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well. The most notable form of local fauna, the allegedly man-eating sun dragons, had failed to appear. This was fortunate, as they were apparently invisible to radar and stored vast quantities of static electricity that they spat at anything passing through the stratosphere, which they clearly considered as their territory. Now the John Pym was tucked out of sight between two larger, better ships, which seemed to make up the entire Urnian merchant fleet.
    Smith pulled out into busy traffic, and the sleek, dusty little car slipped between rows of domed office blocks.
    Carveth rolled her hat up. ‘I don’t like this place,’ she declared. ‘What kind of people call their capital city Capital City? That’s the most stupid place name outside Thisland.’ She looked over her shoulder, towards the Church of the Grand Annhilator. ‘So, you religious, then?’
    ‘Me?’ Smith dialled up the destination on the onboard computer and typed in their course. He sat back, hands resting on the steering wheel in case their car changed its mind. ‘C of E,’ he said, ‘I suppose. There might be something, but if it’s anything like matey boy’s god back there, I’m not sure I’d want to be on its side. I just try to be a good sort and hope I can talk it over with whoever’s on the other side, if there is one.’
    ‘I think it’s generally assumed that God’s an alright bloke,’ Carveth said. ‘As for me, though, I’m atheist. I refuse to follow any god.’
    ‘It is probably mutual,’ Suruk observed. ‘I doubt any deity would want you traipsing after him, continually demanding thinness and male concubines. It would lower the tone.’
    ‘That’s rich coming from you. You worship a stick.’
    ‘I do not "worship" anything. I honour my ancestors, whose valour I see enshrined in the weapons I wield. Anything else would be absurd, and my spear agrees with me.’
    ‘Well, I’m a free agent,’ Carveth declared. ‘I kneel before no man.’
    ‘I shall not lower myself to comment on that,’ Suruk said.
    *
    The Grand Hyrax closed the doors behind him and the cheering crowd became silent. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘How was that?’
    Two men watched him from the side of the room. There were biscuits and coffee cups on the table. ‘Not bad, not bad,’ said one of them.
    The speaker was youngish and slim, neat and groomed in contrast to the Hyrax’s tattered robes and potent odour.
    ‘I think you put up a strong performance there, Steve. But you’ve got to remember that you’re addressing confirmed party stakeholders here. It won’t be half as easy to work a crowd that considers you a deranged tyrant.’
    The Hyrax reached into his beard and rubbed his chin. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Focus groups suggest that the proles are going to want reassurance on key touchstone issues: health and schools, for instance, pensions too.’
    ‘Well,’ said the Hyrax, ‘that’s easy. Once we’re in charge, God the Annihilator will provide us with health so we can fight his crusade. Obviously, schools won’t be necessary, except to tell children to obey me, and to go on crusades. And as for pensions. . . some sort of crusade, maybe?’
    ‘I think people are worried that we’re a one-issue party,’ Calloway said.
    ‘That’s the point,’ the Hyrax replied. ‘There won’t be any other issues to worry about once everyone is dead. Or any voting. The unimaginable suffering I intend to impose upon mankind will make all other issues unimportant. Problem solved.’
    Calloway frowned. ‘That might take some spinning.’
    ‘Hell, I like it!’ the third man said. He sat in the shadows, a rug across his lap. He leaned across the table to the coffee pot, and the rug fell away.
    His body was a robot’s: the spindly, stripped-down body of an old-fashioned mechanical android, painted in army drab. The metal stopped at the base of the throat.
    From there, a thickly muscled neck led to a jutting slab of