a major breakdown sometime in the 51st century with only a few barely-evolved apes for company, leering at her like they've never seen a generated anomaly before. So here she is, in the kind of seedy bar that encapsulates all the worst reasons why anyone drinks, lonely, bored and tipsy. The green stuff in her glass smells hideous and tastes worse, but the warm fuzzy feeling it produces is interesting, like a chemical hug. What's more the glass keeps refilling itself, so that even the bald lump of a bartender seems impressed.
"Another one over here."
Jenny squints across at her benefactor, who grins back; a small woman with the most amazing curly hair, tied up in a loose bun.
"Tough day?"
"Ship died." Jenny manages, hiccupping softly. That's another thing about this 'alcohol', it makes words rather hard to come by. The curly woman tuts in sympathy.
"Better get ready for a long haul, then. More hypervodkas per klik here than anywhere in the galaxy. Mechanics can't tell their head from their hammer."
For some reason this is hysterically funny, so much so that Jenny soon finds herself on the floor. The ceiling is patterned with all sorts of fascinating splotches and her legs seem to have deserted her, so she stays put until the curly lady deigns to help her up.
"You haven't had many nights out, have you?"
"What's a 'night out'?"
"Never mind. Want a lift back? All sorts of nasties round here."
"Ship's dead." Jenny slurs. That, at least, she is sure of. "S'a bit cold."
The curly lady considers this. For about a nanosecond.
"Back with me then. Room for two."
Part of Jenny wonders what her Dad would say. But she's tired, this woman seems the safest option, and he's not really her Dad anyway, though right now thinking about that makes her head hurt. So she takes the hand that is offered her.
"'M Jenny."
"River."
"'S'not a name. That's a thing." But it's a calm thing, a peaceful, soothing thing, even if, like most facts, Jenny isn't sure how she knows this. To clarify she adds, "Never seen a river, actually. Not a proper one."
"Would you like to?"
Jenny thinks. "Yeah."
"Okay then. But we'll have to get home first."
"You live in a river?"
Her companion sighs. "If you like."
Jenny widens her eyes, as if on the brink of a momentous revelation. "River?"
"Mm?"
"I'm drunk."
"Glad you noticed."
Jenny grins. "Fantastic."
When she is two weeks old, Jenny discovers friendship.