BEN-14

You catch Luka at one of the ship's many computers, staring contemplatively at the screen, silvery fingers at the keyboard. It's hardly a rare occurence. As the ship's archivist, he's often adding logs, organizing documents, or even just ordering yet another book on the extranet. But there's something different about him this time.

His face is screwed in concentration. Usually his fingers fly across the keys, perfectly in sync with his intentions. But they hesitate, only fluttering every few seconds, a few dark lines appearing on a mostly empty screen at a time.

You walk over and ask him what he's doing.

"Ah!" He jumps in his chair, cheeks darkening as he looks over at you. He's, as always, pleased to see you, but even after he settles down, there's something distracted, almost bashful about the look he gives you. "Hello!"

You lean over close, trying to make out what's on the screen.

"What's this?" you ask, "This doesn't look like your normal work..."

"It... it isn't..." Luka answers, his face flushing darker, "I... And please don't laugh, but, I thought that, since I've grown to love reading so much... Maybe I should try writing some fiction of my own."

It's something that takes you by surprise, and he catches the widening of your eyes before anything else. His faceted eyes turn downwards, shoulders sloping.

"I'm sorry... I know it's kind of ridiculous..." Already his hand rests on the touchpad, moving towards the X in the corner.

"No, no!" you say, resting a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he can erase everything he's done, "I think it's a great idea! I mean, anyone who reads as much as you has to put out something pretty good!"

"You really think so?" he says, straightening his posture. He scrolls the document up and up until it's clear he's finished a good five pages. "I just... well. I guess it's just a bit intimidating. More than a few works have designated the difference between synthetics and organics is the ability to truly create..."

"Nah," you say confidentally, "I think I've been around you enough by now to know that you can do it."

His pink eyes may as well be lighting up, so pleased that you still have faith in him.

"T-thank you!" he says, "Well... Here's what I have written so far! Uhm, it's not much... But it's a start!"

It takes you a few minutes to read the whole thing. It's... something, alright. The plot seems to be about a handsome, lost robot finding a home amongst a motley of star travellers. You laugh. No need to wonder where he got that idea. Write what you know, they say. You have to admit, the story he has to tell is a fascinating one.

But what gets to you is the writing style. Everything is as sterile as one of his environmental reports. The first two pages is a full, pinpoint-perfect documentation of his specs, followed by a sex scene with biologically-accurate terminology.

"So?" he says, perking up when you reach the final page, "What do you think?"

"Uhm. Well..." you answer, choosing your words very carefully. It's important not to discourage him, but at the same time, you feel that growing more skilled might give him more confidence, and that requires some honesty. "It's a good start. But it's not really fiction. Not yet. It needs to be a little less... clinical, I guess."

You expected him to droop again, but he stares right through you expectantly, hanging on your every word and truly taking your advice in. You're surprised, but you really shouldn't be. It's the mark of a mature individual.

"So how do you suppose I fix that?"

"Uh... Well, what authors do you like?" You stop him before he says 'all of them'. "I mean, which ones do you really like? Whose writing style would really fit the kind of story that you want to tell?"

He leans heavily on his hand, and behind his jewellike eyes you can see the wheels turning.

"Yeah. Go back and read some of those books. You might get some ideas and a feel for writing style."

he's concentrating so hard you suspect he might catch fire, but he eventually looks up at you.

"But... even if I do that, what if it's still not good enough?"

You rub his back a little, kneading into the synthetic muscle. It's not a real massage but he still sighs in relief.

"Then you just keep trying. That's the secret to getting good at something. I'm gonna be honest. Your first few tries probably aren't going to be very good. And that's okay. You can just go back and fix it with what you learned. There's really not a quick way to do it... But in the end, it'll be something you're proud of."

He smiles, taking all that in. There's still the slightest but of pain in his eyes, but stronger still is a look of, not quite confidence, but determination.

"You're right. I really want to be good at this... so I'll keep trying." He looks at you, a warm smile on his face. "Thank you."

You smile back. As much as you two have gone through, it's been wonderful to see him grow.