Backlot Diplomacy by Gustavo Bondoni
This story originally appeared in Alien Dimensions Issue #10
Gonzalo cursed. The connection on his phone died completely. It had been wonky all day. He knew he shouldn’t complain. LA had been doing all right until that morning There were entire cities and some small countries with no power at all.
But the people in those cities weren’t stuck in a tiny one-man cabin facing a busy street with nothing to do all day except let one or two rude co-workers into the warehouse complex. The people he had contact with were bottom feeders in the movie industry, which meant they all thought they were more important than they really were. Sadly, all of them actually were more important than he was, and they all treated him accordingly.
All of that which that the internet, his only distraction, was necessary for his mental health. And now it was down.
While the phone failed to stream a video, Gonzalo watched a car come to a halt on the street in front of him. A woman descended from it and stared at it in disbelief. He couldn’t blame her—the car looked both new and expensive. On the other side of the street, a truck moving in the opposite direction ground to a halt as well. Four guys jumped out and began to push it towards the curb.
Every light in his cabin went off, taking his security monitor and air conditioning with them. Even the emergency circuits that kept the alarms connected during blackouts blinked once and went dark.
Gonzalo reacted immediately.
He left the cabin and made a visual inspection of the grounds around it. As far as he could see without leaving his post, there was no one in the immediate area, and no one sneaking up on him from behind. He relaxed. There was nowhere to hide under the beating sun and featureless buildings unless they were already inside. But his alarm systems had been nominal until the power had gone.
Further investigation showed that nothing was working on the street, either. The stoplights had gone off, which should have generated chaos. But there was none. All the cars had stopped, and thankfully, it seemed that car horns weren’t working either. A deep peace descended on the hot day.
A single vehicle weaved up the road. He felt his heart beat faster. It can’t be. Them? Here in Burbank?
But it had to be. The long black craft looked like a cross between a Cadillac hearse and some kind of jet fighter. It wove through blocks of stalled cars like a serpent.
It also had no wheels and hovered a foot above the ground, which wasn’t normal, even in LA.
The car or hoverthing or whatever it was made an illegal U-turn over the central divider and headed straight towards his gate.
Gonzalo swallowed, but his instructions were clear: he headed out to meet the visitors. He didn’t even realize he was holding his clipboard with the list of authorized personnel until he reached the vehicle and propped it against his knee.
A rear window lowered and he found himself looking at a pair of mirrorshades and a scowl. “Well, son, are you going to open the gate, or are the aliens going to have to atomize it?”
“I’m sorry…” he said, and added a belated “sir,” when he realized that the man speaking to him was dressed in a US Army uniform with four stars on the shoulder and what looked like a patchwork quilt’s worth of decorations on the breast pocket. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone inside.”
The door on the far side opened, and an unmistakable form emerged. Even lowly security people knew Harry Bretzlitz’s face. He’d been the head of Monolith Pictures since before the merger, and looked a hundred years old.
He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth. “Just open the door.”
“Yessir.”
Gonzalo hastened to raise the crossbar and push open the fence gates. There was no railroad-style barrier for this facility: it simply didn’t get enough traffic.
He watched the hover-car enter the compound and turn to the left, parking in front of the third warehouse. Old Harry walked along behind the car at a relaxed pace. “Bring the keys,” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t want them to damage my building.”
Gonzalo locked the gate, grabbed the huge key ring and tossed the clipboard on his chair. Then he ran after Harry.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “What’s happening?”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, if it’s something I’m allowed to know.”
The old man chuckled. “This is about as top secret as anything is ever going to be in this country,” he replied as he walked along. They were still less than a quarter of the way to the parked hovercar and the waiting uniforms.
“Oh.”
“But they woke me up at four in the goddamn’ morning, so I’m gonna tell you anyway. The aliens want to talk to Jerry.”
“Jerry? Who’s Jerry?”
“Not who. What. You know, Jerry the Mechanical Man. From the Galactic Defenders.”
“What? But that’s stupid.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” Harry responded. “But they said they’d explain and sent over the general over there and that car. Their general left quite a bit to be desired, especially at that ungodly hour, but I have to admit that the car is cool.”
“Are there… you know, aliens… inside?”
“You’d better believe it kiddo. Four of them. All dressed in invincibility suits that make everything made from human technology die when they’re around unless they deliberately turn the effect off. And all four are demanding to speak to Jerry. They even had printouts of the old studio publicity shots, in case we had any doubts about which Jerry they wanted.”
“Didn’t anyone tell them that Jerry is just a prop?”
“Of course they did. Do you think the government is made up of morons? All right, no need to answer that, but they assure me they did and it didn’t work.”
Gonzalo shut up. If the big boss was here and the general in the hover-vehicle thing was legit, that meant that this was well above his pay grade. Also, that car had definitely been hovering. In fact, it still was, and people were lining outside the fence to get a closer look at it, frustrated by the fact that their phones seemed completely unable to function and get a picture of it.
It wouldn’t take a genius to know that his best bet was probably to ensure that the doors opened swiftly and unobtrusively and that a guy named Gonzalo was otherwise invisible. One of the nice things about being the security guy was that people tended to forget you were there. If things went to hell, Bretzlitz probably wouldn’t even bother to fire him.
He studiously ignored the four aliens. They looked like five-year-olds wrapped in aluminum foil wearing dark-visored helmets.
A simple key unlocked the outer door and they entered the warehouse.
They were greeted by darkness which persisted until the lead alien made a circular motion with his arm. At that point, every light in the facility went on.
Ancient backdrops decayed against the wall, while boxes of props were piled on racks in the middle of the cavernous room.
The general looked around. “Weren’t those backgrounds used in Lament of the South?”
“You have a good eye, sir. They were.”
“And you just have them lying here in a warehouse? I bet a bunch of collectors would pay good money for those.”
Harry smiled. “This is actually the soundstage where we filmed the interiors.”
The general seemed awed.
Gonzalo kept his expression neutral. Here they were, living through one of humanity’s most momentous moments—the first contact with a wildly advanced alien civilization—and the guy was star struck that Bogart had been there. It was moronic.
But then, the whole situation was stupid. Aliens who could cross the distance between stars but couldn’t quite grasp the concept of fiction. It wasn’t just stupid; it was beyond belief. He kept his mouth firmly shut as he led the group between stacks of crates containing clown costumes and a pile of cloth backdrops from the 1930s.
Gonzalo glanced back at the aliens. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking. He assumed they were dignitaries of some sort, but they weren’t giving instructions or attempting to move forward at a quicker pace. They seemed content to follow along behind them.
Eventually, they reached an open area. Up until a few months before, the empty space had contained seven cars created by different California customizers for Monolith’s superhero productions of the sixties. None of them ran—and they would have been impractical if they had—but the studio had still managed to sell them off at an auction for well over six million dollars.
That had been during Gonzalo’s second week at the studio. One of his first tasks had been to inflate the old tires and get replacements for the ones that were beyond saving. Then the brass had stood around smiling as he and other low-ranking members of the studio workforce had pushed the silly things onto a waiting truck.
The aliens—he’d looked back at them yet again, despite his promise to himself that he wouldn’t—saw none of it. They just walked with their eyes forward. He wondered why no one had told them that they were in a hugely significant cultural space.
They arrived in the area where the studio had piled the smaller props. There were plaster statues from the Genghis Khan movie and even a bunch of gas pumps, although which film they’d appeared in was anyone’s guess. Finally, they came to where the Jerry figures stood.
There were four of them, each slightly different from the last. As the series had progressed, the robot had gained more advanced features, but they all looked reasonably similar: black humanoid body topped with a transparent dome within which flashing lights simulated a robotic face.
The interesting thing about this robot as opposed to many others was that it was controlled remotely as opposed to having an actor inside. Each one had thick wires running into its back so that a team of puppeteers could move its arms, legs and head separately. The advantage was that the studio could create transparencies in the torso, and audiences knew that there was no actor in there. The added realism had made Galactic Defenders the most popular space series between 1961 and 1964.
The general led the aliens to the robots. “See?” he said. “There’s no real reason to be here. They’re just props. They’re not really robots.”
“That’s illogical.”
It was obvious to Gonzalo that this must have been the alien’s answer, but it didn’t sound like a voice as much as like something that created sound by making his skull vibrate. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
“But here they are. Surely you can tell that they aren’t real robots.”
“That is also illogical. The robots are real. We can perceive them in front of us. I can also perceive that its electric systems are not powered.”
“That’s because no one has used them in fifty years,” the general replied.
“That was unwise of your civilization. We have been analyzing the transmissions from your planet, and it is clear to us that the one you call Jerry is one of the few leaders among you able to employ a fully logical approach when confronted with a problem. Since you have not chosen to keep Jerry powered, it’s no surprise that your civilization has lost its ability to travel to other planetary systems.”
The general took a deep breath. “We’ve already explained that that was just a TV show. It was never real.”
“That is illogical. We were able to perceive and decode the transmissions. We were also able to analyze them. Therefore, they are real.”
Harry pulled Gonzalo aside.
“I think they should have sent a better diplomat. Trestman has the President’s ear, and they trust him, but he’s never been the most patient man on the planet.”
“Do you think he’ll get angry?”
“Hell, he already looks like a bear who stuck his nose in a hornet’s nest. I just hope he doesn’t forget about those invincibility suits and try to shoot them.”
Gonzalo contemplated the robots. “Did you know that they still work? Well, not all of them, but the one on the right is functional. The F/X guys who supervised us when we moved the cars got bored and powered him up. It only took them half an hour to repair the wiring, so the robot must have been in pretty good shape to begin with. They weren’t able to make him walk, but the lights all worked, and so did the arms. And they made him talk.”
Harry Bretzlitz’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Saw it myself.”
“Show me.”
They walked around a screen on wheels. The four aliens and the general were still engrossed in their argument, which had shifted from why humanity wasn’t using the robots’ wisdom to how they would go about moving them into a place where they could be adequately revived. The general was trying to explain they were junk, and that they could just toss them on a truck, but the disembodied skull-voice was insisting on dismantling the roof so that they could be gently lifted away via antigravity in order to avoid further damage. It didn’t really sound as if the sides were listening to each other.
A group of thick cables ended at a pedestal with numerous levers in it. The knobs on the top resembled the joysticks from old arcade games. “Those are the controls for the robot.”
Harry rushed over to it like a much younger man, looked up and flashed a big grin. Before the security guard realized what he was planning, the mogul pressed a big red button in the middle of the panel.
The voices of the general and the aliens immediately went silent. From where they were standing, Harry and Gonzalo could see the top half of the robot’s body, including the transparent dome of the head and one of its arms. They were hidden from view of the general and his companions by the panel.
Gonzalo watched, fascinated and aghast, as Harry began moving the levers one way and the other.
“We see that Jerry is functional,” he heard—felt?—the alien voice say. “Why weren’t we informed of this?”
“To be honest,” the general replied, “I didn’t know of it myself until just now. I will make sure that the persons responsible are punished to the fullest extent.”
Harry didn’t seem in the least bit worried by the general’s threat. He moved the arm they could see in a waving motion.
“Jerry the Robot, our people would like to speak with you,” the alien continued. “We have analyzed transmissions of your actions, and have concluded that you would be the ideal interlocutor to translate between our people and humanity.”
The studio owner fumbled with the microphone extension on the pedestal. A cord played out and he pulled the mouthpiece towards his face. “Thank you. It is a logical conclusion.”
Gonzalo goggled. The metallic voice coming from the robot was recognizable as Harry’s, but it also seemed to be exactly the same as the voice he’d seen on the TV show when he was a kid. The cadence and pauses, as well as the timbre, were exactly as he remembered them. His boss winked at him.
The aliens also seemed impressed. “Our analysis shows that more than half of all human communication is composed of illogical expressions. In your case, that proportion falls to five percent. It should be significantly easier for us to communicate with you.”
Harry remained silent, as if waiting for more, and then smiled and nodded as the aliens continued.
“We are pleased. It would have been unlike Jerry to respond when no answer was necessary. General, your asseverations that Jerry would not be able to speak to us seem more and more illogical as the evidence accumulates. Perhaps you should consider having one of your medical people give you an adjustment.”
“I’m not a washing machine.”
“That statement, at least, concurs with the evidence. Although its relevance to the discussion is obscure. Jerry, why is it so difficult to communicate with humans?”
“I don’t have enough context to answer that question, but I assume you are referring to the fact that they often respond to straightforward queries with illogical responses.”
“Yes, that is what we mean.”
“In that case, you must know that it’s a question of their biology. Their brains have evolved in a social environment in which masking reality often gave them reproductive advantages.”
“That seems illogical.” Even though the aliens’ voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard before, it seemed to Gonzalo that there were notes of doubt in the sound. He wondered what the aliens would do to them if they were caught.
Bretzlitz, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t had this much fun in ages. “It is perfectly logical,” he replied in the same measured tones. “You simply do not have all the data you need to understand it fully.”
“Please explain.”
“Humans became the dominant life-form of this planet long before they developed advanced thought processes. This meant that the greatest danger to any given individual came from other humans. Logically, the most dangerous humans were those closest to them.”
“This makes sense. But still doesn’t explain the human incapacity for evidence-based conversation.”
“It does. Consider the problem of under-evolved brains attempting to explain physical phenomena such as volcanic action. The first explanation that such a brain might come up with would involve the action of unseen beings. It would seem perfectly logical to them considering the evidence at hand.”
“Perhaps,” the aliens replied, “but it would be superseded as improved evidence became available.”
“This is where the evolutionary aspect becomes significant. The human brain evolved for tens of thousands of years before human science produced improved evidence to explain many aspects of their daily existence. During that time, it was advantageous from an evolutionary standpoint to avoid any action that could turn one into an enemy of the people nearest them, who were also the most dangerous creatures on the planet. In human terms, it was safer to agree with what everyone else was saying, even if one had a better theory.”
“It is a tenuous construction, but not impossible under the conditions you describe.”
“It becomes more solid when one considers the timescale. You must understand that what perhaps started out as a simple strategy to remain on good terms with someone’s neighbors eventually became, with the generations, an integral part of the human brain.”
“So you are saying that they actually need to be illogical almost sixty percent of the time?”
“Even more, I’d estimate. My calculation is sixty-nine-point-four percent of the time.”
“What happens if they are forced to be logical? We have considered inviting them into the coalition of worlds. They are vigorous and not unintelligent. They could become a valuable asset.”
Harry stared up into the rafters, a frown of deep concentration on his features. Then he smiled, and spoke into the microphone. Jerry the Robot’s voice replied: “That is quite simple. Humans are very reliable if they are given ample opportunity to view illogical images. If each person is allowed to view four hours of what humans call ‘films’ each day, they will not present a problem. You simply must grant access to this and make the viewing a condition of becoming part of your society.”
“This is helpful. We are grateful.”
“I have a final recommendation: to ensure that the quality of the illogical images is high enough to avoid problems, there is a list of production companies that the general can give you. If you ensure that they are the ones producing the content, and subsidize them adequately, humanity will be ready to join the greater interstellar community. Now, I must recharge my batteries. The general was correct in telling you that I am not as communicative as I once was.”
“That is acceptable. You have answered our questions.” The aliens turned to leave.
“I will join you shortly,” the general said.
He waited until the aliens were out of sight and headed around the backdrop, unholstering his service revolver as he came.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you for treason,” he asked.
Gonzalo tried to fade further into the background, but Harry Bretzlitz, who’d been laughing silently since the conversation ended, eyed the general without concern.
“Let’s see. I just negotiated humanity’s entrance into the greater galactic community without bloodshed. I could have talked those idiots into doing my windows, or anything else. They wouldn’t last a second in the film industry. But I didn’t. I held out for something reasonable.” Then he sized up the general. “I also made you an extremely wealthy man.”
“What? Are you trying to bribe me to put you on that list?”
“Of course not. A bribe is a payment to an individual for a favor. What I’m offering you is the chance to buy an island nation of your choice. That will effectively make you a world ruler. If you are the government, then you get to define what is and isn’t a bribe. That’s the kind of money we’re talking about.”
“If I put you on the list.”
“Of course. But the aliens are going to want that list ASAP. Do you think you’ll have time to get in touch with any studio executives and convince them that you aren’t just a whack job? Particularly considering that your phone won’t work anywhere near them? Of course, I imagine you have better things to do than spend a nine-figure check, right?”
It wasn’t often that one could see the complete capitulation of a lifetime of ideals to the power of the almighty dollar. The general actually seemed to deflate as he absently holstered his pistol and walked away.
“General,” Harry called out after him. “Don’t put too many studios on the list, will you? Just enough to make it convincing.”
They watched him leave and Gonzalo turned to go as well, hoping to avoid attention.
“You… not so fast. How much is this going to cost me?”
“Cost you? I don’t understand, sir.”
“Listen, you might not realize it now, but you just saw something which is going to be a huge secret in the industry.” He smiled, a predator’s grin. “I’d rather buy you off now than after you have time to think about it, so what’s it gonna be?”
Gonzalo thought about it for a second. “Just a couple of things. First, tell me, how in the world did you do the robot voice? You must have had easy access to old recordings, but it was utterly perfect.”
“Access? Hah! My father believed in making me earn the right to run this studio, and that meant doing anything that needed doing. I painted backdrops, held hair dryers for insane prima-donnas and, when the voice actor who was supposed to do Jerry got hit by a truck, dad had the brilliant idea of casting me in the role. Said the speakers made my voice metallic anyway, so why spend good money on a real actor.” He chuckled. “I guess he gets the last laugh after all. He always insisted he was doing it for my own good.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. But come on, name your price. I don’t have all day.”
“Do you think you could swing it so that I can be on the crew that visits the rest of the galaxy first?”
“Why?”
“There’s not much of a career path for a security guard here on Earth, and even if I was rich, I’d just be a nobody with a million bucks. Besides, if everyone’s going to be forced to watch four hours of your movies every day then I think I want to be somewhere else.”
The old guy laughed. “Yeah, we need to figure out how to create exemptions to that one. I didn’t think that through all the way. You’re sure I can’t buy you off? Say if I write you a check for a couple of million right now?”
“Not really. There are better things than money.”
“Crap.” He looked at the sky. “Save me from idealists. I’ll see what I can do.”
He held out his hand.
Gonzalo shook it.