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k they deserve to live。 So what's it going to be then; eh?'
'What about the don't knows?' Rambo protested。
'Ask him if he could kindly repeat the question;' the bewildered Eric put in。 'I don't know which way I should vote。'
'Ask him to stick up his hands and shut his mouth;' said Elvis Presley。
Dan turned in horror to view the materialization。 'SUN;' he gasped。
'Messiah;' went the inverted Rambo。
'Golly;' said Eric。 'And in the nick of time; eh?
'This station is now the property of the people。'
'But the people are stoned。 Cut the sound; fade out。。。'
'I think not;' said Rex Mundi。
'Get me Fergus Shaman。'
'I'm sorry Mr Madoc; but Mr Shaman is no longer in the building。'
'Then get him at home。'
'I regret that Mr Shaman isn't at home。'
'Then where is he?'
'Mr Shaman has; and I quote; gone to Earth upon pressing business。'
'Mr Shaman isn't authorized to visit Earth。'
'No; sir。'
'Get me a spaceboat at once。'
'Mr Shaman said that you might require one。 It's all prepared on the top landing。' 'Thank you; Mavis。' 'Thank you; Mr Madoc;'
'Cut down those sons of freedom; father…raper;' snarled Elvis; from the trigger end of a four…barrelled Phnaargian peacekeeper。 'And don't get smart。'
Dan made frantic motions towards the lovely Marion; who was making goo…goo eyes at the mystery star guest。 'Marion!'
The bra…busting beauty; whose hobbies included doing voluntary work for the terminally underprivileged; running on the spot and learning a first language; wiggled her unlikely hips and nose…dived a lurex finger towards a row of garish buttons。 These were housed beneath the score board; which really should have been mentioned earlier。 But there you are。
'To hear you say; is to obey;' she coupleted; most prettily。 Rambo and Eric tumbled to the studio floor in khaki confusion。 Dan glanced toward Elvis。
'Don't even think about it。' Elvis cocked a second hammer on his piece。
Rambo struggled to free himself from the harness about his ankles。 Rising to his feet he straightened his lapels and put his hair in order; before delving into his trouser seat; to remove something singularly distressing。 'I feel we might dispense with further formalities and stick this where it belongs。'
'All in good sweet time。' Elvis opened his jacket; exposing his considerable weaponry。 He tossed a handgun to Rambo。 'Stay loose。'
'I have every intention of doing so; Lord King。'
'Someone untie my hands;' moaned the Deathblade。
'It's your feet that are tied; close friend of mine。'
'Ah yes。 I see my mistake now; thank you Rambo。'
'Don't mention it; Eric。'
'Now just you listen;' said Dan; whose telepathic cry for help now echoed about the building。 'You are making a terrible mistake。'
Elvis shook his head。 It was a very definite shake。 It said a very definite no。
'End transmission;' said the Dalai Lama。 But he didn't say it from the studio floor; where he stood trembling。 He said it close by the ear of Rex Mundi。
'Shock horror!' Rex lurched back in his borrowed chair。 Dan leaned forward; his wide eyes showing only the whites。 'End transmission。'
'Stay away from me;' Rex lashed out at the holyman; his fist struck empty air。 'A hologram。'
'A holygram;' said Christeen。 'A tulpa; an astral body。' The other Dan turned slowly away from Rex; the pupils returned to his eyes; one from above; the other from beneath。 It wasn't a pretty sight。
'He can see you;' croaked Rex。
'Of course he can; in his present state we occupy the same plane。' Christeen walked slowly toward the tulpa; smiling sweetly。 Her fingers were cupped demurely before her。 She drew back her beautiful face and brutally head…butted him。 Back on the studio floor Dalai Dan collapsed in a heap of holy confusion; clutching a bleeding nose。 Rambo and Eric went into a big twentieth…century American cop routine over him。 Legs akimbo; both hands upon the gun。
'Are we rolling?' Elvis squinted into the lights。 Rex gave an invisible thumbs up。 Elvis tucked away his weapon。 'People of the World;' said he; addressing the automated camera with the red light on。 'I wonder if you're lonesome tonight。'
Now it might have been a blinder of a speech。 A heartfelt heart…string puller; a rowdy rabble rouser; or a wise and witty tickler of ribs。 It might have been a Churchillian upper…lip stiffener or even a metaphysical mind…blower。 (Well; it might have been。) Or of course it could well have been a load of old pussy…cat poo。 But whatever the case; that's as far as it got。 Because just then the stage doors opened to reveal the Dalai's special guard; the Orange Agents; as they are unaffectionately known。
They were stunningly clad in this year's look。 Heavily…padded shoulders giving that fuller feel。 Belts worn at a jaunty angle; rakish high…boots beneath hip…hugging bat trousers; pocketed for convenience at thigh height。 The stun guns; grenade launchers; flame throwers and rapid…fire machine pistols were all standard issue; but the straps and fittings had been whimsically toned in bold primaries; which although adding that essential splash of colour; in no way detracted from the bold; macho image。
'Nobody move。'
Rambo and Eric; now both tooled up; turned their inadequate firepower upon the intruders。 'Drop those weapons;' called Eric; whose plete lack of prehension; regarding the sudden shift in the balance of power; had a certain naive charm。 'Give yourselves up。'
Elvis sighed deeply。 Up in the control room; Rex Mundi said; 'Phase Two。' He pulled from his radiation suit a pre…recorded transmission disc Elvis had given him for the occasion。 It was entitled ELVIS PRESLEY'S GOLDEN GREATS。 Something about going out on a song; the King had said。 Rex slotted it into the desk housing and sat back awaiting further events。
On the studio floor a little tableau was now arranged。 At its centre knelt Dan; somewhat green about the gills and red about the hooter。 About him were ranged Eric; Rambo and Elvis; their guns were angled down towards the kneeler; aimed at points of their respective choosings。
'Back off fellas;' called Elvis。 The Orange Agents looked at one another; they looked at Elvis; they looked at the Dalai。 'Now;' encouraged Mr Presley; before all the looking got out of hand。 'And clear the decks; we're leaving。'
Dan looked up bitterly; 'I'm wounded;' he plained。 The look on Elvis's face told him all he needed to know。 'Quite so。 Kindly move back; gentlemen。'
'Cue it in; Rex;' Elvis called up to the control box。
Rex tipped the switch。 The passionate strains of the immortal classic filled the studio air。 'It's now or never;' it went。
Elvis said; 'Let's go。'
Rex turned towards Christeen; she had gone; and once more all memories of her had gone too。 The disc was running and now it was his turn。
Four men dashed along the studio corridor。 Three held guns; one held his nose。 'Into the lift。'
'They will cut the power;' said Eric。
'Very good; Eric。'
'Thank you; Rambo。'
'They won't;' Elvis bundled Dan into the lift。 'In you。' Dan had nothing to say。
'Up; Lord King?' Rambo enquired。
'Up to the