'Planets not Starships!' roar their placards - to the baffled crowd.

'Get those bastards out of there,' growls Flortin Rimanquez, the Chief of Police and Rabbits.

'Where is Leovinus?' groans the Gat of Blerontis.

CHAPTER TWO

Could it be only the day before that Leovinus had held his press conference? He had felt so powerfully complacent as he stepped up onto the platform. His white beard had been specially groomed by Pheronis Pheronisis, the greatest hairdresser on Blerontin, and his eyebrows had been stuck back on with a new toupee tape that was guaranteed absolutely undetectable, In many ways this was the greatest moment in his life.

'What is it like to be not only the greatest architect the Galaxy has ever known but also the greatest sculptor, the greatest mathematical genius as well as a world-class gamisher and canape´s arranger?' Exactly the kind of question Leovinus enjoyed.

There had been times in his younger days, when he might have retorted: 'Go lick someone else's arse, hack! I'm only interested in Truth and Beauty!' But somehow, he found that the more wrinkles he counted on his forehead and the more problems he had with his continence and his seven-times table, the more he found a little flattery most welcome.

'I loved your Pandax Building with the interchangeable rooms and total reassembly potential!' shouted a young cub reporter with soft eyes and a delightful cleavage.

'Thank you.' Leovinus beamed in his most venerable and yet at the same time approachable manner.

'You look terrific!' shouted another.

Leovinus was just trying to decide which of the two cub reporters with delightful cleavages he should ask backstage for a little drink, or whether he should invite them both and then see how things worked out, when a male voice cut across:

'Exactly what was the scientific experiment you were working on when you had your recent accident, sir? And is it true that your eyebrows have still not grown back?' Leovinus fought off a panic attack, and told himself his eyebrows looked perfectly OK. This hardboiled journalist was merely trying to wind him up. Then he had to fight off a panic attack about the fact that he'd just had a panic attack. 'It's perfectly normal to get panic attacks at my age!' he told himself severely, while at the same time noting, thankfully, the ripple of embarrassment that had swept through the assembled media. 'I'm lucky I don't have angina and a sagging bottom at my age!' Leovinus had always counted his blessings.