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THEY
SLEPT. floated through a paradoxical spacemist of subatomic particles, galactic debris, flamed-out comets, tiny asteroids, the husks of interstellar creatures, nebulous spirals of anti-matter. They slept as they were drawn inexorably into a vortex of shifting, shimmering colours, were sucked, spinning, to the still centre of the universe, to Mongo, heavy-gravity domain of Ming the Merciless. And woke to find they had plunged into a life or death struggle with evil at its most ingenious and cruel. From the cover of the' novelization' by Alan Dean Foster
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