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We'd been feeding the stuff into a cotext ten puter； then selling it off。 Perfect situation； mint copies。 We could process them without even taking them out of the cellophane wraps。 The records went out into circulation still brand new； but we'd got them into the processor in analogue。 With the revenue from selling the mint copies we could constantly update our equipment。 Some of those records were worth 10；000 apiece。 We are talking collectors' items。 So； as I say； someone got greedy。 And we got busted。
We should have covered our tracks better。 Kept on the move； like in the old days。 But with the gasolene rationed and stuff you couldn't move about much。 And the equipment was that delicate and we were all far too obsessed with the project。 Because； you see； stuff was beginning to show up。 Abstract most of it。 Patterns； visual； audio。 We were running it through a 409 CS deck overcut with a sequence analyser。 We could pick up frequency levels that would never have registered on ordinary equipment。 And it was there in every single one of those records。 And it was all ing together。
The Suburban Book of the Dead
The lads at the motorpool gave the pale…faced Rex a rowdy sendoff。 He had bee quite a celebrity thereabouts； having now outlived any previous Religious Affairs Correspondent by two full days。 The chief mechanic addressed him as Captain Mundi； shook him vigorously by the hand and wished him 'another day'。 'We're all rooting for you 〃Ace〃；' he said； adding confidentially； 'If you could just see your way clear to surviving until Friday； it would be very much appreciated。' He showed Rex his sweepstake ticket。 'Thought I was on to a definite bummer with Friday afternoon。 Backing a rank outsider； know what I mean？'
Rex applied his knee to the chief mechanic's groin。 'Be lucky；' he smiled as he tore away the bunting which gift…wrapped his air car and climbed into the cab。
He punched in a series of co…ordinates and eyeballed the small screen on the dashboard。 'You again； Mr Mundi？' came the silicone voice。
Rex made a sour face。 'Up and away；' said he。 The car took grudgingly to the air； the Nemesis Bunker diminished in the rear…view mirror and was gone。 Rex addressed the puter。
'Have my security team left the landing strip yet？'
'Security team？' The voice had no tone to it。
'Certainly； the Dalai assured me that a security team would follow this vehicle。 Could you confirm； please？'
There was a short pause。 The screen then flashed INFORMATION CLASSIFIED。 Rex managed a wan grin； suspicions confirmed。 He had been pretty certain that Dan would have him followed。
'Heat…seeking missile approaching；' cried Rex。 'Red alert。'
'I'm receiving no such radar warning；' the puter plained。
'Evidently； a new strain with advanced camouflage； no time to argue about it； surely？' The air car's puter chose not to make a fuss。 It flung itself about； nearly dislodging Rex through the canopy； performed a number of stomach…loosening manoeuvres； switched off its engine and tumbled down to land in a cloud of smoke and sparks。
Rex's head appeared above the dashboard。 His nose was bleeding。 Two black…bodied Buddhavision security craft cruised by and vanished into the distance。
'Beautifully done；' said the dishevelled Rex。 'You are a credit to your series。' The puter kept its own counsel。 It was sure that it had been had。
'I don't like this； Fergus； and that's a fact。' Mungo paced his private quarters； savouring the exquisite perfumes of his rare orchid collection。 'He's got that thing in his head。 And that thing itself told us that time travel unhinges the traveller。 Delusions of Godhood and whatnot。'
'He seems sane enough。' Fergus put his nose forward for a sniff。 Mungo pushed it aside。
'From what we have been able to salvage from the storage beds； it appears that this Presley was of a singularly religious bent anyway。 Gospel music or suchlike。'
'All keys together rather well； sir。'
'All too messy；' Mungo plained。 'Too many loose ends。 All this end…times twaddle from Morgawr。 We can't have Armageddon on Earth； it's quite out of the question。 We'd all be out of work。'
'Well； it's not real Armageddon； is it？' Fergus Shaman's nose crept forward again。 'And the revenues we can take from the advertisers can buy an awful lot of orchid bulbs。'
'Yes； but what when the advertisers discover that
Armageddon has all e to nothing？' 'The series continues； we keep our jobs。' 'All too iffy。 And the virus； Fergus； what of the virus？'
'The news isn't good sir； the virus has now reached the 1990s； and is still moving forward。 Geneticists have been working around the clock； but nothing seems to stop it。'
Mungo sighed wearily。 'Truly； truly do I weep for the errant sons of Phnaargos。' He sniffed。 So did Fergus Shaman。 Mungo cuffed him about the head。 'Keep your bleeding hooter out of my Lilium auratum rubro…vittatums；' he advised。
Rex parked the air car within the ragged crater which had once been the Hotel California and scuttled from it to the concealed entrance of the underground cavern。 Here was currently domiciled the man with the sprout in his head。
The caverns had undergone considerable refurbishment。 Elvis lounged on an atrocious banana…shaped settee； his feet upon a thick…pile 'explosion' carpet。 A cocktail cabinet； which in 1980 had vanished improbably from a Bayswater bawdy house； reflected candelabra glow within its mirrored front。
'Very nice；' said Rex。 'Very homely。'
'Thought I'd just pop back and pick up a bit of dee…cor。 Elvis sipped at something tall and blue； which had a small umbrella sticking out of it。 'So； what's happening？' Rex shrugged。
Elvis stretched out on the settee。 'Did you see the Lama？'
'We exchanged a few pleasantries。'
'Did you tell him I was going to kick his ass？'
'That's what you wanted me to tell him； wasn't it？'
'And how did he take it？ Real bad； I hope。' Elvis laid aside his drink。
'He wasn't pleased。 He said I was to cut your head off。'
Elvis clapped his hands together and bounced up and down。 'Son…of…a…bitch。'
'Easy on the bouncing； chief。' Rex bade the sprout the time of day and dropped on to a purple bean…bag which had escaped previous mention。
'Are you still pletely serious about this revolution stuff？ I mean； you do know what you're taking on？ The Dalai Lama is worshipped by half the folk on this world。 You give him the chop and you aren't going to be Mr Popular。'
'That is why we gotta expose him for the thing that he is。 You are still with me on this？'
Rex shrugged。 'I have been giving the matter some thought。 And what I don't understand is why you need me at all。 Why don't you just breeze down some time channel or other and do the dirty on him？'
'Good point；' Elvis tousled his quiff。 'Why don't I do that？'
'Not in the plot； chief。 Got to be done according to the plot。'
'Why？' Rex asked。
'Yeah； why？'
'Because；' intoned the squeaky green voice。 'We are already messing about with the past and the present。 If we start messing with the future there is no telling where it will all end。'
'There；' Elvis patted the back of his head。 'That