The ex-commando had no time for remorse, not that he would have fallen victim to such an emotion anyway. All his nerve-endings had long since been cauterized by the searing heat of battle. This was a shooting war now and the occasional civilian was bound to get hurt. Frank was neither stimulated nor disturbed by this certainty, he merely accepted it as matter-of-factly as hed accept the readout on a laser range-finder. Besides, it was the forces of law and order which had fired the first shots he knew from bitter experience they would be no more careful with the lives of the electorate than they had to be.
But there was another good reason why Frank had no time to feel guilty. With testicle-tightening certainty the thought came crashing home that, along with a semi-mummified extra-terrestrial, he was suddenly in control of a decidedly out-of-control juggernaut. The very act of not crashing was going to be a major achievement in itself, never mind the slightly more complex issue of safely bringing the vehicle under control and escaping his omniscient pursuers.
Either side of the highway the city limits gave way to desert at a shuddering pace. This fact at least brought a partial improvement; Frank was no longer in danger of taking half a city block with him on his final death charge. Unfortunately the petering-out of civilization had another, less welcome effect the road surface over which they flew was no longer capable of sustaining such a speed. When Frank hit the first series of potholes the truck seemed to buck from under him like a Saigon call-girl hed once known. Stamping on the brakes did little to improve matters, merely sparking off the sort of skid that could have brought tears to the Michelin Mans eyes.
Ahead the road ran up a gentle gradient which did little to bleed off the frightening momentum. Worse was to follow. As the highway plunged over the far side it veered to the left. The wheels barely touching the ground, there was no way Frank could steer his mount around this bend. But it wasnt just a large sandy hill that blocked his path. Half way up the rise a towering advertising hoarding for Yoke Cola as real as youll want to get! blocked their path. Across it, a scantily-clad young lady frolicked on a deserted beach, red lips clasped around the distinctly shaped bottle.
Seconds later the hoarding no longer blocked Franks path, because the juggernaut had slammed through it, to embed itself cab-deep in the dusty slope beyond.
Moments before impact Frank had buckled himself into the cabs elaborate strapping system. He was fortunate this truck was a luxury top-of-the-range model. It was fitted with the sort of safety features which could have done spacecraft proud. The gel-filled air-bag offered the ultimate in protection, but also the ultimate in subliminal advertising being carefully designed to maximize customer exposure to the brand logo at a moment of maximum stress and susceptibility. Frank was saved from serious injury, but left with a peculiar everlasting urge to purchase Ford motor vehicles for the remainder of his unnatural life. Unbeknownst to him his terrified mind had been subjected to some of the most effective and subtle advertising yet known to man.1
Admittedly there were strange-coloured shapes dancing before his eyes, and far off in the distance he could have sworn he heard an ice-cream van jingle, but there was nothing new in that. A few scratches and scrapes, and tomorrow some seriously impressive bruising, was all he was going to have to show for his mornings adventure. Unfortunately the same could not be said for the alien.
Amidst the general mayhem the cabs glove compartment had sprung open somehow the creatures bulbous cranium had got wedged inside. On impact its head had been clasped firmly in this vice-like grip, while its frail body was free to snap wildly around. A fearful whiplash had resulted that by rights should have decapitated the poor creature. If it had been a horse it would have almost certainly been shot by now to put it out of its misery thats if it hadnt already been long dead of course.
Grabbing the satchel and prising the tenderized alien from its resting place, Frank jumped out into the clear morning air. Clambering out of the gaping hole cut in the towering young ladys blossoming left breast, he surveyed the swathe of destruction cut through cacti and tumbleweed alike. Briefly he paused, experiencing a terrible and sudden desire for a fizzy sugar-filled caramel-based drink, but he shook it from his mind with iron military discipline.
Gulping past the pain of his itching throat, Frank checked his ponderous load and began trekking off into the baking desert. It was going to be a blazingly hot day, but he had a lot of ground to cover by nightfall. He was going to have to find a more controllable transport if he was to put sufficient distance between himself and his pursuers.
1 LIVE FREE and BUY! Ive visited Preacher Jacks Old-Time Trading Post and Ammunition Store: Free Wyomings foremost survivalist retail outlet. Discounts available with NRA membership cards. (No Queers, Papists or UN Stooges.)
1 Even more effective than the compelling 1990s campaign by the MIEC to enslave the masses to mobile phone use. Conducted over decades, through a combination of cultural familiarization (Star Trek communicators), electromagnetic long-distant brainwashing (those relay transmitters dont just boost the signal), and cynically blatant association with a well-known TV show depicting the uncovering of the One World Shadow Government. Who needs an ID card when everyone carries a transponder and their very own number-of-the-beast?
12. The Jimmy Maxwell Show
The studio audience had been whipped up into a frenzy of anticipation. For Kate Jennings, standing off in one darkened wing watching the recording on a monitor, the transformation never ceased to be a surreal and slightly scary experience. No matter how many true-life confessionals she worked on it was always a little alarming just how easily a group of otherwise sane human beings could be agitated into a baying mob; each herd-member impatient for the moment they could sink their fangs into the carnival of human misfortune paraded before them. What had, until half an hour before, been nothing more than a studio full of perfectly normal Britons, united admittedly in the fact that they had nothing better to do than attend the recording of a daytime TV show, was no longer a pretty sight. Each individuals identity and inhibitions was lost in the anonymity of the pack.
It wasnt as if the techniques Kates show used were particularly sophisticated. The procession of hadnt-been comedians and enthusiastic young floor-assistants were not what instantly sprung to mind when you thought of subtle weapons of psychological warfare. But they were all that was needed.
A more informative and depressing insight into the darker reaches of the human psyche youd be hard pressed to find and the show hadnt even begun yet. With the first bars of the terminally cheerful theme tune, Kate knew the unnaturally orange host couldnt be far behind.
Kate wasnt to be disappointed. As the Applause lights flashed their strident instruction, Jimmy Maxwell sprung from an alcove and bounded down the audience aisle stairs leaping, slapping hands with the people and whooping with every breath. Britains favourite daytime TV celeb might have had the body and face of a middle-aged angel, but put him in front of a tight-lipped guest and hed rip their tale from them like his career depended on it which it did. He was undeniably the biggest fish in a small pond, but Maxwell had agents working round the clock to facilitate the move he craved. There was only so far you could take this format in the closeted and provincial TV backwater that was the UK. North America beckoned, like a cut-price whore offering twice as many bangs for the buck. It was rumoured that a major Hollywood producer had flown in today to watch him perform.
Kate wasnt to be disappointed. As the Applause lights flashed their strident instruction, Jimmy Maxwell sprung from an alcove and bounded down the audience aisle stairs leaping, slapping hands with the people and whooping with every breath. Britains favourite daytime TV celeb might have had the body and face of a middle-aged angel, but put him in front of a tight-lipped guest and hed rip their tale from them like his career depended on it which it did. He was undeniably the biggest fish in a small pond, but Maxwell had agents working round the clock to facilitate the move he craved. There was only so far you could take this format in the closeted and provincial TV backwater that was the UK. North America beckoned, like a cut-price whore offering twice as many bangs for the buck. It was rumoured that a major Hollywood producer had flown in today to watch him perform.
Unlike his hair Jimmy Maxwells appeal was harder to pin down. His voice retained just enough of a regional accent to smack of the exotic, setting the pulses of the housebound ladies of the Home Counties aflutter with hints of the mysterious hinterlands beyond the Stockbroker Belt. His strange mixture of Cockney-Scouse-Brooklyn was as distinctive as his cantilevered hair and trademark grey suit. Ever since the groundbreaking I Married My Stalker episode last season the British public couldnt get enough of him. Between two fingers he currently held a radio microphone like a magicians wand.
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this our hundredth show, and what a show we have for you today. In a moment well be meeting our first guests, but first a word on our topic today meaningful relationships within a loving family group and how hard it can be to maintain those traditional values in todays hectic world.
Jimmy cast an indulgent glance over his besotted audience, and ran a manicured hand over his spotless silk tie. He was a self-made man, and worshipped his creation.
Its easy for us to judge the lives of others and to form snapshot opinions on their lifestyles, especially if those lifestyles differ from our own. At this point Id like to ask you all to come to todays show with an open mind and a forgiving heart, and the awareness that we all follow different lanes down the long and pot-holed motorway of life.
It was all Kate could do to fight back the waves of nausea that shuddered through her body. These opening speeches reassured the harried station execs that they were paying for a worthwhile piece of informative public service broadcasting, and not half an hour of bandwagon-jumping emotional warfare that dragged the lowest common denominator down to previously unheard of depths. Jimmys monologues served as a convenient counter to the shows myriad critics, but it was hard not to be cynical when you knew what was to come. You almost had to admire the cheek of the man for his ability to blurt them out with a cheddary grin smeared across his tea-stain coloured face. Amidst his adoring audience Jimmy hardly paused for breath.
With those thoughts in mind lets meet our first guest. Come on out, Lucinda!
The stage was mocked up to give the appearance of a well-to-do family lounge, though no such room Kate was aware of sported six different cameras, enough lighting to beckon down a jumbo jet and a barely restrained audience seated within easy abuse-hurling range. Five chairs formed a stark line across the sumptuous red carpet, chosen that way so as not to show the blood. Behind the carefully polished potted plants a series of painted-on windows looked out over an idyllic view of rolling downland. Onto this surreal tableau bounced the first victim.
Lucinda didnt look the type to get embroiled in the sort of tale this show thrived on, but then that was always half the appeal. She was a little bunny-rabbit of a girl, one who took the word wholesome into entirely new territory where she rode metaphorical ponies through dewy meadows and won blue ribbons in gymkhanas. Her sweater was as tight as her bottom and as rosy as her smile.
Maxwell barely gave her time to settle in. Welcome, my dear. Why dont you start by telling us why youre here today?
Lucinda was only too eager to oblige. Hi Jimmy. Im here to tell you about my wonderful family. Were so close and loving that I just want all the world to share what were doing right. At that instant two small boxes appeared in the corners of Kates monitor. One showed a head and shoulders close-up of a well-dressed middle-aged couple, beaming in a slightly forced manner from ear to ear; the other, a vacantly handsome young man with an unreadable expression splashed across his pallid features.
Thats a very worthy sentiment, said Jimmy, with the first hint of a smile breaking across his chiselled jaw-line. Lets just make this clear, you come from a perfectly ordinary, middle-class family from a leafy London suburb. Is that right?
Thats right, said Lucy a little self-consciously. Though we do have a second home in the Dordogne helps Daddy with his wine import business.
Jimmys smile widened. Kate could see he was going to enjoy this more than usual. Why dont you tell us all about the people who make up this ideal group.
Lucinda leaned forward in her chair. Well, theres Mummy and Daddy, or Edward and Virginia as theyre known to their friends. Theyre the best parents a girl could wish for. Thereve always been there for me, but have let me know from an early age Ive the freedom to discover lifes wonders for myself. That freedom ensured I didnt once go off the rails like some girls did.
Jimmys eyes lit up, his voice chokingly eager. What do you mean by going off the rails exactly?
Lucy dimpled and looked demure. Well, you know, boy trouble. I knew some girls at finishing-school who got into all sorts of bother. Some of them were even expelled and had to attend the local comprehensive.
Shocking, agreed Jimmy. But these days youre completely sorted out in the boy department, I understand?
Thats right. Ive known Toby since we met at Jemimas, thats his older sisters, coming out ball. Hes perfect, were getting married next spring.
Jimmy looked pleased with himself. Well, you know, Lucy, weve got a surprise for you today. Toby, your loving fiancé, is actually backstage. Lets hear it, ladies and gentlemen, for Toby!
Onto the stage shuffled the sad and stooped figure Kate had seen in the picture in picture shot. His eyes were downcast as he mounted the short flight of steps, barely acknowledging his bride-to-be as she made a brave attempt at a one-way hug. Lucy looked genuinely surprised and more than a little bewildered by her boyfriends standoffish behaviour.
Jimmy began pacing back and forth amidst the highly expectant congregation. Welcome, Toby, take a seat. Lets not draw this out any longer than we have to. Why dont you tell the lovely Lucy why youre here today.
Tobys eyes never left his highly polished shoes as he mumbled, Lucinda, Ive got something I have to tell you.
Lucinda looked on with growing incomprehension, as Jimmy pressed for the kill. Why dont you share it with us, Toby? Youll feel better once youve got it off your chest.
Toby cast a furtive glance over the audience of strangers that he knew would soon turn against him, then retreated behind his ponderous fringe. This isnt easy for me to say, but Ive been having an affair behind your back.