rr.armageddonthemusical-第32章
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lifted the canopy。 He climbed out。
'Aunty Norma's；' he whistled。 'Now there's a thing。'
A Nemesis security craft was parked near at hand and two heavily…armed thugs swung round to face his arrival。 Rex recognized them as his former torturers。 'Hello Rex；' Mickey Malkuth addressed him on the open channel。 'How's your luck？'
'It varies；' he cautiously approached the stun…suited duo。 'Have you made any arrests then？'
'Arrests？ Naughty； naughty。 Wanted for questioning is all。'
'Questioning？ Yes； I see。 And you have apprehended your suspect？' Rex stepped warily across the rubble…strewn landscape surrounding his former home。 It was grim and somehow it now seemed even grimmer than he remembered。
'Flown the coop；' said Malkuth。 He indicated the open bunker door。 'There was an old girl down there。 But we couldn't get any sense out of her。' Rex's stomach dropped。 He stumbled towards the bunker。
'I shouldn't go in； if I were you； Rex。 It's a bit messy； if you know what I mean。' Malkuth's laughter rang in Rex's ears。 He fell through the bunker door and tore off his weatherdome。 And he remembered that smell。 That stale rancid smell。 The smell of hopeless doomed poverty。
The bunker was as it always had been。 Candles burned in the tiny wall shrine； where an out…of…register photo of Dan grinned at nothing。 Next to it was a sketch of Uncle Tony scrawled on a can label in Rex's childhood hand。 The two chairs faced the terminal screen。
Aunty Norma lay face down before them。 Her face discoloured and hardly recognizable。 One hand was twisted unnaturally into the pile of ash which had once been Uncle Tony。 Into this her dying fingers had clawed a single name。 Dan。 Tears ran from Rex's eyes。 He gazed down at the broken body。 Up at the terminal screen。 It blazed colourfully； eternally。 Dan's face was there； grinning like a wolf。
Rex ran his fingers lightly over his aunt's hair； rose to his feet and put his boot through the terminal screen。
19
。。。； was with the foundation from sixty…three until sixty…eight； when it went pletely underground。 If it's still in existence then I don't know where。 But he's still around； I can tell you that。 Once you've seen how he works； you don't forget。 I see stuff in the papers and I say； that's him。 That's the God。 As I say； I joined in sixty…three； approached in the street； the usual thing。 Their technique never altered。 Never had to。 Why improve on perfection 11 was just one more disillusioned kid。 Bummed out of high school。 These guys just homed right in。 All smiles； handshakes； first…name terms。 Like they'd known me all of their lives。 Invited me up to one of those weekend retreats and I never left。 Not for five years。 We were changing the world。 Or thought we were。 And we did it all for him。 He was always ahead of everybody else。 Knew exactly what was ing； when and where。 So we were always one jump ahead。 Fashion； music。 Music。 He was responsible for it all； you know。 All that sixty…seven thing。 Haight Ashbury； Woodstock； Owsley's add。 You name it。 Hendrix； The Doors； The Grateful Dead 。。。 Shit； The Beatles； man； someone told me that he'd set all that up。 Tipped off Brian Epstein； lent him the money； everything。 Engineered it all。 And he never wrote a single word down。 Kept it all in his head。 We were laying the stones； that's what he said。 Some times back then lean tell you。 Yeah； the foundation； what don't I remember about the foundation。
The Suburban Book of the Dead
That which can be thought is not true。 Hindoo proverb
I think therefore I am。 French proverb。
The acid rain began to fall。 The Nemesis security craft had long since departed。 Rex sat alone upon the rubble before his late aunt's bunker。 Hissing droplets smeared over his weatherdome。 He sighed long and hard。 Fifty years in a hole in the ground； and for what？ Rex climbed to his feet。 For nothing。 Just another non…person。 He needed a drink。 He needed a big drink。 With a very final look toward his former home he returned to the air car and called up the co…ordinates of the Tomorrowman Tavern。 'And fast；' he said。
'Fergus； why do you think it is that I'm losing all confidence in you？' Mungo was propped up in his boardroom chair。 Tubes； dangling from an assortment of coloured bottles strung above him； vanished into various parts of his anatomy。 He didn't look the picture of health。
Fergus could only shrug helplessly。 He thought he probably knew the reasons。
Jason Morgawr was grinning behind his hands。 At length he rose to speak。 'If I might just say a word or two；' he ventured。
'Oh yes； Jason。' Fergus winced。 'What would you like to say？'
'Well； sir。 The fact that Mr Presley is still here in the present； need not necessarily be such a terrible thing。' Fergus brightened； Jason was back on his side； surely。 What a decent fellow。
'Although Mr Shaman has clearly made a grave error in judgement…' and none more so than just then； thought Fergus '…the situation can still be turned to our ultimate advantage。'
'I like what I'm hearing； Jason。 Please continue。'
'Certainly sir； thank you。 I just wondered if I might sound you out upon the subject of Armageddon。'
Mungo clutched at his heart。 The dangling bottles gurgled。 Mungo gurgled。 'Armageddon？'
'Well； not so much the real thing。 None of us want the series to end； do we？'
Mungo shook his head gravely。 'We do not。'
'Well； it occurs to me that it might not be altogether a bad thing if we just let this Presley get on with whatever he has in mind。 It's bound to go down well with the viewers。 I understand from a recent poll that his antics on the Nemesis show were extremely well received。 Now if we could just jolly things along a bit。 I have a certain scenario in mind which might just do the business。'
'To do with Armageddon？'
'Well； in a way。 I'll work out all the figures and get it costed。 Then I'll get back to you。'
'And you are suggesting that in the meanwhile we do nothing at all？'
'Absolutely nothing。 Just trust me。'
'Do absolutely nothing；' Mungo sank into his chair and began to suck his thumb。 'Absolutely nothing。 I like the sound of that。'
The lounge boy dowsed Rex down with decontaminant as he passed through the plastic flaps。 Rex entered the uncrowded bar。 The one…eyed barman met his approach with an unfaltering stare。 'What do you want？' he said； without charm。
Rex cradled his weatherdome。 'Tomorrowman Brew； mega…large；'
'Eyeball the screen。' Rex hesitated。 'Eyeball or butt out。 It's all the same to me；'
Rex eyeballed。 'My； my；' the proprietor raised a matted eyebrow； 'you've e into some scratch lately。 The wages of sin； eh？' He glanced at Rex and decanted a triple measure。 'Still it's of no consequence to me。 But the pox on you； nonetheless； for it。'
'Your very good health。' Rex drained the fetid cup in three short gulps。 'Another of similar。'
'And have one yourself landlord？'
Rex didn't dignify the remark with a reply。 Mine host splashed short measure。 'To the line；' said Rex。
'pany man then； are you？' The barman passed the cup across the unspeakable bartop。 'Station boy？'
'I just quit。'
'Buddhavision car though。 Saw you e down。'
'I haven't quit officially as yet。' Rex stared dispiritedly into his spirits。
'No…one quits； asshole。 No…one。' With this said the barman took himself off to business elsewhere。 Rex ferried his drink to as distant a corner as he could find。 Here he sank into a plastique scoop…chair of near antique construction。
Delving into one of his numerous pockets he fought free a pack of Kharma Cools and flipped one inexpertly toward his mouth。 He drew deeply on it； chemicals flared and Rex filled his lungs with toxic relaxant。 He held the smoke a full five seconds before releasing it in a turquoise plume through his currently serviceable left nostril。 Rex turned the packet between his fingers。 The Dalai's face grinned up at him above the motto 'You're never alone with a Kharma Cool'。 Rex tipped out the two remaining cigarettes before crushing the packet to oblivion。 He wasn't a happy man。
Something gnawed away at his insides and it wasn't simply hunger or the senseless killing of his aunt
