Channel Blue (39 page)

From: Gerald O. Davidoff

To: Interplanetary Board Members

Re: Rescuing ‘Rescue’

While ratings remain high, I fear we will face audience fatigue in the near future without a change of scenery. Let’s not get caught again playing one note for too long. Yes, the male lead is compelling, but as demonstrated, he will never be able to affect real change on this habitat and will no doubt deliver just as fine a performance on another, especially now that the stakes will soon include a juvenile. New scenery will be a relief to all concerned. I see no other course than to proceed with our original plan and find a new venue for our stars, preferably one of the newer planetainments that show potential for positive story arcs.

Perry shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’ He turned to Amanda, who was reading over his shoulder. ‘What does it mean?’

Amanda took the screen and glared at Nick. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘They couldn’t change
all
the codes after I was fired,’ the boy said. ‘They would’ve had to shut down their entire network. I hacked in.’

‘It’s a forgery.’ She tossed the screen back at him.

‘Will somebody tell me what it means?’ Perry asked.

‘Then verify it,’ Nick said to Amanda. ‘It should be easy for you. Do you still have a link with the LA office?’

‘Verify what?’ Perry asked.

Amanda went to the control panel and pushed another button. A dial popped up from the armrest of the couch. Amanda turned it and a rapid succession of images filled the opposite wall. They flickered by so fast, one after another, that Perry couldn’t recognise anything. He thought he saw Drummond Nash setting up cots in his underground office, but he couldn’t be sure. Then he saw what appeared to be Ralph speaking to a large rally in front of the White House, but he couldn’t be sure about that either. And was that a quick glimpse of Noah Overton filling up jugs of water? Occasionally Amanda would slow the knob and pause on an image, but it would be of a closet or someone’s foot – completely meaningless to Perry but greeted with grunts of recognition from Nick and Amanda.

‘Could someone please tell me what we’re looking for?’ Perry said.

‘Moving boxes,’ Amanda said. ‘And they’re all over the place.’ She pushed the button back down into the armrest and the images vanished. ‘Galaxy’s pulling out all their employees.’

Perry studied Amanda’s expression. ‘They’re going ahead with the finale, aren’t they?’

For a few moments, Amanda didn’t seem to know where to look. When she finally met his eyes, he saw that hers were full of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Perry. It’s really over.’

CHANNEL 35

THE REBEL

‘Unfortunately for Earth, the script I put together was perfect,’ Nick said, with what Perry thought was way too much pride. ‘Earthquakes and shortages in Russia help the nationalists consolidate power, tsunamis and food riots destabilise Asia, and then, to set off the entire tinder box, naked-burkha pens in the Middle East. The only sequence that wasn’t properly produced was the terrorist attack in the US. You know, Flight 240.’ Nick glowered at Perry. ‘Thanks to you. But I even had a contingency for
that
. After your successful press conference, Channel Blue will launch a cyberprobe from one of their satellites into the Kremlin, creating a false nuclear alert. The Russians will launch several nuclear-armed RS-24 intercontinental ballistic missiles at the United States. President Grebner will have no choice but to order an immediate retaliatory strike. As a result, the galaxy’s media will have front-row seats to the Earth’s immolation – while simultaneously watching you two freak out because you thought you’d saved it. Live television doesn’t get much better than that.’

Nick was now smiling rapturously. Perry and Amanda glared at him, and he adopted a more concerned expression. ‘I’m sorry it was such a strong script.’

‘Contingencies are always incredibly expensive,’ Amanda said. ‘Especially cyberprobes. And the finale’s already trillions over budget—’

‘Mandy,
GOD
wants this to happen,’ Nick said, holding up his screen as a reminder. ‘Expense isn’t a consideration at this point. In a weird way, your little show might have sealed the deal. They figure what they’re going to lose on the finale they can make up in publicity for future episodes of
Bunt to the Rescue
.’

Perry still couldn’t believe it. ‘How could GOD lie to me?’

Nick frowned, confused. ‘Gerald O. Davidoff was here?’

Amanda nodded and Nick looked crestfallen. ‘I missed him?’

‘He lied,’ Perry said.

‘You must be mistaken,’ Nick says. ‘GOD never lies – even his enemies know that. He’s the most successful entertainment executive in the galaxy for a reason: his word is good.’

‘It isn’t! He just told me I wouldn’t have to do the show anymore!’

‘On Earth,’ Amanda said.

Nick nodded. ‘Yeah, that wasn’t a lie. They’re spinning you off.’

‘Spinning me off?’ Perry said.

Nick shook his head impatiently. ‘You are so slow. That’s what this whole show on the moon is about: brand management. They’re creating a franchise that they can stick anywhere – the hapless-though-determined Earthle, his genetically superior gal pal, and, coming soon, their little POF. You’ll all try to rescue whatever planet they dump you on and the rest of the galaxy will watch.’

Perry glared at the former boy executive, repulsed. ‘I won’t do it!’

‘Then they’ll drop you back on Earth and kill you with everyone else. Stick your sweetie here on some crappy asteroid and, when he’s old enough, use your son for a sequel.’

Perry turned to Amanda. ‘Is this true? GOD would do that?’

Amanda nodded grimly. ‘It’s a good plan.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t mean that I like it. It’s smart, though. Why settle for one series when you can have a franchise?’

‘That’s why he’s GOD,’ Nick said.

Perry stood. ‘How can either of you talk about the merits of a plan to kill
seven billion people
?’

‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Earthle,’ Nick said, his voice layered with contempt. ‘And you never have.’ The boy turned to Amanda. ‘Seriously. How do you deal with this imbecile?’

‘You little shit!’ Perry grabbed Nick, lifted him up and shook him violently.

‘Another genius move!’ Nick said, his high-pitched voice undulating with every shake. ‘Physically abusing the one person who can help you!’

Perry dropped him onto the floor. ‘How can you help us?’

Nick sat up, rearranging his clothes. ‘Leslie Satan has been tracking this situation closely. He has a solution, and he’s asked me to arrange a meeting.’

Amanda laughed. ‘The press conference is in less than an hour!’

Nick lowered his voice. ‘He’s coming
here
.’

‘Here?’

‘To the moon. The man himself. We can’t waste any more time. Come with me.’ Nick fetched his red wig and glasses from the couch, put them on and opened the door. ‘Come on. It’s your only hope.’

Within minutes, Nick, Perry and Amanda had slipped into rented spacesuits and were making their way through an airlock onto the surface of the moon. Strolling the lunar surface was considered a relaxing pastime among the residents of Base Station Blue, so there was nothing unusual about Perry and Amanda moonwalking with one of their young fans. They followed a marked path for ten minutes. When the path came to an end, Nick led them up a steep hill that turned out to be the edge of a crater.

They followed the crater’s lip until a boulder the size of a palace blocked their path. Nick scurried around the boulder, followed by Perry and Amanda. On the other side of it, a long flat plain opened up, extending to a range of jagged mountains in the distance. Nick stopped and examined the screen he held in one gloved hand.

‘Now what?’ Amanda said over their helmet intercoms.

Nick pointed up at a star. It took Perry a moment to realise that this star was rapidly growing and seemed to be approaching quickly. Very quickly. Within seconds, he could see that the star was in fact a motley collection of scuffed-up shipping containers hurtling through space. It slowed as it approached, belching jets of fire from its underside, and dropped down towards the moon’s surface, kicking up plumes of dust that showered onto Perry, Amanda and Nick until it hovered just above the lunar plain. The jets cut out and it smacked unceremoniously down onto the ground, where it shuddered like a beached whale, heaving and sputtering, emitting smoke and jets of orange liquid.

Thus far, Perry had only been exposed to Edenite technology through hidden moon bases, streamlined devices, ruthlessly efficient robots and invisible flying elevators. He was transfixed by the sight of this heap burbling before him – it seemed less like a vision of the future than a rogue piece of space junk. After a few moments, one end of the craft dropped onto the ground, revealing an opening. Nick quickly marched towards it. Perry and Amanda exchanged a look, then followed.

After they climbed through the opening into a small dirty chamber, the spaceship closed itself up. Jets of air hissed in around them. Nick took off his helmet and gloves and walked through two creaky sliding doors into a large, dimly lit cabin. Perry and Amanda took off their helmets and joined him.

If a crazy old cat lady ever owned a spaceship
, Perry thought,
it might look like this
. Piles of cans, printed material, electronic devices and what looked like spare engine parts filled a large cabin, all covered with nets or strapped to the floor with canvas belts. At one end of the cabin stood a few mismatched chairs on a faded carpet next to a wall of blinking lights and screens. A middle-aged woman in a bathrobe stood up from one of the chairs, a mug in her hand. ‘Anyone want something to drink?’ she said.

Nick, Perry and Amanda shook their heads. ‘Suit yourselves,’ she said and approached a set of sliding doors. Only one of the doors opened, forcing her to scoot sideways through a narrow gap. A loud sneeze sounded and Perry’s eyes, adjusting to the dim light, now saw that there was someone else in the cabin. Ensconced deep in a worn leather lounger that had bits of yellow foam poking through its cracked brown carcase was an incredibly old man with an eye-patch, smoking a thin cigar. Even in the weak gravity of the moon, he seemed to be exerting a force of will just to maintain any semblance of verticality.

‘Please excuse the meagre surroundings.’ The old man spoke in a strained, wheezing voice. He laboriously pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his bathrobe and dabbed his nose. ‘We’ve never put much stock in the material plain. All our resources go directly into The Movement.’

Amanda glared pre-emptively at Perry, who this time was able to stifle a laugh.

‘Mr Satan,’ Nick said. ‘It’s an honour to meet you.’

The old man gawked at Nick as if he’d just dropped through the ceiling. ‘Who the hell are you?’

Nick appeared flustered. ‘Nick Pythagorus. I’m your new agent on Earth.’

‘Oh,’ Leslie Satan said. ‘You’re rather small, aren’t you?’

‘I’m nine years old.’

‘I see,’ Leslie Satan said. He dropped the thin cigar into a coffee cup and released another great sneeze, covering his mouth with one hand. He grunted and pulled away the hand, which now held a row of teeth. He glanced quickly at the teeth and placed them in the pocket of his bathrobe. ‘Damn moon dust. Always irritates my allergies.’

‘This is Amanda Mundo and Perry Bunt,’ Nick said. ‘You gave me the mission of producing them, and here they are.’

‘And so they are, so they are,’ said Leslie Satan. His one eye stared intently at Perry. ‘Perry Bunt.’

Perry wasn’t sure what to do, so he nodded.

Leslie Satan returned his nod. ‘Surprised to see that I don’t have horns and a tail? Earthles usually are. Gerald’s little joke, giving Earth’s bogeyman my name.’ He continued to peer at Perry as if he were searching for something. ‘You look different on TV. More impressive.’ Before Perry could react, Leslie Satan sneezed again, launching something directly at him. Perry instinctively ducked and the object flew over his head, hit the wall and dropped to the deck of the ship with a small plop. He looked down and saw Leslie Satan’s nose.

‘Can you get that for me?’ the old man asked, his voice even stranger than usual, for he now had two slits in his face where his nose, until very recently, had resided. Perry, concealing his revulsion, reached down, delicately picked up the bulb of flesh and dropped it into the hand of its owner, who pocketed it.

‘Have you saved Earth yet? Of course you haven’t. Gerald would never let you. Never!’ Planting a metal cane carefully in front of him, Leslie Satan proceeded, with much gasping and grunting, to lift himself out of his chair, all the while continuing to speak. ‘Do you know why? Because that would demonstrate to the entire galaxy that a lowly product of fornication could somehow effect positive change. We couldn’t have that, could we? The whole universe might fall apart!’ With a final loud groan, Leslie Satan raised himself into a standing position. Perry realised that he’d been so transfixed by the old man’s struggle to get out of the chair that he hadn’t heard a single word he’d said.

‘Sit down here where I can get a better look at you.’ Leslie Satan patted a spotted hand on the distressed lounger. Perry obediently sat. The old man slowly tottered around it until he stood behind him. ‘I have none of my original organs. Some of them are third or fourth generation. Like this ship and The Movement itself, I am held together with nothing but hope in the form of a single vision.’

Perry felt warm breath on his bald spot as the old man closely perused the top of his head. ‘I received a vision last year when a clogged transceiver steered us into a black hole. I’ve been trapped in several such singularities and have usually been disappointed. I know many people who have seen the future inside them. But not me – I’ve always just become constipated. Until this last time, when I actually did receive a vision of what is to come.’