Apocalypso (21 page)

‘It’s
fawning, mostly. There’ll be a lot of falling to the knees and pleading. If you
do as I do, we might be able to pull it off’

‘Pull
it off,’ said Danbury slowly. ‘As in… Dr Haney raised his hand.

‘Nothing,’
said Danbury. Where’s the boat?’ ‘Down there in the cove.’

‘Then
we’d best be off.’

‘I
think that best we had.’

And so, as best they
could, they did.

The
boat was one of those unmarked black affairs that governments deny all
knowledge of. They are used mostly for importing drugs, as the importing of
drugs has always been done by the governments of the countries concerned and
not by criminal organizations as is popularly believed. There’s far too much
money to be made from drug importation to let criminals get their hands on it.

And if
the government of this country didn’t make all the money from the importation
of drugs, it would never have sufficient to finance the un-marked black boats.

It all
makes sense when you think about it.

Sir
John climbed aboard. Danbury helped the doctor up the gang plank.

‘Tasty
boat,’ said Danbury.

The
captain sniffed them welcome. ‘Hey, all right, man,’ he said. ‘Cool duds, Sir
John, real guru. The guys and I were just doing a couple of lines before we
take off. You wanna join us?’

Yes
please,’ said Danbury.

‘Cool.’

Sir
John shook his head. ‘Are you the captain?’ he asked.

‘Right
on.’

‘But
you’re wearing a kaftan.’ Well, so are you, man.’

‘And a
beard.’

‘Bigger
than yours, man. But it’s cool.’

‘Hm,’
said Sir John.

‘So, do
you want a couple of lines, or what?’ ‘Go for it,’ said Danbury.

And so
they went for it.

It
brightens the day, does a couple of lines. And though one must never condone
the taking of drugs, neither must one condemn it out of hand. Because, let’s
face it, if
you
were on your way to almost certain death at the hands of
a mad monster, would you see the harm in doing it with a couple of snorts of
angel dust up your hooter?

The
unmarked boat cut through the waves, numbers were rolled and numbers were
smoked, lines were cut and sniffed away and talk became merry and free. Sir
John spoke untruths of his happy childhood and his dog. Dr Harney told tales of
his days upon the hippy trail and Danbury did what Danbury always did. With
gusto.

At a
length that seemed far longer than it really was, they sighted
The
Leviathan.

The
captain drew deeply on a big fat number and spoke through the smoke. ‘Are you
really sure about this, man?’ he said. We could always just say we missed it
and head on down to Morocco.’

Sir
John took deep breaths and steadied himself against the rail. We have a job to do,’
he said. ‘For the mother country and indeed for the world.’

‘If you
say so, man.’

We
shall succeed,’ said Sir John. We shall vanquish the foe.’

‘Yeah,’
said Danbury. You go for it, Johnny boy.’

‘It’s
Sir John to you and don’t forget it.’

‘Rumpy
pumpy poo,’ said Dr Harney.

‘Rumpy
pumpy what?’ asked Sir John.

‘Poo,’
said the doctor. ‘I am a little red plastic truck and I go rumpy pumpy poo.’

‘He’s
out of it,’ said the captain. You’d better leave him here.’

‘I’m
not out of it.’ Dr Harney made small brmming sounds.

‘All
for one and one for all,’ said Danbury Collins. ‘Cor, look at the size of that
ship.’

The
Leviathan
loomed. In order to create an atmosphere
of sufficient menace, a light mist had gathered about it and the ship presented
an eerie ghost-like appearance. No sound came from the mighty vessel, which
drifted upon the placid waves like a handbag on a pool table.

Well,
it did if you’d been taking what Dr Harney had been taking.

‘Leave
all the talking to me,’ said Sir John as they drew ever closer.

The
captain gazed up at the great ship, which now seemed to fill half the sky. ‘Can
you feel it?’ he asked.

‘Feel
what?’ said Sir John.

The
captain shook his head.
‘It,’
he said. ‘The weirdness of it. I tell you,
man, I’ve done some stuff in my time. You know, taken some stuff, and I did
some stuff in Tibet once. Special dope that the lamas do to reach the other
planes. Travel into other realities, you know. And it’s just like that here.
This ship is giving off those vibes. It’s messing with reality. Do you know
what I mean?’

‘I do,’
said Sir John. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

You
take care, man.’

‘I
will,’ said Sir John.

The
unmarked boat pulled up alongside
The Leviathan.
The silence was
palpable. The lapping of the waves made no sound at all. The liner was there,
but it seemed to be removed. Separate.

Sir
John took hold of a trailing cable and with no more words spoken began to climb
carefully up the side. Danbury shrugged and pushed the doctor forward. You go
next,’ he whispered, ‘and I’ll try to catch you if you fall.’

‘I won’t
fall,’ said Dr Harney. ‘I will use my caterpillar tracks and scale the mighty
mountain. Goog googajube.’

‘Perfect,’
said Danbury.

Mist
and silence and three men climbing.

Below,
the captain, muttering something.

And
above…

Sir
John reached the deck and peeped over. ‘Dear God,’ he said.

Beneath,
the two men on the cable watched the gaunt frame haul itself beyond view.

‘He’s
there,’ whispered Danbury. ‘Come on, doctor, let’s get after him.’

‘Chug
chug chug,’ replied the doctor. And then the three of them were there. Standing
breathless on the deck.

And
then.

‘They’re
dead,’ said Sir John. ‘Hundreds of them. It looks like they died from
starvation and exposure.’

‘They’re
…’ Danbury held down a wave of rising vomit. ‘They’re naked. Why are they
naked?’

‘Because
that’s how he wished them to be.’

You
called
it
he.’

You had
better learn to call it he too,’ said Sir John. ‘Come on, there’s nothing we
can do for these people.’

The Leviathan’s
ballroom, lollipop lovely, was lit throughout by lilac luminescence.
Floral fripperies fanned from fluted fabrications. Deco decor, cream and
chrome, sunrays and swastikas, blended with bits and bobs of Bauhaus. Over all
arched ormolu ornamentation in the ostentatious opulent over-the-topness of
Otto Osterbrooke. It was a triumph of taste over tackiness tenderly rendered
and royally realized.

Very
nice indeed.

And
transformed into hell.

The
dance-floor was invisible beneath the naked bodies. Thousands bowed in prayer.
The air was ripe and rotten with the smell of sweat and shit and vomit. And
with fear, with overwhelming fear.

On the
bandstand, flanked by natives, lazing on a mound of cushions, was the thing.
The beast. The false god.

Dilbert
Norris.

Enemy
and erstwhile conquerer of man.

Buddha-big
was Dilbert all about the belly regions, monstrous of head and black of eye.
His skin shone with a glossy viridescence; olive, lime, myrtle and a mouldy
mossy green. His great bald head was swollen like a pumpkin. The mouth, a
yawning maw, turned up and leered, moist and evil. His yard-long parsnip Percy
dangled detumescently.

Sir
John, struck dumb by the horror that confronted him, dropped slowly to his
knees. Danbury did likewise, tugging down the doctor.

Dilbert
viewed his uninvited guests, repositioned his preposterous posterior and teased
away tooth plaque with a human thigh bone.

Sir
John Rimmer raised a trembling voice. ‘O Great One,’ he called. We bring
greetings from the Isles of Britannia.’

Dilbert
ran a long black tongue about his teeth, each one the size of a Sainsbury’s
one-pint milk carton and the two in the front as big as the one-litre bargain
pack. Then he spoke, in a voice that could be likened to the sound that a sink
plughole makes when plunged with a plunger (only greatly amplified and three
octaves deeper).

‘Presents,’
gurgled Dilbert.

‘Presents,
O Great One?’ Sir John kept his head down.

‘Presents,’
said Dilbert, making motions with foliate fingers.

Sir
John Rimmer chewed upon a length of false beard. He had indeed a present for the
creature, but he wanted first to flatter and to gauge the situation. Although
the situation here was very far from fab.

‘The
bounty of our islands is more than any single man could carry,’ said Sir John. ‘And
all shall be yours to be taken at your whim.’

‘My
whim, eh?’ Dilbert’s mouth rose further at the corners, exposing lesser teeth
that were approximately the dimensions of thirty ml Tipp-Ex correction fluid
bottles.

‘As it
pleases you, Great One.’

You
might at least have brought me some big fat women.’

Sir
John now chewed upon his bottom lip. We might fatten up some of the ones you
have here,’ he said carefully. ‘In fact we might fatten them all.

Have
them feast upon a banquet in your honour.’

‘Nah,’
sink-plunger slurpy-gurgled Dilbert. ‘These ones please me not.’

‘They
might please you better, were they plump and jolly.’

‘I
think not. But he’ — Dilbert pointed — ‘he might do.’

Sir
John raised his head a mite to follow the direction of the dendriform digit. ‘Dr
Haney?’ he whispered.

Dilbert
nodded his shiny verdant bonce up and down. ‘He looks very plump and jolly.’

‘I
hoped he might please you, Great One.’

What?’
gasped Danbury.

‘Bear
with me,’ whispered Sir John.

‘Bung
him over here,’ called Dilbert. ‘Let’s stew him up in his juices.’

Sir
John’s head swam, but he steeled himself enough to shout, ‘He dances well.’

‘He
dances well?’

‘A
merry jig. To gladden and amuse.’

‘He
would amuse my innards more.’

‘Dr
Haney,’ said Sir John. Will you dance for the nice god?’

‘There’s
a bit of mosaic on this floor that looks like a poodle,’ said Dr Haney.

‘He’s
still out of it,’ whispered Danbury. ‘Do you want me to prance about and create
a diversion, or something?’

‘Dr
Harney!’ Sir John nudged his fellow in the ribs. ‘The nice god will not be kept
waiting. Dance, if you will.’

‘Dance?’
The doctor’s head rose. Who wants to dance? Oh, stripe my bottom red with a
razor, everybody’s got their kit off’

‘Get up
and dance,’ said Sir John in the firmest tone he could manage.

‘Absolutely,’
said the doctor. ‘This is what I call a party.’

At the Ministry of
Serendipity the atmosphere was far from party-like. The men in white coats and
the smart-looking women, the government types who were privy to top secret
information, Porrig’s dad and the pig sat, or in the case of the pig, stood,
before the big world map on the wall. This had, through the wonders of
technology, now been translated into a gigantic TV screen.

They
were listening to the voice of Sir John Rimmer and watching, up on the screen,
the images that were being relayed to them via the micro-camera that had been
sewn into the false blue beard.

‘I don’t
like this at all,’ said Augustus. ‘That horrible-looking thing behaves as if it
really is a god. If Sir John can’t kill it and it were to get loose in England,
there’s no telling what might happen.’

The pig
nodded thoughtfully. ‘The angel Espadrille won’t be best pleased,’ he said.

‘Stuff
the angel Espadrille. But this won’t do. It’s bad enough having a monster from
space on the rampage. But one behaving like a god, without the Ministry’s
permission, that can’t be tolerated.’

‘Ever
the humanitarian,’ said the pig. Where are you off to now?’

‘I
think I’ll go off for a lurk.’

You don’t
think that perhaps you should apply yourself to the problem at hand? How
exactly is Sir John Rimmer supposed to dispose of this thing?’

‘He’s
got a bomb in his beard.’

‘A
bomb in his beard?’
The pig made a face of
amazement, which wasn’t easy, but he managed it. ‘But what about the people?’

Augustus
Naseby shifted uneasily. ‘It’s not a very big bomb. Just big enough to take the
creature’s head off. Sir John is hoping to persuade the creature to try on the
beard.’