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  Lewis flicks a glance at the drones up front. They're laughing at some joke or other, showing no interest at all in their human cargo. 'He's probably just trying to scare us, Bernadette.'

  'Well, it's working plenty good on me. I, for one, am plenty scared. I like having a body. I really don't feel I'm ready to be removed from it at this point in my career.'

  Lewis says: 'He wouldn't do that.' But he lacks conviction.

  'Are you serious? Don't you think he'd love to have my head in a jar? Don't you think he'd love to pop down and giggle his spittle slime all over it every day? Maybe even pop off my lid so he can grab me out of the gloop by my hair and give me a big, sloppy French kiss?'

  And then Eddie hears Lewis say something that explains a lot about Oslo. It's something he should probably have worked out for himself. 'Seriously, Bernadette,' Lewis coos, 'do you honestly think he'd remove your body before he's had a chance to mate with it?'

  The scales fall from Eddie's eyes. That's why she despises Gwent so passionately. She's his designated partner. Compelled to procreate with him, whatever her feelings. No wonder she didn't want him on the escape craft.

  The muscles on Oslo's face collapse at the mere mention of the idea. 'He might. In fact,' she forces a smile, 'being a head in a jar might constitute my brightest future option.'

  'So, wait.' Eddie knows he's on tricky ground, here, but he can't help but explore the concept. 'You and Gwent, you're scheduled to... for progenitorial activities?'

  'That's right, Dr Morton.' Oslo smiles with all the warmth of a starving tiger interrupted over a juicy carcass. 'Progenitorial activities. That little prick is going to schtup me, whether I like it or not. Does that amuse you? Does it? The thought of Pustule Pete writhing and giggling on top of me, grinding his scabby torso against my naked flesh, whilst simultaneously achieving the high score on his hand-held game console. Does that delight and enthral you?'

  'No. Of course not. I just didn't...'

  'Because it thrills me. It thrills me so much, I can't sleep at night. I lie there wondering what kind of love bites you get from metal braces. Wondering if there's a stain remover in existence that will be strong enough to obliterate pus stains from my sheets. Wondering if our offspring will have the complexion of a normal human, or a prickly pear. Those are my marital prospects, Doctor. That's my glittering future mapped out for me. And isn't it just dandy?'

  'No. It's... it's inhuman.'

  'And -- can you imagine? -- I've known this from the moment he was born. It's brightened up my life for the last decade and a half. I've watched him grow ever more obnoxious with each passing day. I was there when the little tyke got his first spot. I even watched him squeeze it, the delightful little scallywag.'

  'The point is,' Lewis croons softly, trying to lower Oslo's volume, 'he has good reason not to have your spine extracted. The rest of us are not so blessed.'

  'Blessed!?'

  Lewis shoots a nervous glance at the guards, and lowers his voice even further. "What I'm getting at: we all have good reasons not to keep this appointment in the Suspended Personnel Storage chamber, eh?'

  'Agreed. You have an alternative?'

  'Nothing fancy. When I give the word, you, me and Trinity make a break for the STiP. I'm guessing, but I think our route will take us within a few corridors of it.'

  'What about the drones?'

  Eddie leans in closer. 'And what about me, in fact?'

  Lewis smiles at him. 'Dr Morton should be able to distract the guards long enough for us to get clear.'

  'Pardon me? Distract the guards?'

  'You can handle them. That suit is very strong. I've seen what it's capable of. You could probably snap all their limbs off before they even know we've gone.'

  'Wait, whoa, wait. Slow down here. You want me to maim the guards?'

  'Well, if you like. Ideally, I'd prefer you to kill them.'

  'You want me to murder these people?'

  'When are you going to get this through your gloop, Morton? Drones are not people, they're drones. There are more intelligent creatures only visible under a microscope. We can grow replacements in a matter of hours.'

  'So, wait, let me explore this plan just a little more deeply. I attack the drones, tear them to butcher-shop-sized pieces with my bare claws, while you make a break for the escape ship, and then...?'

  Lewis shrugs with his lips. 'Then we escape.'

  'Right. That's the part that loses me most. "We"? "We", as in "you three"? As in "not me"?'

  'I'm thinking on my feet here, Doctor. Obviously we'd like to have you with us...'

  'In case you meet some other drones you'd like dismembered?'

  'We're going to have to make a decision fairly quickly. If you can think of a better option, I'm open to suggestions.'

  'I can think of a better option. How about you slaughter the guards and I run away with the womenfolk? That's a one hundred per cent better option, the way I see it.'

  'Doctor Morton,' Lewis seems genuinely affronted, 'I'm a man of the cloth. I can't employ violence.'

  'Right. But it's OK for you to order other poor idiots to do it for you.'

  'Well, there is a certain amount of historical precedence for that.' Then Lewis leans in so close, the breath of his softest whisper frosts Eddie's visor. 'And I don't want to make too big a point of it, in front of the girls, but you're not... completely equipped for the business of... well, biblically speaking, going forth and multiplying. Eh?'

  And Lewis winks. He actually winks. A cheeky little double wink, in fact. Incredible. The smug bastard is already planning his sexual future. And what a future that would be. Chief stud for the human race. Take it in turns, girls. There's enough for everyone.

  'So.' Lewis leans away to include Peck and Oslo. 'Are we all singing the same Psalm?'

  Eddie starts to protest, 'No, we are not...,' but the priest just nods at the women and launches himself over the side of the kart.

  Unfortunately, he times the move badly. Very badly, in fact. Neither Peck nor Oslo is prepared for the jump and, as Lewis hits the ground, the kart is starting a tight turn, so he crashes heavily and at speed into a sharp comer and rebounds off the wall and under the kart's back wheels.

  Eddie hears Lewis say, 'Ouch!' For some reason, and inappropriately, he finds this hilarious. 'Ouch!'? In real life, nobody actually says 'Ouch!' 'Ouch!' is what cartoon people say in comic books.

  The brakes squeal and the kart skews round, crashing its rear into the opposite wall, then bounces back over Lewis's cowering body, with a sickening thud.

  Lewis says 'Ouch!' again.

  'What the hell happened?' The O drone is out of his seat and racing to the back of the kart. 'Did we hit somebody?'

  He finds Lewis pinned under the rear wheel and crouches beside him. 'Father, sir? Are you all right, Father, sir?'

  Lewis's voice strains through his pain. 'Never better. Thank you Obadiah. I'd... I'd probably feel better still if you could lift this vehicle off my ribcage.'

  The drone grabs the rear of the kart and lifts it clear of Lewis's chest, passengers and all. Lewis farts involuntarily, grunts in gratitude and rolls clear.

  The drone sets the kart down again and kneels beside the stricken priest. 'What happened?'

  Apton Styx volunteers: 'I think he was trying to escape.'

  'Escape?' The O drone looks down at the softly groaning Lewis. 'Escape from what?'

  'From the kart. From you. From the Captain."

  'Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?'

  'Yes, he's under arrest.' Apton looks round at his fellow prisoners. 'We're all under arrest.'

  'What for?'

  Eddie decides to interrupt. 'Wait a minute.' The drones could probably spend the entire day trying to sort out this little conundrum, without actually getting anywhere. 'Are you not escorting us, under arrest, to the Captain?'

  'We're escorting you, yes. But you're not under arrest.'

  'What d'you mean, we're not under arrest? We
were arrested not forty minutes ago by half the drone army.'

  'Well...' The drone runs his tongue over his front teeth slowly, and sucks for a very long time. '... You're not under arrest any more.'

  'Then, why does the Captain want to see us?'

  Obadiah Styx shrugs. 'I don't know. You'll have to ask him yourselves.' He hoists Lewis up in his arms. 'But it's probably something to do with the murders.'

  'Murders? Somebody's been murdered?'

  Styx carries Lewis over to the kart and sets him on the back seat. 'Oh, yes, sir, Doctor, sir.' He climbs back in the front. 'Lots of people have been murdered.'

  37

  There is gruesome evidence outside the Suspended Personnel Storage chamber of the aftermath of mayhem. An alarming number of drones are busy performing various forensic functions: taking photographs, rolling out security tape, picking up bits of bloody gristle from the floor with tweezers and popping them into labelled plastic bags.

  Captain Gwent looks up as the kart arrives and hops over some security tape to meet it. He's twiddling a paddle bat with a ball attached to it by elasticated string.

  'Hey there, crewovitch. It's, like, say, total Amok City, Madland, here. Check this outski.'

  Eddie and Peck climb out of the kart and follow him. Oslo stays in the vehicle, even though she's curious, until it's plainly clear she's not at Gwent's beck and call, and then ambles along after them. Lewis tries to get up, farts, and sits back down again. Peck turns back and gently helps him out. His left arm is cupping the middle of his ribs. It's unclear whether it's his arm or his ribcage that's hurt. Probably both.

  The Captain leads them through the criss-cross of red and yellow tape to a section of the floor where the blood-splatter is more concentrated. He points his paddle at a strange series of chalked shapes on the flooring. One is almost a circle, the size of a bowling ball. The others seem random. A baseball-bat-sized L shape here, a long, thin S shape there.

  'What is this?' Eddie asks. 'Some kind of puzzle?'

  'This,' Gwent arcs his paddle over all the chalk symbols, 'was a crewman. Maybe some of you knew him. Name of Jaman Loch? Maintenance unit dude, it seems.'

  'This was a human?' Peck pales visibly. Lewis groans and enjoys another involuntary expulsion of wind.

  Gwent nods. 'That's a yo. Or at least, this was most of him. We're still finding bits all over the place. His small intestine showed up in the air-conditioning vent.' He points out the bowling-ball-sized circle. 'That was his head. Chopped clean off. Gruesomovich, or what?'

  'Who did it?' Eddie's thinking: this kind of damage, he's got to be a suspect.

  'We still don't know.' Gwent nods up at the security camera. Crushed beyond recognition. 'What we do know is, it wasn't you, tin man. Time of the crime, you were wedged upside down in a snack dispenser, miles away. You're all in the clear, incidentally.'

  'You checked us out?' Oslo sneers. 'You thought we were suspects?'

  'Sure I did. Around the time this showed up, you guys were all screwing around, trying to flee the ship or something. That's not exactly unsuspicious behaviour.'

  'But why?' Peck's complexion is almost completely drained of colour. 'Why would anyone do this?'

  'This?' Gwent pops out his upper brace and sucks it back again. Oslo winces. 'This isn't even the worst of it. Follow me, peoples. Check this out. This'll really make you lose your lunches.'

  Gwent steps over more security tape and heads for the Suspended Personnel Storage chamber door.

  A huge gash has been ripped through the door, and the metal has been peeled back. Gwent slips through the gash easily. Eddie tries to follow him, but with his bulk and his laboured mobility, the manoeuvre is rather more difficult for him to accomplish. As his hand rests on the very edge of the gash, he's alarmed to find his claw precisely matches a deep indent in the metal.

  He snatches it away as quickly as his unnatural reflexes allow, and clambers into the storage chamber.

  There are more Styx drones working inside the chamber itself.

  But that's not what Eddie notices first.

  What he notices first shoots instantly to the top of his nightmare mental images chart, where it is likely to stay for the rest of his life.

  Every jar has been smashed. Every single one. Shards of glass are floating around the floor in a shallow sea of green gloop.

  And the heads...

  Some extremely sick mind has been hard at work on the heads.

  Spinal columns are twisted and intertwined into bizarre sculptures.

  The sculptures are interlinked in inventive ways.

  One spine, here, has been threaded through several adjacent heads, piercing them through one ear and out of the other. Straight through the brains. The mouths have been contorted into strange shapes, as if they're all singing.

  And over there, heads and backbones have been jammed together to form a terrible parody of a human skeleton. Heads for hands and feet. Posed in a kneeling position with the arms stretched out, reminiscent, it strikes Eddie, of an old-time vaudeville minstrel singer belting out the last syllable of 'Mammy'.

  And there's more.

  There's much, much more.

  Bones sculpted to look like a dinosaur skeleton. A giant harp. A wheel with spines for spokes. This must have taken hours. What kind of mind...?

  And all of them were people. Some of them people Eddie knew. People who could have been revived.

  Eddie doesn't know how long he's been staring at the hellish tableau, but he's suddenly aware of an odd drumming sound at his side. Packa-packa-packa. Packa-packa-packa.

  He turns. Gwent is standing beside him, gawping at the scenario, batting away absently with his paddle bat. He looks up at Eddie and grins. 'Sickorama, or what?'

  'And you suspected me? You thought I could have done this?'

  'Hey, what are you? My favourite uncle? I met you once for five minutes. For all I know, you could be, say, Ted Bundy's crazier brother, my friendoleeno.' Packa-packa-packa. 'Plus, whoever did this was stronger than the average bearski. You certainly fit that bill.'

  'Whoever did this was very, very insane, Junior. Not the kind of insane where you live a normal life in the daytime and go crazy at night when no one's looking. This guy is full-throttle whacko.'

  'Will you turn your dial to "defrost", dudovich? Like I said, you're in the clear.' Packa-packa-packa.

  Behind him, Eddie hears Oslo gasp.

  Gwent treats her to a full-brace leer. 'Purty, ain't it, doncha think?' Packa-packa-packa.

  Eddie thinks that, if the Captain doesn't stop paddling that ball sometime soon, he might well find himself straining to force it out through his bowel system, bat and all, sometime tomorrow morning.

  'But here's the crazy cherry right on top of the, say, loony cake,' Gwent nods, beckoning them to follow.

  He leads them, wading through the thick, ankle-deep gloop, towards a dark recess, in the darkest comer of the dark room, and stops. He pulls out a torch. 'Tell me what you make of thisovich.'

  He flicks the beam on. Its stark light falls on another parody skeleton made up of heads and spines. This one is laid out, like a funereal body in state. Its head is missing. Above it, there is some writing on the wall.

  Carved into the metal, in a crazed hand, a simple message:

  YOUR NEXT EdEE

  PART FOUR

  Hobgoblins and Foul Fiends

  'Hobgoblin, nor foul fiend

  Can daunt his spirit.

  He knows he, at the end,

  Shall life inherit.'

  (John Bunyan: The Pilgrim's Progress)

  38

  Lewis moans, a low whimpering moan, on the kart seat behind Eddie, snapping him out of his unpleasant reverie and prompting him to apologize, once again, to the stricken priest.

  Lewis holds up his right hand, his left still cuddling his ribs. 'It's all right. I know, I know. It was an involuntary reaction, eh? You meant to jump back. You didn't mean to crack my ribs in the absolutely exact, te
nderest spot with the full force of your titanium-coated pincer, I know.' He grits his teeth through another wave of pain. 'It's not the pain that bothers me. The pain's bad enough, but it's the damned...' he breaks wind again, '... farting I can't stand.'

  'You've probably sustained some internal damage, Father.' Peck tries to put a gentle hand on Lewis's stomach, but he bats it away.

  'Well, whewovich.' Gwent waves at the air with his paddle. 'You better go do something about it, before we all, say, sustain major nasal damage.'

  'He's right, Father,' Peck agrees. 'We should probably get you down to the infirmary.'

  'Good plan.' Lewis sneers a smile. 'The ship is plummeting headlong, without engines, towards a gigantic, deadly planet and meanwhile we have a demented serial killer with the strength of a hundred men running around willy-nilly, slashing the crew to pieces and making necklaces out of their spinal columns. This would be a super time for me to take a little break from my duties. Perhaps I could get a note from my mummy.'

  'Excuse me, dog collar?' Gwent leans forward. 'What gigantic, deadly planet?'

  Eddie looks at Oslo, who looks away. She hasn't even told the Captain about the gas giant.

  'And, pardonovitch moi, but last time I looked, we still had one engine left.'

  Gwent looks around for some kind of explanation. No one seems overly keen to comply.

  Eddie sighs. 'That last quake...'

  Gwent nods. 'That serpently was a heckorama of a quakeovitch.'

  'It ripped away the final engine.'

  'It ripped away the final engine? Right. Final engine, ripped away. And you were saving this information for what? My birthday? "Happy birthday, Captain Gwent. Oh, by the way, your ship has no engines left. Hip, hip, hooray!"'

  Oslo says: 'We were about to tell you, Captain, round about the time you had us all arrested by a drone SWAT team and marched off to prison at gunpoint.' She flicks him a short, unpleasant smile.

  'Okayovitch. I'll buy that. It's lamer than a kneecapped drug dealer, say, but I'll let it go. And what was the other thing? Oh, yes: the gigantic, deadly planet?'