“Maybe the prisoner can give us a lead,” suggested the executive officer.
“Good idea. Have him brought in.”
A moment later Kurt was ushered into the master control room. Krogson’s eyes widened at the sight of scalp lock and paint.
“Where in the name of the Galactic Spirit,” he demanded, “did you get that rig?”
“Don’t you recognize an Imperial Space Marine when you see one?” Kurt answered coldly.
The guard that had escorted Kurt in made a little twirling motion at his temple with one finger. Krogson took another look and nodded agreement.
“Sit down, son,” he said in a fatherly tone. “We’re trying to get you home, but you’re going to have to give us a little help before we can do it. You see, we’re not quite sure just where your base is.”
“I’ll help all I can,” said Kurt.
“Fine!” said the commander, rubbing his palms together. “Now just where down there do you come from?” He pointed out the vision port to the curving globe that stretched out below.
Kurt looked down helplessly. “Nothing makes sense, seeing it from up here,” he said apologetically.