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Elliot had hoped that they would find more to film that day, but no luck. Dinner came and went, and soon he was in a communication booth with Vic, preparing to report back to the showrunner on Earth. He tried not to fidget.
“I hope today’s footage is good enough,” he said to her while the call connected. The spinning symbol on the screen felt a lot like his life at the moment: in limbo. No one could say whether the show would be on the air much longer.
Well, maybe the showrunner could say.
Vic faced the screen squarely. “Confidence is everything,” she told him. “We’ll make this work.”
Elliot stilled his hands and adjusted his posture, following the director’s lead. If he wanted to direct someday, he had to learn as much as possible at times like these. He was glad that Vic had let him be in on the conversation.
The screen beeped, and bloomed into a larger-than-life image of the lead executive producer. She was dressed for battle. A tailored black suit coat spoke of money and power, while an artfully arranged headscarf turned her steel-gray hair the red of fresh blood. Being face to face with Ms. Salma Kaleel usually made Elliot feel like he was staring down a hawk, and today was no exception. She was an excellent boss, but more than a little terrifying.
“Hello Paewai, McElmore,” she said crisply. “Tell me you have promising material for me.”
Vic nodded, pressing a memory stick into a port. “Transmitting now. Today held rocket plants, an encounter with a predator, poisonous animals, and miscellanea.”
“I’ll have a look,” said Ms. Kaleel. “You should know of an unpleasant development. There is an up-and-coming bit of drivel called ‘Space Fashion’ that is gunning for our sponsorship slot.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain. “They’re more popular than they deserve. If we can’t pull in exceptional numbers soon, they just might get it.”
Elliot felt weak. “But people need our show!” he blurted.
“And yet people will watch this for the hair- and tendril-pulling,” the showrunner replied.
“But—”
Ms. Kaleel waved a hand. “Let’s not fool ourselves. People stop watching us when they get their jobs. They keep watching this garbage in the hopes of a wardrobe malfunction.”
Vic spoke up. “Do we have hard numbers to meet?”
“I’m working on it. I’m also putting out feelers for our next step if worse comes to worst. Elliot, I may be able to get you a position in broadcasting. There’s an opening for a Scatterball commentator along with Chad Bachman.”
“Chad? He’s—” Elliot held his tongue about the old teammate with the cruel streak. “Thank you for looking out for me,” he said instead.
“I’ve got to keep my stars gainfully employed, don’t I?” She smiled briefly. “Hubcap will be more of a challenge. So far all I’ve found is a job as the on-site medic for a celebrity stunt show. He has all the qualifications.”
Elliot winced.
Vic laughed humorlessly. “Just not the patience. Or the appropriately-sized ego.”
Ms. Kaleel nodded. “It’s not the best fit. I’ll let you know if I find anything better. But in the meantime, let’s all do our best to blow those fashionistas out of the water!”
Elliot and Vic readily agreed. The showrunner continued.
“Your focus should be on the eye-catching, as well as the educational,” she said. “Get our media team something they can use to draw in casual viewers who don’t need to find jobs. Unique things. They’ve already seen standard offworld stuff. Space is in danger of becoming mundane. You have to show us the vibrant excitement that you and I know it holds.”
“Yes ma’am!” Vic said. “Tomorrow we have an expedition lined up for wrangling dangerous alien lifeforms. It ought to make for dramatic media spots.”
Ms. Kaleel nodded and leaned back. “Good. Call me again tomorrow and we’ll go over the highlights of your riveting television.”
Vic said that they would. She and Elliot bid the showrunner goodbye. The screen went blank, leaving the small room very quiet indeed.
Elliot slouched in his chair and let out a breath. “What are we going to do?” he asked. Visions of an unpleasant future paraded through his head. Faking a smile at someone he hated each day sounded like his version of hell. As challenging as his current job was, losing Hubcap and the others would be like splitting up a family.
Vic removed the memory stick and stood, shoulders back. “Our best,” she said. “Come on. Tomorrow starts early.”