A Cure for Cancer

'I wonder where he's been.' Jerry's hand went to the launcher's controls. 'I wouldn't like to hurt him.'

'Does he know this is your boat?'

'I shouldn't think so. It's registered in the name of Beesley.'

'A peculiar coincidence.'

'What's peculiar about it?'

But now the helicopters had spotted the launcher and, even though equipped with superior Nord S.S.11air-to-surface missiles, began to bank away.

'Velocidad maxima, I think...' Jerry murmured.

'What?'

The sloop. Time to be on the move.'

'Saints...'

The helicopters vanished over the horizon.

They're heading for London,' she said. 'I think we got away just in time.'

'You could be right.'

'Do you think I'm wrong?'

'Well, they weren't carrying their full complement of missiles, but they were lying rather heavy on the air, wouldn't you say?' He depressed a button and his own launcher disappeared into the bowels of the boat.

2 It's a fad, dad!

Jerry took over the steering as they turned into the Urzel tributary and moved slowly along beneath a canopy of tall aromatic grass. It was evening now and the sun was low, but a little light filtered through to them.

Since the departure of the helicopters, Karen von Krupp had become introspective and had stayed beside him in the cabin, repeatedly playing the Ives piece. Something was bothering her. Finally, as they approached a wooden landing stage, she said, 'Is this, do you think, the answer to our relationship?'

'Of course not.' He squeezed her hand and steered the boat in. 'It's merely the key to the future. Possibly not even that. Don't worry about it.'

With a pout she took the mooring line and jumped to the landing stage, winding the line round and round the oak capstan as he guided the boat into its position. He cut the engines.

'Now let's get those lubbers ashore.' Drawing his vibragun he kicked open the stern hatch. 'All right, mates, out you come. Slowly now.'

Blinking in the last of the sunlight, the transmog patients stumbled on deck and trooped down the gangplank that Karen von Krupp had erected for them.

They all set off along the landing stage towards a field of corn.

'Have you ever wondered about the morality of what you are doing?' she asked. These creatures never asked...'

'They prayed. We heard. We merely serve the people, Karen.'

'Beesley says...'

'... he does, too. I know. Beesley knows what good for them. I simply do what they want me to do. There it is. I'm all for equilibrium.'

They walked along a small path through the corn. A rabbit ran away from them and a partridge whirled into the sky. The roof of a large house could now be seen in the distance. It was Sunnydale Reclamation Centre. Welcoming smoke rose from the chimneys. 'Not much farther now,' Jerry told the transmog patients who tramped ahead, looking at the ground.

'You never question...'

'What is there to question?'

'I...'

'I do what they want me to do.'

'It's like prostitution.'

'It's a lot like prostitution, isn't it?'

'You see nothing wrong...?'

'The customer's always right.'

'And you have no,' she shuddered, 'ethics?'

'I give the public what it wants, if that's what you mean.'

'You have no sense of mission! Ach! At least Beesley has that!' She laughed harshly. 'Ha!'

'I thought it was the same as mine.'

'Nein. It is different. He knows that people want a sense of security.'

'Of course. Do you smell burning?'

'Ja, I do.'

3 The erotic ghosts of Viet Nam

Sunnydale was burning. The staff stood about in the grounds staring helplessly at the Reclamation Centre. Incendiary rockets had done their worst.

'What about the patients?' Jerry asked Matron.

'All gone, Doctor Finlay. Kidnapped. Months of work! Och...'

'Calm yourself, woman,' said Jerry with gruff kindness. 'Was it the Westland Whirlwinds?'

'Aye, doctor. Eight Mark Tens. We didna have a chance tae activate the defences. We lased London. Mister Koutrouboussis is on his way. He said he'd try tae bring ye with him.'

'I'm ahead of him. Is the lase still working?'

'Noo...'

'Then you'd better get off to Soho as fast as you can, Janet. Tell them the choppers were heading for London when last seen.'

'Aye, doctor.' Matron ran for the one hangar still intact. Soon a small OH-6A turbine-powered copter moaned upwards, its pilot hastily pulling on her American uniform to conform with the machine's markings. It flew away over the fields of flowers.

The sun set and the fire went down.

The damage isn't too bad, considering,' said Plemmy, one of the male nurses, vainly trying to brush off the black patches on his smock with a limp hand. 'All the East wing is okay.'

They had these big bazookas and stuff,' said Mr Fowles, the Transplant Chief. Mr Fowles was a tall, pale man with unhealthy hands, a sweaty nature. 'We didn't stand a chance. We were rounded up, marked in this stuff,' he pointed to the blob of green paint on his forehead, 'and herded into the garden. Then they took away the patients.'

Their leader...?' Jerry raised a finger to his nose.

'Dressed in clerical gear. He stole the birthday cake Matron had made for the ex-chairman of the Arts Council, the poor cunt had lost so much weight!'

'You've had the cake, I'm afraid,' said Jerry, 'but I'll see if I can get the patients back. Miserable things. They must be in a state.'

To say the least, sir.' Mr Fowles tucked his hands under his arms. Timid little creatures at that stage, you know. Don't understand. Couldn't tell you their own names, half of them.'

'You'd better get this lot into the East wing.' Jerry indicated the new batch. Most of them had seated themselves on the ground and were staring moodily at the Centre's smoking skeleton. 'I'll be over at my place if you want me. Come on, Karen.'

He led her across the lawns to his little Dutch mansion and stopped under the carved portal.

'Open, als't u blieft!' The door swung open.

They stepped inside.

'Waar is de nooduitgang?' asked Karen absently as the door shut behind her. Jerry turned on the lights.

'You're getting very tense,' he said.

'Ik hank det wel...'

'Sad...'

']a, das is eben schade...'

They walked along the hall. All the wood was dark and shiny with polish. A clean old man rounded a corner and tottered towards them. 'Ah, sir! Ah, sir!'

'What have we got to eat, de Vossenberg?'

'Gekookte eieren, kaas, fazant...'

'Fine. We'll have it in the parlour, I think.'

The parlour had walls of the same dark, panelled wood. The armchairs were deep and old-fashioned, covered in loose folds of floral material. The room was full of clocks in painted wooden cases, each keeping perfect time.

They sat in the chairs and said nothing.

After a while de Vossenberg wheeled in the dumb waiter. 'Ah, sir.'

He gave them trays then he gave them plates then he served them with cold pheasant, cheese and boiled eggs. Then he opened a bottle of Niersteiner and poured it into two long-stemmed Czech hock glasses.

'What is going to happen now?' asked Karen von Krupp. 'You have lost most of your victims.'

'I suppose we should try to get them back.'

'Your duty?'

'Well...'

'But Beesley will take them to Amerika!'

'How do you know?'