“...weak of spine and flaccid of upper lip.”

“Sorry, no. I refuse to join an army which practices human sacrifice and has no adequate pension plan.”

“By the way, you haven’t seen an alien around here, have you? About six foot eight with a face like a cross between a boar and an upturned crab. Probably carrying a spear and a bag full of severed heads.’ Parker shrugged. ‘I dunno. It gets busy here.’ ‘He’s got quite an unusual laugh.’ ‘Oh, that bloke? He’s down the bottom of the ramp. You know him, then?”

“You’ll slip up, just like everyone else who tries to mess with the British Empire. They all get it wrong somehow – forget some detail, make some tiny error, invade Russia – and then it’s all downhill from there.”

“Moons have passed since last we met, battles fought and enemies fallen. At the bridge of Anrag I took fifteen heads. I overthrew the tyrant Dagrud War-Scythe and took his cattle as tribute to my skill. It was a glorious day.’ ‘Sounds pretty wild. I’m having a new patio put down. You and me both, eh?’ ‘Square slabs or crazy paving?’ ‘Square slabs.”

“Remember you’re all representing your country, and you ought to behave as the Empire does.’ ‘So we can kill and loot at will, steal their goods and claim the planet as our own?’ Suruk said.”

“People get the wrong idea. I blame science-fiction writers, personally. It annoys me how they confuse the whole robot issue. I tell you, if I met that Asimov bloke, I’d harm him, or at least through inaction allow him to come to harm.”

“...weak of spine and flaccid of upper lip.”

“Wainscott, Deepspace Operations Group,’ said the man. ‘Wasn’t here, don’t exist, pleased to meet you.”