by Gina Damico
But we do know this: We’re going to go up there.
We’re going to stop them.
And we’re going to bring our brave Spacetronauts home, space safe and space sound.
Catchphrase forever!
* * *
Item: Transcript of video recording—RAW, UNAIRED FOOTAGE
Source: Camera #3—Lünar Lounge
Time: 5:41 p.m.
[Clayton is listlessly swirling the water of the hot tub. Snout enters.]
Snout: Bacardi’s still giving me the runaround! Can’t figure what the heck that girl is up to. [He frowns.] Sure hope she’s not drinking again. [He squints through the window] How you doing in there, Clayton?
[Clayton puts his wrinkled fingertips to the glass.]
Clayton: Pretty pruny, lardass.
Snout: Good gravy. I was just being polite.
Clayton: Be useful instead and give me some more food.
Snout: Sorry. ’Fraid I can’t do that.
[Clayton makes a crude gesture.]
Snout: You know, Clayton, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
Clayton: What’s that supposed to mean?
Snout: If you’re nicer to people, they’ll be more likely to help you out, and maybe not lock you in a room in the first place.
Clayton: They’ll also be more likely to walk all over you.
Snout: Now, why would they do that?
Clayton: You can stop right there, Doughboy. There isn’t a thing on Earth or in space that we have in common, so there’s no need for us to have A Moment. Do I really need to say it again? I didn’t come here to make friends.
Snout: Well, heck. Then what did you come here to do?
[Clayton gives him a perfected isn’t-it-obvious look.]
Clayton: Get famous.
Snout: Is that all?
Clayton: Yeah. I want attention, pure and simple. I don’t see why I need a deeper reason than that.
Snout: Well, shoot. You just came right out and said it, huh.
Clayton: I see no need to sugarcoat. My parents never paid attention to me. I was raised by a series of nannies, each of whom I drove away, each trailing more tears than the last. Chazz certainly did his best to ignore me, but I finally found a weakness in him to exploit. And here I am. Or here I was. You assclowns sure did shit the bed on this particular opportunity, but I’m not worried. I’ll find another way to get myself out there.
Snout: You think so?
Clayton: Course I will. This is only the beginning of my reign of terror. A year from now you’ll be sick of seeing me, but I won’t go away. I’ll feed off it, crave more, and the cycle of fame will continue. You’ll think, “Surely the Clayton fad should have ended by now,” but oh no, it won’t end. It’ll never end. It’ll just keep going and going and going.
[Snout studies him, then lets out a whoop.]
Snout: I think you’re whistling a big ole pile of Dixie, my friend. I might not be able to tell if a spaceship is real or not, but I’ve got about twelve years’ worth of Iowa State Farm Swine Calling competitions under my belt, and I know bluster when I hear it. I think there’s far more to you than you’re lettin’ on.
[Clayton holds his gaze.]
Clayton: All right, fine. You want to know why I’m really here?
Snout: Yessir! I’m all ears!
Clayton: [practically snarling] I want to win.
Snout: Well, of course you do. We all do. Who wouldn’t want to win a million dollars?
[Clayton lets out a laugh.]
Clayton: You think I’m doing all this for a measly six figures? That shit is pocket change to me. I don’t care about the money.
Snout: What do you care about, then?
Clayton: [His face darkens.] Glory. Infamy. [then quieter, more to himself] Respect.
[Snout watches him, then shakes his head.]
Snout: I’m sorry, friend, but I’m afraid I still don’t understand.
Clayton: There’s a lot more than money at stake here. You just need to know where to look—
[Clayton gasps as he grabs his stomach. His face turns red.]
Snout: Clayton? You all right?
Clayton: [wincing] My—stomach.
Snout: Oh my . . . the food was bad!
Clayton: Don’t be stupid. It’s probably the bacteria in this diseased cesspool that you won’t let me out of—ow!
[He doubles over as another stab of pain attacks.]
Snout: Do you need me to—
Clayton: Unless you’re going to say “unstick the door,” then no. I don’t want a goddamn thing from you. Leave me alone.
Snout: But should I—
Clayton: OW!
[The rest come running in.]
Bacardi: What happened?
Snout: He’s sick.
Clayton: I’m not sick. I—[He cringes again, letting out a long string of obscenities.]
Louise: [elated] He is sick!
[Titania steps up to the glass.]
Titania: What’s wrong, pool boy?
Clayton: Nothing. Leave me alone.
Snout: It’s the food! I knew it!
Nico: So—what? They really are trying to kill us?
Clayton: I’m not dying!
Bacardi: How do you know? Maybe you are! Maybe we all are! Maybe we’re getting radiated to death and WE WON’T KNOW IT TILL WE’RE DEAD!
[Bacardi storms up to the flight deck. She dramatically throws herself into the swivel chair, puts her elbows on the control panel, and sinks her head into her arms. The rest rush over to console her.]
Titania: Hey. It’s okay.
Snout: Aw, Bacardi, don’t cry.
Bacardi: [whispering] I’m not crying.
[She squirms in the seat, reaching into her space bra and fiddling with something in her hand. Suddenly she sits up straight and holds a cell phone at arm’s length.]
Bacardi: Everyone smile!
[She takes a selfie of the group.]
Bacardi: There! Yes!
Titania: What are you doing?
Bacardi: [giving the phone a few more taps] Getting us rescued.
Clayton: How do you plan on doing that, Queen Lushface?
Bacardi: Queen Lushface smuggled a rooted cell phone onboard and is using it to call for help. Does King Pervert know how to do that?
[Bewilderment settles over the room.]
Titania: You’ve had a cell phone this whole time?
Bacardi: Yep.
Nico: That you hid in your space bra?
Bacardi: In a special hidden compartment in my space bra, yep.
Louise: But a cell phone would be useless in space. There’s no signal, no WiFi. You can’t call anyone or connect to the internet.
Bacardi: Unless you know how to make the internet your bitch, like I do. Never met an online security system I can’t crack.
Louise: Wait. You’re a nerd?
Bacardi: [smirking at her] Told you we weren’t so different.
[The others stare at Bacardi in utter stupefaction—except for Louise, whose confusion quickly shifts to scorn. She narrows her eyes and, quietly for once, leaves the room.]
Bacardi: Unfortunately for us, NASAW knows what they’re doing. Wherever we’re being held is an impenetrable bunker or something; there’s no cell phone signal, no bars, no reception, no internet—with the exception of NASAW’s internal WiFi network. It’s a strong signal—right outside the ship, I think—but they’ve got some high-level security I’ve never seen before. I’ve been trying to break into it all day.
Titania: And . . .
Bacardi: And I finally figured it out. Cracked their password, logged on to the network, and posted a photo online. Of course, the owner of the WiFi network saw what I was doing just now and shut it down, but that’s okay. All I needed was a few seconds of connectivity.
Clayton: And that’s what you did with it? Posted a photo?
Bacardi: A photo with a geotag.
[They take a moment to absorb thi
s.]
Titania: So . . . our GPS coordinates are out there now for whoever wants to find them?
Bacardi: Not whoever. I encrypted the post, so it’ll only be detectable to a certain number of my friends in the dark corners of the internet. If any of our theories are correct—if we’re somewhere in the Southwest, if we’re being experimented on, if we’re the newest exhibit in a lizard zoo—they’ll come looking for us. They won’t be able to help themselves.
[The others continue to stare at her, astonished.]
Clayton: [with a furious pound on the glass] Why did you wait until now to do this?
Bacardi: There wasn’t a poisonous reptile in our toilet until now.
Snout: Venomous, actually. Common misconception. See, poisonous means that the animal delivers its toxin indirectly, like through skin glands, but venomous means it has to deliver it by sinking its teeth into the victim—
Titania: But why did you wait until today? Why not days ago, when bullets started flying?
Bacardi: [ticking off the reasons on her fingers] One: Hacking other people’s passwords isn’t looked upon kindly by the government. Not exactly a smart move for me to broadcast illegal activities while we were still on national television. Two: I had one shot at this. I needed to do it while there wasn’t anything abnormal going on. This ship has been one big question mark since everything that went down last night. The static, the gas—we don’t know what those scientists are doing, what forces they’re working with. We seem to be in a relatively stable state at the moment—and if their latest attack is a Gila monster, there’s nothing staticky or magnety about that—so now felt like the best time to try.
Clayton: Or maybe it’s because you’re finally sober.
[Bacardi gives him an amused look.]
Bacardi: I was never drunk in the first place, you rat-faced hobgoblin. You think I’d voluntarily consume brain-scrambling substances aboard a spaceship-slash-reality show, the very model of a situation when I need to keep my wits about me? And with creepers like you onboard? How stupid do you think I am?
[The amount of awe filling the room is as voluminous as the knockout gas.]
Titania: Damn, Bacardi. You really could be a spy.
[Bacardi looks dead into the lens of Camera #2]
Bacardi: Hear that, CIA?
* * *
Item: Transcript of video recording
Source: Fakefinders
Time: 6:02 p.m.
[person in Bigfoot mask facing the camera]
Bigfoot: Greetings, sheeple.
The space race is on.
The Fakestronauts are somewhere on this planet.
And we have zeroed in on their location.
If DV8 isn’t going to come clean about their whereabouts, it’s time to take matters into our own hands.
We are a group of technologically capable truth seekers. We will be the ones to find them and expose Chazz Young’s lies to the world.
It’s time to literally find the fake.
* * *
From here on out, a state of restless anticipation settles through the ship. Now that Bacardi has sent a distress signal of sorts, the kids are trapped in a limbo of ambiguity—half expecting to be rescued, half expecting another crisis. It’s no wonder that impatience gives way to volatility.
Item: Transcript of video recording—RAW, UNAIRED FOOTAGE
Source: Camera #8—Bedroom
Time: 6:29 p.m.
[Louise is sitting under her blanket again, the glow of a flashlight shining through the fabric. Snout knocks on the doorway.]
Snout: Louise? You all right?
[She whips the blanket off her head.]
Louise: What do you want?
Snout: Just checkin’ in on you. You snuck off—
Louise: [grunting] The things I’ve put up with on this ship. The dealings with you Earthlings. As if any of you are worthy enough to be in the presence of Lord Balway Galway.
[Snout enters the room and sits on the big bed, across from Louise.]
Snout: Who is this Lord Galway anyway?
Louise: The bravest, dashingest, most amazing Gavinjian ever to walk the Yacanite ice floes of Kafaldhia.
[Snout frowns.]
Snout: Louise, have you ever had a boyfriend?
Louise: No. Have you ever had a girlfriend?
Snout: No. So I may not be the most qualified one to be giving love advice. But if I ever did court myself a lady, I’d want it to be someone my own age. And maybe also . . . my own species?
Louise: What’s your point?
Snout: Just that you may want to try dating someone from school before you move on to more, um, advanced relationships. And that—well, heck, maybe my tractor wasn’t stolen by aliens. Maybe it was just Klepto Joe, up to his ole tricks again. Maybe there aren’t any aliens at all?
Louise: Don’t patronize me. You don’t understand what’s happening here, and you never will.
[Snout rubs his chin.]
Snout: You know, Louise, I had a real favorite book back when I was a kid. Changed the course of my life, I reckon. I read it every day. And soon enough, I started to believe that I was in it! I would picture myself saying the words, and I would act out the scenes. Heck, that story became more real to me than real life!
Louise: Does this story have a point?
Snout: Sure does! I’m just saying, maybe there’s a chance that you love your space books and space movies and space TV shows so much that sometimes you think they’re real. And there’s nothing wrong with that! Imagination’s a wonderful thing! I’d give anything to believe I was still back there on a boat, or with a goat, or on a plane, or on a—
Louise: Wait a sec. Are you talking about Green Eggs and Ham?
Snout: You know it?
[Louise massages her temples.]
Louise: Are we about done here?
Snout: Oh, sure, sorry. You in a rush or something?
Louise: If you must know, I’ve had an important revelation. The bounty that Lord Balway Galway bestowed upon us—that was a sign. A sign that the day of reckoning is at hand. A sign that I have proven myself worthy. A sign that he is finally ready to welcome me to his crew as I commence my duties as chief plasma deck engineer onboard Interstellar Venture V.
[Louise beams. Snout frowns.]
Louise: Wish I could say I’ll miss you all, but, you know. I won’t.
Snout: Well, uh—I wish you the best, Louise. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better.
Louise: [scoffs] Nothing to know.
Snout: Oh, now, that can’t be. I bet you’re a real nice girl when you’re not under the scary pressure of being in space.
Louise: Oh, do you think so? [She begins to squeeze the blanket through her fingers.] You think I’ve got a better, more colorful personality squished way down deep inside that I haven’t gotten the chance to show yet?
Snout: Yeah!
Louise: Sorry. Don’t have it. Colorful personalities are impossible to develop when you’re the seventh of twelve children and ten hours a day are spent being homeschooled by your wacko parents who’d happily plop every one of their children in a boat and send them down a river if that’s what Our Almighty Father told them to do.
Snout: Oh, dear.
Louise: [squeezing the blanket so hard her knuckles have turned white] Not much room to become “fun” and “quirky” and “camera-ready” when you’re taught from birth that any one of those traits plus a million others will send you straight to a fiery, unforgiving hell. That having an imagination is wicked and wrong. That even looking up at the stars and wondering if they got there by any means other than Our Almighty Father’s almighty hand is grounds for an exorcism.
Snout: I—
Louise: Which is why I’ve accepted a position onboard the Venture. Lucky for me, this stupid TV show coincided perfectly with its pass through Earth’s orbit. Now all I need to do is hitch a ride as they go by, and it’s off to a new life! New planets! New everything!
; [Snout gets up. He heads out into the hallway toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and sticking his head back through the bedroom doorway.]
Snout: Louise, have you ever heard of cabin fever? It’s when you go a little nuts from being cooped up inside for too long.
Louise: I don’t have cabin fever. [pulling the blanket back over herself] I have a destiny.
[Snout leaves the room, shaking his head.]
Source: Camera #3—Lünar Lounge
[Clayton is curled into a ball and shivering in his sleep, causing gentle waves of water to ripple up against the glass. Nico and Titania are sitting together on the couch. Surprisingly, there seems to be very little tension between them; both seem to be comfortably settling into the friend zone.]
Nico: Do you think we’ll all stay in touch after this is over?
Titania: All of us? I doubt it.
Nico: Oh? No girly sleepovers at Louise’s house in your future?
Titania: Yeah, that’ll happen when you and Clayton join the same frat.
[Nico snickers.]
Nico: What about us?
Titania: What about us?
Nico: I know we live on opposite sides of the country, but—
Titania: I don’t live anywhere anymore.
Nico: Oh. Right. Well, if you need a place to stay, you can crash on my couch.
Titania: Thanks. I might take you up on that.
Nico: But we’ll still talk, right? Or text? Or something?
Titania: Sure. How could we not?
Nico: [relieved] Good. I just don’t want us to . . .
Titania: Drift apart? [with a smile] We won’t. Promise.
[Bacardi enters, frowning.]
Nico: What’s up?
Bacardi: [holding up her phone] I’ve been sitting in the Confessional Closet for the last half hour, trying to get back online. Nothing’s working, but I’m picking up on some bizarre interference in that room—and only in that room.
Titania: Hmm.
Bacardi: I’m guessing it has something to do with whatever the psycho scientists out there are doing, but I need more height. Can someone come hold the stool while I stand on it, maybe wheel me around? I don’t trust that rickety-ass thing.
Nico: Sure.