Les Nessman IV stretched a newly opened surgical bandage over the tooth marks that punctured his left hand and looked over at the other occupants of The Bullpen. Shaking his head with disgust, he reached over and adjusted the ancient “Silver Sow” statue, a prestigious award given to his great-grandclone Les Nessman I, that adorned his antique plywood desk, and nervously chewed his lower lip.
A technician was on a ladder busily adjusting the holographic emitter that would soon be projecting their new program director, A.N.D.Y, throughout the entire floor that housed the New Cincinnatti Colony's only source of classical music and ground breaking news coverage via radio wave signal. Les wasn't certain what the new program director program would think of the motley, heathen crew that made up the station's personnel.
The most likable member was probably Erb Tar'Lok, Les' only friend among the staff. Erb was a sharlokian, a race that dedicated itself to sales with a zeal that most galactic races dedicated to war or procreation. His traditional garb of clashing patterns and matching white belt and shoes was on full display today as he sat gazing at himself in the mirror he normally kept hidden within his top desk drawer. He was currently picking a piece of nutrient supplement out of his blindingly white teeth.
On the couch across the room lay the often-malfunctioning Dr. Fevertron, a battered old robot that spent most of its existence being traded around to various radio wave stations across the quadrant. Bailey, the station's only pure strain human, leaned over the aging bot trying to get it to take its daily mixture of oil and data-chips but to no avail. In Nessman's opinion Bailey was way more attractive than Jena-Furr, the front desk secretary that had been biologically constructed to appeal to the masculine members of most alien species.
According to rumor, this A.N.D.Y program was quite a revolutionary piece of hardware. Every station that it was installed in had undergone rapid changes in programming. Classical stations, like WKRP, had changed format almost overnight. Les worried that his precious station would soon be blaring that Neuvo-Jesus-awful rock and roll music that had recently begun to enter its third revolutionary cycle among the youngling humans. There were even some disturbing whisperings that this A.N.D.Y had even hired an actual Venusian Flytrap to come in as an overnight Dee Jay.
But even if the station changed format, news would still be needed. Les smiled smugly. As long as this A.N.D.Y played ball and would finally install the force-walls around his desk that a proper newsman deserved, then he would have an ally in Les Nessman IV.