"01 - Armageddon, the Musical (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

The Buddhists, the Fundamentalists and the Jesuits.

Of course, it's to be doubted whether these plants could possibly have supplied the needs of the Earth's continually increasing population. So when the Nuclear Holocaust Event occurred, and production suddenly outstripped demand, many attributed this to the foresight of God. And the Big Three, now sole suppliers of the world's needs, felt no need to contradict them.

The governments of the post-NHE world sought bravely to regain control, but found themselves in for some rather unpleasant surprises. In Washington, Supreme Commander North threw open the doors of the Nuclear Emergency Supply Silo to reveal a million cable-television sets. Outgoing President Wormwood's legacy to the post-nuclear age.

In an attempt to restore the status quo, he called together every remaining member of the American Armed Forces. The minutes of their meeting remain on record. But what the thirteen men had to say to one another doesn't make for an entertaining read.

As a fully paid-up Buddhist, Supreme Commander North wasn't slow to realize upon which side his syntha-bread was buttered. A quick call on the hotline to Buddha Biological and the re-allocation of one million TV sets secured him the token position of President Elect for life.

For their part, the boys at Buddha, incapable of distributing a million TVs worldwide, struck up lucrative deals

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with Fundamental Foods and Jesuit Inc. to dispose of two-thirds of their unexpected windfall. Shortly thereafter, these found their way into the bunkers of the holocaust survivors. And the rest is history.

The EYESPI modifications were added a few years later, 'In an attempt to raise standards and morale, offer incentive and engender healthy competition.' And competition, healthy or otherwise, was something that the Big Three, now each with its own TV station, had become increasingly more involved in. And it was the game show that became the hub of this competitive universe.

The Jesuits' Auto-da-fe show had its followers and the Fundamentalists' Whoops, There Goes an Atheist made a reasonable showing. But it was Nemesis which really caught the public's imagination.

Hosted by the Living God King himself, and hailed by its PR department as the Ultimate Terminal Experience, it was gameshow magic in the grand tradition. And often a great deal more.

Gloria Mundi pushed her way between the females who milled about the studio floor, mounted a short flight of steps and entered the Green Room. Here, in a somewhat soiled saffron three-piece, sat the golden boy himself.

Dalai Dan was looking a little the worst for wear. With difficulty he focused upon Gloria, his bloodshot orbs speaking eloquently enough of the previous night's revels, without going into any of the sordid details.

'You look like death,' Gloria observed. 'Been burning the temple candle at both ends again?'

'Piss off,' said the Dalai Lama, 'I'm meditating.'

'I would have thought you'd had enough warnings. You can't carry on like this.'

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Dan stroked his shaven head. It needed a shave. 'Go fly a kite.'

Tope Joan's ratings are up again. You're slipping.'

'I recall ordering a Tampa Sunrise,’ He picked a nubbin of wax from his left ear.

'No more drinkies, you're on in five minutes.'

Dan turned the ball of wax between thumb and forefinger. 'Drink not only water, but take a little wine, for thy stomach's sake.'

'Wrong denomination, dear.' Gloria seated herself, across from the hungover holyman. Dan's eyes wandered as she crossed her impossibly long legs. She was painfully attractive. Tall, sleek, elegant and quite deadly. The kind of woman that left all but the most heroic of men drooling hungrily from a safe distance. Her skin was toned a soft powder blue, a perfect match for her eyes. Her black hair tumbled away to a waist, about which the thumb and forefingers of God's most favoured might almost meet. The remaining portions of her body all conformed to the unreasonable standards set for the heroine of some sword and sorcery novel.

'You are a prize schmuck,' said Gloria Mundi.

Dan pulled his eyes away from her legs. 'I never chose to become the Dalai Lama, you know,' he said with some bitterness. 'It's a burden rather than a pleasure. But I'm the real McCoy, and I would thank you to show a little respect once in a while.'