“What are you doing?” asked Dave.

“I’m just looking for something,” said the alien thoughtfully. “Can you help?”

“I doubt it,” said Dave. “I’m just trying to get into my room.” He pointed at a door at the other end of the corridor.

“Oh,” replied Agent Splarg. “I’m sorry.” He let Dave and Chanelle past him. Dave wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not, they were now stuck in a dead end.

Dave fumbled with the key, trying to fit it in the lock of a door he knew wasn’t theirs. The door opened.

“What are ye doing?!” shouted a brash Scottish voice. “Get awee from me room. Are ya pished already? It’s only three o clock?!”

The door slammed, and Dave knew he would have to think quickly.

“I must have picked up the wrong key…” he explained to Splarg unconvincingly.

“A likely story,” Splarg answered. “This is your room isn’t it?”

“No,” answered Dave, hiding underneath his sunhat. “What floor are we on?”

“You’re lying. You’re a Rearguard Beagle, and this is your room.”

Splarg was right, but Dave the Simeon wasn’t going to give a Crawkling anything easily, they were the most evil race in history. Just remembering the tales from his history lessons made him rise on his haunches.

In the wars that finished four thousand years ago, the Crawklings had taken things to a new level. There had always been prisoners of war in these things, soldiers captured for information, spies who lost their cover and fighters from ships which crash-landed. In the last war, known as the War of the Innocents, the Crawklings had kidnapped civilians. Thousands of Beagles, Conforms, Wolf-dogs and the other races that lived in Lexon had been taken from their homes. Women, children and people who had nothing to do with the war were subjected to horrendous forms of torture, just for the Crawklings pleasure. They were made to run over see-saws, sit still for hours with rosettes pinned to their fur, fetch frisbees until their legs ached. They weren’t even fed unless they begged for food. Dave wouldn't be jumping through any hoops for no Crawkling.

“Dave,” whined Chanelle. “What’s going on? What’s he on about?”

“Ahhh. So the pretty one talks does she?” said Splarg, his eyes wired and bulging from his head.

The fright of the laser being pointed directly at her caused Chanelle to have a little wee. She cried as she forgot to cock her leg and peed all over her new pink sandals.

“It’s OK Chanelle,” comforted Dave as the alien spluttered with laughter. “I’ve got this under control.”

The alien stopped laughing.

“Chanelle? Chanelle and Dave?” He peered closer, and a huge grin spread across his face.

“It is you! I can see it now! You’re not just a Rearguard Beagle, you’re the Simeon!”

Dave’s face fell, but he protested in desperation. “I’m not the Simeon, you must be mistaken!”

“You are! I’ve been tracking you for years! It was such a relief when you posted your picture on Lapine Death Corps!”

“Lapine Death Corps…” thought Dave. “Why did I ever stick my picture on that stupid computer game?”

“You’re coming with me,” said the alien.

He pulled a strange contraption out of the pocket of his brown corduroy shorts, and flicked a switch. The three of them were covered by a flash of bright light before they were teleported away from their lovely, relaxing holiday.