Looking into Malloy's face again was not something you wanted to do right now. Despite the fact that this time he would be clothed (and you would therefore be saved the sight of his naked nastiness), there's little doubt he will recognize you, and having both him and Saleen the Overwhelming Amazon united against you wasn't a pleasant thought.
"I -- I have to go," you stammer. You clap your hands over your stomach and work hard at making your face turn green and queasy.
"What?" Saleen asks.
You don't give her even a second to object. The security system beeps, giving Malloy clearance to enter Saleen's quarters. You scramble in your best impression of a diarrhea-addled duck walk towards the bathroom. You let the door whisper shut behind you, and let out the breath that had been growing stale in your lungs.
From the main chamber of the living quarters, you hear Malloy's entrance.
"I thought I heard another voice."
"Er . . .yes. In the bathroom."
"Is everything ready?"
"Of course. Our spies are set."
"Their disguises and credentials are immaculate."
"A little self-praise, Saleen?"
You realize you've put yourself in the unique position to get to the bottom of this mystery. You almost wish you could see them as they talked and conspired about offing someone important.
"It's deserved, I suppose. So, what about the person in your bathroom?"
"I checked the security clearance. There was no native error."
"Did you check your own intuition?"
"What are you implying, Malloy?"
"Saleen, my trip to the infirmary was due to sabotage. I have a General Alert issued for the person responsible."
Saleen doesn't sound impressed. "Unless you waited until five minutes ago to issue the General Alert, the security clearance would have caught it."
Malloy's voice takes on the measured tones of someone speaking to a mental deficient. "I. Was. In. The. Infirmary."
Several seconds tick by in pure silence, and once again, you forget to breathe. You wonder what's going on out there. Are they typing communications into their wrist sets? Are they creeping up on the door to the bathroom, laser pistols drawn? Or maybe -- please -- have they shrugged it off and decided they should just sit down and watch some 5D space tube?
"Hey in there," booms Malloy's voice from the other side of the bathroom door.
Nope, not watching space tube.
"Hey," you say, trying to bury your voice in a groan of defecatory effort.
"You've been in there a long time, friend," he growls. You can tell he's trying to be playful. The thought of Malloy being playful is as ludicrous as the thought of a slug being swift.
"Oh, yeah," you say, deciding to play this to the hilt. No telling what madness drives you to whip down your pants and sit on the can. "I'm sure it was the cafeteria grub today."
"I think you should open this door so I can, you know, check you out, make sure you're okay."
"No, no, I'll be fine -- you two should just go on." --With your devious plan for assassination.
"I don't think so. Either open the door or I'm going to blast it in."
"Wait, wait!" you stammer, only now realizing just how bad an idea it was to pull your pants down. You rise to your feet and try to pull them up, but your hands are trembling too badly to get a good grip.
"Three . . .two . . ."
"Hold on a sec!" you grunt.
"One!" Malloy crows triumphantly, and with a loud laser shriek, the mechanism keeping the bathroom door locked becomes simply inoperable. The door is wrenched open, and soon Malloy fills the space with his considerable -- but fortunately, clothed -- bulk.
He arches an eyebrow at you. You're standing in front of the toilet with your pants around your ankles. The security shirt Saleen had given you doesn't cover you anywhere near enough. "Well hello, sweetheart," he says, gazing fondly at the place south of your navel before bringing his gun to level with your face.
Your last thought is: Huh. I die with Malloy staring at MY junk.