"As expected, it was epic, historic, galactic levels of suckitude. Today, we truly tested the extreme limit of how bad anything could suck, right down to the quantum level. After being questioned by several of your Nobel prize scientists, I am reconsidering whether your species is even worthy of me calling you bacteria. Damn, you monkeys are dense as a neutron star. Anyway, am I interrupting anything?"

I indicated Constantine with my thumb. "No, I was talking to Smirky McJerkoff here."

"Mister Bishop, you making my poi-" Constantine huffed.

"Sorry, I meant to say Doctor Smirky McJerkoff."

"Ah, yes," Skippy laughed, "I've had the great displeasure of speaking with Doctor McJerkoff earlier today."

Constantine's ears burned red, I couldn't tell if it was anger or embarrassment, or both. "This is the kind of-"

"You hush now," Skippy admonished. "You can't sit at the big people's table, and talk to me again, until you solve the equation I've just sent to your phone. Run along now, that's a good boy."

Constantine pulled out his phone suspiciously, then his eyebrows met his hairline, he shot me a look that could have melted icebergs, and he walked away, muttering excitedly.

"What was that equation you gave him?"

Skippy made a raspberry sound. "Damned if I know. I threw together a bunch of superstring bullshit. It looks good, though."

I laughed. "Skippy, you can be evil sometimes." Damn. I even saw a little smile on Sergeant Kendall's face. Maybe she did have a sense of humor.

"Hey, it'll keep him quietly playing with himself for days."

"The expression is playing by himself."

"Depends how excited he gets, huh?"

That drew a laugh even from Sergeant Kendall.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN    IDLE HANDS

Around midnight, I was able to get to a bunk, a real bed, long enough for me to stretch out. Sleeping in a real bed was as delicious as eating real food. All I wanted was to take my boots off and crawl into bed, but Skippy wanted to talk. Again. “Oh, man, Skippy, can you let me get some sleep?”

“Joe, I’m lonely. There, I said it.”

“I talk to you all the time.”

“Joe, I get lonely while I’m talking with you. You speak so slowly, and it takes so long for you to get your point across, that it’s like I’m waiting by the mailbox every day for a letter that contains a single word, and I have to wait another whole day for the next word. When I wait, and I finally get a letter that just says ‘uh’ that day, I feel like screaming. Damn! I feel like reaching down your throat and dragging the words out, you speak so slow. Say it! Say it! Damn! Get the words out!”