Channel Blue

by Jay Martel

  ‘I also host a show on the channel,’ he said, eyes twinkling. Perry could tell that Marty never had a problem talking about himself. ‘Earth Mirth with Marty Firth and Vermy. It’s been the launching pad for many careers, both on the channel and throughout the galaxy.’

  Amanda capped her lipstick. ‘Once your show took off, Galaxy brought Marty in to run it.’

  Marty Firth grabbed Perry’s right hand with both of his, shaking it as if doing so with enough intensity would eventually cause Perry to dispense the secret of the universe. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘I love the work you’ve been doing. Absolutely love it. Amanda can tell you all the stars of Channel Blue I’ve discovered. I’ve produced Steve Santiago, I’ve produced Pol Pot, I’ve produced Charlie Manson, and you are without a doubt the most promising star I’ve ever worked with.’

  Perry wasn’t sure about how he felt about being in this group, but such was the power of Marty Firth’s aggressive charm and blinding smile that he felt at great pains not to appear ungrateful. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘No, thank you!’ Marty pronounced. ‘I’m 120 years old. I don’t have one organ in my body that I was born with – except for my eyes, and my eyes have never seen anything like you. Thank you! Thank you for saving our channel. All the wonderful hours of programming we’ve produced out of this little planet—’ Marty shook his head as his only original organs misted over.

  ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Mr Bunt. I’ve been in this business for many years and worked on a lot of different worlds – so very many. But nothing comes close to the sheer volume of comedy and drama we’ve managed to wring out of this little blue nugget and you wonderful, crazy Earthles.’ Marty gazed into the distance blissfully, transported by sheer wonderment. Then his smile disappeared, as if a storm cloud had passed in front of the sun. ‘But despite all that, they were going to shut us down. Before you started running around like a lunatic giving all your money away, we were done. I mean, you saw it, right? They sent out the damn pens!’

  In all the excitement, Perry had forgotten about the finale already in progress. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘They’ve declared war in the Middle East!’

  Marty chuckled and pawed the air with one hand. ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘Half an hour ago, a mysterious computer virus disabled the Iranian and Israeli missile systems. Neither knows about the other’s virus, so both sides are suddenly urging further peace talks.’

  ‘So predictable,’ Amanda said into the mirror, a blush brush in one hand. ‘Only weakness can save them from wiping each other out. It’s a wonder the fools didn’t do it years ago.’

  Perry glared at her. ‘You’re acting like I’m not here again.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Amanda said. ‘But you have to agree that the absolute worst thing you can do to an Earthle is to give him power.’

  Marty nodded philosophically. ‘Yes, but of course it’s those refreshingly brutal and selfish qualities that attracted so many viewers to Channel Blue in the first place. They just got a little too much of a good thing until this man—’ His arm shot out towards Perry, gripping him firmly on the shoulder. ‘Until this legend changed everything. Our research shows that you appeal to every single demographic, right across the board. I haven’t seen anything like that since Jeffrey Dahmer. Can I get you anything, Mr Bunt? Some food, perhaps? Something to drink?’

  Perry shifted uneasily. ‘I still feel sick from the tear gas.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Marty said, chuckling. ‘Brilliant performance, by the way. Just brilliant. The way you begged the police to release all your dirty followers as you were being beaten and dragged? Priceless.’

  ‘It wasn’t a performance,’ Perry said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. ‘I was trying to keep people from getting hurt.’ The darker side of his success on Channel Blue, which up until now had been kept in abeyance by the postponement of the Earth’s destruction, bobbed to the surface of his consciousness. What kind of creatures are these Edenites? he wondered. What kind of monsters would consider people getting hurt ‘entertainment’?

  ‘That worked out well, right?’ Marty said, his eyes filled with mirth. ‘How many ended up in the hospital?’

  Perry stood. ‘I’m glad it all worked out for you and your channel, but I’d like to go home now.’ Perry never thought he’d feel this way, but after two days of little sleep or food combined with multiple beatings and humiliations, his crappy little apartment and its lumpy fold-out bed struck him as the closest thing to paradise.

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ Marty said, though he didn’t show any sign of moving away from the door. Perry couldn’t help notice that the producer had what appeared to be a white worm emerging from one ear. What made this even more unusual was that the worm had two eyes that blinked open and stared intently at him.

  ‘Um... You have a, uh, worm in your ear.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just my parasite,’ Marty said, completely unfazed. He looked sideways towards the worm. ‘Vermy, did you come out to say hello?’

  Perry stared slack-jawed at Marty and the worm. ‘You have a parasite.’

  ‘Everyone has parasites,’ he said. ‘Even parasites have parasites. But this happens to be a very special one: Vermis solium. I purchased him on a planet in the Sirius sector just sixty years ago.’

  Perry watched with disbelief as Marty reached up to his ear and stroked the worm affectionately on the top of its little head.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Yes. Why would anyone purchase a parasite?’

  ‘Parasites have an incredible talent for remaking other life forms to suit their needs. The Vermis solium crave travel, rich food and excitement, and will change their hosts to get those things. And that’s exactly what Vermy’s done for me.’ As if on cue, Vermy disappeared back inside Marty’s ear.

  Repulsed, Perry turned to Amanda. ‘Do you have one of those things inside you?’ She shook her head matter-of-factly.

  Marty Firth laughed. ‘We don’t all have the benefit of superior genetic programming like Ms Mundo’s. My parents weren’t rich and had to cut costs on my conception, particularly when it came to the more expensive traits, such as ambition and tenacity. As a result, I was a wayward and listless young man. Vermy changed all that. Within days of insertion, it had altered my brain so that I would get it all the things it wanted. Since it came aboard, I’ve produced planets all over the galaxy, winning sixteen Orbys for my work and becoming quite famous and wealthy. I’ve become what you might call the perfect host.’ He chuckled and looked at Perry with a glint in his eye. ‘You know, if you were ever able to afford one, a brain parasite might be the best thing that ever happened to you.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Perry said, unable to conceal his disgust. ‘I’d actually like to go now.’ He took a step towards the door, but Marty continued to block his path. The producer and Amanda exchanged a quick glance.

  ‘The thing is,’ Marty said. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Perry searched out Amanda’s eyes, but she returned to the mirror with a powder compact.

  ‘You’re the star of your own show,’ Marty said. ‘Bunt to the Rescue.’

  Perry grimaced. ‘Bunt to the Rescue?’

  ‘Number nineteen in its time slot for 27-year-old males. They love it; you’re a hit.’

  ‘It’s a terrible title.’

  Marty shrugged. ‘Titles are hard. We didn’t have a lot of time. It’s not like you gave us any warning, you crazy planet saver.’ Marty playfully chucked Perry under the chin.

  Perry instinctively wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘Well, you can call it whatever you want. Right now, I need to take a shower, get something to eat and go to bed.’

  ‘Food and hygiene can be arranged, my filthy little hero. In fact,’ Marty said, patting Perry’s head, ‘I’d say a haircut is an absolute must. No offence, but there’s nothing more unappealing than a balding man with long hair. Sleep, however, will have
to wait. You see—’ Marty turned both of his palms upwards. ‘Everyone wants to see more. Of you. Of your incredibly heroic self-sacrificing exploits. You’re in the public eye now; you can’t just disappear on us. You’re too famous.’

  In all the time that he’d fantasised about becoming famous – a lot more than he’d like to admit – Perry had never fantasised about wanting the fame to end. Then again, he’d never imagined that his fans would live light years away and want to see the Earth destroyed. ‘Then the show’s over,’ he said. ‘I quit.’

  ‘Again, you can’t.’

  ‘How are you going to stop me? Try to kill me again? Is that something your viewers would enjoy seeing?’

  ‘No,’ Marty said. ‘At least not right at this moment. What they want to see is you doing your thing. That thing you do so well.’ Marty twiddled two fingers and made his hand ‘run’ across the air. ‘You know, scurrying around, trying to save a planet.’

  ‘But there’s no reason to save it anymore. You just told me the finale isn’t going to happen.’

  Marty, who hadn’t felt sheepish about anything since acquiring his brain parasite sixty years ago, did his very best to appear that way. He widened his eyes, licked his lips and grimaced. ‘Not at the moment.’

  Amanda snapped a compact shut and dropped it on the table. ‘It’s just a postponement, Mr Bunt,’ she said. ‘We have to prove that we can sustain a hit series. In the meantime, they’re keeping their options open – they can put the finale back into production at any moment. Right now, Bunt to the Rescue is the only thing stopping them. If it ends or the ratings dip, we’re back where we started.’

  Perry’s stomach sank. He collapsed into a chair and rubbed his head. He stared at Amanda with disbelief. ‘So you would kill an entire planet and all the life on it because I won’t... perform for you?’

  ‘It’s not up to us,’ Marty said. He extended both hands over his head. ‘The audience is our master.’

  ‘Your audience is insane!’ Perry shouted with a vehemence that surprised him. ‘They’re spoiled sadistic psychopaths with nothing better to do than to watch the suffering and death of innocent people.’ Marty and Amanda both gazed at Perry impassively. ‘For God’s sake, we’re living, flesh-and-blood beings, just like you. We’re alive!’

  Marty glanced over at Amanda. ‘Is he going to go there? Because if he is, I’m telling you right now, there is no way I’m going to be able to keep a straight face.’

  ‘Go where?’ Perry demanded.

  ‘The “sanctity of life”.’ No sooner had Marty said it than he burst out in paroxysms of laughter.

  Perry scowled at the producer. ‘What about it?’

  Marty struggled to catch his breath, wiping a tear from one eye. ‘Do you know how many planets there are in this galaxy, how many living beings there are on all those planets? No one’s even been able to count them yet, and that’s just this galaxy – one tiny pinprick in the known universe! The universe is lousy with life. Please. It’s about as scarce as hydrogen.’

  Perry remained defiant. ‘That doesn’t justify what you’re doing to us.’

  Marty smiled pleasantly and turned to Amanda. ‘Is he always this way? I thought Cheney was difficult.’

  Amanda shrugged. ‘I guess the whole thing is still a bit of a shock. You know Earthles – they always take a little longer than you think they should.’

  ‘Again, I’m right here,’ Perry said.

  Amanda turned to him and smiled. It was the sort of patient, long-suffering smile that Perry had seen on the face of his schoolteachers throughout his education, but coming from Amanda it made his heart accelerate. Again he felt the anger boiling in his stomach dissolved by the beating of his heart. Damn her, he thought. Why does it have to be her? He was once counselled by an elderly screenwriter never to fall in love with anyone in the entertainment business – advice he’d managed to follow, mostly by default. What would that screenwriter make of his present dilemma?

  ‘Mr Bunt, you’ve achieved your goal,’ Amanda said. ‘You’ve saved Earth.’

  ‘Though as far as our viewers are concerned,’ Marty said, jumping in quickly, ‘you still think the world is ending. And if I had it my way, those viewers would be right – we wouldn’t have taken you off the set.’

  ‘You’d have left me in jail?’

  The producer chortled. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have stayed there,’ he said. ‘We had numerous scenarios to gain your release. My favourite involved two corrupt cops, a ladder to the roof and a four-story drop onto a flatbed truck carrying mattresses. It would’ve been spectacular.’ Marty seemed momentarily lost in a happy dream, then continued. ‘But Amanda here convinced me you’d benefit from a little hiatus between episodes.’

  Amanda frowned. ‘He’d given up,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t going to be of any use to us.’

  ‘Hey, we’re here, right?’ Marty said. ‘I just want Perry to know how important it is that he maintains that desperate, naïve attitude that made him a star in the first place.’ He reached over and massaged one of Perry’s shoulders.

  Perry pushed the hand away. ‘I’m not your puppet,’ he said.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Marty said agreeably. ‘If you were, I wouldn’t even need to be having this conversation with you. I’d just stick my hand up your ass and we’d start rolling. Now, where was I—’ Marty rubbed his hands together. ‘Ah yes, the importance of your ignorance. Our audience loves authenticity above everything else. They want real drama, real comedy, real excitement. It’s not anything approaching what you call ‘entertainment’ down here. Edenite audiences are not like children; they don’t like to pretend. If someone dies onscreen, they really have to die; if someone saves a planet, they really have to save that planet. They’re very sophisticated – they know the difference. In short, if anyone out there watching catches on that we’re working with you behind the scenes, they’ll switch to a robot fight on Alpha Centauri faster than you can say “ratings disaster”. Then—’ Marty dramatically slashed one finger across his throat. ‘We’re all dead. Not literally, of course. You and Earth would be dead. Amanda and I would have to find new jobs. And Channel Blue would exist only in reruns—’ His eyes teared up again. ‘Something that, twenty years from now, people might catch a glimpse of late at night and think, Wow, that was a great channel, I wonder why they shut it down?’ He studied Perry closely. ‘Do you really want to be the answer to that question?’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about your channel,’ Perry said.

  ‘Then how about your seven billion fellow cast members?’ Marty said. ‘Are they worth your time?’ He shrugged, opening his hands to the sky. ‘I don’t know. You have to tell me.’

  Perry glared at Marty. He thought he could see the white tip of a parasite peeking out of the producer’s ear. He shook his head and sighed. ‘What do I have to do?’

  CHANNEL 19

  SAVIOURS OF THE PLANET

  Two hours later, Perry reluctantly resumed his starring role in his hit series, Bunt to the Rescue. The current episode required him to put on a new Armani suit while riding in the back of a stretch limousine that was speeding through Beverly Hills. Since he’d had limited experience with nice clothes, accomplishing this was taking a ridiculously long time and no doubt supplying laughs to viewers throughout the galaxy – especially when, wearing nothing more than underwear and an unbuttoned dress shirt, Perry leaned forward to pick up a dropped cufflink and the limo braked suddenly, sending him sprawling to the floor. He lay there wondering how hilarious his butt crack looked peeking out the top of his boxers.

  As Marty Firth might have said: if someone falls on their face onscreen, someone really has to fall on their face.

  Perry was en route to a charity function at the estate of Del Waddle, the richest person in Hollywood and the tenth richest man in the world. Even in his glory days as a successful screenwriter, Perry had never actually met the man. The only time he’d come close was when one of his screenplays – a thriller c
alled Dead Tweet, about a man who is able to exchange e-mails with the deceased – came tantalisingly close to being produced by Waddlevision Studios, only to be shelved when, according to his agent, Del Waddle baulked at the action star cast as the leading man, saying that the star, for all his on-screen exploits, was a ‘pussy’ in real life. Other than this, Perry knew little more about the billionaire than what the public knew: that with an unparalleled combination of business savvy and a knack for knowing what fantasies people wanted to see on their large and small screens, the young mogul, after inheriting a few radio stations from his father, had constructed a conglomerate so massive that it could only exist in an era in which the word ‘monopoly’ was used mainly to describe a board game. ‘Vertically integrated’ was the phrase now used to describe such awesome entities, and Waddlevision was the Everest of them all.

  Waddlevision could take a simple children’s fable, produce it as a movie, distribute it, merchandise it, spin it off into a theme-park attraction, a TV show, a Broadway musical and, finally, a movie based on the Broadway musical, all released with their own hit soundtrack albums and effusive critical praise as ‘perfect family entertainment’ by the newspapers, magazines and websites also owned by... Waddlevision.

  But Waddlevision was only the beginning. Del had leveraged his outsized control over media into control over almost every aspect of American business. He owned airlines and Bolivian shirt factories, armament brokers and chains of preschools. As a result, he had a net worth of over forty billion dollars, which was more than the gross national product of most of the Earth’s nations. But despite his mansions, fleet of private jets and liner-sized yacht with its own basketball court, Del went out of his way to portray himself in the media as ‘just a regular guy who caught some breaks’. He had married his high-school sweetheart, given millions to charities and regularly held large benefit dinners at his various mansions. Newspapers (not just the ones he owned) were full of accounts of his philanthropy.