Michael Moorcock: A Cure for Cancer

Jerry recognized a block of flats at Bow, several streets near Hampstead Heath, the public baths and the ABC Cinema at Bayswater, some half-timbered shops where Holborn had run, the British Museum, the Hilton Hotel in Park Lane.

At least a few tourist attractions remained.

Over near the canal eight gulls wheeled in the white sky. Jerry left the zoo and began to tramp across the park, his boots sinking several inches in the fine ash.

Beesley had almost certainly returned to London, but it was anyone's guess where he had set up his headquarters.

Time (in the local sense) was running down at an alarming rate. Beesley was obviously trying to slow the Cycle in order to preserve the present situation and, if possible, return to an earlier phase.

It was so bloody short-sighted.

Also it would be disastrous so far as Catherine were concerned. At least his identity was preserved, up to a point. It was his only advantage.

On the other side of a hedge which had been completely stripped of foliage was a neatly parked minihover with British markings.

He resheathed his gun to protect it from the ash and vaulted the hedge.

He opened the minihover's cabin door and climbed in. The thing shifted under his weight. It was armed with two eight inch Banning cannon in Hamilton brackets. The cannon seemed to be low on charges.

The motor started slowly. Jerry rose a few inches in a huge cloud of ash and tilted the joystick forward, heading to where Edgware Road used to be.

The armoured minihover coughed out of the ash and rode smoothly across the stretch of smooth green crystal. The crystal was what the West End had come to. It wasn't the sort of fusion Jerry liked to see.

As he reached the site of Regent Street, he saw an ash-cloud approaching on his left. He guided the minihover into a shallow basin in the crystal and watched. He recognized the jeeps and armoured cars. The Americans were coming back at a lick.

Jerry put the hover's periscope up and adjusted the magnification.

General Ulysses Washington Cumberland stood in the lead jeep, a flame-thrower pack on his back, the nozzle in his right hand. His left hand clutched the windshield, he wore dark combat goggles and his clothes were whipped by the wind. The cap on the general's head bore the legend C-in-C Europe and he wore a green, fringed shawl around his shoulders, a long yellow dress with a tight bodice and red buttons, a huge green sash, puffed sleeves, gored skirts and flounces everywhere. The skirt was flared by at least six starched white petticoats and there was a pair of blue tennis shoes on his feet.

Behind General Cumberland the jeeps and cars were filled with fine-featured marines in full battle-kit, here to seek and destroy resistance not cleared out by the bombing.

General Cumberland set an example with his flame-thrower.

It flared at every possible hiding-place.

Jerry shivered. There were signs of snow in -the sky. He decided to move on.

As he started the motor he heard Cumberland's voice through his amplifiers.

They're all queer! Queer! Queer! Queer! Burn 'em out! Out! Out! Out!'

When Jerry reached a higher point on the crystal plain he saw Cumberland leap from his jeep and lead the marines after him.

The flame-thrower shrieked again, but Jerry was out of range.

Hesitantly some of the marines raised their weapons.

'Sissies! Pansies! Asslickers!' roared the general. He turned, spraying the soldiers with his flame-thrower.

'Mother lovers! Mother lovers! You sons of bitches!' he sobbed. In a flurry of frilly underclothes he collapsed on a slab of concrete. There was a WHOOMF, a scream of pure ecstasy and he went up in a roaring fireball.

At least he died happy, thought Jerry.

The smoke cleared behind him and he saw that the majority of the marines had fried. The rest were trying to put out their burning clothes or their burning vehicles, but then there were a few more explosions and they were finished off.

Jerry admired their energy.

The minihover ran out of power sooner than Jerry had expected.

Near the ABC Cinema, Bayswater, he tramped to where an old Riley was parked. As he opened the door a woman with a pale, haggard face looked at him from the driving seat.

'Can I drop you anywhere, Herr Cornelius?'

'You're still fond of green and purple, I see.'

'It's really all I have left.'

Jerry put his right boot on the nearside wing and began to brush off what remained of the ash. 'Did Beesley send you?'

'I escaped from Beesley.'

'How did you come to leave Amerika?'

'I couldn't stay on top of the job. A general lassitude, I suppose. Maybe I needed you, Jerry. So little new blood. I've become extraordinarily anaemic in recent months. Beesley found me and we flew back to England a few — a few...'

'Days?'

'Ago.'

'You've changed.'

'You haven't.'

'I should hope not. It's been tough, though. Did Beesley set you up from the beginning?'

'Yes. But I fell in love...'. 'Like a junkie with his dope.'

'You weren't the dope I took you for.'

'It's a shame, I know.'

She licked her lips. 'Can I drop you anywhere?' There was a smell about her and it reminded Jerry of Frank.

'I don't think so.'

'Jerry -1 need you more than you need me.'

'I know that.'

'I haven't been happy.'

'I can believe that.'

'Just a little, Jerry, understanding...'

'Too late.'

'Mercy.'

'Sorry, belle...'

She started the engine of the Riley. 'What were you trying to do with the stars?'

'Just hoping to get everything over with quickly. Ragnarok, of sorts.'

'You are fond of Wagner? I, too, am... Well, maybe not so fond. The end of the world. Is that why you were making all those converts? To take them over with you?'

'Something like that.'

'But the world isn't going to end. My husband's seen to that, hasn't he?'

'He's making a good try.'

'Why do you want the world to end?'

'It's not as simple as that. I've got a kid sister, you see. I want to give her a better break than I had. A niece, I mean.'

'You're mixed up.'

'Not as much as you, Karen.' — He drew his vibragun. She put her foot on the accelerator. 'Your brake's still on.' The car bounced. Jerry pointed the gun and she shook so much she was soon indistinguishable from the ash. He hooked the green and purple clothes out of the seat with his boot. Poor woman. He didn't know where she'd found the energy in the first place.

In the end he had, after all, been merciful. He holstered the vibragun and got into her seat. It was very cold.

He didn't feel much warmer himself. The engine was hard to get started again. The motor wouldn't turn. He pumped in more fuel, and it sparked at last.

Through the grey day, through the ruins, he let the car roll straight down the obsidian length of Westbourne Grove.

He had a feeling Beesley was in this area. The bishop had probably sent Karen von Krupp to find him.

He reached the rubble of Ladbroke Grove and the car could move no farther. He got out and began to climb over the concrete, between the fronds of twisted wire that had once reinforced it.

He reached the place where the convent had stood and clambered to the highest slab to sniff the scene.

Holland Park was visible. It stood intact on a rise to the south west, its trees ghostly gold and green. Jerry considered it.

A few minutes later, he unsheathed his vibragun from its chamois holster, turned, and, resting the gun on his bent left arm, sighted on a patch of rubble close to the centre of the demolished convent.