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The Galactic Apprenticeship Pact was supposed to match skilled tradespeople from every corner of the galaxy to understaffed ships. Right now, you can't seem to match the word "skilled" with the hairy biped coming through your airlock.
Just another parasite looking to freeload off their trade union's subsidies. They do not know your struggle.
"Show me their data file again," you subvocalize to your helmet overlay.
[Lieutenant Adalman, of the Sapiensis star system, planet Terra. Specializes in the maintenance of Niedmar class warp drives.]
Just your luck. It's hard enough to find other Tchitians after the diaspora.
The pool of applicants compatible with your life support systems is slim, and these strange hairy creatures from a relatively young star system somehow have the highest qualifications.
They call themselves humans. They became a space-faring species aboard literal explosion machines. Their home planet's gravity well is twice yours. Many of its climate ranges are actively hostile to life. They almost caused their own extinction with the rapid proliferation of industry. They're less than half the height of a Tchitian, and mostly unarmored soft flesh. You have no idea how their existence is even possible on their planet, let alone the lifeless expanse of outer space.
The newcomer crosses the threshold of your airlock. Their orifice opens and you perceive the sound of their vocalization, just at the far upper limit of your own acoustic organs.
The ship AI takes a moment to process the translation. [Lieutenant Adalman extends their greetings, and asks for permission to board the vessel.]
"Permission granted."
Your AI emits the words back in the human language, curious round sounds and burbles that just tickle your tympanic membranes.
"What are they doing?"
[Among the human species, it is their custom to shake the forelimb of the one they are greeting.]
You peer down at Lieutenant Adalman, wondering if they perceive you the same way you see them. Supposedly, a human's visual organs can perceive a much broader range of the electromagnetic spectrum than Tchitians.
"Interspecial viruses or biocontaminants?"
[None detected. Lieutenant Adalman has followed all protocols.]
Dubiously, you remove the covering on your environment suit and extend your front lower forelimb. Lieutenant Adalman's appendages are roughly textured and disconcertingly warm. A human's core temperature is higher than your own. He wraps the shortest digit of his appendage around your forelimb and gives it a strong squeeze. For a moment, you are fascinated by how much his joints can articulate.
The famous opposable thumb.
You studied this in your interspecial biology qualifications many pulsars ago. Nearly every space-faring civilization independently evolved some form of it. It's always interesting to see the different variants throughout the universe. With only two primary forelimbs compared to your four, it's amazing humans have gotten so far in so little time.
"Your quarters have been prepared on the tertiary deck. I've transmitted to you a map and procedural guideline with your expected responsibilities. Alert me if there are any other biological accommodations you require."
Lieutenant Adalman gives another short burble.
[Understood. Affirmative, Captain Sen.]
What does your name sound like in their strange language? It must be incredibly information dense if that short chirp translates into so many words in yours.
You can see the glitter in his ocular implants as the map flickers into view. Then, Lieutenant Adalman straightens up and touches his forehead before marching away.
"What does that gesture mean?" you ask the AI as the clacking of Adalman's magnetic boots fade away.
[It is an unarticulated gesture of respect to those of higher rank.]
Curious. You do not entirely trust him. Respect is not supposed to be so easily given to others.
As the only human aboard, Lieutenant Adalman is the talk of the ship, and every crew member wants to exchange some communication with their new bipedal colleague.
Of course. Like the opposable thumb, the irresistible pull of curiosity is also something universal to every space-faring species.
In the mess hall, Lieutenant Adalman is burbling nonstop, trading burbles back and forth with everyone's helmet overlay through the ship's translation AI. If you focus a bit, the sounds of the human language are just barely perceivable.
Upon noticing your presence, he makes a bobbing motion with his head and emits a sound in your direction.
"Sup' Captain." [What is up, Captain Sen?]
"What is the nature of this inquiry? Is it philosophical?" you subvocalize to your AI frantically.
[From contextual search, it seems like an informal way of asking about your well-being. My current language database corpuses are not up to date.]
You make a mental note to update the software running the AI translation.
"All is well." You pause a bit for your AI to translate. "You are from the Sapiensis star system? I hope your accommodations aboard the Selenica are sufficient."
[I am gradually becoming accustomed to the ship. The nominal acceleration is lower than what I'm used to.]
Right. Compared to Terra, your ship's nominal burn rate is a fraction of Terra's natural gravitational pull. Lieutenant Adalman must feel disconcertingly light aboard the ship.
Adalman burbles some more. [I was born and raised on the Planet Terra. The Selenica is a beautiful ship. She is named after your home planet, correct?]
Home planet.
You were too young to remember the churn and chaos when the gamma ray burst forced the mass exodus of your people. The Astronomic Science Council had predicted it many pulsars in advance, but even with all the time to prepare, moving twenty billion lifeforms off a planet was no small logistical feat.
"I'm surprised you knew that."
"Saw it live on the news. I'm sorry for your loss." The pitch of Adalman's vocalization has changed. [I watched it happen. I am apologetic about the tragedy.]
What? Why does he think he is at fault?
You were just old enough to remember the effects, the moment of shared mourning broadcast galaxy-wide when the energy burst from the colliding neutron stars vaporized the modest little rock and the millennia history with it.
How young is Lieutenant Adalman if he both witnessed the immense tragedy and remembers it well? The details of human physiology are a bit fuzzy. You should probably read up on it again to refresh. You can see that his appendages are wrinkled like newly born Tchitians, and the top of his head is shiny, smooth, and reflective like a communicator orb.
He must be very young indeed then.
After brushing up on human physiology, you adjust Lieutenant Adalman's duty cycles to afford him enough time to perform his biologically required hibernation periods.
It seems like organisms from planets that aren't tidally locked all evolve adaptations to the cycling light and dark. Humans even designed their temporal measurement systems around it, a factoid that takes you a moment to understand.
You can't really call it idiosyncratic. Even now, most Tchitians—yourself included—use the pulsars of their non-existent home system instead of Galactic Universal Time.
According to the data file, Lieutenant Adalman needs to hibernate for a period of time equivalent to one third of Terra's rotation frequency, once per rotation. That seems all well and good.
Lieutenant Adalman's nominal oxygen and water consumption is much higher than yours, but the air scrubbers and electrolysis array on the Selenica were built for a crew twice the size, so they shouldn't require any modification.
The ship's fabricators also need to be modified slightly to accommodate his regular dietary intake needs, but it's nothing that the engineering team can't handle. Thankfully, you don't need to adjust the life support supplies or rationing, since it seems like he subsists off the same proteins and base molecules.
Therefore, you are extremely confused when you encounter him in the mess hall pulling out a container from his tool belt to spurt onto a freshly fabricated nutrient pack.
"Lieutenant Adalman, my preliminary scan indicates that the container is filled with biohazards, and contains a high degree of toxic capsaicin."
"This? No, Captain, this is the blood of the gods. Makes even these shit bricks edible." [No, Captain, the container contains the blood of my deities, and makes it possible to consume excrement.]
You are extremely confused. Under the low thrust of the ship, the strange liquid jets from the green tip of the container and floats through the air before he deftly catches it with the end of the nutrient pack and stuffs it into his orifice.
Lieutenant Adalman makes a low noise, but does not indicate any further distress.
"Mmm, that's the shit." [This is human excrement.]
You look at the container and analyze the labeling.
Sriracha.
A quick search indicates that it is a product of Terran origin, now sold in every major starport.
Curious.
On the next warp jump to the MCF-3421 asteroid cluster, the Selenica slips back into real-space with its supercapacitor array still half charged. That doesn't look right.
Did you jump into the wrong sector of the galaxy? You check the optical scanners. There's that lumpy almost-moon you've been chipping away at for its precious neodymium nodules. Visually, everything looks to be in order, except all the sensors are telling you otherwise.
"Captain Sen to Engineering. Are you reading these numbers?"
"Affirmative," rumbles back your Chief of Engineering. Is that a note of satisfaction you hear? "Lieutenant Adalman made some improvements to the pre-warp bridging sequence."
"Fifty percent improvement?"
You almost don't believe it. You detach from the safety harness and clank your way down to engineering. The other engineers give you a brief acknowledgment as you enter through the pressure lock. You've never gotten used to the staticky sensation of the ultra-filtered sterile air here.
Lieutenant Adalman is bobbing his head and making strange movements in front of the fabricator array. Upon noticing your approach, he removes two small objects from holes in his head and touches his limb to his forehead.
"What are those objects?"
Your AI returns his response after a moment. [Ancient technology. Small acoustic emitters for listening to human music. I prefer them as they have a tactile nature that implants cannot replicate.]
"Should you be distracted while on duty?"
[It is not a distraction, Captain. It helps me focus.]
Hmm. You change the topic. "And what is the nature of the improvements you've made?"
[Your warp drive could use some upgrades. There have been many advancements made in the newer generations. I adjusted the energy field oscillations in the warp bubble. The reactor core could also use some improvements, and I am making new plasma injectors for the fusion chamber.]
The fabricator lets out a groan as something inside grinds to a halt. To your abject horror, Lieutenant Adalman pulls out an adjustable wrench from his toolbelt and gives it a two-handed thwack. Even more surprisingly, it sputters to life again.
He turns back to you with a mischievous grin. [Percussive recalibration. It is a useful technique that always works.]
Lieutenant Adalman's rituals of work are as effective as they are strange, but you cannot deny the numbers. In addition to the energy improvements, the warp drive gets you back to the refining outpost almost sixty percent faster.
The savings on life support supplies alone are astronomical, not to mention the fuel efficiency gains.
The numbers are still swimming in your head the next time Lieutenant Adalman passes by you on the raised gangway over the bulk storage compartments.
"Hey, how'ya doing?" [Greetings, how do you fare?]
Ah. It wouldn't do to say that you are now burdened with an incredible amount of work redoing the resource allocations on account of his incredible competence. After all, he is by and far the best drive engineer you have worked with.
"I am managing. Your work is extremely high caliber and I intend to adjust your compensation allocations accordingly."
[Lieutenant Adalman is in the lower bulkhead. Would you like me to broadcast to their communicator?]
"What?" In the time it took you to think about what to say, you don't even notice that Adalman has breezed past you and disappeared.
[It appears that the question was merely rhetorical and is an alternate form of greeting.]
"Is this the same as asking 'what is up'?"
[Affirmative, Captain. I recommend updating the language context corpuses.]
"I know, I know," you grumble to yourself. "Why do humans use rhetorical philosophical questions as greetings?"
Ultimately, all of the funds from your ship's mining expeditions are being contributed towards a planetary relocation and terraforming collective in the hopes of creating a new home planet for the scattered Tchitians.
It's a point of pride for you, knowing that the latest trip probably funded a whole atmospheric transformation pylon.
On the way back to the refining outpost, you relay an order through the quantum communicator for a supply drone to be warped into the middle of your route. Entertainment and a different cycle of nutrient base for the crew.
Oh, might as well pick up another crate of Sriracha for Lieutenant Adalman while you're at it.
With the leftover funds, you decide that some more upgrades to the ship wouldn't be amiss. Some new compute hardware would make the quantum communicator faster, and you should definitely update the translation AI.
[Initializing Universal Translation Software version P25-αX211.]
"Translate the intent of Lieutenant Adalman's communications from now on."
[Acknowledged. Integrating into core directives.]
There's nothing else to do, so you perform a quick status check on the crew. To your surprise, someone is alone in the mess hall. It's Lieutenant Adalman. You aren't sure about human customs, but for Tchitians, it isn't right to eat alone.
You make your way to down to the mess, where Lieutenant Adalman waves his nutrient bar at you in greeting.
"You eat?" [Are you well?]
"I am well, I will consume a small amount to upkeep my energy."
Lieutenant Adalman responds with a low grunting noise that you can perceive. [Thanks for keeping me company.]
You dispense yourself a quarter portion from the nutrient fabricator. After picking up the supply drone, there are even options and foods from your home world.
The flavor isn't quite there, but the nostalgia hits. Technology is wonderful. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Adalman has downed his own nutrient bar with a healthy coat of Sriracha. He gets up and dials another portion from the fabricator.
Strange. It should've dispensed the perfect amount the first time.
"You know, back on Terra, my momma used to make a stew that tasted just like this." [I miss my mom. Had a lot of things left unsaid.]
No matter what species you are, homesickness seems to be universal. Even with the most advanced warp drives and quantum communicators, the vast distances in space and time make every journey across the sea of stars feel lonely. You have not felt the touch of your own progenitors for many pulsars as well.
Lieutenant Adalman spins the container of Sriracha in his hand and wiggles it at you.
"Thanks for feeding my addiction. I think that crate is enough to last me ten lifetimes." [Thank you for thinking about me. I appreciate the gesture.]
You are still curious though. You dismiss the alert on your helmet overlay.
"It is still registered as a biohazard. Low danger, but irritating to organic tissues."
"Wanna try? Not even sure if you'd taste it the same way." [Would you like to try some?]
He holds out the bottle. Hesitantly, you touch the tip of the bottle with your forelimb, where a small amount of the pasty red mixture has dribbled out.
Nothing happens.
Then, you feel a burning sensation. You quickly wipe it off, but the sensation only abates slightly.
"That is extremely painful. Why do you enjoy consuming this?" You cannot fathom why anyone would want to consume anything that causes them pain.
Lieutenant Adalman goes quiet, and even though he's looking at you with his two eyes, you get the sense that he's looking past you. When he finally speaks, the shape of the sounds he's making has completely changed, lower and heavier syllables. The lines around his face have thickened, sharp lines of shadow under the ship's lights.
"We've eaten spice since before we swung out of the trees. Burns our tongue, but … feels nice." [Humans have always enjoyed spice. I eat it because it helps me forget about the cold.]
Was the data file on human biology incorrect? The ambient temperature of the ship for your own species' homeostasis should be more than suitable for humans. Is it too cold for Lieutenant Adalman? Why hasn't he said anything?
You ready a question, but something holds you back from asking it.
"You ever been anywhere cold as shit?" [Have you ever been somewhere so cold you'd die instantly?]
"No, I have not."
"Spent two years in the ice. I'd almost forgotten what warm felt like when I got out." [I spent two years fighting in the Europa civil conflict of 2856. It left permanent scars.]
"You are a combat veteran?" That wasn't in the data file.
"TUSF. Combat engineer. It's probably classified." [Terrestrial Union Special Forces. It was probably redacted from the data files.]
Lieutenant Adalman taps his head. "Nowadays, everyone's connected to everyone, what with personal implants and the quantum relay network and all. No one's ever alone." [You can talk to anyone in the universe now with technology. But during the war, we'd have communication blackouts for days—weeks at a time. On scouting or relay sounding missions, we'd be alone—truly alone.]
The ease of communication with your crewmembers is something you take for granted. To be unable to talk to anyone for so long a duration, the concept is almost unfathomable.
"Do you communicate regularly with your family?"
Lieutenant Adalman makes a noise with a rough exhalation of air. "Nothing left to say. Still doesn't feel as alone as when I was down in the ice." [I have none left. Being here is good for me. Engineering and the crew have been kind to me.]
You are glad you came down to the mess hall. No one should ever truly be alone, eating or otherwise.
Lieutenant Adalman finishes his nutrient bar, slapping his lower limbs with a dull thud as he gets up.
"Aiyup, time to get back to work," he gruffs, sliding the Sriracha back into his tool pouch. [Thank you for keeping me company.]
You move your head up and down in his direction, a Terran indication of acknowledgement. "Will you be alright?"
"Right as rain, Cap'n." [Warning: Lieutenant Adalman's communication contains the intent to deceive. He would prefer if you did not worry, but biomarkers indicate that he is under emotional distress.]
After a moment of thinking, you touch your forelimb to your head. Lieutenant Adalman grins and mirrors the gesture back at you.
On the return drop into warp, Lieutenant Adalman hurries into the command deck. You can tell it's him before he enters from the clanking of his magnetic boots.
"Hey Cap? Kind of a big issue. You should see this." [Warning: Lieutenant Adalman's communication contains the intent to deceive. There is a big issue onboard and they would like you to see it. However, there have been no major alerts detected on board recently.]
A quick skim over the ship diagnostics shows nothing abnormal. The reactor is stable and you have more than enough fusion material for several more warps. The asteroid hunks are all safely stowed away.
Still, curiosity is a strong motivator. Lieutenant Adalman scuttles away down the hall and you follow him through the bulkhead.
Isn't this the direction of the mess hall? What could possibly be there?
As you round the corner, Lieutenant Adalman is there with half the crew, all waving their appendages awkwardly.
"Happy birthday!" [Lieutenant Adalman is referring to a human concept which celebrates the occasion each time a Terran individual completes a full solar revolution.]
"Well as close as I could get to it, it's not exactly the same when your planet doesn't exist anymore. Here, we made you a gift." [It is as close to the Terran tradition as I could get it. We have a gift for you.]
Lieutenant Adalman grabs a small disk from behind him and presents it to you. It lights up when you take it, projecting a small holographic display of the binary neutron stars in your home system prior to the gamma ray burst, complete with the small lonely dot of your home planet. There's even a scaled up projection of your ship, orbiting slowly around the planet.
The sight is nostalgic, and you stare at it for a moment, captivated by the slow drift of the planet in the hologram.
"Alright everyone, I had to make some slightly illegal modifications to the nutrient processors to fabricate this Terran cake. I hope we won't need to warranty them anytime soon." [Lieutenant Adalman has modified the nutrient processors to fabricate a Terran food item commonly consumed for this celebration. This is in violation of GSIC code §341.2.10. Would you like me to file a report to the relevant authorities?]
"Absolutely do not do that," you subvocalize to the AI.
Lieutenant Adalman gives you a mischievous look and closes one eye at you. You accept a slice of the strange multilayered treat as it is passed around, still fascinated by the hologram.
"Thank you, Adalman. You do not know how meaningful this gift is."
"Thought you'd like that." [Everyone misses home once in a while. I hope this reminds you of it.]
Curiously, you haven't thought about home in a while.
You watch as Lieutenant Adalman continues trading banter with the rest of the crew gathered in the mess hall. He notices your gaze and turns to you, raising his slice of cake in the air.
"To Captain Sen!" [I salute your health and prosperity.]
The gesture makes you feel strangely warm. "Thank you."
You ingest a small amount of the Terran "cake." It tastes like the edible waving fronds native to Selenica's freshwaters. You thought you'd never be able to taste them again, since no one had been able to get them grow in microgravity. It tastes like home.
Selenica the planet might not exist anymore, but Selenica the ship and all the crew aboard are your home now.
After a moment of consideration, you pull up the AI translation settings in your overlay and key in the captain's override.
[Would you like to disable translation warnings regarding the intent to deceive?]
"Confirmed."
You eat another bite of the illegally fabricated cake and key in the captain's override again.
"And wipe the last cycle of communication records."
The bright flash on the optical sensor startles you to full alertness. Warnings pop on up every holographic display in the command deck, but before anyone can react, a dull thud shakes the entire ship violently.
"Kinetic projectile! Our quantum communicator array has been destroyed!" your communications officer yells.
You can feel the terror freezing your entire command crew in place. The Selenica isn't a combat vessel, and you've never been in battle, but you still have to do something.
"All crewmembers to hardpoints now! Prepare for hard burn! Navigator Tesen, drop us into warp!"
Navigator Tesen starts the calculations frantically and begins charging the ship's supercapacitor array. "To where?"
"Anywhere but here!"
Your mind is spinning with panic, and the sudden acceleration of the ship's maneuvering thrusters catches you unprepared, yanking you against the safety buckle.
"Source? Why didn't we detect them?"
"Deep within the asteroid cluster. They must have been hiding in a cavern in the rock, beyond the range of any penetrating radar scans. Captain Sen, what do we do?!"
There's no point in evasive maneuvers. According to the sensors, the projectile was traveling at one percent the speed of light, likely a railgun slug. The acceleration necessary to evade it would turn the entire crew to paste.
"Another fast mover incoming!" spits out the comms officer frantically.
On your display, a missile gets pinged by radar. It starts burning hard towards you at terrifying speed, accelerating across the intermediate space.
"Missile incoming! Brace for impact!" you yell into the shipwide channel.
Suddenly, everything on the ship blinks out, throwing the command deck into darkness. For once, it is completely, eerily silent. Not even the steady susurration of the compressors circulating air through the ship. It sounds like death.
You lose all sense of weight as the ship starts to drift and tumble. All the thrusters failed the moment power was lost. Without any reaction control, only your safety tether keeps you attached to the deck as the spinning overwhelms your sense of direction.
The command consoles are the first to blink back to life as the backup power kicks in. Communications are next, resulting in a squeal of jumbled panic in your communicator from different crew members.
"Navigator?"
"We got hit with an electromagnetic pulse. Some of our thruster control units are fried. I'll keep working on the drop sequence."
Your own holographic display finishes rebooting. The good news, the ship's sensors seem to be working. You pull up the optical sensors. The bad news, the unknown attacker has closed the distance. The incoming ship is half the size of the Selenica, but it's heavily armed and covered with hard angles and dark paneling designed to absorb electromagnetic radiation.
A stealth combat ship. Older generation, but deadly to you nonetheless.
"Communications, distress signals on every spectrum!"
A new voice cuts in, the low burble of Lieutenant Adalman. [Belay that order, Captain.]
In your haste, you'd forgotten to switch back to the command crew's channel. "Why?" you broadcast back to the entire ship.
[We're thousands of light years away from anyone who could receive it. Without the quantum communicator array, even our skeletons will have withered away by the time someone receives our distress call.]
"What do you suggest then?"
[This is standard operating procedure for pirates. They took out our quantum communicator first, and then EMP'd us to disable the warp drive while they close the distance. They're going to board us now, and we can't drop into warp with another ship this close. We have to fight.]
"With what? We're an asteroid mining crew. The Selenica isn't armed and neither are we!"
[With the weapons I'm making right now. Captain Sen, prioritize the drop sequence. Plot us a vector to the minimum safe distance. It's the only way we'll get out of this alive.]
Navigator Tesen, who has also been listening on the ship wide channel, starts doing exactly that, their four forelimbs flying frantically over the controls.
"What do you mean you're making weapons?"
[Exactly that. Captain, could you authorize me into the command consoles? I need to see where they're boarding from. Warning: Manufacturing weaponry in class C fabrication arrays is in violation of—]
You key in your override and forward the contents of your display to Lieutenant Adalman. It's almost exactly as he said. The pirate vessel is now maneuvering to your midship, extending a long telescoping tunnel.
[Breaching arm. They're going to blast through our airlock.]
Lieutenant Adalman's assertiveness has everyone on the command crew galvanized. Another dull thud indicates contact, followed by a rumbling explosion that threatens to shake the entire ship apart.
"Yeehaw! Come and get it, sum'bitches!" [Lieutenant Adalman is employing a traditional human warcry.]
He's still broadcasting to the shipwide channel, and everyone on the command deck—everyone on the entire ship—is listening with deathly anticipation to the loud banging coming through Lieutenant Adalman's communicator.
The visual feed on your display cuts abruptly, caught in the crossfire. Amidst the commotion, Lieutenant Adalman yells into his communicator again.
[Captain Sen, I can dislodge the breaching arm with mining charges, but the detonator is still hardcoded to the command deck. You'll have to detonate them.]
"Affirmative. We're ready to warp. Let us know when you're back inside the airlock!"
[Aye Captain, once we dislodge, go for max burn and—motherfucker, why are your jaws so strong?]
More banging, followed by a sickening thud.
After a tense pause, Adalman wheezes into his communicator. [I got it, I got it, I'm back inside!]
"Lieutenant Adalman? Are you injured?"
His voice is garbled, delaying the AI translation. [What's the holdup, asshole? I can't hold them off much longer! Get us out of here!]
You hit the detonator on the command console and the ensuing explosion makes the whole ship vibrate like a gong. The thrusters slam you into the safety harness as the Selenica races away to the minimum safe distance, allowing the drive to coalesce the warp bubble.
"Navigator!"
Navigator Tesen doesn't need any prompting. They've already started the drop sequence and another violent bang shakes the entire ship before everything goes dead quiet. The holographic viewports seems to warble and wave as you pass by the light emitted by your own ship, infinite futures of different tragedies had Lieutenant Adalman's valiant defense failed.
The Selenica limps back into real-space, diffusing the warp bubble three thousand light-years away from the asteroid cluster.
"Lieutenant Adalman!"
You fumble the safety buckle from the back of your environment suit and clunk your way to the lower deck as fast as you can. Meanwhile, rousing cheers of relief fill every communication channel.
"Lieutenant Adalman?"
[Lieutenant Adalman is no longer on board, Captain Sen.]
"What?" You pull up the AI logs in your frontal view, simmering with confusion. "What do you mean?"
The emergency bulkhead partitions have engaged, closing you off from the airlock. Desperate, you press your center eye against the cracked porthole. Lieutenant Adalman is nowhere to be found. There is nothing but the ruined debris of the airlock, blasted apart by the breaching arm and mining charges. Beyond it, the lonely expanse of space.
[Lieutenant Adalman's last communication contained the intent to deceive.]
"I don't understand, how can that be? Play back the last message."
[What's the holdup, asshole? I can't hold them off much longer! Get us out of here!]
"Translate that without the intent to deceive."
[Don't wait for me, my friend. I'm not going to make it back. Get home safe.]