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back into the past. On his return he will be a headcase,
'With delusions of Godhood,' sneered Gryphus.
'A Godhead case, tittered Diogenes 'Dermot' Darbo. 'Indeedy.'
'Every problem has a simple solution. This one is just a matter of expendability.'
A great silence fell upon the boardroom. Silent prayers were offered up.
'It's all right.' Mungo raised a hand. 'I don't consider any of you expendable. We need a
volunteer. Someone whom the station won't miss. Some insignificant little nonentity with
ideas above his station.'
'Showtime, said Jovil Jspht. 'For what it's worth.'
'He's a friend to the foe
The star of the show
The man we all know
By his king-sized karma
He's a breath of spring
He's the living God King
He's the Dalai . . . Dalai . . . Dalai
Dalai La ... ma . . .'
The Lamarettes were tonight stunningly clad in silver lame slingbacks, matching gloves and
diamante ear-studs. Anything more and they would have been grossly overdressed.
As the Dalai materialized on stage, the applause lights flashed and the audience
synthesiser went overboard. In homes above ground and homes beneath, prayer wheels
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span like football rattles and ring pulls popped from a million cans of Buddhabeer. In the
control room Gloria bit her lip.
'Blessings be upon you.' The Dalai twirled upon his heel and made 'peace' signs. 'Inmost
One here saying a real fine howdy doody and a big Buddha welcome to ... wait for it . . .'
The vox pop crouched upon the edges of their make-shift seats . . .
'NEMESIS!'
Lights flashed, sirens wailed, gongs were beaten. The Lamarettes fussed about the Dalai,
who had fallen to the floor, as if possessed. 'Back to my suite, girls,' he giggled, 'I'll give you
something king-sized to meditate on later.'
'I think I'll take my lunch hour now,' said Jovil Jspht. 'If you don't mind.'
'As you please,' Haff Ffnsh replied. 'But don't be late back.'
Jovil Jspht left the control room of Earthers Inc. and wandered down the organic corridor.
Ahead of him the doors of the executive lift opened and Fergus Shaman, wearing a grim
expression and cradling something in his arms, slouched out. The two men didn't exchange
pleas-antries.
Jovil eyeballed the open lift doors. He'd never actually seen the upper floors of the spiral
complex, his status didn't allow it. Jovil halted, the doors would close in a matter of seconds.
Was it worth the crack? If he was discovered it would be a big number. Demotion. Goodbye
pension scheme, hello compost shovel. In this world, as upon any other, chances were only
taken by the nerveless few, success their preserve alone. To quote the motto of the
Phnaargian Special Service 'Who Dares Wins'.
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Jovil shook his head. The lift doors closed.
Mungo Madoc sniffed at the Destiny lily which grew from his lapel. 'So we are all agreed, it
is a one-way trip for the chosen operative.'
Diogenes 'Dermot' Darbo made foolish chortling sounds. Gryphus Garstang rubbed his
hands together. 'Sounds good to me, he sniggered.
Lavinius Wisten raised a limp hand. 'How are we to ensure that the operative in question
doesn't return from nineteen fifty-whatever-it-is?'
Mungo Madoc twirled his outrageous moustachios in a manner much beloved of old-time
villains about to foreclose on the mortgage. 'Garstang, let me have your thoughts.'
Gryphus Garstang grinned wolfishly. 'Shouldn't be too hard to arrange, a neat little "magic
box" with the words "return to Phnaargos" printed on it and a single button. He presses the
button and . . .'
Outside in the executive corridor, a certain Jovil Jspht, hearing the buzz of conversation,
pressed his ear to the boardroom door.
'All right.' Mungo Madoc took himself over to the picture window and gazed down upon
sunny green Phnaargos. 'We are all agreed. We need a hero. A brave and fearless
Phnaargian, willing to travel back into the past and change history. Prepared to risk all for
truth, justice and the ratings.'
From where his ear was pressed, Jovil Jspht wasn't able to hear the laughter, only the
applause.
'So, Mungo continued, 'suggestions, gentlemen.'
'I think I know the very fellow.' Grypus Garstang held up a certain memorandum, which had
appeared upon his desk, as upon many others, that very morning. 'If
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I was to mention "Killer Maggots from the Earth's Core".'
Outside the boardroom Jovil Jspht puffed out his chest. So this was it, recognition at last. He
had always known that his time would come, that his talents would one day receive the merit
they deserved. This was going to be one in the eye for Haff Ffnsh. Oh, happy day.
'The ideal pillock,' said Mungo Madoc, but by this time Jovil Jspht was well on his way to the
canteen.
There may very well be a moral here somewhere. But in the light of future events, it would be
extremely hard to pin it down accurately.
Mungo Madoc buzzed down for some executive nose-bag and a magnum or two from the
reserve stock, Jovil Jspht blew his whole week's luncheon vouchers on a belly-buster of
heroic proportions and down upon Planet Earth certain others took their midday repast.
'Luncheon,' said Rambo Bloodaxe, 'and pre-cooked.'
Deathblade Eric poked around in the wreckage of Rex Mundi's burned out air car. 'The
reactor's still intact. Non-contaminated meat. Shall I carve?'
'Certainly not, Eric. I can't abide dining alfresco. Kindly haul him back to the hotel.'
Rex Mundi's mortal remains were unceremoniously dragged from the crumpled cab and
deposited in the back of Rambo's in-town runabout, a vehicle constructed from
corrugated-iron and charred timber, camouflaged to re-semble a thrown-together transient's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]