Homesick

Vladimir examined his hand-held’s display and gently fingered the menus on its touch-pad. He was ready to begin. He walked the narrow corridor from his quarters. He passed Buds’ and Anderson’s module, and then arrived at the access way into the very front of the ship. He stepped through the hatch into the airlock between compartments. Behind him was the end of the gyro-rod and the crawlspace surrounding it. Ahead was the only section of the habitat area that didn’t spin with the ship. As a result, this room appeared to be spinning from Vladimir’s perspective. Stepping carefully onto the rubberized floor, he grasped a waiting handhold and braced himself as gravity lifted away. The effect was jarring and he stood still for a moment to gain his orientation. The view port ahead was refreshingly motionless compared to other windows on the ship, delivering a rock-steady image of the planet below and the stars beyond its horizon. He guided himself onto the pilot’s couch and strapped himself in. The other two couches were equidistant, forming a half-ring around the cone, making them appear to climb up the walls on either side of the chief pilot’s position. This was yet another quirk of the ship’s architecture that none of the crew had fully grown accustomed to.

Vladimir placed his key into the console. The display glowed blue in response, according to his clearance. He had come to resent this color because it meant restriction. Some of the possible menu displays didn’t even light up when he logged on. This he planned to remedy! He turned to his hand-held and touched a sequence of commands.

“Access!” Sally Buds’ canned voice called from the hand-held’s speaker. “Release navigational control.” He was amazed at how lifelike and smooth Buds’ patchwork voice sounded when he played it back. He mentally congratulated himself, almost wishing she could be there to see him gloat.

Almost instantly, the controls on the adjacent console glowed gold, displaying all the coveted menus, as if cheerfully awaiting the captain’s bidding. The dialogue screen flashed a predictable question:

“To whom do you wish to authorize navigational control?”

Click!

“Vladimir Coronov.”

“Command understood. Navigational control will be released to Vladimir Coronov. Insert command level key to complete re-initialization of navigational control.”

“Daaammn!” He raised his fist to the console and sneered. Then he poked at the spot where the navigational menu should have been on his display. It didn’t respond.

“Insert command level key to complete re-initialization of navigational control,” the words repeated.

Vladimir searched his voice library for any other pieces with which to construct a more potent command.

“Are you unable to insert command level key?” the computer typed, as if growing impatient.

Click!

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to temporarily release navigational control to another command level officer?”

Click!

“Yes.”

“Preparing to release navigational control to second in command, Scott Anderson.”

“Good!” he cheered.

“Please instruct Scott Anderson to insert command level key.”

“Daaammn!” he yelped.

“Error!” red words appeared. “Scott Anderson status in question. Unable to authenticate with appropriate voice print.”

Vladimir sat back in his chair, his muscles straining.

“Question, Captain Sally Buds: At what time did you return to the ship from surface EVA mission?”

He jumped to the other couch and grasped for the keypad. He consulted the clock. It read 22:45:17. He entered 21:40:00.

“Question: In what manner did you enter the ship? Shuttlepod Two has not returned to its bay.”

“The pod is damaged,” he typed, putting aside his voice library.

“Shuttlepod Two is registering active on the surface of the planet.”

“The readings are false,” he typed, hoping the computer was more gullible than the average four-year-old. It was.

“Understood. Please insert command level key to complete re-initialization of navigational control.”

Vladimir felt himself lose his sense of balance. The room seemed to distort and blur and his breathing came in short gasps. He touched the square on the keypad that read, “Cancel.”

“Command level voice instructions canceled. Have a nice day, Captain Sally Buds.”

The gold lights on the captain’s console faded, leaving him with only the worthless blue. He could barely see the outline of where the navigational menu would have been in the blackness. Vladimir savagely hit the console like a caveman stabbing a painting of a bison.