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n from behind； this Elvis knew。 But he'd had a rough day。 And after all Fergus Shaman was an alien。
Fergus Shaman turned in mid stride。 Alien perhaps； but no fool。 'If you want to get back to 1958 then I suggest you e with me。'
The moment was lost。 Elvis went quietly。
Odeon Towers was well ablaze。 News teams from the Big Three were covering the event； jockeying for the key positions。 Fire…fighting squads stood at the ready awaiting their cues to make with the deeds of heroism。 Their union representatives discussed repeat fees and residuals with the media men。 Location directors shouted into handsets and prayed for the rain to keep off。 Someone on fire leapt from an upper window。
'Zoom in on the corpse。 Hold and cut。'
Rambo Bloodaxe peered over the parapet and sighed sadly。 Eric was trying to count his fingers and failing miserably。 'Hot for the time of year；' he observed。 Amidst the smoke and confusion a black Buddhavision security craft flopped down on to the roof。 Several heavily…armed henchmen stepped from it。
'Botheration；' Rambo exclaimed。 The old Bill。 Eric； me old mucker； it looks as if we are going to be next week's special guests on the Nemesis show。'
'Goody。' Eric gave up the unequal struggle with his fingers。 'I've always wanted to be on the telly。'
18
。。。 always whistling。 Didn't I mention that？ Maybe I forgot； it all gets a bit jumbled some times。 Like everything happened at once； not like it was spread out。 Always whistling。 He'd have this tune； whistle it for days and if； say； I left him on a street corner and he was whistling it； next time I'd bump into him he'd be continuing it right from where he left off。 Just like there had been no in between。 Used to give me the creeps。 It was like I didn't exist between the times I was with him。
But the tunes； see。 They'd get stuck in your head。 Real catchy。 Popular music tunes。 Pop it was called back then； or rock。 And then； maybe a week or a month later the same tunes would turn up on the radio。 And every one went to the number one slot。 Worldwide some of them。 So； I know what you're thinking。 He wrote them； right？ Me too。 I bought the records； but they were all big guys and well known。 He couldn't have been all of them； could he？
Although； I mean； he was a God。 Still is a God for all I know。
The Suburban Book of the Dead
When you wanna move； it's what's in the groove that counts。 James Brown
Soul is when the only way you can express yourself is to go
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwl right。
Same fella
'So；' said Fergus； as they reached the perforated boardroom door 'That is my theory and that is my plan。 Tell me； what do you think？'
Elvis checked out the alien son…of…a…bitch。 'No shit？' he asked。
'None whatever。 I have checked out my figures again and again。 Monitored your life readings and I'm certain that I'm correct。'
'Well then；' Elvis straightened his shoulders； turned up his collar and finger…bed his jet…black locks。 'Let's kick ass。'
Fergus gazed along the empty corridor； thinking to glimpse the forting glint of a multi…function riot gun as it dipped back into a far doorway。 'I'll leave you to it。 Just call out for Mr Garstang。'
'No sweat。 And fella。。。' Fergus turned。 'Yes？'
'Thanks。'
'You might have the decency to put a fellow's coat upon a hanger。' The torturers ignored Rambo and continued to strap his unclad body into the steel chair。 'No chance of a cushion I suppose？' An anonymous thug； who had just e on shift； dealt Rambo a specific blow to the solar plexus。 Ill…mannered oik； thought Rambo。 'Ouch；' he said。
The anonymous thug's equally anonymous patriot pressed the self…adhesive discs to the appropriate quarters。 'This is going to hurt really bad；' he said with relish。
'First prepared is best prepared； old todger。 Don't crease the strides； there's an angel。' The thugs gave Rambo a perfunctory thump or two and left the room。 'So this is Christmas 。。。' sang Rambo； although he didn't know quite why。
'Rambo Bloodaxe？' The voice crackled into the tiled room。
'Present；' said the man in the chair。
'Mr Bloodaxe； we have some questions to ask you。'
'Then ask away； my dear fellow。 I have pressing engagements elsewhere。' The first minor tremor loosened some teeth and scrambled his goolies。
'Leave off there。' Rambo howled。 'No need for that surely？'
'What do you know about SUN？' Rambo hesitated。 Up in the control room：
First anonymous torturer： 'Don't be so mean； the power isn't on ration。'
Second anonymous torturer： 'I'm sure Mr Bloodaxe wants to tell us all。'
First anonymous torturer： 'Burn it out of him。'
Second anonymous torturer： 'But he seems like a nice chap。 Oh well。。。'
Rambo Bloodaxe： 'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh！'
Rex turned his face away from the viewing panel。 'If you will pardon me；' he said； turning to leave。 'I find this quite upsetting。'
Dan offered Rex the sweetest of smiles。 'No taste for revenge then； Rex？ Don't you want to twiddle the dials a bit？'
'No； I don't。 I know what it feels like。'
Dan laughed。 'Yeah； you certainly squirmed。' He looked sharply at Rex。 'No hard feelings I trust？'
'You'll kill him； I suppose？'
Dan shrugged。 'Maybe yes； maybe no。 I will see how the spirit moves me。'
Rex chewed upon his lip。 'Just another non…person。'
'That's right； Rex。 Rubbish； detritus。 Millions more where he came from。 He is merely a means to an end。 My end。 You would do well to bear this in mind。'
Rex stared into the narrow face of the Dalai Lama and for a moment his thoughts were unguarded。 It didn't matter how much credit he built up for himself； there was very little chance of him staying around for long enough to enjoy it。 Dan would simply use him up and then throw him away。 So much detritus。 And it all just came to him in that single moment。 He was going nowhere。 Absolutely nowhere。
'I am handing in my resignation；' said Rex。 'I quit。'
Dan laughed； but there was no humour in it。 'No…one quits； Rex。 You don't quit on the Dalai Lama。'
'Well I do； and I have。' Rex turned to leave。
'Stop him。' An anonymous torturer sprang from his chair and drew a handgun。 Rex turned； kicked the weapon from his grip； punched him hard across the chin。 He stooped and snatched up the fallen gun。 He turned it upon Dalai Dan。 'I'm a dead man； aren't I？'
Dan shrugged。 'You could always reconsider。 Put it down now； there's a good boy。'
Rex swallowed。 With a shaking hand he levelled the gun towards the Dalai's face。 This had all got suddenly out of control。 He no longer understood what he was doing。
'Put down the gun Rex。'
'I think not。' Rex squeezed the trigger。 A shot rang out。
Rex Mundi sank to the floor。 A gaping wound in the back of his head。 The second anonymous torturer blew into the smoking barrel of his gun。 Dan gazed down at the corpse of Rex Mundi。 'Stupid waste；' said he。 'Get someone to clear the mess up and get whatever you can from Bloodaxe。 I shall be in my apartments。 Let me know what you find out。'
'Yes sir。' The anonymous torturer turned the body over with his foot and began to root through Rex's pockets。