Redshirts

by John Scalzi

  “He doesn’t have to see anybody,” Corey said.

  “You could make him see you,” Duvall said.

  Corey glanced over, and then broke away from Kerensky to step over to her. “And why would I do that?” he asked. “You’re right, if I threw a fit and demanded to see Paulson, he’d make time to see me. But if I saw him and wasted his time, he might kick me off the show. He might have my character killed off in some horrible way just to get a quick ratings boost out of it. And then I’d be out of a job. Do you know how hard it is to get a regular series gig in this town? I was a waiter before I got this. I’m not going to do anything for you people.”

  “It’s important,” Dahl said.

  “I’m important,” Corey said. “My career is important. It’s more important than whatever you want.”

  “If you help us, we can give you money,” Hanson said. “We’ve got ninety thousand dollars.”

  “That’s less than what I make an episode,” Corey said, and looked back toward Kerensky. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Dahl opened his mouth to speak.

  “I’ll handle this,” Kerensky said, and looked at the others. “Let me talk to Marc.”

  “So talk,” Hester said.

  “Alone,” Kerensky said.

  “Are you sure?” Dahl said.

  “Yes,” Kerensky said. “I’m sure.”

  “All right,” Dahl said, and motioned to Duvall, Hanson and an incredulous Hester to clear the room.

  “Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks something unseemly is about to happen in there,” Hester said, in the hall.

  “It’s only you,” Dahl said.

  “No it’s not,” Duvall said. Hanson also shook his head. “You can’t tell me you weren’t seeing how Corey was responding to Anatoly, Andy,” Duvall said.

  “I must have missed it,” Dahl said.

  “Right,” Hester said.

  “You really are a prude, aren’t you,” Duvall said to Dahl.

  “I just prefer to think there is a sober, reasoned discussion going on in there and that Kerensky is making some very good points.”

  From the other side of the door there was a muffled thump.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Hester said.

  “I think I’m going to wait in the lobby,” Dahl said.

  * * *

  Two hours later, as dawn broke, a tired-looking Kerensky came down to the lobby.

  “Marc needs his keys,” he said. “He’s got a six-thirty makeup call.”

  Dahl dug in his pocket for the keys. “So he’ll help us?” he asked.

  Kerensky nodded. “He’s going to put in a call as soon as he gets to the set,” he said. “He’ll tell Paulson that unless he schedules a meeting today, he’s going to quit.”

  “And just how did you manage to get him to agree to that?” Hester said.

  Kerensky fixed Hester with a direct stare. “Are you actually interested?”

  “Uh,” Hester said. “Actually, no. No, I’m not.”

  “Didn’t think so,” Kerensky said. He took the keys from Dahl.

  “I am,” Duvall said.

  Kerensky sighed, and turned to Duvall. “Tell me, Maia: Have you ever met someone who you know so completely, so exactly and so perfectly that it’s like the two of you share the same body, thoughts and desires? And had that feeling compounded by the knowledge that how you feel about them is exactly how they feel about you, right down to the very last atom of your being? Have you?”

  “Not really,” Duvall said.

  “I pity you,” he said, and then headed back to the hotel room.

  “You had to ask,” Hester said to Duvall.

  “I was curious,” Duvall said. “Sue me.”

  “Now I have images,” Hester said. “They are in my mind. They will never leave me. I blame you.”

  “It’s certainly a side of Kerensky we haven’t seen before,” Dahl said. “I never saw him being interested in men.”

  “It’s not that,” Hanson said.

  “Did you miss the last couple of hours?” Hester said. “And the thumping?”

  “No, Jimmy’s right,” Duvall said. “He’s not interested in men. He’s interested in himself. Always has been. Now he’s gotten the chance to follow through on that.”

  “Ack,” Hester said.

  Duvall looked over at him. “Wouldn’t you, if you had the chance?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” Dahl pointed out.

  “Yes, but we already established you’re a prude,” Duvall said.

  Dahl grinned. “Point,” he said.

  The elevator opened and Corey came out, followed by Kerensky. Corey walked up to Dahl. “I need your phone number,” he said. “So I can call you when I set up the meeting today.”

  “All right,” Dahl said, and gave it to him. Corey added it to his contacts and then looked at them all.

  “I want you to appreciate what I’m doing for you,” he said. “By getting you this meeting, I’m putting my ass on the line. So if you do anything that puts me or my career at risk, I swear I will find you and make you miserable for the rest of your lives. Are you all clear on this?”

  “We’re clear,” Dahl said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Corey said, and then nodded over to Kerensky. “I’m doing it for him.”

  “Thank you anyway,” Dahl said

  “Also, if anyone asks, the reason you guys were helping me into my car last night is because I had an allergic reaction to the tannins in the wine I was drinking at the Vine Club,” Corey said.

  “Of course,” Dahl said.

  “That’s the truth, you know,” Corey said. “People are allergic to all sorts of things.”

  “Yes,” Dahl said.

  “You didn’t see if anyone was taking video while you were putting me into the car, did you?” Corey asked.

  “There might have been a couple,” Dahl allowed.

  Corey sighed. “Tannins. Remember it.”

  “Will do,” Dahl said.

  Corey nodded at Dahl, and then walked over to Kerensky and enveloped him in a passionate hug. Kerensky reciprocated.

  “I wish we had more time,” Corey said.

  “So do I,” Kerensky said. They hugged again and separated. Corey walked out of the lobby. Kerensky watched him go.

  “Wow,” Hester said. “You’ve got it bad, Kerensky.”

  Kerensky wheeled around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Hester held up his hands. “Look, I’m not judging,” he said.

  “Judging what?” Kerensky said, and looked at the others. “What? You all think I had sex with Marc?”

  “Didn’t you?” Duvall asked.

  “We talked,” Kerensky said. “The most amazing conversation I have ever had with anyone in my entire life. It was like meeting the brother I never had.”

  “Come on, Anatoly,” Hester said. “We heard thumps.”

  “Marc was putting on his pants,” Kerensky said. “I gave him back his pants, and he was still unsteady, and he fell over. That was it.”

  “All right,” Hester said. “Sorry.”

  “Jesus,” Kerensky said, looking around. “You people. I have one of the most incredible experiences I’ll ever have, talking with the one person who really gets me—who really understands me—and you’re all down here thinking I’m performing some sort of time-traveling incestuous masturbation thing. Thanks so very much for crapping on my amazing, life-altering experience. You all make me sick.” He stormed off.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Duvall said.

  Kerensky stormed back in and pointed at Maia. “And we’re through,” he said.

  “Fair enough,” Duvall said. Kerensky stormed off a second time.

  “I’d just like to point out that I was right,” Dahl said, after a minute. Duvall walked over and smacked him on the head.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Charles Paulson’s private offices were in Burbank, off the
studio lot, in a building that housed three other production companies, two agencies, a tech start-up and a nonprofit dedicated to fighting thrush. Paulson’s offices filled the third floor; the group took the elevator.

  “I shouldn’t have eaten that last burrito,” Hester said as they entered the elevator, a pained look on his face.

  “I told you not to,” Hanson said.

  “You also said that the twenty-first century had food safety laws,” Hester said.

  “I don’t think food safety laws are going to protect you from a third carnitas burrito,” Hanson said. “That’s not about food safety. It’s about pork fat overload.”

  “I need a bathroom,” Hester said.

  “Can this wait?” Dahl said, to Hester. The elevator reached the third floor. “This is kind of an important meeting.”

  “If I don’t find a bathroom, you’re not going to want me at the meeting,” Hester said. “Because what would happen would be grim.”

  The elevator doors opened and the five of them stepped off. Down the hallway to the right was a sign for the men’s bathroom. Hester made his way toward it, quickly but stiffly, and disappeared through its door.

  “How long do you think this is going to take?” Duvall asked Dahl. “Our meeting is in about a minute.”

  “Have you ever had a carnitas incident?” Dahl asked Duvall.

  “No,” Duvall said. “And from the looks of it I should be glad.”

  “He’ll probably be in there a while,” Dahl said.

  “We can’t wait,” Kerensky said.

  “No,” Dahl said.

  “You guys go ahead,” Hanson said. “I’ll stay and make sure Hester’s all right. We’ll wait for you in the office lobby when he’s done.”

  “You’re sure?” Dahl asked.

  “I’m sure,” Hanson said. “Hester and I were just going to be spectators in the meeting anyway. We can wait in the lobby just as easily, and read magazines. It’s always fun to catch up on three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old gossip.”

  Dahl smiled at this. “All right,” he said. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

  “If Hester’s intestines explode, you let us know,” Duvall said.

  “You’ll be the first,” Hanson said, and headed toward the bathroom.

  The receptionist at Paulson Productions smiled warmly at Kerensky as he, Dahl and Duvall entered the office lobby. “Hello, Marc,” she said. “Good to see you again.”

  “Uh,” Kerensky said.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Paulson,” Dahl said, stepping into Kerensky’s moment of awkwardness. “We have an appointment. Marc set it up.”

  “Yes, of course,” the receptionist said, glancing at her computer screen. “Mr. Dahl, is it?”

  “That’s me,” Dahl said.

  “Have a seat over there and I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said, smiling at Kerensky again before picking up her handset to call Paulson.

  “I think she was flirting with you,” Duvall said to Kerensky.

  “She thought she was flirting with Marc,” Kerensky pointed out.

  “Maybe there’s a history there,” Duvall said.

  “Stop it,” Kerensky said.

  “Just trying to help you rebound after the breakup,” Duvall said.

  “Mr. Dahl, Marc, ma’am,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Paulson will see you now. Follow me, please.” She led them down the corridor to a large office, in which sat Paulson, behind a large desk.

  Paulson looked at Kerensky, severely. “I’m supposed to be talking to these people of yours, not you,” he said. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

  “I am at work,” Kerensky said.

  “This is not work,” Paulson said. “Your work is at the studio. On the set. If you’re not there, we’re not shooting. If we’re not shooting, you’re wasting production time and money. The studio and the Corwin are already riding me because we’re behind on production this year. You’re not helping.”

  “Mr. Paulson,” Dahl said, “perhaps you should call your show and see if Marc Corey is there.”

  Paulson fixed on Dahl, seeing him for the first time. “You look vaguely familiar. Who are you?”

  “I’m Andrew Dahl,” he said, sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk, and then motioned to Duvall, who sat on the other. “This is Maia Duvall. We work on Intrepid.”

  “Then you should be on set as well,” Paulson said.

  “Mr. Paulson,” Dahl repeated. “You should really call your show and see if Marc Corey is there.”

  Paulson pointed at Kerensky. “He’s right there,” he said.

  “No, he’s not,” Dahl said. “That’s why we’re here to talk to you.”

  Paulson’s eyes narrowed. “You people are wasting my time,” he said.

  “Jesus,” Kerensky said, exasperated. “Will you just call the damn set? Marc’s there.”

  Paulson paused to stare at Kerensky for a moment, and then picked up his desk phone and punched a button. “Yeah, hi, Judy,” he said. “You on the set?… Yeah, okay. Tell me if you see Marc Corey there.” He paused, and then looked at Kerensky again. “Okay. How long has he been there?… Okay. He been acting weird today? Out of character?… Yeah, okay.… No. No, I don’t need to speak to him. Thanks, Judy.” He hung up.

  “That was my show runner, Judy Melendez,” Paulson said. “She says Marc’s been on set since the six-thirty makeup call.”

  “Thank you,” Kerensky said.

  “All right, I’ll bite,” Paulson said, to Kerensky. “Who the hell are you? Marc obviously knows you, or he wouldn’t have set up this meeting. You could be his identical twin, but I know he doesn’t have any brothers. So, what? Are you his cousin? Do you want to be on the show? Is this what this is about?”

  “Do you put family members on the show?” Dahl asked.

  “We don’t go out of our way to advertise it, but sure,” Paulson said. “A season ago I gave my uncle a part. He was about to lose his SAG insurance, so I put him in for the part of an admiral who tried to have Abernathy court-martialed. I also put in a small role for my son—” He stopped speaking, abruptly.

  “We heard about your son,” Dahl said. “We’re very sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Paulson said, and paused again. His demeanor had transformed from aggressive producer to something more tired and small. “Sorry,” he said, after a moment. “It’s been difficult.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Dahl said.

  “Be glad that you can’t,” Paulson said, and reached over on his desk for a picture frame, looked at it, and held it in his hand. “Stupid kid. I told him to be careful handling the bike in the rain.” He turned the frame briefly, showing a picture of him and a younger man, dressed in motorcycle leathers, smiling at the camera. “He never did listen to me,” he said.

  “Is that your son?” Duvall asked, reaching out for the frame.

  “Yes,” Paulson said, handing over the picture. “Matthew. He had just gotten his master’s in anthropology when he tells me he wants to try being an actor. I said to him, if you wanted to be an actor, why did I just pay for you to get a master’s in anthropology? But I put him on the show. He was an extra on a couple of episodes before … well.”

  “Andy,” Duvall said, handing the picture to Dahl. He started at it.

  Kerensky came over and looked at the picture Dahl was holding. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said.

  “What?” Paulson said, looking at the three of them. “Do you know him? Do you know Matthew?”

  All three of them looked at Paulson.

  “Matthew!” screamed a woman’s voice, from out of the room and down the hall.

  “Oh, shit,” Duvall said, and launched herself out of her chair and out of the room. Dahl and Kerensky followed.

  In the lobby, the receptionist had attached herself to Hester, sobbing in joy. Hester stood there, wearing a receptionist, deeply confused.

  Hanson saw his three crewmates and came over to them. “We walked into the lobby,�
� he said. “That’s all we did. We walked into the lobby, and she screams a name and then almost leaps over her desk to get at Hester. What’s going on?”

  “I think we found the actor who plays Hester,” Dahl said.

  “Okay,” Hanson said. “Who is he?”

  “Matthew?” Paulson said, from the hall. He had followed his three guests out of the room to find out what was going on. “Matthew! Matthew!” He rushed to Hester, hugged him furiously and started kissing him on the cheek.

  “He’s Charles Paulson’s kid,” Duvall said to Hanson.

  “The one who’s in a coma?” Hanson said.

  “That’s the one,” Dahl said.

  “Oh, wow,” Hanson said. “Wow.”

  All three of them looked at Hester, who whispered, “Help me.”

  “Someone’s going to have to tell them who Hester really is,” Kerensky said. He, Hanson and Duvall all looked at Dahl.

  Dahl sighed, and moved toward Hester.

  * * *

  “Are you all right?” Dahl asked Hester. They were in a private hospital room, in which Matthew Paulson lay on a bed, tubes keeping him alive. Hester was staring at his comatose double.

  “I’m better off than he is,” Hester said.

  “Hester,” Dahl said, and looked out the doorway, where he was standing, to see if Charles Paulson was close enough in the hall to have heard Hester’s comment. He wasn’t. He was in the waiting area with Duvall, Hanson and Kerensky. Matthew Paulson could have only two visitors at a time.

  “Sorry,” Hester said. “I didn’t mean it to be an asshole. It’s just … well, now it all makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Dahl asked.

  “About me,” Hester said. “You and Duvall and Hanson and Finn all are interesting, because you had to have interesting backstories, so you could all get killed off in a contextual way. Finn getting killed by someone he knew, right? You, about to be killed when you go back to Forshan. But I didn’t have anything unusual about me. I’m just some guy from Des Moines who had a B minus average in high school, who joined the Dub U Fleet to see some of the universe before he came back home and stayed. Before I came on the Intrepid I was just another sarcastic loner.

  “And now that makes sense, because I was never meant to do anything special, was I? I really was an extra. A placeholder character who Paulson could pour his kid into until his kid got bored with playing actor and went back to school to get a doctorate. Even the one thing I can do—pilot a shuttle—is just something that got stuck in because the show needed someone in that seat, and why not give it to the producer’s kid? Make him feel special.”