The Suburban Book of the Dead
The lads at the motorpool gave the pale…faced Rex a rowdy sendoff。 He had bee quite a celebrity thereabouts； having now outlived any previous Religious Affairs Correspondent by two full days。 The chief mechanic addressed him as Captain Mundi； shook him vigorously by the hand and wished him 'another day'。 'We're all rooting for you 〃Ace〃；' he said； adding confidentially； 'If you could just see your way clear to surviving until Friday； it would be very much appreciated。' He showed Rex his sweepstake ticket。 'Thought I was on to a definite bummer with Friday afternoon。 Backing a rank outsider； know what I mean？'
Rex applied his knee to the chief mechanic's groin。 'Be lucky；' he smiled as he tore away the bunting which gift…wrapped his air car and climbed into the cab。
He punched in a series of co…ordinates and eyeballed the small screen on the dashboard。 'You again； Mr Mundi？' came the silicone voice。
Rex made a sour face。 'Up and away；' said he。 The car took grudgingly to the air； the Nemesis Bunker diminished in the rear…view mirror and was gone。 Rex addressed the puter。
'Have my security team left the landing strip yet？'
'Security team？' The voice had no tone to it。
'Certainly； the Dalai assured me that a security team would follow this vehicle。 Could you confirm； please？'
There was a short pause。 The screen then flashed INFORMATION CLASSIFIED。 Rex managed a wan grin； suspicions confirmed。 He had been pretty certain that Dan would have him followed。
'Heat…seeking missile approaching；' cried Rex。 'Red alert。'
'I'm receiving no such radar warning；' the puter plained。
'Evidently； a new strain with advanced camouflage； no time to argue about it； surely？' The air car's puter chose not to make a fuss。 It flung itself about； nearly dislodging Rex through the canopy； performed a number of stomach…loosening manoeuvres； switched off its engine and tumbled down to land in a cloud of smoke and sparks。
Rex's head appeared above the dashboard。 His nose was bleeding。 Two black…bodied Buddhavision security craft cruised by and vanished into the distance。
'Beautifully done；' said the dishevelled Rex。 'You are a credit to your series。' The puter kept its own counsel。 It was sure that it had been had。
'I don't like this； Fergus； and that's a fact。' Mungo paced his private quarters； savouring the exquisite perfumes of his rare orchid collection。 'He's got that thing in his head。 And that thing itself told us that time travel unhinges the traveller。 Delusions of Godhood and whatnot。'
'He seems sane enough。' Fergus put his nose forward for a sniff。 Mungo pushed it aside。
'From what we have been able to salvage from the storage beds； it appears that this Presley was of a singularly religious bent anyway。 Gospel music or suchlike。'
'All keys together rather well； sir。'
'All too messy；' Mungo plained。 'Too many loose ends。 All this end…times twaddle from Morgawr。 We can't have Armageddon on Earth； it's quite out of the question。 We'd all be out of work。'
'Well； it's not real Armageddon； is it？' Fergus Shaman's nose crept forward again。 'And the revenues we can take from the advertisers can buy an awful lot of orchid bulbs。'
'Yes； but what when the advertisers discover that
Armageddon has all e to nothing？' 'The series continues； we keep our jobs。' 'All too iffy。 And the virus； Fergus； what of the virus？'
'The news isn't good sir； the virus has now reached the 1990s； and is still moving forward。 Geneticists have been working around the clock； but nothing seems to stop it。'
Mungo sighed wearily。 'Truly； truly do I weep for the errant sons of Phnaargos。' He sniffed。 So did Fergus Shaman。 Mungo cuffed him about the head。 'Keep your bleeding hooter out of my Lilium auratum rubro…vittatums；' he advised。
Rex parked the air car within the ragged crater which had once been the Hotel California and scuttled from it to the concealed entrance of the underground cavern。 Here was currently domiciled the man with the sprout in his head。
The caverns had undergone considerable refurbishment。 Elvis lounged on an atrocious banana…shaped settee； his feet upon a thick…pile 'explosion' carpet。 A cocktail cabinet； which in 1980 had vanished improbably from a Bayswater bawdy house； reflected candelabra glow within its mirrored front。
'Very nice；' said Rex。 'Very homely。'
'Thought I'd just pop back and pick up a bit of dee…cor。 Elvis sipped at something tall and blue； which had a small umbrella sticking out of it。 'So； what's happening？' Rex shrugged。
Elvis stretched out on the settee。 'Did you see the Lama？'
'We exchanged a few pleasantries。'
'Did you tell him I was going to kick his ass？'
'That's what you wanted me to tell him； wasn't it？'
'And how did he take it？ Real bad； I hope。' Elvis laid aside his drink。
'He wasn't pleased。 He said I was to cut your head off。'
Elvis clapped his hands together and bounced up and down。 'Son…of…a…bitch。'
'Easy on the bouncing； chief。' Rex bade the sprout the time of day and dropped on to a purple bean…bag which had escaped previous mention。
'Are you still pletely serious about this revolution stuff？ I mean； you do know what you're taking on？ The Dalai Lama is worshipped by half the folk on this world。 You give him the chop and you aren't going to be Mr Popular。'
'That is why we gotta expose him for the thing that he is。 You are still with me on this？'
Rex shrugged。 'I have been giving the matter some thought。 And what I don't understand is why you need me at all。 Why don't you just breeze down some time channel or other and do the dirty on him？'
'Good point；' Elvis tousled his quiff。 'Why don't I do that？'
'Not in the plot； chief。 Got to be done according to the plot。'
'Why？' Rex asked。
'Yeah； why？'
'Because；' intoned the squeaky green voice。 'We are already messing about with the past and the present。 If we start messing with the future there is no telling where it will all end。'
'There；' Elvis patted the back of his head。 'That's why。'
'That's no why at all；' Rex protested。
'Well； let me put it another way； chief。 We are doing it this way because I know what is going to happen。 And because if you do it this way； you are going to e out of it very well indeed。'
'I do？ I mean； I will？'
'I been there chief； I know。 And anyway you want to see justice done； the Dalai killed a member of your family。'
'My aunt。'
'Oh no； Rex； he killed your uncle。 And he did it personally。'
An hour later Rex left the caverns； he screwed on his weatherdome； slipped through the concealed entrance and gazed across the blasted landscape。 The amazing revelations conveyed to him by the Time Sprout had snapped the few last worn threads which held together the tattered trouser…seat of his world。 It was a very heavy…duty number indeed。 And one so heavy that it must at all costs remain concealed from the reader for fear of spoiling the superb and totally unexpected trick ending of the book。
Let it only be said； then； that Rex Mundi was now a man with a mission。 A mission which； barring certain horrid obstacles that for the life of him he could see no way around； might ultimately lead to him； Rex Mundi； scabby； unwashed； pock…marked and now half…gone with the mange； being the very saviour of all mankind。
No； don't flick forward； you'll spoil it！
Dan left the two aspiring Lamarettes in his bed with something to meditate on。 Specifically； how a single individual could possess the power to ravish them both simultaneously。 Reincorporating before the bathroom mirror； Dan stuck his tongue out at himself and made a prial of winks。 Being the Living God King did have its advantages； although sadly his metaphysical repertoire didn't stretch to invulnerability。 And although he had tripled his personal guard and cast a psychic net about his quarters； he couldn't help but feel that things boded no good for his immediate future。 It was so damnably unfair。 Here was he； a man who had brought joy to millions； well； thousands anyway； and here too was this loonie； with powers apparently outstripping his own； out to kill him。 Dan did a big shuddering number。 This loonie？ This was The Loonie。 The one he had dreaded。 SUN； the born again。 SUN； whom the underground press worshipped； whom； their scriptures foretold； would be 'weled by the many and feared by the few'。
'Weled by the many；' muttered Dan。 'He's about as wele as a jobby in a swimming pool。' With no further ado he girded up his loins with saffron girders and declared in a voice of gilded splinters； The show must go on。'
'The show must go on；' said Mungo Madoc。 Twelve whole hours had actually passed since the Dalai said it。 But you could hardly tell that just by looking at it； could you？
'Now； about this Armageddon；' Madoc arranged the unruly stack of Morgawr's memos before him on the desk； 'exactly how much will it cost？'
Jason Morgawr sprang to his feet。 'I have all the projected figures； I think you will find them most favourable。' Fergus Shaman posed his long fingers into a Gothic arch and kept himself to himself。
'We don't have an inexhaustible bu