Behind the (Magic) 8-Ball

At 3am or thereabouts
Alarm bells ring
Throughout the ship
In panic, I shake my only
Trusted counselor, and ask:

O wise advisor – is everything OK?
-Don't count on it
So this is not a false alarm?
-My reply is no
Will our passengers be alright?
-My sources say no
And the fate of the ship?
-Outlook not so good
My book tour?
-Very doubtful

Greatly sobered, I press on:
Great one, should we start evacuation?
-Reply hazy, try again
Launch the escape pods?
-Ask again later
But why? Isn’t there a great threat?
-Better not tell you now
What? Don’t you know?
-Cannot predict now
I’m freaking out, and you’re having a
Crisis of confidence? Get a grip, Nostradamus!
-Concentrate and ask again

Sorry!
So this is really big?
-As I see it, yes
Will there be pain and loss?
-It is certain
And the ship – will it be destroyed?
-It is decidedly so
In a huge ball of flame that can be seen
From Earth?
-Most likely
That’s embarrassing
-Outlook good
And they’ll blame me?
-Signs point to yes
Just because I fell asleep at the switch?
-Without a doubt
And this is the price of service?
-Yes
The lonely height of leadership?
-Yes – definitely
I’m not going to get that promotion, am I?
-You may rely on it.