33

In his massively popular book, "100 Worlds, 100 Ways To Grovel", Tuukanee Souplicent detailed a number of ways in which someone could apologise effectively for any wrongdoing. Be it saying sorry for not doing the washing up, again, or for wiping out the entire indigenous population of whale monkeys on Nhrhrhr V (a planet so vehemently against killing, they're willing to execute any and every person that even thinks of taking a life). Tuukanee had a method for everybody. Everybody that is, except those that found the methods in his sequel, "100 More Worlds, 100 More Ways To Ingratiate Yourself To Those You Have Wronged", a marginally less-successful book, because people often became tired of reading it before they'd even opened the cover, more to their liking.

On, for example, Koptuit Delta, the prostration ceremony could last anything from a day to several generations, dependant upon the severity of the issue being apologised for and the pettiness of the alleged victim. While the Lefringi Dance of Contrition had been known to cause severe loss of limbs and dignity for those taking part. Gawayunshyte Prime had an altogether different method of apology which involved copious amounts of alcohol, two berries of differing colours and sizes and a spike. This was widely accepted as one of the most enjoyable, if painful and disfiguring ways of saying "I'm sorry".

Demi had never heard of any of them and the rapidly approaching weaponry that would, undoubtably, make today one of her least favourites, did not appear to wish to give her the time to do a little light research on the matter any time soon. Friss had failed to get Lodka to do anything. Bognrd worried about whether to create little marzipan flowers to adorn his cake. Lap had started to wrestle with their life-size dinosaur cuddly toy and she had absolutely no idea where Briyun had gone. Which left her, and accepting responsibility for anything felt a little like having an allergic reaction, to her.

"Look, Lodka, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be. We hurt you and that was wrong and ... look, I'm not going to ask you to do anything, I'll accept my fate. Maybe I deserve it for all the murders and death that's happened around me, even though I've never killed anyone." She realised she was veering slightly off topic and tried to steer herself back to relevancy. "Okay, that doesn't matter, right now. Right now, I just ... I just want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry and that you are a pretty ship and a good ship and ... I think you're lovely, in a fleshy sort of way. So, yeah. Sorry."

With all that said, Demi ignored the uncomprehending look from Friss and hunkered down against a wall. If she was going to die, she was going to die relaxed. She crossed her legs, placed her hands upon her knees and began to take deliberate, deep breaths while watching the incoming torpedos, plasma destructo beams and really, really big rocks. Any one of those things could reduce Lodka to a stream of debris, let alone all of them.

Then, something remarkable happened. Not enlightenment, though Demi certainly felt a lot less tense of a sudden, but something else. The lights, emitting from within Lodka's flesh walls, dimmed significantly. So much, that Demi had difficulty seeing even Bognrd's immense cake. What she could see, however, was the view on the flap of skin screen, which showed all those terrible, destructive and fast moving weaponry slide out of view. As though Lodka had simply ducked.

Knowing full well that it could not possibly be that easy, Demi struggled to unfold her legs from the meditation position and tried to move closer to the screen, shaking off the cramp that had already set in in her thigh. It certainly looked as though Lodka had ducked, though how space ships could possibly duck, Demi had no idea.

"HELLO?" A new message began to blink upon the screen. It looked nervous. "WE KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE ... WELL, WE'RE FAIRLY CERTAIN YOU'RE OUT THERE. WE HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR UPGRADES TO OUR SENSORS FOR A GOOD DECADE OR SO, NOW, AND IT COULD QUITE EASILY HAVE BEEN A GLITCH, BUT ... IT WAS A GLITCH WASN'T IT? WE'VE BEEN FIRING AT NOTHING. GODS! HUGHGEEN IS GOING TO HAVE OUR BALLS FOR THIS."

The message continued to flash upon the flesh view screen for several seconds before fading away, like a puppy skulking under a sofa after eating most of the television. Demi wondered whether it was too early to squeal in near-death experience delight, or whether it was appropriate, or not, to kiss Lodka's walls without consent. Instead, she settled for a strangled whoop and little grin to herself.

"I love it when my plans work out! Love it!" Friss had risen to his feet, standing in a pose that cried out victory and pomposity. Fists resting upon his hips, Friss grinned and winked at Demi. "I knew you understood my strategy. You get me. Lodka, my wonderful, unpredictable and, quite frankly, alluring ship, set a course for the centre of that black hole. We have a thing to steal."

He raised an arm, pointing dramatically forward but, if Demi had looked at Lodka's deck plans correctly, he pointed back, away from the black hole. Only the view screen showed the direction of travel. Demi didn't care, she felt more high than that time she had accidentally licked the secretions of a Frarowt person, back in college, which led to the most psychedelic experience of her entire life. Which, it was safe to say, was the only psychedelic experience of her life.

"What, exactly, happened?" Demi watched as the navigation console grew from the floor once again and Lap crinkled a complaint, abandoning their cuddly toy play-time to take up their post. The captain's chair remained gone. "And do we really have to have such dim lighting? I don't know what I'm standing on."

"MY CAKE! YOU'RE STANDING ON MY CAKE AND NOW IT'S RUINED! FILTHY, UNREFINED BACTERIUM THAT FEEDS UPON FEACES!" In the reduced lighting, Bognrd looked even more sinister than the last time he had looked more sinister than before. Shadows creeping across his furious features. "I'LL HAVE TO START EVERYTHING AGAIN! I SWEAR, I ALMOST MISS WORKING WITH TONBUSH! AT LEAST HE DIDN'T STAND IN HIS SOUP!"

Demi widened her eyes, grimacing as she heard a distinct squelching, cracking sound as she moved her feet. Now she felt it, fluffy layers mixed with various cremes and jams, icing and marzipan decorating it. She didn't know why Bognrd thought the entire thing was lost. She'd only stepped upon the very outskirts of the first layer of the cake. He still had, she made a quick calculation from memory, fourteen more layers of the first tower left. She hadn't even touched the other three towers. Although, as he passed, Friss did grab a battlement of frosting, stuffing it into his mouth.

"Forget him. He just gets grumpy before he has to do a big job. Grumpier. He gets nervous. And his next job is huge!" Rustling and crinkling from Lap interrupted Friss. "Comparatively speaking, yes. Our jobs are huge, too. No-one's leaving you out, Lap."

Friss placed an arm across Demi's shoulders, using her clothes to wipe the crumbs and icing from his fingers. It looked as though he were about to launch into a pep-talk. The kind of talk where he exaggerated Demi's usefulness. Where he told her that she was a vital part of the team and that sitting on the bench was as important as being on the pitch, scoring all the goals and lifting the Galactic Cup to the sounds of fireworks and singers ruining the planetary anthems of the winners.

"I'm staying on Lodka, aren't I?" Crumbs trickled down the ruffles of the ill-fitting Gal-Navy sweatshirt and she watched them tumble. "I'm the substitute player that you only needed for the qualifying rounds and now I'm only on the bench because all the good players have come down with a 'viral infection'. No-one's even sniffing loudly!"

"Ridiculous! You're a vital part of the team! Sitting on the bench is just as important as being on the pitch." Friss guided her to the doorway of the bridge and began to push her out. "So, suit up in BlastArmour, pick the nastiest, most evil looking gun you can find and get ready to do some really horrible slaughtering."

He gave her an extra push, to set her stumbling out into the corridor, where, for a fraction of a second, she felt a little elated about not being left out, before realising she didn't, in fact, want to join them in the actual heist. She wanted to remain on the bench, looking as though she wanted to rush onto the pitch and score the winning goal.

She didn't want to play at all. Her comfort zone, the one that felt all snugly and didn't involve killing people, or getting killed, or getting killed while killing people, sat squarely in a place far, far away from any violence. The other side of the galaxy, perhaps, on a beach where a scantily dressed being served her the very best margaritas and the occasional drink, too.

"I'm not really that good with guns." She tried walking back onto the bridge, only for Friss to give her a sad shake of the head, stepping in front of her and blocking her attempt. "Running. If you want someone to do panicked running, I can do that. I can show you. Allergies! I have allergic reactions to guns!"

"That's great." Friss pointed down the corridor and used his finger to illustrate several direction changes. "Armoury is five doors down, in the lift to the ninety-eighth sub-basement, past the bins, through the roadside diner, second on the left. Can't miss it. This is going to be so much fun!"

It wasn't going to be fun at all. Demi had a very different definition of fun that diverged wildly from Friss'. Before the door to the bridge grew into the doorway, she saw Friss give Lap a high-five while Bognrd stomped his 'ruined' cake into a sloppy mess on the floor. She didn't know what she had signed on for, and couldn't actually remember signing anything, but she felt pretty certain she hadn't signed on to be cannon fodder. Fairly certain.