A Cure for Cancer

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.

Behind General Cumberland the jeeps and cars were filled with fine-featured marines in full battle-kit, here to seek and destroy resistance not cleared out by the bombing.

General Cumberland set an example with his flame-thrower.

It flared at every possible hiding-place.

Jerry shivered. There were signs of snow in -the sky. He decided to move on.

As he started the motor he heard Cumberland's voice through his amplifiers.

They're all queer! Queer! Queer! Queer! Burn 'em out! Out! Out! Out!'

When Jerry reached a higher point on the crystal plain he saw Cumberland leap from his jeep and lead the marines after him.

The flame-thrower shrieked again, but Jerry was out of range.

Hesitantly some of the marines raised their weapons.

'Sissies! Pansies! Asslickers!' roared the general. He turned, spraying the soldiers with his flame-thrower.

'Mother lovers! Mother lovers! You sons of bitches!' he sobbed. In a flurry of frilly underclothes he collapsed on a slab of concrete. There was a WHOOMF, a scream of pure ecstasy and he went up in a roaring fireball.

At least he died happy, thought Jerry.

The smoke cleared behind him and he saw that the majority of the marines had fried. The rest were trying to put out their burning clothes or their burning vehicles, but then there were a few more explosions and they were finished off.

Jerry admired their energy.

2 Damned virgins in the devil's lair

The minihover ran out of power sooner than Jerry had expected.

Near the ABC Cinema, Bayswater, he tramped to where an old Riley was parked. As he opened the door a woman with a pale, haggard face looked at him from the driving seat.

'Can I drop you anywhere, Herr Cornelius?'

'You're still fond of green and purple, I see.'

'It's really all I have left.'

Jerry put his right boot on the nearside wing and began to brush off what remained of the ash. 'Did Beesley send you?'

'I escaped from Beesley.'

'How did you come to leave Amerika?'

'I couldn't stay on top of the job. A general lassitude, I suppose. Maybe I needed you, Jerry. So little new blood. I've become extraordinarily anaemic in recent months. Beesley found me and we flew back to England a few — a few...'

'Days?'

'Ago.'

'You've changed.'

'You haven't.'

'I should hope not. It's been tough, though. Did Beesley set you up from the beginning?'

'Yes. But I fell in love...'. 'Like a junkie with his dope.'

'You weren't the dope I took you for.'

'It's a shame, I know.'

She licked her lips. 'Can I drop you anywhere?' There was a smell about her and it reminded Jerry of Frank.

'I don't think so.'

'Jerry -1 need you more than you need me.'

'I know that.'

'I haven't been happy.'

'I can believe that.'

'Just a little, Jerry, understanding...'

'Too late.'

'Mercy.'

'Sorry, belle...'

She started the engine of the Riley. 'What were you trying to do with the stars?'

'Just hoping to get everything over with quickly. Ragnarok, of sorts.'

'You are fond of Wagner? I, too, am... Well, maybe not so fond. The end of the world. Is that why you were making all those converts? To take them over with you?'

'Something like that.'

'But the world isn't going to end. My husband's seen to that, hasn't he?'

'He's making a good try.'

'Why do you want the world to end?'

'It's not as simple as that. I've got a kid sister, you see. I want to give her a better break than I had. A niece, I mean.'

'You're mixed up.'

'Not as much as you, Karen.' — He drew his vibragun. She put her foot on the accelerator. 'Your brake's still on.' The car bounced. Jerry pointed the gun and she shook so much she was soon indistinguishable from the ash. He hooked the green and purple clothes out of the seat with his boot. Poor woman. He didn't know where she'd found the energy in the first place.

In the end he had, after all, been merciful. He holstered the vibragun and got into her seat. It was very cold.

He didn't feel much warmer himself. The engine was hard to get started again. The motor wouldn't turn. He pumped in more fuel, and it sparked at last.

Through the grey day, through the ruins, he let the car roll straight down the obsidian length of Westbourne Grove.

He had a feeling Beesley was in this area. The bishop had probably sent Karen von Krupp to find him.

He reached the rubble of Ladbroke Grove and the car could move no farther. He got out and began to climb over the concrete, between the fronds of twisted wire that had once reinforced it.

He reached the place where the convent had stood and clambered to the highest slab to sniff the scene.

Holland Park was visible. It stood intact on a rise to the south west, its trees ghostly gold and green. Jerry considered it.

A few minutes later, he unsheathed his vibragun from its chamois holster, turned, and, resting the gun on his bent left arm, sighted on a patch of rubble close to the centre of the demolished convent.

The rubble began to quiver and shiver. Then there was nothing left at all but a cloud of dust. Jerry stepped forward and looked into the smooth clearing.

The steel trapdoor was still there. It shone as if burnished. He kneeled on it, pressed his palm against it and murmured a couple of words. The door hissed and took him down twenty feet. He got off and looked up the shaft at the sky. He could see the sun. It had hardly moved.

The steel door ascended and shut off the light.

Jerry depressed a switch. A little illumination flickered for an instant around the room and then died. He moved cautiously through the darkness towards one wall, felt for a shelf above his head and found what he was hoping to find, took out his lighter and by its flame managed to ignite the wick.

He saw that the paraffin level was low. He hoped it would last.

The lamp was of blue glass, decorated with gold and scarlet flowers. It cast shadows around a room full of dusty, alchemical equipment; part of an earlier era. Jerry crossed to a wooden door and pulled it open.

It creaked.

He entered a tunnel and the light shone on the semi-luminous white coats of half-dead rats. As he pushed his feet through them, they barely moved.

The tunnel was damp and cold and still. By the light of the lamp he saw that his own hands had gone a pale golden colour. He needed sustenance. Beesley must have increased the machine's power. He trod on a rat and it squeaked faintly.

After half a mile the tunnel began to slope upwards until it ended at another steel door. He pressed his hand on it. It didn't move. He murmured the words. The door stayed shut.

With a sigh, Jerry took out his vibragun. His bones ached.

It took much longer than usual for the gun to disintegrate the steel. Gradually daylight filtered in and there was a hole large enough for Jerry to crawl through. He was in Holland Park, close to the Belvedere Restaurant which had once been part of Holland House and had included the orangery.

He had left in the afternoon. Now it was morning. Did Beesley realize how senseless his plan was? A big waste of power.

He thought of Catherine and began to run.

3 So you want to be a rock-and-roll star?

As he reached the Elizabethan façade of Holland House, Jerry paused and looked up.

The American jets were dancing in the frozen sky. For several minutes they performed complicated formations then regrouped into conventional flights and flew away from London towards the Atlantic. Either they had been recalled or events had got on top of them.

With mixed feelings Jerry watched them leave.

He was on his own now.

Pushing open the mansion's heavy doors he entered a large, gloomy hall. A Shifter gateway had once been here, but he knew it must have dispersed by now. Beesley had buggered the phasing completely.

He drew his gun and started up the Tudor staircase.

Mitzi was waiting, unarmed, at the top. She wore an ankle-length dress in Regency stripes of dark and light pink. There were pink slippers on her feet and her blonde hair was combed to frame her face. Her large blue eyes regarded him.

'Herr Cornelius. You are not looking well.'

'I'm as well as could be expected.' He motioned with the vibragun. 'Is Beesley here?'

'My father? Yes. He's waiting for you. He thinks you're probably ready to join us at last.'

She smiled and Jerry saw that her teeth seemed to have grown to points, like a fox's. 'It will soon be summer again, and we can be together...' She turned, walking back along the landing. This way.'

Jerry hesitated.

'What's the matter?' She paused by the door of the main bedroom.

'Death.' His nostrils quivered. 'A lot of death.'

There's nothing wrong with death. Nothing to be afraid of. A sleep...'

'It depends on the kind.' He gripped the gun desperately.

'Don't you like the idea of life after death?'

'It depends on the kind.'

'Herr Cornelius, you have no trust.' Her eyes widened with sympathy. 'You are so wild.'

'I...' He felt very tired.

'You are a fierce beast.'

'No...'

'You must be more tame. In time.'

' I want...' He gasped as the tears flooded from his face. 'I want...'

'Peace. We want nothing more.'

'Peace?'

He rocked on his heels. His grip was still tight on his gun, though all his energy seemed concentrated in his right hand.

She came towards him. He tried to raise his gun. She stretched out her palm. He shook his head.

'Don't you want to rest? We can help you rest.'

'Not that kind.'

She frowned, her eyes concerned. 'Why do you split hairs so? Does it matter about the kind?'

'Yes.'

'We all grow older, you know. More mature.'

'No.'

'Love,' said Mitzi. 'Do you love nothing but your Cause? It is hopeless, you know.'

'Love.' The tears chilled his cheeks. He trembled as he thought of Oxford and Catherine and the Science of Innocence.

'You know,' Mitzi murmured, 'that what you have done is wrong. But we forgive you.'

He snarled and laughed through his teeth. The energy left his right hand and blazed from his eyes. 'I am Jerry Cornelius.' The gun dropped. He bent but she swept forward and kicked the gun through the banisters and he watched it fall slowly to the floor of the hall below.

'It's a turning world, darling.' Mitzi helped him straighten up, wincing as she saw his eyes. 'There are many kinds of beauty.'

Jerry staggered back from her with a growl.

The cardinal came out of the master bedroom. 'Misericordia! The poor chap looks completely beaten. He needs help.'

Jerry tried to descend the stairs. It was dawn outside. He gasped as the cardinal seized him around the waist.

'Could you bring him in here, please. Cardinal Orelli.' Mitzi's voice was vibrant with sympathy. 'He'll soon feel a new man.'

Jerry shut everything down.

He let them get on with it.