chapter six

He awoke to the sound of someone drilling a large hole through the centre of the planet.

"Well, it serves you right!" said Brian, turning off the electric toothbrush.

Andrew groped his way into the kitchen in search of something to relieve the pain in his head; he turned and propped himself up in the door‑frame, looking back at Brian.

"Oh Brian," said Andrew, trying his best to look pitiful, "I haven't been making a very good wife, have I? I'm sorry, I don't seem to be able to relax yet, what with the new job, the assassin, and being married - I just can't cope with it all. This whole thing is so upsetting ..." Andrew let his voice tail off woefully.

"Oh, there, there, poor thing," taunted the Adviser.

"Why, Andrew, it never occurred to me that you were so upset about it all. Come and sit down - I'll get you something for your head," said Brian.

Brian returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and a small white pill. "Here, swallow this."

"Thanks," Andrew popped the pill into his mouth and gulped a couple of mouthfuls of water. "Aaagh," he cried doubling up in agony. However, he quickly recovered and sat up straight again. "What the hell kind of pill was that?"

"It's one of the new pain compressors; it gives you all the pain, you would normally have over a period of hours, in one split second. It gets around the anti pain‑killer laws. You have to be careful, though. If you'd had a migraine, for instance, all the pain from that in one shot would probably kill you," explained Brian. "And now, darling, it's time for us to go to work, come on, I'll give you a lift."

Andrew was happy to find that all traces of his hang‑over had disappeared. It was a pity his other problems couldn't be fixed up so easily, he thought. One pill for the assassin, one for the job and one for poor, dear, old Brian.

Ten minutes later Brian was sitting in the car with the engine running. Andrew came dashing out of the house, with his skirt hitched up around his knees, zigzagged across the lawn, and vaulted over the wall at the end of the garden, only to discover that the car door was locked. He banged frantically on the window as Brian fumbled with the catch. Finally he threw himself, length‑wise, onto the back seat, and lay there panting.

"I really think you're taking the whole thing far too seriously," said Brian turning around to inspect Andrew who was still lying across the back seat.

"Listen, whose life is it anyway?" said Andrew wondering why that phrase was so familiar.

"But why can't you get it through your head that you are just as safe walking around with a large target stuck to your back, as you are cringing on the back seat?"

"Just humour me, okay? It's quite comfortable back here, so why bother moving?"

"All right, have it your own way," said Brian.

Andrew repeated his snaking run from the car into the radio station. Once inside, he told the receptionist not to allow anyone in to see him, and locked himself inside his studio.

His day was fairly uneventful, he managed to conjure up the same grotesque character that had been so well received on the previous day. But this time he had to play the jingle four times before it had the undesirable effect. He was struck by the frightening thought that he was becoming immune, and that soon he may have to do the show without his Mr Hyde personality.

At five o'clock the receptionist phoned him to let him know that Brian had arrived to pick him up and was waiting for him in the lobby.

Andrew was feeling good, his audience had doubled, thanks to the bad press that yesterday's show had provoked. The enormous increase in listeners had prompted Dorian to hint that there might be a promotion in the pipe‑line, a move from Agony Aunt to Disk Jockey, which meant that Andrew would be able to stop being so offensive, and spend the day playing his favourite records.

Andrew was in such good spirits, he went as far as patting Brian on the back, to show how pleased he was to see him. They walked out of the building together and stood on the kerb, waiting to cross the road to the car.

"Hold it right there, you scum‑bag pervert!" screamed a voice behind them.

Andrew whirled around to see the repellent features of his assassin, who stood two yards away with a gun levelled at Andrew's chest.

"Good‑bye, deviant!" screamed the assassin and pulled the trigger.

Andrew froze. A few moments later he realized that everything else had frozen too. His assassin was standing like a statue, his face contorted into a devilish mask of triumph, his finger still tightly gripping the trigger of the revolver. Amazingly, the bullet, destined for Andrew's right ventricle, hung motionless in mid‑air, six inches from the end of the gun‑barrel.

Andrew's brain began to assemble footage of the significant moments of his life, in preparation for the 'Big Flash‑Back'. The end result was disappointing, partly because half of his memories had been removed, and partly because he had led such a boring life. In an attempt to provide a more entertaining biography his brain spliced together scenes from an old John Wayne movie, extracts from Deep Throat, and a couple of Tom and Jerry cartoons.

Just as the 'Tribute to Andrew Smith' was about to roll, Andrew heard a voice, which sounded disturbingly like his own, coming from somewhere in the region of his cerebral cortex. If he had been able to move he would have gasped in surprise, but he wasn't even able to breathe - something which, perhaps, should have concerned him more than it did.

"Do not be alarmed. You are now experiencing the trial‑offer version of our renowned Last‑Minute‑Re‑Think service," announced the voice. "This free demonstration is just one example of the large range of Life‑Enhancer products available from the Better Life Corporation."

The voice paused and took on a more genial quality. "How many times have you heard people say; It all happened so quickly - I didn't have a chance to think? Well, those days are over now - thanks to our Last‑Minute‑Re‑Think package. Here's how it works; a small device, implanted harmlessly in your brain, monitors the amount of adrenalin being released into your bloodstream. Once the level reaches a certain, pre‑set amount, the device injects a small dose of Super‑Speed directly into your brain. Super‑Speed is a compound, developed by our own highly trained team of research scientists, which will increase the speed of your brain a thousandfold. The compound only lasts for a tiny fraction of a second, but because your brain is working so quickly it will seem like anything up to one hundred and twenty seconds - that's right - a full two minutes! You know what it's like; you're in a stressful situation, every second counts, you need an immediate answer, and then ... suddenly, you have an extra two minutes to review the problem, weigh up the pros and cons, and come up with the ideal solution. Since its launch, earlier this year, the Last‑Minute‑Re‑Think package has saved hundreds of lives, and given thousands of people the time they need to make the right decision. Look for our full‑page advertisement in the Yellow Pages, call your local distributor and talk to one of our friendly salespersons about our fantastic credit schemes."

The voice paused, and then continued more officially. "We are obliged to inform you that use of this product could, in extreme cases, cause a degree of frustration during the lead‑up to orgasm. However, statistics show that very few people ever achieve the level of sexual arousal needed to trigger the Super‑Speed release. ... Last‑Minute‑Re‑Think and Super‑Speed are registered trade‑marks of the Better Life Corporation and are covered under a world‑wide patent. ... This post‑hypnotic announcement will now be removed from your brain and the Super‑Speed trigger will be de‑activated. ... Due to the length of this announcement your two minutes have now expired."

Instantly Andrew felt a heavy blow to his shoulder and he fell tumbling to the ground. He felt himself roll over the edge of the kerb. His belated scream was swallowed up by the roar of an approaching car; the roar was quickly replaced by a shrill screech of tires on asphalt. Andrew opened his eyes and saw a car, all four wheels locked in a skid, bearing down on his outstretched left leg.

 Andrew passed out before the wheel even hit.

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