"All stations, prepare for lift-off." Erik sighed as the Admiral's message clicked off. He closed the book on the evolution of an independent Finnish language he was reading, and rose to his feet. He set the book on the table and wandered over to the "window" which was currently turned off. He knew it wasn't actually a window, as he was fairly sure his room was somewhere near the center of the ship. He paused a moment, trying to remember which language the AI responded to quickest. He was fairly sure both Russian and English would elicit a response, but he had been using his English too much recently with all these people around.

"Computer," he said in Russian, pleased that he was able to practice it a bit.

"Hello, Mr. Karlson. What can I do for you?" the voice sounded out of the walls. Erik was glad the blue man didn't appear, it made him uncomfortable to see something so human, but at the same time not.

"I need two things," Erik said, rapping on the window "First, show me outside feed, as if my window were actually on the outside of the ship." Noah made a remark to the affirmative, and the window blinked to life. The view showed mostly the shipyard in the Sahara, and Erik could see the swirling sands out beyond the equipment. Erik looked for a moment, and then decided he wanted to try something. He spoke again, this time in Polish. "Second, I want you to run radio news feeds out of New York, what's left of Moscow, and Sydney. Start with New York."

The Computer paused a moment, then responded in Polish, "Certainly Mr. Karlson. For your own convenience, please try not to switch languages mid-request, as it will slow down my ability to respond." Erik grinned. Day one and he had already pissed off the computer. The radio feed started. The New York and Sydney frequencies said essentially the same thing, that everyone should hide, and be prepared for whatever the Devastators were going to do to Earth. People should get to their basements or air raid shelters as soon as possible. Do not panic. Blah blah blah. The Moscow radio was business as usual. Since the city was already such a disaster, there was no point exciting the locals. The radio was giving the weather when Erik was listening, and he quickly had it shut off.

He spoke again, this time in Croatian, just because he could, "Noah, that's enough of the radio. Put on some Tchaikovsky, the show is about to start." He sighed and dismissed the AI. He muttered to himself, in his native Scandinavian "Farvel, gammel ven."