Vays Of Making You Talk

"Oh I don't know, maybe try a few semi-painless tests and scans?"
"And by semi-painless you mean?"
"Extremely painful and uncomfortable? Yes. Now Alex, be a dear again and could you help me bring Boy, or Sir Admiral Dr. Chutney, into the lab?"

Alex looked between Artie, the crazy newcomer, and Seymour who had produced a small clothes brush from… somewhere… and was currently removing dust from his post-fright ruffled lapels.

“Uh… No.”
Artie’s face fell. “What?”
Alex scratched his cheek, in thought. “You’re going to experiment on him?”
Artie gave him a ‘darrr’ look. “Well, obviously Lanky Locks, I mean he’s a perfect test subje-“
Alex frowned.
The scientist realised what he was saying, retraced his last few steps, and took the left fork in the conversational path.
“What I meant to say was, that he’s an intruder," he flourished an excited hand "... and as such, we need to discover his intentions.”
Nobody said anything.
“Ve haf vays of making you talk.” Artie added, to lighten the atmosphere. He grinned.
Alex shook his head. “No. You shouldn't do experiments on him. We need to tell Jay.”

Seymour finally looked up from his lapel-grooming. “Quite right too, Mr Solvay. We can’t experiment on this poor chap.” He looked him over. “I mean he might have brought some Domaine Romanée-Conti with him for a start...”
Alex looked blank.
“It’s a wine, Mr Solvay.” He pulled a face at the mention of it. They both knew what it meant. Alex swallowed guiltily, having stolen some of Seymour's wine when gathering equipment to rescue Bedge who'd saved his life, and searching desperately for the time drive, hoping to to find a way back to his two tiny children, whom he'd been forced away from, and had promised to return to.
"I, I uh..."
Niples ignored the stammering Solvay, who currently had the look of a guilty labrador about him, and turned to the confused newcomer, who was now attempting to flail about in panic.

“You’re an admiral, you say?”
Alex chuckled softly. “Seymour, I don’t think-“
Alex sighed and shrugged. Fine.
“DO you have any wine, Sir Chutney?”
“OH YES!” Bellowed Boyd, “Tons and TONS of the stuff!” He declared, in a nervously lively manner that made Artie look entirely sane in comparison. “If it’ll keep me alive.” He added in an after-mutter.
Niples looked up at Artie. “Well come on Mr… What was your name again?”
“Artemis K Pritchard the sixth… You kn-”
“Well come on then Mr Artemis K Pritchard the sixth, let this poor chap go, and we’ll embark upon a more gentle line of questioning.” He nodded, in apparent kindness, at Boyd. “Does that sound fair to you, Mr Chutney?”
Boyd return-nodded, vehemently.
“Good, then it’s settled.”

There was an Alex-handed tap on the ambassador's shoulder. “Oh what is it, Mr Solvay?”
“Well I don’t think we should just let him go, either. When we used t-”
“Do you not trust my judgement, Mr Solvay?”
Erm, not usually, no.
“It's not that," he said, carefully not answering the question. "But I think we need to tell Jay.”
Seymour was affronted. “No we don’t! I’m in charge around here too!”
“Yes, but-"
“Shh shh shh.” A by-now irritated Niples made a little ‘zip it’ gesture. “Ugh, go and… I don’t know... mop the hallways or something, there’s a good boy.”
Alex glowered.
“Fine.” He made as if to stomp out of the room, when there was a rattling from overhead. The wheelchair-dependent Ambassador, and the hungover mender-of-things cum mopper-of-floors, looked up.
Patches was merrily walking over some piled equipment on the shelf above. Before Alex could lurch off, twisting in disgust at being in spider-vicinity, the cat-brained arachnid knocked some equipment over the edge. His hangover dulling his senses, Alex didn't dodge in time and it bonked him on the head, knocking him out.
“Oh dear, someone help Mr Solvay to the m-” but before Seymour could finish his order, the same fate befell him.


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