The Ship Who Won by Anne McCaffrey, Jody Lynn Nye

scientific data including formulae and equations,
    navigation. Ironically, she could recall the details of the
    accident itself, too vividly for peace of mind. Despite
    meticulously releaming all me missing details concerning
    her first brawn, Fanine-all the relevant facts, where then-assignments had taken them-these were just facts. No
    memory of shared experiences, fears, worries, fun, quarrels remained. The absence was shattering.
    Ships did mourn the loss of their brawns: even if the
    brawn lived to retire at a ripe old age for a dirtside refuge.
    Carialle was expected to mourn: encouraged to do so. She
    was aware only of a vague remorse for surviving a situation
    that had ended the life of someone else. But she could not
    remember quite enough about Fanine or their relationship
    to experience genuine grief. Had they even liked one
    another? Carialle listened to hedrons of their mission
    reports and communiques. All of these could be taken one
    way or the other. The nine years they had spent together
    had been reduced to strict reportage with no personal
    involvement that Cari could recall.
    As occupational therapy, Carialle took a job routing
    communication signals coming in to CenCom, a sort of
    glorified directory-assistance. It was busywork, taking little
    effort or intellect to do well. The advantage lay in the fact
    that voices and faces surrounded her.
    She was ready for a new ship within two years of her
    rescue, and thank God for required insurance. As soon as
    the last synapse connection was hooked up and she was
    conscious again, Carialle felt an incredible elation: she was
    whole again, and strong. This was the way she was meant
    to be: capable of sailing through space, available and eager
    for important missions. Her destiny was not to answer
    communication systems or scuttle on a grav-carrier
    through corridors filled with softshells.
    The expenses of the rescue operation and her medical
    care had been assumed by CenCom since that last mission
    had been hazardous, but the new CX-963 got quite a shock
    at the escalation of price in ship hulls. Her insurance had
    been based on purchase, not replacement price. She'd
    done a preliminary assessment of the cost but erroneously
    based her figures on those of her original ship-self. Her
    savings vanished in the margin between the two as unseen
    as a carbon meteor in atmosphere. She'd have no options
    on missions: she'd have to take any and many, and at once,
    to begin paying her enlarged debt.
    Concurrently her doctors and CenCom urged her to
    choose a new brawn. After losing her last so spectacularly,
    Carialle was reluctant to start the procedure; another
    choice might end in another death. She agreed to see one
    man who came particularly well recommended, but she
    couldn't relate at all to him and he left in the shortest possible courteous time. She didn't have to have a brawn, did
    she? Brainships could go on solo missions or on temporary
    assignments. She might accept one on those terms. Her
    doctors and CenCom said they'd check into that possibility
    and left her alone again.
    Though there were rarely so many, nine B&B ships
    were currently on the Regulus CenCom base, either
    between missions or refitting. She did have the chance to
    speak with other shellpeople. She was made to feel
    welcome to join their conference conversations. She knew
    that they knew her recent history but no one would have
    brought the subject up unless she did. And she didn't. But
    she could listen to the amiable, often hilarious, and
    sometimes brutally frank, conversations other peers. The
    refits were five 800s and two 700s with such brilliant
    careers that Carialle felt unequal to addressing them at all:
    the eighth was preparing for a long mission, and there was
    herself. On an open channel, the brainships did have a
    tendency to brag about their current partner, how he or
    she did this and that, and was so good at sports/music/
    gaming/dancing, or how silly he or she could be