Russell never thought that much about the future, he was always happy with the present. Especially the birthday present, especially if it was a bicycle. Which it once had been, but that was in the past now.

It’s all so confusing, isn’t it?

Russell certainly didn’t know that he was going to be instrumental in future events which would affect the present yet to come. As it were.

He wasn’t happy when he got back to the sales office. He was mournful.

“Why are you mournful?” Morgan asked.

“I am mournful,” said Russell, “because I do not want to be sacked.”

“You won’t be sacked,” said Morgan. “If anybody’s going to be sacked, then that somebody will be Frank.”

“It bloody won’t,” said Frank. “I’m the manager.”

“I wasn’t going to bring my wild card into play just yet,” said Morgan, “but I think I will anyway.”

“Oh yes?” said Frank.

“Oh yes,” said Morgan. “You may be the manager, but Ernest Fudgepacker is my uncle.”

“Shit,” said Frank.

“I should go,” said Russell. “Last in, first out.”

“Will you shut up about that.”

“No, he’s right,” said Frank. “Don’t stand in his way, he’s doing the right thing. Forestall the ignominy of a sacking, Russell, go and hand your notice in.”

“All right,” said Russell. “I will.”

Now, this is all wrong, you see. In Hollywood they wouldn’t have this. In Hollywood they would say, “The hero is under stress and now the hero must fight back. And win.” That’s what they’d say. In Hollywood.

“I’ll hand my notice in,” said Russell. “It’s only fair.”

“Quite right,” said Frank.

“Quite wrong,” said Morgan.

“You know what though,” said Russell, “if we could do something to bring in some business, none of us would have to be sacked.”

“Good point,” said Morgan.

“You can’t run a company without a manager,” said Frank.

“There must be something we could do,” said Russell. “Something I could do.”

“What?” Morgan asked.

“Hand in your notice,” said Frank. “Save the rest of us.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you,” said Russell. “Putting you through all the misery, waiting for the axe to fall. No, handing in my notice won’t help. I must do something positive, something that will help us all.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Frank asked.

“No, I’m dead straight. I’m going to think hard about this. Find a way to save Fudgepacker’s. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“It’s five-thirty,” said Morgan. “Knocking-off time. What would you say to a pint of beer?”

“Not in The Bricklayer’s?”

“Not in The Bricklayer’s.”

“I would say thank you, let’s do it.”

The Ape of Thoth was a popular pub. A music pub. All kinds of bands had played there. Some had become quite famous since. The Who once played there, and Manfred Mann. Of course that is going back a bit. The Lost T-Shirts of Atlantis never played there, nor did Sonic Energy Authority, but you can’t have everything. The landlord of The Ape was a Spaniard by the name of Luis Zornoza. Tall, dark and handsome, he was, and a bit of a ladies’ man[20].

Russell had never been into The Ape before. Morgan drew his attention to a sign above the bar. “The Ape of Thoth, formerly The Flying Swan, welcomes you.”

A blond barmaid came up to serve them.

“I’ll have a Perrier water,” said Russell.

“You’ll have a pint,” said Morgan.

“Yes, you’re right, I will.”

“Two pints of Special,” said Morgan.

The barmaid looked at Russell with wistful eyes. “Pity,” she said.

“Look,” said Morgan, as the drinks were delivered. “I know you’d like to help, Russell, but it really isn’t your thing, is it? I mean you’re a helpful felllow, but when it comes to big helpfulness, like making a big move, you just don’t do that sort of stuff, do you?”

Russell sniffed suspiciously at his pint, then took a small sip. “I’m not an idiot, you know,” he said. “I am quite capable. I could do things.”

“Yes, but you know you won’t. Chaps like you never do. No offence meant, but you just don’t.”

“But I could, if the opportunity presented itself.”

“I think you have to make your own opportunities.”

“So you just said.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did, and you said that too.”

“What?”

“Oh no.” Russell glanced about the place. Luis the landlord had gone off to the cellar with the blond barmaid and but for himself and for Morgan the bar was deserted. “Quick,” cried Russell. “Jump over the counter. Quick.”

“You’re not going to rob the place? Russell, no!”

“Something’s going to happen. Quickly, quickly.” Russell shinned up from the barstool and scrambled onto the counter.

“Have you lost all reason, Russell?”

“Quick, it’s going to happen, I know it is.” Russell grabbed Morgan’s arm and began to haul at him.

“What is? Oh shit.”

A vibration ran through the bar. A shudder. Optics rattled, ashtrays shook. The dartsboard fell off the wall.

“Earthquake!” cried Morgan.

“Not an earthquake, quickly.” Russell dropped down behind the bar, dragging Morgan after him.

“Oh my God!”

An icy wind sprang up from nowhere, became a mini-hurricane, snatched chairs from the floor and hurled them about the place.

“Keep your head down,” Russell shouted, but Morgan didn’t need the telling. Tables whirled and twisted, splintered against the walls, beer mats and ashtrays, glasses and bottles filled the air, rained down from every direction.

And a blinding light.

It shot up before the counter, became a sheet of blue-white, expanding to extend from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling. Then it folded in upon itself with a sound like water vanishing down the plughole and was gone.

A tinkling of glass, a final thud of a falling chair and all became silent.

Very silent.

Unnaturally silent.

Russell got to his knees, brushing glass and beer mats from his shoulders. He peeped over the counter and gawped at the devastation.

“Is it over?” called Morgan, from the foetal position.

“I think it’s just about to start.”

The sound was like an express train coming out of a tunnel, or a jet plane taking off, or a rocket being launched (which is a bit like a jet plane, though less like an express). Sort of “Whoooooooosh!” it went. Really loudly.

The wall at the far end of the bar seemed to go out of focus and then to open, much in the fashion of a camera lens. As Russell gawped on he saw the light reform, blaze out, and a figure, a distant moving dot of a figure, running. Closer and closer. Though two dimensionally. It’s a bit hard to explain really. Imagine it looking like a movie projected onto the wall. That’s what it looked like. The figure running towards the camera. With a further much-intensified whoosh, the figure burst out of two dimensions into the third.

It was a woman. A beautiful woman. She wore an elegant contour-hugging frock of golden scales. Cut above the knee, her stockings were of gold, as were her shoes.

And her hair.

She flashed frightened eyes about the bar. “Russell,” she called, “where are you?”

“I’m here.” Russell’s gawp had achieved the status of a mega-gawp. But he said, “I’m here,” none the less.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I knew it.”

“It’s you. It’s you.”

And it was her. It was the barmaid from The Bricklayer’s Arms.

“Take it quickly, there’s no time.”

“Take what? What?”

The beautiful barmaid thrust a golden package into Russell’s hand. “The programmer, keep down, don’t let them see you, and, Russell …”

“What? What?”

“I love you,” she leaned across the counter and she kissed him. Full on the lips. Russell felt his toes begin to curl and his hair becoming straight.