by Rob Dircks
“That’s The Big Board.”
“Oh, the one that says ‘Big Board’ on it in giant letters? Thanks. No, Benji, I meant what are those little numbers going up and down at the end?”
Mike Horner stands, as if he’s giving a presentation. “They haven’t told us yet, probably will at orientation tonight, but I’ve been keeping an eye on that second column of numbers next to our names. Watch this.”
He peels his shirt off. Flexes his abs. And the number next to his name jumps from fifty thousand to fifty three thousand.
Claire claps. “Likes! It’s the Likes!” She licks her fingers free of gravy and cheese, bounds up and stands next to Mike, hikes her shirt a little to show her midriff. Her number drops eight hundred.
She screams at the board. “Hey, come on! I’m working on it!” Her number regains two hundred. She smiles. “Sympathy Likes. I’ll take it.” Another hundred. She smiles again and winks at no one in particular. Another hundred. She giggles. Another hundred. She blows a kiss. Another hundred.
Benji surveys the space and all the contestants. “Wow. Incredible. I mean, I guess with that many people watching, every little thing we do will move the needle.” He stands up, calmly, then shouts at the top of his lungs, “I LOVE THIS BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY! The U-S- of A!” And his number adds four thousand in a matter of seconds. He sits back down, grins, and folds his arms across his chest. “Boom.”
Everyone swings around to see what the commotion is about. Within moments, there seems to be a general understanding, because Marina Delacosta opens her training top to reveal a bikini and her Likes shoot through the roof. Mike ups her ante, shedding his training pants, and soon anyone with a body to show off is stripping, and Aurora is belting out “Baby’s Gone,” Lucy and Jayden from Orange Team are dancing, and a couple of Blue Team contestants are making out, it’s complete mayhem, and the Likes are burning up.
I just sit there, with Benji, taking it all in. “I can’t compete with that.”
“Yeah. I’m playing the long game.”
The numbers level off, and even start to dip, as if the worldwide audience suddenly got bored with too much stimulation. Eventually, the cafeteria falls silent. Everyone sits down. I think we all realize at once that we’re in a fishbowl in front of billions of people, twenty-four-seven, for the next three months. We better pace ourselves.
Aurora makes her way over to our table – I’m sure she only allowed herself a single grape for lunch – and addresses us, keeping an eye on The Big Board.
“Well, well. Red Team. I’m on the Green Team. Green means go. You know what red means, right? Stop. As in you might as well stop trying.” She tilts her head just enough to see her numbers climb. Sticks her tongue out at us and grins.
“Actually, red is the color of Mars.”
Benji and I say this exactly together. The nerdiest thing either of us could possibly say, and we say it simultaneously. I want to die.
But both our numbers shoot up, and Aurora’s drops. She storms away in a huff. So I trot over to her, trying to shield us from the cameras, though I don’t know if that’s even possible here, and whisper, “Listen, you don’t have to do the Mean Girl thing. I don’t think that’s you.”
“Oh. Says the reality show expert and budding psychologist.” She pats my shoulder. “Listen to the real expert, Smith. I’m just testing my Mean Girl persona today. See what works. Who knows? Tomorrow I might be an angel.”
“Why not just… be yourself?”
She ruffles my spiky bleached crew cut, the first signs of brown growing in. “Look who’s talking.”
24
Robenji
Interview with Sophia Wheeler, contestant number eight, 48-year-old housewife from Tennessee:
“Honestly I don’t know how I’ve even made it this far. My knees are killing me, I don’t really like the space flights. And I miss my kids. My husband? Ha! Not so much. He’s the main reason I’m sticking it out. He told me I I’d never be able to do it. Well, you know that’s the best possible motivation, of course. I just keep picturing myself setting foot on Mars, looking up at the camera, and saying, ‘Well, Bob? What are you telling your golf buddies now?’ Then, of course, when I get home, we’ll see how the dynamic changes. I might have him stay in the guest house. Oh, by the way, that’s what I would spend all the money on. A big estate with a guest house. Bob can have the guest house. Like a permanent dog house. Are you watching, Bob?”
Day Ten.
I’m beginning to do pushups in my sleep. And of course, during virtually all of my waking hours. I’ve done more pushups than Dad has in his lifetime, I’m sure. I look down at my body, and even in my perpetually exhausted state, I have to smile. I’m becoming toned, stronger than I’ve ever been. The scale shows no weight loss, but clearly I’m losing fat and gaining muscle. It’s grueling, the constant workouts of Stage One, “Endurance,” but it’s producing results.
We all feel it, the physical changes, even Claire. She’s graduated to actual pushups, a few anyway, she’s keeping up on the treadmills, and when she does her hilarious arm curls she now at least holds five pound weights in her hands. I imagine she might actually feel the burn, maybe the burn of a small candle anyway. Maybe.
Mike Horner was right, too: the food is changing. But not becoming paste and pellets. It’s just getting… weird. It looks like real food, and it tastes fine, but there’s something just a wee little different, like if someone here was introduced to one of my sisters, she’d look exactly like me, but something would just be… off.
Benji is easy to like, and thankfully didn’t live down to my expectations of having a roommate. We’re both “nerds,” as Aurora helpfully reminds us as often as she can, so we share a common vocabulary. My tech is more rockets and astronomy, and his tech is more video games, but we both share a love of programming, and the sandbox terminals in the giant central space allow us to show off bits of D+ code. We’ve even co-developed a new return landing program for a rocket simulation.
“I fixed that last section for you, I think.”
“Huh. Let me see.” I pull his monitor over where I can see, and wouldn’t you know? This gamer coffee barista with the bead bracelet from Ohio may have solved my years-old landing problem. “Wow. So you shrunk the dispersions here on the boostback burn, and grew them to counter atmospheric disturbances. I’m impressed, Benji.”
He blushes anytime something like this happens, and the Likes go crazy on The Big Board. We know, it’s obvious, that the world at large is dying to see romance blossom among the contestants. And there are intriguing things happening on both the Yellow and Blue teams. But Benji and I? Nah. He strikes me as particularly asexual, and just isn’t my type, if I have a type at all. And now that this team thing is feeling a bit like family, it would be like getting involved with your brother. Ick. No thanks.
“So, the bracelet. Is that one of those Buddhism things, or just for looks?”
“I’m actually kind of into the Eastern thing. It’s Buddhist prayer beads. You touch the beads to count your mantra.”
“What’s your mantra?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You don’t want to tell me? Or it’s actually the word ‘embarrassing?’”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Come on.”
“Gaba gaba ganeshi.”
I giggle. “You’re kidding.”
He squirms. “Okay, I was actually sort of acutely high when I came up with it. But it just kind of became my default. It works though, seriously. Say it a couple of times slowly, while you’re clearing your mind, and breathe in deeply before each time.”
I try, sincerely, but after the first “Gaba gaba ganeshi” leaves my mouth, I can’t stop laughing. I’m snorting. This is the opposite of meditating. I feel terrible.
“Aww, look. It’s Robenji, coding and playing together. Adorable.”
That is, of course, Aurora. She avoids the computer area of the lounge like it’s a crime scene,
but can’t resist any opportunity to combine our names and try to make it stick with the other contestants: “Robenji.” So far it hasn’t stuck, thank God.
“Hey, Aurora. Why aren’t you with Green Team?”
“I’m trying to avoid Marina. She thinks we’re besties, because I can sing, and she can, I don’t know, do whatever she does. Be glamorous. Strike a pose. Having me around is good for her Likes.”
Benji stands up, smooths his training pants and his hair. “Uh, maybe I should go over there, you know, see if my presence helps her with Likes. I mean, look at this package. Am I a Like magnet or what?”
We laugh, and even Benji has to chuckle. Aurora pats him on the chest. “Nah, dude. You might want to stick with whatever this barista-Buddhist-nerd approach is and not go over there. Glamour Girl is busy learning a new skill. Look.” She points to the far corner of the gym, where Marina lands a roundhouse kick to the throat of a sparring dummy, knocking its head loose. “Malone’s teaching her kickboxing.”
Benji gulps. “You’re right. Barista-Buddhist-nerd approach sounds good. I’ll stay right here with you guys. You guys are just fine.”
“Oh, we’re just fine?”
“That’s not what I meant. Hey, listen… why did the chicken cross the road?”
Aurora rolls her eyes. “This better be good.”
“Because it was being dragged by a coyote.”
We both groan, and Aurora simply walks away.
I snicker. “Wow. If you’re trying to impress her, it’s working.”
“Patience. Like I said, I’m playing the long game. ”
Claire trots over, fresh from a shower. “Hey. Um, I know she’s on the Green Team, our mortal enemy thing and all, but I have adored Marina Delacosta forever. I have her perfume even. You think now would be a good time to go over there and introduce myself?”
Without hesitation, Benji and I look at each other and say, “Definitely.”
So as Claire departs to risk a Marina Delacosta heel to her temple, she passes Ted, who’s jogging across the expansive space towards us. “Robin. Hi. Mr. Larson would like to have a word with you.”
I feel the blood leave my face. “Is… everything all right?”
“I’m sure. Probably something you forgot to sign.”
We walk across the studio lot, past the tarmac, to the offices. I’ve never been inside the offices. Their building is a six-story black glass monolith that definitely doesn’t invite you to go inside. It seems contradictory to me, that Zach Larson would choose to spend his days in something this ugly, something so opposite his personality. Shouldn’t it look like the 2085 version of Santa’s workshop? Or an exact replica of the square spaceship from The Kronos Adventure?
Inside is better. The windows are perfectly clear, like you’re standing outside, and there are plants and trees everywhere. The logos of various companies Larson has either formed or acquired line the hallways. The elevator even has a tree in it – growing right through a hole in the floor, up through another hole in the ceiling, and it looks like out through the roof. Amazing. We get off on the sixth floor, more wide windows overlooking the tarmac. Zach Larson stands at the end of the hall, and when he spots us, practically runs to greet me. “Robin! Robin Smith! The numbers look good! They like you. Though your team could be doing better with points.”
“Aurora’s been reminding me.”
He chuckles, and leaves Ted in the hall as he ushers me into his big corner office and closes the door. “Now, Robin. What do you think of the show so far?” He hands me a mint.
“Well, Mr. Larson, Zach, it’s wonderful. It’s a dream.” I pop the candy into my mouth and look around. There’s no way to tell if we’re being filmed. Larson takes my cue. “Don’t worry, Robin. There are no cameras in here. We’re alone.”
“Am I in trouble?”
He walks behind his desk and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. “Can I just tell you how much I’m enjoying the show? Immensely. Fun, fun, fun! I mean, it has its moments, like your friend Aurora can be a handful, demanding number one of all things, and there are various people making various demands, which,” he snickers to himself, “won’t be happening for the most part. Overall, though? Thrilled. Normal, deserving folks like yourself, mixing with equally-deserving actors, and singers, celebrities of all stripes, it’s wonderful. Ratings are way beyond what we expected, and the advertisers are happy. Shoot, we could probably pay for this little trip to the red planet with just the ad revenue.”
“I’m here… to talk about ad revenue?”
He grins, just a hint of a grin, and pulls a photo from his desk drawer, pushing it across for me to see. “No. I thought we’d talk about this.”
I look down and practically choke on the mint.
It’s a picture of my mother. In handcuffs. Giving the finger to the camera.
25
It’s My Mother.
“Who is that, Robin?”
“It’s my mother. But I think you already knew that.”
“Yes.”
A clock ticks the seconds. The only sound in the room. I lose count after thirty.
“My contacts – I know quite a few people, you can imagine – gave me a little heads up. She was trying to steal a car. A very old one. My first instinct, of course, was to let the story play out in the press, create drama, heighten the intrigue. Nothing like a little piece of juicy news to boost ad spend.” He takes back the photo and considers it. “But something told me, I don’t know, maybe it was my own mother…”
“Martha.”
He smiles. “…yes, Martha. This photo kind of looks like her, when she was alive. Feisty as hell.”
More endless seconds pass. I pull the picture back in front of me. She doesn’t look as upset as I think she would. More defiant. And her hands. Yes, she’s giving the finger with her left hand. But she’s making an “O” shape with her right hand. Is that another obscene gesture I’m not aware of? Or is she just acting insane as usual? Oh, who am I kidding? It’s the latter.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Larson. Her name is Jane. She’s…” and I twirl my finger in a circle next to my temple.
“Yes. I know. I know everything.”
What? Adrenalin shoots through my veins and begs me to run. It takes everything I have to stay put. I death-grip the armrests on the chair, and grind the mint into little pieces in my mouth. “Ev- everything?”
“Yes. That your mother drove you from your farm in New Jersey. The tolls show DNA checks. That was quite a long drive.”
“You’re telling me.” I laugh, and exhale like I imagine an armadillo must exhale after it narrowly escapes the wheels of a truck. Larson doesn’t know the truth. Thank God.
“You seem very relieved, Robin. Is there more to the story?”
“No! No. No. That’s everything. Is she…?”
“In jail? No. Like I said, I know quite a lot of people. One of those people left a door open in the right place at the right time. Seems her paperwork disappeared as well. She was reunited with the boy and disappeared.”
“Mr. Larson, Zach, sir… I don’t know what to say…”
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you. Of course thank you. But… why?”
“I don’t know. I like you, Robin. I think it might be unfair, even by my flexible standards, to see you depart this wonderful adventure so soon due to a little thing like a stolen car.” He rises and scans the view from his window. “I’ve got a thing for underdogs. Now. Back to work, young lady.”
I pry my hands from the armrests and get up to leave.
“Oh, Robin. One more thing.”
“Yes, Mr.- ah, Zach?”
“Strike one.”
26
Slip-N-Die
Interview with Suzie Q, number 22, winner of Season 41 of Survive This:
“Yeah. They better watch out. All of ‘em. Suzie Q’s comin’ for ‘em. I didn’t survive eating crickets and snake meat for a month to go down on some goofy obstac
le course. I mean, did you see me? On Survive This? I know you saw me, who didn’t see me? I lost thirty-seven pounds and got the fever. But did that stop me? Nuh-uh. Or when they blindfolded me and I had to climb down that cliff with my broke leg? Nuh-uh. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me. That Albert dude’s smart, and if I’m bein’ honest kinda cute, I’d take that for a ride, but he ain’t gonna stop me. Nothin’s gonna stop me from goin’ to Mars. ‘Specially not the Red Team. Have you seen that Claire one try to get up the Climb?”
Tomorrow is the end of Stage One. Not saturated enough with entertainment just watching us around the clock, the global audience will be treated to a live, two-hour Stage One finale television special, featuring a colossal obstacle course that will test our endurance and physical strength.
I need to focus. Each team is allowed just an hour today to run through it.
But all I can think about is Jane.
What the hell is she thinking? She wants me here, doesn’t she? And she goes and gets herself arrested? Twenty-one years successfully dodging the authorities, staying under the radar, practicing her ninja invisibility while investigating her little conspiracy theories, and suddenly she gets sloppy? It doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t do things like that, at least that I know. But I don’t know her well, not as well as-
“Robin!”
Captain Daniels reaches out to grab my hand, but it’s too late.
I fall into the Alligator Pit.
As I look up at him, an animatronic alligator pretends to chomp on my arms. “Will we be running into alligators on Mars?”