The dark side of the sun - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,14

Dead, Dead Chel Sea, Halve the population roster and say the Green prayer PATER NOSTER!’

In the silence the tank man said: ‘Dom, you now have vocal cords. You are breathing. You have built yourself a mouth. There is something you must want to do.’

Dom screamed.

He examined himself in the full-length mirror. Everything was there, and in full working order. The tank, working from his body memory, had duplicated nails, teeth, DNA patterns and even healed the scar on his chest. Dom rubbed the place bitterly, remembering the flight in the marsh.

Isaac creaked across the room and handed him his clothes. He dressed himself slowly.

There was one alteration. Before he had been jet black and decently hairless, the result both of See-Why’s healthy ultra-violet and the tannin injections. Now he had hair to the waist and, like the rest of him, it had a greenish tint.

The bouncy little Creapii doctor in charge of the hospital tanks had explained it carefully, with a rare grasp of colloquial Janglic. But then Creapii could so easily assume the mannerisms of other races.

‘It’s called googoo. Of course, I needn’t tell you that. I used to go out on the hospital rafts once, but we’ve come a long way from those primitive limb replacement tanks.

‘Anyway, Mr Chairman, it is alive in its own right. It is in fact a highly complex organism under your control. I can guarantee that it matches your body almost on the atomic level. It will have certain advantages, of course – your heat tolerance, for example ...ah, yes, at your age I’m not surprised you should ask. Yes, your children will be human in every respect—’ and the doctor made a surprisingly apt dirty joke. ‘But be careful of misunderstandings. It is now you, not some alien slime. The colour? The state of the art, I’m afraid … come back in, oh, ten years and I guarantee that we can turn out a body with not even a trace of green. As for the hair, well, absence of hair is not yet a generic characteristic of a Widdershins. I’m sorry, at the moment it’s a warts-and-all process.

‘Before you go, Mr Chairman, I would like to show you the hospital. I’m sure the staff would like to meet you, uh, unofficially. As for myself, I am proud to shake you by the manipulatory appendage.’

Dom fastened his choker collar and turned round.

‘How do I look?’

‘Pale green, boss,’ said Isaac soberly. He indicated a small plastic case.

‘There are some body cosmetics here, boss. Your mother sent them.’

Dom turned again and ran his pale green fingers over his face. The googoo had tried to follow body pigmentation as far as possible, but even so he looked as if he had been on a copper-rich diet for a year. He had watched himself on the newscasts while he was recuperating. The fishermen were already fiercely proud of a Chairman who was completely green, and didn’t seem to mind that it was not as a result of prowess on the hunting sea. But his mother’s unspoken comment was that it would offend offworld dignitaries.

‘Beng take them!’ he said out loud. ‘What do they matter. Anyway, green is a holy colour.’

Outside the little hospital six security guards stood to attention as Dom walked out, followed by Isaac and, at a discreet distance, some of the hospital staff.

Hrsh-Hgn waited beside them. He was holding a high-velocity molecule stripper, and looking sheepish.

‘It suits you,’ said Dom.

‘I am a pacifist, ass befits a philosopher, and thiss is barbaric.’

They boarded the Chairman’s barge, which was joined by five flyers as soon as it was airborne.

Dom stared unseeing at the seascape.

‘Who is replacing Korodore?’ he asked after a while.

‘Darven Samhedi, from Laoth.’

‘A – a good man.’ But still, it took more than efficiency to be security man on Widdershins. ‘Will the phnobes take to him?’

‘He is rumoured to have shown shape-hatred. We will ssee.’ Hrsh-Hgn looked down at Dom. ‘You were fond of Korodore.’

‘No. He didn’t encourage friendship, but … well, he was always there, wasn’t he?’

‘Indeed.’

Dom turned in his seat and looked at Isaac.

‘And if you say one sarcastic word, robot …’

‘No, chief. It crossed my mind that Lord Korodore was somewhat over-enamoured of miniature cameras but that was his job. He was a regular guy. I mourn.’

Four months ago, thought Dom, someone killed him and tried to kill me.

I am going to find out why.

A light drizzle was blowing when the squadron landed at the second Sabalos home, a small walled