"Robert Rankin - Armageddon the Musical" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert Rankin)

'Morning Rex, phew what a scorcher, eh?' The voice on the open channel belonged to Thaddeus Decor,


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who lived in the Coca Cola machine on the street corner.

Rex offered him a cheery wave. 'Morning Thaddeus, how's the wife?'

'Her knee's a lot better, thanks to that gangrene jelly you let me have.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'Young Kevin is down with the mange again.'

'I'll drop you something in later.' Rex continued upon his way. Thaddeus grinned toothlessly
through his weather-dome.

'Thanks mate,' said he. 'You're a real toff.'

The passage leading into the subway was brightly lit by the techniglow of a hundred holographic
advertising images. Rex plodded through the smiling ghosts ignoring their jolly banter. Once
through decontamination he removed his weatherdome and queued for travel

15

clearance. When his turn came, he pressed his face to the EYESPI. 'Destination?' the automaton
enquired.

'The Nemesis Bunker,' Rex replied, proudly.

Circuits purred, information exchanged, the electrical voice said, 'Thank you, Mr Mundi, you are
cleared for travel. Have another day.'

The morning train lurched painfully into the station and shuddered to a halt. It was not unduly
crowded and Rex chose a vacant corner of the seatless carriage to squat in. The journey took a
little over an hour, but it did at least offer Rex the opportunity to catch the morning newscast
on the carriage TV, learn what was considered right with the world and clock up a few legitimate
food and medico credits.

The newscast was much the same as ever. Things were looking up. The economy had never been
healthier. Production had reached a record level. There had been several more authenticated
sightings of blue sky. The road cones were expected to come off the M25 at any time now. Rex
raised his eyes to the last one, but anything was possible.

The broadcast ended with a little bit of station propa-ganda, dressed in the guise of human
interest story and comical tailpiece. Today it concerned an old lady who had clocked up an
unprecedented number of credits, watching a rival station. So many, in fact, that the station's
controller saw fit to visit her in person to offer his congratulations. Eliciting no response at