God Emperor of Didcot by Toby Frost

we’re trying to get as much tea as possible stashed away before the enemy can get to it.’
    ‘Will the farms be destroyed?’ Suruk asked.
    W shook his head. ‘Worse than that, I’m afraid. Rumour has it that Gertie means to put the plantations to some perverted use of his own. My contacts tell me that they intend to test out tea on their own shock divisions, in the hope of breeding moral fibre into their own men.’
    Smith pounded his fist on the sideboard. ‘Dirty swine!’ he cried.
    ‘So far, tea gives the Ghasts no strength,’ W explained. ‘In fact, it’s mildly poisonous to them. But no doubt they’ll try to harvest it for themselves. At any rate the Crusadists regard tea as sinful, and will probably ban the general population from drinking it in order to weaken their will to resist.’
    ‘This is terrible,’ said Smith. ‘You’re telling me that the Ghasts mean to use this entire world as a testing-ground to enhance their own legions?’
    ‘Mankind’s war may rest on this one world,’ Suruk said. ‘And from that, the whole human galaxy. My people, of course, are unconquerable warriors.’
    Carveth came in, still in her dressing gown. ‘Alright all. Got any cereal?’ she asked, opening the cupboards.
    ‘Quite,’ W said. ‘With tea in their veins, the Ghasts could become nigh-on unstoppable. What sort of cereal did you want?’
    ‘Frosties would be nice.’
    ‘There’s some in the next one down. History shows us that the decline in tea-drinking was directly linked to the weakening of moral fibre between the two Empires. With prolonged absence of tea, there is an actual risk of permanent moral decline. There, next to the Rice Crispies.’
    Smith shuddered. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Without us to protect it, the sheer military force the Ghasts could muster would overwhelm Known Space in weeks.’
    Wainscott had been listening quietly by the window. ‘That’s where we come in,’ he said. ‘The Deepspace Operations Group, if I may say so, is the smartest, best-trained, best-equipped military unit in human history, excluding nobody. I would say that one member of the DOG is the equal of twenty elite Ghast praetorians.’
    Smith turned to him. ‘How many men do you have?’
    ‘Five. Well, four if you don’t count me. But by God we’re good.’
    Carveth poured out the Frosties. ‘Well, as long as there’s less than a hundred aliens in this interplanetary invasion force, it should be a walkover,’ she said. ‘We’re stuffed.’ She sat down.
    ‘Not necessarily,’ W said. ‘We may well have an army of our own. I need to speak to my contacts to establish how many men are on our side, and what we’ll be up against.’
    ‘Good,’ said Smith. ‘The sooner we can hit back, the better.’ He turned to the window again and saw a slim figure strolling between the tea plants, dark hair pulled back from her face by a multicoloured band. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘why don’t you talk to your chaps and we’ll reconvene in, say, half an hour? It’ll give us time to get ready, and we might have come to an agreement about bringing the pot to the kettle by then.’
    It was only nine o’clock, but the sun was fierce. Worse than that was the humidity: it seemed to seep through Smith’s shirt and into his flesh, leaching the energy out of him. He strode through the tea plants with his sleeves rolled up and waistcoat unbuttoned, hearing the leaves hiss as they brushed against his sides, wishing that he had brought his Panama hat.
    Rhianna stood a little way further into the field, motionless. She did not turn as he approached. He walked around to the front of her, keeping a proper distance, and saw that her eyes were closed. She was making a soft humming sound, like an aged fridge.
    ‘Hey, Isambard,’ she said. She wore a very long skirt, the usual sandals and an exceedingly small top, which seemed to have decided not to be a bra at the very last minute. Her dreadlocks looked like the