Michael Moorcock: A Cure for Cancer

The air cleared. They stood on a green plain close to a clump of oaks. In the shade of the oaks stood a small man with a goatee and rimless glasses. He had a large black metal box under his arm.

'Would you believe it?' Jerry said with some excitement. The bugger's got it.'

That looks like...'

That's right. Good old comrade... Hey!' Jerry began to run towards him, hampered by Karen von Krupp, who refused to let go of his arm, and by the tight skirt and high heels.

A wave of jewels without substance washed over them. 'My machine!' shouted Jerry and his voice echoed for a long time. 'Oh well. Some other time. I thought it was too good to be true.'

'What machine?'

That'd be telling. Unless you already know. I suspect Bishop Beesley does know and that's what he's after — ultimately speaking, at any rate.'

They were now walking through the streets of St Petersburg in the early morning. It was very romantic. Jerry pointed out the little cluster of figures staring at them from the top of an office block in Bronstein Prospekt. 'Homo habilis by the look of them. Funny little sods, aren't they?'

Down the middle of the prospekt galloped a brontotherium herd.

'It's very quiet,' she said.

'Yes, it would be.'

'What's the time?'

'Not sure. Post-political, I'd say. But you can never be sure. This could be a complete mix-up. I wish I had a fix.'

Bishop Beesley confronted them, threatening them with some sort of insect spray.

'We know all about you, my dear Mr Cornelius,' he said. 'You and your women friends. Oh God, it's disgusting! This is 1970! You're so primitive!'

'You think I should feel guilty?' Jerry got a grip on his vibra-gun. You could never be sure.

'I think someone should, dear.'

'Where can we talk?'

The bishop bent down and picked up his attache case, tucking his equipment inside. Then he held the case to his chest with all the affection an old woman might give to her parrot.

'I've got a marvellous little latty here,' he said. Taste! You've never seen the like.'

'Sounds sweet. But this'll do.'

The three of them sat down at the sidewalk table, under the big umbrella. A surly waiter took their order.

'It's time to make up, Mr Cornelius,' said the bishop. 'I've such a horror of tension. I can't bear it.'

'Not yet, bishop.'

'But this is Denmark. So neutral.'

'I see I've caught you at a weak moment.' Jerry got up. 'Come on, Karen. I'll be seeing you, bishop.'

'Cruelty! The world is full of cruelty!' The bishop tucked into their strudels.

They strolled on through the multiverse. 'Where did he come from?' she said. 'What was the conversation about?'

'What are conversations ever about? He seemed to know.

Doubtless we'll meet again, either before or after, or not at all. Keep walking.'

The sooner we get back to the sane world, the better,' she said waspishly.

'You're just sore because you didn't get your coffee.' They were walking on concrete. Ahead of them was the huge silhouette of a Lockheed SR-72 Mach 3 two-seat interceptor and strategic reconnaissance aircraft framed against the dawn. 'Would you believe it? Maybe it's something you said.'

'I feel funny.'

'You probably do. It's all magic, really. We're out of the tunnel — or nearly. Run.'

They tripped on their high heels until they reached the aircraft. 'Hop in,' he said. 'I think you must have a talent, Fraulein Doktor.'

'Do you know how to fly these monsters?'

'Oh, come off it.'

'I've had very little private life since all this started,' explained Jerry as they took off from Orly airport and were momentarily pursued by some Starfighters that fell to pieces behind them. He spoke through the intercom. 'You look beautiful in that helmet.' He guided the plane towards the Channel.

'Thank you.' She put her hand on the portion of his thigh that was bare between his stocking and suspender belt. He decelerated.

'I don't want to fly at maximum speed,' he explained, 'because I've got eight AIM-174s to get rid of and they're not really suitable for the job I've got in mind.'

She accepted his apology with a polite little smile.

The 95-ft aircraft soon reached the Channel and flak began to appear as the pirates tried to hit it. Jerry angled the plane towards them, hoping for the best, and released all the air-to-air missiles in rapid succession. There were a few explosions, then they had passed the ships and were circling off the coast. 'Stand by to eject,' he said and putting the plane into a steep dive yanked the ejector lever.

They drifted down towards the cliffs. He leaned over and kissed her. Water gouted as the plane hit the sea.

They landed gently and got out.

'You don't look too jolly, Herr C,' she remarked.

'Light or square, I suppose it's all the same to me, Doktor Krupp.' He smoothed his skirt. 'Well, that wasn't too bad, was it? Sure the velocity didn't bother you?'

'It's something you get used to.'

'Of course you do.' He squeezed her hand affectionately.

Curled in deep leather armchairs beside a comfortable fire in the sitting-room of Jerry's Ladbroke Grove H. Q. Jerry and Karen von Krupp listened to Groucho Marx singing Father's Day while they caught up with the newspapers.

It seemed that Israel, having annexed Turkey, Greece and Bulgaria, was putting it about that Rumania and Albania were threatening her security. U. S. President Teddy 'Angel Face' Paolozzi had increased the number of military advisors sent to Europe to three million. They were under the command of General Ulysses Washington Cumberland whose mission was to keep order in Europe and seek out 'certain fifth column elements'. The British parliament, both government and opposition, had been arrested as their jumbo Trident was about to take off for Gibraltar. President Paolozzi had sent a diplomatic note to Israel that read Stay off our turf, Israel, or else. A riot in Prague had received universal censure from the European press. 'Uncool' was the Daily Mirror verdict. Bubonic plague remained unchecked in Berlin and Lübeck.

Jerry stopped reading. Evidently, there was little news of any relevance.

'What now?' said Karen von Krupp as Jerry took her hand and pulled her down to the rug. He tore off her clothes, tore off his own knickers and made fierce love to her. Again and again she came and when he fell back, high wig askew, his skirt torn and his stockings laddered, she sighed. 'Ach! At last — a man who is a man!'

Jerry looked past the bars and glass of the window at the houses in the street beyond the wall. Grey rain fell. Through the rain ran a pack of girls, few over five feet, with narrow, stooped shoulders and cheap see-through blouses and tight little skirts stretched over mean thighs. He sighed.

The Animals, The Who, Zoot Money's Big Roll Band, The Spencer Davis Group, The Moody Blues, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames, Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band, Chris Farlowe and the Thunderbirds, The Steam Packet, Manfred Mann, Jesus Christ and the Apostles. Where were the groups of yesterday?

Behind him, Karen von Krupp listened moodily to Ives's Symphony No. I in D Minor. He wondered if that wasn't the key to the whole thing.