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'Morning Rex； phew what a scorcher； eh？' The voice on the open channel belonged to Thaddeus Decor； who lived in the Coca Cola machine on the street corner。
Rex offered him a cheery wave。 'Morning Thaddeus； how's the wife？'
'Her knee's a lot better； thanks to that gangrene jelly you let me have。'
'Glad to hear it。'
'Young Kevin is down with the mange again。'
'I'll drop you something in later。' Rex continued upon his way。 Thaddeus grinned toothlessly through his weather…dome。
'Thanks mate；' said he。 'You're a real toff。'
The passage leading into the subway was brightly lit by the techniglow of a hundred holographic advertising images。 Rex plodded through the smiling ghosts ignoring their jolly banter。 Once through decontamination he removed his weatherdome and queued for travel clearance。 When his turn came； he pressed his face to the EYESPI。 'Destination？' the automaton enquired。
'The Nemesis Bunker；' Rex replied； proudly。
Circuits purred； information exchanged； the electrical voice said； 'Thank you； Mr Mundi； you are cleared for travel。 Have another day。'
The morning train lurched painfully into the station and shuddered to a halt。 It was not unduly crowded and Rex chose a vacant corner of the seatless carriage to squat in。 The journey took a little over an hour； but it did at least offer Rex the opportunity to catch the morning newscast on the carriage TV； learn what was considered right with the world and clock up a few legitimate food and medico credits。
The newscast was much the same as ever。 Things were looking up。 The economy had never been healthier。 Production had reached a record level。 There had been several more authenticated sightings of blue sky。 The road cones were expected to e off the M25 at any time now。 Rex raised his eyes to the last one； but anything was possible。
The broadcast ended with a little bit of station propaganda； dressed in the guise of human interest story and ical tailpiece。 Today it concerned an old lady who had clocked up an unprecedented number of credits； watching a rival station。 So many； in fact； that the station's controller saw fit to visit her in person to offer his congratulations。 Eliciting no response at her bunker door； his associates had cut their way in。 And there was the old dear propped up before the screen； staring on oblivious。 She had been dead for three weeks。
'Predictable；' muttered Rex； who was sure that he had heard the tale before。 Happily； his stop came just as the station songsters were launching into an excruciating new ditty 'Every Mushroom Cloud has a Silver Lining'。 The train rattled into Nemesis Terminus； deftly sweeping aside any fallen objects。 Today only two antisocial types chose to make the morning leap to oblivion。 The driver considered this about average for the time of year and tuned the cab TV to his favourite foodie。
When the closing credits of her favourite show had finally rolled off the screen； the fashionable young woman behind the reception desk lowered the volume on her terminal。 With mock surprise； she stared at the young man who had been standing there for the last twenty minutes； patiently flicking dandruff from the interior of his weatherdome。
'What do you want？' she asked； without charm。
'Rex Mundi。' The lad smiled encouragingly towards the stone…faced harpy。
'So what？' There was something in the woman's tone that suggested to Rex that casual sex was probably out of the question。
'I'm expected； or was anyway。'
'You're late。'
Rex opened his mouth to speak； but thought better of it。 If the receptionist could carry on in this fashion； it was more than likely that she held considerable sway with some high muckamuck on the Nemesis board of directors； possibly even the Dalai Lama himself。 No doubt in a horizontal capacity； Rex concluded； inaccurately。
'I have an appointment to see Ms Vrillium。'
The receptionist gave her terminal console a desultory tap or two。
'Ah yes； you're。。。'
'Late？' Rex said。 'Perhaps if you would be so kind as to direct me to the office of the lady in question； I might make up a few lost minutes。'
'You'd never find it；' said the receptionist； sighing hopelessly。 'Others have tried。 Men； what good are they； eh？ One brain between the lot of them。' Rex examined his finger nails。 They didn't bear examination。
'Possibly someone might be kind enough to show me the way then。'
The receptionist peered about the otherwise deserted entrance hall。
'It would seem；' said she； at length； 'that all are engaged in their various business pursuits。 Perhaps you'd better e back some other time。'
Rex stared into the smiling face。 He could always make it look like an accident。 Say she just fell and broke her neck。 But then； what if he was discovered？ It could very easily spoil his chances of early promotion。 'Is my sister Gloria about？' he asked casually。
'Gloria？' The name took a moment or two to sink in； but when it finally did； the effect was nothing less than magical。 'Gloria Mundi？' said the receptionist in a still； small voice。 'Station controller？'
'Got her in one；' said Rex brightly。 'My sister； if you could just give her a buzz； I'm sure she wouldn't mind showing me the way。 It was she who arranged the interview； you see。'
The receptionist who personally conveyed Rex to the door of Ms Vrillium's office appeared to have undergone a miraculous transfiguration。 Having provocatively wiggled down the corridors before him； she now took her leave with a ely wink and a husky； 'See you later； big boy。'
Rex watched her depart。 What a charming woman； he thought； I know I'm just going to love working here。
It's surprising just how utterly wrong it's possible to be； when you really put your mind to it。 For whilst Rex stood in that corridor； regarding the receptionist's receding rear…end and considering the engaging possibilities of nepotism correctly applied； dark clouds were gathering upon the already darkened horizon。 Great forces were stirring beneath the Earth's surface； and in a distant part of the galaxy； plans were being hatched that would ultimately threaten the very fabric of universal existence。
Or so it says here。
If it's God's will； who gets the money？ Tony O'Blimey
If there is one factor which binds together all the really great religions of this world； it's that God created man in his own image。 Many cynical atheists loudly assert that the reverse is really the case； putting the whole thing down to egocentricity on the part of the believer。 But then what do atheists know about God anyway？ What these doubting Toms have failed to grasp is the hidden truth： God created man in his own image； because he had to。 The erect biped； head at the top； feet at the bottom； wedding tackle about halfway up； represents the universal archetype； when it es to the 'intelligent' being。 This fact has long been known to science…fiction afficionados and UFO contactees。 Alien beings； from no matter which part of the galaxy they might hail； inevitably bear a striking resemblance to man。 There are the occasional variations in height and cranial dimensions； but for the most part our cosmic cousins are a pretty reasonable facsimile of ourselves。 Many even speak good English； often with a pronounced American accent。 Such facts can hardly be argued with。 They are evidence； should any really be needed； of a cosmic masterplan； and sufficient in themselves to serve friend atheist up with a wok…load of egg。 Faces； for the use of。
What it all es down to； as it so often does； is the very beginning of the universe。 This； say the bigheads of the scientific fraternity； all began with a big bang。 Wrong！ The universe； in fact； began with the sound of a duck call； followed by a whistle and an enormous cosmic wind…break。 Had anyone been around at the time to overhear these sounds； they would probably have received a pretty good indication of what God had up his sleeve； amongst other places。
About five minutes after the burst of celestial flatulence； when the air had begun to clear a bit； things began to settle down into the shapes which were most fortable and efficient for them。 And so they remained。 No…one has yet improved upon the sphere as a planetary shape； nor the erect biped as its ruling species。 That's the way it is。 Like it； or lump it。 QED。
Certainly； some races evolved mentally a lot quicker than others。 The reason for this has e to be known as Duke's Principle； 'a man's gotta do； what a man's gotta do'。 Or to simplify it； they evolved quicker； because they had to。 It all depends very much upon what a particular planet has to offer in terms of pickable food； huntable animals； farmable lands and whatever。 The Trempish of Trempera； for instance； found themselves peting with huge armour…plated reptiles； carnivores with virtually impenetrable hides and seemingly insatiable appetites。 If the Trempish hadn't had the ingenuity to dig a series of baited dead…falls； distil an acid from the bark of a rare tree； tip their arrows with it and shoot the trapped beasties in their exposed pineal glands； they would surely have died out。 As it was； they hadn't； so they did！ Thus proving； that when a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do； he'd better pull his finger out and get on with it。
And so it was with the Phnaargs of Phnaargos。 Their 'gotta doing' was not immediately apparent。 They lived upon a gloriously verdant world； devoid of killer reptiles and flying scorpions； rich in natural vegetation； with a mild climate and some really knockout sunsets。 However； to wax biblical； this Eden was not without its serpent。 Only here it came in the form of the cathode ray tube。 Mankind didn't e across this miracle until its closing moments； but it wasn't so on Phnaargos。 For on Phnaargos； the cathode ray tube grew wild。 And so； at a time when humankind was still tossing rocks at the hairy elephants and experimenting with DIY in the family cave； the Phnaargs were watching TV。
Now； if it was strange that the cathode ray tube should grow wild upon a planet； then it is surely stranger still that the botanical equivalents of the video camera； the microphone； the mixing desk； the spotlight； the little monocular thing that a really duff director wears around his neck； and all the other paraphernalia necessary to television production； should similarly be blooming away； ready for the harvest。 In fact； many might be forgiven for finding it unlikely； to say the very least。 But the Almighty moves in mysterious ways； his wonders to perform。 And who are we to question his motives？
Now； with all this technology sprouting around them； one might also be forgiven for thinking that the Phnaargs were a 'race blessed of God'。 But； you'd be wrong on that one too。 For nothing could be further from the truth。 The Phnaargs were the first race ever to bee irrevocably hooked on television； the first to fall victim to the dangerous and terminally addictive radiations of the cathode ray tube。 And once infected at such an early stage in their development； they were well and truly done for。
Within a few short years of their discovery； the planet was literally forested with cultivated TV stations and the Phnaargs； almost slaves。 Those not engaged in full time viewing strove to supply the needs of those who were。 The needs soon became demands and the demands were wild。 For this was a young and primitive stock and it liked its TV meaty！
And so Duke's Principle came into effect upon Phnaargos。 The Phnaarg TV execs； finding that supply was far outstripped by demand； were forced to do something。 To boldly go where no man had gone before。 To seek out new worlds and new civilizations。 And televise them。
And such it was； that by a rare freak of chance； which suddenly makes all the foregoing relevant； the Phnaargs came across Planet Earth。 Here they found man； still stoning the mammoths； whacking up the murals and generally minding his own business。 Had he been allowed to carry on with these trivial pursuits； he would probably be doing so even now。 But the visiting Phnaargs were not slow to realize the potential of mankind's development as great TV material。 They wasted little time in setting up their horticultural transmitters and getting on with the sho