by Jay Martel
SERGEANT DORIS SANCHEZ
LOS ANGELES PARKING AUTHORITY
Glaring at the guards, the meter maid straightened her cap with exaggerated effort to emphasise the enormity of its unseating.
‘You got a problem? I would say that you do. Because right now, you all are infringing on the abilities of the Los Angeles Parking Authority to proceed in the timely accordance of its duties, being the swift determination of unlawful spatial inappropriateness in a vehicular manner and the speedy legal punishment thereunto.’
The security guards seemed nearly as stumped by this tirade as by Amanda’s list of symptoms. The sergeant turned her steely gaze to Perry and Ralph. ‘Are you being molestated by these rent-a-cops?’ she asked. ‘Because their jurisdictional integrity ceases to exist at the juncture of this sidewalkular vicinity.’ She turned back to the security guards, who seemed to melt away under her inspection. ‘And what’s with you carbon-copy motherfuckers anyway? You all clones or some shit?’
The guards released Perry and Ralph and backed up the stairs together with such perfect synchronisation that they appeared choreographed.
‘We were only removing trespassers from the premises,’ said one.
‘No need for any trouble,’ said another.
‘There will be no trouble at all,’ said Sergeant Doris Sanchez, ‘as long as you respect the authority of the Los Angeles Parking Authority, of which I am the authority.’
A retreating guard brushed past Perry. ‘You’re going to be dead in three weeks anyway,’ the voice of Nick Pythagorus whispered in his ear. Perry spun around but saw only the back of the last guard disappearing through the double glass doors of Galaxy Entertainment.
Sergeant Doris Sanchez shook her head. ‘Carbon-copy motherfuckers,’ she muttered to herself as she turned to inspect a meter. The meter had a minute remaining on it, so she took her time writing the ticket.
‘Come on,’ Perry said to Ralph, and nudged him down the sidewalk.
* * *
Even by the standards of Los Angeles, Perry and Ralph made an odd sight walking down Ventura Boulevard: Perry, still in a blue velour suit with his cell phone pressed to his ear, and Ralph who, despite his fresh khakis and polo shirt, paused at every garbage receptacle to pick out empty cans and bottles.
By the time they made it to the end of the block, Perry had called the Los Angeles field office of the FBI and, without revealing his name, told a receptionist about the fate awaiting Flight 240 from Los Angeles International Airport. Ralph, meanwhile, continued to complain bitterly about losing his chance at stardom. ‘Ralph could’ve been an American hero and a galactic superstar,’ he said.
Perry grabbed Ralph and spun him around. ‘Listen to me. Just for one moment, try turning down the crazy and listening.’
Ralph glanced down at Perry’s hands, which appeared comically small on the homeless man’s shoulders. Perry couldn’t believe he was manhandling a large lunatic, but for the moment he seemed to have gained his attention. ‘Right now, you and I are the only two people on Earth who know about Galaxy Entertainment and aren’t their prisoners.’
Ralph nodded. ‘Yeah?’
‘We know that they’re going to destroy the Earth within days.’
Ralph nodded again. ‘Right.’
‘It’s not a show, Ralph.’
Ralph shrugged. ‘OK.’
‘So, since no one else will believe us, you and I have to figure out a way to stop Galaxy Entertainment from destroying the Earth. It’s up to us.’
For a moment, Perry thought he was making headway. Then Ralph furrowed his brow. ‘Uh... why is that?’
Perry sighed. ‘Do you want them to destroy everything?’
Ralph considered this. ‘You have to admit: it’ll look great on TV.’ He seemed to lose interest in the conversation and reached into a trash can for a beer bottle. Perry shook his head and walked on.
‘Relax, Buddy!’ Ralph called after him. ‘It’s not like it’s the end of the world!’
* * *
Amanda sat her in her office at Galaxy Entertainment, packing the contents of her desk into a blue plastic container. Normally, this kind of mundane organisational work helped clear her mind, but not this afternoon. It was hard for her to know how she felt. She expected to feel trepidation about her job ending, or anxiety about the repercussions of rescuing the Earthles from the Green Room, or anger at the way the finale had been mishandled. Instead, she felt completely exhilarated. And it all seemed to be a result of the absurd – no, the absolutely preposterous – kiss.
Before the kiss, she had never considered Perry Bunt or any Earthle in anything remotely resembling a romantic context. She wasn’t sure she did now, either. To do so would be ludicrous, as ridiculous as befriending a fish. She was practically a different species than Perry and his planetmates, and while she was willing to admit that he was pleasant enough and pretty smart for a random product of fornication, the idea of sharing any sort of intimacy with him was mind-boggling. And yet they had, and now Amanda couldn’t seem to order her thoughts with any clarity. Beneath them seemed to be a pulsing lava field of giddiness. What was wrong with her?
After the copbots had escorted her back to her office ‘pending further investigation of a security breach’ and left her alone, she’d taken a MORE pill, thinking it might help calm her down. She’d quickly achieved orgasm so many times that she’d had to avoid physical contact with the furniture to keep from passing out. She stood completely still in one corner of her office, feeling more agitated than ever.
At one point, she found her thoughts veering into completely bizarre territory. She actually began to work out scenarios that would save Perry Bunt from his planet’s destruction. This seemed so insane to her on so many different levels she couldn’t begin to quantify them. Besides the fact that any rescue of on-air extra-terrestrial talent was against the Producers’ Code as well as various laws, numerous ethical considerations and everything else, what would she do with him, assuming she could save him? He couldn’t possibly fit in with Edenites, given his terrible genetics and minuscule IQ. All the things he didn’t know! And if he knew them all, would he even want to be alive, much less exist in a world that considered him inferior?
Amanda picked up the silver nameplate on her desk. It read:
AMANDA MUNDO
EXECUTIVE EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
She stared at it, lost in thought. What was even more bizarre than the thought of saving Mr Bunt was the thought now occurring to her: that letting Earth destroy itself was wrong. Not just wrong from a programming point of view – she had always thought that to be the case. But ethically wrong. As if the Earth was somehow different from the planetainments that routinely self-immolated during sweeps weeks every year. As if the pathetic residents of these backward worlds wouldn’t in fact be better off in a state of non-existence, spared their ridiculous and completely futile strivings. What an idea! And what about the ethics of keeping Earth alive? Beyond prolonging the suffering of its miserable inhabitants, what if the civilisation somehow evolved to a point that it was able to export its selfishness and aggression to other worlds? No. Not even the most soft-hearted scholar of ethics would support saving Earth from itself.
But still...
Amanda rubbed her fingers at her temples, trying desperately to bring some kind of logic to her thought process. She knew what would help.
‘Jared,’ she said, and the top of her desk was instantly covered with a three-dimensional hologram of the head of her boyfriend, Jared Corley. Like every Edenite man, Jared was stunningly handsome. He had chiselled features and deep, soulful eyes that peered out from under a full head of lustrous golden hair. Yet it was the quirks that no genetic programmer could have predicted that attracted Amanda, most notably the way his mouth became slightly crooked when he smiled, like now.
‘Hey, hotshot,’ he said. Amanda already felt better. She and Jared had met at the Academy during the second week of classes, becoming inseparable for t
wo years. While she remained fixed on her goal of producing Earth, his interests lay in administration. When Amanda was given her first planet, he had taken a job at Galaxy Entertainment’s headquarters on Eden, working his way up to Vice President in Charge of Planetary Acquisitions. She’d promised him she’d be back after her stint on Earth. He didn’t like the idea of her taking a job so far away, but long-distance relationships were often the best choice for ambitious young Edenites. Without any personal distractions, they’d both been able to throw themselves into their jobs.
‘Hey, Jer.’
‘What trouble are you in now?’ His tone was light but Amanda found herself wondering if there was any disapproval beneath it.
‘What have you heard?’
‘The usual galactic gossip. That you smacked down Pythagorus in front of the King.’ Jared chortled. Like every male over ten, he hated the idea of a nine-year-old executive. ‘That you found some Earthle with an idea to save the channel and ruined the little boy’s big plans. Wish I’d been on that feed.’
‘Well, you need some refreshing. The new show didn’t work. Nick is getting his finale after all.’
Jared appeared unfazed. ‘Hey, what did you expect? It was written by an Earthle, right?’
Amanda felt defensive even though she knew it was completely inappropriate. Jared was right; no one could have expected an Earthle to save Channel Blue.
‘It was a good idea,’ she said. ‘I think it would’ve worked with anyone other than Santiago.’
Jared shrugged. ‘Live by the jerk, die by the jerk.’
‘I guess. But I really thought it would work.’
‘You gave it a shot, right? It was worth it. Now when Earth finales, you won’t have any regrets.’
Amanda couldn’t tell if he was underselling this setback for her benefit or whether he really believed it. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on, Jer. I’ve really been doubting myself lately.’
Jared frowned. ‘Really?’
‘I can’t help feeling that there’s something more I can do here.’
‘Amanda, we’ve had this conversation before, and I know that you know that there’s absolutely nothing you or anyone can do with Earth. They’ve tried everything with that planet, the best minds in the business – and I’m including you in there, hotshot – and it always turns to crap.’ Jared was in full-on big brother mode, the way Amanda liked him least. Sometimes she just wanted him to listen and instead he came at her like an advice-show host with only a few seconds before the commercial break. ‘And no one – no one – is going to hold it against you when that marble melts. Trust me, you’ll feel a whole lot better when you’re here back home and Earth’s in reruns. A big part of this business is knowing when to cut and run, take your losses and get out. You’re going to land on your feet just fine.’
Amanda found herself wishing they’d isolated a gene for cliché usage before Jared had been conceived. She waved one hand through the air. ‘I know all that. But haven’t you ever—’ She tried to find words that wouldn’t make her sound completely crazy. ‘Haven’t you ever come across a planet that you knew was worth saving? And felt... bad because you know it shouldn’t be finale-ed?’
Jared furrowed his brow, considering this. ‘I suppose so. But that’s the vocation we’ve chosen, right? If it were easy, anyone could do it.’
After a beat, Amanda nodded. ‘Right.’
‘You OK, hotshot? You seem a little distracted or something.’
‘Have you ever kissed anyone?’ It came out of her mouth before she knew she was saying it.
Jared’s eyes widened and he laughed in short nervous bursts. ‘Are you kidding me?’ He scrunched up his face. ‘Adam’s ghost! What’s gotten into you today?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you going Earthle on me?’ He arched his eyebrows so she’d know he was joking.
‘No, my mind’s just been wandering, I guess.’
‘Well, get it back in its pen. I recommend a couple of stress pills and the rest of the day off.’
‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll talk to you later.’
Jared’s magnificent face lingered on her desk. ‘Seriously, hotshot. You OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Remember, it’s just another show.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘This is our calling. This is what you wanted to do.’
Amanda nodded quickly. ‘I know. Bye.’
Jared vanished. Amanda stood and paced around her desk. Talking to him hadn’t helped at all. In fact, she felt more disconcerted than ever. What was going on? Her reverie was interrupted by the appearance in the middle of her office of a scruffy pig wearing children’s pyjamas. The pig squealed with annoyance and tugged at the pyjama bottoms with its teeth.
Amanda watched the pig with a deep reverence. This was the closest she’d ever been to an animal, even though this wasn’t really an animal per se. The pig was a hologram that appeared in every production office throughout the galaxy every day at precisely noon Eden Standard Time, as mandated by government order. Its purpose was to remind employees of the crucial role that entertainment played in the maintenance of the Edenite civilisation. To Amanda, it was as if the hologram’s creators had been thinking of her, because on this particular day, the pig brought her quickly back to Earth – in a manner of speaking.
If she was busy putting together a production or up against a deadline, Amanda would often ignore the pig. But today she watched it intently while reciting to herself the story she, and every other Edenite, had been taught before they could remember:
Many centuries ago, the people of Eden had conquered space, colonised planets, eradicated war, poverty, disease and, most importantly, their basest animal instincts. They could work as much or as little as they wanted, could travel the length of the galaxy in a week, and lived, on average, 200 years.
They were also bored stiff. Just bored, bored, bored.
Their entire evolution had been predicated on overcoming challenges to their well-being; now that well-being was all they had, they lost their bearings. Violence, a relic of the distant past, returned with a vengeance. Edenites fought each other out of sheer tedium. Riots broke out. Two planets blew themselves up out of sheer desperation for something to do.
In short, the people of Eden were boring themselves to death.
The plague of senseless destruction spread through the empire to its seat, the planet Eden itself, where thousands of weapon-wielding citizens marched on the capitol, shouting, ‘There’s nothing to do!’ and ‘Life is far too easy!’ On the giant video screens set up around the capitol building, Eden’s democratically elected president begged for calm. The crowd jeered and booed, drowning him out: ‘We’re sick of calm!’, ‘Stick your calm you know where!’ and ‘We’re going to calmly burn this world to the ground!’
Then, in a twist of fate that saved humanity, the image on the screen changed from that of the President to that of a pig dressed in a child’s pyjamas. The rioting crowd fell quiet as they watched the pig struggling to wriggle free from its human vestments, a spectacle broadcast by all the major news networks. Would it escape the pyjamas? No one could say. An entire empire watched, transfixed. When the pig finally did succeed in pulling his head through the top and, with a frantic shake of its hindquarters, casting off the bottoms, billions of viewers laughed and cheered. The crowds surrounding the capitol quickly disbanded to return home and replay it again and again.
The pig, it turned out, had escaped from a farm just outside the capital, where the owner’s son had dressed it in his pyjamas. When the boar ran onto the capitol grounds, it was automatically picked up by a surveillance camera. A security guard was so distracted by watching it on one of his monitors that he’d accidentally switched the feed onto the big screens surrounding the capitol.
Thanks to this pig, our leaders recognised the importance of entertainment to our empire’s security and well-being. Thanks to this pig, th
e events that nearly destroyed Eden, the Great Stultification, have never repeated themselves. Thanks to this pig, the human race was saved from self-destruction.
The pig’s name... was Adam.
By the time Amanda came to the end of her recitation, the hologram had vanished. She stared wistfully at the spot it had just occupied. This is our calling, she thought. This is why we do what we do. Without entertainment, there would be nothing but chaos and death.
‘Contemplating your sudden downfall?’ Nick Pythagorus, an unpleasant grin on his face, had managed to slip into the office without her noticing, which was not that surprising given his height of four feet. ‘Actually, I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you might still be gallivanting with your Earthle boyfriend.’
Amanda blushed. At first she wasn’t sure what was happening – she thought it might be a delayed head rush from the MORE pill.
Nick chortled. ‘Oh my heavens, you’re blushing,’ he said. ‘Look.’ He picked up the silver nameplate from Amanda’s desk and held it so she could see her reflection. ‘What’s next? Will you be sprouting body hair?’
Irritated, Amanda grabbed the nameplate and slammed it back on her desk.
‘And aggression,’ Nick said in wonderment. ‘You are really doing your genetic programmers proud today, Mandy.’
‘What do you want, shrimp?’ Amanda said, angrily biting off each word. She knew she was playing right into the boy executive’s hands, but it still felt good.
Nick’s expression became grave. ‘You know what you did, right? By letting the Earthle go, you ruined a great sequence in my finale.’
‘Flight 240 was derivative, gratuitous and random,’ Amanda snapped back. ‘I also believe it broke laws prohibiting the direct endangerment of on-air talent.’