Chapter Twelve
The final straw had been added to the camel's back that was the relationship between Marsha and the berserker, Dritsek. It was thanks to Marsha, Dritsek harangued, that he no longer had a working ship, any means to recompense now that the brain had vanished, and a lump on the back of his head the size of a small hillock.
Marsha offered no defence. Instead, she employed her favourite tactic when the chips were down, and burst into tears. However, Dritsek had been exposed to this particular strategy back on Pillox II, and once bitten is twice shy. Marsha thought better of it, as soon as she saw that it was having no impact on the hard unforgiving, hairy face before her. She decided to change tack.
Marsha took a deep breath, dabbed a hanky at her moist eyes, and solemnly vowed to Dritsek, in a slow calm voice, intended to convey purity of intent, and to create a calming atmosphere that she would make everything all right again. It was only when Dritsek asked her, in a slow measured voice intended to convey dark unspeakable intent and induce panic, how the hell she was going to perform such a miracle that she realised she hadn't really thought it through. However, when confronted with a short stocky man of undoubted strength, and armed with a schloop, saying the first thing that came into her head had seemed preferable to saying nothing at all.
She suddenly thought of the Zappomatic, holstered and strapped to her thigh, and then just as quickly forgot about it when she remembered that she did not know how to pilot the ship. It would be no good asking the dombots, as they had never been programmed for interplanetary navigation duties. The ship's computer was defunct having suffered an attack of anti-Genuine-People-Personality-rage from a previous owner - according to Dritsek, anyhow. The berserker flew the Knapsacker, and as long as he was the only one that knew how, he could feel that little bit more secure with guests aboard, invited or otherwise. This indicated an intelligence that would be difficult to ascertain from his outward appearance alone, so perhaps it was only naked self-preservation, after all.
"Listen, Dritsek we're both in this together. We need each other," Marsha pleaded. "We have to approach the situation calmly and methodically – in short, we have to make the best of things, and rescue what we can from the job."
"Job, you call it," spat Dritsek. "This isn't a job, it's a complete farce. It's a circus for a very silly, manipulative little fantasist whose dream of adventure has just turned into a nightmare. Furthermore, I think you ought to know that I don't need you at all."
"I can see you're angry, but try and see it from my point of view. I don't know what my mother's going..."
"I couldn't give a wank about your mother!" Dritsek screamed. "You've ruined everything. You can make your own way back. Once the ship's fixed I'm leaving without you."
Then Marsha started crying again, only this time the tears were real. She watched Dritsek march determinedly up the ramp and close the hatchway behind him. She heard the bolts falling into place. She felt the weight of a life sentence falling on her shoulders. She would never see her friends and family back on Pillox II ever again. Marsha howled to an alien landscape, and her body shook as each sobbing wave ebbed up from the core of her being. She had never felt so unhappy.
"It's Marsha, isn't it?"
Marsha turned very slowly. Before her stood, the giant robot that had unceremoniously thrown her down the terracing, from where it had taken her half a day to climb back up to the Knapsacker's level.
"You are to come with me," Marvin said.
Marsha backed off, and felt for the butt of the Zappomatic. The robot wasn't sporting the Portable Weapons' Inhibitor Field, and didn't appear to be armed.
"You'll never take me alive," she said, drawing on her almost encyclopaedic recall of bountyfic clichés.
"Really?" said Marvin, calmly. "What makes you so sure? After all, I need only point the middle digit of my right hand, and then engage the stun-ray."
"I don't believe you," said Marsha, going for her gun, "you're not that sort of robot."
"No, you are absolutely right," said Marvin, "I was bluffing. However, I do have a needle gun." And with that, Marvin opened his massive hand to reveal a small metallic oblong box with a button on the top. He pressed the button, and a tiny hypodermic dart shot out hitting Marsha in the arm. As the Zonk-U-Like permeated her system, she swayed, looked at the big robot, and started giggling. She had never felt so happy.