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'Oh no he's not； sir。 He's sitting down there right now； plotting to overthrow the Dalai Lama。 Mr Madoc？ Could someone help me pick Mr Madoc up？ Are you all right； sir？'
Rex peeped down through the roof hatch on to the landing below。 He saw Deathblade Eric and Rambo Bloodaxe creep up the stairs and approach his doorway。 Rex had left the door ajar。 Rambo put his finger to his lips and nudged Eric； who was carrying an enormous handgun。 Half of Eric's head appeared to be missing。 At a signal from Rambo； Eric burst into Rex's apartment。 Rambo followed him in。 Rex gave them a moment before shinning down the metal ladder； slamming shut the door and engaging the anti…theft devices。 'Like rats in a trap；' he observed。 Much shouting and beating issued from within； but once locked and bolted the door wouldn't be bothering about that。 Rex gave it a little pat。
'Two in the can for later。' He upped the ladder once more and climbed into the air car。 Canopy down； straps on； identification confirmed。
'Latitude fifty…one degrees； twenty…nine minutes。 Longitude； zero degrees； eighteen minutes。 And fast please。' The car dragged itself clear of the roof and swung away into the gloom。 Rex belled through to the Dalai。 Old Inmost One's face appeared on the dash screen。
'Rex； my dear boy。 Something I can do for you？'
'I have further good news to report。'
'You never cease to amaze me。'
'The bounty on Rambo Bloodaxe。' Bounty was a poorly chosen word。 'The bonus I mean。' Rex wondered just how far Dan's telepathic powers extended。
'The bonus； yes；' said Dan。
'Does it still hold good？'
'My word is my bond； Rex。 But Bloodaxe and his flesheaters died during the Fundamentalist missile attack； surely。'
'Happily not。 Although I have no idea how they escaped。 There's another one with him。 I have them held prisoner in my apartment。 You have only to have them collected。'
'Most enterprising； Rex。 My congratulations。'
'You'll have my account credited then？'
'Most certainly。 Where exactly are you now； Rex？'
Rex made crackling sounds with his mouth。 'Sorry； getting a lot of static。 I'll have to call you back。' He switched off the dash screen。 The air car flew on； its engines coughing fitfully。
Rex was left alone； or so he hoped； with his thoughts。
Something strange had happened。 Somehow he had known that Rambo and Eric were on their way up to kill him。 But how？ ESP？ The Dalai's gifts couldn't be rubbing off on him； could they？ He wasn't altogether sure that the Dalai's gifts were all that reliable anyway。 The Living God King seemed somewhat fallible； to say the least。 But something strange was going on and somehow the mystery man in the photograph was at the heart of it。 A word or two with him； in private； might yield up all manner of interesting information。 The air car informed him that it was about to land and ran through its programmed routine of solace。。。 should any accident occur。。。
'Om…mani…padme…hum；' sang Rex Mundi。 It was a catchy little number after all。 The air car whacked down on to familiar territory。 Rex screwed on his weatherdome and lifted the canopy。 He climbed out。
'Aunty Norma's；' he whistled。 'Now there's a thing。'
A Nemesis security craft was parked near at hand and two heavily…armed thugs swung round to face his arrival。 Rex recognized them as his former torturers。 'Hello Rex；' Mickey Malkuth addressed him on the open channel。 'How's your luck？'
'It varies；' he cautiously approached the stun…suited duo。 'Have you made any arrests then？'
'Arrests？ Naughty； naughty。 Wanted for questioning is all。'
'Questioning？ Yes； I see。 And you have apprehended your suspect？' Rex stepped warily across the rubble…strewn landscape surrounding his former home。 It was grim and somehow it now seemed even grimmer than he remembered。
'Flown the coop；' said Malkuth。 He indicated the open bunker door。 'There was an old girl down there。 But we couldn't get any sense out of her。' Rex's stomach dropped。 He stumbled towards the bunker。
'I shouldn't go in； if I were you； Rex。 It's a bit messy； if you know what I mean。' Malkuth's laughter rang in Rex's ears。 He fell through the bunker door and tore off his weatherdome。 And he remembered that smell。 That stale rancid smell。 The smell of hopeless doomed poverty。
The bunker was as it always had been。 Candles burned in the tiny wall shrine； where an out…of…register photo of Dan grinned at nothing。 Next to it was a sketch of Uncle Tony scrawled on a can label in Rex's childhood hand。 The two chairs faced the terminal screen。
Aunty Norma lay face down before them。 Her face discoloured and hardly recognizable。 One hand was twisted unnaturally into the pile of ash which had once been Uncle Tony。 Into this her dying fingers had clawed a single name。 Dan。 Tears ran from Rex's eyes。 He gazed down at the broken body。 Up at the terminal screen。 It blazed colourfully； eternally。 Dan's face was there； grinning like a wolf。
Rex ran his fingers lightly over his aunt's hair； rose to his feet and put his boot through the terminal screen。
19
。。。； was with the foundation from sixty…three until sixty…eight； when it went pletely underground。 If it's still in existence then I don't know where。 But he's still around； I can tell you that。 Once you've seen how he works； you don't forget。 I see stuff in the papers and I say； that's him。 That's the God。 As I say； I joined in sixty…three； approached in the street； the usual thing。 Their technique never altered。 Never had to。 Why improve on perfection 11 was just one more disillusioned kid。 Bummed out of high school。 These guys just homed right in。 All smiles； handshakes； first…name terms。 Like they'd known me all of their lives。 Invited me up to one of those weekend retreats and I never left。 Not for five years。 We were changing the world。 Or thought we were。 And we did it all for him。 He was always ahead of everybody else。 Knew exactly what was ing； when and where。 So we were always one jump ahead。 Fashion； music。 Music。 He was responsible for it all； you know。 All that sixty…seven thing。 Haight Ashbury； Woodstock； Owsley's add。 You name it。 Hendrix； The Doors； The Grateful Dead 。。。 Shit； The Beatles； man； someone told me that he'd set all that up。 Tipped off Brian Epstein； lent him the money； everything。 Engineered it all。 And he never wrote a single word down。 Kept it all in his head。 We were laying the stones； that's what he said。 Some times back then lean tell you。 Yeah； the foundation； what don't I remember about the foundation。
The Suburban Book of the Dead
That which can be thought is not true。 Hindoo proverb
I think therefore I am。 French proverb。
The acid rain began to fall。 The Nemesis security craft had long since departed。 Rex sat alone upon the rubble before his late aunt's bunker。 Hissing droplets smeared over his weatherdome。 He sighed long and hard。 Fifty years in a hole in the ground； and for what？ Rex climbed to his feet。 For nothing。 Just another non…person。 He needed a drink。 He needed a big drink。 With a very final look toward his former home he returned to the air car and called up the co…ordinates of the Tomorrowman Tavern。 'And fas