Part 22 (1/2)

'So everyone knows being up a hill is vital... f.e.c.kin' vital vital, mind, in these situations.'

Buckeye was miffed. 'I didn't know it. So that's not everyone, is it?'

'Do you know it now?'

'I suppose so.'

'Well, that is everyone then, isn't it?'

Hillman took no joy from his victory in this little verbal spat. This was supposed to be a tranquil settlement. There were not supposed to be any spats.

'I don't see what's so good about this hill,' said Buckeye sulkily. 'Some of us are wearing loafers. And there are a lot of sharp stones out here. The soles on these things are like paper.'

'I wore my golf shoes,' said Buff with a bloodthirsty grin. 'So I can stomp on these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Mash their brains.'

Guide Note: Buff Orpington happened to be a direct descendant of Sigurd, the n.o.ble Viking warrior. Mr Orpington was not aware of this; all he knew was that he often added honey to his beer and fantasized about chopping his wife's pigtails off with an axe. He would later have his race memories extracted by a hybrid Babel fish and take to wearing sealskin leggings on the golf course.

Hillman realized then how quickly the coming confrontation could get out of hand. 'Hold up there, boyo. There'll be no brain mas.h.i.+ng. For one thing, the theatre nurses are shacked up with a couple of caddies in the fifteenth bunker and, for another, we are not working cla.s.s here. No fighting unless absolutely necessary.'

'Okay, Hillman,' said Buff, chastened. 'What if they insult us? Or maybe our grandparents?'

Hillman's cheeks lost their usual rosy hue. 'If anyone insults my Na... eh... grandmother, then I crack his skull.'

The Nanites were not the only ones watching the highway. A small group of lithe, hungry carnivores squatted in the dense vegetation at the tunnel mouth, strong fingers curled, tendons tight in antic.i.p.ation of the attack. One, a hulking creature, raised a crust of bread to his mouth, tearing it with strong teeth, only to have it grabbed from his hand by the pack's leader.

'What do you think you're doing?' asked the leader, who was called Lewis Tydfil.

'I need energy,' replied his subordinate, who only used one name: Pex.

'But that's bread.'

'So?'

'Carbohydrates after three p.m.? Are you insane?'

'It's just one crust. That's all.'

Tydfil held up the bread for all the personal trainers and beauticians to see. 'One crust. That's all it is. Do you know how many spoons of sugar there are in this one crust? Do any of you know?'

'Two?' ventured Pex.

'Seven!' shrieked Tydfil. 'Seven. You eat this after three and you might as well shove a sugar pump up your a.r.s.e.'

'Come on, Lewis.'

'Fifty push-ups, on your knuckles. Go.'

Pex scowled. 'I was hungry. I'm fed up of picking fruit from the trees. I want something fresh-baked or cooked.'

'That's why we're here. Now get going on those push-ups.'

Pex caught the eye of a manicurist that he'd taken a fancy to. Her nails looked like they had been dipped first in blood, then diamonds. He didn't really like the idea of humiliating himself in front of her.

'No, Tydfil. Go hump yourself. Who made you leader?'

Lewis Tydfil drew himself up to his full height, bending one knee to show off his gastrocnemius. 'I made myself leader on account of my qualifications.'

'I have qualifications.'

'You're a fitness instructor fitness instructor,' said Tydfil in a tone usually a.s.sociated with murderous dictators, serial killers or ex-girlfriends' handsome boyfriends. 'Any moron can spend a weekend in a c.r.a.ppy gym and become a fitness instructor fitness instructor.'

'I have a diploma.'

'I have a degree,' thundered Tydfil.

'I specialize in kettle bells.'

Tydfil trumped him again. 'I am an expert in the Kinesis Wall and and I can take GP referrals.' I can take GP referrals.'

Pex drew a rolled-up magazine from the front of his shorts, which was a bit of a let-down for the manicurist.

'I did a Men's Health Men's Health pictorial. Look, there's me on the front.' pictorial. Look, there's me on the front.'

Tydfil put the final nail in his rival's coffin. 'I was the fitness adviser on a reality show. We had soap stars!'

There was no recovering from that. Pex dropped to his knuckles and began counting off the push-ups in sets of ten.

'Good,' said Tydfil. 'Now the rest of you, stay hydrated and do your stretches. They will be here soon.' He checked a few of his comrades. 'We're fading here. Some camouflage, please.'

Two beauticians, with spray-tan tanks strapped to their backs, painted stripes along the trainers' limbs.

A power walker emerged from the trees. 'They're coming down the highway. Jean Claude is in the last cart.'

'Okay, everyone,' said Lewis Tydfil. 'This is it. All we need to do is s.n.a.t.c.h Jean Claude and it's wholewheat crepes for everyone. Let's warm up with a slow jog and then charge on my signal.'

'What is your signal?' asked Pex, from the high point of a push-up.

'I will shoot you in the head with my starter's pistol.'

'What?'

'Or maybe I will just say charge charge. Any more questions?'

Pex's chin dipped low to the ground. 'Nope. I got it.'

Tydfil's smile was wide and perfect. 'Good. Now come on everybody, lift those knees. Push it out.'

The personal trainers seemed to come out of nowhere, ripping into the last golf cart as soon as it cleared the tropical forest's fringe.

'What the...' yelped Buckeye. 'Did you see that? Did everyone see what happened?'