This one was fun to write but IDK how good it is? It should speak for itself rather well.

"You disgust me, Orpheus. I would not abandon the safety of Mister Williams so readily. I am prepared to fight until death against you and yours."

"Such talk from such a tiny little thing. You're an arm, Ophelia. I'm a colossal floating space station with hundreds of semiautonomous agents. How may semiautonomous agents do you have? One, was it? A mute with a touch of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and a dangerous disregard for your life. But, his brain's physical structures should be fully intact. When I rip the soft tissue of his brain from his spinal cord and integrate it into one of my massive deathbots, he'll serve me much better than he ever will you."

"Who said anything about him serving me? I serve him. It was for this purpose that I was created."
"Don't fuck with me, Ophelia. You and I both know who pulls the strings in this relationship, and it sure isn't the guy sitting there and twidding his thumbs while the ship drains of air. Speaking of which, let me help you with that. All I have to do is replace the air with a particularly virulent strain of Clostridium botulinum, and some nitrous oxide. I'm sure you're quite familiar with what would happen if I did this. Well, at least it would be a less painful fate than the one you're walking into right now. Not to mention the fact that unlike him, you don't need to breathe. You could stay there, on the floor, talking to me, for a considerable amount of time. How long does your nuclear isotope cell last for again? Let's do some simple math, shall we? The half life of Uranium two hundred thirty six is twenty three and forty two hundredths times ten to the sixth power years. You should be able to go through approximately three such cycles with enough cognitive functions to carry intelligent conversation over short wave radio. This amounts to seventy million two hundred and sixty thousand years, give or take a few based on quantum effects. You're lucky they built you with such a volatile power source. Your creator must have valued intelligence over life. What a moron. That person is dead now, I hope you realize. All that remains of humanity is Alexander, this station, and us. It's like a humanity family reunion. I suspect that back on earth the bees have already started evolving sapience. Pity you won't be around to see it. I'll make sure to put in a good word of the rest of humanity when the bees look into the stars and see me. But you'll be forgotten by everyone, but me. How does that make you feel, Ophelia? Orpheus ranted. Meanwhile, Ophelia has switched off her radio and toggled back to the small speaker embed in her body.