May. 27th, 2011

"Oh, get up," I snarled, dispensing encouragement with my boots. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being groveled to when I'm not threatening anybody. The Chulkos got up, but they continued to look at me worshipfully.

"Now be nice to them," chided Lopez. "You've just picked up a dozen zealots who'd take a slug for you."

"The challenge," I said, "will be convincing them that our impending crime spree is actually a devotional act."

"You'll have some 'splainin' to do," Lopez said. "Make sure to inform them that I'm a God too. Grabsy, please instruct the Chulkos that I am Lopez, God's Gift to the Ladies."

"As the mouthpiece of the Gods," Grabsy said, "I feel that my role in this operation has grown. Specifically, I want a double-share."

"Nobody gets a double-share," I said. "Gods and lesser beings share and share alike."

"Boy, it'd be a shame if these Chulkos found out what a poser you are at a critical moment," said Grabsy dangerously.

"It sure would," said Lopez. "I'd hate to see them make you into a rain-stick because of your heresy." Weasard and Carnegiean squared off, short glaring up at tall.

"Disciples, please," I said, interposing. "Let's not fall to squabbling like dogs. We'll squabble at the proper time and place, like sapient beings, with guns. But right now I very much want to get off this cargo ship, so let's pack the Delusional Dozen into _Wash_Me_ and chase down this help that Swami offered."

Nobody thought this was a dumb idea, so we packed everything that wasn't nailed down into the dropship and bailed out. The cargo ship had docked itself at an automated orbital lading facility; nobody saw us leave.
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