Michael Moorcock - A Cure for Cancer

'Why not?'

'Okay. Don't look so defeated, Karen. You can't win them all. Are you coming with me?'

'I'm staying here.'

'Is that a good idea, do you think? Beesley...'

'Failure is failure. I'm staying.'

'In what capacity?' Brunner asked politely.

She shrugged and her looks faded. 'I don't much care. It's peaceful here.'

Jerry gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat. 'You know, I should really shoot you. It's the policy.'

She continued to suck at her teeth.

'That adds a new wrinkle.' Jerry winked at her.

A tear fell out of her eye.

'Let her stay here,' Captain Brunner suggested. 'I'm sure she'll go far when she gets over it.'

'But Beesley 'Will it make a lot of difference?'

Time's silting up.'

'You're right, I suppose.' Jerry grinned. 'Sweet dreams, Karen.'. 'Off we go, then.' Captain Brunner danced for the door.

'Off we go.'

Off they went, with Jerry pushing Captain Brunner ahead of him with his vibragun and Captain Brunner calling in a delicious treble, 'Do as he orders! Do as he orders!'

The big Duesenberg — three tons, supercharged, built 1936, with its bullet-proof windows and steel shutters — was outside.

They climbed in.

Captain Brunner drove and Jerry Cornelius pointed the vibragun at his head.

Black uniformed guards milled around in excitement, trying to think of something positive. Then the wind took a turn and thick yellow smoke from the chimneys got into their eyes and throats and made them cough. As they opened the gates of Camp Resurrection, most of them just looked embarrassed.

Standing outside the governor's office, Karen von Krupp waved almost sadly to Jerry.

'Good, old Karen,' said Jerry.

Captain Brunner settled himself comfortably at the wheel as they drove through the pines that filtered the last of the evening sunshine.

'I must admit I'd prefer Casablanca,' he said. 'But that's all in the past now, I'm afraid. Or present. It depends which way you look at it.' He took a swig from the bottle of Bell's Cream Whisky in the clip by the steering wheel. 'The last bottle. It's just as well, in the circumstances. You don't mind if I go part of the way with you, do you, my dear boy?'

'Heaven forbid!' said Jerry. 'Of course not.'

They reached the next fence and the lodge. Someone had phoned the guards, for they had their guns ready but couldn't think of a use for them.

Tut the plates up, could you, Captain Brunner?' Jerry smiled at the guards.

Captain Brunner touched a button. The steel shutters moaned upwards and they were in darkness. Captain Brunner switched on the light.

'Now,' said Jerry. 'If you wouldn't mind...'

'Say the word.'

'Consider it said.'

'And the word...'

Jerry smiled. 'Captain Brunner — you're a card after my own heart.'

The plate on Jerry's window opened up until there was a hole five inches in diameter in the very centre. Jerry poked his gun through and took aim. The guards shook to pieces. He turned the gun and the gates quivered and creaked and fell down. They roared through 'Hey ho for the open road,' sang Captain Brunner, turning the car in the general direction of Buffalo. 'Where were you thinking of for the honeymoon?'

'Where else?'

With a spontaneous gesture of affection, Captain Brunner flung his arm around Jerry's silken shoulders, hugged him tight, and stepped hard on the accelerator.

The house was a splendid example of Carpenters Gothic, covered in turrets and eccentric dormer windows, with pointed towers and jigsaw scrollwork and shadowed verandas made to resemble a monks' walk. A somewhat tasteless note was the more recent cobblestone chimney.

Inside, the hall was dark and filled with a huge umbrella stand, a hat rack and a mirror that seemed to reflect the darkness. From the parlour came the damp, musty smell of horse-hair and mahogany, of marble, artificial flowers and anti-macassars. On the other side of the hall the living-room was full of mission furniture in oak and leatherette. Leading off the living-room was the dining-room with its table and chairs of golden oak and its view from the window over the Falls.

The house was still occupied.

Outside the empty streets echoed the whimpering roar of the water. The hotels and motel cabins, the souvenir shops, the restaurants and movie houses blended with the trees, the shrubs and the weeds. Sometimes the wind would move a yellow newspaper or a rusty can.

On their way to the border Captain Brunner had steered nostalgically through streets blocked with twisted automobiles. 'Ah, fickle fashion.' Most of the buildings had been looted, stripped and burned.

At the dining table they ate the individual TV Steak Chateaubriand Dinners Captain Brunner had brought up from the cold room in the basement.

'And how did you leave Europe?' Captain Brunner unbuttoned his uniform jacket to show a yellow shirt of Sea Island Cotton.

'Much as I hope to find it.' Jerry pushed his dinner away and took another sip of his Californian Riesling. 'It's an uphill struggle.'

'Perhaps it always will be, Jerry.'

'One door opens. Another closes.'

'Isn't that for the best?'

Jerry raised a jet-black hand to a jet-black face and rubbed his right eye. Captain Brunner smiled.

'The illusion of power,' said Jerry. 'It sometimes seems too sweet for words.'

'Or actions for that matter.'

'Sure.'

'You've got rid of the deja-vu now, have you?'

'Not altogether.'

'Well...' Captain Brunner stacked the half-eaten trays. Til put these in the kitchen. Do you want to take a walk this afternoon?'

'A last walk...'

'If you wish.'

'It's really up to you, you know.' Jerry turned to look at the Falls.

'I'm getting a bit reluctant to go. That's the trouble.'

'I know what you mean. Do you want to do it yourself?'

Captain Brunner picked up the empty bottle. 'That wouldn't be according to the rules.'

The rules are very strict.'

'Stricter than you could believe.'

'All right. Mind you, I could do with some bloody music.' Jerry stood up.

'The victrola's over there.'

Jerry went into the living-room to look at the big phonograph with its oak-veneered cabinet. He opened the cupboard at the bottom and pulled out the cumbersome 785. They rattled in his hands. He opened the lid, wound the handle and put a record on the turntable.

When Captain Brunner came back into the room George M. Cohan was singing Yankee Doodle and Jerry lay on the mission couch staring up at the beams in the ceiling.

'I believe there's some good Al Jolsons and the whole of Green 'Pastures in there.' Captain Brunner hesitated on the threshold. That's going back a bit.'