‘Yes,’ said The Journalist, putting his arms round Lucy’s waist. ‘On Blerontin, males get what we call “jealous”, if one male finds another male fondling his girlfriend he can even become extremely violent.’
Dan had just decided on the alien’s nose as the first point of contact, when Lucy managed to disengage herself from the amorous The Journalist, and ran over to Dan. ‘We’ve got to get off this spaceship as soon as possible. I suggest The, here, stays and talks to the bomb while we go and find the Captain.’
‘But, you don’t understand…’ began The Journalist.
Dan decided to hold back his iron fist of retribution for the moment. He would save it for another time. ‘I understand only too well,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got to make the Captain take us back to Earth now!’ And he was off out of the Engine Room and racing back down the Grand Axial Canal towards the front of the ship.
‘Look – it was great making love with you,’ Lucy said to The Journalist, who was now standing behind her and attempting to fondle her breasts again, ‘but we’ve got to get back to the real world! Our real world.’ And she tried to remove his hands from her blouse.
‘But Blerontinian males cannot just “turn off” like that!’ explained The Journalist. ‘We need multiple satisfactions before we can return to a state of equilibrium!’
Lucy had attended self-defence classes for two years, when she had just qualified for the law, and had always slightly regretted the fact that she’d never had the chance to put her skills into practice. Consequently it was with some satisfaction that she suddenly realized this was such an opportunity. She decided to use the standard response to the amorous-alien-fondling-you-from-behind assault. It was textbook stuff. She drove her right elbow hard into his stomach.
‘Oooouuph!’ gasped The Journalist.
Then she twizzled half-round, caught his left wrist and threw him over her shoulder onto the Engine Room floor.
‘Oooouump!’ grunted The Journalist.
Lucy spoke to him firmly in her best lawyer-speak: ‘You stay here, and keep talking to that bomb! While I go and find the Captain!’
Then she was out of the door, racing after Dan.
‘You don’t understand,’ The Journalist called after her, ‘there isn’t any Captain on this ship!’ But Lucy had gone.
‘Nine hundred and seventy…’ said the bomb.
‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ yelled The Journalist. You’re going to need me!’
‘Pardon?’ replied the bomb.
‘I wasn’t talking to you!’
‘Damn!’ said the bomb. ‘Recommencing countdown. One thousand… Nine hundred and ninetynine…’
17
By the time Lucy caught up with Dan, he’d already found his way onto the Captain’s Bridge of the Starship Titanic.
The main feature of the Bridge was, as The Journalist had tried to point out to them, the distinct lack of anyone or anything who could in any shape or form be referred to as ‘Captain’. In fact there was a distinct lack – in any shape or form – of anyone at all.
‘Jesus! What do we do now?’ murmured Dan, as Lucy clutched onto his arm.
Along the length of the Bridge was a row of windows, showing the great black immensity of space and the dazzling arm of the Milky Way along which they were headed. On the console beneath the windows were various display screens, with associated controls. The first screen showed a series of random blocks falling from the top of the screen to the bottom. The second appeared to be some sort of racing track. A third was a shoot-em-up, and the next one along was a game apparently based on the Starship itself.
‘They’re all video games!’ Lucy felt righteously indignant. ‘They aren’t controls at all!’
As a matter of fact, the entire Captain’s Bridge was little more than a high-class amusement arcade. It had been designed specifically to keep the Captain of the Starship Titanic amused during the tedium of long inter-galactic flights, in a spacecraft that was almost entirely automated and self-running. It was, after all, Titania – at the heart of the ship’s intelligence – who was far more capable of taking decisions and issuing orders than any mere living creature.