DV8: I’m from the team that got together and drove out to New Mexico, to Soundstage G-69. We put the address into the GPS, drove the eleven godforsaken hours through desert garbage land to get there, and—uh—
Chazz: And?
DV8: There’s nothing there.
Chazz: What?
DV8: There’s nothing there. I mean, Soundstage G-69 is there, but there’s nothing in it. No spaceplane. No NASAW. No footprints or tire tracks leading up to the building—which we’d notice if they existed, since there’s nothing but sand everywhere. There are padlocks on two of the three entrances; we went in through the unlocked one and found absolutely nothing. Just a big-ass room with grungy floors. Part of the ceiling is caved in. I don’t think anyone’s been there in years.
[pause]
DV8: Chazz? Are you there?
Chazz: Yeah. Yeah, I—I’m having a little trouble internalizing this information. [heavier breathing] But they have to be somewhere! Boris drove out there a bunch of times— he would know where it is! Ask him!
DV8: You fired Boris and left him to fend for himself in the Arizona desert.
[Chazz swears loudly. Puggles bark.]
Chazz: Find. Boris.
DV8: We left a message with his wife. Hopefully she’ll get back to us soon, and hopefully he’ll still be willing to help us.
Chazz: What about the ImmerseFX team? They must know where it is!
DV8: The ImmerseFX team is none too pleased with the manner in which their work has been portrayed, the misappropriation of their sizable investment in our show, the specificity of Hibiscus’s remarks, or the way we have handled this situation. They are no longer returning our calls.
[More swearing. More barking.]
Chazz: So you found an empty soundstage and utterly failed your boss, your company, and your nation. What did you do next?
DV8: What else could we do? We got into the car, and now we’re driving back to L.A.!
Chazz: Yeah, but—[He emits a sort of panicked honk.] But what do we do now?
DV8: We were hoping you would have the answer to that.
Chazz: How am I supposed to have the answer to that? I put my trust in you, my allegedly competent employees, to run a goddamn measly dumbass reality show, and you lose the cast and crew somewhere in the New Mexican desert? You misplace an entire show?
DV8: I—
Chazz: Find them!
[end of call]
* * *
After several failed attempts to lure Bacardi out, including the empty promise of more booze, most of the Spacetronauts give up on whatever she’s doing in the bathroom stall and retreat to their separate corners.
The food situation is getting dire. They’ve missed only half a day’s worth of meals, but hunger pains are being augmented by the swirling uncertainty, which mushrooms into a choking anxiety, all cascading into a domino effect of fear and ravenousness and hair-trigger anger and paranoia.
In short, they’re freaking out.
Except for Titania.
Item: Transcript of video recording—RAW, UNAIRED FOOTAGE
Source: Camera #8—Bedroom
Time: 1:28 p.m.
[Nico is sitting on his bed, biting his nails. Titania enters and sits next to him.]
Titania: Are you scared?
Nico: Scared is my default setting, so yes. Aren’t you?
[Titania shrugs.]
Nico: Are you kidding? How could you not be? [He stops biting his nails and hugs his arms around his body.] This is too messed up. I want to go home. I thought I wanted to run away, like you, but I was wrong. I don’t belong here. I belong back in my shitty life, in my shitty Bronx apartment, with my shitty older brother. He’s all I’ve got. That’s all there is.
Titania: Don’t say that. [She tries to make eye contact with him.] You have to keep going, Nico. Bad things happened to you. But you can’t wallow in them forever. You can’t go backwards. You have to keep moving. Keep exploring. Like sharks—if they stop moving, they die.
Nico: That’s not me, though. I’m not like you. I don’t want to spend my life searching for the next thing. At least back home I’ll have my whole future ahead of me. At least there, I’ve got the chance to make it better. I can’t do that from here.
[Titania thinks this over. Her shoulders slump.]
Titania: And I can’t do it from anywhere other than here.
[She runs a hand over the muscles in her neck.]
Titania: What happened last night—it meant something. I mean, it’s what I was looking for all along, isn’t it? Something to cut through the bullshit. Something strange, something mind-blowing. Something real.
Nico: Something dangerous.
Titania: But that’s the thing—it didn’t feel dangerous. Not to me. I don’t—[She balls her hands up in frustration] I don’t know how to explain it.
Nico: You don’t have to. Maybe we just felt different things. I believe you.
[She opens her mouth but hesitates before she speaks.]
Titania: Remember what I told you about where my sister—where I like to think she is?
What happened last night—
I don’t know why, but it made me feel like that place could be real.
And I could go there.
And anything is possible.
That there is more to life than what we see. More to what we experience. More to who we are.
What happened last night made me feel more . . . more.
[Barely a second passes before Nico leans in, as if he can’t stop himself. The kiss lasts for a respectable amount of time, but when they part, he looks horrified.]
Nico: I cannot believe I did that. I’m so sorry.
Titania: Why?
Nico: Why? You were talking about your dead sister—and I do that? What the hell is wrong with me?
[Titania gives him a slight smile.]
Titania: I think your “scared” setting isn’t as default as you think.
Source: Camera #6—Bathroom
[Snout pounds on the stall door.]
Snout: Bacardi? Please don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything to us. He’s gotta be confused—
[Bacardi opens the door and marches past him out of the bathroom.]
Snout: Oh. Good.
[He looks down into the toilet, where the Gila monster continues to soak, irked but unharmed.]
Snout: Hey there, little fella.
[The Gila monster hisses at him.]
Snout: Point taken, bye!
[He slams the stall door shut.]
Source: Camera #7—Confessional Closet
[Bacardi walks in, locks the door, and sits down. She removes her shirt and places it over the lens of the camera.
Fifteen minutes pass, silent and dark.]
Source: Camera #2—Flight Deck
[Louise is by herself, fiddling with the instruments on the control panel. Clayton watches her from the hot tub.]
Louise: [pressing a button and speaking quietly into a device that she has decided is a microphone] Lord Balway Galway? Can you read me? Please respond.
Clayton: [through the bullet hole] Hey.
[Louise ignores him.]
Clayton: What are you doing?
[more ignoring]
Clayton: Radioing your home planet?
[She swivels around to face him.]
Louise: Why do you have to be such a jerk all the time? Newsflash: we’re not on TV anymore. So I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but no one is that much of a dillweed all the time, to everyone around him, for no reason. I get it—every reality show needs a villain. More screen time, more attention. But now, when we’re all alone and we might be in danger, there’s no need to be so mean. I’ve never done anything to you, so I don’t know what your problem is.
Clayton: You spout nonsense. You add noise and unnecessary confusion to each situation that arises. You insist on falling back into a fictitious world when the real one is the environment that requires your attention.
r /> Louise: Well, according to you, the Ultimate Authority on What’s Real, this environment is as fictitious as mine. And you know what? In a way, you’re right. Nothing more artificial than a reality show.
Clayton: That’s not the falseness to which I’m referring, and you know it. Do you realize how demented you sound? We’re not in space. And the sooner you get that through your sci-fi-addled head—
Louise: [snarling] I’m not addled. Just because I choose to believe in something doesn’t make me stupid. You don’t believe in anything.
Clayton: I—
Louise: You know the only thing that’s more pathetic than reality TV? The people who dedicate their lives to being cast on reality TV. Who measure their self-worth in terms of how much screen time and attention they get. You’re not a person. You’re an avatar. A username. Have you expressed a genuine thought since you got here? You’re the fakest thing on this spaceship—and according to you, that’s saying a lot, isn’t it?
[Clayton works his tongue around his mouth but says nothing. Louise watches him, then goes back to the control panel.]
Louise: [whispering into the microphone] Lord Balway Galway? I know you’re very busy. And I know you don’t know who I am . . . yet. But I want to join you on your mission. I just need more time—but we’re out of food, and I don’t know how much longer we can last. If there’s anything you can do—please. Help us.
[With a pneumatic hiss, the airlock door opens to reveal an artfully arranged pile of fresh fruit, vegetables, eggs, rice, cheese, canned goods, and dozens of other staples—more than enough for six people to survive for at least another two months.
Snout, Bacardi, Nico, and Titania come running into the lounge. Their mouths fall open.]
Snout: What the heck?
Bacardi: Where’d all this come from?
Louise: [overjoyed] Lord Balway Galway sent it! [gleefully turning to Clayton] See? Now who’s spouting nonsense?
Clayton: Obviously NASAW was listening in on your insane ramblings and triggered it to open at exactly the right time, thereby brainwashing you even more than they already have—
Louise: Oh, so now this is all NASAW’s doing? Like it’s all part of some big conspiracy? Do you realize how demented you sound?
Clayton: I’m! Not! The demented one!
Louise: [sweetly] Then why are you the one who’s yelling?
[Clayton submerges his head in the hot tub and screams into the water.]
* * *
DV8 schedules a press conference for 2:00 p.m. Never the type to pass up an opportunity for cross-promotion, the producers let Perky Paisley host the media circus, essentially turning it into a breaking-news midday edition of her late-night show.
Item: Transcript of video broadcast
Source: DV8 Breaking News
Time: 2:00 p.m.
[Perky stands at a podium behind a spray of microphones, looking delighted with herself.]
Perky: Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen of the media. My guests for the press conference today are the two—that’s right, two!—most recent exiles ousted in the double elimination this week on the reality phenomenon Waste of Space. Please give a perkilicious welcome to Matt and Kaoru!
[Applause turns to confusion as Chazz Young steps out onto the stage, gives a confident wave to the camera, and stands next to Perky.]
Perky: [smoothing her hair] Um, hi, Chazz.
Chazz: Hi, Perky.
Perky: What are you doing here? Not that it isn’t always a pleasure to see you, but . . . where are Matt and Kaoru?
Chazz: [adopting a serious tone] Here’s the deal, Perky. They wanted to be here. They really did. But we couldn’t let that happen right now. I know DV8 has been tight-lipped about everything since our episode last night, but we have our reasons.
Perky: I don’t blame you! There are a lot of rumors flying around, especially now that Hibiscus has released that video. A lot of people are questioning whether the Spacetronauts are really in space at all.
Chazz: Yes, I’m glad you brought this up. This is an urgent matter, and I want the whole world to hear what I have to say about it.
Perky: The floor is yours.
[She steps aside, giving Chazz the full podium. The camera zooms in tight on his face.]
Chazz: America, the Laika is still in space. It always has been. We have lost contact with the ship, but our control room is hard at work trying to reestablish communication. So if any of you out there feel the need to disparage our brave young American heroes by claiming they’re not in space or never have been in space, you take a long, hard look at yourself and ask yourself: Do I love America? Or do I hate America?
Perky: [poking her head into the frame] I love America.
Chazz: So do I, Perky. So do I. As for Hibiscus’s outrageous claim, I’ll just say this: Our beloved Spacetronauts are under a lot of stress. It’s natural for the claustrophobia and isolation of being in space to take its toll one way or another. Plus, solar radiation has been known to cause brief spells of paranoia and hallucinations, which is why Hibiscus seems confused about her time onboard the Laika. Also, Hibiscus does a lot of drugs, so there’s that, too.
[Perky shimmies back onto the podium.]
Perky: Got it. Thank you for clearing that up, Chazz.
Chazz: Of course . . . [He frowns.] It could also be something else.
Perky: [ putting a hand on his shoulder] Chazz? What is it?
Chazz: I wasn’t going to bring this up, but so many people are asking about the mental state of our beloved Spacetronauts . . . and our loyal viewers do have the right to know, I suppose . . .
Perky: The right to know what?
[Chazz heaves a melodramatic sigh.]
Chazz: Matt and Kaoru have been quarantined.
Perky: Quarantined? Why? Are they sick?
Chazz: Yes. They’ve come down with a bad case of the space pox.
Perky: The what?
Chazz: It’s a very rare disease that afflicts only those who have passed through the outer limits of the groposphere and back. Skippy LaRue got it when he returned from the Apollo 19 mission, and since Matt and Kaoru are now showing symptoms, we feel that it would be best—for their safety and for ours—to isolate them in a medical facility for the time being.
Note: The Apollo 19 mission never happened; it was canceled in 1970. Also, there are no astronauts, past or present, named Skippy LaRue. Also, there is no such thing as a groposphere.
Perky: Oh my God. That sounds serious.
Chazz: It’s incredibly serious.
Perky: Is it fatal?
Chazz: Not as far as we can tell. Both of them are in good spirits—they want to thank their legions of fans for their support, and they have no hard feelings about being voted out. It was an honor just to be sent up there in the first place, they said.
Perky: Wow. So brave.
Chazz: Also—and this is critical—they made it clear that there should be no attempt to contact them in any way. No need to search area hospitals. They would love to appear on camera to deliver their thanks in person and let everyone know they’re okay and verify their existence BUT their appearance is, frankly, too grotesque for television. The festering sores are . . . well, they’re hard to look at. For now, they’re perfectly happy in their hermetically sealed bubbles and would like to use this time to rest, recover, and reflect on how amazing and life-changing and stellar their time onboard the Laika was.
Perky: Wow. So, so much courage.
Chazz: And so, so much festering.
Perky: But they’ll be okay, right?
Chazz: Yes, Matt and Kaoru are on track to make a full recovery. [He frowns.] Except . . .
Perky: [putting a hand on his shoulder] Chazz? What is it?
Chazz: I didn’t want to bring this up, but I suppose it’s the sort of thing that has to be addressed publicly. I’ve been hearing a bunch of nasty rumors about certain people—sick, cruel people—dressing up like Matt and Kaoru and trying to pass t
hemselves off as the real thing. Spreading lies about the show, about DV8, trying to cause a panic—all to get attention and cash in on this tragedy. It’s despicable.
Perky: Hell yeah it is! Who would do such a thing?
Chazz: Your guess is as good as mine, Perky. Details are fuzzy, but so far most reports seem to be originating in the Southwest—though that could change as the vileness spreads.
Perky: Is there anything we can do? I’m sure my viewers would be willing to help.
Chazz: I can’t stress this enough: Matt and Kaoru are alive and well and in the care of the best physicians in the country. To allow rumors to the contrary flies in the face of every shred of bravery and courage they have displayed up to this point. If any of you out there spot someone posing as either one of them—no matter how good their disguises may appear to be—please contact DV8 right away. Email, social media, our website—whatever channel is fastest for you. Help us in bringing Matt and Kaoru to bloody, vengeful justice.
Perky: You mean Matt and Kaoru’s impostors.
Chazz: [after blinking at her for a few seconds, then smiling into the camera] Yes. Of course.
* * *
Item: Transcript of video recording—RAW, UNAIRED FOOTAGE
Source: Camera #1—Airlock
Time: 2:05 p.m.
[The Spacetronauts (minus Clayton) warily make their way into the airlock.]
Nico: What . . . the . . . hell?
Snout: Good gravy, look at all the food! [He picks up a carton and lets out a whoop.] Real eggs!
Louise: [giddy] Lord Balway Galway saved us!
Bacardi: [holding a butternut squash and frowning] What are we supposed to do with this?
Snout: What you want to do with that is cut it in half, pop it in the oven—if we had an oven—and roast it until it gets all creamy and scrumptious inside.
Bacardi: I thought you only made omelets. You can make other things?
Snout: Sure, I can throw some stuff together.
Bacardi: Great! I’ll have a lasagna.
Snout: But—