taking topiary work； performed upon box hedges。 The svelte grass carpeting the floor was sewn with thyme； camomile and other fragrant herbs； which released aromatic essences when stepped upon。 Acacia Dealata and Aibizia Julibrissin flowered in weathered terracotta pots； arranged in pleasing positions to every corner of the room。 It was all very much just so。 But whether the members of the board； hunched sullenly in their box…hedge baronials； had any appreciation whatsoever for this Sissinghurst in the sky； must remain in some doubt。 For these were desperate men。 And he who had the most to lose was the most desperate of them all。
Mungo Madoc； station controller； surveyed his troops with a bitter eye。 Mungo was 'Earthish' to the very nostrils。 But for the greenly…dyed mustachios； waxed into the six points； befitting to his status； and the extraordinarily lush three…piece； clothing his ample frame； one might have taken him for an Earthman any day of the week。 Except possibly Tuesday。
Of the executive board； little can be offered to the reader in terms of their variance from established Earth type。 They averaged around the six…foot mark； some corpulent； others of that lean and hungry look once alluded to by a certain Phnaargian copy…writer of days gone by。 There were six of them in all； and a right surly…looking bunch they were too。 It may be of interest to note that while； at this time； all media on Earth was run by females of the species； here on Phnaargos； male chauvinism held sway。 And a woman's place was in the greenhouse。
Mungo tapped his trowel of office upon the shining table…top。 All conversation ceased as he drew breath and launched straight into the meat of the matter。 'Gentlemen；' he said； his voice having the not unexpected nasal quality of one addicted to the pleasures of orchid sniffing； 'gentlemen； we are in big schtuck here。'
Executive heads bobbed up and down appropriately。 At the far end of the table Diogenes 'Dermot' Darbo； naturally bald； but resplendent in a vine…hair…toupee said； 'Yes； indeedy。'
'Viewing figures have sunk to a point beneath which even the Fengorian Flatworm might find squeezing a somewhat hazardous affair。' There were some nervous titters amongst those few who hadn't heard the remark before。 'And so I'm holding this special council； that you may favour me with your propositions for the revitalization of the series。'
Mungo's team made encouraging faces。 But nobody spoke。
'You will offer me your proposals； I will mull them over and almost upon the instant decide who remains on the team； enjoying all the privileges； and who seeks new employment turning post in the nursery beds； enjoying the fresh air。'
The heads remained nodless but the brains within them pulsed with activity。
'I' m waiting； gentlemen。'
Hook…nosed Gryphus Garstang rose tentatively to his feet and raised an arm； gorgeously encased in spring…flowering cyclamen。 'What do you say to another war？' he asked brightly。
Mungo Madoc eyed the young man almost kindly。 'Another war？' said he； tucking a soft green sapling behind his left ear。 'If it hadn't been for your brilliant concept of World War Three to celebrate the arrival of the twenty…first century； we wouldn't be in this mess now。'
'I seem to recall that being a corporate decision；' Garstang replied； rattling his foliage in an agitated manner。
'And I seem to recall you insisting that you accept the TV awards at the celebration dinners。'
The hooknose reseated himself as Mungo continued； 'Garstang； you have been on the team for； how long is it now？'
'One hundred and eighty…seven Earth years。'
'And during this short period there have been no less than three world wars。'
'They've been very popular with the viewers。'
'That's as may be； but it surely can't have escaped your attention that the Earthers are a little hard…pressed for weapons at the moment。 What do you suggest they do； sling food tins at one another？'
Gryphus Garstang maintained a sulking silence。
'I think we should go for the love angle。' The voice belonged to Lavinius Wisten； a pale willowy wisp of a man； with the bearing of a poet and the sexual habits of a Fomahaunt Marshferret。 'Passion amongst the shelter…folk。 My team and I have e up with a scenario in which two proto…embryos bee separated accidentally at the sperm bank。 They grow up in separate shelters； then meet and fall in love； finally to discover that they are twins。 I'm also working on the possibility that they have a genetic mutation that makes them immune to radiation。 They leave the shelters and repopulate the Earth。 I thought we might call it Earth Two； The Sequel。'
Mungo Madoc sank into his chair and made plaintive groaning noises。
'Well； I think it's got everything going for it。'
'But it's not in the plot。'
'We could weave it in。'
'Weave it in？' Mungo raised himself up to an improbable height and blew exquisite pollen from his left nostril。 'How many times must I remind you that this series has an original script？'
'Oh； that again；' said Garstang； and immediately wished he hadn't。
'When our founder drew up the original script for The Earthers； it was written into the contract that； although a certain degree of creativity was allowable； the basic plot wasn't to be tampered with in any way。 This； you will recall； is referred to as Holy Writ。'
'And if I recall；' sneered the hooknose； 'it ends with a world war。'
'And if I recall；' said Calvus Cornelius； who felt that it was his turn to stick two pennyworth in； 'it was scheduled to end in the Earth year 999。'
There was a long silence； this was one of those things that it was not considered seemly to touch upon。 Cornelius could suddenly hear the call of the post beds。 'Or so Garstang is always saying；' he said rapidly。
'I never have；' Garstang rose with a flurry of heart…crossing。
'Gentlemen； gentlemen； this is getting us nowhere。 Surely one amongst you has something constructive to offer。' Mungo Madoc gazed at the blank faces。 His eyes soon caught upon that of Fergus Shaman； which appeared a little less blank than the rest。 It was smiling broadly。
'Fergus；' said Mungo； 'Fergus； do you have something to tell us？'
Fergus nodded brightly。 He was a curious fellow。 Somewhat lop…sided of face and bent of body； he carried about with him a mysterious air which； real or imagined； gave him a certain authority。 Mungo Madoc could never quite bring himself to call him Shaman； at least not to his face。
'I have the solution；' said Fergus Shaman。 That is all。'
'Then the floor is yours。' Mungo reseated himself； clasped his fingers before him on the tabletop and smiled the sweetest of smiles。
'Whether or not The Earthers was scheduled to end in 999； I don't know； neither in truth； do I care。' Ignoring the raised eyebrows； he continued； 'One thing I do know； is that it remains very much in all our interests to see that it doesn't end in the foreseeable future。' Eyebrows lowered； heads nodded slowly。 'The so…called Armageddon sequence must be postponed for as long as possible。 Indefinitely； if needs be。'
'But the viewing figures。。。' said Mungo。
'I am； of course； well aware of our dilemma。 The viewing public is a fickle creature； it loves its heroes and hates its villains。 Through the medium of constant re…runs it is also well aware of the story so far。 Let's not pretend that we haven't tampered with the plot。 We have； time and time again。'
'Out of the purest motives；' said Mungo Madoc。
'Be that as it may。 What I'm suggesting will e as a shock to some of you； but we are in a desperate situation。 It's a somewhat revolutionary approach； but I think it will pay off in the long run。'
'Go on then；' said Mungo； 'say your piece。'
'I'm proposing that we skip back one hundred years and change the plot。'
There is always a silence before the storm and indeed there was one now。 When the ensuing storm broke； it was a real belter。 Sheltering beneath an umbrella of facts； only known to himself； Fergus Shaman weathered it out。
'How？' said Mungo； when he was finally able to make himself heard。
'In the simplest terms available； we pick upon a popular character of the time； allow him to view the future； his own in particular； and offer him another chance。'
'Go on。'
'Well；' said Fergus； 'back in the 1950s there was a certain Elvis Presley。 Perhaps you recall him？'
'Big fat Northern Irish fellow； always shouting 〃down with the pope〃。'
'No；' Fergus shook his head； 'that was someone else entirely。'
'Sorry； they all look the same after a while。'
'This Elvis Presley was a leader of the nation's youth。 In 1958 he joined the American Army。 Many historians agree that this was the downfall of his career。 The expression 〃sold out〃 was one in popular use at the time。 However； in my new scenario； Elvis refuses to take the draft。 He is arrested and spends a short time in prison。 But the outcry from the teenage population is so great； that he is soon released。 He bees a figure in American politics and in 1963 bees president of the USA。'
'I know this Presley；' Garstang pipped in； 'he was a wally； by any account。'
'I have no wish