"Oh for the gods' sake, I'm not a sexbot, you pervert!" Isaac shouted at the booming, non-diegetic voice. He was getting tired of this joke--just because the completely organic polymer that made up his RealSkin(TM) was conducive to building nano-pressure receptors, and just because he'd been equipped with silicate capillaries in a few perhaps-not-strictly-regulation places...people just didn't have to be so coarse about it, was all. He wasn't some kind of--of--man-whore, or anything. He crankily flicked on the inertial dampeners, and revved the tiny scout craft up to warp 6. The stars blurred around him.

He kept thinking to himself irritably. Even if he did, technically, have a Libido subroutine, and even if, technically, it was building in it's niggling, recursive glory right now, which produced an effect essentially equivalent to what human males referred to as "I need to get laid"--it didn't mean he wanted it all the time, with any horny deckhand who laid his/her sweaty hands on him. It was insensitive. Not to mention politically incorrect.

He was interrupted in his rather defensive and ineffectual musing by an impact on his port stern. The alarms immediately blared, lights flashed red, and the ship began to spin wildly, the left rear thruster having been taken out by whatever had hit him. His android brain immediately split into two independent thought processes, such simultaneous calculations being not only easy for him, but what he was made for. The first mostly ran in a panic mode, trying to reverse thrust so that faster-than-light torque didn't spin and stretch him into a string of particles like so much space dust taffy. The second was philosophizing as to what in the universe could have hit a tiny ship going at a faster-than-light speed. The second concluded that without further parameters this object must remain undefined, just as the first decided that his best chance of survival was to cut thrust entirely and crash to the planet below.

He began the rattling descent.