Robert Rankin - Nostradamus Ate My Hamster

Russell fired a shot into the ceiling. The crowd held back a moment. Russell ran and so did Julie. Across the hangar floor they went and the howling crowd swept after them.

Russell tore open the little hinged door in the big sliding one and pushed Julie through the opening. He followed at the hurry-up, slammed shut the door and rammed the bolt home. You couldn’t open that from the inside.

Russell gathered wits and breath. From within the hangar came horrible howls and the sounds of fists drumming on the big sliding door.

“Thank you,” Russell gasped. “Thank you for warning me. We’ll have to get to a phone, call an ambulance ourselves.”

“Are you kidding?”

“He could bleed to death.”

“He won’t.”

“But –”

“We have to get away, Russell. They’ll kill us. Both of us.”

“All right, do you have a car?”

“No, do you?”

“No, I don’t have one. I wouldn’t have asked you, if I had one.”

“You should get one, Russell. Something fast. A bright green sports car.”

“Well, I’ve always fancied a Volvo, they’re very safe. Cage of steel and everything.”

“Volvos are driven by men who wear pyjamas,” said Julie, which Russell tried to picture.

“Waxed jackets surely,” he said. “What’s that sound?”

“What sound?”

“ That sound.”

That sound was a sort of grating grinding sound. The sort of sound that a big sliding door makes as it’s being slid along.

“Run,” said Russell.

“Where?” Julie asked.

“With me, I have an idea.” Russell took her by the hand and they ran, round to the car park at the back of Hangar 18. Russell pulled the big glass valve from his poacher’s pocket. “We can use this ,” he said.

Julie stopped short and gawped at it. “You dirty bastard,” she said. “Is that all men ever think about?”

“What?” Russell stared at Julie and then at the valve. “Oh no, it’s not a … You thought it was a … No, it’s a …” Sounds of loud howling reached their ears. “This way, quickly.”

Russell dragged her to the Flügelrad . “Get inside, come on.”

“I don’t think so.”

“There’s no time.” Russell pushed her up the ladder. The SS chap was starting to stir, Russell kicked him in the head. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he followed Julie into the cockpit.

The howlers were now pouring into the car park. And yes, they did see Russell.

Inside the Flügelrad , Russell fought the valve back into its socket and worried at the controls. “Now, how exactly does this thing work?” he wondered.

“Hurry, Russell, hurry.”

A bottle shattered against the hull. Russell bashed at the control panel.

Julie screamed.

Russell turned. Morgan’s face leered in at the hatch, eyes round, mouth contorted. Russell leapt up and punched Morgan right in the nose. Amidst further howling from the mob, Morgan rapidly vanished from view. Fists now rained upon the Flügelrad .

“One of these must close the hatch,” Russell flicked switches, pressed buttons, pulled levers. The Flügelrad shook. But not from Russell’s handiwork.

“They’ll turn it over. Out of the way, Russell. Let me do it.” Julie pushed Russell aside, jumped into the pilot’s seat and pushed several buttons. The extendible ladder retracted and the hatch snapped shut.

“Lucky guess,” said Russell. “Now, let’s see if I can –”

“No.” Julie’s hands moved over the control panel, adjusting this, tweaking that, powering up the other. A vibration ran through the craft and a dull hum that grew to a high-pitched whine. Then there was a great rushing sound and after that, nothing but silence.

And much of this silence came from Russell.

Julie worked at the controls, making adjustments, doing this and that. At length she sat back in the pilot’s seat and smiled up at Russell. “We’re on our way,” she said.

“And dare I ask, to where?”

“To the future, of course.”

“Of course.” Russell scratched at his chin. It needed a shave. “Would you care to tell me just what’s going on?”

Julie tossed back her beautiful hair. “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything. Some of it you already know, but not all. I wonder where I should start.”

Russell said nothing.

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘at the beginning’?”

“No.” Russell shook his head. “Everyone always says that. You start wherever you want.”

“All right. I’ll start with the Flügelrad . I’ll bet you’d like to know how I’m able to fly it.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Well, it’s simple. I know how to, because my father built it.”

“Your father?”

“My stepfather actually, I was adopted. My stepfather is Mr Fudgepacker.”

“Oh,” said Russell.

“Except Ernest Fudgepacker is not his real name. His real name is Viktor Schauberger. He was an aeronautical engineer working for the Third Reich. Adolf Hitler is a friend of the family, you could say.”

“They certainly seemed very chummy.”

“The Flügelrads were constructed at the very end of the Second World War. Built under other-world guidance.”

“Other-world? Like, from outer space?”

“More like inner space, but let me explain. Two crafts were completed. One was to take Hitler forward one hundred years. The other was to take a number of military advisors back in time to readvise the German military on where the campaigns had gone wvong before they did, so Germany would win the war.”

“Which it didn’t.”

“Because the other Flügelrad malfunctioned. Hitler went off into the future, expecting to step out in glory into a world dominated by the Nazis, but when he got there, it wasn’t.”

“But Bobby Boy said it was , or is .”

“I’m coming to that. Hitler found that the future was not dominated by the Nazis, so he decided to go back in time and find out why . But he didn’t want to risk going back as far as the Second World War, so he stopped off here, in the nineteen nineties. He wanted to seek out his old friend Viktor Schauberger and find out what had gone wrong. The craft landed on the allotments and that’s when Bobby Boy saw it.”

“And Bobby Boy got into it and went into the future.”

“And stole the Cyberstar equipment.”

“But Bobby Boy said it was a Nazi future.”

“And so it was when he got there.”

“Now hang about,” said Russell. “This is all a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? I can buy Fudgepacker being Schauberger, but Bobby Boy being the one who finds the Flügelrad , and just happens to work for Fudgepacker.”

“Well he would, Russell. Bobby Boy is my stepbrother. He’s Mr Fudgepacker’s son.”

“I thought he was the son of the local brewery owner.”

“Mr Fudgepacker is the local brewery owner.”

“What?”

“Mr Fudgepacker owns half of Brentford. Bought with Nazi gold. Hitler knew he’d be here if he was still alive. Fudgepacker was planning to change his identity and move here after the war if the Germans lost. Hitler knew all about it. He set it up.”

“This is getting wilder by the moment. So Bobby Boy knew what the Flügelrad was when he saw it.”

“Exactly, and he couldn’t resist getting inside and having a go. He flew into the future and nicked the Cyberstar equipment. He didn’t half get a hiding from the old man when he got back.”

“I thought he got back before he left.”