"Utterly useless. We've checked the figures of your own labs and find that they are completely accurate. That ship of yours is a freak ... and we can see no reason as to why it works."
"I still have an idea."
The Neptunian glared at him, and again that dead-alive membrane concealed all key to his thoughts. "You're not trying to convince me you're willing to join us, are you?"
"Nope," Timmy's Irish jaw shot out belligerently, "I just figure it'll be easy to escape from there."
A hiss was apparently the Outer-worldian's manner of laughing, for the hiss he emitted was as jovial a sound as Timmy had heard since landing on the planet. "I mean it!" Timmy finished, "and I warn you to watch me."
"Your spirit," the Neptune said, "is admirable." He scrawled a few notes, handed them to Timmy. "Here," he said, "is an order to work in the photo-labs. I shall watch your struggles with great pleasure." His hand closed on Timmy's shoulder and Timmy gritted his teeth, shook his way loose, and walked to the door.
Mockingly, the Leader laughed.
That night, when Timmy returned to their room, he found the little Greek seated, eyes blazing, on the bed. "S'matter, chum?"
"Dam-blasted Shelton Thurner ... chase me all over hell for sky-hook. Don't like it!"