Year Zero (20 page)

“That was your own odd conclusion,” Carly reminded me. “I just referred to it as a
program
.”

“Well, gee, thanks for not letting me get confused about things.”

She shot me an icy look. “No problem.”

I felt like chewing her out, but decided against it. The brief, giggly mood of our trip through the planet’s core was long gone, and Carly was back to her crabby, sarcastic self.
What’s with her?
I wondered. She was gorgeous and smart—and apparently spectacularly rich and intergalactically famous. So why was she always such a … brat? “So now that I know more about your program,” I said carefully, “could you please tell how it helped you discover the truth about the Townshend Line?”

Carly shrugged awkwardly. “Sure. Our show has a research staff that rivals the major intelligence services in terms of
resources. They’ve cracked into every email server and phone exchange on Earth, and they’re always making huge discoveries. We found out about Schwarzenegger’s love child five years before humanity did. About Lohan’s arrest as it was happening. And we have stuff on Ryan Seacrest that would shock even a Fark reader. Anyway—I don’t know how, because nobody ever tells me
anything
—but somehow, our team got the facts about the Townshend Line out of the Guardian Council.”

“Even though it’s the best-kept secret in the
universe
?”

She nodded. “They’re that good.” She didn’t sound remotely proud of this.

“But it won’t be a secret for long, because the truth’s about to get out, right?” I asked.

Another nod.

“How so?”

“We’re uh … going to tell them.”

“We? As in …”

“Our program,” Carly finally confessed. “The whole purpose of our research team is to dig up juicy facts about humanity and human celebrities for our writers to weave into our story line. And nothing makes Dad happier than getting a huge scoop.”

“Remember, he’s a very influential journalist,” Frampton burbled.

Carly rolled her eyes. “Please. Before the Kotter Moment, he used to serve snacks to a small-time editor in a backwater globular cluster, and he never got over it. He’s about as much of a journalist as a—”

“Whoa,”
I said. “Wait! Let’s not change the subject here. You’re telling me that the entire universe is about to find out about humanity’s complete defenselessness because of
your
reality show?”

“Our bad,” Frampton confessed, holding his hands above his shoulders like a surrendering soldier.

“But it wasn’t our idea!” Carly blurted. “They just handed us these scripts a couple days ago, and had us perform these horrified reactions to learning the truth about the Townshend Line. That was honestly the first that Frampton and I heard about
any
of this! And even when we were acting out the scene, I figured they were just going to use it for a dream sequence.”

“Wait—you have dream sequences in your
reality
shows?” I’d heard that scripts and writers were routinely used in producing that crap. But dream sequences should strain the gullibility of even reality show fans. I mean, right?

Carly shrugged and nodded.

I didn’t know what to say. After all the high-handedness that I’d put up with because she was trying to save my species, it turned out that her own boneheaded family business was directly imperiling us! Offended and infuriated, I felt a sudden urge to call her an arrogant, duplicitous dolt.

“You arrogant, duplicitous dolt,” I said.

Carly looked like she was about to cry. “You … you’re right. I am arrogant. And I’m a dolt. And I didn’t used to be either! I swear, I used to be really, really
humble
. So humble. And smart! And then this … 
fame
thing happened to me. All this wealth and fame was thrust on me, and I became a tool to these managers, producers, and agents! And this show is the worst part of it. Before it came out, we at least had our privacy when we weren’t onstage. But now we’re
always
onstage! And we’re just tools to these—these
scriptwriters
. It’s like no word that comes out of my mouth is really my own!”

Deeply touched that Carly could let herself be this vulnerable with me, I was overwhelmed by affection and pity. I
was about to reach out to hug her, when a voice erupted right behind me. “Aaaaaaaaaaand
SCENE
!”

I turned around and saw a truly terrifying creature. I can handle orange pus-oozing lizards with stalk-mounted eyes, like Mllsh-mllsh. I can handle acid-drooling praying mantises. And I can handle junkies, muggers, meter maids, and any other human flotsam. But this … 
thing
was an almost-human. And something about that was viscerally horrifying. He was about my height and size, had a full head of blond hair, and looked to be about thirty. Only instead of eyes he had—whites. No pupils, no irises. Just the whites of the eyes. He also had perfectly smooth flesh where his mouth should have been, and a vertically oriented mouth embedded in his right cheek.

Other than that, he was your basic dude in Dockers. He was holding a perfectly normal finger up to his perfectly normal left ear, and seemed to be listening to some small device. After a few moments, he bellowed again. “Ya know, gosh darn the luck, Carly, but it sounds like there was a teeeeeny little audio boo-boo right toward the end. Could you take it from … I dunno, maybe from ‘now we’re always onstage’?”

Carly sighed irritably, composed herself, then took on a forlorn air and said, “But now we’re
always
onstage! And we’re just tools to these—these
scriptwriters
. It’s like no word that comes out of my mouth is really my own!”

“Thaaaaat’s perfect,” Sidemouth said. “Great work, Carly. Okay, all of you—take five.”

I looked around, and saw that we were suddenly surrounded by a dozen other near-human freaks. They were toting around lights and microphones, fussing over a table full of snacks, and manhandling three gigantic TV cameras
that slid around soundlessly on these squat, rolling platforms. All of them could pass for human from a middling distance (including Sidemouth, if you saw him from the right angle). But a second look showed that this one’s feet were oriented backward. Or that one had three elbows, which gave him a series of … 
links
for arms. Or that one had four nostrils on an upturned nose.

Before I could process any of this, I heard a commotion coming from behind one of the false walls. Moments later, Sonny himself zipped around it, surrounded by three near-human lackeys. One was carrying a tiny platter of caviar, another held out a dish filled with blue M&M’s, while the third bore a black ashtray that held a smoldering stogie. They maneuvered with ingenious dexterity, always keeping their little offerings within reach of Sonny’s hallowed hands as he strode forward. The production crew meanwhile surged into action. Within moments they had a boom mike hovering over our little group, with lights and cameras positioned to capture our every movement and expression.

Sonny strode up to his son.

“Frampton, Frampton, Frampton,” he scolded, waving a finger foppishly. “I left you in charge of your baby sister for half a day. And now Asteroid Command tells me you spent the entire time zooming around … in
outer space
!”

Frampton leapt to his feet. “You’ll never guess where we went, Father.”

Sonny grimaced and waved a hand in front of his nose. “To the monkey house, by the smell of it,” he said. Gales of laughter came from every direction at once. It sounded like a besotted audience of hundreds of people. At this, Carly buried her face in an open palm and started shaking her head. A camera zoomed in for a close-up of this.

“No jive, Dad—try to guess where we went!” Frampton was hopping from one foot to the other.

Sonny suddenly took on a stern air. “I hope you weren’t running around with those Peterson boys again.” He grabbed the cigar from his lackey’s ashtray and gave a concerned puff.

Carly looked up. “Dad, we need to stop production and clear the set for a minute,” she said flatly.

Sonny gave one of the cameras a puzzled look. “These kids have the
strangest
expressions these days.” His lips weren’t moving, but his voice was booming in from somewhere overhead. “Just last week she said some boy was taking her to the ‘submarine races.’ ” He shrugged, and gave the camera a look of zany confusion, to adoring laughter.

Now he stroked his chin and gazed at the ceiling. “But, hmm—I don’t want to look like a
square
to my kids,” his disembodied voice mused. “So I’ll just pretend that I know what she’s talking about, and figure it all out later.” He smiled, nodded smugly, and winked at the camera.

Carly leapt to her feet. “Dad, we honestly need to cut the slapstick crap for like five minutes.”

“Oooooooo,”
the invisible audience goaded.

Carly waved her hands like a ref declaring an incomplete pass. “No, I’m dead serious. Cut. Stop. Shut down the set. We seriously need to talk in private.”

Sonny gave her a pensive look. “Something’s … really wrong, isn’t it?”

Carly sighed. “Yes. I have an omnicab here—it can give us some privacy.” With that, the outlines of our pod appeared, glowing faintly with a violet light. After we had exited it and walked over to the set, it had apparently parked itself about thirty feet away.

Sonny turned to Sidemouth. “Okay, shut it down for a few minutes. And put the writing team on standby. It looks like we’re gonna have to come up with a new final scene for today’s episode.” Sidemouth nodded, gave a hand signal, and the crew shut off the lights and climbed down from the cameras.

Carly gave her father a grateful look. “Thanks, Dad. This … this really means a lot to me.”

“Oh, Carly,” he said gently, then started talking like a retarded child. “Daddies need to be dere for deir wittle girls, don’t dey?” I followed the three of them to the omnicab. Right at the threshold, Sonny jerked a thumb at me. “By the way—who’s this palooka?”

“This is Nick,” Carly said. “I’ll explain what—”

“No, no, no,” Sidemouth hollered from the set area. “Sorry boss, but ‘palooka’ is way too sitcommy. Remember, you’re supposedly off-camera now.”

“Oh. Then how about ‘dude’?”

Sidemouth shook his head. “Sorry boss, that’s a bit … well, don’t take this the wrong way, but ‘dude’ is a bit young for you. I’d go with ‘guy.’ ”

Sonny shrugged, nodded, carefully repositioned himself at the pod’s threshold, and jerked a thumb at me again. “By the way—who’s this guy?”

Now I was completely baffled. Hadn’t they stopped recording the show?

“This is Nick,” Carly said. “I’ll explain what he’s doing here as soon as we’re in the omnicab. It’s all good. Trust me.”

I looked around for a live camera with a zoom lens, but the gear was all shut down, and the crew was clearly on break.

Once we were in the pod, its faintly violet door shut and we shot up about a hundred feet. As soon as our altitude stabilized, the walls turned opaque, resembling brushed steel.

Carly looked like she’d just stepped into a sauna after a long, stressful day. “Thank God. The omnicab can’t be bugged. And with the walls blotted out, no one can peek in and read our lips.” She pointed at me. “This is Nick Carter, Dad. He’s a human. From Earth.”

Sonny gave her the exact look that my own dad would give me if I introduced a new friend as Xzjerthåan from the planet Mwrgørrr. “Carly, you’ve just suspended production on the most profitable show in the universe. Every minute we spend up here is costing us tons of moolah, and we don’t have time for one of your harebrained schemes.”

“Dad, I’m totally serious. Nick is from New York City.”

Sonny squinted at me suspiciously. “Oh, really? Then tell me, City Boy. Which Yankee plays for the World Series?” He grinned triumphantly at my baffled look. “All right. Open wide.” Before I could ask what he meant by this, he grasped both of my inner shoulder blades with his left hand, which somehow activated a painless but powerful muscle spasm that completely immobilized me. His right hand then brushed my cheek while making an odd squiggly gesture, and my mouth flopped open. He gazed down my windpipe. “Nope, nope.” He squinted and pulled in for a closer look. “Noooooo. Uh-uh. I’m not seeing any icky red blobs back there.” He touched my cheek again and my mouth snapped shut.
⁴

I wanted to say something, but I was like a marionette in the hands of a master puppeteer, and had no control over my own larynx. So I just stood there and puzzled over all of this. Then it hit me—Frampton had said that one of the three differences between Perfuffinites and humans was a lack of tonsils. So Sonny had just established that I … 
wasn’t human
.

“Dad, he had a wetware upgrade,” Carly said. “So don’t bother pulling his shoes off. You just have to take my word for it.”

“Oh, sure. Suuuuure. Daddies need to twust their wittle pwincesses, don’t dey? So I’m sure he’s as human as rayon slacks. Where’d you pick him up?”

“On Earth. Seriously. Please just pretend to believe me for two minutes.”

Sonny suddenly got very stern. “Okay. In that case, remind me what we promised our daddy? Something about
never
leaving the galaxy without having our big brother along to look after us?”

“Frampton was with me,” Carly said through gritted teeth.

“Great—then what did you have to go zipping off to Earth for? Big sale at Claire’s Boutique? Recipe swap at the nail salon? Pony day at the knitting store?” Sonny finally released my shoulder blades to give his son a laddish nudge.

“Dad, I’m sick of being typecast like that. I’m an
adult
. And it’s time for my role to reflect that!”

Suddenly not at all playful, Sonny gave her an indignant
look. “Oh d’you think? So what did you do, then? Stomp off to Earth to get some footage of yourself acting all
adult
and heroic, so you could sabotage the character we’ve been carefully developing for years?”

Carly looked awkwardly at her feet.

Sonny glared at her. “Carly, we’ve been over this. Our show already has a bright young hero. His name is
Frampton
. And if we were making some fantasy garbage like
Super Friends
, I guess we’d all get to be heroes. But we’re not. We’re making a
reality
show. And in
reality
, what does every hero
actually
have?”