‘Bravo,’ said the large controller, as this Rune grabbed the ancient from behind and bear-hugged his arms to his sides.
‘No,’ shrieked Old Claude, as the final seconds ticked away and the cattle prod spun from his fingers to land at Jack’s feet. ‘Kill him, sonny. Kill them both before they kill everyone. Living and dead.’
‘What?’ went Jack.
‘That’s their plan,’ agreed Chunky. ‘Bastards, they are.’
‘All in the twinkling of an eye.’ The large controller reached forward and dipped his big fat hand towards the blood-red button which is known and loved for this kind of thing.
‘No!’ Jack picked up the cattle prod, flicked the switch and flung himself at the large controller.
The controller caught it from behind.
Up the behind.
Right up.
‘Ooooooow!’ he shrieked, leaping high and falling low. Fist down on the big, blood-red button.
‘Zap him, sonny, zap him.’
Jack gave the prod a vicious thrust.
In and up.
The large controller’s mouth screamed open.
Steam blew from his ears.
His body quivered and shook.
Jack leapt back as sparks began to fly.
Old Claude suddenly dived down his hands between his legs and did to the Rune that held him, what the other Rune had done to Boris.
This Rune took to the shrieking and the leaping high.
Old Claude struggled to the Karmascope. ‘We’ve got to switch it off, sonny. Switch it off.’
‘You won’t,’ screamed the Rune with the internally worn cattle prod. ‘I’ve fixed it so you can’t.’
And then there was an appropriately Hellish bang as this Rune exploded into a trillion twinkling, star-shaped shreddings and vanished into absolutely nothing.
Clunk! went the cattle prod falling onto the floor.
‘Got to switch it off.’ Old Claude battered away at the Karmascope. The other Rune felt this an appropriate time to slip away.
‘Don’t let him escape,’ Old Claude told Jack. ‘Give him one up the chocolate speedway with the prod. You know the form.’
‘I do,’ said Jack, advancing.
‘No, please,’ said this Rune, backing away.
‘Don’t like to rain on your march past,’ said Chunky. ‘But something’s going on in the sky.’
And something truly was.
A blue light was swelling from the nose of the big sky nozzle. Fanning out.
Encompassing the heavens.
About the sun, in a glittering ellipse, which followed the path of Earth’s orbit, they sparkled. Millions and billions and trillions.
Tiny points of life. Basking in the light of sol.
Being cosmic.
Blue waves spread amongst them. Touched them. Jostled them.
Moved them. Hurt them.
‘Ouch,’ they began to go. And ‘Oh!’ and ‘Help!’
‘Give the bally thing a clout!’ bawled Chunky. ‘Out of the way, man, scrap’s my business.’
‘No,’ cried Rune, turning to run.
‘Yes,’ cried Jack, wading in with the cattle prod.
‘Up,’ shouted the Rune on Earth. ‘Get this thing into the sky.’
‘I’m trying, but something’s interfering with the electric field.’
‘Ouch. Oh and Help!’ wailed Norman, clinging to the saucer’s rim. ‘Something horrible’s happening to me.
Munch, went the bolt-cutter of Cornelius Murphy.
Brum, Brum, went Tuppe’s bulldozer, yards from the radio mast.
Rumble and roar, went the tidal wave. Rushing forward. Big tall wave. Plenty of height.
Scream and flee, went the townsfolk scrambling up Druid’s Tor.
‘Aaagh!’ went the zillions of souls, as the blue light swept amongst them, shot around the sun in a pulsating rush and tore down towards the Earth.
‘No!’ cried the Rune.
‘Yes,’ cried Jack.
Zap! went the cattle prod.
Munch! went the bolt-cutter.
Brum, went the bulldozer, less than two yards in it now.
Rumble, rush and roar. The tidal wave broke over the pier ends, and tore on towards the promenade.
‘Up!’ cried Rune to Boris.
‘Stuff this,’ cried Norman, leaping at the transparent dome and yanking it open.
‘What?’ Rune looked up. But couldn’t see a thing. Norman looked down. ‘Surprise,’ said he, dropping in the hand-grenade. ‘Oh, hello, Boris.’
‘Oh,’ shrieked Boris as the hand-grenade fell into his lap. ‘Not another bomb.’
And then the mighty flash. Two lines of electric-blue light searing down.
‘I had best jump clear,’ said Tuppe. ‘But my trouser leg seems to be caught.’
‘I had best climb down,’ said Cornelius. ‘But a tidal wave’s going to hit.’
‘I’d best be out of here,’ said Boris, switching on his flying boots and shooting up into the sky.
Well, one out of three’s not bad.
But it’s not very good either.
Down came the blue light, engulfing the radio masts. Energy tore along the power lines towards the piers.
Tuppe’s bulldozer struck home.
The Murphy bolt-cutter bit through the cable.
The saucer containing Rune lurched to one side and smashed into a pylon.
But nothing now could stop it.
Nothing on the face of the Earth.
The electrical discharge engulfed the power lines and pylons and hit the piers.
The tidal wave hit Skelington Bay.
39
‘You’re overloading the system,’ said an engineer in a vest and underpants.
‘You’ll burn out all the fuses,’ said his companion, similarly clad.
‘Who are you?’ asked Old Claude.
‘We’re the two engineers your mate Norman dropped down the lift shaft. But due to a continuity error we never got mentioned again.’
Kick, Kick, Kick, Kick, went Chunky at the Karmascope.
‘He’ll damage that unit,’ said the first engineer. ‘And it’s the only one we’ve managed to keep working. Can’t get the parts, see. Put in chitties for them, but does anyone listen?’
‘No,’ said his companion. ‘Last week I put in for a tube of flux, I had a two-micron downgrade on my inter-rositor.’
‘Turn it off!’ yelled Old Claude. ‘If you know how to, turn it off!’
‘Blue button,’ said the first engineer.
‘Blue button?’
‘Blue button.’
The second engineer shrugged. ‘Half these fan belts want replacing,’ he told Jack Bradshaw.
‘Really?’ said Jack.
‘Blue button? Blue button?’
‘Oil seals are going on a lot of the crank-cases too,’ said the first engineer.
‘Blue button?’ shrieked Claude.
The second engineer reached past him and pressed the blue button.
‘Oil’s the big issue with these old engines,’ he told Jack. ‘Keep your engine well lubricated and you won’t go wrong.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Jack.
‘Is it off?’ Old Claude flailed his arms about. ‘Have you switched it off? Has it stopped?’
‘Of course it’s stopped. And you shouldn’t have been playing with it. It’s not a toy. Who are you anyway?’
‘I’, said Claude, with fire in his eyes, ‘am the real controller. I am Claude Buttocks.’
The engineers looked at one another.
‘Claude Buttocks,’ said the first one. ‘Not as in—’
40
The old sun rose above Druid’s Tor. It sparkled on the dew-damp hedgerows, glittered on the grass. The sky was blue, the storm clouds gone. It looked like being a beautiful day.
The old sun looked down with some wonder. It had seen sights before. Sights a-plenty. But a sight such as this?
Not as such.
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There were thousands of folk on the Tor.
Thousands.
They stood, staring down at the town.
Exhausted. Arms about one another’s shoulders. Hands holding hands. Some wept. Others wrung their fingers, shook their heads and sighed.
For what the old sun saw and these people saw was something awesome, unique.
A town of two wrecked piers, fallen pylons, mangled cars and burnt-out buildings. Abandoned military vehicles. Torn-up pavements. Smashed houses. Fallen shops.
A town to inspire pity.
But then, now, a town to inspire something more.
Because here. This town. Skelington Bay. Here. Now.
Everything. All. In its smallest detail. From pebbled sandy beach to loose roof slate.
Everything.
All.
The entire town.
Was now gold-plated.
Shining like a fire in the sun.
And that’s something you don’t see every day.
41
‘Where am I?’ asked Tuppe.
‘You’re with me.’
‘Oh Cornelius, it’s you.’
‘It’s me.’
‘What happened to us?’
‘I don’t like to think. But I think I know.’
‘Then we’re—’
‘Dead,’ said Norman, smiling from the desk in the room full of cabinets and box files. ‘But look on the bright side. You may be dead, but at least you’re in full-time, regular employment.’
42
Thelma and Louise looked down upon the golden town.
‘They didn’t make it,’ said Thelma.
‘No.’ Louise shook her head sadly. ‘But perhaps they stopped it. It all stopped.’
‘And all the townsfolk survived. Which is something. But not enough.’
‘We’re going to miss them,’ said Louise. ‘Miss them very much.’
Thelma sniffed away a tear. She wasn’t into sentiment. But sometimes. Sometimes. When you really do care.
Thelma put her arm about the shoulder of Louise.
And they both wept.
But the sun shone higher. And around it, only slightly chafed and feeling all cosmic again, the zillions of souls hung in space.
Waiting.
43
‘Come on, guys,’ said Norman. ‘It’s not as bad as you think. Well, it is, but you’ll get used to it. The controller’s given me Jack Bradshaw’s job. And now everyone’s not going to die, well, it’s a happy ending. Everyone likes a happy ending.’
‘I don’t feel dead,’ said Tuppe. ‘But I do feel hungry.’
‘I’ll show you the canteen. I’m sure there is a canteen, although I’ve not seen it myself.’
‘I assume all the Runes are dead and gone,’ said Cornelius.
‘I assume so, although I lost count.’
‘God will sort it out,’ said Tuppe.
‘Hugo Rune was my dad,’ said Cornelius. ‘I still can’t believe what he did.’
‘My dad fell out of the sky and snuffed me,’ said Norman. ‘Dads are not always to be trusted.’
‘I never thought they were.’
‘If we have to work here,’ said Tuppe. ‘How long for? You said it was all to do with the extension to Heaven getting completed, when is that going to happen?’
‘Not long.’
‘How long?’
‘Well—’
‘Stop it, Norman.’ Old Claude appeared at the door. He looked somewhat changed: haircut, shaved chin, nice new suit. A white suit. ‘That’s quite enough.’
‘I was going to tell them about the five-aside football,’ said Norman.
‘Quite enough.’
‘What is this?’ Cornelius asked.
‘He knows,’ said Claude, winking at Norman. ‘Tell them.’
Norman smiled. ‘You can go,’ said he. ‘I was only kidding, you don’t have to stay.’
‘Say again.’
‘I had a word with the Big Figure,’ said Claude. ‘ God. Told Him everything. About Rune and Norman and you and Tuppe. He’s an all-right kind of guy, the Big Figure. Says it’s bollocks on the inside the next time He creates a race.’
‘I don’t think I understand,’ said Tuppe.
‘You don’t have to be dead anymore,’ said Norman. ‘God says you can come back to life. As a favour, seeing as what you did.’
‘You’re joking? He didn’t?’
‘He did,’ said Claude. ‘Out the door, turn left, take the lift down.’
‘No?’ said Cornelius. ‘I mean, thanks.’
‘Thank Him,’ said Claude.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Cornelius.
‘DON’T MENTION IT,’ said a very big voice.
‘Thanks from me too,’ said Tuppe. ‘Sir, thank you.’
‘HEY, TUPPE,’ said the big voice, ‘CAREFUL HOW YOU GO WHEN YOU GET BACK.’
‘Sorry?’
‘YOU’LL FIND OUT.’
‘Well, thanks. I can’t tell you how much thanks.’ Cornelius shook Old Claude by the hand. Turned and shook Norman’s hand also. ‘Thanks for everything, Norman.’
‘DON’T MENTION IT,’ said Norman, in a very big voice of his own.
‘Well, goodbye.’
Tuppe and Cornelius waved goodbye and made off through the door.
Norman sighed and put his elbows down on the desk.
‘I expect you’re just going to laze about again, aren’t you?’ asked Claude.
Norman shrugged dismally.
‘Clear off,’ said Old Claude.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Clear off. Go on.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, Norman, that the Big Figure has given you a pardon too. I put in a good word for you. He says you can come back to life. No more incantations at dawn though, eh?’
‘You mean I can be alive again?’
‘That’s it. Go on. Clear off. You’ll miss the lift.’
‘Thank you, Claude. Thank you.’ Norman threw his arms about the old fella. It was tears. It was pathos.
And why not, eh?
‘Go on,’ said Claude. ‘And good luck.’
44
And the sun beamed down.
And if we’re still into pathos.
Which I certainly am.
Down they came to Druid’s Tor in rays of golden light.
‘Whoa!’ said Cornelius, feeling all over himself. ‘I would appear to be intact.’
‘Whoa!’ said Norman. ‘Me too.’ And feeling at his face: ‘My spots have all cleared up, not that I ever made a big thing about them.’
‘And your hair’s not so red,’ said Cornelius. ‘And that’s a far better haircut than you had before.’
‘I think it’s a Tony Curtis,’ said Norman, fingering his head.
‘How about you, Tuppe? Are you OK?’
Cornelius turned. Looked down at Tuppe.
Looked up a bit at Tuppe.
Looked up a bit more.
‘Tuppe,’ said Cornelius.
‘I’ve grown,’ said Tuppe. ‘God’s made me tall. I’m like you, Cornelius. I’m tall. I’m not tiny any more.’
‘You were never tiny to me, my friend.’
‘It’s them,’ called Thelma. ‘They’re alive.’
‘Hey, Tuppe,’ called Louise. ‘Are you looking good, or what?’
45
‘We, the people of Magonia, are proud to award you this medal for bravery and noble deeds above and beyond the call of duty.’ The Emperor saluted. His court saluted. The medal was pinned on. Boris beamed about the court.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Boris.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said the Emperor. ‘But if I ever see that bogus King Hugo again I’ll have very harsh words to say to him.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ said Boris, smiling in the direction of his good friend Bryant, who was grinding his teeth. ‘I really don’t think you will.’
46
The most
amazing man who ever lived lay soaking in his marble bath-tub. The perfumed water rose and fell about his ample belly, as deep breaths filled his lungs and he sought to compose the final mathematical equation needed to complete his formula for the universal panacea and the elixir of life.
And he would have had it too, if it hadn’t been for the violent pounding upon his bedsit door and the howls of complaint from his landlady.
‘Get out of that bed, you lazy sod, or I’ll have my husband Cyril come and break down the door!’
The most amazing man who ever lived awoke with a bit of a start. He blinked his eyes. They were somewhat bloodshot, but otherwise quite normal. For this most amazing man was the original Rune, father to Cornelius and seeker after Truths of an Ultimate nature.
A Rune who had long ago disowned the evil twins of his creation. A Rune who now dedicated his life to a noble cause for the good of mankind.
The formula for the universal panacea and the elixir of life.
And he really would have had it that time.
Really.
But the banging went on at his bedsit door.
And his landlady called for Cyril.
She had a good pair of lungs on her, the landlady. Her husband’s name really carried about the house. ‘CY-RIL!’ it went. ‘CY-RIL!’
‘Cyril?’ The most amazing man scratched at his shaven head. It dearly needed a shave. ‘Cyril?’
Flinging aside his wretched blanket, he sprang from his bed as one possessed, sought vellum and stylus and spoke as he wrote; with a flourish.
‘CYRIL! That’s it! CY as in cyanamide, the colourless soluble acid with the chemical formula H2NCN. R being the chemical symbol for Radium. I the symbol in physics for Isospin. L the chemical symbol for the Avogadro constant, the number of atoms or molecules in a mole of a substance. That being equal to 6.022 52 x 1023 per mole. The final equation. I have it. I have it!’