Free Wrath of the Lemming-men by Toby Frost Page A

exclaimed, a little shocked. ‘I’ll deal with this: now shush–’
    ‘Don’t you shush me, Isambard! I will not be silenced—’
    ‘No! Look around.’
    Rhianna glanced left and right. Men had crept out: stubble-haired thugs with beer bellies and braces, with faces like uncooked pastry draped over knobbly meat.
    They held crowbars and rounders bats. A tall hard-faced woman in shiny black gear struggled to hold a bull-terrier on a length of chain.
    ‘Now then,’ Tench began, clearing his throat, ‘No doubt you are wondering what I want. I shall tell you! I want only to help the British people. For too long aliens have been taking what’s ours by right. Do you know, eighty percent of low-paid menial jobs have been stolen from us by colonials? Aliens have robbed the British people of almost all work in the sewer industry! It’s time for a change, time to throw off the shackles of democracy and frolic joyfully in the sunlit pastures of an unceasing, brutal dictatorship. It is time that the British people learned to stand up, to speak for themselves, to have their own say, which is why I’ve been given an important message by the Ghasts for you.’
    ‘Look, Tench,’ Smith replied, ‘I’ve heard enough of your Gertie-talk. You said you have a message. What is it?’
    ‘Ah yes. Here we are.’ The Ghastist waved his hand and a light flickered in the roof. Smith glanced up and saw a holographic lantern mounted there.
    The word ‘Pantechnical’ appeared about a metre from the ground. It played a little tune. ‘It’s just warming up,’ Tench said. ‘It does that.’
    The image faded and a ghost appeared in front of them.
    They could see the wall through the shimmering apparition, but its outline was clear: a huge red insect in a black trenchcoat, like an ant rearing up. The neck was scrawny, the head bulbous and heavy-brained, marrow shaped. Antennae protruded from holes in the helmet: under the brim was a scarred, narrow face. One of its eyes was a lens.
    ‘We meet again,’ said 462. He took a step forwards: his arms were behind his back, all four of them, the manipulating limbs and the great mantis-claws that rose from his back like broken wings. But Smith was used to that. What surprised him was the creature’s lurching gait, dragging the right leg behind him.
    ‘It is a pity we met so briefly on Urn,’ said the Ghast. His mechanical eye glinted as he smiled. ‘We had so little time to talk before you so brusquely knocked me off that Martian war machine. So little time for us to discuss the small matter of my missing eye.
    ‘Were I more expendable, I would have been pulped for my injuries and fed to the praetorians by now. However, I have become a commander of stature. I have, shall we say, considerable weight behind me these days.’
    ‘That’ll be your big red arse,’ said Smith. ‘I believe we’ve discussed this before.’
    ‘Yes, yes, have your little English joke. I think we have conversed on my stercorium for the last time, Captain Smith. I do not think you will make so many jokes when we next meet, when you will sorely regret making me limp!’
    ‘I made you permanently limp?’
    ‘You certainly di—’ The Ghast’s small, yellow eye narrowed. ‘Oh, how amusing. You think to use my limp-ness to make some wordplay about puny human reproductive organs, eh? No, I do not think I will give you the pleasure of making a play on my genitals. Thanks to you I now suffer from uncontrollable stiffness in my lower regions. But enough! In time you will pay, Smith. And besides, it is not you I am here to speak with. You are too far gone to be reasoned with.
    ‘You, Rhianna Mitchell! Yes, you. The British Government seeks to use you as a tool for its war-mongering. You could be so much more than that. You know, as I do, that your powers are too great a gift to squander on these weaklings. You know, as I do, that direct action is the only way to change the galaxy! Join us, and I will give you the