The Anomaly(3)

As I waited at the bar I checked out the other patrons. A few couples making plans for the next day’s excursions to the canyon, a family of four peaceably chowing down on identically vast burgers, a scattering of singletons frowning at their smartphones to prove they totally weren’t lonely and bored—and a trim redhead with a perky ponytail at the other end of the counter, hammering away on a laptop. She favored me with an amused smile and then pointedly looked away. I sternly ignored her while I signed the drinks to my room, so that showed her.

When I got back to the table, Molly was out in the lobby, pacing up and down and barking into her phone. In the run of things she’s unflappably affable, but experience has shown that supply companies who get on her wrong side will come to regret it in profound ways.

“Fuckup with the boat,” Ken said.

“Oh. What?”

“The last bunch of tourists sank it. The issue is under discussion.”

“So I see.”

“You sorted on your bits of shit?”

I spread my hands in a gesture of quiet confidence.

“Okay,” he said patiently. “But really?”

I tapped my temple. “It’s all up here.”

He sighed. “That’s wonderful, mate. But I’m going to suggest to you, not for the first time, that I’d prefer to see it in an actual script.”

“Not how I roll. As you know.”

“Sadly, I do. But remind me why?”

“I’m done with scripts.”

“Plus you’re an arsehole. So there’s that.” He chinked his glass against mine. “Cheers. Here’s to the successful and within-budget hammering of another nail into the coffin of received wisdom and the dastardly agenda of Them.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Feather piped up, with surprising vehemence. She raised her glass and I tapped mine against it.

Pierre arrived in the bar looking annoyingly serene. Ken, Molly, and I waved at him as he approached. Pierre understood this wasn’t a greeting and dutifully changed course toward the bar. I noticed the ponytailed laptop lady glance at him as he arrived, checking out his form in a way I can only describe as “appreciative.”

Meanwhile, Feather was beaming at me. “I don’t want to sound like a fangirl,” she said, “but…okay, let’s face it, I’m a total fangirl. I love your show. What you’re doing is incredibly important, Nolan. And I want to thank you for it.”

“Well, we should be thanking you,” I said, disliking the heartiness in my voice.

“Happy to be able to help,” she said. “So happy.”

“I’d love to hear more about what the Palinhem Foundation actually does,” I said, trying to imply that I was on top of all but the finest details. In fact I had no clue. Our new sponsors had come directly to Ken and he’d handled the negotiations. Or more likely said yes without a second thought. He’d take cash from the NRA if they promised to keep out of his face during filming. And gave him a gun. Without the Foundation’s cash injection—and their controlling stake in the NewerWorld cable network—there’s no way we’d have this chance of the jump to a real TV show. Being conspicuously nice to Feather was high on my list of priorities over the coming days—as Ken had reminded me, many times.

“Truth,” she breathed. “That’s what we’re about.”

“Absolutely. But, uh, in what way?”

“The way you mean it, Nolan. What you’ve shown us time after time in The Anomaly Files. We need a compelling voice to fight the way scientists, the government, and the liberal autocracy have painted a misleading picture of the world and a false narrative of human history, stomping down on anything that doesn’t fit their agenda.”

I wasn’t sure what the “liberal autocracy” was supposed to be—and actually it sounded like something I should probably not be against—but smiled warmly anyway. “Right on.”

“Yeah, but seriously,” Ken said. “Where’s the money come from? Don’t think I’m not grateful, love. I’m just curious.”

“Seth Palinhem was a successful industrialist,” Feather said. She used the term as you might say “violent alcoholic.” “He died ten years back. Thankfully, toward the end of his life he realized there were bigger truths and wider horizons. He set up his foundation to fund researchers who shared his vision. This is my first big project. I’m so excited to be here.”

“And it’s a pleasure to have you,” Ken said, dutifully taking his turn to sound hearty, though I’d been there to witness his reaction when he discovered that a Palinhem representative wanted to do a ride-along on the first shoot of the new season. It had featured foul language of a breadth, inventiveness, and duration that may never be bettered in the course of human history. I wish I had it on tape.

“I only hope you’re not going to be bored,” I said. “Making TV involves a lot of waiting around.”

“I won’t be for a second, I’m sure. And I want to be helpful,” she said. “Part of the team. So what can I do? When the expedition starts?”

“Don’t worry, love,” Ken said breezily. “We’ll think of something. Just ask Molly.”

My suspicion was that “something” was going to be a master class in fetching and carrying objects of zero import, occasionally being asked for an opinion on things that didn’t matter, and generally being kept out of the way.