rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第41部分

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hes　and　he　was　powerless　to　stop　it。　He　turned　a　passionate　face　towards　the　Irishman　and　tears　welled　in　his　eyes。　'What　can　I　do？'　he　asked；　in　a　choked　voice。　'I　am　truly　sorry；　John。'
　Lombard　Omega　stared　down　upon　the　carnage；　with　a　face　of　hatred　and　contempt；　'Run；　you　bastards！'　he　shouted；　as　the　antlike　figures　beneath　scattered　in　all　directions。　'I　will　have　every　last　one　of　you；　look　at　that；　look　at　that。'
　The　crew　of　the　mother　ship　craned　their　necks　to　the　portholes。　Below；　the　destruction　was　savage　and　sickening。　The　streets　were　being　cleaved　apart；　the　houses　and　shops；　flatblocks　and　places　of　worship　driven　from　existence。
　More　than　thirty　Morris　Minors；　some　even　priceless　collectors'　models　with　split　windscreens；　suicide　doors　and　hand…clap　wiper　arms；　had　already　been　atomised；　never　again　to　sneak　through　the　dodgy　back　street　MOT。
　Professor　Slobe　closed　his　hands　in　prayer。　As　the　wall　of　fire　moved　relentlessly　forward　and　the　buildings　fell　into　twisted　ruination；　he　knew　that　only　a　miracle　could　save　Brentford。
　'What's　that；　sir？'　asked　a　Cerean　deckhand；　pointing　through　a　porthole。
　'What's　what？'
　'That；　sir。'
　Lombard　Omega　strained　his　eyes　through　the　rising　smokescreen　of　burning　Brentford。　'Jesus　Christ！'　he　screamed；　catching　sight　of　a　floating　object　directly　in　the　ship's　path。　'It's　a　fucking　camel！　Hard　to　port！　Hard　to　port！'
　'You　are　at　the　controls；'　the　cringing　navigator　informed　his　captain。
　Lombard　swung　the　wheel　and　the　craft　veered　sharply　to　the　left；　avoiding　the　drifting　mammal　by　a　hairbreadth。
　Caught　in　the　slipstream；　a　certain　small　postman　let　fly　with　a　volley　of　obscenity　which　would　have　caused　even　the　ship's　captain　to　blush。
　'That　was　fucking　close；'　said　Lombard　Omega；　wiping　creosote　from　his　brow。　'Those　bastards　don't　miss　a　trick；　do　they？　Give　me　more　power；　Mr　Navigator。　More　power！'
　The　navigator　upped　the　ante　and　covered　his　eyes。　A　great　vibration　filled　the　air。　A　fearsome　pressure　driving　everything　downwards。　The　flood　waters　ceased　their　frenzied　rush　and　hung　suspended；　as　if　touched　by　Moses's　staff。　The　scattering　Brentonians　tumbled　to　the　pavements；　gasping　at　the　super…heated　air　and　clutching　at　their　throats。　The　Captain　Laser　Alien　Attack　machine　lurched　from　its　mountings　and　toppled　into　the　Swan；　bringing　down　the　side…wall　and　exposing　the　horrors　of　Archie　Karachi's　kitchen　to　Neville；　who；　borne　by　the　terrible　force；　vanished　backwards　over　the　bar　counter；　losing　the　last　of　his　fillings。
　As　Pooley　and　Omally　struck　the　fag…scarred　carpet；　their　last　glimpse　of　anything　approaching　reality　was　of　Professor　Slobe。　The　old　man　stood；　the　hell…fire　painting　his　ancient　features；　hands　raised　towards　the　burning　sky　now　visible　through　the　Swan's　shattered　roof；　his　mouth　reciting　the　syllables　of　a　ritual　which　was　old　before　the　dawn　of　recorded　history。
　Above　came　the　deadly　whine　of　engines　as　Lombard　Omega　and　the　crew　of　the　Starship　Sandra　moved　in　for　the　kill。
　'Finish　them！'　screamed　the　Captain。　'Finish　them！'
　The　ship　rocked　and　shivered。　Needles　upon　a　thousand　crystal　dials　rattled　into　the　danger　zone。　A　low　pulsating　hum　set　the　Captain's　teeth　on　edge　and　caused　the　navigator；　who　had　suddenly　found　Christianity；　to　cross　himself。　'Finish　them！'　screamed　Lombard。
　The　ship's　engines　coughed　and　faltered。　The　air　about　the　craft　ionised　as　a　vague　image　of　something　monstrous　swam　into　view。　It　wavered；　half…formed；　and　transparent；　and　then；　amid　a　great　maelstrom　of　tearing　elements；　became　solid。
　Lombard　Omega　stared　in　horror　through　the　forward　port。　'What's　that？'　he　cried　drawing　up　his　hands。　'What　in　the　name　of　F。。。'
　His　final　words；　however　obscene；　must　remain　unrecorded。　For　at　one　moment　he　was　steering　his　craft　through　empty　air　above　Brentford　Football　ground　and　at　the　next　it　was　making　violent　and　irreconcilable　contact　with　the　capping　stone　of　the　Great　Pyramid　of　Cheops。
　Whoosh；　wham；　crash；　and　bitow　went　the　Starship　Sandra　as　it　lost　a　goodly　amount　of　its　undercarriage　and　slewed　to　one　side。　It　plummeted　downwards；　a　screaming　ball　of　fire；　narrowly　missing　the　roof　of　the　Flying　Swan；　cartwheeled　over　the　Piano　Museum；　and　tore　down　towards　the　allotments；　the　last　men　of　Ceres；　who　were　standing　around　looking　rather　bemused；　a　very　great　deal　of　carefully…laid　explosive；　and　the　few　sparse　and　dismal　remnants　of　a　former　postman's　prize…winning　cabbage　patch。
　There　was　a　moment　of　terrible　silence　and　then　an　explosion　which　rocked　the　seismographs　at　Greenwich　and　had　the　warlords　of　a　dozen　nations　reaching　towards　the　panic　buttons。
　A　very　great　silence　then　fell　upon　what　was　left　of　the　Brentford　Triangle。
　
　EPILOGUE
　The　sun　rose　the　next　morning　at　three　a。m。
　This　came　as　a　great　surprise　to　those　folk　of　Brentford　who　felt　in　the　mood　to　enjoy　the　dawn　chorus；　but　no　more　so　than　it　did　to　the　peoples　of　the　Nile　delta　who；　somewhat　bewildered　at　the　sudden　disappearance　of　their　greatest　tourist　attraction；　noticed　also　that　the　nights　were　definitely　drawing　in　a　bit。
　Had　the　Memorial　Library　clock　been　still　extant；　it　would　just　have　struck　the　hour　when　an　impossibly　long　low…loader　turned　up　the　Ealing　Road；　demolishing　Brentford's　two　remaining　lampposts；　and　cracking　a　hundred　paving…stones　beneath　its　many…wheeled　assault。
　High　in　the　cab；　illuminated　by　the　green　dashlights　and　the　first　rays　of　the　rising　sun；　sat　a　bald…headed　man　in　a　saffron　robe。　He　puffed　upon　a　Woodbine　and　stared　through　the　tinted　windscreen　at　the　blackened　wreckage　which　had　once　been　the　town　of　his　birth。
　There　had　been　more　than　a　few　changes　while　he　had　been　away；　this　was　clear。　Another　council　housing　project；　he　assumed；　or　road…widening　scheme；　although　it　appeared　a　little　drastic。　He　pulled　the　five…hundred…foot　vehicle　up　through　the　gears　and　rolled　it　over　the　railway　bridge；　whose　girders　groaned　beneath　the　strain。　Where　had　the　New　Inn　gone；　and　surely　the　council　would　not　have　demolished　two　of　their　cherished　flatblocks？
　The　great　vehicle's　front　wheels　plunged　into　a　pothole；　dislodging　the　driver's　Woodbine　into　his　lap。　He　would　have　harsh　words　to　say　about　all　this　and　no　mistake。　Here　he　was；　delivering　the　greatest　archaeological　discovery　in　the　history　of　mankind；　and　they　had　let　the　roads　go　to　ruin。
　And　what　in　Dante's　name　was　that？　Archroy　brought　the　mammoth　loader　to　a　shuddering　halt。　Retrieving　his　fallen　Woodbine；　he　climbed　down　from　the　cab。
　In　considerable　awe　he　stared　up　at　the　vast　structure　which　now　stood　upon　the　site　formerly　occupied　by　Brentford's　football　ground。　That　was　the　Great　Pyramid　of　Giza　or　he　was　a　clog…dancing　Dutchman。
　The　man　of　bronze　ground　out　his　cigarette　with　a　naked　heel　and　scratched　at　his　hairless　pate。　Whatever　had　been　going　on　around　here？
　He　climbed　back　into　his　cab　and　put　the　mighty　vehicle　into　gear。　He　was　rapidly　losing　his　temper。　Where　was　the　reception　mittee？　Where　was　the　bunting　and　the　Mayor？　Had　he　not　written　to　Neville　detailing　the　time　of　his　arrival？　This　was　all　a　bit　much。
　Ahead；　in　the　distance；　faint　lights　showed　in　a　window：　the　Flying　Swan；　surely；　but　candle…lit？
　Archroy　applied　the　brakes　and　brought　the　low…loader　to　a　standstill　outside　the　smoke…blackened　and　shrapnel…pocked　drinking　house。　He　fumbled　in　his　dashboard　for　another　packet　of　cigarettes；　but　could　find　nothing　but　a　bundle　of　picture　postcards　displaying　now　inaccurate　rooftop　views　of　Brentford。
　He　climbed　down　from　his　cab；　slammed　shut　the　door　and；　kicking　rubble　to　left　and　right　of　him；　strode　across　the　road　to　the　Swan's　doorway。　With　a　single　curling　backward　kick　he　applied　his　bare　foot　to　the　door；　taking　it　from　its　hinges　and　propelling　it　forwards　into　the　bar。
　Four　startled　men　looked　up　in　horror　from　their　drinks　at　the　bar　counter。　Jim　Pooley；　John　Omally；　Professor　Slobe　and　Neville　the　part…time　barman。
　'Archroy？'　gasped　Neville；　squinting　towards　the　terrific　figure　framed　in　the　Swan's　doorway。　'Archroy；　is　that　you？'
　Archroy　fixed　the　part…time　barman　with　a　baleful　eye。　'I　have　the　Ark　of　Noah　outside　on　my　lorry；'　he　roared。　'I　don't　suppose　that　any　of　you　after…hours　drinkers　would　care　to　step　outside　and　give　it　the　once…over？'
　Omally　struggled　to　his　feet。　'The　Ark　of　Noah；　now；　is　it？'　he　said。　'Could　I　interest　you　at　all　in　a　guided　tour　around　the　Great　Pyramid　of　Brentford？'
　
　THE　END
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
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