rr.armageddonthemusical-第1节

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　　　Planet　Earth　rolled　on　in　ever　decreasing　circles　around　the　sun。　As　it　had　been　carrying　on　in　this　fashion　for　more　years　than　anyone　cared　to　remember；　there　seemed　no　cause　for　immediate　alarm。　Not　that　things　were　exactly　a　bundle　of　laughs　down　on　old　terra　firma　at　the　present　time；　oh　dear　me；　no。　Things　had　never　been　quite　the　same　since；　in　a　moment　of　gay　abandonment；　outgoing　US　president　Wayne　L。　Wormwood　had　chosen　to　press　the　nuclear　button　just　as　the　New　Year　bells　were　gaily　chiming　in　the　arrival　of　the　twenty…first　century。
　　　This　generally　unwele　turn　in　events　had　caught　many　with　their　trousers　well　and　truly　down　and　had　definitely　taken　the　edge　off　much　of　the　auld　lang　syning。　But　it　did；　at　least；　offer　followers　of　the　late　great　Nostradamus　the　dubious　satisfaction　of　spending　their　final　four　minutes　saying　'I　told　you　so'　to　anyone　who　seemed　inclined　to　listen。
　　　The　Nuclear　Holocaust　Event；　as　the　media　later　dubbed　it；　was　a　somewhat　noisy　and　unsettling　affair；　and　was　considered　by　the　naturally　pessimistic　to　be　'the　end　of　civilisation　as　we　know　it'。　Of　course　it　was　nothing　of　the　kind　and　a　surprising　number　of　folk　did　e　out　of　it　relatively　unscathed；　if　not　altogether　unplaining。　The　governments　of　the　day　rose　to　the　occasion　with　such　remarkable　aplomb　that　one　might　have　been　forgiven　for　thinking　that　they　were　expecting　it　all　along。　Although　the　water　was　a　bit　iffy　and　lamb　looked　like　being　off　the　menu　for　some　time　to　e；　the　TV　was　back　on　within　the　week；　which　can't　be　bad　by　any　reckoning。　And　it　was　encouraging　to　note　that　not　only　had　unemployment　been　cut　at　a　stroke；　as　had　long　been　promised；　but　racial　intolerance　ceased　virtually　overnight；　mankind　now　being　united　beneath　the　banner　of　a　single　colour。　A　rather　unpleasant　shade　of　mould　green。
　　　But；　as　someone　almost　said；　you　can't　please　all　of　the　people　all　of　the　time。　And；　even　now；　fifty　years　on；　with　the　smoke　beginning　to　clear；　radiation　on　its　way　down　and　that　nebulous　something；　oft　referred　to　as　normal　service；　restored；　there　were　still　no　outward　signs　of　euphoria　evident　upon　the　faces　of　Mr　and　Mrs　Joe　Public。　Not　that　anyone　was　actually　heard　to　plain；　and　why　should　they？　Today's　nuclear　family　had　very　much　to　be　grateful　for。　Three　square　meals　a　week；　unlimited　cable　television；　a　constant　room　temperature；　low　overheads　and　free　waste　disposal。　And　leisure　time　had　really　e　into　its　own。
　　　Of　course；　the　prospect　of　spending　your　brief　span　banged　up　in　a　bomb…proof　bunker；　watching　TV　and　awaiting　further　developments；　was　not　everyone's　cup　of　enzo…protein　synthatea。　But　you　did；　at　least；　have　the　satisfaction　of　knowing　that；　even　here；　you　could　play　your　part　in　the　glorious　rebuilding　scheme。
　　　Active　Viewing　was　now　the　name　of　the　game；　down　below。　The　console　of　the　TV　terminal　put　everything　that　was　left　of　the　world　at　the　finger　stumps　of　the　bunker…bound。　And　there　was　a　great　deal　to　see。　The　re…education　programmes；　the　devotional　exercises；　the　food　operas；　the　game　shows；　not　to　mention　the　public　service　broadcasts。　It　was　all　there；　and　the　choice　of　what　you　watched；　and　when；　was　all　yours。　A　constitutional　right。　All　the　government　asked　was　that　you　did　watch。　So；　as　an　incentive　and　to　ensure　just　reward；　they　had　instituted　a　system　which　was；　in　its　way；　every　bit　as　fundamentally　brilliant　and　divinely　inspired　as　had　been　the　wheel　clamp　in　twentieth…century　London。
　　　Every　TV　terminal　now　had　an　inbuilt　Electronic　Eye　Scanning　Point　Indicator；　or　EYESPI　for　short。　This　marvel　of　modern　technology　was　capable　of　recognising　the　viewer　by　the　individual　patterns　of　their　irises；　iris　'signatures'　having；　of　course；　been　registered　at　birth　with　the　mother　puter。　Once　recognition　had　been　established；　this　ingenious　little　doodad　totted　up　the　number　of　weekly　viewing　hours　being　put　in　by　the　active　viewer　in　question。　Once　these　were　logged；　food；　medical　supplies　and　rehousing　credits　then　could　be　allocated　accordingly。
　　　It　was　a　wonderful　system：　unbiased；　democratic；　free　for　all　to　take　advantage　of　and　with　an　obvious　appeal　to　mankind's　naturally　petitive　spirit。　So　wonderful　was　it　in　fact；　that　the　TV　stations　felt　impelled　to　extol　its　virtues　every　hour　upon　the　hour。　Its　simple　majesty　being　summed　up；　rather　succinctly　（and　not　a　little　poignantly）　in　the　famous　hymn　jingle；　'The　more　you　view　the　more　you　do；　the　more　we　vet　the　more　you　get。'　（No。　4302；　New　World　TV　Hymnal。）
　　　But；　as　has　previously　been　stated；　pleasing　all　the　people　all　of　the　time　is　an　inplete　science。　And　so　this　system；　as　near　to　perfect　as　any　that　can　be　imagined；　had　its　dissenters。　Not　that　any　of　them　actually　came　out　into　the　open　to　plain　about　it；　of　course。　No　chance　of　that。　They　were　far　too　busy　glued　to　their　TV　screens　in　a　desperate　attempt　to　clock　up　sufficient　rehousing　credits。
　　　
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　　　There　are　only　five　great　men　and　three　of　them　are　hamburgers。　Don　Van　Vliet
　　　Back　in　those　carefree　days　of　the　1980s　it　was　very　much　the　vogue　amongst　the　well…to…dos　to　seek　out　dilapidated　character　properties　for　conversion。　Medieval　timber…framed　barns；　oast　houses；　clapped　out　windmills；　all　were　considered　dead　chic。　And　you　really　weren't　anybody　if　you　didn't　possess；　at　the　very　least；　a　Wesleyan　chapel　with　all　its　bits　and　bobs　intact；　that　you　had　painstakingly　tortured　into　a　design　studio；　plete　with　en　suite　bathrooms；　fitted　kitchen　and　solarium。
　　　Few　there　were　with　sufficient　foresight　to　consider　what　the　twentieth　century　itself　might　offer　in　the　way　of　character　property。　In　fact；　it　wasn't　until　well　into　the　1990s　that　the　potential　of　such　derelict　period　pieces　as　supermarkets；　Habitat　stores；　fast　breeder　reactors　and　battery　chicken　houses　was　fully　exploited。　By　the　year　2050；　however；　there　was　hardly　a　building　standing　above　ground　that　hadn't　been　mandeered　and　converted。
　　　Rex　Mundi　occupied　an　apartment　built　high　in　the　north…west　corner　of　Odeon　Towers。　The　building　was　of　the　pre…NHE　persuasion　and　had　long　ago　been　a　cinema。
　　　Rex　shared　his　living　room　with　a　weighty　section　of　mock　Rococo　ceiling　cornice　and　an　enormous　gilded　cherub。　This　grinning　monstrosity　had　once　bestowed　its　distant　smile　upon　several　generations　of　cinema…going　heads。　Now　it　stared　with　equal　cheer；　if　somewhat　foreshortened　vision；　into　the　ragged　length　of　sacking　which　served　Rex　as　carpet。　But　it　was　a　small　price　to　pay　for　overground　acmodation。　Six　floors　beneath　Mrs　Maycroft　shared　her　rooms　with　several　rows　of　cinema　seats；　and　the　young　woman　who　lived　in　the　tobacco　kiosk　never　plained。　As　for　the　old　couple　who　had　been　allocated　the　gents'　toilet；　well　that　didn't　bear　thinking　about。　All　in　all　Rex　had　done　quite　well　for　himself。
　　　On　this　particular　morning；　Rex　sat　in　his　homemade　armchair；　facing　the　flickering　TV　screen。　His　was　the　classic　seated　posture　of　the　Active　Viewer。　Relaxed　yet　attentive；　right　thumb　and　forefinger　about　the　remote　controller；　expression　alert；　eyes　wide。　But　here　all　similarities　ended。　Rex　Mundi　was　fast　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　Re