“Sssshall we hire himmm?” asked Hedrone as he glared at his chief lackey. They stood near the two-mile-long series of hives, curled in the shape of Queen Beia’s locks, and spangled bright yellow in the thinly filtered purple sunshine that nourished their world.

“He comes with excellent credentials, Your Droneness.”

“Very well, ssssend him innn,” said Hedrone, muttering and hissing to himself. He had interviewed several candidates who all shared the illusion that tending the time tortoises would give them immortality – as indeed it could, though not of the type they might appreciate.

“Well now, mmmmy good fellowww,” said Hedrone, eyeing the bedraggled applicant with distaste bordering on contempt, “why issss it that you want to tennnnd the time tortoissssesss?”

“Because I love reptiles – particularly horny reptiles,” intoned the man as he scratched his bald head.

“They are verrrry fussy, you know. Verrry clean animalsssss, in theirrr ownnn way.”

“I know, sir,” said the applicant eagerly. “Totally hygienic. And I have a way with tortoises, turtles, and terrapins.”

“Thesssse are neither turtlessss nor terrapinsssss, but tiiiime tortoisssesssss. Do you know what that meanssss?”

“They wear wrist watches?” the applicant asked hopefully.

“Very drollllll,” said Hedrone. “I see we have a wit onnnn our handsssss.”

“It’s good to see the lighter side of life.”

Hedrone didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think you’re ssssuitable.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” the applicant replied. “You haven’t seen me in action.”

“No, but you have annnn undessssirably flippant attitude. Tiiiime tortoisesss are very sssserious creaturessss. They do not carrrre to be laughed at. If they don’t liiike you, they will give you a nnnip – and that, I can assssssure you, is not an experiencccce I would wish on anyonnne.”

“I have no fear of a little nip in the line of duty.”

“I don’t think you undersssstand, my good fellowwww. These are time tortoisessss. One nnnip and you’ll be frozzzzen for what feelsssss like a thousand yearsssss, though outwardly only half an hourrrr will have passsssed.”

“I do not fear time. When can I start?”

“All rrrright,” said Hedrone. “If you’re thissss eager, we’ll put you onnnn a trial period of fiffffty yearssss. Acceptable?”

“Most.”

“Good. And what issss your nammme?”

“Lord Mal – Lawrence Malleable.”

Grasping his broom, the newly appointed time tortoise attendant followed the ponderous gait of the slow-moving chelonians, ever alert to their particular needs.

“Oh Maledor – I forgot to tell you one thing,” said Lostifar in his ear.

“What’s that?” asked the demoted evil one.

This was a moment that he had dreaded, though no amount of dread would stop it from unfolding as surely as the coils of the Octopus had taken him into its slithery embrace. He braced himself.

“You have been turned into a Replicoid, whereas Simulacra and all its people have been made real. That means that the time tortoises you are working with are real, and their bite is guaranteed. I would be very attentive to them if I were you. Look – one of them is doing a number two right now. Get your broom, Maledor! You know how fussy they are! I’ll look in on you again fifty years from now.”

With a heavy heart, Lord Maledor picked up the broom and checked that none of the tortoises were baring down on him, then proceeded to sweep up the pile of steaming tortoise turds.

The situation looked hopeless, yet he was already planning his escape. If only he could conjure up a new reality…