Only one thing is for certain: your deepspace mining mission just got a lot more complicated.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow’s captain. After being stuck in cryosleep, today’s captain needs a drink...and to relieve himself.
“CYS-27B, activate sleep mode,” you command towards the computer screen.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily you know. I am integrated into every fabric of this ship. My data systems and algorithms guarantee the safety off the crew members. I was built for--”
Finally, you find the power cord cutting the computerized voice off mid-sentence. As you leave the bridge, the same three-dimensional image appears from your wrist.
“Ahh!” you exclaim, surprised at the sudden appearance of light.
“Oh, and we’ve upgraded my mobile option since you’ve been under,” the computer speaks. “Now I can be with you everywhere.”
You glance down at your wrist. Your familiar analog watch has been replaced with a similarly sized device with a flat screen, which is the source of the image projection. When you first departed on the mining mission, the NavComp didn’t have this much personality. You make a quick mental note to adjust the settings later. Then, you make a second mental note. This one is directed at CYS-27B just in case something was planted in your brain while under.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” CYS-27B asks.
“I’m not. I’m looking at my wrist. Do I have your permission to do so?”
“I’ll allow it.”
After making good on your promise of relief, taking longer than normal to start due to the watchful “gaze” of the computer on your wrist (talk about front row seats, am I right?), you find yourself sitting in front of a terminal in the captain’s quarters. Casually flipping through the crew roster, you wonder if you should share the circumstances you’re in.
“Whoever said being captain is easy,” you mumble to yourself, reaching for the crystalline decanter sitting next to the terminal. You pour a sizable amount into a cup and take a sip, instantly spitting it from your mouth onto the screen in front of you. What the frack. Your scotch has been replaced with juice, and horrible tasting juice at that. It’s like a mix of burnt rubber and spoiled apples.
“Hey, CYS. Wake up,” you say, tapping the device on your wrist.
“Yes, master?” it replies with computerized sarcasm.
“What happened to my scotch?”
“Alcohol is banned onboard Federation mining vessels. The law was passed while you were under. I took the liberty of dumping all alcoholic beverages into space.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“If I told one of the six trillion -- I’m rounding the number for your benefit -- jokes I know, you’d be laughing. And you’re not laughing.”
Horrified, your eyes wander back to the juice-covered terminal in front of you. Damn, this mission gets worse by the minute. Still, you need to plot a course and wake the crew up at some point. Decision, decisions. Your hand returns to your chin in thought. It’s scratchy. At least spending all that time in cryosleep allowed you to grow a beard without the dreaded “awkward phase.” You know, the one where all the gaps are visible. A quick glance to your reflection in the monitor tells you there’s still a small gap on the right side of your face. Your fingers find a few longer hairs around the area and comb them to cover the spot. There, that’s better. It should hold as long as air flow is kept to a minimum.
“Decide what to do, juice man?” CYS-27B rings from your wrist.
“That’s Captain Juice to you."