She’d had this dream, or a variant, many times over the three-and-a-bit decades since leaving her mother’s womb. Like her birth, she was naked, surrounded by a crowd. Unlike her birthday, however, there was more than a little embarrassment. She gazed down at a sagging stomach no amount of sit-ups and jogging would fix. She woke up already flailing at the travel alarm, knocked it onto the stone floor where it formed a monochromatic mosaic of broken plastic, the last thing it would ever do.

She really had to get herself together, starting today. She looked up.

“Jesus Christ!” As she shouted, some of them changed colour. “How many times have I..? Get out.”

There were fifteen of them, or thereabouts it could be hard to tell sometimes. Squat leathery cylinders most of the time, they combined occasionally, forming an obscene foul-smelling tower of semi-translucent lumps, and then hummed in b-flat. She’d assumed it was sexual, but the one calling itself ‘Eater-of-Souls’ said no.

“Humble apologies, Conqueror Queen, Enslaver-of-Worlds.” One of them was forming words in her head. It took some getting used to. “We worship at your feet.”

They didn’t, she knew that.

“Seriously, call me Felicity.” Then, to no one in particular. “You know I don’t like those other names.”

Ever since breeching the threshold and appearing on this conveniently habitable world, they’d been looking to kill her. To be fair, the pod materialised in the same space as their God-Emperor’s palace, killing him and his entire court. It wasn’t an invasion, more a misunderstanding. She lay back, tried to remember the last thing Paul told her, fell back asleep.

#

“You shouldn’t be in there, he’ll get pissed.” The intercom added a nasal quality to the disembodied voice.

“I work here too.” Felicity was getting sick of this. She’d been an unpaid intern-slash-slave on this project for three years. The hours were eating into her love life. “He wants me pulling all-nighters, I have to crash somewhere.”

“It’s a precisely calibrated quantum capsule, capable of bending space, travelling interstellar distances in an instant.” Patronising, obvious even through the tiny speaker. “Not a dosshouse. Out.”

“But it’s so comfortable.” She covered herself with her usual ensemble, a crumpled pair of too-tight trousers and an inappropriate T-shirt. There were few stains, fancy. “I’ll be up in a min.. Um, what does the orange light mean? I’ve never seen it on before.”

“Crap, get out, NOW.”

She walked over and pushed, no movement. “Ha ha Paul, unlock the door.” Silence. Then far too much noise. “Seriously, this isn’t funny. Anyone?”

“Listen, this is important..” He sounded worried.

“Just open the door, I need to, ah, go potty.”

“Shut up!” Now he sounded scared. She didn’t like it. “There’s a beacon, on the main panel. Turn it on now.”

She stared at the panel. The beacon wasn’t there. It wasn’t there because it was on her workbench being fixed, She’d broken it a few days before while retrieving her breakfast, a dropped cream-cheese bagel, from under the pod bunk. This was only a problem if the pod travelled anywhere. No beacon meant no finding her.

#

She opened her eyes, Violator-of-the-Unwary and some of his elite special forces shock-troops were making their way across the low ceiling. They left a trail, like a slug but somehow unholy. Devourer-of-Dreams was leading a flanking manoeuvre up her right leg.

“Oh, come on guys.” She swatted Devourer. He hit a far wall and disintegrated into a cloud of silver-flecked tangerine mist. She’d killed a decorated general for the third time this week. Violator and his team stopped moving, looking surprisingly sheepish for faceless flesh, then backed away as she stared.

“Ah, sorry ‘Felicity’? We meant you no harm.” As the words filled her head, she could see some huddle trying to conceal their weaponry.

“You know what?” She punched the pod canopy, wiping out most of the soldiers, wiped their glittery remains on her shirt. “’Enslaver-of-Worlds’ is growing on me.”