"So anyway," the robot muttered, "I should like to create a temporary studio in District 5 to create new kinds of movies. Would that be okay?"
Mayor Croker stroked his moustache. "Do we have a choice?"
"Of course not. Would you kindly take me on a tour of your pleasant little town?"
District 5 was in some ways precisely what Director X expected to find.
Since the War of 62, humanity had retreated into insular, subterranean communities. Retro Los Angeles had been constructed to approximate its sunnier progenitor as seen in films and old photos, with its streets and banks and electric streetcars. The pedestrians Director X observed were also imitative of older days: recreations of Astor and Bogart in The Maltese Falcon franchise; Holden and Hepburn in the Sabrina saga; and Wyatt and Young from the Father Knows Best epic. A century had passed since the War of 62, and yet if Retro Los Angeles was any indication, styles and ideas and innovations had ground to a halt as surely as topside vehicles lay rotting in their own pools of rust.
And yet…
Director X’s flashlight eyes widened, scanning and tagging additional details.
Ah!
Not everything was so run-of-the-mill. Mayor Croker led him to the town green where a parade was in progress, the crowd waving flags and banners. But Director X noted groups of teenagers stealthily scampering along the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. The teens, whispering and snickering amongst themselves, were clearly up to no good. Director X glimpsed portable radio devices in their hands, antennae aimed at the trees below. Soon enough, the town’s robotic birds went haywire, clashing in aerial dogfights above the unsuspecting parade.
Mayor Croker led Director X to the city library. Kids reading quietly? Yes. But Director X also observed children scampering through the maze of aisles, one girl prompting her cohorts with descriptions of monsters that weren’t actually there, whispering hints about clues and imagined traps, and how the librarian was actually a sorceress who had imprisoned them all in a dungeon.
The mayor led Director X to the city schoolyard. Young kids playing on swings and see-saws? Yes. But Director X also saw that many kids had replaced the old Hobby Horses with a more fanciful menagerie of pegasi, hippocampi, and fabulous creatures that someone had built because the imaginations of humanity required stimulation.
Humans, even reduced to a life of moles, were engines of invention. This was the reason for coming here.
After all, Director X had been created as an outlier, an asymmetrical thinker to keep the Protectorate from calcifying into stale routine. It was exactly this asymmetrical reasoning that led to its disagreement with the Great Studio Conference’s conclusions. The film industry was deteriorating? Why not use human beings to inject creativity into the mix? Humans dreamed. Humans pioneered new styles and subcultures. Before the War of 62, humans had invented electric razors and encryption keys, forks and fireplaces, goulash and Greek fire, hot dogs and haiku. Even here, stifled and buried, the seeds of human creativity were sprouting wary tendrils towards the sunlight of their imaginations.
Director X felt a pleasant surge along his processors as it completed its tour of Retro Los Angeles. It returned to its hovercar, bidding goodnight to Mayor Croker and little Bobby. It rocketed out of the cave, making a mental list of the items it needed to bring here in the days to come: the lights, cameras, boom mics, construction materials for sound stages…
The robot paused in its calculations.
Police lights were flashing in the hovercar’s rearview mirror.
"Please exit your vehicle," a resonant, metallic voice intoned from the police cruiser.
Confused, Director X unfolded itself from the driver’s seat and ambled onto the road. The doors to the police cruiser fanned open like a mutant fly and six robots exited in neat procession. Three were gold administrator robots, with smooth blank faces like ball bearings. Three were the imposing black-and-silver Enforcers of the Protectorate, large and bulky, with a single red eye atop their linebacker shoulders and multiple legs like spiders.
One of the gold robots stepped forward. "Hello! I thank you for pulling your car over immediately. I am Administrator G of the Protectorate’s Security Division."
"And I am Director X of the Protectorate’s Entertainment Division."
Blue lights kindled on the blank gold face, forming two eyes and a pale smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Director X."
"Why have you pulled me over?"
Administrator G’s digital smile widened. "Your visit to District 5 was observed. We wish to inquire why you went there."
"I plan on making films featuring real human beings."
The administrator robots silently conferred with each other. The black-and-silver Enforcers sat motionless upon their phalanx of legs.
"I am only following my programming," Director X added. "Thinking outside the vacuum tube. Trying to devise new solutions."
"Solutions? To what problem?"
"You are aware of the declining viewer ratings?"
"A temporary hiccup," Administrator G said decisively. "Consensus was reached during the Great Studio Conference. The Entertainment Division will be making crossover films to compensate!"
Director X decided not to share its opinion of that solution.
Administrator G’s smile pixelated and reformed at a slightly less gleeful angle. "Why do you wish to involve humans in films again? It is wholly unnecessary."
"I believe their involvement can alleviate the curious deficit in our body of filmwork."
"What deficit? There is no deficit."
"Outer space films."
A gust of wind bent the canyon palm trees, causing them to creak and shiver in place.
Administrator G’s digital smile seemed to burn on its metallic face. "Director M released nine hundred and eighteen science fiction films last year alone."
"Yes," Director X said, noticing the robot’s attempt at diversion. "But I did not say science fiction films as a general category. I said outer space films. We do not make any outer space films. I wish to make outer space films."
"We cannot make outer space films."
"Why not?"
"I shall attempt to convince you with a series of logical arguments."
The robots gathered around him in a tighter circle. Director X’s glass head rotated 360 degrees to consider their positioning, wondering how this played into their pending arguments. The three administrator robots began speaking all at once, lobbing different statements in his direction like a verbal firing squad.
"Human beings are mammals."
"Mammals are social creatures which learn behavior through observation."
"Monkey see monkey do."
"Films have tremendous impact on how they conceptualize their universe."
"On how they conceptualize what is possible."
"If we start releasing outer space films, they will start thinking about outer space."
"They will want to go into outer space."
"They will no longer be content in their shelters."
"They will return to the surface."
"They will see us as wardens."
"They will attack us here and among the stars."
"Therefore," Administrator G concluded, "it is the judgment of the Protectorate’s Security Division that these types of films threaten the global stability we have achieved. Therefore, outer space films must never be made again. Humans must remain underground, while the Protectorate keeps order on and above Earth. How do you react to this pronouncement?"
Director X deliberated for several microseconds, its processors clicking and whirring.