John looked at the joint and shook his head. “Not exactly the proper sound,” Keith went on, “but it’s got a good beat and you can dance to it. A-hahaha…”
For once, his laughter was forced. John continued to silently stare at the burning amphitheater. Firelight reflected off the treetops, silhouetting figures rushing back and forth past die stage; the air smelled of burning wood. The Titanthrops had managed to muster a bucket brigade from various musicians and standbys, but it didn’t look as if it was doing much good. Graceland’s amphitheater was well on its way to becoming history; it would take much more man the King’s considerable charisma to rebuild the venue. Keith picked up the knife and toyed with it, almost as if he were considering a quick round of mumblety-peg. “You could have stopped him, y’know,” he said quietly.
John looked sharply at him. “I mean,” Keith continued, “I saw you two out there having a chat, so I suppose you must have known what was going to happen….”
“Not worth killing him, though.”
“Hmm, got a point there. But why didn’t you at least let on to the rest of us?”
“Didn’t really think he meant it. Not until it was too late.” John thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Not sure if it would have made any difference. Elvis would have thrown ‘im off the island, but that wouldn’t have been the end of it. Even if we had stopped him this time, he would have just returned later.”
His gaze returned to the flames. “This way, the arseholes got what they wanted. They won’t be back again.”
“Right.” Keith stuck the knife into the ground between his legs, then sucked another hit off the joint and offered it again to John. John looked at it for a moment,
100
Alien Steele
then pinched it out of the drummer’s fingers.”Well, I suppose it makes a daft sort of sense….”
“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you now?”
Keith exhaled and scowled at him. “What do I look like, a narco?” He shook his head. “But what makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”
John tsked, letting the joint burn between his fingers. “Here, mate. You should know better than that. You can’t kill rock ‘n’ roll that easy.” He looked at the joint again, then stubbed it out on the ground. “I mean, you can ban it from school and burn all the Beatles records and get the holy rollers to carry on about how it’s the devil’s music and so forth, but it’s a tough beast to knock off.”
He waved a hand at the bonfire. “So they torch a stage. Big hairy deal. We can always build another. Rock ‘n’ roll will never die.”
“If you say so.” Keith picked up the joint again, straightened out the bend in the paper, and carefully relit it. From somewhere far off, they heard another harsh scream. John idly wondered if it was Jim….
“Next time, though,” Keith muttered, “you wonder if we can get Elvis to sing?,”
John smiled slyly. “Only if he gives me back my glasses,” he said, watching the smokes and flames rising into the first light of dawn over the endless River.
“Yeah,” said Keith. “Right. And me gold tooth…”
“Now don’t start with that gold tooth shit again….”
Every Man A God
Mike Resnick and Barry N. Malzberg
Selous crept silently down the heavily wooded trail, shooting an occasional glance behind him. He wasn’t especially worried; the rustle of the dried leaves and branches would alert him if his pursuer was getting too close.
He came to a small stream, stopped to slake his thirst, then waded halfway across it, turned to his left, and began walking down the middle of it. He continued for a quarter of a mile, then finally climbed out.
The bush was denser on the other side, and he had more difficulty passing through it. He looked off into the distance with practiced eyes, found the crooked tree that he had spotted before entering the wooded depression, and using it as his landmark, made a large semicircle around the worst of the thornbush.