Apocalypso (38 page)

What
made him say it? What made him act in such a fashion? What?

The
drink, perhaps. The drink and that television broadcast of Sir Sir John at the
palace. That must have been it. The way he lost his temper and ranted at the
screen. The way he screamed about cover-ups and conspiracies and people being
pawns played in a callous game by a government department, and how he could
prove it right there and then if he could only remember the special technique
that seemed somehow to have slipped his mind.

Yes, it
must have been all that. And the punch he threw at a transvestite. They had
dragged him from the pub and beaten him up and dumped him in the gutter.

So now
he lies there, bewailing his lot.

Not
looking at the stars.

Porrig
moans and groans and mutters and as he does so a hand falls on his shoulder.

No
ordinary hand.

A small
hand this is and most terribly small. It is grey and the fingers are bony.

Porrig
jerks alert and covers his head for fear of further punishment.

But a
voice speaks softly into his ear and Porrig uncurls at the sound.

A small
grey head leans over him and two blue cat-like eyes go blink blink blink and
the voice speaks again and says, ‘Porrig?’

And
Porrig’s eyes go blink blink blink too and Porrig replies, saying, ‘Rippington!’

And
Rippington says, ‘I’ve been searching for you, Porrig. I’ve been looking
everywhere.’

And
Porrig says, ‘I thought you’d gone back to ALPHA 17 or somewhere. No-one
believes a word I say. The Ministry has covered everything up.’

And
Rippington says, ‘Because now the monster is dead, everything’s back to normal.’

And
Porrig says, ‘But you’re still here.’

And
Rippington says, ‘Yeah, and I still don’t like it.’

And
Porrig says, ‘If only I could remember how to sing the notes, I’d bugger off to
a different reality.’

And
Rippington says, ‘And would you take me too?’

And
Porrig says, ‘Of course I would.’

And
Rippington says, ‘Guess what.’

28

And you can visit Porrig,
if you want.

He
still has his shop and he runs it with his best friend Wok Boy and a small grey
companion who only comes out at night. The shop is pretty successful. Porrig
wheels and deals in old comic books and he draws his own and prints them on his
printing press. They’re pretty odd stuff: all about alternate worlds and wild
conspiracies.

No-one
takes them seriously, of course. But they do have a big cult following. And
Porrig even has his own fan club now.

People
sometimes ask him where he gets his ideas from and whether he actually believes
any of the stuff he draws and writes about.

Porrig
always smiles when people ask him this. He shakes his head and he tells them
no. Although he does say that such things might be possible, might even have
happened, in a different reality.

But
certainly not in the one that
he
lives in.

Which,
of course, is the same one that we’re living in.

Isn’t
it?

On 28 April 1998
Mornington Crescent Underground Station reopened after many years of ‘extensive
restorations’. It is interesting to note, however, that the station closes to
the general public each night at nine-thirty.

Though perhaps not
that
interesting!