“Whereas, if you were agreeable, I could go on to complete Eliza’s latest novel … perhaps even write several more.”
Powell examined the paper in his hands again. “We can’t keep her death from her public.”
“Nor should we. But it wouldn’t be anything unusual to find early drafts of unfinished works when clearing up her estate, would it?”
Powell looked stunned, but HG knew he had won. He’d live on because of Eliza.
And he’d keep her memory alive.
Going Fourth
…Kent Purvis
Death was out.
The news was everywhere.
“It’s very simple,” said War, nodding to the reporter’s sensible question, picking an invisible speck from his suit. “Our former colleague did not integrate. We believed he set himself apart from, above us, if you like, and while that point could be argued, the intention, the clear intention, from the outset was that we were to function as an integrated whole. A unit. Ultimately, relations have broken down.”
“Bollocks,” railed Pestilence to a less sensible question. “Creative driving force? Give me a fucking break mate. You can’t get less creative than just death, can you? What’s that mean? I mean, what am I? I’m haemorrhaging your own organs out your arse and driving into a wall because you’re distracted with trying to scrape invisible badgers off your nads, and everything in between. Isn’t it? That’s me,” he said, knocking over his water in emphasis. “So next time you think of death, friend, work out what you are thinking about. Chances are, right, chances are, it’s me. Or, one of the others,” he added, not exactly smoothly, but certainly with the intention of staying on message. Further comments regarding his former colleague’s manner, taste in furnishings, and inability to stay the same sex from moment to moment were excluded from broadcast.
“Hh,” said Famine at a doorstop. She was the least public member of the Three, but it was mutual, cameras seemed to shy away from her as much as the reverse, she was fine in small doses but you just couldn’t look at her for too long. “No, service will not be interrupted. We’re professionals. We are all professionals.”
Death did not make herself available for comment, other than a statement—given its length, more of an epitaph, said the wits—to the effect that he appreciated the public support immensely over the time of his membership of the group, that while the ultimate cause for the break was internal friction there were no hard feelings, and while she was not going to retire, neither would he be pursuing any solo projects for the foreseeable future.
* * *
So there was a vacancy, and the vacancy required filling. Even Pestilence didn’t suggest otherwise and he was known for suggesting things. As is traditional, there was a brief period of determinedly ill-informed speculation. Betting agencies were giving good odds on the franchise expanding, rather than shrinking, to meet the needs of the—let’s be fair, much evolved—market. Columns were written about rebranding, and how the seven Buddhist evils that were said to block enlightenment carried an inclusive humanist message while still retaining the religious flavour that the public expected.
As always, everyone said it was obvious in retrospect.
Go Fourth would be screened for one season, thirteen weeks, in the northern hemisphere winter season. Daily screening, one hundred contenders, frequent eliminations, hopefuls to be scrutinised via a series of challenges and performances, leading to the selection of the winner in a three hour special. Tenders for merchandise were released concurrently.1 It was a unique pitch for a program, in that it was released to all multinational networks simultaneously with the clear assumption that it would be picked up, but as the saying goes, some of the executives would step over etc etc and while two of them did, it was made clear to them that this did would not aid their bid in any way.
Due to a special arrangement, the program would be broadcast not only live but ‘subjectively live’, which was translated to mean that it would go out at 7.30 pm local time, no matter what time zone the receiver, and that all time zones would receive it simultaneously. For those who didn’t care, this made perfect sense, and for those who did care, it was explained away as one of those things that just happened.
There was obviously no question about who the customary tribunal of judges would be, but guest judges were expected.
The choice of host, given a certain role he had played some time ago, was seen by some as a slap in the face, and by others as a message of reconciliation or inclusiveness. Either way, Brad Pitt chose not to comment on it and merely said that he was honoured. He also said that while the program was intended to entertain, and he was more than willing to take on that role, he intended to fulfil his function with the gravity it deserved, no, demanded. He also fended off questions about his personal life. There were a lot of those.
There were criticisms. It was pointed out, from many independent quarters, that this sort of thing was both gauche, given the noble institution under review, and—worse—terribly last century. Yes, there would be a web presence, a site for clips and updates, but where was the live-streaming? Surely there should be more behind-the-scenes material? What the bleeding sodomised hell was this about the Three point-blank refusing to have social network accounts?
The formal response to this was that those affected, everyone, deserved an opportunity to participate and it was a simple truth that televisions and non-screen telephones continued to have a greater worldwide penetration than internet-capable media. Democracy, an overused and much abused concept, yes, not least by such shows that served as the template for this one, was nevertheless an ancient institution in its own right and never gauche.2 And finally, given the age of the driving forces behind the show, the public was bloody lucky it had a part in this at all, or that wasn’t a show of hands, votes limited to males with military experience, ages 35 to 60. This was duly noted.
Eight thousand, three hundred and twenty applicants sent in their biographic details and video audition, and even the cynics had to admit it was a varied and interesting field. It was however obvious that the producers had a hand in, shall we say, facilitating some of the entries. Few believed that either Insanity or Dementia, no matter the strength of their claim, would have been capable of submitting a valid entry in the same decade as the requirements, yet there they were.
Sex was an early favourite, to the surprise of exactly no-one, in fact so much so that there were fears that she might have peaked too soon, and that she might be advised to play a little more aloof prior to the first episode. Sex appeared to agree, noting in the last week before screening that she did aloof extremely well, along with everything else.
* * *
Day 1: Top One Hundred: Paintball
No-one could say they were starting the competition off slowly.
It had been dry for the last seven weeks, and the course vegetation was as crisp as glass. Although the buses unloaded the participants in bitter clods in the very early morning, even their breath seemed reluctant to be seen for the camera; in desperation, trying to get the misty hallmark of up-at-dawn misery, the producer demanded coffees all around. Even this barely produced results.
Contestants were briskly divided into units of seven, apparently at random, and assigned a camera operator. Anyone who was paying attention however could not have missed the glint in the eyes of the crew as Post-Modernism was given the captaincy of the team that contained Conservatism and Climate Change, and Racism and Sexism were casually paired.
There were fourteen teams in all, each a different colour, and that left Murder and Spite as free agents in black and white respectively, which suited them just fine. They were given the only fully automatic weapons and seven times the ammunition.
Every camera was on hand to capture expressions when that was announced.
Brad, dressed in a knife-thin dark suit, tie and matching scarf soon to be seen as emblematic of the series, supplied the rules. There would be elimination rounds over the course of the month,
but all challenges would supply points for the first five contestants placed. The world’s population would also have a crucial role, with the audience favourite via phone poll receiving the same number of points as the second place getter. If you were in the top five, you were immune from removal, no matter how poorly you fared on an elimination day, this being conditional upon actually turning up and completing the challenge in the first place. If you were not in that inviolate group, not only were you vulnerable, but some elimination days would centre solely on those at the rear of the pack.
Brad, smiling that smile, suggested that the devil might take the hindmost, and was that a wind that swept across the outdoor stage at just that moment, tweaking dresses and ruffling hair? Perhaps it was.
This first game was relatively complex, a mixture of Last Team Standing and Capture the Flag. For the purposes of scoring this individual challenge, contestants were personally awarded 20 points for each confirmed kill, and each member of a team were awarded 15 points for the capture of a flag of another team brought back to base. Some emphasis was made of loss of points for shooting team mates, but not too much, and none of it made the broadcast.
The match was absolutely compelling viewing. Scandal, barely worth mentioning in the odds prior to the day, romped it in with a score of 240, which included four flags. He simply could not be hit. Murder outpaced his camera operator within thirty seconds, and had four scalps—metaphorical scalps—within five minutes. However, he was picked off in a hastily arranged alliance crossfire minutes into the third hour—he was simply too much of an acknowledged threat. His camera operator was, however, never found. Third place was another surprise, but his agility and balletic poise was not faulted even by the bloodthirstiest.
Leaderboard:
Scandal 10
Murder 5
Creativity 5 (audience favourite award, each killshot a Rorschach artwork)
Curiosity 3
Xenophobia 2
Ambition 1
* * *
Day 2: First elimination day
“It’s the old old story, my friend,” the big man said haltingly, his eyes made incandescent by tears and studio lights. “You eliminate those that are different to you. By colour, by accent, by name.”
Other contestants begged to differ. “He said that? Really? He should grow a set,” laughed Technophobia. “Weltschmertz. Fuck’im.”
* * *
Day 3
“Brad, tell us. You know the question I’m about to ask. You have so many worthy contenders here. But it’s been said that some of the contestant choices cast serious doubt on the credibility of what is, we are told, an extraordinarily serious contest.”
“I’ve heard it said, Adam, you have too. Everything is better with Ninjas.”
* * *
Day 6
Leaderboard top five:
Iconoclasm 18
Murder 14
Ambition 14
Ninjas 13
The Universe 12
* * *
Day 11
Interviewer: What would you say …
Fate: We’re nothing alike, Chance and I. Some mistake us for synonyms, but in truth we are anything but. I am the thousand thousand thousand thousand miniscule events that create the one true history as it must be written. She is stuff that happens. Because humans are limited by their linear view of time, we become confused. It is not unreasonable to state, in fact, that we are mortal enemies.
Interviewer: T—
Fate: No. I have no idea how we end up wearing the same thing every day. Some days I’ve chosen stuff blindfolded. I hate the bitch.
Interviewer: W—
Fate: Simple, Tony. I really need this. I’ve been working towards this my entire existence. Everything that lives, dies; the ‘when’ is just an intersection of events. It is inevitable. It’s the only real choice. It’s my time.
[ Interview from day 9 replayed in lieu of Fate’s refusal—a contractual breach—to attend the exit interview]
* * *
Day 13: Ballroom dancing
Slowing down to rubberneck at traffic accidents does not even begin to explain the ratings for this episode.
* * *
Day 17: Culinary skills
It was noted that no-one tried to rationale this entry into the competition scheme, not even with a ‘This’ll be interesting’. Common agreement suggested that the Three had already used up their flimsiest rationales with the airline baggage-handling challenge and had decided to just get on with it.
Ratings remained undiminished, and the construction costs of a vast sleek kitchen in a hanger previously used to construct space shuttles presumably slid down the back of the Finance section’s furniture somewhere.
Seventy-five cooking stations, seventy-five dry-eyed competitors. And, as it turned out, the challenge had a far-reaching impact: the gaze of billions observed recent audience-favourite Spirituality at work with quail and decided to move its collective blessings elsewhere.
Chaos’ work with scrambled egg won acclaim from viewers and judges alike, and although Xenophobia’s variety was justly criticised, even the harshest judge struggled to find fault with the intensity, and the unexpected subtlety, of the final work.
Again, the largest outcry came from an unexpected quarter, with Nature surprising all with the choice of veal as the primary ingredient (“Do any of you pay attention?” is all he would say when pressed). The second surprise, particularly to guest judge Ke$ha, was that the garnish was poisonous to humans (although, as was clarified later, not to cats, and besides, nowhere in the criteria was it specified that it had to be safe to eat, only that it be delicious and appetising to look at).
* * *
Day 21
A tight spotlight seared the centre of the darkened stage.
“Welcome to Antithesis Day,” drawled Pestilence, draped across the armrests of a leather lounge, his outfit blending early period Elvis and late Byron. “Today, you undertake tasks you cannot abide, or have no experience in, or both.” His two colleagues stepped into the light from the darkness on each side as Brad loomed behind the chair and explained. To create the bloodiest carnage, War must sometimes let peace blossom in exhausted populations until the pressures build once more to satisfactory levels. Famine must relinquish her grip and allow people to gorge in confidence so when she strikes, vast populations are left with nothing. But it was Pestilence who wept, wept as Brad told how sometimes he was duty-bound to snuff out the lives of the unborn when this meant surrendering the sweet potential of decades of herpes, tinea, a thousand Rubic-esque influenzas, HIV. Pestilence could not help himself in finishing the teleprompted spiel, even though it was Brad’s line. He growled through his wet cheeks, his eyes steel, We Do What We Must. And now so must you.
Democracy was stood on a street corner with a megaphone and a jumboscreen, telling the unvarnished, the ugliest, the least palatable truths about all who passed her. Technophobia filled in on a tech-support line. Despair did a guest spot with the Wiggles in a sunflower suit, and tooted and chugged in the Big Red Car. Iconoclasm conducted Catholic Mass. They passed. Even Failure succeeded.
Others did not.
The endlessly muscle-shirted Self-Delusion cracked first, which gave the bookies a shock. If he was so outstandingly misguided about his intrinsic awesomeosity (nominated for the Oxford Dictionary in the following year, having risen to prominence in his pieces to camera), then surely all he had to do was convince himself he is also the best actor? Surely he knew he didn’t have to mean it. But no. As it turned out, the one thing he could not do was list his verifiable achievements to camera. In doing so, he spared Nature, Hubris, Totalitarianism and Science, who broke mere seconds after him in their respective tasks.
* * *
Day 27: Sisyphus Day
In the most literary themed day yet (critics suggested the producers must have recently read The Phantom Tollbooth along with their Greek mythology), the survivors were divided into groups a
nd scattered to the winds. Members of the first group had to sort used wedding confetti (three open-topped train cars worth) by colour, and then remix them in absolutely even ratios. The second group were assigned the job of Wikipedia editors. The third had endless checkout shifts at supermarkets across the industrial nations, and the fourth were set an unbroken reading of all of the scripts of ‘Days of our Lives’ since 1965. At double speed.
Problems appeared to begin from the first ten minutes, as Instinct snapped so early that they were obliged to make it a double-eviction. However, people of a conspiratorial bent believed it was a sleep-deprivation test with the specific agenda of sapping the wills of the most camera-shy and getting them to perform for the camera. This could not be verified, although it is true that the challenge ended twenty minutes after Fear and Apathy got drunk in the Wikipedia room, took their tops off and started modifying pages so they spelt obscene limericks if you read the first letter in each line.
* * *
Day 32: Actuarial table calculations
* * *
Day 35: Weather forecasting
Leaderboard top five:
Reason 59
Totalitarianism 54
Bloodlust 48
Murder 45
The Internet 41
* * *
Day 37: Ice fishing
* * *
Day 41: Delivering an address to the Japanese attorney general, long-time critic
* * *
Day 44: Stand-up comedy
How many prostate examiners and mystery writers does it take to change a light bulb? Two in both cases, one to screw it almost all the way in, and the second to add the surprising little twist at the end. To avoid legal gymnastics, Xenophobia was allowed to do what he called ‘his best material’ only if he referred to residents of the fictional country of Notastan. He agreed at the last minute, but at least Science got his best laugh out of it.
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