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instructions was included.
    Following steps one to three of the instructions, Smith wrote out a short message, setting out the  situation and requesting assistance. Then he pushed the message into one side of the engine and pulled the lever. A pair of rollers pulled the note into the integral mini-furnace, a dial on the front ticked and spun, and fine grey dust fell into the disposal tray.
    Step Four told Smith to eat the instructions. As he chewed he hoped that there was no Step Five,  and then wondered why he hadn’t just fed the instructions into the furnace instead of eating them. He  pushed the engine back under the bed, climbed on top and closed his eyes.
    A loud pinging sound jolted Smith awake from a dream about scones. He struggled upright, knelt  down and dragged out the encryption engine. A ticker-tape message clattered out of a slot in the side.
    MESSAGE RECEIVED. CONFIRM YOU ARE IN PICKLE. ASK FRANK JURGENS AT
    ADENAUERPLATZ (OFF RUE CHARLES DE GAULLE) ABOUT PHANTOM. HE CAN BE
    TRUSTED. PLEASE ACQUIRE 2 BOXES CHEAP LAGER IN DUTY FREE. VITAL FOR
    FUTURE OPERATIONS. OVER.
    As he studied the message, the radio began to ring. Smith stumbled to the cockpit and fiddled  with the controls.
    ‘Hey!’ the speaker called.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Is that HMS John Pym ?’
    ‘It is,’ Smith replied warily.
    ‘I was receiving your distress call about one hour ago,’ said the voice. ‘I am calling from  Tannhauser Gate orbital station. I am sorry to hear about your spacecraft breaking down.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Smith replied. ‘Still, mustn’t grumble –’
    ‘Perhaps you should trade it in for a German one. They are quite reliable, you know. My friend is  having very much the same trouble as you. He bought a Triumph Dolomite, as antique, and the engine  fell out on the Autobahn. It is the unions, he says.’
    ‘Look, I’m sorry about your friend’s car, but can we land yet?’
    ‘Of course! The docking sequence will begin in ten minutes. But, ah… you might want to carry  your own baggage. The handlers, you know.’
    *
    ‘Burn them!’ the Lord Ezron, the Grand Jackalope, bellowed at the ceiling. ‘Let their eyes be plucked  from their heads, oh Great Annihilator, their lying tongues torn out, their bodies devoured by jackals and the jackals scattered to the four winds! And with that, I declare the Democratic Republic of New Eden’s first conference on women’s rights open!’
    Lord Ezron sat down to catch his breath, and the other twenty-six hierarchs grumbled their  thanks over the sound of the festivities outside.
    ‘Item One on the agenda – should women have rights? Anyone? Then it’s still a no . And with  that, I declare the conference closed. Back to the meeting.’
    Today, as a billion banners and flags proclaimed, was Enlightenment Day on the planet of  Deliverance, and consequently many things and people were being set alight. The banging in the street  was probably caused by fireworks. It was hard to tell: along with smiting and hacking, there was a lot of shooting in the Republic of Eden on any day at all.
    The Supreme Convocation of the Democratic Republic sat around the table in their ceremonial  helms of sanctity, which gave them the look of a support group for wizards. At the end of the table sat the Grand Mandrill, the Keeper of the Flame, Incinerator of Unbelievers. His name was Lord  Hieronymous Prong, and his black, broad-brimmed hat bore the ancient symbol of the buckle and skull.
    He was asleep.
    ‘Now,’ said Ezron, ‘unless anyone has any objections, I’ll turn to the agenda for today. First, we  have a request from the True Brotherhood of the Chicken Rampant, who have discovered another thing  that might possibly offend their beliefs. They seek permission to slaughter everyone potentially  responsible.’
    One of the other hierarchs had been chewing his beard. ‘What are their beliefs?’ he demanded  through a mouthful of fluff.
    ‘They believe in.. ’ Ezron