Conflict seemed like an ever closer and terrifying inevitability. He didn't know how long he could stall, and even if he could stall forever he didn't know the lengths of Fury's patience. After being in the sun all day, and after hauling his ship he was unsure of himself. 

Could he escape if he ran? If he ran, Fury might just take the ship and leave. He would doom those helpful folks who had saved his life. Other plans seemed just as hopeless, some for more foolish. Recklessness might get him killed, and he still hasn't figured out who he is yet.

One word and a color were all he had to go on, and that word was in a language nobody he had met could speak. By the gods he hadn't even learned his own damn name! Dunnaman was a made up moniker! As he stood there, Fury demanded that they fix the ship. Panic washed his blood white hot, and his skin chilled at the pressure of Fury's aura.

He didn't know what to do, and his mouth worked without thought. His words were totally on the spot. "No," Uttered from his mouth, defiance heavy on the single syllable. Panicked words followed very shortly, though the defiance still hung in the air like a weighted balloon. "Ah mehn. Ah cahnnot fehx tha shep's sehstehms. Ahm not skehlled ehnough ter fehx Tham. Ahll ah knoo ehs how ter fehx thah engahn."

Another lie, they had given him a manual to fix every system on the ship. Hard and soft ware. If his entire body wasn't already drenched in sweat, Fury might see cold sweats running afresh down his forehead and into his eyes."Ahnd ehvahn ehf ah dead. Eht maght not beh sahlvagable." 

If push came to shove he'd do what needed to be done to save the lives of the helpless many from Fury's wrath.