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ing to be them； no matter what we do。 We're us。 You're us。 A victim； a non…person； cog in the great wheel； number on the screen。 The only difference between you and me is that you haven't e to terms with it yet。'
Rex glowered into his cup。 'But it doesn't have to be like that。 It shouldn't be like that。'
'Maybe it shouldn't。 How should I know？ But it is and possibly it always has been。 So what are you going to do？ Change the world？'
'I might just do that；'
'No。 Please； please。' The barman clutched at his sides； laughing hideously。 'Too much fine humour in one day。 Change the world indeed！ A crapulous ic； so you are。' He topped Rex's cup without charge； and sauntered away chuckling immoderately。 Rex stubbed out his cigarette upon a leg of his radiation suit and thought grim thoughts。
A sudden altercation now occurred which sent Rex ducking for cover。 Between the plastic flaps voices were being raised； blows exchanged。 The barman made haste along the counter and brought a knobkerrie into play。 Rex peeped over a tabletop。 Just don't let it be Rambo Bloodaxe； he prayed without shame。
'I'm only doing my job；' wailed a small voice。
'Look at my Goddamn suit；' came a larger voice。 A small head was soundly cuffed； and its owner； the pail…toting lounge boy； entered the inner flap with a kind of awkward cartwheel which terminated in concussion against the bar counter。 The owner of the head…cuffing hand now followed the inadequate acrobat into the bar。 He was a tall； handsome young man； wearing a magnificent； if now slightly sodden； gold lame suit。 And Rex knew that face immediately。 It was the face of the mystery man himself。 The face of the photograph。 Killer sideburns； thought Rex。
'What's your game then？' The barman shinned over the bar counter and bore down upon the lounge boy's attacker； knobkerrie raised。
'Take a hike buddy。' The mystery man threw an unusual punch； which came with as much surprise to the barman as it did to Rex。 Only more painfully so。 He then brought a blue suede foot into action。 Rex watched in fascination。 Old Adam Earth favoured the ancient Tibetan fighting technique known as Dimac； when disposing of the Dalai's would…be assassins； but this was something far more convincing。
'Goes with the sickle；' said the mystery man； enigmatically。 Rex pondered upon a course of action。 However the large amount of Tomorrowman Brew now burning its way through his stomach lining made cogitation difficult。
'That's him； chief。' Rex heard the curious voice； although he couldn't see its owner。
'You certain？' The mystery man addressed this question to the air。
'Sure thing chief。 The old dame in the bunker showed us the picture； remember？'
'He looks like shit。'
'Hardly surprising。 Best tackle him now； eh？'
'No sweat。' Elvis approached Rex Mundi。 Rex sought invisibility without success。 'Hey fella； I'd like a word with you。' Rex weighed up his chances。 The barman was down and out； the punters； momentarily interrupted from their viewing； had now returned to it。 This was what was once called a one…to…one situation。 Rex raised an unconvincing fist。
'Have a care；' he said。 'I know Dimac。'
Elvis raised calming palms。 'I ain't looking to fight。 I just want to move mouth with you； is all。'
'Eh？'
'Talk。 Sit down； no problem。' Rex sat down。 He almost made the chair。 Elvis helped him up on to it。 'There。 You OK？'
'I don't feel all that clever as it happens。'
'You'll be OK。 The name's Rex； right？'
Rex nodded carefully。 'I don't think we've been formally introduced。'
'The King； just call me the King。'
Why？ wondered Rex。 'As you please；' he said。 'So what do you have on your mind； your majesty？'
'Revolution；' said Elvis Presley。
20
。。。 the records？ You mean the albums； right？ Everybody always asks about the albums。 A quarter； maybe half a million of them； I guess； and growing all the time。 And he kept them moving around； never in the same place for long。 They were stored at the foundation at the first off； he had them guarded day and night。 Then he said that they should be moved out。 They went into containers； we worked on shifts； took us nearly three weeks to load them up。 Then they travelled。 All over the country。 All new； all mint condition； still in the cellophane wraps； never played。 Imagine a collection like that and he never played them。 This would be late in sixty…eight and he was getting real reclusive by then。 We'd get phonecalls and stuff； nothing in writing of course。 Some times we wouldn't hear from him for weeks。 And there were a lot of hassles。 A lot of people asking awkward questions； and none of us had any answers。 Things got real bad about then。 People stopped smiling； do you know what I mean ？
The Suburban Book of the Dead
'Kidnap the Dalai Lama？' Rex clutched at his narcotized head。 'That is what you are saying？' He examined his fingers； between them were small knots of dead hair。
'Sure thing； buddy。'
'I would suggest that it was anything but。 But why him； why not Pope Joan or L。 Ron Hubbard the twenty…third？'
'All in good time。 I gotta personal score to settle。'
Rex could feel the room circling。 'Let me get this straight。 You are telling me that the Dalai Lama is the what？'
The enlightened look we have e to know； if not perhaps to love； was once more upon the face of Elvis Presley。 'Ant…eye…Christ。' （Well； that's how he pronounced it。） 'Ant…eye…Christ。'
'Antichrist。 Sorry； this is all somewhat unexpected。'
'I have seen the future。 It's much like the past； only worse。'
'I never expected much else。 Who are you？'
'I told you。 Are you sure we got the right guy？' The question wasn't directed toward Rex。
'Sure thing； chief。 He's your man。'
'Who said that？
'I have a sprout in my head；' Presley explained。
'Ah；' said Rex。 It was a very meaningful 'ah'。 'I have to take a spray now and very probably throw up。 If you will excuse me？'
'I'll bust your head if you try to leave。'
'Yes； indeed。 Now let me just recap。 Revolution； kidnap； the Antichrist； and a sprout in your head。'
'That's about the size of it。'
'Friend；' said Rex。 'I don't know what you are on。 But it certainly is not what I'm on。' With no further ments to make； Rex fell forward across the table and from there to the floor。
'He's out of it for now； chief；' came a voice from the rear of Presley's skull。 'Best away to a place of safety with him until he sobers up。'
'We could have a drink before we go。'
The Time Sprout drew Presley's attention to Rex； who was now puking silently in his narcotic slumbers。 'Best not； eh？'
'So then what？'
'So then he helped Rex up and they went off screen； sir。' Fergus smiled； a little too placently for Mungo's liking。 'We can't be everywhere。 Most places； yes； but not everywhere。'
Mungo sniffed pollen。 'We refoliated that planet； every leaf； flower； mould and fungus all broadcasting back to us。 There can't be any blank spots； surely？'
'Well； we've lost Rex before。 There are dead areas all over； we never needed to pay them much attention before now。'
'So we can't see what they are up to？'
'Not un