by Jay Martel
Amanda laughed. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘The moon would be easy. Jared works in administration back on the home planet. We hologram three times a week if we’re lucky.’ Amanda stared at the expanding moon with what seemed to Perry like wistfulness and he averted his eyes, angry with himself for bringing up the topic. The elevator lurched slightly to one side and fell into an easy lunar orbit, skimming from light into dark. As night enveloped the elevator, the dark side of the moon slid into view. Giant illuminated letters appeared on the surface, and Perry stared at them transfixed until he could read the entire message. It read:
THIS IS WHERE THE INSANITY BEGINS
Next to the huge, bright letters was a giant arrow pointing directly at Earth. As they descended over the ‘T’ in ‘THIS’, blinding light filled the elevator. Perry squinted his eyes while Amanda slipped on a pair of sleek dark glasses. ‘We’ve actually received complaints about it from passing spacecraft,’ she said. ‘It’s good publicity, though. And we’ve needed every bit of it.’
Perry couldn’t reply because the elevator was suddenly plummeting towards the surface of the moon. As the chalky ground rapidly rose up to meet them, he braced himself against the railing for impact. Then the elevator slowed, twisted down into a small crater, and slipped soundlessly below the surface. Before Perry had a chance to react, a soft chime sounded – bing – and the doors slid open, revealing a large, brightly lit hallway. Amanda’s heels clicked as she strode out onto the shiny floor. ‘Welcome to Base Station Blue,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you after decontamination.’
‘What?’ Perry said as two figures, one tall, the other short, both in white coveralls, approached him.
‘Right this way, sir,’ the short one said. Perry stared at them. As impossible as it seemed, they were the two security guards from Galaxy Entertainment.
‘Amanda!’ he shouted.
Amanda paused. ‘Don’t worry. They’re different models – copbots retrofitted as decontaminators. They’re perfectly harmless.’ She continued on her way.
Perry reluctantly let the two all-too-familiar-looking figures lead him through a sliding door into a shiny, glassed-in chamber. The tall one sealed the door and both decontaminators picked up long metal wands.
‘Disrobe, please,’ the short one said. Perry slowly removed all his clothes down to his white briefs (which, to his dismay, were stained).
‘All of your clothes,’ the tall one barked. Perry hesitated, then pulled off his underwear. The decontaminators ex-changed a glance and the tall one raised up his rod, which emitted a blue pulsing charge that travelled in a straight line towards Perry’s crotch. Perry felt a strange sudden warmth and glanced down to see that his pubic hair had vanished. He looked like some grotesque pre-pubescent version of himself.
‘That’s it,’ the short one said, gesturing to a door that Perry hadn’t noticed. ‘There are some new clothes for you outside.’ Perry stepped through the door into a room that was empty, except for a bench on which a blue velour tracksuit was neatly folded.
Moments later, Perry, dressed in the blue tracksuit, emerged into a hallway, where Amanda waited in an identical blue outfit.
‘Why didn’t you tell me they were going to burn off my body hair?’ he said.
‘Oh, I forgot about that,’ Amanda said, studying a small screen she held in one hand. ‘We haven’t had any pubic hair for a thousand years – they must’ve thought it was a potential source of contamination. We’re in luck. The President of Channel Blue will see us right away.’ She glanced up at Perry. ‘Any ideas yet?’
‘How am I supposed to have ideas when two robots are shooting fireballs at my crotch?’
Amanda slid the screen into one of her pockets. ‘There’s still time.’
‘Amanda, I hate to say this, but I don’t even have a notion of an idea.’
‘You will.’
Perry shook his head. ‘What have I done to give you the impression that I work well under pressure? Because I’m going to tell you right now: I don’t.’
Amanda appeared completely unfazed. ‘Something might come to you.’
‘How can you possibly be so calm?’
‘Would it help if I panicked?’
‘I don’t think anything would help. I’m the wrong man for this job.’
Amanda shrugged. ‘It’s too late to get anyone else.’
Perry wanted to scream. ‘Listen to me: I don’t have an idea now and I won’t have one fifteen minutes from now.’
‘You seem really tense.’ Amanda regarded him thoughtfully, tapping her lips with one finger. ‘I know what might help. An orgasm.’
Perry felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. He looked furtively up and down the empty hallway. ‘You think?’
‘Absolutely,’ Amanda said. ‘Why don’t you masturbate before the meeting?’
Perry couldn’t disguise his disappointment. ‘What?’
‘I know you’re under a lot of pressure – an orgasm might relax you. Actually, I wouldn’t mind one myself.’ Amanda pulled a small box from her pocket, shook a purple pill into the palm of her hand and swallowed it. She shook out another pill and offered it to Perry.
Perry eyed the pill suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘MORE.’
‘More? More of what?’
‘Masturbatory Orgasm Response Enhancer. Watch.’ Amanda tapped her hand just below her stomach and immediately began breathing hard. As Perry watched with both embarrassment and avid interest, she threw back her head and moaned ecstatically, then smiled at Perry without a shred of self-consciousness. ‘Whew,’ she said. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’
Perry was suddenly aware of a hairless bulge in his pants, the longer-lasting result of Amanda’s quick climax. ‘If there’s one thing I don’t need a pill to help me with, it’s masturbation.’
‘But this makes it so much quicker, easier and more intense,’ Amanda said. ‘Before MORE, we wasted huge chunks of our lives in the absurd quest to have sexual intercourse with each other.’ She shivered with revulsion. ‘Like animals in heat, dying for a chance to rub membranes and put our mouths all over each other. You know, like... you. Now we’re free.’
Perry couldn’t conceal his disappointment. ‘You don’t have sex?’
‘I knew someone who tried it once in college.’ Amanda cringed. ‘Yuck. It’s amazing that such a violent, ugly act ever became confused with love, just because of its association with reproduction.’
‘So you’ve never—’
‘No!’
‘Then—’ Perry tried to pick out the right words. ‘What do you do with each other?’
‘Physical intimacy,’ Amanda said. ‘You know, snuggling, cuddling, spooning. Acts that are truly worthy of the concept of love.’
‘Kissing?’
Amanda wrinkled her nose and shook her head. ‘Kissing originates from apes chewing food for their young and spitting it into their mouths. No thank you.’
‘Never?’
‘No!’ Amanda studied Perry’s face. ‘Are you OK, Mr Bunt? You look pale.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you don’t need to masturbate?’
‘I’m fine!’
‘Maybe later then.’ Amanda dropped the purple pill into Perry’s jacket pocket. ‘If you get tense during the meeting, go ahead. Everyone will understand.’
Perry still couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of a world devoid of almost everything he cared about. ‘If you don’t kiss or have sex, how do you show someone you really care about them?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘How do you show love towards each other?’
‘I wasn’t aware that love was something that had to be shown,’ Amanda said. ‘You either feel it or you don’t, right?’
Perry shook his head. ‘You must be fun at parties.’
‘I am,’ Amanda said.
‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘I know, but we’re on the moon now. The Earthle irony doe
sn’t fly here.’ She smiled at Perry patronisingly. ‘We find that it’s more efficient to say what we mean. So while we’re here, give it a try. At least until we get through this meeting.’
‘I’d be happy to,’ Perry said, as sarcastically as possible.
A small two-seater vehicle appeared out of a slot in the wall and hovered in mid-air. ‘Here’s our ride,’ Amanda said. She sat down in one seat and gestured for Perry to join her. He stepped warily into the floating car, which immediately sped off down the empty hallway. Advanced civilisations sure have long hallways, Perry thought. The car turned a corner and was suddenly surrounded by other men and women of all races, walking and floating in various directions and speaking different languages, all wearing blue tracksuits. The men had the compact bodies, full heads of hair and chiselled features of movie stars, while every woman evinced an ethereal, stunning beauty that made Perry feel awestruck and inadequate at the same time. It was as if Hollywood had cast a futuristic version of the United Nations.
Perry now understood why Amanda didn’t seem to realise how attractive she was. Among these people, she was typical.
‘Why the blue suits?’ Perry asked.
‘Why not?’ Amanda said. ‘They’re very comfortable.’
‘No one wants to wear anything different?’
‘Oh, you mean fashion?’ Amanda laughed. ‘Another vestige of our animal origins – plumage and whatnot – a huge waste of time and money. Very entertaining, though. One of our most popular shows features live feeds from changing rooms all over Earth.’
The car passed through an immense domed atrium lined with hallways and doors. ‘My apartment’s right up there,’ Amanda said, pointing halfway up into the maze. ‘I’d show it to you if we had more time.’
Perry felt a tingle of excitement about the possibility of being with Amanda in her apartment before he realised that without kissing or sex, there would be no point. ‘So you live on the moon?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ Amanda said. ‘You didn’t think I’d live down there, did you?’
Perry sighed. ‘You know, you keep insulting the Earth as if I’m not from there. How am I supposed to take that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Amanda said. ‘Sometimes I forget. Here we are.’
The car floated to a stop. Amanda jumped out and started trotting briskly down the hallway. Perry stepped out of the car, pausing to watch it disappear into a slot in the wall.
‘Mr Bunt!’ Amanda called. Perry caught up with her and together they walked through a massive sliding door into an office unlike any he had ever seen. For starters, one entire wall was glass and overlooked the surface of the moon and the black emptiness of space. The other walls were filled with small screens showing live feeds from Channel Blue – children vomiting at birthday parties, construction workers hitting their fingers with hammers, motorists slamming their cars into garage walls – but in this office, Earth seemed very far away. Against the backdrop of distant stars was a massive desk flanked by shelves of trophies, among which Perry recognized several golden Orbys. A large man with a shock of bright white hair wearing a blue velour jumpsuit sat in an armchair behind the desk, staring out into space. Amanda and Perry sat down and the man spun around to face them.
‘So... what’ve you got?’ he said with a distinctive low drawl.
Perry had heard this voice before. It was the voice of The King.
The man in the armchair was Elvis Presley.
CHANNEL 11
PITCHING TO THE KING
He was older, an incredibly well-preserved man in his eighties, but clearly Elvis. Perry stared at him with a frozen smile on his face, unable to speak. The man behind the desk, for his part, stared back at Perry expectantly. Amanda jumped in to end the stand-off.
‘As you’ve heard,’ she said, ‘Mr Bunt has come up with a new show that will save Channel Blue.’
‘You’ve taken a lot of risks, young lady,’ the man with the white pompadour drawled. ‘For yourself and for the company.’
‘It was worth it, as you’ll see.’
The man glanced quickly at Perry then back at Amanda. ‘I confess I’m doubtful,’ the man said. ‘No one wants to keep Channel Blue on the air more than I do. I’ve always had special feelings for the Earthles and their amusing hijinks. But there’s no way to sugarcoat space trash – the ratings have been down a wormhole lately.’
‘Then we have nothing to lose,’ Amanda said. ‘We’re about to blow the whole thing up and write it off anyway, right? Any programming we get out of it at this point is pure profit.’
The man nodded slowly. ‘I’m no expert on Earthle writers, but if we’re going down this road, why not Lucas or Spielberg?’
Even in his stunned state, Perry felt annoyed. ‘You haven’t heard of him, but Mr Bunt is the best,’ Amanda said. ‘I have total confidence in him. I wouldn’t be wasting your time if I didn’t.’
The President of Channel Blue fidgeted his hands on the top of his desk, then turned to Perry. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll hear your idea.’
Perry stared at the older man. ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted, ‘but I have to ask. Are you Elvis Presley?’
The man nodded. ‘I started as a field producer on Earth,’ he said with a note of finality that indicated he wasn’t interested in elaborating. Perry heard the note but still couldn’t help himself.
‘What are you doing here?’
Amanda glared at him. ‘Mr Presley would like to hear your idea. He’s a very busy man.’
‘Right,’ Perry said. ‘Of course.’ The butterflies that Perry had felt in his stomach for the last day suddenly became eagles. Why had this happened to me? he wondered. Why did he, of all people, have a chance of saving the Earth? It was bad enough to be killed by aliens, but to be responsible for the Earth’s destruction as well? He shook his head, trying in vain to clear it.
‘He does have an idea, doesn’t he?’ Elvis said.
‘He sure does,’ Amanda replied. She turned and gazed directly at Perry, her eyes shining. ‘And it’s a winner.’
Perry returned her gaze and, despite his nervousness, found himself smiling broadly. She believed in him! How crazy was that? And if she believed he could pull this off, why shouldn’t he? After all, wasn’t he the seven-year-old who believed so intently that he was destined for greatness that he risked his life on a clothesline? And wasn’t it only a few years ago that, riding a powerful gust of cash, he had glided to the upper stratosphere of Hollywood screenwriters? Hell, he’d faked his way through a hundred meetings just like this one and come out of them with million-dollar deals. OK, not exactly like this one – he’d never pitched an idea to a deceased rock star on the moon in order to save humanity – but wasn’t it really just the same thing? Convincing someone you had the answer they were searching for, even if you didn’t?
Perry continued smiling, trying with every ounce of his being to summon the confidence he’d left in the Hollywood Hills. ‘My idea,’ he said aloud, almost as if trying out the phrase. ‘My idea is very simple, very straightforward.’ So far, so good – Elvis leaned forward as if to give him his full attention. Now what? Perry thought. Then he remembered a valuable artefact from his glory days of taking meetings: When in doubt, restate the obvious.
‘Channel Blue was successful for years. Now, it isn’t.’ Keep going, Perry thought. Just keep going. ‘In the beginning, your viewers watched because they found the people of Earth to be ridiculous, ludicrous and generally horrific.’ Elvis nodded slightly. Yes, Perry, thought. It’s working! He had him! ‘What about that changed? Did the people of Earth become less ridiculous, ludicrous and generally horrific? I don’t think so. What changed,’ continued Perry, gaining steam, ‘is that your viewers got sick of them. So what do we do about it? How do we give people a new look at Channel Blue and bring them back?’
Elvis regarded him intently. Amanda listened raptly. Perry opened his mouth... and nothing came out. Just like that, he’d hit a wall. He was a dry, barren
husk, bereft of ideas. Once again, he was a fraud, an out-of-work screenwriter living in a crappy apartment who was in way over his head. He could feel the flop sweat surge out of his brow as he desperately surveyed the office, searching for anything to smash the lock on his brain.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ Elvis said. ‘Because I don’t feel like guessing.’
Then, Perry saw it. On one of the small screens showing Earth people humiliating themselves, Perry recognized Steve Santiago, the galaxy’s most reprehensible creature, lying in bed asleep, his hair tucked in a hairnet. Above the bed was a graphic portrait of Jesus Christ, the kind of painting that had always made Perry feel slightly woozy – Jesus gazed heavenward while a bloody, thorn-encircled heart emerged from his chest.
And suddenly, Perry had the answer.
‘Steve Santiago has a vision,’ Perry said. ‘Jesus appears before him. And Jesus tells him that he’s going to destroy the Earth and all of humanity unless Steve becomes a good man. To save his life and the life of everyone on the planet, Steve tries to go from being the galaxy’s most-selfish to least-selfish individual.’
Without missing a beat, Amanda smiled. ‘I told you it was great,’ she said. Perry felt the euphoric rush of a condemned man suddenly set free.
Elvis nodded slowly. ‘Smart,’ he said. ‘But having Jesus appear... Well, we don’t like to introduce visions that much. Our audience doesn’t care for it when they sense we’re manipulating folks down there, ever since the damn Sixties. A lot of folks think that’s when Channel Blue lost its way.’
‘Look, no one’s suggesting we introduce LSD to an unsuspecting population,’ Amanda said jumping in. ‘Or mullets or Humvees or women’s shorts with writing on the buttocks, for that matter. And we’re certainly not suggesting rock and roll.’ Amanda said this provocatively to Elvis, who gave a hint of a smirk. ‘What we’re talking about here is one heavenly vision with a potentially limitless up-side.’ Amanda’s eyes sparked to life – Perry could see that she was good in meetings. ‘Steve’s quest will prove to our audience that the Earth’s inhabitants aren’t all selfish, apathetic slugs. We increase sympathy while delivering our bread-and-butter: failure and humiliation. Steve Santiago trying to be good? It’s going to drive him crazy. I personally can’t wait to see it.’