Free Apocalypso by Robert Rankin Page A

grip. Jazz the Spaz? Whatever goes on in your head?’
    ‘Look,
forget about my head., It’s confused enough as it is. This old bloke who’s done
all this for me. Who is he? What’s his name?’
    ‘He
never told me his name. The people round here all call him the wizard. But he
doesn’t look much like a wizard to me. Actually he looks more like a dog. He’s
got these two white tufts of hair that stick up like big ears and—’
    Porrig’s
eyes grew wide. ‘Two white tufts of hair,’ he said slowly.
    ‘And he’s
well hard,’ said Wok Boy, popping two pink teabags into cups. ‘I wouldn’t want to
piss around with him, even though he’s old and frail-looking. He says he knows—’
    ‘Dimac,’
whispered Porrig.
    ‘Yeah,
that’s it. Oh yeah, and he said I was to give you this.’ Wok Boy dug into the
pocket of his greasy jeans and brought out a crumpled envelope.
    Porrig
took it and tore it open.
    ‘What’s
in there?’ Wok Boy asked.
    ‘A
business card,’ said Porrig. He took it out and stared at it.
    On the
card was printed a seven-pointed star.
    A
seven-pointed star and a name.
    Porrig
read the name aloud.
    The
name was Apocalypso The Miraculous.

 
     
     
    7
     
    ‘Nuke it,’ said Danbury.
    ‘Pardon?’
said Sir John.
    ‘Nuke
it and I’m not kidding.’
    Sir
John Rimmer diddled with his twiddly-diddly beard. What exactly are you trying
to say?’
    ‘I’m
trying to say nuke it.’ Danbury threw up his wandering hands. ‘I have been on
edge ever since I stepped down from the plane.’
    ‘And
fell in the water,’ said the doctor.
    ‘All
right, yes. But I knew that there was something very wrong here. And it’s not
just the blokes with the knives and forks. Clear the island. Call up the MoS.
Get them to nuke the alien.’
    ‘Nuking
is not an option,’ said Sir John.
    Danbury
threw down his wandering hands. ‘Look,’ said he. ‘Don’t you ever go to the
movies? This is standard sci-fi fare. Spaceship is brought up from the depths,
mad alien thaws out, hell and horror all around, thousands flee in terror and a
bloody big explosion at the end. Why not cut around all the bad stuff while we
have the chance? Nuke the bastard now.’
    Dr
Harney shrugged. ‘The pud-puller does have a point, you know. If the alien were
to thaw out, there’s no telling what might happen.’
    Sir
John ceased to diddle with his twiddly bits. ‘There will be no nuking and that
is that,’ he said in a very firm tone.
    Danbury’s
hands returned to his trouser pockets. ‘Then leave it,’ he said. ‘Just leave it
where it is. Call up the MoS. Tell them we have checked it out and it’s not a
spaceship at all, it’s a big starfish, or a rock formation or something.’
    ‘Or
something?’
    ‘Or
anything. Bluff it. Just do it.’
    Sir
John Rimmer shook his hirsute head. ‘No,’ he said and, ‘no no no. It just
wouldn’t wash. For all we know the Americans are already on their way.’
    ‘Stuff
the bloody Americans. In fact, let the bloody Americans have it. They were so
gung-ho in Independence Day, let’s see how smart they are when they come
up against the real thing.’
    Sir
John gazed out at the ocean blue.
    Dr
Haney scuffed sand with his sandally shoe.
    Danbury
played with his old plonkeroo.
    And a
crab scuttled sideways, well what a to-do.
    Sir
John turned sharply to avoid things slipping off on some poetic tangent.
Shaking his noble head, he paced back and forwards, making ‘quack quack’ noises
and doing a passable impression of Max Wall. At length he performed a cartwheel
and a double back somersault and came to rest in the splits position. ‘What if
we were to retrieve the spacecraft and then carefully dispose of its occupant?’
he asked. ‘Remove him from the craft. still in cold storage and—’
    ‘Nuke
him,’ said Danbury. ‘It’s the only way to be sure.’
    ‘I have
told you, nuking is not an option. But we might take the alien in its
cryogenic unit, weight it down with stones and