Pint-size Pineapples and a Great Big Cosmic Conundrum

Toxic

It's been a while since I've updated, and for that, I apologise.  School has been a bit insane, but I've powered through and hey presto - another chapter!

 A brief recap of the story so far: Toxy Neoxrun (an alien) works for the Marketing team of a corporation (involved with the manufacture and selling of spaceships)aboard the SS Trafalgar  in the year 3084.  One day, he gets pulled from his desk and asked to accompany Flyk Quixy on an intergalactic journey to Octavius VIII (in Cosmos Redshift 7, another galaxy) to spite someone Flyk doesn't like and to get a promotion.  On the way, they're joined by Defence League member Derry Shyder (the Defence League is sort of the corporate police force of the SS Trafalgar) and they're just arriving at Octavius VIII to see what they're dealing with and what they need to do for their mission.  :)

***

The ship pulled wonkily into one of Octavius VIII's numerous desert space-ports – a bleak metallic oasis of sun-baked steel and cracked, merciless iron control panels. Not a living organism in sight for miles. A tarnished stretch of chipped Octavian busluetine groaned under the Cinderella's weight; a dull, grey-bluish metal that boosted the planet's metal exports by 340% in just a single year when it was discovered under the planet's crust. It was the material that boosted Octavius VIII to intergalactic fame. Good for heavy load-bearing struts and industry.

Landing had been an ordeal. Toxy could remember peeking curiously at the control panel over Flyk's shoulder and pressing idly at the AC section.

"What are all these buttons for?"

"They keep my shirt closed," Flyk informed him cheerfully, interrupted only by Toxy's terrified scream as they dipped into a horrifically dizzying nose-dive right into the desert expanse of Octavius VIII.

"Flick the switch!" yelled a frantic Minnesota accent from the doorway. Derry had raced in to help.

"No, Flyk the Buzaphese," came the indignant response.

"Now isn't the time for puns!" Toxy had sobbed, clinging onto Derry's arm for dear life.

"It's always the time for – "

"Oh, make me a marmalade sandwich and sandpaper my balsa wood, we're all gonna – "

"No, we're not!"

It had been a wild ride, but... they were safe. Ish.

And they were on Octavius VIII.

"Watch your step," Derry said quietly, offering a thin purple hand towards the stepladder at the exit doors of the ship. Toxy emerged and tentatively took the hand, and Derry allowed himself a tiny grin – this was nothing to him, but for Toxy's three-foot-two ass, it was a goddamn death-dive.

Toxy wiggled backwards and abseiled down the side of the stepladder like a child trying to reach the cookie jar. When the hot sand of Octavius VIII scalded the thin soles of his work-boots, he hissed slightly and danced from foot to foot to relieve the heat; neither foot seemed to be of much help to him, so he sat down heavily in the dust with his trademark little oof and hoped his more ample backside might better cope with the blistering temperatures. He blushed when he noticed Derry's one-sided grin – he really was getting a bit pear-shaped these days. Understandable, given that his diet consisted almost entirely of tea and a "cheeky biscuit or two". Or three or four or five.

Or, y'know. Sixteen.

"Gentlemen," called out a cocky voice from the doorway of the ship. Derry and Toxy looked up, and saw Flyk's arrogant looming T-pose depicted inky-black against the flood of neon light. "Octavius VIII bids us welcome!"