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asleep。
His old Uncle Tony had taught him the technique when he was but a leprous lad； and there was no doubt that it did pay big dividends。 It had already earned Rex sufficient rehousing credits to get him overground and he actually possessed a surplus of food and medico rations。 His generosity with these made him quite popular and respected locally。 But the greatest benefit to Rex was that it left him plenty of time to indulge in his own personal studies。 These centred upon a book his Uncle Tony had bequeathed to him； a curious volume entitled The Suburban Book of the Dead。 Uncle Tony had pressed the crumbling tome upon Rex with the simple statement； 'Knowledge is power'。
Shortly after this； he had spontaneously busted while watching his favourite game show。 The way he would have wanted to go；' Aunty Norma put it。
Rex set to work to unravel the inner mysteries of the old book。 But it was no easy matter。 The language was archaic； penned somewhere during the middle years of the previous century； and much of it left Rex pletely baffled。 Yet he felt that he owed it to the old boy； who had； after all； passed on to Rex a most efficient method for beating the system； whilst leaving little else behind as a testament to his existence but for a pair of smoking boots and a charred remote controller。
Of Rex's rooms； there was little that could be argued in their favour。 They were above ground； dry for part of the year and sufficient to his needs。 The bedroom housed a mouldy bunk； the living room an armchair and a TV terminal。 But for the gilded cherub； the only anomaly that would have drawn the visitor's eye； should Rex have ever had a visitor； which he never did； was a mural which occupied an entire wall of the living room。 This was indeed the proverbial thing of beauty； so real as to be virtually photographic。 Beneath a sky of the deepest blue； white crested waves broke upon a beach of golden sand； where tall palms bent under the weight of ripening coconuts； upon the horizon a liner cruised； a single plume of white smoke rising from a funnel。
Although Rex enjoyed looking at the mural； he didn't pretend to understand it。 He had never seen the sea and the liner puzzled him greatly。 Why； he asked himself； should anyone build a factory so far from the nearest subway terminus？
The masterpiece had been painted for him； in exchange for food； by a young man who had taken up temporary lodgings on the sixth…floor landing。 Rex never knew the young man's name and once the painting had been pleted； he had left without a word。 The painting was an enigma； but it touched some distant chord in Rex and brought a considerable brightness into the otherwise gloomy surroundings。
As the day's first newscast began； a tiny doodad； concealed in the chair's back； sang happy awakenings into Rex's cerebral cortex and drew the lad awake。 Rex yawned and thumbed the remote controller。 The smiling face of the lady newscaster diminished and was gone。 Rex stumbled blindly towards the bathroom； which； along with the kitchen； was too unspeakable to merit a mention。 Here he bathed his eyes and scratched at the stubble on his chin。 As sight slowly returned； he glimpsed his cloudy image in the shaving mirror。
'Damnably handsome；' he assured himself。
And indeed Rex wasn't a bad…looking specimen by any account。 A trifle grey…green about the jowls； but nothing a quick spray of Healthiglo Pallorgone couldn't deal with。 And he did bear an uncanny resemblance to a certain Harrison Ford of ancient days。 This might just have been the product of happy coincidence； but the fact that his mother had been allowed access to the state sperm banks； whose stocks had been cryogenically laid down in the 1990s； probably played some part in it。
Rex attended to his daily toilet； picking off any flaky bits and doing what little he could to make himself look presentable。 From the three he possessed； he chose the shirt which was the least crisp beneath the armpits and gave it a dusting with Bugoff Personal Livestock Exterminator。 Once clad in his most dashing apparel； he opened a tin of synthafood and took breakfast。 Unfortunately； the label had e off and Rex was unable to identify the contents。 His morning repast pleted； he fought off the feelings of nausea which inevitably followed mealtimes。 Today they were somewhat more acute than usual； Rex having just consumed a tin of paint。
Rex belched mightily and zipped himself into his radiation suit。 Screwing on the weatherdome； he stepped through the airlock； primed the anti…theft devices on his front door and set off down the stairs to face the new day。
And it wasn't a bad one by any account。 Although the clouds hung but a few hundred feet above the rooftops and the crackles of the early electrical storm offered uncertain illumination； at least it wasn't raining。 Rex switched on his chestlights and pressed on through the murk towards the nearby subway terminus。 Today was to be the first day of his first…ever job and he had no wish to be late。
'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 congr