The Pitch (standard:science fiction, 1293 words)
Author: T.Mack	Added: Feb 20 2005	Views/Reads: 3147/2180	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Who is pitching a story to who?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Bob frowned, "just run that section again, Cliff." 

The sandy-haired man punched a keyboard. 

"But he is still the King..." echoed the voice from the console. 

Bob leaned forward, "it's Allan Ladd!" He was perplexed, "how -" 

The other man looked smug, patting Cliff on the back: 

"Clifford is a genius, just wait till this series goes on. People are
gonna cream!" 

Bob sat back, his thoughts racing. G. G. T. V needed a monster - ratings
were bad. 

"How many other famous dead actors can you comp?" He breathed heavily,
eyeing Norman, weighing the man up. 

Norman leaned forward. 

"Bob," he said softly, "the whole cast is a comp." He waved his hands
and made a face, "no actors to pay, and no unions!" He sat back, 
triumphantly. 

Bob started reaching for a packet of Puregrass. Then remembered he'd
given up some years ago. He coughed, bewildered. 

"Okay Norman, just what is your proposal?" 

"We'll supply finished material, story, master disk, music...
Everything. But we want fifty percent of G.G T. V." 

"Fifty percent... Are you outta your mind? I could make 20 series for
that -" 

Norman waved him to silence. 

"Bob, Bob, look," his eyes bored into the other man's, "it's no secret
you guys are in the dwang. I know the story..." He looked at Cliff, who 
nodded, "we both know the story, Bob." 

"Just a small cash flow problem," Bob tried to look confident. 

"Hey come on, don't snow us man, look, with this kinda star power,
you're gonna be number one again!" 

Bob was silent. He stared moodily at the frozen face of Allan Ladd, two
hundred years old, arms appealing to another long dead icon, Bella 
Lugosi. 

"I'll think about it," he allowed softly, "gimme a few days." 

"Well, what do you think?" 

The executives studied the young man before them. 

"Not bad, that software idea, could it ever be done?" 

"Oh, I don't know - I just made that up. I don't really know much about
computers." 

A thin woman with a slightly superior attitude leaned towards him. 

"How does it... go on?" 

The young man shifted nervously, "I haven't ironed the creases out yet,
but well, basically, Cliff and Norman are actually aliens." 

The Group blinked. 

"What?" 

"Yeah," the young man leaned forward, lowering his voice. 

"You see, Cliff and Norman are from another planet and they want to
control the airwaves. To get mankind under a sort of hypnosis -" 

The executives stared back. 

"Go on." 

"So, through their superior mastering technology, they revive all these
old actors and get everyone watching their station." The young man 
paused and then continued: "Finally, mankind becomes enslaved by this 
new race." 

"Intriguing... And how do they achieve this?" 

"Easy, subliminal messages telling them their masters are coming, and
that they must serve them!" 

One of the executives started fiddling noisily with a terminal. Their
senior silenced him with a look. 

"Mmn, very interesting Mr. -" 

" Black... Robin Black." 

"Have you approached any of the other networks with this idea?" 

"You guys are the first -" 

"Good. Well, we'd like a six-week option. How about sixteen thousand
dollars, non recoupable?" 

The young man's eyes widened, "Jeez, yeah, cool..." He leaped to his
feet, grinning from ear to ear. 

"Our secretary will fix you up." She nodded, rising to her feet and
leading him firmly out of the room. 

The door closed and there was a brief silence. Then the senior executive
turned back to the rest of them: 

g#erq daghjxjg  htytoq" She said. They nodded, worry on their usually
impassive faces. 

"#sd qoo qi8w 7gs zxx" said one of the others. The senior executive
shook her head and raised her hand. 

"rer cec xxzt%# 4lxx  xzs azzt " 

They all nodded... sadly. 

At six thirty that evening, when Robin opened the door, three strange
looking men in overcoats fried him to a crisp. 

Stepping over the smoking body, they closed the door and searched the
apartment. All scripts pertaining to the alien T. V. idea were seized 
and taken back with them - along with an un-cashed check for sixteen 
thousand dollars. 

The police were baffled. "Looks like he was struck by lightning,"
reflected the coroner. The case went unsolved and was soon forgotten. 

Several months later, most people's minds were occupied by a brand new
series called "Inca Paradise" -  an unusual hit that had revived 
several long dead actors. 

Through the miracle of computer technology, they had created stars out
of them once again. Marlon  Brando, Greta  Garbo, James Dean... 

It was almost as popular that year, as the 2150 Olympics! 

Somewhere on the three hundredth floor of the TV Worldwide Systems
building, the senior executive allowed herself a satisfied smile. Her 
eyes found one of the myriad glass windows and went up to the sky 
beyond. A small prickle of excitement began to build. Any day now... 

"Well, what do you think?" enqired the writer. 

The producer sighed: 

"Mmn, not bad... I'll let you know... Well do lunch sometime." 


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