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'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。 In doing so he cut off the studio sound and left the rehearsing Lamarettes miming foolishly。
'Overthrow the system。' He retwiddled his dials。 'You can't do that。'
'But I thought you were against the management。'
'Yes； of course。 But you can't overthrow the system。 Oh； my dear paws。 Where would we all be？ What would we do？'
'You could go into dispute with the new management。'
'That might take years。 The thing requires a great deal of mutual understanding。 You have to build up a rapport。 No。 Revolution just won't do。 We can't have any of that。 I shall call down to security and have you removed at once。 You are obviously in need of treatment。'
'Do you see this？' Rex exhibited a handgun Elvis had thrust upon him。 'I can either shoot you or bop you on the head。 Which would you prefer？'
The AC mulled it over。 'Could you not perhaps bind and gag me； or even swear me to silence and pack me off to the canteen？' Rex raised an eyebrow which asked the question； would you？ The AC nodded gloomily。
'I think I'll plump for the bop on the head then。 But before you do I would just like to stress the extreme folly of revolution。 Firstly。。。'
Rex bopped him on the head and seated himself at the controls。 He had just pleted phase one of Mr Presley's revolutionary masterplan。 Where it was all going to lead now was very much in the lap of the Gods。
Mickey Malkuth stuck the business end of his electric truncheon up the left nostril of Rambo Bloodaxe。 'In answer to your question； 〃old bean〃； you will put on this suit because I tell you to。'
'I see；' Rambo said； nasally。 'That clarifies things no end。 Let's tog up then； Eric。 No need to keep the gentlemen waiting；'
Deathblade Eric perused the outfit which had been flung in his direction。 'Khaki。 It doesn't suit my colouring。 And the cut of the cloth。 Inferior；' He shook his head； spraying the onlookers with skull fragments。 'Do you have anything in royal blue？'
'Do you