Apocalypso (36 page)

‘All
right. But just one. And no tongues.’

‘Urgh!’
said Dilbert’s mum. You revolting boy.’ Dilbert leaned down to his mum and
puckered up.

‘And
your breath smells.’

Yes,
Mum,’ Dilbert puckered up some more.

‘And
you’re not wearing any trousers.’

‘No,
Mum, I’m sorry.’ Dilbert did further puckerings up. ‘I’m very sorry indeed.’

‘And so
you should be. That ruddy great rubbing part is scaring Jack shit out of
everybody.’

Yes,
Mum, I…’ Dilbert ceased with the puckering up. He drew his big face back
from his mumps little one and stared most deeply into it. What did you say?’
Dilbert asked.

‘Give
your mother a kiss.’

‘No,
not that. About a rubbing part. You said something about a rubbing part.’

‘Don’t
argue with your mother. You’re not too big for a smack.’

‘Hold
hard,’ cried Dilbert, peering. ‘Something smells here and it isn’t my breath.’

Dilbert’s
mum turned away as if in disgust.

And
then she turned back.

Of a
sudden.

To
reveal that she was not really Dilbert’s mum at all.

But
really Porrig.

Ta-rah!

With
Rippington on his shoulders.

Ta-rah!
Ta-rah!

And
Porrig held in his hands an axe.

A big
fire axe from the emergency kit on the helicopter.

And as
Dilbert stared down in horrified awe, Porrig swung this axe.

And
what a swing it was. The kind of swing that the Mighty Thor might have taken.
Or even the Wolf of Kabul. Had it struck home in Dilbert’s head, it would damn
near have cleaved it in two.

But
Dilbert’s head was out of reach.

His
wanger wasn’t though.

The axe
head caught the three-foot parsnip of a pecker and pinned it to the pavement.

And
then there was a silence.

It wasn’t
your twenty-past or twenty-to kind of silence.

It was
more your calm-before-the-storm kind of silence.

Your
calm before the apocalyptic holocaust.

And
then Dilbert screamed and the silence was over.

Dilbert
screamed and screamed.

It was
a sound like no other ever heard upon the Earth. A sound so terrible and loud
and awful that it rattled the chimney-pots three miles off and turned the milk
sour on the steps. It made babies fill their nappies and strong men weep into
their beer. And it just got worse and worse.

Dilbert
screamed and threw out pain and he tore the axe from his wounded willy and
flung it high in the air. And he yelled and he howled and he hollered and he
sought the most hideous vengeance.

He
turned his great head to the right and the left in search of his tormentor. His
great head raged with pain and fury. With disbelief at this atrocity. This
attempt at deicide. This blasphemy. This abomination.

Dilbert
stooped painfully and clawed up the bundle of rags and the mask of screwed-up
newspaper that had somehow fooled him. Fooled him! And the spacecraft! Dilbert
stared at the spacecraft. It wasn’t a spacecraft at all, it was just an old
parachute, draped around an inflatable dingy. And suspended from…

Suspended
from? Dilbert’s awful pain-filled eyes turned upwards. A cable dangled from a
tiny cloud. A tiny cloud not fifty feet above.

Dilbert
snatched at the cable and gave it a tug. A vicious one. And out of the cloud
came a helicopter. A long black secret unmarked Ministry of Serendipity
helicopter, that had been silently hovering in stealth mode. (The way they
often do, which is why you rarely see them.)

Dilbert
flung up terrible pain and those in the helicopter caught it.

The old
bloke clawed at his head and Danbury clawed at
his
head and Sir John
Rimmer clawed at
his
head. And Dr Harney, who had been shouting into a
sticky radio, clawed at his head also.

Down
came the helicopter, CHB CHB CHBing, shaking and rocking and turning about in a
circle. And the forward rotor nearly took the head from Dilbert Norris. In
fact, had not a second and sudden and most excruciating pain, this time in his
backside, caused him to leap up and somewhat sideways, he would surely have
been done for.

Dilbert’s
face took on an agonized expression and his hands did some clawing of their
own. He screamed once more as his clawing bands came quickly to the cause of
his latest torment: the shaft of the big fire axe, protruding from between the
cheeks of his very big behind.

Dilbert
swung around, howling and moaning. The old bloke yanked back on the joystick
and the helicopter rose once more, went into stealth mode and vanished.

Dilbert
floundered around, green fingers fumbling, black eyes crossed.

‘I’ll
bet that smarts,’ said Porrig.

Dilbert’s
eyes uncrossed. He drew in breath and held it. He gazed down upon the defiler
of his holy bum and a great roar rose from his mouth.

‘Keep
it down,’ said Porrig. What a fuss you make.’

Dilbert
turned his pain upon Porrig. Every ounce of it; every pound. Every
hundredweight and every ton too.

But
Porrig just stood there and grinned up at him. You can’t hurt me,’ he said.

Dilbert’s
jaw went drop drop drop. His brain went hate hate kill. He knotted his fists
and folded his brow, he hunched up his shoulders and screwed up his eyes and
squeezed pain from places there’d never been pain and he hurled the lot upon
Porrig.

Porrig
just laughed. You’re losing it, fat boy,’ he said.

‘Maggot!’
slurpy-gurgled Dilbert. Worm! And filth! And vermin!’

Who ate
all the pies?’ sang Porrig. Who ate all the pies?’

‘What…
I… what?’ Dilbert’s mouth flapped up and down,
his ghastly eyes bulging from his ghastly head. ‘I am your God,’ his voice
gulped and gargled. ‘Kneel before your God.’

‘God?’
Porrig laughed again and offered the use of two fingers.
‘That
to you,
you fat bastard.’

Dilbert
rocked and shuddered. He took a step forward, paused and winced. Then, with
much moaning and groaning, he wormed the axe out of his arse.

You’re
dripping your juices,’ said Porrig.

Dilbert
viewed him from on high. Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘What
are you?’

‘It
doesn’t really matter who I am,’ said Porrig. ‘But as to
what
I am, I am
this. I am your Nemesis, Norris. I have come to kill you.’

‘Me?’
Dilbert broke sweat from many strange places.
‘You
kill
me?’

Porrig
nodded. ‘I have already tricked and ridiculed you. I’ve punctured your pranger
and rammed an axe up your old fudge tunnel. Your followers have gone and there’s
just you and me. Do you want to beg for mercy?’

Dilbert
shook from baldy head to big and horny toe. He was genuinely lost for words.
This was unthinkable. Impossible. Preposterous.

Yes,’
said Porrig. ‘It is, isn’t it? But nevertheless it is true.’

You… you …’ Dilbert made great pump-house pantings. You can read
my
mind.’

‘Correct,’
said Porrig. ‘And it’s in a bit of a state at present. You’d really like to
stamp me flat, but time is running rather short and if you don’t get to your
spaceship in the next couple of minutes, you are one cooked sprout.’

Dilbert
glanced towards his seven-pointed spacecraft. It stood upon the raised plaza
next to Nelson’s Column.

‘So
near, but yet so far,’ said Porrig, who stood between Dilbert and his means of
escape. You’ll have to get past me.’

You
think that you can stop
me
?’

‘I can
do anything I like.’ Porrig danced a little jig. ‘I am the miracle worker. I am
your god now, Norris.’

‘Out of
my way, little man.’ Dilbert took a giant step, but Porrig cast wide his arms
and Dilbert’s giant step stayed hovering in the air. Dilbert gaped down in
horror.

Before
him a chasm now yawned with a wide open mouth. It was deep, it was dark, it was
wide, it was there.

‘Don’t
fall down the hole,’ called Porrig from the other side. ‘And watch out for the
killer wasps.’

The
wasps came down from nowhere and engulfed Dilbert in a wild and buzzing storm.
He floundered and swatted, shrieked, swore and staggered. And Porrig just stood
there and laughed.

What are you laughing at?’
asked Augustus Naseby, climbing into the pod.

The pig
peered in after him. ‘Nothing,’ said the pig. ‘Although you really don’t expect
this thing actually to fly, do you?’

‘It’s a
masterpiece of Victorian technology.’ Augustus made all-encompassing gestures
that encompassed all there was. ‘Look at it, it’s wonderful.’

The pig
did further peerings in. It was very smart, it was true. Two padded leather
armchair jobbies, bolted to the floor. Lots of polished turncocks and dials
with flickering needles. Heavy emphasis on the brass and the mahogany. Even a
Constable landscape hanging over the fireplace. And all gas-lit and all just
waiting for the off.

 ‘I
think I’ll give it a miss,’ said the pig. ‘I have a “certain feeling”.’

‘I’ve a “certain feeling”,’
said Danbury, peeping down from on high.

‘Keep
this one to yourself,’ said Sir John. ‘Porrig is doing a fine job down there.’

The old
bloke’s old hands gripped tightly on the joystick. What news, doctor?’ he
asked.

Dr
Harney shook his radio. ‘The bastards have me on hold. They say that the top
brass chap with the special key has gone off to the canteen. They’ve sent
someone to look for him.’

You’ve
really shafted us,’ said Danbury, turning and thumping the doctor. We’re all
going to be blown to dust and it’s all your fault.’

‘At
least we’ll have died in a noble cause,’ said the old bloke. ‘If the monster is
destroyed, it will all be worth it.’

Danbury
sighed and returned to the cockpit. ‘Let’s just hope then that Porrig can keep
it confused. If the monster cops on, then—’

‘Cops
onto what?’ asked Dr Haney. ‘I was unconscious when Porrig outlined this plan
of his. What exactly is he up to down there?’

Danbury
sighed again. ‘I really shouldn’t tell you,’ he said, ‘you being such a
double-dealing shit and everything. But as it looks like we’re all going to die
anyway, it can’t hurt. The Porrig you see down there squaring up to the monster
isn’t really Porrig. It’s Rippington. Rippington can hear the monster’s
thoughts, he can tune in to their wavelength, but he isn’t affected by them.
So, using Apocalypso’s stage magic, Rippington is impersonating Porrig, while
Porrig is running the other illusions. Fake chasm in the ground, fake bees
buzzing, all that kind of stuff Sufficient to slow up the monster until the
nuke gets here. It’s all very brave and very noble and—’

‘Very
far-fetched,’ said the doctor. ‘But as long as the monster doesn’t cop on—’

‘Exactly,’
said Danbury Collins. ‘As long as he doesn’t cop on.’

Below the wasps stopped
buzzing and the chasm ceased to be. Dilbert grinned a terrible grin. And
Rippington said, ‘I think he’s copped on.’

Dilbert
tapped at his swollen temple. ‘Just listened in,’ he said. ‘To your chums in
the helicopter. I could easily have killed them, you know, but I’m far too
clever. I’m too clever for any of you and now I really must away.’

Squaring
up his massive shoulders Dilbert strode towards his spacecraft. He swung a
great hand at the pseudo Porrig, scattering rubbish and empty apparel. He
stamped the lot flat and continued to stride.

What
now?’ whispered Rippington to a shaking skulking Porrig, lurking down behind
the spacecraft.

‘Any
suggestions?’ Porrig asked.

‘Only
one obvious one.’

25

Dilbert climbed into his
spacecraft. He lowered the dome and fastened his seat belt and reached out to
turn the key in the ignition.

But the
key wasn’t there.

Porrig
raced across the square, Rippington clutched under his arm and Dilbert’s key in
his hand.

‘Now he’s
stuffed,’
puffed Porrig.

‘No I’m
not,’ said Dilbert.

He
delved beneath the dashboard and brought out the spare. Stuck it in, gave it a
twist and the engine caught first time. Rochets roared and the craft began to
rise.

Porrig
stopped short and stared back. ‘Christ in a carwash,’ he cried. ‘The bastard’s
getting away.’