rr.armageddonthemusical-第40部分
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iest eyes I ever saw。 And sweat； can this guy sweat。 I give him a stiff drink and he tells me what he wants。 Seems he has got hold of some million byte carbon and wants it transferred into something innocuous before the agency catches up with him。 It's some kind of super…duper program belonging to some project that got busted。 I raise my eyebrows to all this intelligence Million byte carbons； K2s to those in the know； are about as scarce as the fertilizer which issues from the tail end of the treen pony Very much the state…of…the…art。 I tell this guy that I will require big boodle for this operation； and what variety of thing does he want it pacted into？ He says he doesn't care as long as it's no longer recognizable for the thing it is； and will I take the carbon as payment？ Yes； I reply。 We take a trip across town and I shan't be putting you on if I tell you that I'm cautious in the extreme to assure myself that we aren't tailed。
I also make sure that I carry the carbon； in case we have to split up for any reason。 So anyway； we arrive back at my place unmolested and I jack up my deck Which for those who wish to know such things is a Gibson 440 with cross…pattern interface and lock…in multi…broads； full spectrum I don't tell this guy that his is the first K2 that I have ever laid hands upon and the chances of pacting the inpactible are less than zero He looks as if he was worried enough But looking back it was somewhat neither here nor there； because the next thing I know is the terminator which is stuck in my ear And the guy making mockery of my equipment and using jargon the like of which is perplexing to my ears I wind up handcuffed to my chair whilst he sets up my linkages and runs the whole program himself； before my very eyes And all the time he is going； 'crude； crude； crude'； some thanks So once he's run in the program he then looks about my place for something to store it in。 And then he sees my collection and he starts to laugh 'Just the trick；' says he； 'pure irony 'Well； I don't know what irony is； but my collection is something else For one thing it is plete； was plete I had everything the Man ever did。 And this son…of…a…bitch just dips in at random And does he take some remix or caver version ？ Does he king shit He takes the jewel of my fucking collection Laughing like a drain as he does it The Suburban Book of the Dead
'He's a friend to the foe
The star of the show
The man we all know
By his king…sized karma
He's a real breath of spring
He's the Living God King
He's the Dalai。。。 Dalai。。。 Dalai
Dalai 。。。 La 。。。 ma'
Dan's suit was electronic jiggery…pokery。 Although nothing new had been invented upon Earth during the preceding three decades； the scope of the Dalai's wardrobe； allied with the brief lifespans of his audience； saw to it that he always remained Mr Wonderful。 mercial holographies； sired in the late 1980s and milked for all they were worth after the NHE； were still capable of impressing those conditioned to be impressed。 Dan's suit seethed with three…dimensional erotica。 A heaving panorama of taut buttocks； pert nipples； milk…white thighs； armpit hair and exposed front bottoms。
Dan took a major bow toward his viewing public。 Willies of every colour and hue came and went across his shoulders。
'My dear friends；' said Dan； in a manner much favoured by American Evangelist fornicators of the late eighties； 'my dear； dear friends。 I am with you once again。' Dan made a profound and sacred sign。 The Pavlovian bunker…bound responded。 Ringpulls popped from Buddhabeer cans and the narcotized contents bubbled into waiting throats。 Today's delivery had been double…strengthened； just to be on the safe side。 Dan filled in the twenty seconds before the beer took hold by performing a little dance amongst The Lamarettes。 In the control room Rex began to feel somewhat strange。 He found his right hand pulling at a ringpull that wasn't there。 Things were being clearer and clearer to Rex Mundi。 Mickey Malkuth entered a lift many floors beneath。 Second anonymous torturer was with him。
'Showtime。' Dan twirled upon his heel。 'And what a show have we got lined up for you tonight。 It is going to be big and when I say big； what do I mean？'
The bunker…bound knew exactly what he meant。 'Big；' they went； all together。
'After all； who is it that cares for you？ Who clothes you？ Who loves you？ Yeah； that's right。 It's me。 And that's why you love me； isn't it？ And you do love me？ Don't you？ Love me。 Love me。 Love me。'
Rex peered down at the performance。 He chewed upon his knuckles； he felt wrong inside。 He perused the console deck before him。 The show's running time flashed； five minutes gone already； how could that be。 He looked out at the Dalai。 Dan made another profound gesture。 Rex yanked at his trouserleg。 'Gotta get a beer； gotta get a beer。'
'Easy Rex。' She seated herself beside him。 'You're not thirsty。'
Rex couldn't take his eyes from the Dalai。 'Gotta get a beer。' Christeen pulled his face away and gazed into it； she turned down the sound。 'Conditioning。 Don't watch him。 You're not thirsty。'
'Thirsty？' Rex stared into her eyes。 'Why should I be thirsty？'
'Why indeed？ Now if you will kindly place yourself behind the door。 Do you have your gun？' Rex proffered the piece； the way one does。
'Now； hold it in your right hand and count to ten。' Rex did so； the door burst in。
'。。。 ten。' Rex swung the gun。 Mickey Malkuth hit the floor。
'And just to four this time。'
'Two。。。 three。。。 four。' The second anonymous torturer joined Malkuth in the 'prone position'。
'Thanks again；' Rex pocketed the pistol。 'I owe you。'
'You owe yourself； Rex。' The lad peeped over the console deck and down through the plexiglass toward the studio floor。 'He's on to me； then？'
Christeen nodded； Rex didn't need to see her。 'You just retired without the pension。'
Rex slumped back in the AC's chair。 'I hope I'm doing the right thing。 I do appear to be a little short of options right now。'
Christeen drew attention to the liberal distribution of KOed station folk。 'I think that no matter how you might unwish it； you are mitted。'
'I hate him。' Rex turned away from the glass。
'So do I；' said Christeen。
'I hope you won't accuse me of fatalism；' whispered the dangling Deathblade。 'But having given my all to the considered assessment of our present situation； I'm forced to conclude that there is no hope left to us。'
'Very well put； old muckamuck； but never say die； eh？ The fact that we are currently hanging upside down before the viewing public； with explosive capsules nestling in our privy passages； might on the face of it； I grant you； appear cause for just concern。'
'On the face of it？'
'But；' Rambo rambled on； 'I myself subscribe to the credo of 〃think positive〃。 Should the worst possible occur and our bums blow us to oblivion； we must look on the bright side。 We will be making a political statement。'
'Making a mess of the studio； more like。'
'Eric； in some future time our names may well be writ big upon the wall of martyrdom。'
'The blood is running to what remains of my head。'
'Chin up； think of England。'
'Of where？'
'Never mind； it's just a saying。'
'It's the questions I worry most about； Rambo。'
'Questions； Eric？ Do you mean like； what does all this mean？ And is there really a divine purpose behind it； and things of that nature？'
'No； Rambo。 I was thinking about the questions the Dalai will ask； I hope they are on gardening。 Do you think he will let us choose or will we just have to take what es？'
'We'll just have to play it by ear； Eric。 No offence meant。'
'None taken； I assure you。'
'Extremists and heretics；' the Dalai was screaming； 'like really bad people。 Like well； you know； how bad can bad be； right？ Really bad； yeah； you got it。 They hate me； so they hate you； it's the same thing when you think about it； know what I mean； innit？ These people just hate； that's all they do。 Who needs them； do you need them？ I don't need them。。。'
'He's talking gibberish。' Rex had fearfully tweaked up the sound in the control room； but wasn't daring to look。
'He's tal
