“It’s about really connecting with the subject matter, you know?”

 

They didn’t.

SkanyK felt like he did at every press conference: empty, desperate, hollow. Or hollower than usual. He needed at least one of them to stand up and ask something interesting. Something that indicated in any small way they knew what he was trying to accomplish — that they understood.

But there was just noise. The assembled faces, avatars and primary orifices looked the way he felt.

 

“What brand of disintegrator will you be using for the initial lines?” squealed a vacant-looking corporate tool in the front row.

 

Skany let out a visible warble of dissatisfaction which reverberated over the energy fields holding distinct life support bubbles in place.

“Ah,” he began. “I believe it’s a Nuanced Matter Evaporator. Series 3, perhaps.”

He leaned against the railing. The self-satisfied sentient hammer in the front row took a seat. “Anyone else?”

Fourteen appendages were raised. “Yes?” he pointed to a pale, meaty-looking one further towards the back.

 

“Umm. Yes. Hi. Uhhh. Well.”

“Anyone else?” Skany jeered. The bubbles wobbled.

 

“Well, I was just wondering, why here? Why this planet in particular?” The voice and the appendage were attached to what looked like a small biped with several growths and a keratin infection.

 

Skany eyed the unfortunate creature with the half-decent question and adopted his most condescending posture.

“For a complex range of reasons,” he began. “First, I wanted to really bring out the colour, so a molten base with a predominantly liquid surface helps with that. The initial cuts will create both geographic forms and chemical reactions that will carry my vision of creation and destruction. The final cataclysm will see those layers stripped away.”

He paused to survey the room. “This is about telling a story, after all. It was important to find a world with dynamic parameters. One that would allow me to draw on as many different variables as possible in the time allowed to create that sense of scale. The complete life cycle of a world. Other planets would have required importing materials.”

 

There were wobbles of approval throughout the audience. The pale appendage was still raised.

 

“Do you have something else?” Skany asked.

“Yes, it’s just umm. What about the people?”

There was a murmur in the audience.

“The what?” Skany asked again.

“The people. The ones that live there.”

Skany raised a matted wing to the receiver and turned to his manager. “The what?” he mouthed. The manager shrugged.

Skany returned his attention to the audience. “I think you’re mistaken,” he responded, trying his best to appear aloof. “No one ‘lives’ there.” The inflection in his voice attempted sarcasm yet betrayed uncertainty. “It’s just a bunch of bugs and plants and stuff.”

 

“I live there,” came the response from the audience. Somewhat more confident this time.

 

There was a pause.

 

“You?” Skany asked.

 

“Yes. And my family and friends. And about 8 billion others. Not to mention numerous other species of intelligent life.”

“Intelligent, he says,” cried the manager, pushing his way onto the stage. “Look, this is all very amusing. But the fact is, we’ve vetted the planet and determined that there hasn’t been intelligent life there for at least sixty-six million years. Clearly, this individual is just here to make trouble.”

“TROUBLE!” came a well-timed shriek from the back. “Trouble is exactly what we are making. Trouble for these people!” A large hairy collection of organisms resembling a ball of yarn made of horse tails began rolling itself through the crowd, bumping other bubbles out of the way.

“Oh, not you lot again!” The manager gestured for security and turned to Skany. “Let me handle this.”

“We have arranged for this ‘HUMAN’ — yes, they have a name — to be here today, to make clear that this so-called art installation is nothing short of an act of genocide!” shrieked the ball. “Vainglorious self-interest!” it added for good measure.

 

Several large and otherwise nondescript things appeared, apparently from nowhere, in front of the stage, causing those assembled to bump confusingly out of the way.

 

“I am under what!?” screeched the ball. “Gentlemen! This is isocracy manifest. Get your whatever-that-is off my tail!”

The ball could still be heard screeching long after it and the large security things had disappeared. In the intervening time, Skany had wandered back up to the front of the stage, sighed, slapped the big red button, and gone for a cigarette. The planet had been annihilated in what was an admittedly stunning display of terrifying technology and vibrant natural colour. The audience had slowly filtered out of the room and on to other less entertaining and slightly less morally reprehensible pastimes.

 

Jim, the human, still in a persistently recycling bubble of 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen and 1% conveniently effective calming agent, stood naked on the now empty observation deck. His planet had been annihilated for an art exhibition. His alien advocate had been arrested for being annoying. And, at some point, his clothes had been confiscated for dramatic effect.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” A polite voice came from behind.

Jim glanced over his shoulder as what looked like a reticulated dinner plate appeared at his side.

“We have another booking to use this space, sir. Would you mind?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Jim responded cordially.

“There are transport and information services on the deck above if you need assistance, sir. Also, a medical unit if you need to get that infection looked at.”

“Thank you very much,” Jim responded again. “I think I do.”

He turned towards the exit, planetary debris slowly accreting in the background, smiled and went for a haircut.