Conundrum

“Henricksen?” LaSalle urged. His tension was leaking through his calm exterior. He either believed his own story about a collision course with the sun, or he was the best actor ever.

While LaSalle edged closer to the young ensign to take a peek at her pad, their prisoner shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. There was a simple way to figure out if they were telling the truth, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give away the one advantage he had left. The pad could easily tell him if they were on course or if there was a massive and incredibly energetic obstacle in their way, but it could also potentially give them access to ship’s functions if they managed to force their will on it. They had eluded Security Services, after all. Except… if they could do that, then why couldn’t they access ship’s functions and steer it away from their sun? It wasn’t making any sense.

“Look,” he told the aliens, even though they wouldn’t understand a word, “I don’t know what you want, but if the ship is going to crash into a sun, can’t you do something about it?”

That got LaSalle’s attention. Briefly. “Henricksen?”

She looked up from the pad and directly at their prisoner. “Okay, I need you to tell me who you are and where you came from, and I need you to tell me like I’m only five years old. Got it?”

What a stupid thing to ask! But he sighed heavily, glanced at the weapons still leveled on him, and said, “Look, I’m just a low-level maintenance worker. I specialize in duct work and plumbing. But even I can see that if you’re in a hurry to get off the ship, then asking me these dumb questions isn’t going to get us anywhere. Besides, if you could hide from Security Services, then why can’t you fly the ship to safety? Tell me that, wise guys!”

Okay, probably not a good idea to call his captors names, but at least, according to the fury with which the young ensign tapped her pad, they weren’t able to translate it, yet. But he would have to watch his language once they could.

Their urgency was still troubling, though. They believed what they told him, enough that he was teetering on the edge of believing it, himself. He absently touched the pad, still attached to his belt, making one of the armed aliens twitch.

“What’s that?” the armed alien demanded. He was very pale with orange hair, spots on his face, and wide green eyes that stared unblinkingly. Definitely on high alert, unless that’s what his species always looked like. Security Services would like him, especially the way he stabbed the weapon towards their prisoner like a spear.

“Easy, midshipman,” LaSalle reassured the orange head. “It’s just a compad.”

How did -? Oh. Right. They used them, too.

LaSalle turned to Henricksen. “Any luck?”

She shook her head, biting her lips on the inside, her fingers flying across the pad. She was committed to the bit. A little too committed.

He sighed heavily. It wouldn’t make any difference keeping the pad a secret if they ended up incinerated for it. Besides, they already knew what it was. But before he could take the plunge, LaSalle beat him to it.

“That compad,” he said, pointing at it. “Can it bring up command prompts?”

He didn’t know how else to reply, so he nodded. It was better than dying a fiery death in… what? Fifteen, twenty minutes?

“Could you redirect the ship’s course?” LaSalle asked, trying to keep a lid on his anxiety. “Steer it away from the sun’s gravity well?”

He gave the pad the side-eye. How could he explain that the pad was… problematic at times? Oh, screw it!

“I’ll try,” he replied, pulling the pad from its holder, making the orange head twitch.

“Computer,” he said, eyeing the orange-haired alien warily. “Alter course away from the sun.”

“Command authorization is required for course alteration,” it dutifully replied.

“Henricksen?” LaSalle curtly asked.

“Still working on it, sir,” she said a bit irritably, her eyes glued to her work.

He tried to ignore them. “Even if we’re going to crash into something?”

“Command authorization is required for course alteration,” the pad repeated.

“But we’re going to fly into their sun!” he snapped. A bit too loudly, though, and he took a cautionary glance at orange head to make sure his trigger finger wasn’t getting too itchy.

The pad paused. “Please rephrase the statement.”

“What?” he snapped, directing his full ire on the pad. “I said we’re going to crash into their sun! Can’t you see that?”

The pad paused. “Detecting no stellar mass within sensor range.”

“What?” That couldn’t be! “That can’t be! There must be a sun in our way! The aliens can’t be pretending that well!”

“Detecting no stellar mass within sensor range,” the pad dutifully repeated.

“You’re malfunctioning, then,” he spat. “Take another look and tell me what you see!

“Unless you need command authorization for that, too,” he muttered under his breath.

“Command authorization is not required for access to sensory data,” the pad replied.

“Then show me!” he snapped.

The pad paused. “Please rephrase the inquiry.”

He took a slow, deep breath. It wouldn’t do to throw a temper tantrum in front of armed aliens, especially the orange haired one.

“Scan the surrounding area,” he said in a very controlled tone. “Especially ahead of us, and tell me what you see… uh, detect.”

The pad paused again, and he took another deep breath to maintain his composure. Those pauses were eating up precious time, but there was nothing he could do to prevent them.

“Course clear of all navigational obstacles,” the pad finally reported.

“What?” he demanded, his own anxiety begging him to snap the pad in half. “How? How can that be?”

“Ship’s course was programmed to circumvent all known spatial obstacles,” the pad explained.

“Maybe their sun wasn’t programmed into the system?” he desperately asked. “What then?”

“Navigational controls are programmed to compensate for unknown variables,” the pad replied.

“Then, compensate for that sun!” he ordered.

“No stellar masses detected within sensor range,” the pad replied.

“Henricksen?” LaSalle curtly asked.

“Almost there,” she absently reported, her fingers flying. “… I think…”

“Prove it, Bitsy!” he snapped. “Or do I need ‘command authorization’ to look out the window?”

“Please rephrase the inquiry.”

“Show me what’s out there!” he snapped. “I want to see what’s out there!”

The pad paused, then an image of space popped onto the screen, and he had to swallow the deep melancholy that it invoked. He hated the sight of infinite black space, with no stars or sun. He’d rather have an atmosphere over him and solid ground beneath his feet, but that was pretty much why he was aboard, so he forced his way through his own personal little anxiety to study the screen, and his brows knit together.

“Where is it?” he muttered.

“Please restate -!”

“The sun,” he snapped. “Where’s the sun?”

“There are no stellar masses -!”

“Show me more,” he interrupted. “Show me what’s all around the ship.”

He couldn’t tell if the view shifted or not, until he saw a brief glimpse of the hull pass at the bottom of the screen. The movement made him nauseous, and the external feed took too long to pan left. They were losing precious minutes that way. He had to be smarter about things. “Show me what’s right in our path!”

The image flickered, then showed an image of more endless black. He swallowed hard at the sight. It showed no sun, or any other object, in their path. He glanced at the aliens in confusion. They had been so convincing! Or maybe, he’d been too gullible!

“Are you lying to me?” he demanded. “What did you think you’d get out of me? Command of the ship? I don’t have the authority! I can’t even get this piece of junk to do anything without an argument! So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on and stop lying to me!”

“Henricksen?” LaSalle demanded.

She looked up from her pad and grimly shook her head.

“Lieutenant Woo to LaSalle,” LaSalle’s suit blurted.

LaSalle startled before quickly composing himself. “Go ahead, Woo.”

“Sorry to report, sir,” Woo stiffly said. “All bulkheads are down. We’re sealed in.”

LaSalle momentarily closed his eyes to keep his composure. “Understood. Get back to the group.”

“Aye, sir,” Woo curtly replied.

LaSalle turned to their prisoner. He looked so much like someone in distress that it was impossible to tell if he was lying. “Please, you must help us! Time’s running out!”

Not according to my pad, he wanted to reply. Instead, he swallowed hard. Their act was too convincing. But the pad was never wrong. What was he supposed to do?

“Gods damn it,” he cursed. “Why me? I’m not cut out for this!”