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well,’ Suruk replied. In the bad light of the cockpit he had to peer at the letter. Smith swung the map light down on its arm and flicked it on. ‘He fell fighting our old enemies, the disgraceful Yull. Forty-six foes fell to his broom, and many more leaped to their deaths rather than face his rage. He held up the Yull advance, it says, buying time for the army to prepare a counter-attack and stall their ambush.’
    ‘Forty-six?’ Carveth stared at Suruk.
    The alien nodded. ‘Let me see. . . outstanding bravery , it says.’ Suruk chuckled. ‘So, my father died well! I am honoured to be the spawn of so great a warrior.’
    He hopped down from his seat, passed the letter to Smith and strode to the front of the cockpit. Carveth glanced at Smith, about to offer Suruk a tissue: he shook his head quickly, and she stayed still.
    His mandibles parted and, smiling, Suruk pushed his nostrils against the glass. ‘Out there, among the stars, Agshad dines in the halls of my ancestors. Even now my father exchanges noble stories with Aramar the Wise, and punches with Gob-Gob the Less Wise. I shall miss him, but I am proud. I wanted him to be a warrior as well as a sophisticate, and he heeded my words.’ Suruk looked around. Some of the fierceness faded from his eyes. ‘And yet he always wished me to be a professional: a lawyer, or a doctor perhaps.’ He moved towards the door and Smith handed him the letter as he went. ‘I must think,’ Suruk said. . . and then he was gone.

2 Indifferent Engines
    The John Pym dropped from high orbit into the atmosphere of Albion Prime, and smog reached out and covered it like a shroud. Carveth flew by the instruments – a risky business for all concerned – and like a fly in the smoke of a bonfire they sank towards the city. Suddenly, as if a magician had pulled a tablecloth away, the smog parted.
    ‘Look!’ Carveth cried, excited as a child.
    They were above a million lights that studded the sides of towers and chimneys that rose up like spines from the back of a hedgehog. Huge statues of Imperial heroes towered over the city as if wading through a sea of houses.
    Towers, spires and huge cranes studded the skyline, many tall enough to disappear into the smog. Airships drifted around the Pym , their windows smeared by the myriad noses of legions of day-tripping citizens, all gazing in awe at the might of Paragon.
    As they descended Smith made out the great civic buildings: The Imperial Planetarium, Chetworth’s Domes of Sensorial Delight, The Municipal Orphan Repository, the huge bell on top of the galaxy’s largest test-your-strength machine.
    An airship swung down low, its propellers nearly flicking the Pym , and Carveth waved at the families on board until an oik gave her the finger. Order was restored when Suruk, who had slipped into the cockpit unheard, held up a skull from his room.
    ‘Little scamps!’ said Smith.
    ‘Indeed,’ Suruk growled. ‘They should be devoured in a basket with chips.’
    Panels slid back in the huge glass roof of the spaceship hangar, and the Pym sank into the aperture. The landing legs hit the ground and the radio crackled into life.
    ‘Good day, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Paragon!’
    Smith glanced at the others, then at the door. ‘Well, shall we?’
    They emerged into the sound of creaking metal. Above them, great mechanical arms unfolded from the wrought iron roof and slotted into the ship, scanning and refuelling it.
    ‘It hasn’t changed much,’ Smith said.
    Carveth glanced at him. ‘You’ve been here before?’
    ‘We both have,’ Suruk said. ‘It is much as it was, except that I was wearing a paper bag on my head last time.’
    As they climbed down the uneven metal steps, a door opened in the side of one of the dock offices and a gang of gravvie engineers hurried towards the Pym , tools in hand.
    They were short and stocky, the result of high-gravity and inbreeding, and looked almost like another species as they swarmed over