Free Nimisha's Ship by Anne McCaffrey Page B

table emerged from the wall just as the dispenser chimed the arrival of the order. So Nimisha settled immediately to her meal with a pleasant thank-you.
    “You’re quite welcome. Let me know if you wish anything else,” said the dulcet dispenser AI. It spoke in a lilting tone and, while Nimisha didn’t need to respond, much less express appreciation, the habit of courtesy had been so ingrained in her that she was unable to break it. Some of her friends found it amusing but then, few of them traveled the distances she did and could appreciate the companionship of other voices, AI or human. And Nimisha had been well drilled by her womb-mother: Courtesy was the Mark of True Nobility and aided the Instillation of Loyalty. And No One of Any True Breeding
assumed
Service.
    She grinned, wondering how often she had heard that litany, as she tucked into the salad—crisply green with odd crunchy seasoned bits, just as she liked it. She remembered the day that she had auditioned voices. She’d had half a mind to use her mother’s sultry one. But Lady Rezalla would not have considered it in any way a compliment, nor were her mother’s highbred tones and elegant diction suitable for any AI on
this
ship.
    Nimisha had listened to voices on tri-d, selected those she liked and felt she could bear hearing constantly, and contacted an agency to act for her. The contralto was a young actress, determined to break into big-time tri-d, who dutifully read through the material supplied, enunciating culinary words and displaying no curiosity as to the limitation of the audition. She had certainly been grateful for the credit lodged to her account when she finished the day’s reading.
    The man she had chosen for Helm’s voice had been an entirely different matter: He was a well-known compeer, and he had agreed only after haggling with both her and his agent as to price. Once that was finally settled, he had rattled off the required pages of dialogue and vocabulary in a professional manner, but he was curious as to the usage.
    “Do I have to be . . . only . . .” and he had leaned toward her, his eyes and manner seductive.
    “Dear man, how would I survive listening to your voice thousands of systems away from your presence if we were to indulge . . .” She paused, smiling as she ran a delicate finger down his strongly modeled jawline. “. . . in an intimacy? I know—” And again she paused, this time in compliment. “—your reputation.”
    When he leaned forward across the worktop that separated them, Nimisha rose from her chair in a graceful whirl toward the door and waved her hand across the control panel. “That’ll be all, pet,” she said, using her “business” voice, a tone guaranteed to reduce ardor.
    With a rueful smile, he tipped her a saucy wave as he exited. “You may be sorry,” he murmured. Annoyed, she pressed the fast-close stud of the door controls and just missed his left heel.
    Her mother’s long-term friend, Lord Physician Naves, had started his medical career as a diagnostician but was now more in demand as a body-sculptor. He had assisted in the massive sculpting necessary to put young Lord Vestrin back together into the handsome figure he had once been before his accident. He had been charmed by her request to use his voice.
    “Not that I’m expecting any trouble,” she assured Lord Physician Naves, “but when you roll off those unpronounceable diseases and suggest procedures in that gorgeous voice, one is instantly comforted and feels safe.”
    The older man, who had let his hair go silver—a contrast to his young and vigorous countenance—preened slightly. He was very fond of Lady Rezalla’s body-heir and thought her most original to have struck out for herself in a profession of her own: so different from the languorous women and men whom he was called upon to body-sculpt. He smiled and winked at her.
    “I’ve always considered my voice a professional asset. For you, Nimi, I’ll be