The nearest bot mechanic to you is the antlered cow-like alien sat opposite you. And, you figure, she's already looking.

"Hi, do you speak InterGal?" you ask, careful not to repeat your mistake.

"Yup," she replies.

"Fantastic! Listen, do you mind following me to help fix a broken cleaning bot?"

"Sorry, no can do. We're all on strike."

"Huh?" you ask, cleverly.

"We're all tired of how the management on this station treats us. We're not moving until our needs are met," she says simply.

"Still," chimes in another technician (with bulbous eyes like a frog and four legs), "you're welcome to ask for our help when the strike is over."

"When do you think that'll be?" you ask, involuntarily sighing with the last syllable.

"Well," responds the cow-tech, "it's been going for about a standard year so far, but it can't be more than a few months and management are bound to change their thinking!"

You blink, astounded.

Okay, there's a table just in front of the cow creature. Amongst the vidmags and tea mugs, you notice something that looks suspiciously like a gun.

You could always grab it and threaten one of them until you get some help? Turn to page 51.

If that's not your style, and you'd prefer to appeal to the better nature of (that is, plead with) one of the technicians, turn to page 19.