There was a moment's silence.
'Does your mother know you wear your hair this short?'
'Is it meant to happen?'
'Your hair?'
'No, the Armageddon.'
'Not at all. This one has an Ultimate Likelihood Index rating of only twenty-two per cent: "not very likely".'
'Nothing like that incident with the Dream Topping, then,' I observed.
'What incident?'
'Nothing.'
'Right. Well, since I'm on probation — sort of — they thought they'd start me on the small stuff.'
'I still don't understand.'
'It's simple,' began my father. 'Two days after the Superhoop President Formby will die of natural causes. The following day Yorrick Kaine proclaims himself dictator of England. Two weeks after that, following the traditional suspension of the press and summary executions of former associates, Kaine will declare war on Wales. Two days after a prolonged tank battle on the Welsh Marches, the United Clans of Scotland launch an attack upon Berwick-upon-Tweed. In a fit of pique Kaine carpet-bombs Glasgow and the Swedish empire enter on Scotland's side. Russia joins Kaine after their colonial outpost of Fetlar is sacked — and the 'war moves to mainland Europe. It soon escalates into an apocalyptic shoot-out between the African and American superpowers. In less than three months the earth will be nothing but a steaming radioactive cinder. Of course,' he added, 'that is a worst-case scenano. It'll probably never happen, and if you and I do our jobs properly, it won't.'
'Can't you just kill Kaine?'
'Not that easy. Time is the glue of the cosmos, Sweetpea, and it has to be eased apart — you'd be surprised how strongly the historical timeline tends to look after despots. Why do you think dictators like Pol Pot, Bokassa and Idi Amin live such long lives and people like Mozart, Jim Henson and Mother Teresa are plucked from us when relatively young?'
'I don't think Mother Teresa could be thought of as young.'
'On the contrary — she was meant to live to a hundred and twenty-eight.'
There was a pause.
'Okay, Dad — so what's the plan?'
'Right. It's incredibly complex and also unbelievably simple. To stop Kaine gaining power we have to seriously disrupt his sponsor, the Goliath Corporation. Without them, his power is zero. To do that we need to ensure . . . that Swindon wins the Superhoop.'
'How is that going to work?'
'It's a causality thing. Small events have large consequences. You'll see.'
'No, I mean, how am I going to get Swindon to win? Apart from Kapok and Aubrey Jambe and perhaps "Biffo" Mandible, the players are, well, crap — not to put too fine a point on it. Especially when you compare them to their Superhoop opponents, the Reading Whackers.'
'I'm sure you'll think of something, but keep an eye on Kapok — they'll try to get to him first. You'll have to do this on your own, Sweetpea, I've got my own problems. It seems Nelson getting killed at the beginning of the battle of Trafalgar wasn't French History Revisionists after all. I talked to someone I know over at the ChronoGendarmerie and they thought it amusing that the Revisionists should even attempt such a thing; advanced timestream models with Napoleon emperor of all Europe bode very poorly for France — they're much better in the long run with things as they are meant to be.'
'So who is killing Nelson?'
'Well, it's Nelson himself. Don't ask me why. Now, what did you want to see me about?'
I had to think carefully.
'Well. . . nothing, really. I met you three hours ago and you said we'd spoken so I came here to find you, then I suppose I should ask you to figure out who's trying to kill me this morning, which you wouldn't have been able to do if I hadn't met you this morning, and I only met you this morning because I've just told you right now I might be assassinated . . .'
Dad laughed.
'It's a bit like having a tumble dryer in your head, Sweetpea. Sometimes I don't know whether I'm thening or nowing. But I'd better check this assassin out, just in case.'
'Yes,' I said, more confused than ever, 'I suppose you should.'
9
Eradications Anonymous
GOLIATH BACK KAINE AND WHIG PARTY
The Goliath Corporation yesterday renewed its support for Chancellor Kaine at a party to honour England's leader. At a glittering dinner attended by over 500 heads of commerce and governmental departments, Goliath pledged to continue its support of the Chancellor. In reply Mr Kaine gratefully acknowledged their support and announced a package of measures designed to assist Goliath in the difficult yet highly desirable change to faith-based corporate status, as well as funding for several ongoing weapons programmes, details of which have been classified.
Hamlet and I arrived home to find a TV news crew from Swindon-5 waiting for me outside the house.
'Miss Next,' said the reporter, 'can you tell us where you've been these past two years?'
'No comment.'
'You can interview me,' said Hamlet, realising he was something of a celebrity out here.
'And who are you?' asked the reporter, mystified.
I stared at him and his face fell.
'I'm . . . I'm . . . her cousin Eddie.'
'Well, Cousin Eddie, can you tell us where Miss Next has been for the past two years?'
'No comment.'
And we walked up the garden path to the front door.
'Where have you been?' demanded my mother as we walked in the door.
'Sorry I'm late, Mum — how's the little chap?'
'Tiring. He says that his Aunt Mel is a gorilla who can peel bananas with her feet while hanging from the light fixtures.'
'He talked?'
Friday was using the time-honoured international child signal to be picked up — raising his arms in the air — and when I did so he gave me a wet kiss and started to chatter away unintelligibly.
'Well, he didn't exactly say as much,' admitted Mum, 'but he drew me a picture of Aunt Mel which is pretty conclusive.'
'Aunt Mel a gorilla?' I laughed, looking at the picture, which was unequivocally of . . . well, a gorilla. 'Quite an imagination, hasn't he?'
'I'd say. I found him standing on the sideboard ready to swing on the curtains. When I told him it wasn't allowed he pointed to the picture of Aunt Mel, which I took to mean that she used to let him.'
'Does she, now. I mean, did he, now.'
Pickwick walked in looking very disgruntled and wearing a bonnet made of card and held together with sticky tape.
'Pickwick's a very tolerant playmate,' said my mother, who was obviously not that skilled at reading dodo expressions.
'I really need to get him into a playgroup. Did you change his nappy?'
'Three times. It just goes straight through, doesn't it?'
I sniffed at the leg of his dungarees.
'Yup. Straight through.'
'Well, I've got my panel-beating group to attend to,' she said, putting on her hat and taking her handbag and welding goggles from the peg, 'but you'd better sort out some more reliable childcare, my dear. I can do the odd hour here and there but not whole days — and I certainly don't want to do any more nappies.'