Pint-size Pineapples and a Great Big Cosmic Conundrum

Oh my God, Cholesterol

Only a few seconds passed, but they felt like an eternity. Considering their swoop into an alternate galactic time-zone, it may well have been an eternity to some poor organism with a nanosecond lifespan. Toxy wasn't one to judge.

"Who's there?" Flyk demanded, protectively nudging Toxy behind him.

"Yeah, who?" Toxy squeaked. It was hard to sound tough when your voice could have doubled as a dog-whistle and your only attack was to jump up and punch someone in the knee.

They were standing right at the corner of a steel-panelled corridor, hovering just beyond a sharp blind bend. The hallway stayed empty, and whoever was behind the corner didn't move. Toxy could hear them breathing hard, and wanted to give some comfort – but then he remembered that this person had boarded their ship without even a "please" and the rudeness of such a thing was so unbearable that he didn't even offer them a cup of tea (which, by the way, was a pretty big deal for Toxy. He would've offered Stalin a cuppa if the guy had had a hard day).

Toxy frowned. If he ever got his hands on this ship-hopping bastard, he'd get his revenge. He might even – Toxy flinched at the raw cruelty – serve him a cup of tea with only a sugar and a half when he'd asked for two. Go all Count of Monte Cristo on him. That'd certainly show him, but Toxy worried that it was a bit too far. Maybe one and three quarters, then. Just enough to get the message across.

He was snapped out of his thoughts soon enough when the Disembodied Corner Voice spoke again.

"Turn this ship around and head back to HQ or face the dire consequences," the Disembodied Corner Voice said shakily. The voice was slowly becoming more firm, more menacing, more harsh as time passed, and Toxy cowered further behind Flyk's leg.

"We've passed the Transgalactic Motorway," Flyk explained carefully. "The ship's AI system logs our every move – we're not cleared to turn back until we've recovered the goods from the set mission."

"HQ can override that," the Disembodied Corner Voice spat aggressively. In his overwrought, anxiety-bashed mind, Toxy managed to convince himself that it was probably a murderer.

"You'd think so, darling, wouldn't you?" Toxy piped up nervously, shying further behind Flyk's leg. "They actually, ah, discontinued that in the early days of the company. One of the bosses ordered a ship back around 'cos Boh Rhap came on the radio and he fancied a listen, and the mission never got finished. They were about six minutes late. Whole planet was eaten by intergalactic voles, I think."

A pause. Then – "So then... what the gogogox are you telling me?"

"We're trying to tell you," Flyk bit back, "that we physically cannot go back through that wormhole until the objective of our mission is recovered. The only way back is to keep going forwards."

"r/I'm14andthisisdeep," Toxy breathed almost silently.

Another pause, longer this time. Toxy was getting so nervous he thought he was going to wet himself. He meant this, of course, in a purely Turiconian sense – they have a secret pore in the centre of their belly that releases hot dog brine when they get scared. It usually occurs during puberty, and can be incredibly embarrassing if it happens in the middle of Maths, not that Toxy would know. But I digress.

"D'you fancy... coming out of there at all, mate?" he squeaked. He was bringing out the big guns. "Mate" to Toxy was like... black-belt level persuasion tactics.

"Not until I can be sure you're disarmed," the Disembodied Corner Voice Who a Very Nervous Toxy Thought May Well Have Been a Murderer growled, sure of itself now. "I bet it's weapons galore 'round that damn corner."