“Never heard of it.”
“Henry Kase. New pundit. Blames the lack of a Frontier Factor for most of the world’s problems. Complete crap, maybe, but it maps well on the audience we’re looking at.”
“Go on.”
“Third, the Rabid Fan. That’s real. You know it.”
Jere nodded. Everyone dreamed of creating a new Star Trek, still in syndication after all these years, or a new Simpsons. A show that made people dress up, go to conventions, meet in real life, found languages, change dictionaries.
“They’ll think this is too game-show,” Jere said.
“Yeah. But they’ll watch. All the trekkies and scifi nuts and people who dream about getting out, getting away, people who hate their lives for whatever reason, they’ll all watch. Look at the numbers.”
Jere looked at the projection, peaky and perfect and tantalizing. If they could create something like that… he sat silent for a long time, imagining himself at the forefront of a movement.
“There are problems,” Jere said finally.
“Of course.”
“Death is still one. I can borrow a platoon of lawyers to armor-plate our ass, but the shitstorm that follows may still take us down. Especially if they all kick it. As in Neteno is a goner. Done. Stick a fork in it.”
Evan nodded. “I know.”
“You’re asking me to risk my network? While you sit there, almighty, living off interest from a previous life?”
“I’m prepared to throw in,” Evan said.
“How much?”
“Everything.”
“It’s never everything.”
Evan sighed. “I’ll sign a personal guarantee.”
Jere had the bottom line whispered back to him and whistled. “You need funding like a first-run ‘Active for a Free-Access ’Near.’ ”
“The sponsors will line up.”
“Why?”
“Their logo. On Mars. Maybe a featurette. Come on!”
“Sponsors don’t like one-shots.”
“So tell them this is a series. Tell them we’re going to storm the Chinese on the moon!”
It was crazy. It was stupid. And it was, more than likely, impossible. But it was an idea. It was a big idea. And it just might be enough.
“Reality shows are dead,” Jere said.
“It’s coal. Time to mine it.”
Jere nodded. The way things retroed round and round so fast, it was probably comfortably new again. And there were probably millions of people like himself who had caught a glimpse of the last reality shows and remembered them in a fond way.
You’ve taken big chances, he thought. Which is why Neteno is a rising star amongst dying losers.
“We may be able to get some money from NASA,” Jere said, finally. And some money from Dad, since he recommended Evan.
“You’re in?” Evan said.
“How long’s the flight?”
“To Mars? Three months. We’re going to do it?”
“Then we can definitely get food and bev sponsors. Perfect, too, start on the holidays when everyone’s home and be ready for sweeps in Feb.”
“We’re doing it?”
Jere nodded.
Evan did a little jump and victory dance.
Jere cleared his calendar with a few quick touches and stood up. “Let’s go to lunch. I need to know how you intend to pull off this stunt.”
Evan’s eyes sparkled. “It’s Russian tech. You know, the stuff they do, the $250k packages to orbit for a week.”
Jere paused at the door. “That’s why I know people will die.”
“Pull it out! Come on! Pull!” Sam Ruiz shouted through their local comm. Mike Kinsson and Juelie Peters tugged at the shattered plastic shell. Suddenly the whole side twisted off, and all three ended up in a tangled heap on the dusty ground. Mike Kinsson noticed absently that the Disney and Red Bull and Wal-Mart logos on Juelie’s suit were covered in dust, and reached out to brush them off.
“What are you doing?” Sam said, yanking Juelie to her feet.
“Dust…” Mike said, and trailed off. It was stupid anyway. Why should he worry about their sponsors? Why should he worry about anything? They were dead.
Sam’s team had been given the easiest Overland Challenge, nothing more than a fast run over rocky ground, because they had been assigned the toughest rolling and flying part. Soaring over a tiny edge of Valles Marineris was part of their air journey, partly to make it more dramatic and partly to bring back some great images.
But after their brief Overland, they’d bounced up to the scene of a disaster. Their transpo pod had smashed on a huge boulder. Its smooth shape was now twisted into something that more resembled a crushed basketball.
It was supposed to hit and roll, Mike thought. A terrible design, something from last-century NASA that didn’t work then, even with all the redundancy the government could throw at it. Now the Wheel and Kite inside were probably…
“Junk,” he said softly, as Sam and Juelie began pulling out bundles of bent and sheared struts and shreds of fabric.
“Are you going to help?” Juelie asked.
Like a robot, Mike went and helped them pull out the contents of the pod. He noticed that the big Timberland and Kia and Cessna logos emblazoned on the outside of the pod had survived intact, and he had to suppress the urge to laugh. Some of the last pieces had been wedged into the rock and wouldn’t come out-including the engine that powered the Wheel and Kite.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Sam yelled.
“Stuck.”
Sam glared at him and crawled inside. When Sam crawled out again, sweat was running down his cheeks and there was a strange, faraway look in his eyes. Mike looked around at the twisted pieces strewn around them and shook his head. Sam saw it and grabbed him.
“What?” he said. “What are you shaking your head for?”
“We’re dead,” Mike said. “It’s over.”
“No! We can make something! We can do some hybrid thing, like a wheel.” He began rooting through the wreckage, frantic.
“Powered by what?” Mike said softly.
“We can power it! Or we can make skis! Or we can…”
Juelie went over to Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. As soon as he felt her touch, he stopped. He stayed still on his hands and knees, looking down at the rocks and dust, panting.
“Mike’s right,” Juelie said. “I saw the engine.”
Sam stood up. The pale sun reflected off his shiny bronze face. He looked from the wreckage to the horizon and back again. “I don’t want to give up!” he said.
“Why?” Juelie said. “We can’t win.”
Sam looked at her for long moments, as if trying to decipher a strange phrase in an unknown language. Then he slumped. All the tension left him. He sat on a boulder and hugged his knees. Something like a wail escaped him. Under the cloudless alien sky, amidst a red desert unrelieved by water or leaf or lichen, it was a chilling sound.
“What do we do?” he said finally. “How do we get to the Returns?”
“We don’t,” Mike said, standing carefully away.
Sam just looked up at him.
“Walk overland,” Juelie said. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”
“There’s not enough food and water,” Mike said.
“We’ll eat less!”
“We can’t cross the Valles Marineris.”
“Why not?”
“Mile-high vertical walls.”
Juelie was silent for a while. “They’ll have to come rescue us,” she said finally.
“No,” Mike said.
“We’ve lost,” Sam said.
“Wait,” Julie said. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“They can’t just come down and get us,” Mike told her. “Other than our drops and the return modules, there’s no way to get down here and back again.”