NINE
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As Mr Blair's voice echoes into silence, Elton John gives his biggest ever performance. He opens with the first words—Goodbye England's Rose—of his rewritten version of one of Diana's favourite songs, "Candle in the Wind". Billions around the world sing with him and remember the 'loveliness we've lost'.

In Hyde Park, many watching on giant videos weep uncontrollably.

News of the World
7th September 1997

"IT'S NOT THE SPEED that kills you, it's what's in the speed, right?" Sagely Shakey Mo contemplated his adulterated stash. "You want to do something about that nose, Mr C."

Jerry dabbed at his face with the wet kleenex Trixi had given him. For a few moments he had bled spontaneously from all orifices.

"Better now?" Bishop C looked up from the month-old Mirror he had found. It was his first chance to read one of his own columns, God the Pal. He was getting along famously with the newcomers. They understood all about Christian Relativism, Consumer Faith and Fast Track Salvation. They had read his Choice In Faith and other pamphlets. They were considering tempting him to transfer and become their padre. Trixi was even now involved in negotiations with her opposite number. They used the can as their unit of currency.

Not having the stomach to finish them off, the Dianistas had brought a few of their better looking prisoners with them. The allies now stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down at the foxhole they had filled with the cringing youngsters.

Mo felt about inside his coat and came out with a small, clear glass medicine bottle whose top had been carefully sealed with wax.

"See that?" He brandished the vial at the baffled prisoners. "See that?

"You know what that is? Do you? You fucking wouldn't know, would you? That, my dirty little republican friends, is one of HER tears." With his other hand he unslung his weapon.

As they heard his safeties click off, the half-starved boys and girls began to move anxiously in the trench, as if they might escape the inevitable.

"She fucking wept for you, you fuckers." Mo's eyes shone with reciprocal salt.. "You fucking don't deserve this. But SHE understood compassion, even if you don't."

The big multifire MKO made deep, throaty noises as it sent explosive shells neatly into each tender body. They arced, twitched, were still. Nobody had had to spend much energy on it. It was a ritual everyone had come to understand.

Mo slung the smoking gun onto his back again.

"You want to search them?" He winked at Trixi. "I haven't touched the pockets."

His visionary eyes looked away into the distance. Killing always heightened his sense of time.

Bishop Beesley murmured over the corpses while Trixi slipped into the trench and collected what she wanted. "It was a culture of self-deception," he said.

Trixi pulled herself up through the clay. "Isn't that the definition of a culture?"

Apologising for the effect of the cold weather, Bishop Beesley urinated discretely into the pit.

Jerry turned away. He was asking himself a novel question. Was everything going too far?