"Are these the best ideas you've got?" A meaty, nine-fingered hand slammed down on a desk with a thump. "This is ridiculous. What am I paying you for?" 

 

On the other side of the desk, a female creature in metallic robes cringed and bowed. She could not avoid his glare because her head was completely covered with eyes of different shapes and colors.

 

"But the early tests show that the audience loves..." she mumbled, cowed by his anger.

 

"I don't care what the tests are saying! I've been running this show for 4,200 solar years. Focus groups? You give me focus groups? I give you GENIUS!" 

 

The speaker stood and pointed to a shelf holding twelve golden statues. Each statue displayed an unblinking eye held between two graceful pillars. Behind each statue, small screens displayed footage from some human era. Julius Caesar died brutally behind one and Genghis Khan rode into battle behind another. 

 

"Twelve. I have twelve PanGalactic Brozzies. No one else comes close. Halzen Frinterlen has three. He does comedies! Trash. See this one?" He pointed to the last one in the row. "Do you remember how many viewers we had during the Battle of the Bulge? Entire star systems shut down to watch." 

 

He stormed around the desk and waved his hands over his head. "We had to shorten the war so that the factories on Phleban 5 would return to work! I am Brandle Zloufin, grand master of the Panoptica!"

 

He rolled countless eyes in exasperation. He focused the two largest on his hireling, but the rest surveyed the mosaic of small screens covering every inch of the walls and ceilings. These screens all showed 21st-century humans doing various things. Some showed domestic scenes, but the majority showed conflicts. Wars, crimes, and riots were obvious favorites. 

 

Zloufin continued to pace around the office berating his young assistant. At barely 1,400 years old, she was lucky to have the opportunity to work for him. There was a line around the building of aspiring producers who would cheerfully step over her dead body to take her job.

 

A chime interrupted his rant and a smooth synthetic voice interrupted, "Mr. Zloufin, Glorbox Pratzlfaddl is here to see you."

 

Zloufin stopped and blinked several thousand times in a few seconds. "Gimme a second." He turned to his assistant. "You've got me all riled up. If this goes badly, I'll have you skinned and mounted over my fireplace." 

 

Giant double doors slid apart as she scurried to the side of the room. Glorbox Pratzlfaddl dripped power and authority like his ostentatious jewelry. Three officious toadies followed him. Zloufin's demeanor changed instantly from tyrant to sycophant.

 

"Glorby, it's so good to see you. I've been looking forward to it all week!"

 

Glorbax's eyes narrowed slightly. "Zloufin, I told you I was coming yesterday. I've heard you have some big ideas in the hopper that you've been prepping. What are you working on?"

 

Zloufin brightened, a master pitchman in his element. "Glorby, you're gonna love it. I call it, 'Nuclear Winter'. It's like this. This conflict in Central Europe spirals out of control, first involving the nuclear powers in Europe, then those around the world. Before they know it, missiles are flying around the globe. Major metropolitan centers are obliterated, leaving only humans in backwater nowheres with any chance for survival. And that's the question. Will humans survive? Can they rebuild their lost civilization? We're talking centuries worth of material here."

Zloufin stopped and looked expectantly for approval.

 

Glorbax pursed his lips and took a long slow breath.

"Mister Zloufin. Do you know why the Panoptica exists? It exists to make me and my fellow investors money. And these human beings have developed a following that has no parallel in the last four million years. Do you realize that there is an entire planet that does nothing other than produce the galaxy's supply of Lucky Charms Breakfast Cereal? Or that Elvis Presley's Galactic Super Tour is sold out for the next millennium?"

A good two dozen of Glorbax's eyes glowed bright red, a sure sign of his displeasure.

"And you're telling me that you want to kill 97% of this species because it makes for good drama?"

 

Zloufin deflated. "But I have twelve..." he pointed behind him. 

 

Glorbax cut him off. "I have fancier toilet paper hangers."

 

Zloufin's assistant sheepishly stepped forward. "Lord Pratzlfaddl, that's not our only idea. In fact, we were just discussing a new direction that we could take. I have the treatment right here."

 

Glorbax looked over at her, surprised that she would interrupt. "What's your name? What kind of idea?"

 

"I'm Frebla Donettia. It’s my favorite idea of all time. I call it, 'First Contact.'" She paused for effect. 

 

Zloufin looked like he wanted to explode, but he dared not break the silence.

 

Glorbax grunted. "You want to introduce this... mildly psychotic species... to the rest of the galaxy?"

 

"Oh no, not for centuries. Millennia even. They're far enough from the galactic core that we can delay that indefinitely." Frebla's eyes twinkled with excitement. 

 

"Then how?" Glorbax was intrigued, so Zloufin bit his tongue.

 

"We drop them into the middle of an interstellar war. The remnants of a space armada limps into the solar system and begs for help. We hire a species that resembles them, like the Zodians. Their homeworld has been conquered by some "bug-eyed monsters" and they need human help to free their people from a tyrannical overlord."

 

A smile slowly creased Glorbax's face. "Brilliant. Imagine the merchandising. Space ships, action figures. Stuffies." His entourage started nodding to one another enthusiastically. “Frebla, I want you to run with this.” He turned to Zloufin. “See this? This is what brilliance looks like. Pack up your desk. You’re fired.”

 

Glorbax turned, took Frebla gently by the elbow, and walked out with his people. 

 

Zloufin crumbled to the ground and started to cry. With that many eyes, it was a really ugly cry.