28

The journey down the lift shaft, though long and tiresome due to the speed, or lack of it, in which the platform moved downward, would not have felt half as bad were it not for Friss telling the same joke every time another floor passed them by. By the fourth iteration of "Third floor, ladies lingerie and swimwear", Demi had got to the point where spending time among the death-dealing denizens of the surface seemed like a monumentally better use of her time.

Both Briyun and Lap appeared to not notice the continuous, circuitous running commentary, with Lap looking out, expectantly, every time Friss made the joke. Presumably to check out the latest beach fashions, or to catch a sneaky look at lace bra and panty sets. Or for something else entirely. In truth, Demi had no idea what went through Lap's mind at the best of times. The only times she thought she had any idea what the Planeian thought was when they appeared to show great relish in causing severe trauma to people or creatures that had annoyed them, or were in their way, or were simply somewhere in their general vicinity.

As the platform came to a creaking stop at the very bottom of the sub-basements, they found another of those crab people. This one a little smaller than the one above and marginally faster at curling into a protective ball at the first sign of trouble. Lap tried to tip the creature onto its back, which Demi found cruel and quite at odds with how Lap had treated her. But, then again, everything about Lap was at odds with something. It was about finding that sweet spot between horribly violent and 'aww'-inducing adorability. Lap did not make that easy.

"Right. Everyone split up, gather what you can and meet back here in ten minutes. And, no, Lap, you can't take one of the crabs as a pet. They are people! People that look like crabs, but still people. Okay?" Friss scowled as Lap launched into a series of crinkles, verbose rustlings and even one extended tearing paper sound. He tried to talk, but Lap interrupted him with more noises. "Well, of course you can kill them. Killing people is fine, making them pets is not. Demi, you're with me. How's the tech dampening down here?"

"It's ..." She thought about it and realised she no longer had the sensation of the implant feeling as though someone with an extremely high-pitched voice was reciting 'War and Peace', screaming in her ear. She could actually sense technology nearby. "It's not bad. I can sense something down that way. Something powerful, but it's not networked. I can't get in to it to see what it is."

"Great! That's the one! The best tech has the best security." He stood, his legs spread as he used a knife-like hand to point the way Demi had told him she could sense the tech. "Let's go! Move! Move! Move, people!"

Everyone moved but didn't seem to be in any rush. Briyun appeared to have become enthralled by a picture of a cat dangling by its claws from the branch of a tree with the titles "It's a long drop. Don't forget your blaster!". That didn't make any sense to Demi. Why would anyone need a blaster to fall to the ground? No matter, Friss had tugged at the Gal-Navy issue sweatshirt sleeve, urging her to follow him along the corridor.

Along the way, Friss flattened himself against the wall, spun around and spread his arms, as though he clung to a rock face, dropped to his knees, combat rolled, spread-eagled himself and flipped back to his feet. After five feet of that, Demi had had enough and walked past him. As she walked, she reached out to the security for this special piece of tech, the tech that Friss had mentioned and Demi had promptly forgotten the name of, MacGuffin-something-or-other. It was something she could almost definitely bypass and, finally, she could earn whatever it was that Friss was paying her for this job.

They turned a corner to find another of those crab people had already opened the door, had scuttled sideways into the room and had a claw hovering above a button that gave Demi a distinct 'self-destruct' vibe.

"Is that a self-destruct button?" Once again foiled by her objective opening up before she could open it, Demi felt like giving something a good kicking. "Take your damned claw away from that ..."

The crab disappeared in a puff of smoke as Friss shot it with his blaster and then Friss and Demi had to duck as the remains of the super-heated projectile bounced off some very well made walls and performed a kind of ping-pong effect along the corridor away from them. Demi wasn't entirely certain killing the crab-like person was entirely necessary, though it seemed a little late to enter a letter of complaint. Suffice to say, he would receive a strongly worded complaint in his suggestion box, later. And, if he didn't have a suggestion box on Lodka, he soon would. She was that mildly annoyed.

Only one door stood between Friss and the object he sought. One more door and another level of the Matryoshka doll would be complete. All Friss had to do, was open the hermetically sealed vault before him. He patted his chest on both sides, plunged his hands into his trouser pockets, pulling out an old, sticky sweet, a bus ticket, a receipt, a book of matches, a used square of tissue paper, a coin of some kind, a paperclip, a pencil, a jet ski, a copy of 'Fifty-three Extra Things To do While Waiting For The Mega-Train To Arrive' (sequel to a massively successful series of books, but written by a different author), and a birthday card for someone called 'Beulah', who was forty-eight.

What he didn't find was a key for the heavy door before them. Which wasn't surprising, seeing as he had only just arrived and Demi had been with him all along. Friss scowled, staring at the birthday card.

"Beulah is forty-eight?" He turned the card over to look at the back, but it was blank. The inside had a twee, banal poem filled with platitudes and words like 'fierce' in big, bold letters in a different font from the rest. "That can't be right."

"Well, time flies and all that." Demi tried the door handle, but the door remained stubbornly locked. She tried again, rattling the door and knocking. It didn't help. "The years go by so fast. One day you're young and worry free, trying not to have sex with anyone in college, the next you're a wanted criminal in the bowels of a planet trying not to get eaten, or shot, or pinched by crab claws when all you wanted to do was find a cure for your brother and sister!"

She paused. That had all come out completely different from she had wanted to say. Something to do with the fact that everybody forgot someone's birthday at least once in their life. It took her a while to realise she had started panicking and she didn't know why. The fact that Friss stared at her as though she were mad didn't make her feel any less panic stricken.

"No, Demi, you don't understand." He waved the birthday card before Demi's eyes, fury etched upon his features. "I don't know anyone called 'Beulah'!"

Lap and Briyun appeared, arms filled with all kinds of weird and wonderful things, none of which Demi could hope to guess their functions. Except for the stuffed crab toy between Lap's teeth. It looked like the kind of toy a baby would have and Demi hoped that Lap hadn't stolen it from a poor defenceless child. Or killed it for the toy. Yes, that was the most pertinent worry. That Lap hadn't killed a baby crab person, not the stealing part. Demi began to wonder if her moral compass had become hopelessly skewed. She began to wonder if Friss and the others had broken it. Whether she ever had one at all didn't cross her mind. But it should.

"Ooh? Look?" Briyun leaned down, thin, long, vicious, blood-soaked claws sifting through the remains of the crab person that had almost pressed the self-destruct button. She picked up something shiny. "A key? Baggsies?"

"Give me that!" Friss snatched the key from Briyun's pudgy fingers and Lap grabbed the birthday card from Friss', before making a crackling sound. It sounded nostalgic. Friss gawped and then laughed. "Oh! That Beulah! Ha! Yeah! She never did grow back that leg."

Friss chuckled, shook his head and then set his face to something resembling seriousness. He held up the key and made a big deal of moving it slowly toward the keyhole in the door. It fitted into the hole, at least. Friss shook his hand, rubbed the palm against his trousers and made an exaggerated exhalation. His hand moved back to the key and, between forefinger and thumb, turned it until it clicked. He let out another breath, wiped his forehead with his other hand and then shook hands with Lap and Briyun.

Demi's head whipped around as she heard a crashing sound along the corridor toward where the lift shaft rose up, through to the surface of the planet. Then another sound reached her ears, followed by another and another. Each more horrifying than the last and each more deathly. If she had to hazard a guess, she would presume the creatures from above had made their way down to the facility, despite Friss saying not to worry about it. Demi began to worry before realising she hadn't stopped worrying since landing on the planet.

"Guys! I really think getting out of here would be a super-important thing to do." The sad sound of pincer claws clacking together in alarm and then cracking as though something had bitten them off made Demi's stomach churn. "Like, right now. Does anyone know if this place has a back door, or, I don't know, an ejection system? Life boat. Container. Life shipping container?"

"Ah, no worries, Demo?" Briyun waved something that looked like a pill box. He flicked his wrist and a lid flipped up. "Bri to Lodda? Come in Lodda, me beaut? Four to transport, love? It's a DWAIt Corp super-communicator? Didn't think they wouldn't find a way through this interference, did ya?"

"Great! That's super. Good work, you mad rat!" Friss slapped Briyun on the back and tapped the chest pocket of his jacket. "I've got what we came for, let's ..."

Demi had the distinct feeling that, after the agonising and faintly intrusive transport ended, she had arrived somewhere both vaguely familiar and not at all like anything on Zapasnoy or Lodka. In fact, it looked nothing like the clean, efficient lines of Zapasnoy, or the body horror of Lodka. That, and the short, helmeted figure and the low-hanging ceiling gave Demi a sense of deja-vū.

"Oh, bother." War Garbler Tonbush opened his helmet. "Not you again."