"So what's the most dangerous fabrication you Darwinists have come up with?" Alek asked as Dylan continued to demolish the mound of food in front of him. As a prisoner, he was only supposed to see his friend when he brought his lunch. But Dylan, with his typically cavalier attitude to rules, had transformed 'taking lunch to the prisoner' to 'having lunch with the prisoner', which generally took as long as he could disappear without Newkirk or another crew member coming to cart him back onto duty. Despite his worries that his friend might get in trouble, Alek didn't mind these arrangements in the least.

Dylan thought over the question for a moment. "There's nothing else quite as pure dead brilliant as the Leviathan," he decided, waving a piece of bread around grandly for emphasis, "but for overall viciousness, I'd have to say the attack squirrels."

Alek choked on a mouthful of tea. "Attack squirrels?"

"Don't underestimate them," the boy warned as Alek worked to erase his mental image of fluffy rodents armed with fencing sabers. "Vicious wee beasties they are, even when they're not fabs. All fur and fangs and making off with your lunch if you don't keep your wits about you. And the boffins added a squick more fangs, as you can imagine. The Clankers never see it coming."

"I'm never setting foot in Britain."

"Why not?" Dylan demanded, looking offended. "I haven't even told you about the exploding mosquitos."

Alek's eyes widened. "You're joking."

The boy grinned. "All right, I was pulling your leg with that one. But," he added suddenly, "I was dead serious about the squirrels."