fingers into a Gothic arch and kept himself to himself。
'We don't have an inexhaustible budget。' Mungo did piercing eye…stares at the board's newest member。 'In fact； anything but。'
'All taken into consideration sir。 FX； if you understand me。'
'I don't； Morgawr。'
'Special effects； sir。'
Mungo sighed deeply。 'Continue for now； Morgawr。 I will stop you when I'm fed up with it。'
'Indeed； sir；' Morgawr paced about the boardroom； like a Hollywood lawyer of old。 Placing his hands upon leafy chairbacks； punching the air； turning to face the window； flexing his shoulders。 It was all too excruciating。 'What we have here is a situation；' he said at great length。
'Is that it？' Mungo asked。
Fergus； to whom Mungo's glance momentarily turned； twirled his forefinger against his forehead and said； 'Stone bonkers。'
'A situation which offers the series an opportunity to rise to heights as yet undreamed of。 To scale summits； hitherto considered unscalable。 To venture into territories。。。'
'Warily avoided by the sane of mind？' Fergus suggested。
'Cosmic cataclysm；' crowed Morgawr。 'And all live on screen。'
'Did you have anything specific in mind？' Mungo asked。
'Apocalypse。' Jason Morgawr made extravagant gestures with his arms。 'Picture this in your minds。 Earth's final hour； battle rages； bombs go bang and boom and whoosh and。。。' （'We have a picture of the bombs； yes；' said Mungo。）'。。。 the final showdown between good and evil。 Will good succeed？ Evil has the upper hand； missiles are flying； bombs going。。。' （'Yes。'） '。。。 fire and brimstone。 And what is this？ The heavens are opening； a trumpet speaks； and across the clouds the riders e。 Angels with swords of fire。 Michael and all the saints。 Celestial chariots bearing down and at what？ Up from the bottomless pit e the hordes of hell； led by the angel of death himself。 With the skull face and the horrible claws。' Jason mimed that bit。 （Lavinius Wisten said； 'Oh； my。'） 'The battle rages across the sky； the armies of God and the legions of the Devil。 And are the baddies winning？ Surely not。 But they are； the terrible cutting and hewing and chopping。' Jason paused a moment to draw breath。 The board members watched him； uniformly dumbstruck and open…mouthed。 Jason plunged on； 'And hacking。 The saints are losing； evil crushes them。 It's terrible； terrible。' Heads began to nod； it was terrible。 'Then look up； what is this？ The sky parts； bursts of golden rays； more angels and a great light streaming down。 Can it be？ Yes； yes 。。。 it is He； upon the beryl throne； shining like a thousand suns。。。 the second e。。。 the second e。。。'
'Morgawr！' The voice was all Mungo's。 The board members all went aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw。 'Morgawr。 The second ing； fire and brimstone； angels and devils and bombs that go crash bang wallop。 All these things are included in your projected budget？ Your projected modest little budget？ Your projected strike…me…down…I…don't…know…how…they…could…do…that…on…the…money little budget？ Your。。。'
'Already been taped； sir。' All eyes turned upon Jason Morgawr。
Mungo said； 'What did you say？'
'Already been taped。'
Fergus Shaman waggled his hand in the air。 'I think what Mr Morgawr is trying to tell us is that he had already recorded the entire caboodle with some enthusiastic and religiously minded members of the Earthers Inc。 Amateur Dramatic Society。'
'Indeed；' said Mungo。 'Just as I thought。' He turned toward Morgawr。 'You can't be serious！' he screamed。
'No； truly sir； it will hardly cost the station a bean。 You see we recorded it weeks ago。 It was going to be the Big…nose…mass Show。 Armageddon； the Musical we call it。' Mungo was beginning to make small grunting sounds。
'And sir； we can holographically project it over Earth。 Even the Earthers themselves won't be able to tell it from the real thing。 It's all Holy Writ stuff； and I've cut in lots of old stock footage to beef it up。 All it costs is time to mix it with the real events on Earth。'
'These actors。。。' Fergus put in。
'Solid； dedicated； true in word and deed to the Holy Writ。'
Mungo turned the tip of a high…flying moustachio。 'Hm；' said he。 'Morgawr。'
'Yes sir？'
'Morgawr。。。 Jason； I like this。 I like this very much indeed。'
'Oh； thank you sir。' Morgawr preened his collars。 'Oh； thank you。'
Fergus raised a very tentative finger。 'If I might just ask one small question。'
Mungo nodded。 'Make it small。'
'Regarding the Second ing。 In fact； shall I say； regarding the Second e。 The actor playing this somewhat crucial； nay extremely crucial role。 How might we be absolutely sure that he could be trusted？'
Jason Morgawr pinched reverently at his nose。 'Because；' said he； 'You have my word upon it。 ；' would never let you down。'
23
Whether you're rich； or whether you're poor； it's nice to be rich。 Max Miller
Rex Mundi crept along a plushly carpeted corridor； seeking his destiny。 Rex； whose character must now be well known to the reader。 His failings； few as they are； forgivable considering the circumstances。 His valour tried and tested。 His integrity absolute。 His plexion； although scabious； leaving his good looks romantically untarnished。 His underpants unchanged from page one。 Rex continued to creep along。
In the changing distances； station employees came and went about their particular businesses。 Well dressed； clear skinned； keen； dedicated； enthusiastic。 'Bastards；' muttered Rex。 He checked his chronometer。 It was still on his wrist。 Apart from that not much was doing。 The sign on the door ahead said DO NOT ENTER； but Rex didn't hear it。 The carpet spoke fluently of a more glorious age and the walls told the informed observer that rag…rolling was back in fashion。 They really needn't have bothered。 Rex was deaf to the whole damn works。 For； as it has been said； Rex Mundi was a man with a mission。
Elvis Aron Presley （it really is a matter for great debate whether it was actually Aron or Aaron） gazed lovingly into a mirror which had once belonged to an Arab prince。
A forty…minute walkabout through the splendours which now adorned the caverns； would have had Lucinda Larnbton delving into her wardrobe for inspiration。 Which possibly dates things a bit。 Elvis looked good。 Spotless。 Although a Rock 'n' Roller far from home； the golden one； now sprout…invested and wised up to a degree previously considered unthinkable by the likes of Albert Goldman； was squaring up for the big showdown。
'Shall we go for it？' he asked his integral veg。
'All tooled up； chief？'
The literary camera pulled out to reveal Elvis's duds。 White and sequined and for the most part bullet…proof。 The shoes were somewhat special； the Time Sprout having permitted Elvis a brief swish into an alternative future where a wasted mannish race was unable to get about without the aid of pneumatic footware of a self…propellant nature。 Elvis zipped aside flap pockets revealing an arsenal of super…weapons； mostly of Phnaargian construction。
'Hot to trot；' said he； springing about in his ten…league boots。
'Then let's make tracks and go for the Big One。'
'I can dig it；' said the once and future King。
Rex pushed open the door to the control room。 The assistant controller looked up momentarily from his desk。
'Restricted area。 Sorry friend； try down the hall。'
Rex flashed his security tag。 'Rex Mundi； brother of Gloria。 On special assignment for the Dalai。'
'Sorry friend。 Stay quiet then； rehearsals you know。'
'Yes I know。 I'll just sit down here then。' Rex indicated a vacant chair。
The AC； being aware of its vacancy； didn't give it a glance。
'Big show tonight？' Rex asked； when fy。
'Ssssh。'
'Sorry。'
'Big isn't the word。' The AC touched lighted panels； did pannings ups and fadings outs and all manner of other technical things。
'How big is big； currently？'
'Not all that big when considered in universal terms； I suppose。 But big for the show。'
'Ah；' Rex almost scratched his head； but thought better of it。 'That big or small； as you choose to consider it。'
'About the same。 Routine for some； outstanding for others； a right bastard for couple of Devianti； and as usual； a huge ego…trip for one in particular。 Hold on for just a moment；' the AC made several self…assured button pushes。 One plunged the studio into darkness； another broadcast the sounds of his flatulence to the entrance hall。
'I have to do that every five minutes or so；' he explained。 'The union is in dispute with the management。'
'Why are you always in dispute with the management？' Rex asked。 'I always wondered。'
The AC shrugged。 'Never given it a lot of thought。 The way I see it； it's the duty of every working man to be in dispute。 It's our legacy。 Almost a divine right。'
'But surely you're treated well enough。'
'Certainly。 Extended credit。 Overtime bonuses。 Access to the nympharium。 Food's good； too。'
'So why are you always in dispute？'
'A sense of duty？' the AC suggested。 'You're not a scab； are you？'
'Certainly not。 Actually I'm a revolutionary。'
'A what？'
'A revolutionary。 I'm going to help overthrow the system。'
The AC threw up his hands in horror。