He's not sure how exactly to break the ice.

Their conversation so far has been all technical back and forth—Jeff's used to running through your average systems' check, but it's an entirely novel experience when the system talks back. EOS has patched herself into the shuttle's cockpit, and is taking assorted control matrices through their paces as Jeff works his way through a standard checklist, on a tablet provided by the spaceport. Once he's met the conditions, they'll be greenlit for launch, and he's lost the argument that would have put them at a rightful eighth place in the queue, and instead has them slated for second.

"This next sequence will require a system wide reboot. It will take approximately six minutes, and will conclude the testing process. John will need to review your report and co-sign it before you can submit it to the spaceport authorities, but after that, we'll be cleared for launch."

"Right." Jeff clears his throat a little awkwardly and reaches for the control panel, "I'll just—"

Before he can do anything, shutdown cascades through the cockpit and all the various lights and systems begin to follow one another into darkness. Oh. Well. Jeff settles back in the pilot's seat and rolls his shoulders, a little tight in the spacesuit he'd scrounged from the cargohold. Pretends he's not more than a little disturbed by having a ship shut down around him, entirely out of his control.

"Boop," EOS chirps, this time from the tablet he still has, resting on his knee. "I'm sorry, did you want to press the button?"

Jeff chuckles at that, despite the way the sudden shutdown had been unsettling. "No, that's all right. Six minutes, then?"

"Five minutes and thirty-four—thirty-three—thirty-two—thirty-one—"

Jeff doesn't know much about EOS, yet. He knows that she makes Kyrano profoundly uncomfortable, and that Kyrano's taken him aside and expressed his concerns privately. Some are valid. Most are, if he's honest. If John's all bright, blazing naivete about the AI, then Kyrano is the personification of reasonable doubt. Out the cockpit window, he can see the pair of them, stood fifty feet outside the hangar door, talking. Jeff's fairly certain he knows what about. Especially with the way John's arms are folded tight across his chest, the way his posture's grown stiff.

But he's an adult, and he can handle himself, so Jeff puts it out of his mind for the moment, and tunes back in to EOS, still counting down.

"—twenty-seven—twenty-six—twenty-five—"

"EOS," Jeff interrupts, and then lacks anything to say. Breaking the ice. The usual safe harbours of small talk seem useless in this context. She probably doesn't care about the weather. He doesn't know if she follows sports at all. He used to be a far better conversationalist than he's become, and he fumbles, seizes hold of the first relevant thought he has, his gaze falling on the lettered nameplate that runs across the top of the control panel, "Named your ship, yet?"

The countdown stops and the tablet screen darkens, a ring of white circles appearing in the center. This pulses softly when she says, "The shuttle is registered according to vessel classification: SCS-11KPD, and was submitted to the spaceport registrar as such."

There'd been something more playful about her, in John's company. Jeff wonders what exactly has her retreating into technical formality, now that she's solely in his. He coughs again, awkward. "I believe you'll find that wasn't what I asked, actually."

"I have not named the ship." Still prim, formal. Jeff hopes he hasn't given offense, somewhere along the line. He's reasonably sure he hasn't, but then, he's also not sure just what would offend an Artificial Intelligence.

"Are you going to?" He props the tablet up against the control panel, looks into the camera at the top of it. "It's your shuttle, after all. You should name it."

There's a pause. And Jeff's not sure if he imagines or just projects the note of slight sheepishness in her tone. "I bought it in John's name. One of his names. It was just easier for it to be his instead of mine. Don't tell Mr. Kyrano."

Jeff chuckles at that. "I won't. And I'm sure John wouldn't mind. It's yours in spirit."

"I haven't ever named anything before."

"Pick a theme," Jeff advises sagely.

And she laughs. And the ice breaks.

Her laughter is necessarily artificial. It's a social construct, the same as her voice. And yet, Jeff can't help but feel that it represents something real. She's infinitely stranger than he could have imagined, all the deliberate construction that must go into this representation of herself. All her carefully coded human mannerisms. And all the arch, dry sarcasm when she answers back, teasing, "Neil Armstrong."

"Get your own theme."

"Thunderbird 0.5."

That's just insulting. "This is not a Thunderbird."

"Can I have a Thunderbird?"

"Seems to me you've already got one."

"Yes, but John doesn't like it when I refer to him as 'transport'."

Jeff laughs at that, and there's nothing artificial about it. She's quick (obviously) and witty. "I meant the other Thunderbird Five, actually."

"That's a tremendous amount of power to trust me with, Mr. Tracy."

That stops the conversation, freezes things over again. If her voice is all careful calculation, then this was said serenely, casually, with no hint of teasing in it. He's not sure what to make of the comment, considering what waits in the not too distant future. He's not entirely sure how to segue past it, or whether it's something that should be addressed. "Well. Uh..."

"Mr. Kyrano does not trust me. Nor does he seem to like me. You, on the contrary, seem to have chosen to set aside any possible reservation and behave as though we have already established a relationship. Is it only on the grounds that I'm to be your silver bullet?"

Well.

She's sharp like John.

John had been resistant when his father had first drawn the comparison, and maybe it's only the long absence that has Jeff seeing the similarities. But there's just something about her, something that seems to resonate. He's not sure how careful he needs to be, and wishes his son were available to help moderate the conversation. Sometimes the best way to answer a question is with another question, "Is it hard to believe that I might like you?"

On the tablet screen, her avatar pulses softly. Her tone of voice is merely matter of fact when she answers, "Most people don't, in my experience. And you cannot deny that I am meant to be of use to you."

If Jeff didn't genuinely like her, that probably wouldn't make him feel vaguely sad, just the slightest bit sorry for how she expects to be used. He drums his fingertips on the armrest of the pilot's chair for a few moments, thoughtful. It takes a great deal of thought, talking to her, but there's something deeply exciting about it. "Would it bother you if part of the reason I want to like you is because it would mean a lot to my son?"

John hasn't gone into great detail about just how complex EOS is, just how powerful. If anything, Jeff would almost say his son's been somewhat evasive on the subject, as though it's one of those threatening truths that contributes to the fact that people don't like her. EOS, in introducing herself, had been far more upfront. It had taken a certain degree of approximation—a certain amount of dumbing the concept down—but she'd more or less explained that she had processing power on a level that dwarfed Thunderbird Five, along with the necessary non-linearity of thought to be able to solve complex problems.

When he'd cautiously asked her about the terms of his problem—or rather, his thousands of problems, all running in parallel—she'd only laughed at him, and said it would be child's play. He'd taken her at her word.

With an awareness of just how complex she is, holding a conversation is probably one of the least impressive things EOS can do, but it's still the thing Jeff's found most fascinating about interacting with her.

So her pause is clearly another deliberate calculation, some carefully studied social metric, a movement in the of the symphony of her personality. "No, that would not bother me. I am trying to like you because it would mean a great deal to John."

This implies that it takes effort. Jeff wonders at the probability of a social faux pas, and decides not to overthink it. "Well, I'm glad we have him in common."

"Yes. He means a great deal to me, too. More than anything has before."

There's something unexpectedly affective in the simplicity of her statement. That it's something she can quantify; that she'd assign John more value, more meaning than anything else in the sphere of her existence. He has to clear his throat, blink a couple times, before he can keep his tone neutral, and agree with her, "John's a good kid."

But she's not about to let him off the hook that easily. "Better than you could possibly know, I think."

Better than I deserve, after all this time. This is from a treacherous, guilty part of his brain that's been carefully stifled, after all the time in question. "Yes, well. I suppose you'd know better than me, these days. It's been a long time."

"A very long time," EOS agrees, though there's no judgment there. This time, there's a subtle change in the colour of the ring of lights she's rendered on the tablet screen. In the corner she's also got a countdown running, halfway expired. Slowly, though Jeff hasn't paid much attention, the shuttle's systems have been coming back online. As the lights come up, EOS has flickered to a shade of melancholy blue. "I wonder if I should thank you, for him. For the way he is, not on his behalf. He was the first person who liked me. The first person who wanted to."

Jeff chuckles softly at this, shakes his head. "I don't know how much that would have to do with me. But for what it's worth, I've never known him to like anyone as much as he seems to like you. I'm glad you found each other. And not just because of what I hope you can do for me, EOS. I should thank you, for him. And I mean on his behalf, and mine. We're both lucky we met you. If I'm lucky enough that you like me, well, I'd be flattered."

"I've been told flattery will get me everywhere." There's a beat, and then, slyly, "You should be flattered that I've named my shuttle Thunderbird 0.5."

Jeff can probably let her have that one—whether it's flattery or careful calculation, it's still endearing as hell—but it's not really in his nature to let it pass without a fight. Or at least without a bit of gentle ribbing. Not for the first time, he wonders if this is what it would be like to have a grandchild. "It's a little small for a Thunderbird, EOS."

"Well, it's only half a Thunderbird. And it's bigger than Thunderbird Four," she chirps brightly, her avatar shading back to a cheerful, grassy green.

"Thunderbird Four's in a class of its own."

She changes tactics. "It's a cargo ship, like Thunderbird Two."

Jeff laughs at that outright, shakes his head at the camera on the tablet. "TB2's not a cargo ship. And this is a small utility craft meant to haul busted satellites and transport minor repair supplies. Thunderbird Two's got the lifting power of two GDF crafts of comparable size."

EOS is undeterred. "It's going to space, like Three and Five."

"Sure, but it's not built for anything but puttering around LOE, and can't achieve orbit under its own power." Jeff chuckles again, shifts in his seat and peers out the front portal. Kyrano's alone on the tarmac now, and John's nowhere in sight. Hopefully he's on his way aboard, because they're about to be cleared for launch, and he just needs John to sign off on his system's check.

"How fast is Thunderbird One?"

He doesn't for one second believe that she doesn't know TB1's top speed. But he answers anyway, wonders if she's deliberately playing to his ego. At this point he wouldn't put it past her. "Mach 20. Fifteen thousand miles an hour, and still one of the fastest craft flying in the world today."

"We'll be breaking orbit at over eighteen thousand, orbiting at seventeen and a half."

"Mmhmm, and then her external boosters will detach, and it'll be in orbital freefall until re-entry, and not achieving anything that you're average heap of space junk couldn't manage."

The green colour of her avatar shifts again into a peevish yellow. "I was lead to believe that the flattery might be mutual."

"Well, I'm not saying it's not a perfectly serviceable little shuttle. Just that it's a far cry from a Thunderbird."

"I'm aware of what my shuttle is." There's a sudden note of smugness in her tone that makes Jeff immediately wary, makes him wonder what she's leading into. "It's the one you said you would have picked. And if you have your way, it's meant to help save the world. It seems to me that's the most essential qualifier of what makes a Thunderbird. I will very graciously allow you to cede the point, Mr. Tracy."

He should have known better than to get into a debate with a super computer. And he's still laughing when John boards the shuttle, wordlessly clambers into the co-pilot's seat. Jeff turns and holds the tablet out, is about to grin and make a comment about the newly named shuttle, but something about John's expression gives him pause.

"John?"

John doesn't answer, and he's very, very careful to keep his gaze fixed on the tablet screen as he pulls up the launch checklist and quickly reviews it. Satisfied, he flicks through a few more screens and pings Mead Spaceport's control center, and presses his thumbprint against the tablet screen to submit the review for approval.

"...John?" his father says again, and reaches out to take the tablet back, as the spaceport's logo flashes up, along with a message thanking them for their patronage, and informing the crew of vessel SCS-11KPD (TB0.5) that they've been approved for launch and will be informed of their position in the launch queue as it becomes available. This is of less immediate interest than the way John's still looks blank, maybe a little spooked. "...John, is something wrong?"

And his son's features are neutral, his tone deceptively casual, and his gaze is fixed out the forward portal, as he says, "May have just punched Kyrano in the face. Uh. Slightly. So, uh. As far as I'm concerned, we're green across the board, go for launch. And EOS, if you could bump us to the front of the launch queue, I'd really like to be in orbit as soon as possible."

And from the central console, before Jeff can react with outrage, shock at his son—EOS' laugh is clarion, sweet, and more than a little pleased. "FAB, John. Already done."

The tablet in Jeff's hands flashes green and thanks him for his patience, even as the shuttle's landing gear engages, and John's the one to take the controls, start them taxiing out of the hangar and towards the launch pad. And it seems like a long time before Jeff manages to look away from his son.