Michael Moorcock - A Cure for Cancer

'What sort of information, fella?'

'It's rather secret.'

The marines sniffed and rubbed their noses with their forearms, keeping their steely eyes fixed on him.

'You'd better tell the colonel I'm here, I think.'

'What's your name?'

'He'll know who it is if you describe me.' One of the marines broke away and trotted inside. The circle closed up. Jerry lit a Romeo y Julieta and dropped the aluminium tube on the ground. Still staring unblinkingly at his prisoner's face, a marine with pursed lips kicked the tube violently away.

Frank hurried out.

'Jerry! You made it! Great!'

The marines withdrew behind Jerry and came to the salute with a crash of boots and armour.

'Did you have any luck with the machine?' Frank put a cold arm round Jerry's shoulder and guided him into the new town hall.

'I can't complain.' Jerry spoke through his cigar. 'And are you satisfied?'

'Relatively, Jerry. Look, we'll go to my private quarters. That's the best idea, eh?'

They went through a glass door, crossed the open quadrangle and entered the building's northern wing. 'It's just here.' Frank stopped, unlocked his door and led Jerry into an airy, pleasant room in which Rose Barrie was arranging flowers on a sideboard.

That's fine, Rose, thanks.' Frank smiled. The girl left.

'You're pretty loathsome, Frank.' Jerry took a golden chrysanthemum from the vase and smelled it.

'So would you be. I was never the favoured son, Jerry. I had to fight for what I wanted. You had it easy.'

'Until you fought for what you wanted.'

'Oh, that...'

'I've just been to see Catherine.'

'How is she? I was wilder in those days, Jerry.'

'She's keeping pretty well.'

'Our family always were great survivors.' Frank grinned. 'Do 'you want a...? No,. I suppose not. But let's face it, Jerry. You got where you were by luck — by intuition, if you like. I had to do everything by thinking. Hard thinking. Logical thinking.'

'It made you tense, Frank.'

'That's the price you pay.'

Jerry put the chrysanth back. Then he smashed the vase from the sideboard and looked at the fallen flowers, the spilled water and the broken glass on the carpet.

'Don't lose your temper, Jerry.' Frank was laughing. 'You are a hothead! What's wrong, old sweat?'

'I'd love to be able to kill you, Frank. Kill you, Frank. Kill you, Frank.'

Frank spread the fingers at the end of his extended right arm. 'Jesus, Jerry, so would I...'

'I'd love to be able to kill you, Frank.'

That's a remote possibility.'

'It's all too fucking remote.'

Jerry swayed from the waist, eager for his gun.

'Calm down, Jerry, for Christ's sake.' Frank snapped his fingers at his sides. 'You'll need removing. Is this the time? Is this the place?'

'Space is all you ever fucking think about.'

'Somebody has to. Listen, Jerry, I've got a moral responsibility. I never had that. I have changed. I could lose it all. Split. I'm going to keep it. The power's building up.'

'You'd have thought Einstein had never happened!'

'Maybe he shouldn't have happened. It's running too wild. We need something concrete — definite — solid. Something hard.'

'I want something easy.'

'Exactly. Connect, Jerry — just for a moment.'

'Shit...'

Technology is potential freedom from brutality. I should know. The old can't riot and have no power. We must forfeit the right to breed in order to retain the right to breathe. Immortality is just around the corner!'

'Mortality is space.'

'You've got too much imagination. That's what I mean.'

'What's the matter with you, Frank? You...'

'I'm older. You can never be that.'

'Piss...'

'Man is the only animal with the imaginative characteristic developed to any degree. No competition, see? The trait has become over-developed. A survival characteristic turned into an anti-survival characteristic. We must limit imagination. Destroy it, if necessary, in the majority, limit it in the rest. Jerry, it's our only chance to get back to something worthwhile. To normality.'

Jerry stared vaguely at his brother. 'Get back? Get back? But we're moving on. The abstract...'

'... can only destroy civilization...'

'... as we know it.'

'You see.'

'See? Death.'

'Death — and life.'

'Sure.'

'Then...?'

'Kill you, Frank.'

'No!'

Jerry felt faint. 'You're fouling things up, Frank. You were nicer when you knew it.'

'Forget Time.' Frank slapped the sideboard. That's what's important right now. A cleaning up. A getting back to fundamentals.'

'Forget Space.'

'Jerry — when I returned I decided there had to be some constructive thought. We mustn't fight.'

'Catherine. You killed our sister.'

'You killed her.'

'You made me.'

'Who's the guilty one?'

'Guilt? There you go again.' Jerry relaxed. 'Well, I suppose you just saved your life. Boredom is a great preserver.' He stretched. 'So you've decided to think ahead? I can't see it myself.'

'You won't give yourself a chance. You won't give me a chance.'

Jerry began to pick up the pieces of broken glass and put them on the sideboard. He gathered the flowers into a bunch and crossed the room to a mock Tudor table which had an empty vase on it. He put the flowers in the vase. 'It's a question of identity, Frank. What the hell. A wild environment, an integrated identity.'

'We're clearing things up. Tidying the world.'

'You might just as well be in the political age. You can't bring it back, Frank.'

'We will.' . 'Not for long.'

'You'll see.'

'But you know what I'm out to do, don't you?'

'Randomize.'

'More or less.'

'You won't succeed. History's against you, Jerry.'

'That's the difference between you and me, Frank. I'm against History.'

'Where are you going?'

Jerry made for the door. 'I've got to look up an old flame. You don't mind me hanging around for a while, do you?'

Td rather you did. Have you got the machine with you?'

'No.'

'Then I'd rather you did.'

Til be seeing you soon, Frank.'

'Bet on it.'

Jerry found Flora Hargreaves by the fountain, behind the M-6o tanks.

'You're just as I remember you,' he said.

She smiled, smoothing her olive uniform. 'You never told...'

'No.'

Thanks.'

'You met a friend of mine in London, didn't you? He gave you something to look after.'

'That's right, Jerry.'

'I need it now.'

'You do? You'd better come back to my quarters. I've got a nice place. There's plenty of space for everybody.'

'Everybody who needs it.'

'Yes.'

They walked between the tanks and crossed the square to the violet building opposite the town hall. All around the square the marines were relaxing, chatting to the WACs, smoking, sipping soft-drinks, cleaning their Navy Colts.

'It's been pretty tough for them,' said Flora. 'But I guess they know how to take it.'

'They can take anything by the look of them.'

'Almost anything.' Flora straightened her shoulders: She winked at him. 'It's gotten to be a rotten war., Jerry. I sometimes wonder what you people make of it. It can be hard, sometimes, to take the overall view when your own country's... well...' Jerry sucked in his breath. 'It has to be this way. Maybe if the CIA were still around things would be better.'

'I guess.'

'They've nothing against — you know — consorting?'

'If you're here, Jerry, you've had security clearance. That's all they want to know. It's my leave. I can do what I like.'

They entered the building and climbed the concrete stairs to the first floor, walking along a cool, shady corridor until they came to her room. She turned the handle and threw the door open with a sweeping gesture. 'Apres vous!' Jerry padded in and eyed the room. It was very feminine. There were a lot of soft toys on the bed, posters of British beauty spots on the walls, a helmet and battle overalls hanging over a chair, a.22 in a holster on a stack of Penguin paperbacks, a neat kitchenette through an archway. The room was sunny. Flora drew the blinds.