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Jovil looked puzzled。 'Why？' he asked。
'Because。。。 because why？' Mungo gazed about at his execs。 'Because why； Garstang？'
'Because you must be on your own；' said the sprout； who had twigged exactly what was going on。 'Transient photons causing a cross polarisation of the interstellar overdrive。 Anyone standing nearby would get sucked into the positronic trans…dimensional warp factor five graphic equaliser。'
'Exactly。' Mungo nodded approvingly。
'Sounds very plicated。'
Mungo nodded again。 'Oh； it is。 Very。'
Jovil turned to the sprout。 'But what about you though？'
'I'll find my own way back； don't worry about me。'
'So； Mr Garstang here will fill you in on all the details； issue you with the bits and bobs and whatnot。 Do you have any questions？'
Jovil shook his head； 'I can't think of any。'
'Good； well if you do； I'm sure Mr Garstang will set you straight。 Won't you； Mr Garstang？'
'Indeed I will； sir。'
'So now；' Mungo drew Jovil to his feet； straightened up and saluted him。 'Good luck soldier。 The future of the series rests in your hands。 We applaud you。' The executive team put their hands together。 On Phnaargos applause was considered the highest pliment or accolade that could possibly be paid to an individual。 It meant that you had really made it。 On twentieth…century Earth； the nearest equivalent would have been a guest appearance on Wogan or a libellous attack on your sexual habits by a Sunday newspaper。
'You can count on me。' Jovil Jspht stood rigidly to attention。 There was a tear in his eye。
To further applause he left the boardroom in the pany of Gryphus Garstang； who was carrying the black box at arm's length。
'Don't forget this；' Mungo plucked up the sprout and tossed it after them。
The boardroom door sealed and Mungo rubbed his palms together。 'I think that went remarkably well。'
Fergus Shaman shook his head doubtfully。 'I really must protest。 You are going about this all the wrong way。 It will end in disaster。'
'You would rather make the trip yourself； then？'
Fergus shifted uneasily。 'I'm not saying that。 But blowing him up 。。。 something might go wrong。'
'The thing that worries me；' said Lavinius Wisten； 'is the fact that he never asked once whether the mission was dangerous。'
'He trusts us。'
'It will end in tears；' said Fergus。
'And another thing；' Wisten continued； 'that sprout； he cottoned on to what was on the go a bit fast。 I wouldn't trust him as far as I could kick him。'
Mungo nodded vigorously。 'Now on that we are both agreed。 I think we will have a little surprise waiting for friend sprout when he gets back。' He made knife and fork motions with his fingers。
Fergus leapt to his feet。 'You can't do that。 The Time Sprout is a marvel of horticultural science。 It will open up new vistas； whole new worlds。'
'It is a loose end；' said Mungo Madoc in no uncertain tone； 'and it will go down a treat； lightly boiled with just a dash of melted butter。'
Fergus Shaman buried his head in his hands and wept bitterly。
As the lift slithered obscenely down the yielding membrane tube； Jovil Jspht made little clicking sounds with his tongue and popped his fingers。 It was true that he hadn't touched upon the possible dangers of the mission。 But this was simply because he hadn't even given them a moment's thought。 Far greater issues were at stake here。 And anyway； how could anything possibly go wrong？ He had bee the Chosen One。 The Saviour of the Series。 The Man with the Mission！
And Jovil already had the whole thing planned out。 He would return to the 1950s and sort out this Presley character； put him on the right track。 There was no real problem there surely。 And even if there was； he could always bung Presley the little black box； let him go and see for himself the mess he'd got everyone into。 No problem。 After all； he had no intention of using the black box himself。 Once the Presley business was out of the way； he meant to get down to the real task at hand。 The revitalization of the series！ His own personal rewrite of the script！
Jovil did a big ear…to…ear job。 And all set in the 1950s； it couldn't have worked out better if he had planned it himself。 His very favourite period in Earth history。 The golden age of science fiction。 Forbidden Planet； Them； The Quatermass Experiment。 Those were the days。 The skies were full of UFOs； and every secret research establishment had a radioactive mutant skeleton in its cupboard。 It was just perfect。
He'd give the Phnaargian viewing public something they would long remember。 The rating topper to end all rating toppers。 He could already see the blurbs。
Mankind faces its greatest ever threat。
Spawn of the nuclear age。。。 Born of the Bottomless Pit 。。。 can nothing stop。。。 THE KILLER MAGGOTS FROM THE EARTH'S CORE？？？
This was no accident of fate； no mere chance or coincidence。 He had been singled out for this。 It was Divine intervention。
'Thank you； thank you； God；' chirruped Jovil Jspht； pressing his thumb and forefinger to his nose and making the sacred squeeze。 'Thank you very much。'
Above and beyond all this； the deity in question examined the tip of his holy hooter in a shaving mirror the size of a billion galaxies。 'You're a ripe…looking little bugger；' he said。
All the world is just a stage and all the men and women merely players。
Elvis Presley
Rex Mundi peeped out of the discarded bio…hazard drum where he had taken up temporary residence。 He saw Rambo Bloodaxe kick the rear of the in…town runabout。 He saw Rambo Bloodaxe kick the rear of Deathblade Eric and finally he saw Rambo Bloodaxe kick at the rear of a six…legged moggy； miss and fall heavily to the oily sod。 Rex stifled a snigger and felt himself for probable fractures。 He appeared to be in remarkably fine fettle； all things considered。 His radiation suit was somewhat charred； but its heat…resistant inner lining had spared him a roasting。 His weatherdome was badly cracked； though； and the rancid stench of the outside world was all too apparent to his recently…rooted nostrils。
Through the dome's blackened glass Rex watched Eric help his chum up from the dirt。 The two Devianti gazed bitterly up and down the ruined highway。 Threw up their arms； cursed profusely and slouched into the Hotel California。 Breathing as shallowly as possible； the lad in the toxic drum considered his lot。 It wasn't much of a lot。 He had a rough idea as to which 'major redevelopment area' he was in； and it was a long hike from Nemesis Bunker。 And although he was hidden； he was still inside the grounds of the Devianti headquarters； which was no cause for immediate merriment。 The area might well be guarded by any number of fiendish devices。 Sonic wave press…pads that could shake a man's brains down his nostrils before he even realized that he had been rumbled。 Invisible laser…mesh fencing； one step forward and you were diced meat。 Rex's imagination rose to new heights of improbability。 He was in deep shit here and no mistake。 He gave his chronometer a bit of perusal。 It was jammed at two…thirty p。m。 which meant that at the very most he had an hour before darkness fell and the night rains began。 And God knows what came out to feed。 He was in an unholy mess and no mistake about it。
Rex had never had a lot of truck with religion。 The pre…packaged theology beaming endlessly from the terminal screens seemed to him just a trifle unconvincing。 Whether he was alone in this or whether the entire viewing public shared his doubts； Rex had no idea。 Perhaps he was the last atheist。 If so； then God was about to be well chuffed。
'Dear old God；' prayed Rex Mundi。 'Please get me out of here。'
It had been considered essential by Mungo Madoc that Jovil's departure towards the 1950s be acpanied by the correct amount of fuss and bother。 Or the least as much as could be inexpensively mustered up during the few short hours it took to copy the archive footage of Elvis's sorry last years and program them into a portable monitor。 Thus the board hobbled together certain new orders of merit and scrolls of honour from what immediately came to hand。 These were solemnly presented to the would…be time traveller with much due reverence and many a hearty hand…clap。
The actual send…off was a somewhat private affair； Jovil's offer to have the entire event broadcast live across Phnaargos being politely； yet firmly； declined。 Amidst thunderous applause he climbed on to the boardroom table； sprout in one hand； black box in the other； portable monitor and packed lunch in a jaunty knapsack slung across his shoulders。
'In order that this momentous occasion be long remembered；' quoth the young buffoon。 'I have prepared a short speech。' Beneath their smiles the executive board ground its collective teeth。 'For such a cause I go fearlessly backwards。' Jovil gestured with his box…bearing hand； which had the board clutching at their failing hearts。 'Mere words cannot express my gratitude for your having chosen me to go upon this mission。 Thus I will let my deeds speak for themselves。'
The dangerous ambiguity of this escaped the board； who sought successfully to drown out the remainder of his speech with further thunderous applause。
'Then I go。' Jovil raised the Time Sprout above his head and stuck a noble pose。
'You do indeed； chief；' the sprout added。 And indeed he did。
'Gentlemen；' said Mungo Madoc； tapping his trowel of office upon the table top； 'gentlemen； we are in big schtuck here。' Executive heads bobbed up and down in agreement。 At the far end of the table Diogenes 'Dermot' Darbo said； 'Yes； indeedy。'
'Viewing figures have now sunk to a point beneath which the。。。' Fergus Shaman turned the first page of his minutes and viewed with great interest the words he had but minutes before penned upon them。 They came as something of a revelation to him。
It had been his conviction； now amply proven； that upon the sprout's departure into the past all memories of it here in present would be instantly erased。 After all； if the sprout was in the 1950s then the year 2050 hadn't yet occurred； or something like that。 It was all extremely plicated and Fergus didn't pretend to understand the most part of it。 This was only an initial experiment and its full potential had yet to be fully realized。 But so far he appeared to be correct。 He scanned the pages of notes and nodded in silent satisfaction。
Mungo for his part； continued with the speech； which unknown even to himself； he had previously made several hours before。 Fergus listened to it with interest。 But the more the speech unfolded the more an un…forting thought began to nag Fergus。 And the more it nagged the more Fergus tried to reason with it。 But the more he reasoned with it； the louder and clearer did it nag。 'If the mission to 1958 had been a success；' nagged the thought； 'and the series successfully revived； then this meeting shouldn't be taking place and Mungo shouldn't be saying all the things he is still saying。 So therefore the mission can't have been a success。 In fact something must have gone disastrously wrong。'
'Oh dear；' thought Fergus Shaman； 'oh dear； oh dear； oh dear。'
A cold bead of lime green perspiration crept from his hairline across his forehead and down to the end of his nose。 Here it captured the light of Rupert and shone like a rare jewel。 What on Earth had happened？
Elvis Aron Presley； the man and the legend； looked upon all that he had made and found it good。 The King of Rock and Roll raked his manicured fingers through his magnificently greased coiffure and adjusted his quiff。 Just so。 'Uh； huh；' said he； winking lewdly into the rhinestoned shaving mirror。 'Mighty fine。'
The time was a little after nine of the evening clock。 The evening in question being that of the twenty…third of March； the year being 1958。 Just twelve hours before Elvis would take the draft； chuck up his credibility and take that first big step towards a terrible end。 But for now he was young； snake…hipped； gifted and sublimely rich。 Elvis smiled crookedly in the manner that had weakened the knees of an entire generation of American girldom。 Not a dry seat in the house； as one wag most tastefully put it。 Curled his lip and confirmed that ev