“Of course, sir, of course. Oh, I’m so excited.”

“I thought you’d seen it.”

“Yes, sir, but seeing her, seeing her.”

“Seeing her?” said Russell.

“Here, sir, here.”

“What do you mean?” Russell asked.

“She was here, sir. In the store, not an hour and a half ago. Large as life and twice as beautiful.”

“Here?”

“I got her autograph. Look, I’ll show it to you. But you can’t touch it.”

“I don’t really want to,” said Russell.

“Oh come on, sir. Just to touch her autograph, imagine.”

I’ve touched a lot more than that, Russell thought. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t understand. Why did the lovely Mrs Hitler come in here?”

“Well, sir. It seems that the Führer and she have one of the Cyberstar systems. I expect they re-enact famous movies in the comfort of their palace. Well, apparently she’d mislaid the programmer and she came in here, in here, sir, into my humble store, for a replacement.”

“What?” went Russell. “And you gave it to her?”

“With compliments, sir.”

“Oh my God!”

“Whatever is it, sir? You’ve come over all unnecessary.”

Russell shook his fists in the air. She’d done it to him again. She’d left nothing to chance. A spare programmer in case he lost his, or something. All she’d wanted from him was the time belt to get back with. She’d never trusted him. He’d been stitched up, good and proper.

“Aaaaagh!”

“Please, sir, control yourself, whatever is the matter?”

Russell made fists and looked all around the shop. He’d failed. Well, of course he’d failed. If he’d succeeded, then this place would never have come to be. He’d be standing in empty space right now, or the middle of the Great West Road. He’d blown it and it was all his fault. He’d given her the time device. He’d laid it all on.

Russell took to groaning. There was that other Russell back in the past, that one who would watch Julie appear, would be given the programmer and would take it to Bobby Boy. That stupid lame-brained Russell who would be conned every inch of the way. Who would work until he nearly dropped to produce a movie that would reduce the people of the world to little more than slaves.

Russell shook his head. Whatever was he to do now?

“Sir,” said the chap behind the counter, “if you’re all right, sir, would you like to see the movie?”

Russell turned and Russell smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “Oh very much indeed.”

And so Russell sat down and watched the movie, the manager was so excited that he insisted Russell watch all the way through. And so Russell did. There was so much more that he hadn’t seen. But it all made perfect sense when you viewed it from the beginning to the end. The dark alien creature, always in the background, always manipulating, experimenting with this means and that to control and exploit mankind. And he, Russell, played by Bobby Boy, finally defeating the creature in a manner Russell hadn’t even considered.

As the credits rolled away the manager clapped his hands in warm applause. “Isn’t it wonderful, sir, marvellous, a tour de force. And it’s all true, you know. Well, not true as in true. It’s a metaphor you see. For life. You see the Emporium represents –”

“Yes,” said Russell. “Well I don’t think we need to go into all that now. I wanted to see the end and now I’ve seen it. I know all I need to know.”

“If only that were true, sir, eh?”

“It is true,” said Russell.

The manager laughed, politely, but he did laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Russell enquired.

“Because of what you said about the ending, sir. You see that’s the whole point of the movie. That’s part of the metaphor. The movie doesn’t have an ending. Well not one, I’ve a hundred copies in stock and there’s a hundred different endings. That’s what made the movie so successful. If you go and see a movie twice you know it will have the same ending. But this one never did. Almost every copy was different. Is different. No-one has ever been able to work out how it was done. How Fudgepacker found the time.”

Russell really couldn’t help but be impressed. That was some gimmick. That would really have packed them in. He could just picture the train-spotter types, vying with one another, seeing who could score the most endings. Why there was probably a Nostradamus Ate my Hamster Appreciation Society[34]. “Do you think anyone has seen all the endings?” Russell asked.

“Who can say, sir? That’s part of the mythos, isn’t it?”

“Well, thank you for showing it to me. It was an experience.”

“And will sir be taking a copy?”

“No, I don’t think so. But tell me this, as far as you know, does the movie always have a happy ending?”

“Of course it does, sir, of course it does.”

Russell was relieved to hear this at least. “That’s a weight off my mind,” he said.

“Oh yes,” said the manager. “The endings are always happy. Even the ones where the Russell character meets a grisly death.”

Russell groaned.

“Oh yes, sir, there’s the version where he gets gangbanged at the bikers’ barbecue, and the one where he’s shot with the General Electric mini-gun, and the one where the cannibal cult get him, oh and my favourite, the amazing slow-motion sequence where the escaped psychopath takes this hedge-clipper and puts it right up his …”

21

Basic Tin Sink

Russell left the store and then the mall. He walked slowly back along the something-strasser, with his head bowed into his chest and his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets.

He was down, Russell was, it had not been his day. As days went, he’d known better. For it’s not every day that you’re chased by a howling mob, escape in a time machine while having sex with a beautiful woman, kill Adolf Hitler and still have a moment to screw up the future of the human race.

And it was early yet. Scarcely five of the afternoon clock. Russell scuffed his shoes along the pavement. What was he going to do now? He’d have to go back and try to sort things out. But things were rather complicated. If the time belt only took you back in time, then he couldn’t go back too far. Certainly not further than the moment when he and Julie escaped in the Flügelrad, when he escaped. If he went back further, he’d already be there. The other Russell, the one that was the “him-then”, who didn’t know what he knew now. So to speak.

“I am in a state of stress,” said Russell, startling a passer-by. “I really thought I could win this. But now I’m not too sure. It doesn’t matter what I do, they’re always one step ahead of me. If only there was some way. Some way.”

Russell stopped short and began to laugh. Those hysterics again? Not this time. There was a solution. It was a bold plan, and there was a risk of failure. A big risk. In fact the very biggest risk there could be. A risk that could cost Russell everything. His life. Everything. But it was a risk he was prepared to take. Because if there was one person capable of pulling the whole thing off, then that one person was he, Russell.

Russell took a very deep breath. “All right,” said he. “This time.”

Mr Eric Nelluss[35] was a tall imposing figure. Although now the graveyard side of sixty-five and the wearer of a long grey beard, he was still a force to be reckoned with. A major force, for he was undoubtedly the most powerful and influential film producer and distributor in the western world. In his long career he had struck many deals and invested many millions, but today, today would be the very crowning point of his brilliant career.