“I’m just not
sure it’s the right thing for the channel to do,” said Clarence.
Hindemyth exhaled
slowly. “Clarence, I understand your position, I really do, but you
don’t seem to appreciate the bigger picture. As a for profit
channel, we are ultimately beholden to our investors. We make a
profit by selling advertising, and we attract advertisers by showing
high viewership on prime slots. And the ratings have shown that our
current program is popular enough to merit continuation. Everything
else, everything, is
secondary. Is that clear?”
Clarence
sighed. He’d had to pester Hindemyth’s secretary for over a month
in order to arrange this meeting, a whole month that was starting to
feel like completely wasted effort.
“I
understand that, sir, I really do. But I believe the board is missing
out on an opportunity that we are uniquely situated to exploit.
There’s a lot of potential in some key demographics for
the kind of programming I’m suggesting.”
Hindemyth
stared at him for a second and then let out a wheezing chuckle.
“Spent
a long time practicing that, didn’t you?”
Clarence
had the decency to look
chagrinned. “I’m just trying to make sure the board gives it due
consideration.” He opened the manilla folder that he’d been
holding and passed Hindemyth a few slightly folded sheets. “Take a
look at these figures. The people who grew up during the first Star
Trek are now middle aged. There’s been a reasonably steady stream
of wide appeal films and movies since then, in particular Star Wars,
Terminator, and the Next Generation, all of which were well received
by this group as it aged.” Clarence
reached out to take the papers back and then handed Hindemyth another
sheet. “In addition,
these franchises have been well received by younger viewers who
were new to the genre, indicating that they have long term appeal. In
any case, the older audience is starting to have families and
children.” He reached
out to tap a line graph on
one of the sheets in Hindemyth’s hand. “Finally,
this target group tends to have an above average income and spends a
larger percentage of it on tie-in merchandise. If
you’ve ever been to the Star Trek conventions, you know the sort of
thing I’m talking about, and I can assure you it’s not just
anecdotal.”
Clarence
performed the exchange a third time. He
finally felt composed and in
control, and he wanted to
provide final
pitch while he was still
riding the feeling. “I’m
aware that this demographic is comparatively small, not in
the tens of millions of viewers range, but they tend to display
fierce loyalty to shows
and franchises that they like, and I’m sure that their
numbers, viewing habits,
and behavior fully justify the
risk.”
Neither
Clarence nor Hindemyth moved or spoke for a minute. Then Hindemyth
nodded slowly. “I see.
So do you have any specific ideas for new shows to finance? Do you
think we should try to negotiate rights to some existing franchises,
or do you have any
promising new series in mind? What
about directors?”
Hindemyth’s
mouth twitched into a brief smile at the look of muted surprise on
Clarence’s face. “What? I see a well thought out, well argued,
well researched proposal that’s been pitched by a dedicated and
passionate employee.”
“Thank
you,” Clarence said, utterly flabbergasted. “It’s
just…well, given our programming over the last few years, and you
kept putting off this meeting, and…I just expected your reaction to
be more-”
“Idiotic?”
Suggested Hindemyth, the laughter lines around his eyes becoming more
pronounced as his smile widened.
“I
was going to say ‘conservative and risk averse’”, admitted
Clarence, laughing as his nervous tension drained away. “I
honestly didn’t expect such a positive response from anyone on the
board, not without more persuading.”
Hindemyth
chuckled briefly. “If our programming has been…how were you going
to put it, ‘conservative and risk averse,’ over the last few
years, then the audience your research shows is probably rabid for
something new.” Hindemyth’s
smile grew impish, and he waved his finger admonishingly at Clarence.
“I can’t promise that the rest of the board is going to be so
easy to persuade, but I can guarantee you’ll get a chance to give
them the same pitch you gave me.”
Clarence’s
face was a mixture of shock and relief. “Thank you very much, Mr.
Hindemyth. I swear you and the rest of the board won’t regret
this.”
Hindemyth
patted Clarence on the shoulder and started walking towards his
office door, motioning for Clarence to follow. “If you can also do
a quick rundown on some IP that would be a likely hit, it’ll add a
nice finish to your presentation. I’m not saying we’d use any of
your proposals, but it’s a way to seem proactive and primes the
pump for discussion.” Hindemyth
gave Clarence an avuncular wink. “Trust me, I know how they think.”
Clarence
beamed. “Thank you. I really think that this will be a
reinvigoration for the network.”
“I’ll
let you know when I can arrange a meeting with the other executives,”
assured Hindemyth. “Probably around the end of the month.”
Hindemyth
glanced briefly into the cramped vestibule just outside his office.
“Ah, Miss Phelps, could you cancel my appointments for the rest of
the afternoon? Also, get in touch with Paul Thomas and tell him I’d
like to see him at his earliest convenience tomorrow.”
Miss
Phelps glanced at the two men uninterestedly and then twisted back to
the screen of her laptop, corkscrew curls bouncing off her cheeks.
“You just had a four
o’clock meeting with Mr. Wilson,” she announced to Hindemyth.
“Shall I get him to reschedule?”
“Please,”
said Hindemyth.
Clarence
walked out, still dazed by
Hindemyth’s positive response. He
walked back to his desk awash in a mixture of joy and anticipation.
It was happening! He’d
dig up a few of the ideas for shows he’d had lying around, see
if there was anything he could use, draft
a letter to Rick Berman and
another to George Lucas. The
possibilities were endless.
Back
in his office, Hindemyth carefully closed and locked the door. As
soon as the bolt slid into place he removed a small, black, cigar
shaped device from the
breast pocket of his suit jacket. Shaking
slightly, he held out the
iridescent cylinder
in front of him in both
hands and twisted it. A
soft, deep red light pulsed from either end, and a
pinkish membrane seemed to envelope him, distorting
the room beyond all recognition. The
distortion cleared slowly, revealing a
much larger room made
entirely of black marble. Graceful
columns lined a central
atrium, vanishing into the impossibly high ceiling they
supported.
A
robed figure stood on a metal dais at the center of the room, raising
three pairs of multijointed arms upwards
to point and slide across a dizzying
array of projected images. Cryptic
columns of glyphs appeared briefly and then were subsumed in the
constantly shifting
collage. Hindemyth
approached the dais and dropped to one knee, gazing down
respectfully. After a few seconds the figure banished the flickering
figures with a casual gesture and
turned its electric blue gaze upon Hindemyth.
“Report,
kashal.”
Hindemyth
swallowed briefly, disturbed as always by the faint hissing of the
voice. “Hierarch, the
ideological priming of Earth is in jeopardy. The natives are proving
resistant to attempts to deprogram them of speculation and
imagination.”
The
Hierarch
continued to gaze at Hindemyth, unmoving and silent. Hindemyth
plunged on. “On four separate occasions since my last report,
unconverted underlings have approached me with requests to develop
new science fiction series to be distributed. I have dealt with each
incident, and in each case I am certain that their contamination did
not spread, but the situation is unsustainable. Too
many repurposed drones will draw suspicion, and it is only a matter
of time before another network is approached, one not under our
control.”
The
cloaked figure turned away from Hindemyth abruptly and uttered an
inhuman sequence of hisses and clicks. Several
luminous charts materialized in the air above the dais, catching
motes of dust in beams of light. With
a wave of one hand the Hierarch moved
one of the charts so that it Hindemyth could see it as a background
to the six armed figure.
“Your infallible
countermeasure, of which you spoke so highly in your last report,
seem to have been
thoroughly ineffective.
Your new figures show
strongly increased interest in speculative fiction and science.
And yet, you do not draw
attention to your failings, nor do you make excuses. You
refrain most carefully from whining and from taking responsibility
for the situation.”
Hindemyth
lifted his head partway. “My lord, I-”
“Silence.”
Hindemyth’s
protest died, frozen in his mouth. The
Hierarch had not shouted, or spoken particularly forcefully, but
Hindemyth felt the weight
of disapproval in that one
word.
The
robed figure continued as if nothing had happened. “The Black
Council expects more from one of your rank, kashal, especially given
the resources you have been allocated.” The
projected graph behind the Hierarch flickered and disappeared,
causing the ambient gloom
to wash over the dais and
its skeletal occupant.
“You will be given one
more chance to prove yourself. This
project is too important, however, to
merely trust that you will finally
produce results. Contact
cultural engineer Quazjon. She
happens to be good at her job.
You will inform her of your situation and accept any guidance she
sees fit to give you.”
The
Hierarch paused, seeming to savor its next words. “If, after you
have been given every
opportunity to prove yourself, this planet continues to spawn
instances of scientific speculation, then the Canton of Supremacy
will be fully justified in terminating your commission. With full
prejudice, I might add.”
Hindemyth
gulped. “I shall consult ‘gineer
Quazjon directly, my lord. I fully expect to bring news
of cultural speculation decline in my next report.”
“See
that you do. Correct, factual news. We will be monitoring your
situation most closely.”
Bowing
as he rose to his feet, Hindemyth twisted
the cigar shaped device the other way. The
pink, distorting membrane reappeared and then subsided again, leaving
him in his office on
Earth. Hindemyth
took a moment to steady himself against his desk, his eyes flicking
around the walls covered in faded Star Trek posters. The
sick headache washing over him was only partly due to his use of the
utraspace relay. The
Hierarch always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. It was
deeply unnerving how the cold eyes beneath the hooded robe seemed to
peel away layers of deception, implication, and misdirection to find
reveal exactly
what he did not want revealed.
Hindemyth
did his best to drown his fears with determination and anger. The
Hierarch may have ordered him to seek assistance from a senior
cultural engineer, but he still had a few
moves to make before begging for help. It
was a gamble, but if he could demonstrate to ‘gineer Quazjon that
he had regained control of the situation, then his advancement would
be secure. Wheels merely needed to be set in motion.
Walking
briskly to the door, Hindemyth stuck his head out and scanned the
room briefly.
“Ah,
Miss Phelps, goood. Could you please set up a meeting early next week
with Aaron Katz, Jake Dunham, and Meredith Erickson to flesh out some
ideas for alien themed wrestlers? And take a memo to be circulated to
the other board members about the new targeted branding research. Let
them know we may have to change the name of the channel.”
Miss
Phelps looked up in a startled flurry of blonde hair, knocking over a
pencil cup. “Change the name of the channel, Mr. Hindemyth?”
“I’m
afraid so,” said Hindemyth firmly. “’Sci-Fi channel’ just
doesn’t pop.”
This is a story that got started when I mentioned to a disbelieving friend that the
