rr.armageddonthemusical-第11节

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　　　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