He looked across the hall of bobbing heads and bodies and spotted Cocomo and Tamany on another stage nearby, guarded by two hoverboard riders. They looked horrified. Tears rolled down Tamany’s cheeks; he was held in a close grip by Cocomo, whose head was darting in every direction searching for escape. Momentarily, Tancredi saw the cause of their dismay. To the side of the stage was a pyre of kindling wood over which Kasbek was suspended on a spit. A terrible dog scream, pitiful to hear, echoed through the hall. Tancredi recoiled in shock; this was beyond nightmare.

An organ parped a few jittery notes of excitement, the beaming Game Show Master hovered into the hall. He had done this a thousand times. He looked happy and relaxed, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd with a wave of his meaty hand.

‘Tonight’s show features our one-armed hero,’ he announced, without a trace of remorse.

He turned and beamed at Tancredi.

‘It’s called: “Can the Earthling save his friends?”’

A roar of approval echoed through the hall, and great arcs of goo flew into the air as some joining the tumult regurgitated their food.

‘We start with an easy question.’

The Game Show Master looked about the hall. His flock was rapt with attention. He raised a hand, the electric organ gave three brief trills. Silence followed.

‘Our guest comes from a planet with a nearby moon.’

There was a pause to allow his audience to absorb this information, followed by a blast from the organ’s trumpet key.

‘It’s believed that small traces of cheese have been found in the moon rock – probably emmental, but scientists can’t be sure. The question is …’ As he paused for effect, the organ quivered a rising note.

‘… is the moon made of cheese?’

Tancredi exhaled, his brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever terrors he faced, he had to get this right. The audience participated by giving conflicting advice, all of a culinary nature. Tancredi turned to the Game Show Master, who raised his hand. Once again they were surrounded by silence.

‘And little Earthling, the answer is?’

‘The moon is made of metallic iron with small amounts of nickel and sulphur. Its core is partly molten.’

There was a cascading series of discordant notes on the organ.

‘I’m sorry, that’s the wrong answer.’

His host sounded disappointed. There were ‘ahhs’ of sympathy from around the hall.

‘We know that the moon is, in fact, made of cheese.’

The organ came alive with a thrilling cascade of tremeloed chords. The Game Show Master nodded to an attendant, who lit the kindling.

‘Better luck next time,’ he said as the wood began to smoke.

‘For the love of God!’ Tancredi shouted, leaping forward.

He was intercepted by a hoverboard rider, the organ sounding a note of distress as the pink mountains of flesh rolled around in excitement. Some cried, others made a hideous suction noise with their mouths.

‘Our guest was recently on Sanitalis,’ continued the Game Show Master.