Free Apocalypso by Robert Rankin Page B

drop it into deep water.’
    ‘I want
to go home,’ said Danbury. ‘What time does the next plane leave?’
    ‘You
are not going home.’
    ‘I have
a suggestion,’ said Dr Harney. ‘How would it be if we retrieved the spacecraft,
removed the alien still in its cryogenic unit and let Danbury here put a bullet
through its head with his daddy’s gun?’
    ‘What?’ Danbury’s hands flew out of his trousers and waved
all about in the air. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that we raise this
spacecraft, root out this mad alien and then I, I end up with the sole
responsibility for killing it? That the entire burden of sparing the human race
from this thing rests upon my shoulders? That I take my father’s gun and
shoot it? Blast an alien from another world out of existence? Me? That
is what you’re suggesting?’
    ‘Do you
have a problem with that?’
    Danbury
pulled out the pistol and grinned at it. ‘Fucking hey!’ he said. ‘Let’s haul
the bastard up.’
    ‘Then
we are agreed?’
    ‘Big-fala,
him blong Godlady picker-pick?’
    The
three men turned to confront a smiling native.
    The
smiling native caught sight of Danbury’s gun and took a dive for cover.
    ‘Put
that away,’ Sir John ordered, stooping from on high to pacify the native.
    Danbury
twirled the pistol on his finger and blew across the barrel. ‘Your move, creep,’
he said as he tucked it into his red cagoule.
    ‘No
shoot’m,’ begged the native from the foetal position.
    ‘No
shoot’m,’ said Sir John, helping him up.
    The
native dusted sand from his T-shirt. It was a nice new T-shirt. It had the
words ‘Virgin coming soon to this island’ printed on the front.
    ‘Bugga-dat,’
said the native. ‘Godlady picker-pick. Her blong you, blong me, pronto-Tonto.’
    ‘Dr
Harney,’ said Sir John. ‘I think he wants the photograph.’
    ‘Of
course.’ Dr Harney dug into his case and brought out the picture of the lovely
one. He passed this with due reverence to Sir John, who handed on the sacred
item to the native. ‘Oh Carol,’ said Sir John.
    The
native smiled at the ten by eight glossy and then smiled at Sir John.
    What
very pointy teeth he has,’ said Danbury.
    The
native’s smile froze. ‘One hundred dollar-pounds,’ he said.
    What?’
asked Sir John.
    ‘One
hundred dollar-pounds, yes-siree, by Jingo.’
    ‘Dr
Harney,’ said Sir John. ‘You understand pidgin, what is he trying to say?’
    ‘Spit’m
it out,’ said Dr Harney.
    ‘Shoot’m,’
said the native. ‘Heart-bump’m fair-had-me-going. One hundred dollar-pounds.’
    ‘He’s
demanding compensation,’ said the doctor, ‘because Danbury pointed the pistol at
him. He has a bad heart, he says.’
    ‘Outrageous,’
said Sir John.
    ‘Godlady
picker-pick.’ The native pointed to the photo. ‘Brown-bots blong stone-bonker.
Noway-Hosay, big-fala blong stone-bonker, dig deep long-pockets, ya boo sucks.’
    ‘Ah, I
see.’ The doctor now smiled. What he is saying is that if we are daft enough to
believe that he and his fellow islanders worship Carol Vorderman, then we’re
also daft enough to cough up one hundred quid for pointing a gun at him.’
    Well,
is that so?’ Sir John reached into a safari suit pocket pouch, withdrew a set
of brass knuckles, fitted these over his right fist and then dealt the native a
weltering blow to the skull.
    The
native collapsed in an untidy heap and lay on the beach a-rubbing at his head.
    ‘Do I make myself understood?’ asked Sir John.
    The
native nodded soberly.
    ‘Right
then, no more of your nonsense. Lead us at once to our accommodation. Danbury,
you stay and guard the supplies until our chap here returns at the hurry up
with some native bearers. Up and at it then, Mr Brown-bot, there’s work to do.’
    Danbury
chewed upon his lip. ‘There’ll be tears before bedtime,’ he said.
    ‘Chop
chop,’ said Sir John. ‘Pacey pacey.’
    The
native rose and led Sir John and Dr Harney up the beach and off into the palms.
His smile