In another stroke, the pitch black was replaced by a colorful scene contrasted by the golden desert scenery. Will fixed the reprogramming much to Don's amusement about six hours into the new day. Penny was feeding her little alien monkey in her lap, Judith was patiently waiting for breakfast seated down in her chair, Don was seated in his chair with folded arms very bemused, and John looked over toward the force-field generator then back toward the Robot. How long had the Robot been outside just waiting to be let in? Given the rust that had collected on his metal that chance had to be all night.

"Who would have thought that the Robot made a great chicken?" Don asked.

"The sky!" The Robot cheered, waving his arms into the air.

"Will," Don said.

"I missed something," Will said, then returned to adjusting the Robot's programming.

The Robot's arms went back in.

"Much better, Will Robinson," the Robot replied.

"What happened?" Will asked. "I found you doing cartwheels in the sand."

The Robot bobbed his head up in alarm.

"That does not compute," The Robot said.

"Me neither," Will said, shaking is head.

"Just how is the progress going back at that asteroid?" John asked.

"According to my sensors, at least three people have died," The Robot replied. "Most of whom had injuries that could not be treated fast enough or have been spotted on time." John nodded, sitting in the chair across from the Robot. "Otherwise, the cadets have been handling the situation quite well."

"Anything else we should know about?" John asked.

"Negative," the Robot said, then paused. "Perhaps. . . Negative, irrelevant information."

"What is the information, Robot?" Don asked.

"According to my sensors, they are from the 24th century," The Robot replied.

"For a moment there I thought they were from thousands of years in the future," Don said.

"24th century?" Will repeated. "Some of them could be from Alpha Centauri."

"We could get directions," John said. "But I got a feeling they would refuse."

"Affirmative," the Robot replied. "Cadet Pryce-Jones refused to give me directions to Alpha Centauri."

John looked toward the morning sky, troubled, rubbing his chin.

"Did she elaborate why," John asked.

"Negative," the Robot replied.

"Looks like we will have to find Alpha Centauri on our own," John said, as Maureen lay the table with breakfast. "Thank you," he looked toward his wife with affection, loving look replacing the commanding officer demeanor. "Darling."