The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (34 page)

‘I was
supposed to let him test drive the flying saucer.’

‘Ah,’
said Cornelius.

‘What
is “Ali”?’ asked Tuppe.

‘Ah is,
there you have Rune’s means of escape when the moment of the electrical
discharging comes and zaps everyone else. Up and away.’

‘Yes,
but he doesn’t have the saucer now.

‘I
wonder who does,’ said Boris, mournfully.

‘Hugo,’ said Hugo.

‘And
Hugo,’ Hugo replied.

Hands
were clasped, knuckles were pressed, shoulders were slapped. One Hugo in his
mayoral cloak, the other in a sharp city suit as befitted Transglobe
Publishing’s Managing Director. Which he was.

‘Pleasant
journey?’ enquired Hugo One.

‘Peaceful
enough until we reached Gatwick. They’ve had a bit of a power cut there. All
the radar and ground-control systems were out. Planes were bumping into each
other all over the place. Most amusing to watch. I stuck around until ours ran
out of fuel from all the circling, took the captain’s parachute and bailed
out.’

‘I’d
have done the same.’

‘I know
you would.’

The two
Runes shared a laugh regarding this.

‘So how
is the project progressing? I see you’ve indentured some peasants to lend a
hand. And a few old chums circling in the sky. All on schedule, by the look of
things.’

‘Not
that you supposed it would be otherwise. You have brought the essential
something I assume.’

‘The
flying saucer? But of course. Had a bit of trouble uncovering its whereabouts.
But once I’d confirmed with the Magonian ruler that his emissary
had
been
sent, it was only a matter of figuring out what had become of him. I made a few
discreet calls to mutual contacts at the MoD…’

‘And learned
that the saucer had crashed and that their boffins now had it.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And learned
where
they had it and despatched a small task force to relieve them of
it.’

‘Precisely.’

‘I’d
have done the same.

‘I know
you would.’

A
chuckle shared, and evilly done.

‘Then
it is all systems go,’ said Rune of the mayoral hat. ‘The pylons will be
re-erected in Skelington, with a line leading from each pier to the top of
Druid’s Tor. Heavy-duty cables will run along each line to terminate at the
radio masts.’

‘You
have them?’

‘They’re
on their way. With the power cut and the communications network destroyed, we
have this area all to ourselves.’

‘And at
midnight?’

‘At
midnight our brother at The Universal Reincarnation Company throws his big
switch; broadcasts an across-the-band frequency which attunes to the electrical
energy-potential of every soul that hangs in a glittering ring about the sun;
feeds their massed energy down through the radio masts, along the power lines
and into the piers. The result: the biggest jolt this planet has had since the
Creation. We will be watching from beyond the Earth’s atmosphere, of course.’

‘You
estimate ninety-nine point nine per cent fatalities.’

‘The
almost complete collapse of civilization as we know it, yes.

‘Which
we
shall rebuild.’

‘Oh as
the richest men on Earth it will be our duty. To rebuild. And to rule, of
course.

‘Of
course.

Another
chuckle evilly shared. ‘Roll on midnight,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘For tomorrow belongs
to we.

The two
strode off, arms about one-another’s shoulders, with talk of golden mountains
springing from the sea, of slavery and concubines, power and the pleasures of
its abuse. And of midnight. Always midnight.

‘Midnight?’
said Norman who had been dossing around unseen, earholing the entire
conversation. ‘Midnight
tonight? Midnight tonight? MIDNIGHT TONIGHT!
Oh
dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

Oh
dear.

36

‘What time is it?’
Cornelius asked.

‘Nearly
nine o’clock,’ said Boris. ‘I can’t wait to meet this dead friend of yours.’

‘I
can’t see a thing,’ said Tuppe. ‘The entire coastline’s in complete darkness.’

‘I have
pretty good night vision,’ said Boris. ‘But then I would, coming from a
superior race and everything.’

Tuppe
stuck his tongue out in the darkness.

‘I saw
that,’
said Boris. ‘And I can see something else.’

‘Is it
Norman?’

‘It’s a
sort of three-wheeled bicycle and it’s moving by itself:’

‘That’s
Norman.’ Cornelius had moored the boat as close into shore as he dared. Now he
shinned over the side, dropped into the sea and waded towards the beach.

‘Ahoy
there,’ called the voice of Norman.

‘Ahoy,’
Cornelius reached him in the near darkness. ‘What is that you’re riding on?’

‘It’s
an ice—cream bike.’

‘You
have discovered a formula for creating explosives from ice-cream?’

‘No,
don’t be silly, I’ve dumped the lollies.’ Norman made grand gestures above the
big portable-freezer affair beneath the handlebars. A selection of
dangerous-looking military hardware gave off a blue-steel glint. ‘I nicked a
couple of mortars, some rifles and a load of grenades. Did you get a boat?’

‘Certainly
did.’

‘Then
we’d better get to it. Rune has moved everything forward. He’s going to
energize the piers tonight at midnight.’

‘What?’

‘And he
estimates that ninety-nine point nine per cent of the world’s population will
be killed off.’

‘What?’

‘And
him and his brothers will be ruling the survivors. After they have returned
from outer space in the flying saucer they’ve got hold of.’

‘What?’

‘Who
said that “What”?’ Norman asked.

‘I
did,’ said Boris, ambling up to say hello.

‘Aaaagh!’
went Norman, falling off his saddle. ‘It’s an alien from space, grab a gun,
Cornelius, shoot it.’

‘He’s a
friend,’ said the tall boy. ‘He’s here to help us.’

‘And
I’m not from space,’ said Boris. ‘I’m from under the sea, and it’s my flying
saucer Rune’s got, and I want it back. Where are you, by the way? I can’t see
you at all.’

‘I’m
here,’ said Norman.

‘Well,
pleased to meet you. My name is Boris.’

‘Norman,’
said Norman. ‘Have you ever met Marina out of
Stingray?’

‘Let’s
get moving,’ said Cornelius, dragging out mortars and grenades. ‘If you’re
right, Norman, then we have less than three hours.’

‘I’m
right,’ Norman said. ‘Believe me. Please.’

‘I do.’

‘Is
Marina the one who looks a bit like Joanna Lumley, but thankfully never
speaks?’ Boris asked.

‘That’s
her, but you’re being a bit harsh on Joanna, aren’t you? She was voted the
woman most men in the country wanted to kiss.’

‘Bit
old for me,’ said Boris. ‘But I meant it was thankful that Marina never speaks.
She doesn’t look too bright, does she?’

‘No, I
suppose not. But you’ve never met her, anyway?’

‘No,
sorry. I once met Submariner out of
Marvel Comics.’

‘You
never did.’

‘I did
too.’

‘Hurry
up,’ called Tuppe, from the boat. ‘The tide’s going out. We’ll be stranded if
we don’t go now.’

‘Hurry up,’ said Old
Claude to the late Chunky Wilberforce. ‘We’ve got less than three hours to stop
the bastard.’

‘I’m
hurrying,’ puffed Chunky. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To the
big sky nozzle, I’ve programmed in some help for little Norman.’

‘Little
who?’

‘Never
mind. After I’ve sent it down to him. We’ll smash up the big sky nozzle so the
bastard can’t tune it in to the souls and beam down their energy. Fix his whole
wagon once we’ve reduced the big sky nozzle to scrap metal.’

‘Scrap
metal?’ puffed Chunky. ‘Now that’s something I know all about.’

‘Follow
me.’ Old Claude lead the way up a little staircase and out onto the vast roof
area where the huge engines throbbed and the little men in overalls applied oil
beads. The little men were two short in number now, but due to a continuity
error, Jack Bradshaw had failed to find the missing pair at the bottom of the
abandoned lift shaft.

These
things happen.

‘Call
my cock a kipper!’ whispered Chunky Wilberforce, espying all that spread around
and about him. ‘How much do you want for the lot, Claude? Name your price and
if it’s a fair’n, we’ll do the business now.

‘Just
follow me.’ The old boy limped on towards the single serviceable big sky
nozzle.

‘What
kind of help are you sending down to your little Norman?’ wheezed the dead
Brig.

Old
Claude reached the brass Karmascope contrivance with the computer screen. ‘I
thought King Richard the Lionheart and a bunch of his crusaders.’

‘They
won’t fare too well against Rune’s fire power. ‘Bloody will,’ crowed Claude.

‘Bloody
won’t,’ went the Brig.

‘Bloody
will’

‘Bloody
won’t,’ said the voice of the large controller. ‘Bloody Hell!’ said Old Claude
Buttocks.

‘Bloody Hell!’ said
Norman. ‘Excuse my French, but it is Bloody Hell really, isn’t it?’

‘It’s
something,’ said Cornelius. They had dropped to a quiet anchor half a mile out
between the piers of Skelington Bay and now sat upon the deck of
The Lovely
Lynne,
gazing in awe at the town.

It was
floodlit. Big ex-army generator trucks chugged away, powering arc lights that
bathed the piers and promenade in a sterilized glare. The town had surely gone
to Bloody Hell.

Burnt-out
cars had been bulldozed into a mangled mound that ran the length of the beach.
The pylons were in place, towering over the piers, shops and houses having been
dynamited to make way for them. The Grande was all but gone, of course, and to
the east of its gutted shell seemed nothing but a great black void all charred
about the edges.

There
was a good deal of noise: cables being winched into place, loud hailers barking
orders, a scream and a call for mercy, the sound of a gunshot.

Bloody
Hell.

‘It’s
Bognor for me next year,’ whispered Tuppe.

‘Bastards,’
said Norman, who was really getting into swearing. ‘I was born here. Look what
they’ve done to my town.’

‘See
there,’ Cornelius pointed. Two military types were dragging something along the
east pier. They stopped, looked over the rail. The skulkers on
The Lovely
Lynne
heard the words, ‘Here’s far enough.’

The military
types lifted the something. Eased it over the rail. Let it fall down into the
sea.

It was
the body of a young woman.

The two
men laughed, turned and strolled back down the pier.

Cornelius
snatched up a rifle from the deck, flipped off the safety catch.

‘No,’
said Tuppe. ‘You can’t.’

‘You
saw what they did. I can.’

‘Then
you mustn’t. We have to blow up these piers, we can’t get involved in a
gunfight. They’ve got tanks, remember.’

‘All
right,’ Cornelius clicked back the safety catch. ‘What we’ll do Is— ‘I have a
plan,’ said Norman. ‘The way I see it—’ said Boris. ‘The way I’d
do
it—’
said Tuppe. ‘All right,’ said Cornelius. ‘Let’s hear them all now. ‘Mine
first,’ said Norman.

‘Mine,’
said Tuppe.

‘Yours,
Boris,’ said Cornelius.

‘Right,’
said Boris. ‘Mine is that you lot stay here in the boat. I swim over to each
pier in turn and load them up with hand-grenades. Give me twenty minutes then
blast away at them with the mortars.’

‘What
will
you
be doing?’ Cornelius asked. ‘We’ll wait for you to swim back here.’

‘I
won’t be swimming back here. I’m going to find my flying saucer and radio to
Magonia for reinforcements.’

‘Well,
that’s some sort of plan. What’s yours, Norman?’

‘Mine’s
quite simple and direct. I will take two hand-grenades, swim ashore, and hand
one to each of the Hugo Runes. Minus the pins, of course.’

‘No!’
cried Cornelius. ‘One of those Runes might be my
real dad. If he is then perhaps I could still reason with him.’

Norman
shook his ruddy head. ‘There’s no time left for reason. The two I overheard are
planning to wipe out the world. If you’re so certain that your dad wouldn’t
behave like that, then neither of them can be your dad. Right?’