The Eleventh Dimension or, a Series of Events that were NOT MY FAULT

12

Look, yes, they find me, hunkering in a corner. But I'm just all, oh I'm sorry, there was all these alerts on my phone, I panicked and bundled into the ship, was that wrong?... But they are too busy evacuating the rest of the base to care. I'm just another confused person in the herds. I discretely drop my bags somewhere and someone else finds them and think they are emergency supplies, and everyone helps themselves and it's great.

Some people have died. One was a person I knew, a mechanic, and I feel a bit bad, but it wasn't really my fault, was it? Just sort of one of those things. The supply ship, astonishingly, has the capacity for the few hundred people it evacuates, because it's just finished dropping a load of colonists, and so it's fitted for people; and we all bundle into our new cabins. And guess what... they are actually smaller than the cells on the prison ship. Waddaya know. It's comfier if you commit a crime.

Three and a half weeks later, we're shuffling down to the tarmac at the port on Gluck. I got lucky then, and managed to slip away, but that's another story. But I needed somewhere to lay low, and this warehouse looked nice.

And now, here we are.

So. You seem like a nice security guard. I bet you don't have a very fun job. This whatever it is that I am now trapped in, all lasers and clear plastic and fun, I'm sure you have the key. And I'm sure you have rats or dogs or ghosts or dog-rat-ghosts or whatever else the fuck trips these things endlessly by accident; and if you and I were to take a walk to a bank, I could give you a slice. Let's say ten percent? And that would be enough that maybe you'll never need to work again. And we can both walk away happy.

What do you say?