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Jeremy 2.0
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Dayton, Ohio
Dec 2002
time: 00:28
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I have violated my own rule by posting a story before it's completely finished. It's almost done. Honestly.
“…the Planetary Party Lounge is the ultimate in terrestrial entertainment.”
The evening’s final showing of “Cresco’s Way” was being screened by an audience of three maintenance technicians. Two of them were obviously there to make out in the back row; the third was stuffing handfuls of Mike and Ikes in his mouth and hooting wildly each time the leading lady stepped onscreen.
It was end of month. Commissary points are use ‘em or lose ‘em and people were coming out of the woodwork to buy sodas and candy and whatever else we still had at the concession counter. The only reason the movie wasn’t full was that it was sweeps week back on Earth. The small screens were all glued to god knows what passed for television entertainment these days. I gave up on TV years ago after that awful “Friends” spinoff.
It also didn’t help our cause that “Cresco” was easily the worst piece of cinematic drek beamed to the ship since we left for Alpha Centauri. It might be the worst movie produced by a major studio in the last century. That cop movie starring the Olsen twins was better. I started working in this theater when I was 12. I know these things.
At half past midnight the show mercifully ended. The house lights weren’t enough to break up the couple playing tonsil hockey so I tapped into the ship’s forward screen on my remote. We were only a month out from our new home and good old Alpha C was bright as a Roman candle, especially when digitally reproduced on the big screen. That always clears them out.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Carla said, catching me peaking through the entry door. She was about my age, with curly blonde hair and glasses in those huge, 80s revival frames. She was dressed as I was in the theater uniform of light blue jacket and white cap.
“It’s a mercy killing,” I told her. “I could have played that old Army V.D. film. Besides, if I don’t get them out, Rudy will.” Rudy, our evening custodian, is approximately 130 years old and grouchy as hell. It’s been suggested lately that he actually does in fact remember the Alamo.
Carla went back to count the inventory while I sat by the front door and waited for Rudy. At ten till one I locked the doors and headed back to the manager’s office. Commissary points spend just as well at the Tiki Bar. Rudy might be a while.
Carla was still crunching numbers when I walked in. She had her hair pulled back now and her glasses had slid to the very end of her nose. I kind of had a thing for her ever since we started working the night shift together a few months back, but I tried to keep it low key since we work together.
“How’s it going?” I asked, sliding into the chair next to her. She smelled like popcorn butter and Raisinets and I didn’t care.
“You know how much I love weekly reports,” she said, tapping the PC screen in front of her. “Especially when we’re exactly 14 hot dogs short yet again.”
“Are you still on that?” I rubbed my eyes and then looked at her screen. It was necessary to manage our inventory just as tight if not tighter than we would have done on Earth. The ship’s resources were obviously limited even with the intense recycling program. But 14 hot dogs were not going to be the ruin of the mission, especially given that we were four short weeks from our destination. But Carla was an incredibly detail-oriented person. I found that part of her attractive as well.
“Come on, Carla. We’ll be on AC in one more month. Who cares about 14 hot dogs?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. We’re supposed to be able to manage something as simple as food inventory. And anyway we’re up to 56 hot dogs total – and nine boxes of Junior Mints.”
“Try to remain calm,” I said. “I’ll grab a handful of grenades from the armory while you alert the cockpit crew.”
“Funny. Look, if we’re not eating them and no one on day crew is, then it’s got to be Rudy,” she said.
“Rudy says real hot dogs aren’t made from Peruvian llamas, but why don’t you go and ask him about that?
She turned to look at me from the corner of her eye. “I’d rather take my chances asking the Captain to turn us back to Earth. It’s not like two dogs a night are going to drive us out of business - we lose a box of candy here and there all the time. But this just ticks me off.”
“My money’s on a problem with the inventory software,” I said. “I mean, you’re the one who programmed it to begin with, aren’t you?”
She kicked the leg of my chair lightly. “You’re a real funny guy tonight. Why don’t you let me worry about this and you can go download the new films?”
“Ugh,” I said, grimacing at the thought of what might await me there. Eddie Murphy and Robin Williams in a “Grumpy Old Men” remake? The latest action flick from Chuck “The Hammer” Steel? The mind boggles…
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Jeremy 2.0
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Dayton, Ohio
Dec 2002
time: 00:28
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I took the balcony steps rather than the elevator. We were all encouraged to get as much incidental exercise as we could to prepare for the months of hard labor ahead of us once we reached Centauri Prime. Twenty-six years on the ship was bound to take its physical toll.
It was still difficult to believe how far we’d come. Alpha Centauri is 4.33 light years from Earth. That’s 25 trillion miles for those of you playing at home. Carla and I and many others first stepped on board the ship when we were still children. The ship and the Bijou were really all we ever knew. Most of the adults were placed in stasis chambers, waiting to be revived on Centauri Prime. These were the scientists, engineers, educators, and leaders who would usher in a new era of our civilization. The rest ran the ship’s instruments, performed maintenance, ran tests, and in our case, “entertained the troops.”
The Bijou is a multi-functional facility designed for live theater, concerts, public addresses, and, occasionally, performance art. It was modeled after a famous theater in one of Earth’s big cities but I never remember which city. Geography was never my best class in school since I didn’t see the need in learning about a place I’d never see again.
Outside our door is an old style marquee that lights up the entire section of the ship. It’s all digital, but can simulate backward or missing letters like a real old time sign. But the best part is when you step inside. Rich mahogany walls, marble columns, deep burgundy carpet, digital posters in gilded frames. The Bijou is trimmed in luxury.
Our stage is spacious enough to host a full battle scene for the Centauri Repertory Players while at the same time accommodating our projection screen. The audio system faithfully reproduces sound through hundreds of concealed speakers. There are no bad seats in the Bijou.
Despite all of these wondrous things, the first thing most people notice is how much cooler it is inside the theater than anywhere else in the ship. A hundred years ago movie houses were some of the first places to be air-conditioned. Families would spend entire Saturdays inside the local movie house during the summer. We’ve got the AC cranked down as far as we can without causing our patrons to bundle up. It’s also important for us to offset the heat from the ship’s engine core. The Bijou sits one level directly above it.
There was some controversy at first about putting us so close to the engines. Safety was the first consideration, not to mention the noise level. But eventually it was agreed that any engine problem big enough to affect the theater would be big enough to affect the rest of the ship. And the amount of soundproofing needed to blunt our audio was more than enough to keep the engine noise down to a pleasant rumble.
I stepped into the projection room and as always, looked past the digital projector and out over the seats of the theater below. I sometimes think of the old days when I’m up here. Big film reels unspooling, the “cigarette burns” in the film to alert the projectionist when it was time to change reels. The projectionist himself bored out of his mind and reading a detective magazine. Everything is sterile and computerized now right down to the electronic film files sent from Earth.
Directing the Uploader was not as unpleasant as cleaning gum off the theater floor but I hated it just the same. I could marvel at the technology at least. With one button I could set the unit to receive data beamed from Earth. At the same time the marquee would change to reflect the new features, as would the digital posters downstairs. Carla more often than not found out what new films we were playing only by walking through the lobby.
The transfer was complete in seconds. I flipped through the Uploader’s screens with trepidation to see what gems the Motion Picture Industry had favored us with. They were about four months into a Kung Fu revival on Earth so I was not surprised to see “Legend of Flying Master IV” in the list. I think we already had a copy of “Flying Masters of Legend II.” There were others in that genre and one other that looked like it had some promise until I realized it was actually a porn film. We don’t show adult films at the Bijou but everything does get dutifully recorded for posterity in the archives. Sometimes the transfer goes a little awry went sent across the cosmos. I was just glad the porn film didn’t hit the marquee, although I’m sure the lobby posters would have been interesting.
I continued. Spielberg’s kid had done a remake of “E.T.” that I thought might be decent until I read somewhere that it was a “reimagining.” That was movie talk for a shot-by-shot remake with modern technology. There were several reasons offered for why it was made and I found it odd that not one mentioned pure greed.
There was a batch of foreign films but it was clear the political situation overseas kept all but the blandest fare from reaching us. I ran through the rest of the titles and then shut the machine down.
It was never my intention to be a movie snob. I actually don’t think that I am one but I’m told by friends that I am. I point out that I love Abbott and Costello movies and they just shake their heads. With the complete archive of human entertainment catalogued and filed in the ship’s central core, you would think our magnificent theater would be able to present something a little more solid than “Dance Party 2030.”
You would also think that the complete archives of film would be enough for most people, even for a 26-year trip. Maybe it’s way to connect with those back on Earth, I don’t know. What I do know is that the worst day of my adult life was the day I sneaked in a showing of “Casablanca” between two modern “classics.” It was as if I had tried to poison the water. Ever since then I kept my trap shut and waited until after hours to watch my own collection. Carla joined me sometimes and it made the experience that much better, even if she did tease me about having a personal collection of movies readily available at all times by everyone on the ship. She had a point, of course, but there was something about holding a gold disc in your hand and knowing it held all four Godfather movies.
I started to head back downstairs when I a noticed a slight movement on the back wall. I stopped cold and turned my head. There was a pile of cleaning supplies and spare parts for the projector on either side of a closet door and also some ancient film reels to show people when we conducted tours. Everything seemed to be in place as far as I could tell. I started for the stairs again when the thought struck me that the closet door was ajar when I first came in.
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Richelieu
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Gatineau
Dec 2001
time: 00:28
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OK: i have been wondering about this for years now. Literally.
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All times are GMT. The time now is 05:28.
Apolyton Time is 00:28. |
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09-06-2003 09:05
:thumbup:
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