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Vorl.’
    Eight’s mouth split open in a huge smirk. There could be no doubting his praetorian heritage; rows of teeth gleamed. ‘My science-drones have been carrying out preliminary survey work at a laboratory hidden deep in Yullian territory. The pathetic drivel that makes up Yullian myth includes a number of references to the Vorl – most usefully, their location. The laboratory was destroyed a few days ago, but there is enough information to go on and I have plenty more science-drones. All we need is a little more work and it will be done.’
    ‘How may I obey?’ 462 inquired.
    Eight put his fingertips together, and then his pincertips. ‘You are the only ranking officer to encounter the Vorl and survive. I gather your last target – one Rhianna Mitchell – turned out to be less an all-conquering superhuman than an amateur folk-musician with a hemp fixation – but do not worry: this time, you will not be looking for an individual but an entire planet.’
    ‘You wish me to find the home world of the Vorl?’
    ‘Yes. All indications suggest the edge of Known Space, where our territory overlaps with that of the lemming men. Which is why you will travelling with the Yull.’
    462 shuddered. ‘The Yull? Those savages? But, Glorious Eight, they are idiots! The Yull are worthy of a freak show,’ he added, crossing his legs around his stercorium. ‘I see no reason why a Ghast officer should have anything to do with a bunch of arrogant little animals who have learned how to talk!’ He ran a hand over his antennae. ‘Must I lower myself to working with creatures like that again?’
    ‘You brokered the deal with them.’
    ‘Only so we could break it, Mighty Eight. The Yull are imbeciles and barbarians. And they will make my spaceship smell.’
    ‘Your contact will be a Yull with a name to get back –one disgraced in recent combat with Earth. A Yullian officer would eat its own litter to gain status with its miserable kind.’
    462 thought about it. He had no love for the lemming men: the Yull were wretched beings, continually jostling to improve their position in their worthless society. On the other hand, Eight might give him a promotion for this.
    Eight said, ‘Once the enemy find out our plan, they will make every effort to beat us to the Vorl. They may even send Isambard Smith against you. He has already given you facial scars and a serious limp – who knows what he may do this time?’
    462 shuddered.
    ‘Our species must be refined.’ Eight struck an orator’s pose, his vicious little eyes squinting into space. ‘Through genetic engineering we have become the galaxy’s most effective fighting force: by removing our ability to breed we have orchestrated ourselves entirely.’
    462 nodded keenly. Eight seemed to be talking about music, which he regarded as human frippery, but it was important to look enthusiastic.
    ‘Each of us is fitted for his role,’ Eight continued, ‘much like an instrument in the concerto I was writing shortly before you arrived. The drones are our percussion, the praetorians our horns, we commanders the wind section. But now we must move in harmony, if you will, each of us a muscle in the body politic, each of us straining his utmost to further our species’ mighty movement!’ He paused. ‘We are the instruments of destiny, you see: I am the conductor, and you are—’
    ‘All aboard!’ 462 barked, throwing a swift salute.
    Eight winced. ‘Yes exactly. 462, here are your orders: you will be provided with a mixed team of Yullian warriors and modified praetorians, custom-rigged for maximum ruthlessness. You will allow nothing to stand in your way. You will hunt down the Vorl and we will make their psychic power ours. And once we have the Vorl – we shall have Earth!’
    *
    ‘Oh my God, Suruk, I’m so sorry,’ Carveth said. ‘Oh my God.’
    ‘I’m really very sorry to hear that, old chap,’ said Smith.
    ‘He was a good sort. Did he, ah, go properly?’
    ‘He died