Doctor Who_ Earthworld - Jacqueline Rayner [51]
‘I’d noticed,’ said Fitz.
‘Well, it happened like this. I travel about a bit, do a little show, few numbers, few hip swings, few “uh-huhs”, catch a bit of the underwear thrown on stage, that sorta thing. Goes down well with the chicks –’
‘And their mothers,’ suggested Fitz, who, despite having found out in one of his earliest realisations of the horror of time travel, that the fresh-faced GI chart-topper of his time would become a big-collared overweight living legend in the next decade, just couldn’t picture his fifty-something cellmate with the sequinned pants and the dodgy accent in the role.
Elvis shrugged this off. ‘Anyways, got a call from a Miss Venna Durwell, curator of this here show. They wanted to have a concert from King Elvis here, two, three times a day. Big attraction, you see. Get the chicks in. O’ course, I woulda liked to’ve helped, but I got my public to think of. Can’t restrict myself to just one planet, no, sir. Why, I just could not have all those sobbing girls on my conscience.’
‘Right,’ said Fitz, who imagined that this was a slight exaggeration, and that this guy probably hadn’t been asked to do all the shows in the first place.
‘This Durwell chick was a mite disappointed, and that’s no lie. But she had this rootin’-tootin’ –’ (Fitz shuddered) – ‘idea, that she would get these three pretty kids to make a model o’ me, and get me to sing my whole darn repertoire into some fancy tape machine to stick in its head. Then they could have the pleasure o’ my performance, so to speak, without me actually having to be in 94
EarthWorld
the same galaxy. Well, seemed a mighty good idea, and I did just what she asked for. Only trouble was, these chicks have got to be the maddest fans o’
the King who ever walked the face of any planet in this system. Oh, they made their machine man and no mistake, but they got it into their twisted little heads that they liked the real thing a bit more. So what d’ya know but they decoyed me away down here and here I stay unless they decide they want a bit of a concert. It’s that Antarctica kid – she’s the one. I’m her most favourite singer of all time, she says; I’m her pet, and if she wants a concert she has to have one. Mind you, guess I should consider myself lucky. These poor guys –’ he indicated in a direction Fitz had no intention of looking – ’were the pets of the Africa chick, and she don’t seem that keen to treat people right. Heck, talk o’
the devils. . . ’
There were high-pitched voices rapidly approaching, three of them. Fitz couldn’t tell which voice belonged to which trip.
‘It’s not fair!’ cried voice A. ‘How could they shut down everything? What are we supposed to do now? It’s no fun without our robots.’
Fitz and Elvis exchanged glances.
‘There are other ways of making entertainment,’ said voice B. ‘I told you, we should have a death match.’
‘I don’t want a death match! Death matches are boring! Anyway, all the silly people have run away now,’ said voice C – or, actually, it was probably voice A again.
‘Do you have another suggestion?’ That was – well, it might be B, but this time it was fairly likely to be voice C.
‘A concert! A concert from my pet! A lovely, lovely concert from Fitz Fortune!’
Yes, that was voice A, and it was undoubtedly Antarctica.
‘You got bored of King Elvis soon enough,’ said, erm, B or C. ‘Always said he’d be a five-minute wonder.’
(Next to Fitz, Elvis gave a massive ‘hmmph’.)
‘Oh!’ cried. Antarctica. ‘I’d forgotten about my lovely King Elvis! Maybe I’ll have a King Elvis concert instead.’
‘Well, make up your mind. If I can’t have a death match, I’ll have the one you don’t want for a game.’
Fitz felt his buttocks clench involuntarily. Not that he wished any harm to this old Elvis impersonator, but if it was a choice between singing for a couple of hours and being involved in one of the triplets’ games – and he was betting that it was Africa who’d had that idea – then he knew which he’d prefer, exhausted though he was.
Elvis Lives!
95
Then the third voice spoke.