rr.armageddonthemusical-第41部分
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'He's talking gibberish。' Rex had fearfully tweaked up the sound in the control room； but wasn't daring to look。
'He's talking the universal tongue。'
'He is what？'
'The language of the stoned； the blitzed； the smashed and well and truly out of it。 The Enlightened。'
'But it's rubbish； it just goes on and on。'
'Enlightenment is like that。 Refined knowledge is no knowledge at all。 Every question has a million answers and all of them probably wrong。 The Dalai now has his followers narcotized； he speaks to them in their language。 We've all been stoned at some time or another and felt certain that we knew what was what。 When we woke up the next day and couldn't precisely remember； what did we do？'
'We got stoned again。'
'Precisely； the bunker…bound will recall some of it； the bits that are drummed into them and they'll be back for another helping。'
'Then surely I have listened to this； again and again？'
'Rex； you slept through the most part of it with your eyes open。'
'My uncle taught me。'
'And you know now who killed him。'
'Yes； and I know why。'
'So； keep watching the show； carefully of course。 There's a very good bit ing up in just a moment。'
'Dear friends； do you have your remote controls at the ready？ Yes； I just know that you do。 Well； I'm gonna ask you a question and you； the viewers at home； are gonna answer it。 You got the two buttons； right； one marked yes and the other marked； you guessed it； no。 So I ask you the question and you have the choice。 All ready； right。 The question is； should we let these vindictive murderers and would…be assassins of my good person live； or should we blast the heretic sons of Satan off to hell； live in colour？'
'One feels the question might have been better phrased；' Rambo observed。
'If the opinion of a man with half a brain is of any interest； I have the feeling that our goose…flavoured food cube is well and truly cooked。'
'Now the choice is all yours。 It's a yes if you want them blown to pieces； and a no if you don't think they deserve to live。 So what's it going to be then； eh？'
'What about the don't knows？' Rambo protested。
'Ask him if he could kindly repeat the question；' the bewildered Eric put in。 'I don't know which way I should vote。'
'Ask him to stick up his hands and shut his mouth；' said Elvis Presley。
Dan turned in horror to view the materialization。 'SUN；' he gasped。
'Messiah；' went the inverted Rambo。
'Golly；' said Eric。 'And in the nick of time； eh？
'This station is now the property of the people。'
'But the people are stoned。 Cut the sound； fade out。。。'
'I think not；' said Rex Mundi。
'Get me Fergus Shaman。'
'I'm sorry Mr Madoc； but Mr Shaman is no longer in the building。'
'Then get him at home。'
'I regret that Mr Shaman isn't at home。'
'Then where is he？'
'Mr Shaman has； and I quote； gone to Earth upon pressing business。'
'Mr Shaman isn't authorized to visit Earth。'
'No； sir。'
'Get me a spaceboat at once。'
'Mr Shaman said that you might require one。 It's all prepared on the top landing。' 'Thank you； Mavis。' 'Thank you； Mr Madoc；'
'Cut down those sons of freedom； father…raper；' snarled Elvis； from the trigger end of a four…barrelled Phnaargian peacekeeper。 'And don't get smart。'
Dan made frantic motions towards the lovely Marion； who was making goo…goo eyes at the mystery star guest。 'Marion！'
The bra…busting beauty； whose hobbies included doing voluntary work for the terminally underprivileged； running on the spot and learning a first language； wiggled her unlikely hips and nose…dived a lurex finger towards a row of garish buttons。 These were housed beneath the score board； which really should have been mentioned earlier。 But there you are。
'To hear you say； is to obey；' she coupleted； most prettily。 Rambo and Eric tumbled to the studio floor in khaki confusion。 Dan glanced toward Elvis。
'Don't even think about it。' Elvis cocked a second hammer on his piece。
Rambo struggled to free himself from the harness about his ankles。 Rising to his feet he straightened his lapels and put his hair in order； before delving into his trouser seat； to remove something singularly distressing。 'I feel we might dispense with further formalities and stick this where it belongs。'
'All in good sweet time。' Elvis opened his jacket； exposing his considerable weaponry。 He tossed a handgun to Rambo。 'Stay loose。'
'I have every intention of doing so； Lord King。'
'Someone untie my hands；' moaned the Deathblade。
'It's your feet that are tied； close friend of mine。'
'Ah yes。 I see my mistake now； thank you Rambo。'
'Don't mention it； Eric。'
'Now just you listen；' said Dan； whose telepathic cry for help now echoed about the building。 'You are making a terrible mistake。'
Elvis shook his head。 It was a very definite shake。 It said a very definite no。
'End transmission；' said the Dalai Lama。 But he didn't say it from the studio floor； where he stood trembling。 He said it close by the ear of Rex Mundi。
'Shock horror！' Rex lurched back in his borrowed chair。 Dan leaned forward； his wide eyes showing only the whites。 'End transmission。'
'Stay away from me；' Rex lashed out at the holyman； his fist struck empty air。 'A hologram。'
'A holygram；' said Christeen。 'A tulpa； an astral body。' The other Dan turned slowly away from Rex； the pupils returned to his eyes； one from above； the other from beneath。 It wasn't a pretty sight。
'He can see you；' croaked Rex。
'Of course he can； in his present state we occupy the same plane。' Christeen walked slowly toward the tulpa； smiling sweetly。 Her fingers were cupped demurely before her。 She drew back her beautiful face and brutally head…butted him。 Back on the studio floor Dalai Dan collapsed in a heap of holy confusion； clutching a bleeding nose。 Rambo and Eric went into a big twentieth…century American cop routine over him。 Legs akimbo； both hands upon the gun。
'Are we rolling？' Elvis squinted into the lights。 Rex gave an invisible thumbs up。 Elvis tucked away his weapon。 'People of the World；' said he； addressing the automated camera with the red light on。 'I wonder if you're lonesome tonight。'
Now it might have been a blinder of a speech。 A heartfelt heart…string puller； a rowdy rabble rouser； or a wise and witty tickler of ribs。 It might have been a Churchillian upper…lip stiffener or even a metaphysical mind…blower。 （Well； it might have been。） Or of course it could well have been a load of old pussy…cat poo。 But whatever the case； that's as far as it got。 Because just then the stage doors opened to reveal the Dalai's special guard； the Orange Agents； as they are unaffectionately known。
They were stunningly clad in this year's look。 Heavily…padded shoulders giving that fuller feel。 Belts worn at a jaunty angle； rakish high…boots beneath hip…hugging bat trousers； pocketed for convenience at thigh height。 The stun guns； grenade launchers； flame throwers and rapid…fire machine pistols were all standard issue； but the straps and fittings had been whimsically toned in bold primaries； which although adding that essential splash of colour； in no way detracted from the bold； macho image。
'Nobody move。'
Rambo and Eric； now both tooled up； turned their inadequate firepower upon the intruders。 'Drop those weapons；' called Eric； whose plete lack of prehension； regarding the sudden shift in the balance of power； had a certain naive charm。 'Give yourselves up。'
Elvis sighed deeply。 Up in the control room； Rex Mundi said； 'Phase Two。' He pulled from his radiation suit a pre…recorded transmission disc Elvis had given him for the occasion。 It was entitled ELVIS PRESLEY'S GOLDEN GREATS。 Something about going out on a song； the King had said。 Rex slotted it into the desk housing and sat back awaiting further events。
On the studio floor a little tableau was now arranged。 At its centre knelt Dan； somewhat green about the gills and red about the hooter。 About him were ranged Eric； Rambo and Elvis； their guns were angled down towards the kneeler； aimed at points of their respective choosings。
'Back off fellas；
