"Oh, no, not bad. Good maybe?" Whealtey looked around for support with that assessment. "Good? We like this? No? No, bad, right then, wrong again, Chelldon, rather terrible, mate. But we'll be all right?" Again, the rest of the people gathered shook their heads. No? Damn it.

Wheatley put a hand on Chelldon's shoulder as if he was a baby or his child and made a little sighing sound.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, as gently as possible as if he was promising him a new bike for missing the big game. "But it's all right, we just need to not get killed! Let's go!"