by Jay Martel
‘In utero conception is technically impossible,’ Amanda answered. ‘It’s not supposed to be part of our genetic make-up. So there must be a recessive gene that no one knows about. It’s not an issue, of course, because it’s almost never put to the test.’
‘I would say that it’s an issue,’ Perry said. ‘It is most definitely an issue.’
‘I obviously had no idea this was going to happen.’
‘Great. Fantastic. Like I don’t have enough to think about right now.’
Amanda arched her eyebrows. ‘It doesn’t seem like you’re doing much thinking. You’ve been living with your parents, drinking beer and having sex with a barmaid.’
She was right, of course, but it only made Perry more irritated. ‘That’s my business, OK?’ he said, his voice rising. ‘I’m not the one blowing up the planet.’
Amanda stared at him. ‘I know you hate me and Eden and everything we’ve done here, and I can’t say that I blame you. But don’t hold it against the baby.’
‘Baby?’ Perry choked out a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘I can’t believe you! Is this what happens? You people have sex once and your brains go out the window? You come from a civilisation that doesn’t even reproduce outside of a laboratory and suddenly you’ve got a baby? It’s a bunch of cells the size of a pinhead! You’d rather be on a planet dying with a bunch of losers because of a pinhead?’
‘I suppose,’ Amanda replied. ‘Though I guess I would describe the situation somewhat differently.’
Perry shook his head. ‘Baby or no baby, you need to get out of here.’
Amanda took a deep breath. ‘You of all people should understand. Products of fornication have no opportunities in my world. I can’t be responsible for bringing a baby into that situation.’
‘No one’s forcing you to have a baby. You have other options.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, Perry regretted them. But Amanda remained matter-of-fact.
‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure you’ll understand, because I’m not sure I do.’ She averted her eyes, formulating her words. ‘As a rule, Edenites don’t believe in fate. The concept of destiny is something a child might believe, but not an adult. Adults know better. But this—’ She brushed her hand across her stomach. ‘This is beyond my understanding. I mean, I supposedly don’t even have the gene to reproduce. And beyond that, the probability becomes even more miniscule. We’re talking about a series of events, each less probable than the one before it: leaving my coat in your class; your walking through the security door at Galaxy Entertainment; the steel plates in your head shielding your brain from the collar; your attempts to save the world and getting beaten up, which made you a star on Channel Blue, which threw us together in a van under the freeway where we lost our minds for several seconds.’
‘I think it was more like a few minutes,’ Perry said.
‘Whatever. This is a series of events that is so impossibly ludicrous—’
‘I wouldn’t really call it ludicrous.’
‘It was!’ Amanda practically shouted. ‘In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have come up with something like this. In all the years I’ve watched Earthles do the craziest, most ridiculous things, I could never have imagined something like this happening. Could you?’
The truth was that Perry could have, and actually, several times, had, but he would never admit to it. ‘Maybe not, but you make it sound like some kind of freakish event.’
‘That’s a perfect way of describing it – a freakish event. And you were the one who always told us in class how we shouldn’t use freakish events in our scripts. How, if there was a coincidence after the first act, the audience wouldn’t buy it and feel cheated. Why? Because in real life it never happens.’
Perry nodded. ‘Yeah, OK, so no self-respecting writer would have anything to do with this. What does that prove?’
‘That there’s something going on here! And while I’m not prepared to call it God or fate or destiny, I’m not prepared to undo what’s already been done. And part of me does think—’ Amanda’s voice trailed off for a moment. ‘Part of me thinks that I was meant to have this boy with you.’
Despite himself, tears filled Perry’s eyes. He quickly blinked them away, but it was too late – they’d already derailed his rage. Damn it, she was doing it again. He felt his anger melt into a pool of warm mush that collected in his chest, making every heartbeat reverberate throughout his entire body. Amanda stared at him. ‘Are you helping me or not?’
After a moment, Perry took the invitation from her. Engraved script invited ‘Mister Perry Bunt’ in ‘appreciation for his generous support’ to a meeting with President Brendan Grebner in the Oval Office at eleven the following morning. Perry shook his head. ‘The President’s posing for photos with campaign donors while there’s a war in the Middle East?’
‘He doesn’t know it’s the last one,’ Amanda said. ‘He thinks there’s going to be another election, which tend to be very expensive. He shakes a few hands, poses for some pictures. It’s part of his job.’
Perry continued to gaze sceptically at the invitation. ‘I could go to the President with the most convincing argument in the world, but he’d never buy it. I’ll be the crazy guy in the White House. It’ll be like Del Waddle’s all over again, only worse.’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ Amanda said. ‘You know that the President is a deeply religious man, right?’ Perry nodded. He hadn’t followed the last presidential campaign very closely – like half of his fellow citizens, he preferred complaining to voting – but he did know that Brendan Grebner had talked frequently about his faith in God and how it would help him govern the nation. In a paradox that only Edenites would find entertaining, citizens of the United States preferred leaders who received advice from an invisible being whose existence was, by its very nature, impossible to prove.
‘The night before I quit Channel Blue,’ Amanda continued, ‘I asked Jeff to stop by the Lincoln Bedroom and visit President Grebner.’
It took Perry a moment to realise what she was saying. ‘You gave the President a vision?’
Amanda nodded. ‘Jesus Christ told President Grebner that the world was about to end, but that Perry Bunt would be coming to see him soon with a plan to save it. When the President shakes your hand, all you have to do is tell him your name. He’ll know why you’re there.’
Perry couldn’t help smiling. ‘That’s good.’
‘You wrote the original scene – I’m just doing what producers do best.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Steal from writers.’
Perry smiled. He knew there was a reason he’d conceived a child with this woman. ‘And what will I say to the President when he asks me how to save the world?’
‘The usual: stop being selfish, stop killing people, stop poisoning the planet—’
Perry shook his head emphatically. ‘I’m going to need more than that. He’s the President of the United States, for God’s sake. Even if he thinks Jesus sent me, he’s going to want specifics.’
Amanda waved one hand impatiently. ‘I’m not worried about that. There’s a million things he could do to make Earthles seem less repugnant. If you can get him to cancel a single bombing mission, or melt down one nuclear weapon, that might be enough to keep us on the air.’
‘Maybe,’ Perry said. ‘But if we’re going to do this, we need to do it right. We need a concrete plan to save the world.’
‘Fine,’ Amanda said. ‘We’ll come up with something on the plane.’
Perry remained unconvinced. ‘What makes you think anyone will be watching? You quit your job. And I quit whatever I was doing. How do we know anyone’s even out there anymore?’
‘They’re still tracking us. Marty’s not stupid.’ Amanda glanced up at the sky. ‘All right, he’s more than that, he’s really smart, the most talented producer I’ve ever worked with.’ She winked at Perry. ‘He knows we’re going to try something. He’d be foolish not to watch. Whether they
’ll put us on the air is a gamble. It depends on how successful we are. But I don’t think they’ll be able to resist. Series star Perry Bunt and the most powerful Earthle joining forces to redeem the planet? Our viewers will eat it up.’
‘They only like it when I fail,’ Perry said.
‘They do enjoy your failures,’ Amanda admitted. ‘But I think I know our audience. They’re ready to see us succeed.’
By the way she said ‘us’, Perry could tell that she wasn’t just talking about the two of them.
He stared at the invitation as if trying to find, between its engraved words, another flaw with Amanda’s plan. ‘If we’re doing this, we have to move,’ she said. ‘The last flight for Washington leaves in an hour.’
Perry handed the invitation back to her. ‘There’s only one way I’ll go. You have to promise me that if it doesn’t work, you’ll get out of here.’
After a moment, Amanda nodded.
‘I mean it. If we can’t slow down the end of the world within twenty-four hours, you will find yourself an elevator and go straight to the moon.’
Amanda sighed. ‘I already agreed. Now let’s go.’
‘Wait,’ Perry said. ‘I need you to ask Jeff one more favour.’
* * *
Noah Overton was eating brown rice and mung beans alone in his studio apartment, fretting about a feud between two volunteer teachers in the reading programme he was organising, while also feeling guilty about obsessing over his petty problems when so much else was wrong with the world. The Middle East was going up in flames and here he was, worrying about his reading programme. In such states of guilty agitation Noah spent most of his waking hours.
‘Noah,’ a lilting voice said. Noah bolted out of his chair and turned. Gandhi was standing in his living room – freaking Mahatma Gandhi – right there next to his futon, wrapped in a white robe, beaming beatifically.
‘Not again,’ Noah said, his eyes widening in terror.
‘Yes, and this time, you must pay attention to your vision!’ Gandhi said, gently chiding Noah in his sing-song elocution.
Noah staggered backwards until he bumped into the couch. ‘What is it? What do you want?’
‘You are a very lucky young man,’ Gandhi said. ‘You have one more chance to save the world.’
CHANNEL 28
MEETING WITH THE PRESIDENT
Perry saw the pillars of the White House through the limousine’s tinted window and felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never paid much attention to politics. Like most Americans, he took it as a given that most politicians were venal, power-hungry con artists, while paradoxically respecting the offices they filled. Ever since he was a young boy, he had held a special awe for the presidency. Maybe it was the special phone they carried that could start a nuclear war, or their pictures on the money, or the fact that they had their own theme song, ‘Hail to the Chief’. The thought of meeting the President still gave him goose bumps.
‘There it is,’ Perry said, his voice tinged with wonder.
Amanda, who felt no such awe, nodded noncommittally. In her white evening dress, she was reading the document that Perry had, at five in the morning in a sleepless delirium, titled ‘How to Save the World’. During his flight from Los Angeles to Washington, Noah Overton had come up with 315 immediate steps the President of the United States could take to improve life on Earth, and they filled over fifty pages. While Amanda slept through the night in the bedroom of their suite at the Willard-Intercontinental Hotel, Noah and Perry stayed up in the next room, whittling and honing the document until, at ten pages, it seemed almost reasonable.
The limousine turned right onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Numerous groups demonstrated in front of the wrought-iron fence that separated them from the White House lawn. Perry pushed the button that lowered the glass partition between the back seat and the driver. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘There’s always folks out here. Everyone’s got something to say, I guess.’
The limousine, caught in heavy morning traffic, crept by the protestors. Perry could now read their signs, and he saw that their complaints did indeed cover a wide spectrum. There were protestors for peace, against abortion, for Jesus, against government, for Israel, against Israel, and a strange group of demonstrators who wore blue tracksuits and waved signs reading: ‘Hurry Before the Aliens Come’ and ‘No One Gets the Cupcake’. The limousine slowed to a stop behind a stalled car, and one blue-clad young man pushed a placard against Perry’s window that depicted a handsome prophet with a flowing beard and the words ‘The Buddy Is Love’. It took several moments for Perry to recognise himself – or rather, an artist’s version of a Photoshopped cell phone picture of himself. The limousine pulled away. Perry shook his head in disbelief. ‘Did you see that?’
Amanda was still reading ‘How to Save the World’. ‘What?’
Perry turned and looked out the rear window. The blue tracksuits were now just little dots among the other protestors. ‘Never mind.’
The limousine passed through a security gate, then joined a parade of other limousines sliding up under the west portico of the White House in perfect choreography, each pausing to disgorge its well-dressed passengers before moving on.
As Perry and Amanda emerged from their limo and walked to the entrance, Amanda tucked ‘How to Save the World’ back into its manila envelope and handed it to Perry. ‘Nicely done,’ she said.
‘Not too crazy?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Amanda said. ‘But then, I’m not from around here.’
Perry gazed up at the formidable mansion. His grandparents had brought him here when he was eleven. At that time, he’d felt butterflies in his stomach walking through the east portico with the other tourists. Today he felt those same butterflies, only more of them. Today he wasn’t just sightseeing on the ground floor, he was going upstairs to meet the man of the house. And more than that, he was going to ask for his help in saving the country, the world and his unborn son.
No pressure, he thought.
Yet as he made his way through the security checkpoint and showed a poker-faced Secret Service agent his invitation and drivers licence, he felt a strange elation. In one hand he held ‘How to Save the World’; in the other, he held Amanda’s. Just having her next to him instilled in him an irrational confidence. Then, as if to prove him right, a fly buzzed by his head and down the long hallway filled with grandiose oil paintings of bewigged presidents. He didn’t have a chance to see if the fly was blue, but it had to be a good omen. ‘Watch this, you alien couch potatoes!’ he wanted to yell after it. ‘You want to see a desperate plan to save Earth? I’ve got it right here!’
Perry, Amanda and the rest of the well-dressed visitors gathered at the bottom of a staircase, where they were met by an officious man in a dark suit.
‘I want to welcome you all to the White House,’ he said. ‘We will first proceed upstairs to the Oval Office. There you will all have an opportunity to meet the President. Photography is permitted, but since the President’s time is limited, he cannot pose with each of you. If you would like a photo with the President, we ask that you have someone else take it while the President is shaking your hand—’ He went on in this manner and Perry found himself impatiently grinding his teeth. Finally, the protocol was dispensed with and the officious man led the visitors up the stairs.
When Perry followed the group into a homely room and was told that it was the Oval Office, he was sure there’d been some mistake. But on closer inspection he saw that it was in fact the room he’d seen for years in photographs and movies, only smaller and older-looking. The officious man set about arranging Perry, Amanda and the rest of the visitors into a single-file line. They stood like birds on a wire for what seemed like several minutes until a door Perry hadn’t noticed opened and two Secret Service agents strode in. They circulated around the room, scrutinised the visitors, then drifted back to the walls and became as still as statues. Mo
re minutes passed. Then, through yet another door, a tall, handsome white-haired man charged in, while talking to two younger men who trailed him. The tall man was unmistakably President Brendan Grebner.
‘First make the call,’ he said, looking at a paper on his desk. ‘We need more information.’ One of the younger men nodded and headed out the way he’d come in. The President glanced at papers on his desk, seemingly oblivious to the dozen strangers standing in a straight line in front of him. Finally, he looked up and smiled.
‘Welcome, folks,’ he said. ‘I need to apologise. The situation in the Middle East has made things a little chaotic this morning. But I’m glad you all could come by—’ He proceeded to shake hands with each visitor, starting at one end of the line and working his way down at a brisk pace, exchanging pleasantries along the way. ‘Hi there, where’re you from?’ ‘Welcome to the White House, what’s your name?’
Perry and Amanda stood towards the end of this line, but at his present pace, the President would soon be upon them. Perry nervously fondled the manila envelope and tried to generate more saliva; his throat suddenly felt like a desert cave. Amanda squeezed his hand and smiled.
‘Remember,’ she whispered, ‘it’s just another show.’ Perry couldn’t help smiling back.
President Grebner was now shaking hands with the man standing next to him. Perry started to extend his hand but the man was blathering on about some biofuels plant. Finally, President Grebner pulled himself away and stepped over to Perry, who took a deep breath and offered his hand.
‘Good morning, Mr President. I’m Perry Bunt.’
For a fleeting second, Perry thought he saw a trace of recognition in the President’s eyes. But then, to his surprise, the President released his hand and moved on, quickly saying hello to Amanda and one other visitor before vanishing through yet another door.
Perry watched the door close behind the President, panic building in his gut. He leaned in close to Amanda. ‘What just happened?’