The Final Programme

by Michael Moorcock

  Gun still in his hand, he walked down the sloping drive towards the lodge where John ought to be with Catherine.

  The lights were out in the lodge, but he didn’t think it strange in the circumstances. He looked down the hill towards the village. All the lights were out there, too. Mr Smiles had paid someone to fuse the power supply. Jerry found the lodge door open and walked in.

  In a corner, a bag of bones gave him a welcoming groan.

  “John! Where’s Catherine?”

  “I got her here, sir. I—”

  “But where is she now? Upstairs?”

  “You said after ten, sir. I was here by eleven. Everything went smoothly. She was a weight. I’m dying, sir, I think.”

  “What happened?”

  “He must have followed me.” John spoke with increasing faintness. “I got her here… Then he came in with a couple of the men. He shot me, sir.”

  “And took her back to the house?”

  “I’m sorry, sir…”

  “So you should be. Did you hear where he was taking her?”

  “He—said—putting her—back to—bed, sir…”

  Jerry left the lodge and began to run up the drive. It was odd how normal the house looked from the outside.

  He re-entered it.

  On the ground floor he found the lift and discovered that it was still operating. He got in and went up to the sixth. He got out and ran to Catherine’s bedroom. The door was locked. He kicked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. He reached into his top pocket and fished out something that looked like a cigarette. Two thin wires were attached to it, leading to another object the size of a matchbox. He uncoiled the wires. He put the slim object into the keyhole of the door and walked backward a yard or so with the box in his hand.

  It was actually a tiny detonator. He touched the wires to the detonator, and the explosive at the other end burst the lock with a flash.

  He pushed at the wrecked door and walked in to find Frank already there.

  Frank did not look at all well. In his right hand was a needle gun, twin to Jerry’s. There were only two such guns; their father had had them made and given them one each.

  “How did you get away?” Jerry asked Frank.

  Frank’s answer was not a direct one. He put his head on one side and stared at Jerry unblinkingly, looking like an old, sick vulture.

  “Well, actually I was hoping to get you, Jerry. As it was I got all your military friends, though I think I missed some of the others. They’re still wandering about, I think. I’m not sure why I bothered with the shooting—probably just because I enjoyed it. I feel much better now. But if you’d crossed into the room you’d have found that a couple—ha, ha—of my men were on either side of the door waiting for you. I was the bait, the bait to the trap.”

  Frank’s head seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into his shoulders as he talked, his whole body screwed up in a neurotic stoop. “You certainly made a good try at getting our sister, didn’t you? Look—I’ve woken the sleeping beauty up.”

  Catherine, looking dazed, was propped on pillows.

  She smiled when she saw Jerry. It was a sweet smile, but it wasn’t all that confident. Her skin was more than naturally pale, and her dark hair was still tangled.

  Jerry’s gun hand rose a trifle, and Frank grinned. “Let’s get ready, then,” he said.

  He began to back around the bed in order to get on the other side of Catherine. She was now between them, looking slowly from one to the other, her smile fading very gradually.

  Jerry was trembling. “You bastard.”

  Frank giggled. “That’s something we all have in common.”

  Frank’s junkie face was immobile. The only movement in it came when the light caught his bright, beady eyes. Jerry didn’t realise that Frank had pulled the trigger of his gun until he felt the sting in his shoulder. Frank’s hand wasn’t as steady as it had seemed.

  Frank didn’t repressure his gun at once. Jerry raised his arm to shoot Frank.

  Then Catherine moved. She reached out towards Frank, her fingers clutching at his coat. “Stop it!”

  “Shut up,” said Frank. He moved his left hand towards the pressure lever of his needle gun.

  Catherine tried to stand up on the bed and fell forward in a kneeling position. Her face was full of wild fear.

  “Jerry!” she screamed.

  Jerry took a step towards her.

  “That needle could work into your heart, Jerry,” smiled Frank.

  “So I’ll need a magnet.”

  Jerry fired and ran towards the window as a needle grazed his face. He repressured and turned. Frank ducked; Catherine rose, and Jerry’s needle caught her. She collapsed. Jerry repressured and discharged another needle at the same time as Frank. They both missed again.

  Jerry began to feel puzzled. This was going on far too long. He jumped towards Frank and grabbed at his body. Frank’s weak fists struck him on the head and back. He punched Frank in the stomach, and Frank groaned. They stepped apart. Jerry felt dizzy; saw Frank grin and wheel.

  “You had something in those needles…”

  “Find out,” grinned Frank, and he sprang from the room.

  Jerry sat himself down on the edge of the bed.

  He was riding a black Ferris wheel of emotions. His brain and body exploded in a torrent of mingled ecstasy and pain. Regret. Guilt. Relief. Waves of pale light flickered. He fell down a never-ending slope of obsidian rock surrounded by clouds of green, purple, yellow, black. The rock vanished, but he continued to fall. World of phosphorescence drifting like golden spheres into the black night. Green, blue, red explosions. Flickering world of phosphorescent tears falling into timeless, spaceless wastes. World of Guilt. Guilt—guilt—guilt… Another wave flowed up his spine. No-mind, no-body, no-where. Dying waves of light danced out of his eyes and away through the dark world. Everything was dying. Cells, sinews, nerves, synapses—all crumbling. Tears of light, fading, fading. Brilliant rockets streaking into the sky and exploding all together and sending their multicoloured globes of light—balls on an Xmas tree—x-mass—drifting slowly. Black mist swirled across a bleak, horizonless nightscape. Catherine. As he approached her she fell away, fell down like a cardboard dummy. Just before his mind cleared, he thought he saw a creature bending over them both—a creature without a navel, hermaphrodite and sweetly smiling…

  He felt weaker as his head cleared, and he realised that some time must have passed. Catherine lay on the bed in much the same position in which he’d seen her earlier. There was a spot of blood on her white dress, over the left breast.

  He put his hand on it and noticed that the heart wasn’t beating.

  He had killed her.

  In agony, he began to caress her stiff.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Frank was also in agony, for he had been trapped by Miss Brunner and she was giving his genitals a cruel squeeze. They were in one of the rooms on the second floor. Dimitri and Mr Smiles stood at his left and right, holding his arms.

  Miss Brunner knelt on one knee in front of him. She squeezed again, and Frank grimaced.

  “Look here,” he said. “I’ve got to get myself fixed up.”

  “You get the fix when we get the microfilm,” snarled Miss Brunner, hoping he wouldn’t give in right away.

  Smiles got the joke and laughed. Dimitri joined in, somewhat vacantly.

  “This is serious,” said Miss Brunner, and she gave Frank another squeeze.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as I’m fixed up.”

  “Mr Cornelius, we can’t allow that,” said Mr Smiles. “Come along, let’s have the information.”

  Mr Smiles hit Frank clumsily on the face. Discovering a taste for it, he did it several more times. Frank didn’t seem to mind. He had other things to worry about.

  “Pain doesn’t have much effect,” Miss Brunner said thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to wait and hope he doesn’t become too incoherent.”

  “Look, he’s slavering.” Dim
itri pointed in disgust. He let go of Frank’s arm.

  Eyes unblinking, Frank wiped his grey mouth. A great shudder brought his body briefly to life. Then he was still again.

  After a moment, while they watched in curiosity, he shuddered again.

  “You know the microfilm is in the strongroom?” Frank said between shudders.

  “He’s coming through!” Mr Smiles smacked his leg.

  “Only you can open the strongroom; is that right, Mr Cornelius?” Miss Brunner sighed rather disappointedly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Will you take us there and open the strongroom? Then we will let you go and you can get your fix.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Mr Smiles bent Frank’s arm behind his back. “Lead the way,” he said firmly.

  * * *

  When they had reached the strongroom and Frank had opened it for them, Miss Brunner looked at the ranks of metal files lining the walls and said, “You can go now, Mr Cornelius. We’ll find what we want.”

  Frank skipped off, out of the littered room behind the strongroom and up the stairs.

  “I think I’ll just pop after him and check he hasn’t got something up his sleeve,” Mr Smiles said eagerly.

  “We’ll be waiting.”

  Dimitri helped Miss Brunner lift the files from their shelves and cart them into the room. When Mr Smiles had disappeared, Miss Brunner began to stroke Dimitri. “We’ve done it, Dimitri!”

  Dimitri had soon forgotten the boxes and had become totally absorbed in Miss Brunner.

  * * *

  Mr Smiles came back a short time later, looking upset. “I was right,” he said. “He’s left the house and is talking to his guards. We should have kept him as a hostage. We’re not behaving very rationally, Miss Brunner.”

  “This isn’t the time or place for that sort of thing,” she said as she searched through the box files.

  “Where’s Mr Cornelius?”

  “Jerry Cornelius?” she murmured abstractly.

  “Yes.”

  “We should have asked Frank. Silly of me.”

  “Where’s Dimitri?”

  “He gave up.”

  “Gave himself up?” Mr Smiles looked bemused. He glanced round the strongroom. On the floor, in a dark corner, lay a neatly folded Courrèges suit, a shirt, underpants, socks, shoes, tie, valuables.

  “Well, he must have gone for an early-morning swim,” said Mr Smiles, trembling and noticing how healthy Miss Brunner’s skin looked.

  * * *

  It was dawn as Jerry walked down the stairs. On the second floor he found Miss Brunner and Mr Smiles going through the big metal box files. They were sitting on the carpet with the files between them, studying the papers and microfilm they had removed.

  “I assumed you were dead,” said Miss Brunner. “We’re the only survivors, I’m afraid.”

  “Where is Frank?”

  “We let him go after he’d opened the strongroom for us. It was a mistake.” She looked petulantly at Mr Smiles. “They aren’t here, are they?”

  Mr Smiles shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it, Miss Brunner. We’ve been fooled by young Frank. At the rate he was trembling and drooling, you’d have thought he was telling the truth. He’s more cunning than we guessed.”

  “Instinctive,” said Miss Brunner, her lips pursed.

  “What happened to Dimitri?” Jerry looked at Miss Brunner. For a moment, in the dawn light, he had half-mistaken her for the Greek.

  “He disappeared,” said Mr Smiles. “After I went to check on Frank. I didn’t realise the strength of character your brother had, Mr Cornelius.”

  “You shouldn’t have let him go.” Jerry kicked at the papers.

  “You told us we mustn’t harm him.”

  “Did I?” Jerry spoke listlessly now.

  “I’m not sure he was lying,” said Miss Brunner to Mr Smiles. She got up, dusting off her skirt as best she could. “He might really have believed the stuff was in there. Do you think it exists any more?”

  “I was convinced. Convinced.” Mr Smiles sighed. “A lot of time, energy and money has been wasted, and we’re not even likely to survive now. This is a great disappointment.”

  “Why not?” Jerry asked. “Likely to survive?”

  “Outside, Mr Cornelius, is the remainder of your brother’s private army. They’ve ringed the place and are ready to shoot us. Your brother commands them.”

  “I must get to a doctor,” said Jerry.

  “What’s the matter?” Miss Brunner’s voice wasn’t sympathetic.

  “I’m wounded in a couple of places. One in the shoulder—not sure where the other one went in, but I think it must be very bad.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “My sister’s dead. I shot her.”

  “Really, then you must—”

  “I want to live!” Jerry stumbled towards the window and looked out into the cold morning. Men were waiting there, though Frank couldn’t be seen. The grey bushes seemed made of delicately carved granite, and grey gulls wheeled in a grey sky.

  “By Christ, I want you to live, too!” Miss Brunner grasped him. “Can you think of a way we can all get out?”

  “There is a chance.” He began to speak calmly. “The main control chamber wasn’t destroyed, was it?”

  “No—perhaps we should have…”

  “Let’s get down there. Come on, Mr Smiles.”

  * * *

  Jerry sat limply in the chair by the control board. He checked first that the power was on; then he activated the monitors so that they had a view all round the house. He locked the monitors on the armed men who were waiting outside.

  His hand reached for another bank of switches and flipped them over. “We’ll try the towers,” he said.

  Green, red and yellow lights went on above the board. “They’re working, anyway.” He stared carefully at the monitors. He felt very sick.

  “Towers are spinning,” he said. “Look!”

  The armed men were all gaping at the roof. They could not have had any sleep all night, which would help the process. They stood transfixed.

  “Get going,” Jerry said as he got up and leaned on Mr Smiles, pushing him towards the door. “But once out of the house, don’t look back or you’ll be turned into a pillar of salt.”

  They helped him up the stairs. He was almost fainting now. Cautiously, they opened the front door.

  “Go, tiger!” he said weakly as they began to run, still supporting him.

  “How are we going to get down to the boats?” asked Miss Brunner when they had helped him round the side of the house facing the cliff edge.

  Jerry didn’t care. “I suppose we’ll have to jump,” he murmured. “Hope the tide hasn’t dropped too low.”

  “It’s a long way down, and I’m not so sure I can swim.” Mr Smiles slowed his pace.

  “You’ll have to try,” said Miss Brunner.

  They stumbled across the rough turf and got to the edge. Far below, water still washed the cliff. Behind them a strong-minded guard had spotted them. They could tell this because his bullets had begun to whine past them.

  “Are you fit enough, Mr Cornelius?”

  “I hope so, Miss Brunner.”

  They jumped together and fell together towards the sea.

  Mr Smiles didn’t follow them. He looked back, saw the stroboscopes, and could not turn away again. A smile appeared on his lips. Mr Smiles died smiling, at the hand of the strong-minded guard.

  Jerry, now unaware of who or where he was, felt himself being dragged from the sea. Someone slapped his face. What, he wondered, was the nature of reality after all? Could all this be the result of mankind’s will—even his natural surroundings, the shape of the hand that slapped his face?

  “You’re going to have to steer, I’m afraid, Mr Cornelius. I can’t.”

  He smiled. “Steer? Okay.” But what sort of place would he steer into? The world he had left? This world? Or another altogether?
A world, perhaps, where killer girls roved metropolitan streets in bands, working for faceless tycoons who bought and sold hydrogen bombs on an international level, supplying the entire market with H—Hydrogen, Heroin, Heroines…

  “Catherine,” he murmured. Miss Brunner was kindly helping him to the cabin, he realised.

  Tired but happy, unconvinced by the reality of his hallucination, he started the boat and swung out to sea.

  Hi-Fi, Holiness, a hope in hell…

  * * *

  He would never have a memory of what happened until he cried “Catherine!” and woke to find that he was in a very comfortable hospital bed.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” he said politely to the lemon-faced woman in uniform who entered after a while, “where would I be?”

  “You’re in the Sunnydales Nursing Home, Mr Cornelius, and you are much better. On the way to recovery, they say. A friend brought you here after your accident at that French funfair.”

  “You know about that?”

  “I know very little about it. Some trick gun went off the wrong way and shot you, I believe.”

  “Is that what happened? Are all nursing homes called Sunnydales?”

  “Most of them.”

  “Am I receiving the very best medical attention?”

  “You have had three specialists at your friend’s expense.”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “I don’t know the name. The doctor might. A lady, I think.”

  “Miss Brunner?”

  “The name’s familiar.”

  “Will there be any complications? When will I be fit enough to leave?”

  “I don’t think any complications are expected. You will not leave until you are fit enough to do so.”

  “You have my word of honour—I shan’t leave until I’m fit enough. My life’s all I’ve got.”

  “Very wise. If there are any business matters you need arranging—any relatives?”

  “I’m self-employed,” he said self-consciously.

  The nurse said, “Try getting some sleep.”

  “I don’t need any sleep.”

  “You don’t, but it’s easier to run a hospital with all the patients sleeping. They’re less demanding. Now you can do me a favour. Groan, beg for medical details, complain about the lack of attention we give you and the inferior way we run the hospital, but don’t try to make me laugh.”