Through the dome's blackened glass Rex watched Eric help his chum up from the dirt。 The two Devianti gazed bitterly up and down the ruined highway。 Threw up their arms； cursed profusely and slouched into the Hotel California。 Breathing as shallowly as possible； the lad in the toxic drum considered his lot。 It wasn't much of a lot。 He had a rough idea as to which 'major redevelopment area' he was in； and it was a long hike from Nemesis Bunker。 And although he was hidden； he was still inside the grounds of the Devianti headquarters； which was no cause for immediate merriment。 The area might well be guarded by any number of fiendish devices。 Sonic wave press…pads that could shake a man's brains down his nostrils before he even realized that he had been rumbled。 Invisible laser…mesh fencing； one step forward and you were diced meat。 Rex's imagination rose to new heights of improbability。 He was in deep shit here and no mistake。 He gave his chronometer a bit of perusal。 It was jammed at two…thirty p。m。 which meant that at the very most he had an hour before darkness fell and the night rains began。 And God knows what came out to feed。 He was in an unholy mess and no mistake about it。
Rex had never had a lot of truck with religion。 The pre…packaged theology beaming endlessly from the terminal screens seemed to him just a trifle unconvincing。 Whether he was alone in this or whether the entire viewing public shared his doubts； Rex had no idea。 Perhaps he was the last atheist。 If so； then God was about to be well chuffed。
'Dear old God；' prayed Rex Mundi。 'Please get me out of here。'
It had been considered essential by Mungo Madoc that Jovil's departure towards the 1950s be acpanied by the correct amount of fuss and bother。 Or the least as much as could be inexpensively mustered up during the few short hours it took to copy the archive footage of Elvis's sorry last years and program them into a portable monitor。 Thus the board hobbled together certain new orders of merit and scrolls of honour from what immediately came to hand。 These were solemnly presented to the would…be time traveller with much due reverence and many a hearty hand…clap。
The actual send…off was a somewhat private affair； Jovil's offer to have the entire event broadcast live across Phnaargos being politely； yet firmly； declined。 Amidst thunderous applause he climbed on to the boardroom table； sprout in one hand； black box in the other； portable monitor and packed lunch in a jaunty knapsack slung across his shoulders。
'In order that this momentous occasion be long remembered；' quoth the young buffoon。 'I have prepared a short speech。' Beneath their smiles the executive board ground its collective teeth。 'For such a cause I go fearlessly backwards。' Jovil gestured with his box…bearing hand； which had the board clutching at their failing hearts。 'Mere words cannot express my gratitude for your having chosen me to go upon this mission。 Thus I will let my deeds speak for themselves。'
The dangerous ambiguity of this escaped the board； who sought successfully to drown out the remainder of his speech with further thunderous applause。
'Then I go。' Jovil raised the Time Sprout above his head and stuck a noble pose。
'You do indeed； chief；' the sprout added。 And indeed he did。
'Gentlemen；' said Mungo Madoc； tapping his trowel of office upon the table top； 'gentlemen； we are in big schtuck here。' Executive heads bobbed up and down in agreement。 At the far end of the table Diogenes 'Dermot' Darbo said； 'Yes； indeedy。'
'Viewing figures have now sunk to a point beneath which the。。。' Fergus Shaman turned the first page of his minutes and viewed with great interest the words he had but minutes before penned upon them。 They came as something of a revelation to him。
It had been his conviction； now amply proven； that upon the sprout's departure into the past all memories of it here in present would be instantly erased。 After all； if the sprout was in the 1950s then the year 2050 hadn't yet occurred； or something like that。 It was all extremely plicated and Fergus didn't pretend to understand the most part of it。 This was only an initial experiment and its full potential had yet to be fully realized。 But so far he appeared to be correct。 He scanned the pages of notes and nodded in silent satisfaction。
Mungo for his part； continued with the speech； which unknown even to himself； he had previously made several hours before。 Fergus listened to it with interest。 But the more the speech unfolded the more an un…forting thought began to nag Fergus。 And the more it nagged the more Fergus tried to reason with it。 But the more he reasoned with it； the louder and clearer did it nag。 'If the mission to 1958 had been a success；' nagged the thought； 'and the series successfully revived； then this meeting shouldn't be taking place and Mungo shouldn't be saying all the things he is still saying。 So therefore the mission can't have been a success。 In fact something must have gone disastrously wrong。'
'Oh dear；' thought Fergus Shaman； 'oh dear； oh dear； oh dear。'
A cold bead of lime green perspiration crept from his hairline across his forehead and down to the end of his nose。 Here it captured the light of Rupert and shone like a rare jewel。 What on Earth had happened？
Elvis Aron Presley； the man and the legend； looked upon all that he had made and found it good。 The King of Rock and Roll raked his manicured fingers through his magnificently greased coiffure and adjusted his quiff。 Just so。 'Uh； huh；' said he； winking lewdly into the rhinestoned shaving mirror。 'Mighty fine。'
The time was a little after nine of the evening clock。 The evening in question being that of the twenty…third of March； the year being 1958。 Just twelve hours before Elvis would take the draft； chuck up his credibility and take that first big step towards a terrible end。 But for now he was young； snake…hipped； gifted and sublimely rich。 Elvis smiled crookedly in the manner that had weakened the knees of an entire generation of American girldom。 Not a dry seat in the house； as one wag most tastefully put it。 Curled his lip and confirmed that every thing was； 'Mighty fine。'
But then it happened。 The impossible； the unthinkable。。。 the noble brow crumpled with anguish； the handsome features were clouded； the sensual mouth gaped in horror。 It couldn't be 。。。 it couldn't。。。 The King's eyes focused； blinked； refocused。 He leant forward； gazed with undisguised fear and loathing at the terrible sight made flesh before him。
There was a zit on his chin！
Elvis fell back from the mirror and sank blubbering into a gold lame guitar…shaped lounger。 Twelve hours away from the cameras of the world's press and this。 He'd have to cancel。 He couldn't face his public with a hideous pus…filled bubo hanging off his famous face。 He groped for the house phone； there was still time for surgery； his personal skin specialist was downstairs in the medical wing。
There was a bang。 It was small by many standards but quite to the point。 Elvis was blasted backwards from his lounger； his monogrammed slippers spiralling away upon separate trajectories。 Horrid garish fixtures and fittings； all of which will remain undescribed to spare the reader； rocked and tumbled； many mercifully breaking beyond all hope of repair。 Several unopened sacks of fan…mail burst asunder to fill the room with a papery snowstorm。 You'd better not mess with the US mail； my friend。
Jovil Jspht rose to his feet； coughing and spluttering。 'Hello there；' he called。 'Mister Paisley； I bring you greetings from a distant star。 Mister Paisley； are you there？ Hello？'
The board meeting at Earthers Inc。 finally broke up amidst the usual turmoil of accusation； recrimination； acrimony and general beastliness。 Suggestions had been forthing from the board but Mungo wasn't impressed。 He gave them a single day to e up with something positive； or avail themselves of a pair of heavy boots and a manure shovel。
Fergus edged away down the corridor and made for the archives。 He had to know what had happened。 If anything actually had。 It was possible that the sprout hadn't made it back to 1958。 It was possible that the whole thing was a delusion。 It was possible that he was going out of his mind。
Fergus pressed his palm to the security panel； the door retracted and merged with the living wall。 Fergus passed into the wonderworld which constituted the beating heart of Earthers Inc。 and indeed the very planet。 The plex was vast。 Even though Phnaargian horticology sought ever towards the miniaturization of data storage； the task of reseeding millions of previous episodes was one too costly and gargantuan even to contemplate。 The cellular pods； housing the countless centuries of human history； down to the most personal detail； spread away into hazy perspective。 Rising to every side in shimmering spires。 Billions of brightly shining globes blossoming one upon another。 Pulsing gently； maintained at a constant temperature and lovingly tended by numerous minions； trained from birth to know no other life。 Organic walkways flowed between the spires merging into one another。
Fergus rode down the central throughway。 Here and there he pas