Modem Times 2.0 - Michael Moorcock [29]
The Bengali barman polished a glass. “Life’s a bloody tragedy, isn’t it sir? Same again?”
Outside, the rain began to drum on the canopy. Major Nye and the women came running in. “I for one will be glad to get back to Casablanca,” said Miss Brunner.
12. OBAMA, BARBOUR MEET ON COAST
Until recently, criticisms of the BBC were helpful, and attacks upon it harmless, indeed it provided, among other blessings, a happy grumbling ground for the sedentary, where they could release their superfluous force … and if not much good was done there was anyhow no harm … Unfortunately, (the BBC’s) dignity is only superficial. It does yield to criticism, and to bad criticism, and it yields in advance—the most pernicious of surrenders.
—E. M. Forster, New Statesman, April 4, 1931
JERRY HAD SHOWERED and was putting on his regular clothes when Professor Hira came into the changing rooms.
“You were superb today, Mr. Cornelius. Especially under the circumstances.”
Jerry accepted his handshake. “Oh, you know, it’s not as if they got the whole of London.”
“Hampstead, Islington, Camden! The Heath is a pit of ash. We saw the cloud on TV. Red and black. The blood! The smoke. Of course, we know that our bombs, for instance, are much more powerful. But Hampstead Garden Village! My home was there for over four years. The Beesleys, too. And so many other dear neighbours.”
“You think it was their target?”
“No doubt about it. And next time it will be Hyde Park or Wimbledon Common. Even Victoria Park. They are easy to home in on, you see.”
“Another park is where they’ll strike next?”
“Or, heaven forbid, Lords. Or the Oval.”
“Good god. They’ll keep the ashes forever!”
“Our fear exactly.” Professor Hira took Jerry’s other hand. “You plan, I hope, to stay in Mombai for a bit? We could do with a good all-rounder.”
Jerry considered this. It was quite a while since he’d been to the pictures. “It depends what’s on, I suppose.” He bent and picked up his cricket bag. “And I’m sure it’s still possible to get a game or two in before things become too hot.”
“Oh, at least. And, Mr. Cornelius, it will never be too hot for you in India. Pakistan has far too many distractions, what with the Americans and their own religeuses.”
Jerry scratched his head. Reluctant as he was to leave, he thought it was time he got back home again.
13. THE TEARS I SHARED WITH LAURA BUSH
The most ambitious weapons program in Army history calls for a whole new arsenal of connected gear, from helicopter drones to GPS-guided missiles. But what happens if the network that links it all isn’t ready?
—Popular Science, May 2009
THE BATS WERE rising over Austin as usual. Mo had at last given up trying to count them and was eating a hot dog. He was resentful. He had been told that Texas was the most gun-friendly state in the Union, but had been stopped four times from carrying his Banning into the Capitol. “Fucking hypocrites.”
“Sir, I must really ask you again to watch your language.”
Mo recognized the Texas Ranger. Jerry caught him in time. The bats rose in a long, lazy curve against the dark blue evening sky. It was time to get back to the desert. Jerry had had enough of culture.
He had only come here to get himself a real cowboy hat.
He explained this to the Ranger. “I suppose you couldn’t sell me yours? I think we’re about the same head size.”
But he hadn’t distracted the Ranger long enough.
“Were you fucking talking to me?” Mo came gleefully forward.
Jerry sighed. He had a feeling they weren’t going to be leaving as quietly as he’d hoped. He took out his mobile and dialled Didi Dee. He