‘How can you afford such things?’ Tancredi asked. ‘Shouldn’t the funds be spent on alleviating the poverty of your people?’

Soloman spread out his arms to embrace the hardware before them.

‘Without security,’ he smiled benignly at his student of the Universe, ‘there would be no poverty to protect. But there’s another benefit. Acquiring weapons provides another opportunity to work with our benefactors from other worlds. As a practical planet, we also test them as often as possible.’

‘As for the jet, our leader aspires to a better life for all. He leads by example. All you see before you is a sign of progress. Now we all want a better life.’

Shortly, the path opened onto a lawn at the end of which stood a palace built of brick, which shone like gold in the sunlight.

‘This is the General’s house,’ said Soloman as they walked up the lawn.

The palace doors were guarded by menacing-looking soldiers. Their dress was slovenly, but they sported all manner of aggressive weaponry. The group was admitted into an inner courtyard with a fountain playing in the middle. Tancredi was amazed such a building existed in so desolate a place. Despite its grandeur, it was strewn with debris. Soloman took them down a corridor lined with palm trees in broken pots. A pair of carved doors, pockmarked with graffiti, swung open; a blast of disco music greeted them.

The General was sitting with one leg slung over the arm of a gold throne, which resembled a pantomime prop. He wore a pair of military camouflage trousers, no shoes or shirt, and a red bandana across his forehead. A deep scar ran from his abdomen to his lower lip, as if he’d been cleaved like a piece of cheese. His left eye was murky white. He was surrounded by milky vapours which looked like clouds of stage smoke. Then the smell hit Tancredi. It was the effluence of a dozen drug bongs being smoked by a group of children surrounding the throne. They touted automatic rifles as large as their skeletal bodies, with ammunition belts hung over their skinny torsos for clothing.

A great cheer went up as Soloman paraded his guests into the throne room. Tancredi stepped in front of Cocomo in a protective reflex; he looked at Soloman stupefied.

‘What else did you expect?’ Soloman beamed.

XXIII
The Abyss

In a heartbeat the child soldiers surrounded them.

‘So Soloman man, what you bring me?’ asked the General.

Soloman smiled his dazzling smile.

The answer was obvious, as Cocomo emerged from behind her protector. The General’s eyes bulged.

‘A real beauty,’ were the last words Tancredi heard.

Suddenly he was on the ground; he’d been struck in the stomach. He looked up, gasping for breath. The General and Cocomo had vanished.

A pain shot up his leg, his ankle crushed by a rifle butt. He kicked violently with his free leg, and was hit again. A boy placed a boot on his face. He began to suffocate, and terrible rasping came from the back of his throat. Another child joined in the attack, strafing him with an ammunition belt. The pain was excruciating. Lacerations opened all over his body. The soldiers began to dance around their victim shrieking a drug-crazed cry. Tancredi curled into a ball, trying to protect himself with his good arm. He was hit again, and blacked out.