Jerry checked his watches.
They were running slow, but they were running.
He checked the car clock. It ticked painfully on.
Overwhelmed by a sense of urgency Jerry took the car up to a hundred and fifty. As it flew towards the dawn, he sighted Oxford's dreaming dome.
The day brightened. The sun appeared. Jerry glared at it with tears in his eyes. His heart beat rapidly, but he was filled with a growing stillness.
Was it too late?
Was Beesley's shit hitting the fan?
He roared into the concrete cavern and drove past the gloomy spires, squealing to a stop outside the Ashmolean, charging through its doors and running down the dark avenue of slurring longcase clocks.
4
Tip for the top
The morgue was colder than ever.
He opened the drawer and saw that a thin veil of ice had formed over Catherine's body.
He pressed his hands to her breasts and forced his heat into her.
This time she did not stir, but the ice gradually evaporated, then reformed on his body. Feebly he brushed at it, leaned on the drawer until it was closed, stumbled from the morgue to the room where the red, gold and silver machine took him into its webs.
The machine's voice was faint, its rustling sluggish, and it was a very long time before Jerry revived enough to hear the clock within him begin to move again.
Jerry Cornelius ran across the hall and into another steel room that contained nothing but a huge tape deck. He activated the deck and the twenty-inch spools slowly started to revolve.
He twisted the volume control up to full; gave it maximum and treble response.
The Deep Fix began to play That's My Baby. The old strobes went bravely at it. The wall drifted apart.
Jerry entered the Shifter, nervous as a cat.
5
That's no way to say goodbye
Sweet Orb Mace appeared for a moment. She looked sad.
Jerry dashed through the Shifter.
Scenes took a long time to come and a long time to go.
The jewelled air was pretty dull breathing.
Jerry saw himself sixteen times — black, white, male, female -and he was dead.
He raced across the flat, grey, infinite plain, his gun in his hand, sniffing the frigid wind.
There was no doubt that Beesley was operating the machine, had somehow managed to put it into reverse. Though it would mean the same thing in the end, Ragnarok Day was being put back and it didn't suit him. It had to be this Cycle or nothing.
He wheeled and the air was cold brass.
Bishop Beesley stood beside a contraption. At its centre were the belching boiler and the frantically moving pistons and cogs of an ancient red and black steam engine. A system of clockworks had been erected on top of the engine and from a large axle at the top ran a series of iron rods of different length and at different angles. At the ends of the rods were pewter balls of different sizes painted in bright primary colours. Jangling calliope music came from the box that had been geared up at the side of the steam engine. It hurt Jerry's ears as the rods turned, creaked and jerked to the calliope's rhythm.
Bishop Beesley beamed.
'My own invention, Mr Cornelius! You see, you are not the only one capable of building a sophisticated machine. This is the Beesley Steam Driven Calliopic Orrery! BEHOLD — THE RHYTHM OF THE SPHERES!'
Jerry ran at the machine and was hurled back by Pluto striking him on the side of the jaw. He raised his gun.
But the balls whirled faster and faster and the music shrilled and the steam engine bounced and bellowed. Bishop Beesley waved his pale hands.
'You've thrown it out of control, you assassin!'
Beesle'y tried to crawl under the whizzing balls to reach the controls. Jerry lowered his gun.
The balls began to shoot off in all directions. The steam engine screamed. Neptune narrowly missed Jerry's head.
'You have thrown it into chaos!' wailed Beesley.
The steam engine exploded.
Jerry was hurled into a field of lilies where a herd of giant antelopes grazed. He got up and kept on running, dodging into Fleet Street's horse-drawn traffic, weaving through the shallows of a tropical river and avoiding mangrove roots and alligators, loping into Wencslaslas Square as Russian tanks burned, and side-stepping into Regents Park Zoo by the Elephant Enclosure.
The elephants were dead, their skins blistered by napalm.
Jerry knew he was home.
The risk had paid off.
6
Brighten your night with my day
Some sectors had been overlooked.
Little monuments of trees, grass and buildings, undamaged by the bombing, stood out against the ash-covered rubble of London.
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.
Check Temperature
1
What's wrong with U. S. medicine
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.