I knew I was in trouble when I won the hand at poker. I'd programmed the computer myself and while I might be a rotten card player, I'm a very good programmer. I shouldn't have won. Not seven hands straight. For one thing, my luck's not that good. So when the computer bleeped in defeat yet again, I got nervous. I was in a singleship running cargo between two forsaken colonies far from everywhere in the known galaxy. If my computer had a problem, I was a long, long way from help.

Four hours of hacking later, I knew what was wrong. Eight hours later, I knew I couldn't fix it. At that point, my options narrowed to the intolerable and the unbearable. I briefly considered hopping out the airlock - why prolong the inevitable? -- but my mother had taught me never to give up. Of course, that sage bit of advice had earned me more lumps than anything else the old bat had ever counseled, but it was too late for me to change the habits of a lifetime now. Especially when that lifetime appeared to be drawing to a rapid close.

In the end, I gritted my teeth and activated the communications system. Eventually the view screen flickered into life. A heavyset face, complete with blue-tinged jowls, scowled out of it. "What do you want?"

"It's nice to see you too," I cooed sweetly.

"Drop the pleasantries and tell me what you want. I've got enough problems already without your demands on top of them."

I suppressed a sigh. It was depressing to think this was the person who'd most mourn my death. I obviously needed to widen my social circle.

"If you think you've got problems now, wait until I've finished. The computer suffered a fractal cascade, and it got to the core. All the protected archives are dead and the cascade is spreading. I can't reinitialize because the core files are gone, and within a few hours, all the higher computer functions will be gone."

His eyes had bugged out during my litany. I'd like to think it was due to his concern for my person, but his first words quickly laid that notion to rest. "The cargo! How's the cargo?"

"It's fine," I snarled, resentful that he couldn't even feign a fleeting interest in my welfare. "I told you - only the computer's higher functions are affected."

He glared at me. "What the grik does that mean?"

Hard to believe he's not a throwback to some earlier era, isn't it? How anyone could survive today with so little understanding of basic technology... "It means," I told him with exaggerated patience, "that pretty soon the computer will be reduced to the level of a blithering idiot. It will become unable to initiate actions or analyze data. It will still do what you tell it, but it won't do anything on its own. Life support, engines, food supply will all work, but the computer won't be able to respond to any changes independently. For example, if we get too near a solar flare and cabin temps start to rise, it won't adjust automatically - or even warn of the change. And it means that the automatic pilot, navigation console, long-range scanners, and first alert systems won't work at all. Not to mention the overdrive."

"How could you let this happen?" my ever-loving partner raged. "Do you know how much we need this cargo? And boost that Thrumsnarfing signal! I can barely read you."

"That's because the directional beam is going too," I explained. "And the reason this happened is because some space dust or micrometeorites got into that open panel on the outer hull. You know, the one I wanted to fix before this hop, but you said there wasn't time."

He shrugged off my pointed reminder with only a twinge of guilty unease. He was never one to dwell on his old mistakes. Mine, on the other hand, were recounted at every opportunity. "Okay, okay. Whatever. How it happened is unimportant. What matters is what we do now."

"That's easy," I interrupted. "You send a rescue vessel to pick me up."

He recoiled. "A rescue vessel! Do you know how much those cost? Plus, you forfeit all cargo to those bandits!"

"Yeah, well, we don't have much choice, do we? None of our other ships are anywhere near me, and it's not likely any other vessels will pass by this deserted corner of space."

An idea struck him. I could see it light up his beady little eyes. "Now wait a moment," he purred, suddenly oozing reassurance and concern. "You did say the cargo is safe, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I answered cautiously. "It's stored in the holds, good for months. But I've only got air and supplies for a few more days - maybe a week if I use the emergency packs - and without the computer, I can't use the overdrive. It'll take me months to reach the nearest outpost." I had an awful suspicion I knew where he was going with this.

"Well, I'll try to arrange for rescue," he promised earnestly, "but you know how hard it can be to ensure a timely arrival. Now, what did you say your coordinates were? And your course?"

"You scavving slug-bag!"! I yelled, erupting in fury at his transparent machinations. "You're not going to send a rescue ship! You'll wait until one of our own ships is free and send them for the salvage! Never mind that I'll be long-dead; the cargo will be fine!"

"You knew the risks," he snarled back. "Our profit margin-"

"I don't care about the grikking profit margin! This is my life we're talking about!"

"With that sort of cavalier attitude, it's clear why I'm the senior partner," he sniffed. "Without a healthy profit margin, we're all dead."

"No, you'll be poor. I'll be dead!"

"It's typical of your selfishness that you not consider anyone other than yourself," he retorted primly. "Think of the savings if I send one of our own vessels."

I dropped my voice to a menacing growl. "Listen, you heartless goon, if you want to keep enjoying unlimited oxygen through an intact windpipe, you'll send a rescue ship at once. Not next month or next week or tomorrow. NOW!"

"All right, all right," he waved dismissively. "You made your point. Now hurry - you're fading out; what's your position?"

What choice did I have? I knew the likelihood was that he'd just sit on the info until he could safely and cheaply retrieve the ship, but what if he had a rare moment of compassion and decided to send help sooner? I told him, repeating my threats in a variety of colorful ways - none of which fazed him.

"Right-oh! Well, good luck! See you later!" he signed off, looking much more cheery than he had initially.

The troglodyte had reason to be pleased. By sentencing me to death, he'd rid himself of a troublesome partner without sacrificing my lucrative cargo of Delphidian flame-crystals.

I tried the comm station again, hoping to raise a rescue vessel myself, but by that time the directional guidance was off-line and without it, my signal quickly dissipated in the endless void of space. Besides, rescuers would rarely accept direct appeals from stricken craft; they required a request from the ship's main owners, complete wi! th a guarantee of payment. These guys weren't in it out of altruism. No money, no rescue.

My ex-partner would never stand surety from my safe return. Ever since we'd teamed up, it had been an uneasy alliance, born of economic necessity and suffered poorly by both of us. Now, thanks to that open panel, he'd had his salvation handed to him on a decorative tray... with my head as the garnish.

Granted, in one sense it was my own fault. I should have known better than to take the ship out when its hull wasn't intact. On my last trip I'd gotten a little too close to an asteroid belt and part of the ship had been buffeted. The shields absorbed most of it, but one panel had been wrenched off. I'd wanted to repair the damage as soon as I'd made port, but had been dissuaded by arguments of the ephemeral value of the Delphidian flame-crystals. "Hurry up!" he'd ranted when I proposed a short delay in my return leg. "The market's rising! It's sure to peak soon and then we'll be stuck with a bunch of gaudy rocks." I'd let myself be persuaded, thinking that there were no critical components under that panel and that in a pinch I could always reroute systems around it.

Minor problem: I'd overlooked the fact that the main computer relays were one layer below the affected panel, and somehow, someway they had gotten damaged.

Well, stupidity in space is often a capital offense, and I'd earned my fate. Of course, that didn't stop me from wanting to rip out that cheap shplud's intestines and feed them to the nearest carnivore.

Okay. I could sit here, bemoaning my fate like a sensible sort, or I could determine to do whatever it took to wreak revenge on my ex-partner. Naturally, I chose the latter.

I briefly considered dumping the cargo out of sheer spite, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. I'd seen how much hard work went into harvesting the crystals, and the hardscrabble little Delphidian colony was counting on the sales to finance their next educational upgrade. Thus, in true Terran blind-yourself-to-the-inevitable fashion. I decided that I'd get myself home, no matter what, just so I could strangle that slimy sindith.

Having set out to accomplish the impossible, I went about arranging the mundane. I plotted the most direct course, ignoring the fact that it took me through an unexplored region of space, and made the pilot's chair as comfortable as possible.

Normally the ship's autopilot handled most of the point to point travel, and I was only needed for the tricky bits: launch, landing, and any changes to the itinerary. Now, however, I'd need to be at the controls full-time, making sure we weren't headed smack into an asteroid or too close to a star's grav-field. Also, without the computer to make the necessary overdrive calculation, I'd be restricted to maximum norm-space speed. Even with the new course, it was unlikely my food and air would last long enough.

Never one to let facts sway me, I rationed food and water, closed off the rest of the living quarters, and dropped the O² in the cabin air to near-hypoxic levels. If I didn't make it, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

I wasted a few minutes composing a farewell message, but gave up in disgust when I realized I didn't have anyone to whom to send it. My family was scattered - the one thing we shared was a distaste for each other's company - and my last romantic entanglement had ended. Badly. Inventive suggestions of suicide methods had been mutually exchanged, along with sincere urgings to utilize them. I wasn't eager to have my last words greeted with delight.

Vowing that if I survived this, I would find someone who would love and cherish me, I set my jaw and engaged the engine.

When the lights first appeared, I ignored them. I noticed them, mind you, but I was in an apathetic daze induced by fatigue, narcosis, and starvation. It had been almost two weeks since the computer died, and supplies were nearly exhausted. It had been twenty-two hours since my last nap, and about as long since my last "meal" (it's hard to consider two sips of tinny water and half a ration bar a meal). O² tanks were as near to empty as makes no difference, and the CO² levels in the cabin were rising. I barely remembered what had driven me into this mad race for safety, and sheer inertia alone was carrying me on.

So I noticed the lights, with a kind of dull wonder, but I didn't do anything at first. Then, as they continued to grow in size, my numbness slowly gave way to a resigned realization that the hallucinations had begun. My abused body had at last rebelled - next I'd think I was sipping a tall julep at Lasereye's.

Still, training dies hard, so with that comprehension, I did all the right things. I tapped the O² tanks, shooting the last few jets of oxygen into the cabin. I gulped down my next day's ration bar to ward off low blood glucose and drank two days' worth of water to wash it down.

It was only then that I turned to the scanner, waiting for it to confirm what I already knew: nothing was out there.

Instead, the scanner lit up like a supernova. Images and data kept spilling in - insisting that an impossibly large ship of completely alien design was on an intercept course.

I regarded the output sourly. Clearly I was even farther gone than I had feared. If I were close enough to death to hallucinate readings, I would have expected to be squarely in the middle of a much nicer fantasy - preferably with a Venusian masseuse, Roman baths, and a buffet table groaning with food and drink.

I closed my eyes and tried to will myself into a more sybaritic environment. After all, I'd done everything I could to improve my mental state, and obviously it hadn't worked. I ignored all the extraneous lights, klaxons, hissing, clanging of metal on metal, instead focusing my remaining energy on picturing the ideal orgy partner: full lips, deep blue eyes...

Just when I felt the image was clear enough to touch, I opened my eyes, expecting to see my dreamboat gesturing invitingly. Instead, three bulbous eyestalks attached to a squat, tentacled body peered closely at my face.

I recoiled with a yell - prompting a similar backwards leap from the apparition. Then, having realized that my efforts to modify my hallucination had been fruitless and the orgy would proceed without me, I let loose with a blistering series of oaths, most of which were directed against my ex-partner, my luck, and my intelligence (or lack thereof).

After a pause, my words were repeated back to me by the creature, only in more polite tones.

"Oh, great!" I shook my head in a mixture of amusement and despair. "Not only are my hallucinations unattractive, but they're unfriendly as well! I must need intensive psych rehab to do this to myself." That said, I buried my face in my hands, too spent even for more black humor.

At a gentle touch on my shoulder, I uncovered one eye and peeked out. The creature was back, regarding me anxiously. "Please excuse us. Was our return of your greeting performed improperly? We believed you require assistance. Are you unwell?" It's Standard was impeccable.

I blinked. This was an awfully weird dream. "I've been better," I finally allowed.

"You will permit...?" It touched me with a small instrument held in one tentacle.

"Ow!" I yelped and jerked my arm away. That had hurt! Even through my clothing I could feel a stinging welt rise.

"Our apologies," the thing quickly offered. "The pain will be transient, but we required a sample of your tissue for appropriate analysis."

"Uh huh." I eyed it narrowly as I rubbed my sore arm. "Analysis" sounded ominous. Like "appetizer". I'd heard the science types blather about alien species, how all the hypotheses predicted that when we did encounter eeties, they'd be friendly. "Too advanced for hostility." But these were the same people who said we'd never travel faster than light.

So anyway, I wasn't all that reassured when a squat thing with three eyes said it needed to analyze me. For all I knew, in my dream, "Terran kibble" would be the aliens favorite snack.

"Do you understand us?" the creature asked, its tone unnervingly eager to please. "We examined your ship and its memory banks when we first detected your vessel. The information seemed generally complete but the linguistics program did leave some gaps, especially in the area of colloquialisms." With surprising facility, it called up the appropriate records on the computer screen and tapped the deficient files for emphasis.

I hadn't even known the computer had a linguistics program. "You're doing fine."

That's when it hit me. If I hadn't known about the program, how could a figment of my imagination? I sat bolt upright. But that would mean -

No. It was impossible.

But if...

I looked over at the little creature who was still earnestly explaining how confusing Standard diphthongs were. I turned to the main viewport and for the first time noted the huge vessel stationed alongside. It dwarfed my tiny craft, which could easily be engulfed by any of its multiple docking stations. Looking behind me, I saw through the open hatch that more than a dozen of the creatures were bustling back and forth on my ship.

I bit my lip, hard. When I tasted the blood, my world wobbled briefly then reformed - complete with tentacles. Okay. So I wasn't hallucinating. These were actual alien life forms.

Hysterics seemed inappropriate at this point. Surely the time had passed when I could have curled into a sobbing ball of panic. What then was left? "Take me to your leader"? "I come in peace"? "Please don't eat me"?

In the end, I settled for, "Sorry the place is such a mess. If I'd known you'd be by, I'd have tidied up."

"Please do not distress yourself. We are quite accustomed to unexpected Initial Encounters. You seem very composed for a species who has never before met another race. Please accept our compliments." I made self-deprecating noises, as if this sort of thing were de rigueur. "No, truly. We could tell you stories about other races - quite advanced, some of them - who reacted in the most outrageous fashion: cowering in terror, begging not to be consumed, threatening violence..." He waggled his eyestalks in what seemed to be humorous exasperation.

"Heh, heh," I managed. The eyestalk thing was making me queasy. "So - just for the record - tell me again why you're here."

Before it could reply, another alien hurried up and presented my conversational partner with several small, brick-like objects. "Ah!" the eyestalk waggler turned back to me. "Here is some sustenance which we have created for you, based on your own computer records and our biophysical analysis."

I gingerly accepted one of the flat wafers. They were unexpectedly heavy and moist. With six eyes watching me expectantly and the reputation of my species at stake, I had little choice. Trying not to cringe, I took an experimental nibble.

Ginger snaps. The grikking thing tasted like ginger snaps. Happily, I like ginger snaps. "This is great!" I exclaimed in astonishment.

The two aliens wriggled with delight. "Excellent! I am pleased to see our analyses were accurate! You will also be happy, we hope, to know that we have increased the oxygen content of your cabin air. Our survey of your records indicate a higher percentage is optimal for your species."

I leaned back in my chair, savoring my food and taking deep breaths. Even if they did eat me, I'd at least go happy. "So, not to pry, but why are you here?"

"Why, to render assistance, of course. We detected damage to your hull and when our efforts to contact you were unsuccessful, we intercepted and boarded your vessel."

"Oh. Well, thanks," I said, feeling it was a bit inadequate. "I appreciate it."

"We postulated that your presence in our territory and lack of a communications array prevented you from summoning help from your own people."

"Er..." I was spared having to reply by another arrival. This one gibbered urgently at the first, who replied with an equally unintelligible babble. This conversation continued for several minutes while I finished my gingersnap bricks and studied the alien vessel with interest.

"This is most bewildering," the alien finally switched back to Standard and swiveled two of its eyes to me. "Our experts insist your engines are not damaged."

"My engines?" I echoed blankly. "No, they're fine."

"But - We assumed - It seemed obvious - " It broke off after sputtering a bit, then finally managed to say, "This is most embarrassing. We should never have interfered with a functional vessel. No wonder you found our intrusion unexpected. This is entirely inappropriate. Our people will be quite displeased to learn of our error. We consider unwelcome intrusions quite the highest faux pas, and yet we have rudely violated your vessel's autonomy. Please accept our humblest apologies."

"Well, no, that's quite all right," I began uncomfortably. "You see, I was -" My explanation was interrupted by a plaintive whimpering from one of the other aliens, cut off by a sharp command from the leader. "What's wrong?"

The eyestalks regarded each other in what - honest! -- looked like embarrassment. "It's just that... When we thought we were assisting you... You see, it would have brought us much honor to have made an Initial Encounter in the course of an otherwise routine rescue operation. Now, of course, that glory shall be subsumed by our shame in misinterpreting your status."

"You mean, if you had really rescued me, it would have accorded you a great deal of honor? But this way, since my drive is functional, it's nothing but an embarrassment?"

"Cogently and accurately put."

I scratched my chin, considering. This might work out really well after all. "I think I can help you out."

Now everyone's eyestalks were riveted upon me. "How?" the leader gasped.

"Let's consider this a rehearsal for the real thing," I offered. "It's not your fault you misunderstood, and I appreciate your willingness to help me. Tell you what I'll do. In oh, say eight days, I will return to this exact spot, and I predict that at that time, my engines will be completely nonfunctional."

The aliens were quivering in what I hoped was excitement. "You would do that for us?"

"Sure. And then we can introduce each other to our respective governments, arrange diplomatic recognition - you name it."

"That would be most accommodating of you. Are you certain you wouldn't mind?"

I waved away their thanks magnanimously. "Not at all. Just don't be late - my engines really will be dead."

"How kind! How unselfish! You are indeed a most advanced species!"

"Don't mention it," I demurred modestly. "Glad to help. ...By the way," I added casually, "in order to make our rendezvous, I'll need to readjust my course and conserve my fuel... Could I impose upon you for a little lift? Just to a system closer to one of my species' outposts."

It was really too easy. The aliens fell all over their tentacles to be helpful.

I retired to my cabin while they loaded my ship onto theirs and got my first sound sleep in a fortnight. Eight days. That gave me plenty of time to cash in my cargo, make a few judicious investments, and get a new outfit and haircut (if I was going to make history, I wasn't going to do it looking like this!). That still left plenty of time to get back here, sabotage the engines, and participate in the IE, take two.

And that's how it was. Forget what you learned in history class. That's the official version. But I was there, and I'm not so old as to forget what really happened. So far as I know, no one ever guessed the truth, and -- despite another little teaching of my mother's - I not only got away with it, but I also lived quite happily ever after.

Within two days of sailing back into Terran space, my face had been featured in every media venture, I'd received three offers of government jobs and innumerable ones in the private sector, my bank account had burgeoned, and my ex-partner was cross-eyed with envy and frustration. [Yeah, yeah, I know. I probably should have just killed him, but I used those eight days to ensure that my newfound fame wouldn't touch him and I couldn't resist the temptation to watch him eat himself up inside.] I couldn't avoid picking up a new partner though. After joining (by invitation) the diplomatic mission to establish relations with our new friends, I found a new associate: a Terran sheepdog puppy named Sam. Okay, he wasn't exactly my ideal orgy date, but as a loyal and loving friend, he was unbeatable. And speaking of orgy partners, it was a few years after that that I had my famous (or infamous) encounter with... But that's another story, for another time.

When I saw the line of letters after Kira Bacal's name, I must admit I was skeptical. Alphabet-degree types rarely show the imagination needed for interesting stories. This yarn surprised me with its taut energy and fascinating main character. I look forward to more from this writer. Do you?