rr.armageddonthemusical-第27部分
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is elegant jodhpurs。 Diogenes Darbo； an old contemptible； and no coward he； swung his briefcase into the face of Garstang。 Other board members did other things； but in the ensuing chaos it was hard to make out what。 And very few； if any； distinguished themselves in any manner whatsoever。 Typical。
Green ichor flowed profusely from Mungo's wounded head； a smell of stale cabbage filled the air。 The modified readout on his wrist belled straight down to the pany medics。 Fergus came up from beneath the table just in time to see Garstang； vacant of eye and green of nose； turn his weapon upon Diogenes Darbo； sending that gallant fellow off upon the final journey； from which none； with the possible exception of the Dalai Lama； ever return。 Fergus grabbed hold of Mungo and bundled him through a doorway which had suddenly bee all the rage。
As they passed through it； Mungo； down but by no means out； put his fist through the emergency seal。 To the raised voice of squealing alarms the door shut with a resounding thud。
The Dalai Lama's face exploded into a holocaust of trailing ribbons。 Shards of blistering glass struck Rex fiercely from behind。 Had he not still been wearing his radiation suit； his buttocks would now have required major surgery。 'Bother；' came the voice of Deathblade Eric through the smoke and flame。 'A little left of centre； do you think？'
'If at first you don't succeed and all that kind of thing。'
Rex was torn between white flag waving and the keeping of the ever…legendary low profile。 He settled wisely for the latter。
'Behind the chair； Eric。'
'Okey dokey。' Eric shot the head off the gilded cherub。 'Spot on。'
'Kindly give me the pistol； Eric； you are making a plete pig's earhole out of the entire affair。'
'I have had half my head blown away；' Eric plained。 Rambo soothed his panion with a touching little shoulder hug。 'Although this makes you an ideal candidate for a station head； I concede that it might impair your marksmanship。 Kindly give me the gun。'
'Oh figs；' grumbled the Deathblade； parting with the smoking pistol。
'e out； e out； wherever you are；' crooned Rambo。
Rex weighed up his chances。 The scales were down heavily on the 'none whatever' side。 Clinging to the chair's arms Rex began to edge toward the bathroom。 To what exact purpose he wasn't as yet certain。 The fetid wash…hole didn't number a window amongst the few points in its favour。
'Can't see a blooming thing。' The voice was Rambo's。 'Eric； go and worm the little blighter out。 There's a good fellow。'
'You have the equaliser； you go and worm him out。'
'Oh really； Eric。'
'Oh really yourself。'
'Eric；' said Rambo。
'Rambo？' said Eric。
'Eric； it is a well known and easily verifiable fact； that he man who holds the gun issues the orders。'
'But I held the gun a minute ago。'
'But you don't now； do you？'
'But I。。。'
'Eric； I have a gun and you have half a brain。 Now； should the situation be reserved； which one of us would you expect to do the ordering and which the worming out？'
'Sounds like a trick question to me。'
'Eric； worm the blighter out or I shoot you dead。'
'e out； e out wherever you are；' called Eric； fanning at the smoke and kicking variously about。 Rex closed the bathroom door as quietly as possible。 Needless to say； the door didn't possess a lock。 He leant back upon it breathing heavily。 He was in serious trouble here； and no mistake about it。
'Fergus；' said Mungo。 This is a most regrettable business。' Fergus made with the thoughtful nods and winced as Mungo's medics worried at the raw meat。 They were now in the medical unit of Earthers Inc。 It looked for all the world like nothing on earth。
'He's holding Lavinius Wisten hostage；' said Mungo。 Fergus nodded once more。 'And also my ear。'
'Wisten is perhaps expendable；' Fergus ventured。
'But not my ear。'
'Oh； certainly not； sir。'
'Fergus； please don't take this the wrong way。 But I sincerely feel that I should hold you at least partially responsible for all this。'
'Have no fear； sir；' Fergus replied。 'The day will yet be saved。 I have a plan。'
A plan； thought Rex； if I only had a plan。 He scrutinized he loathsome little cell in search of inspiration。 By the crepuscular glow of the neon mirror…light； he could see all there was to see。 The room was tiled from floor to ceiling。 The ceramics crazed； smeared with generations of filth。 The grout supported a flourishing moss garden。 Above the chipped enamel shower…tray a single hosepipe thrust obscenely from the wall； beneath a rusted turncock。 The lacklustre mirror above the leaky grey basin reflected Rex's thoughts。 The room spelt gloom and doom and rhymed appropriately enough with tomb。
Rex cast an eye over his collection of lice repellents and skin toners racked beneath the mirror。 Hardly bomb…making equipment。 A fist went thud on the door。 'There's another room through here；' came the voice of Eric the half…a…brain。
'Then in you go； Eric； wormy wormy。'
Rex heard Eric put forward； what were； to his mind； several very plausible reasons regarding the inadvisability of sudden entry。 He also heard a clunk； which he rightly assumed to be the sound of a pistol butt striking the load…bearing side of Eric's skull。 'Ouch；' went Eric in ready response。
Rex snatched up a can of Peachy Face Pock Filler and brandished it in a menacing fashion。 The futility of this wasn't slow in the dawning。 Rex swung it at the neon tube； plunging the bathroom into darkness。 He climbed into the shower…tray and assumed the foetal position beneath the flaccid hosepipe。
Eric kicked open the door。 Rex's terminal was now well ablaze and through the fire and smoke Eric didn't look as pretty as a picture； lit from his bad side by the conflagration。 Rex cowered as Rambo joined his chum in the doorway。 Firelight danced on the barrel of the 。44 Magnum as it nosed into the bathroom； sniffing him out。
For Rex it was the dry throat and the loosened bowel of the condemned prisoner。 So this was it。 The end。 Death was always a squalid affair； but Rex； like all men； had laboured under the cosy misconception that his would have some dignity about it。 It's funny just how wrong you can be some times。
'Time to die；' said Rambo Bloodaxe。 Then time for lunch。'
'Your plan； Fergus； you will kindly favour me with it。'
'Well。。。' Fergus wracked braincells； he was sure that somewhere in his head there was just bound to be a plan。 'The way I see it。。。'
His words were； however； cut off by the timely arrival of Jason Morgawr； who had somehow managed to put himself in charge of security。 'We have a problem；' said he； addressing himself to Mungo's single ear。 'Garstang is making demands。'
The modified Mungo； who now had the capacity to witness an entire planet's destruction； with scarcely the bat of an eyelid； yet who still harboured a certain resentment regarding the loss of his ear； said； 'Oh yes？'
'He says he wants the captive and a safe passage down to the research labs or he will。。。' Jason leant low to Mungo's ear to relay the sordid details of what fate held for Lavinius Wisten。
'And to what end do you suppose； and hang about； what captive？'
Thought so； thought Fergus； he knows nothing。 Jason shook his head and feigned ignorance。 Fergus put his finger to his lips。 'Elvis Presley；' he whispered。 'Garstang has； for reasons better known to himself； brought Presley here to Phnaargos。'
'Here？ I mean here； yes in the heat of the moment it had slipped my mind。 Your thoughts； Fergus？'
'My thoughts no doubt mirror your own； sir。 Garstang obviously hopes to evade justice by escaping through time； taking Presley along for security。 He's somewhat more important to us than Wisten； after all。 Several more Time Sprouts even now ripen in the research labs。'
'You confirm my own worst fears。 Your thoughts yet again。'
The employment of a soporific gas introduced into the ecosystem of the boardroom might prove advantageous at this time。'
'Uncanny；' said Mungo。
Jason Morgawr bounced before them。 'Further developments。 Garstang has locked the boardroom televisual system into broadcast； and he's threate
