Apocalypso (18 page)

‘Your
unlicensed shagging process you mean.’

‘But it
is
licensed. Ten thousand top-class human breeding specimens a year.
Kindly donated by our chairman Mr Naseby. All we have to do is go around at
night and pick them up from the shop doorways where they’ve been left out for
us.’

Augustus
Naseby cleared his throat once more.

‘And I’ll
tell you this.’ The grey shook a diminutive and bony fist. We’ll be here when
you’re nothing but a footnote in a book of duff twentieth-century cults.’

‘I’m
not duff,’ huffed the angel, puffing out what little chest he had. ‘I’m holy.’

‘And my
cock’s a kipper.’

‘Gentlemen,
please,’ said Augustus, raising his hands. ‘There is no call for such
undignified behaviour.’

At that
moment a pig fell through the ceiling.

‘Sorry
I’m late,’ said the pig. ‘I was putting some lard on the wife’s boil and you
know how time flies when you’re having a good time. Have I missed anything?’

‘Not
much,’ said Augustus.

‘I saw
your son last week,’ said the pig.

‘My
son?’ asked Augustus.

‘That’s
right. I recognized him from that photo you have pinned to your darts board. He
was lurking around in ALPHA 17. Doesn’t lurk as well as you, but I’m sure he’ll
get the hang of it eventually.’

‘My son
in ALPHA 17?’ Augustus clutched at his heart. What was he doing there?’

‘No
idea at all.’ The pig did sniffings with his snout. ‘Any sandwiches?’ he asked.

‘I
object to this pig,’ said the angel Espadrille. ‘Has he got security clearance?
He’s not impersonating an Egyptian.’

What’s
that thing on your head?’ asked the pig.

‘My
holy crown,’ said the angel.

‘No, I
didn’t mean the manky lights. I meant the other thing. It looks like a Kentucky
Fried Chicken party bucket.’

‘It’s
my official fez.’

‘No it
bloody isn’t,’ said the grey. ‘The pig’s right. It is a party bucket.’

‘All
right, it is! Some swine nicked my fez.’

‘Language!’
said the pig.

‘This
angel is an imposter,’ said the grey. Augustus shook his head. ‘Of course he’s
an imposter.’

‘No, I
mean an imposter here. He’s an imposter of an imposter.’

‘I don’t
think I quite follow that,’ said the pig. ‘I’m the genuine article,’ said the
angel. ‘Shut up all of you!’ Augustus brought his fists down hard upon the
table, flattening the maggot who was putting out a cigarette.

‘Is it
all right if I eat that?’ asked the pig. ‘As you’ve no sandwiches?’

Augustus
wiped his sticky fingers down his smart Egyptian front. ‘I am closing this
meeting,’ he said. ‘I will see you all again next week. Same time, same place.’

‘That’s
not fair,’ the angel complained. ‘I want my application passed.’

‘And
you’ — Augustus pointed stickily at Espadrille — ‘will wear a proper fez next
week or you won’t be allowed in.’

‘L. Ron
Hubbard nicked my fez.’

‘Meeting
adjourned!’

‘You’re
all barking mad,’ said the pig.

‘And
you stay here. I want a word with you.’ Augustus went off to lurk in a corner,
beckoning the pig to follow him. The various representatives from the various
other realities removed themselves variously. There were nearly two hundred of
them, although only four had actually spoken this day and of these one had been
unfortunately flattened. A small boy from a separate reality, where small boys
don’t have to eat their greens and are allowed to stay up as long as they like
watching television, had to be persuaded to leave by asking him very nicely and
giving him a big bag of sweets.

A
number of chickens, who had repeatedly had their applications for temporary
world domination rejected, relieved themselves on the carpet and faded into
wistful imagination.

‘Now,’
said Augustus to the pig, ‘what is all this about my beastly son being in ALPHA
17?’

A knock
came at the door.

‘Someone’s
knocking,’ said the pig. ‘I hope it’s not that maggot’s daddy.’

‘About
my son—’

Knock
knock knock.

‘Shall
I answer it? I could say you were busy. Larding up your wife’s boil, or
something.’

Knock
knock knock, went the repeated knocking at the door (repeatedly).

‘I’ll
speak to you later,’ said Augustus, ducking down behind his chair.

The
door opened, the pig went out and three men walked in. They were ragged men.
Ragged and woebegone, much travelled and much wearied.

Their
armpits sorely needed a wash and their socks smelled none too savoury.

The
tallest of the three, and very tall he was, dropped down into the nearest chair
and buried his face in his hands.

The
youngest stood with
his
hands in his trouser pockets. ‘He’s hiding, I’ll
bet,’ he said.

The one
of middle years, with the white frothy barnet, pointed. There he is,’ he said. ‘He’s
lurking behind his big chairman’s chair.’

Augustus
rose with dignity. ‘Thank you, madam,’ he said, ‘please put your bill in the
post.’

‘He’s
got a woman down there,’ said the youngest, his hands at work within his
trouser pockets.

‘No he
hasn’t,’ said the frothy white-haired one. ‘He was just on the lurk, as per
usual.’

‘Gentlemen,’
said Augustus. ‘What a surprise. Danbury, I won’t shake your hand. Dr Harney, I
will shake yours.’ Augustus did. ‘And Sir John. Oh my God!’

Augustus
stepped back. ‘Your… your…’

‘Don’t
say the word,’ said Dr Harney.

‘Beard,’
said Augustus.

Sir
John burst into a flood of tears.

The
doctor comforted him. ‘Have a sweetie from this bag here,’ he said, patting the
tall man’s shoulder.

What
happened?’ asked Augustus. ‘The state of you all… the . .

‘Monty
the head man nicked his beard.’ Danbury grinned as he said it.

‘Shaved
it off?’ Augustus dropped into his chair.

‘Pulled
it off.’ Danbury made the motions. ‘It was a falsy. We never knew.’

‘Nuke
the island,’ croaked Sir John between blubberings.

We have
discussed that.’ Augustus waggled sticky digits. ‘Nuking the creature is not an
option.’

‘I’m
not talking about the creature. I’m talking about the bastard who stole my
beard.’

Danbury
clutched at his stomach with his non groin-clutching hand.

‘Stop
sniggering!’ shouted Sir John.

‘I’m
sorry,’ said Danbury, who wasn’t.

‘So,
where is it?’ asked Augustus.

‘My
beard?’

‘Not
your beard. My spacecraft. My seven-pointed spacecraft, which you were to
retrieve for me and bring back here. Outside on a lorry, is it?’

Dr
Haney shook his froth. ‘Not exactly,’ he said.

What?’

We ran
into a spot of trouble,’ said Danbury, offering an empty smile.

‘All
right,’ said Augustus, ‘tell me all about it.’ Danbury opened his mouth to
speak. ‘I’ll tell him,’ said Dr Harney. ‘You can’t do it without laughing
anyway.’

Danbury
tinkered once more in his trousers. We ran into a spot of trouble on the
island,’ said the doctor. ‘The Americans had got there first and bribed the
natives. We were captured and held prisoner while the Americans absconded in a
tramp steamer with the spacecraft.’

‘Oh
dear,’ said Augustus.

‘You
see, Sir John had biffed the head man of the village and the head man tried to
cut off Sir John’s beard and it sort of came off—’

‘And I
shot the head man’s dog,’ said Danbury.

‘Yes,’
said Dr Harney, ‘and in the confusion we managed to escape in a canoe. We were
later picked up by a rescue plane that was looking for the tramp steamer.’

‘But
the plane crashed,’ said Danbury.

‘Yes,
it crashed.’ Dr Harney made fists. Will you please shut up. I’m telling this.’

‘Sorry,’
said Danbury, smirking away.

‘The
rescue plane flew off searching for the tramp steamer. We eventually reached
it. It was moored to a liner.’

‘A
liner?’ Augustus raised his eyebrows. ‘The pilot flew us in close. It was an
American cruise ship called
The Leviathan.
The creature was aboard, on
deck.’

‘It was
horrible,’ said Danbury. ‘Twenty feet high, all green like a great fat sprout
and—’

‘Hold
it!’ Augustus rose from his seat. ‘You mean that the alien creature is alive?
That it is out of its spacecraft?’

‘Afraid
so,’ said the doctor. ‘And it
was
horrible. It was sitting there upon
mounds of cushions and everyone on deck, thousands of people, were all on their
knees, praying to it.’

‘Dear
God!’

‘And it
had a barbecue on the go,’ said Danbury.

‘Shut
up!’ said the doctor. We weren’t going to mention that.’

‘Tell
me,’ said Augustus.

‘There
was a barbecue and there were bits of. . Dr Harney hesitated.

‘Bits
of people,’ said Danbury. ‘It was cooking people on the barbecue.’

‘This
is terrible, terrible.’

‘Agreed,’
said Dr Harney. We were circling around, trying to take a few pictures, when
the creature saw us—’

‘And
the pilot started clutching at his head’ —Danbury now clutched at his — ‘and
going “aaaaagh, the pain, the pain” and the plane went out of control and we
crashed into the sea.’

‘Good
Lord,’ said Augustus.

We were
picked up by a fishing boat,’ continued Dr Harney. ‘But Sir John got into an
argument with the captain because he wouldn’t change course for us and—’

‘I shot
the captain’s parrot.’

‘Shut
up! We were thrown overboard just west of Haiti. We had to swim ashore. Then we
caught the plane home.’

‘There
was some further unpleasantness,’ said Danbury.

‘I
doubt whether Mr Naseby wants to hear about that.’

‘I
bloody do!’ said Augustus, who was slowly but surely reaching the boil.

 ‘At
the airport,’ the doctor continued. ‘They wouldn’t let Sir John through
passport control.

Without
his beard he didn’t look like his photo and—’

‘I shot
the passport chap’s goat.’

‘Goat!’

‘The
airport mascot. We had to hijack the plane and—’

‘Enough!’
Augustus rose to his feet and brought his fists down hard once more, driving
maggot smearings into the table top. ‘I don’t want to hear any more. You fouled
it all up. I trusted you and you fouled it all up.’

‘He’s
talking to you, doctor,’ said Danbury.

‘He’s
talking to Sir John,’ said the doctor.

‘I’m
talking to no-one,’ said Sir John. ‘I shall take avow of silence and get me to
a monastery.’

‘I see.’
Augustus sat down and lurked in his chair. ‘So no-one is going to take any
responsibility for this cock-up.’

‘Sir
John should take full responsibility,’ said Danbury.

‘I
should do no such thing. The blame lies with the Americans.’

‘There
is some truth in that,’ agreed the doctor.

‘And if
there’s any responsibility left over, Danbury should take it.’

What a
bare-faced cheek,’ said Danbury.

There
was a moment’s silence. Then all eyes turned to the bare-faced cheeks of Sir
John Rimmer.

‘Oh,’
said Danbury. ‘I didn’t mean…’ His smirk began to grow again. ‘I mean …
it just slipped out…’ He looked over at the doctor. ‘But it’s pretty good
though, isn’t it? Bare-faced cheek.’ Then Danbury folded up. ‘Bare-faced cheek,’
he went as he collapsed in laughter. What a good’n, what a good’n!’

Dr
Harney fought with a smirk of his own. ‘That’s not amusing,’ he said through
gritted teeth.

‘It is.’
Danbury sank to his knees, howling with laughter.

Which,
as we all know, can be infectious.

Especially
during times of stress.

‘Bare-faced
cheek,’ said Augustus, pointing at Sir John.

Danbury,
on the floor now, kicked his legs in the air.

Dr
Haney began to titter. ‘It’s not funny,’ he giggled. ‘It isn’t.’

Augustus
Naseby broke into guffaws. ‘It is,’ he gasped. ‘It is.’

You’re
right,’ and the doctor sank to the floor, clutching his stomach and laughing
like the drain of yore. ‘But I’ll say one thing for Sir John,’ he managed
between convulsions. ‘He takes it very well, considering all the
hair-raising
adventures he’s had.’