Starship pilot who has miraculously not exploded yet
"This is your ship?" Linden says, giving the small vessel a curious once-over as they mount the gangplank.
"Property doesn't own ships," the android says sweetly, grinning at her rolled eyes. "It is the one I arrived aboard."
Linden starts to say something else, then breaks off as they near the open hatch. "You have a coolant leak," she says instead, concerned. "Can you smell that?"
"It's fine," the android says. "It's not even that toxic to humans. I picked up a drum of it to top up."
"It's a sealed loop," Linden says. "It shouldn't need topping up. And it's flammable."
"I'm going," the android says, less brightly, "three more hops. That's exactly how long I need the ship to hold out. It's fine."
"It won't be fine if you have an explosion on board!"
It shrugs defensively. "I don't particularly need to breathe."
"Your heat management isn't designed for vacuum." She shakes her head. "And — assuming the only damage was venting the hull, which is not good risk management — that would still effectively turn the ship into a random, uncontrolled reaction mass thruster. Who knows whether you'd still get to the end of the hop?"
"I am going," the android says, "to plug the recesses in the drive case where I can see coolant dripping out, with tampons, and I am going to leave this planet, and whether I get anywhere is not your problem."
"Dripping?" Linden says, voice rising with horror, and stares at the android, which stares back.
"It's a figure of speech!" it says, and attempts to herd her away from the threshold of the hatch and back down the plank.
