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'Oh! Of course she would have!' 'Nine hundred and ninety-four...' continued the bomb. 'Earth sexuality seems to be very different from Blerontinian,' observed The Journalist. 'Is it really?' Dan was sizing the alien up, trying to decide which bit to punch first. '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.