With these troubling thoughts in mind, he arrived at a bar. He lay on the counter, rested his head on a cushion he had purloined from the palace of bliss, and groaned. Although Tancredi had a penchant for eccentric gestures, Eros One was a pleasure moon; no behaviour was considered unusual. The barman poured the prone figure a drink and left him alone, until he noticed a girl sashay across the room in Tancredi’s direction.

‘Be careful of that one, Sir,’ he whispered in his ear.

Tancredi raised his head and his heart began to race. A hot flush infused his body, sending a tingle to his extremities. The girl was beautiful beyond words. Long black hair fell unstyled over high cheekbones, oval black eyes and the plumpest mouth imaginable. She wore a simple red satin dress, slit to the thigh, and heels which accentuated her slim legs. On Earth, her tanned skin, soft and flawless, might have suggested Indian blood. Here it revealed that she was from the second moon of Eros.

‘Hello,’ she said in a husky voice, paralysing him with a synchronised flash of her eyes and beauty-queen smile. ‘I’m Cocomo.’

Tancredi felt painfully inferior. As he opened his mouth to introduce himself, she slapped him hard across the face.

‘Ouch,’ he said in a shrill voice, bringing a hand up to his reddening cheek. ‘Why did you do that?’ He slipped off the counter and sat on a barstool.

The gorgeous creature shot him a glance of contempt.

‘You look pathetic. Pull yourself together.’

Tancredi had never been slapped before, let alone spoken to in this manner. On Earth he had been successful with girls, thanks to his good looks and status as the inventor of the MoronOmeter. He wondered what might be behind this beauty’s strange behaviour. Like most young men, he conjured up a reason favourable to himself.

There was a technique for seduction on Earth known as the ‘neg’. It used the kind of elementary psychology of which the Chief Psychiatrist would have approved. When meeting someone desirable, the interested party feigns indifference by deploying a derogatory remark or suddenly abandoning a conversation. The rejected person is then motivated to seek the attention of the seemingly uninterested party. Cocomo’s slap across the face must be a ‘neg’, a sign of interest.

As Tancredi comforted himself with this thought, another stunning creature walked into the bar. She was wearing a similar dress, in white silk with no slit. She flowed towards him. Her blonde hair fell in waves down to her waist. As she approached, Tancredi was transfixed by piercing blue eyes set in an angelic face.

‘That’s Bonnita,’ the barman said, ‘she’s a good girl.’ He cast a sideways glance at Cocomo. ‘They don’t like each other, something about a man.’

‘Poor boy,’ said Bonnita touching Tancredi’s thick black hair, ‘has Cocomo been nasty to you? I’m afraid it’s in her nature.’

Thrilled by the goddess’s attention, Tancredi leapt off his barstool.