The Dead Celebrity Space Corps William Hrdina Published by William Hrdina and Fnord Publishing at Smashwords. Copyright 2012 William Hrdina Discover other titles by William Hrdina at Smashwords.com Once a Dream Did Weave Kenny G Must Die!! A Satire about Music- and Zombies Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by me. Thank you for your support. The Dead Celebrity Space Corps A Short Story by William Hrdina Elvis was the ringer. Like an elite closing pitcher- you brought Elvis in when you absolutely had to get a strike. Marvin looked over at Kurt. Kurt shrugged. “Do it.” He said. Marvin tapped a small digital node implanted in the back of his hand. “Bring in Papa.” From his place on the couch, Heath Ledger watched with a combination of amusement and horror. Everything had been so normal just ten minutes before. He was relaxing, enjoying a break from the filming of the Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. He was in a swanky New York hotel room eating a bagel, nicely toasted and slathered with cherry jam and getting ready to watch his favorite episode of Deadwood on DVD. His script was on the bed, he didn’t want to lose the heart of the character during the brief hiatus from filming. Then there came a knock at the door. Heath flinched- as far as he knew, no one had his room number except for his agent- and he was in LA. Maybe it was just the maid or something. Heath went to the hotel room door and squinted into the fish-eye lens. He was having a very hard time believing what he saw on the other side. If he didn’t know better, Heath would’ve thought he was looking at Marvin Gaye and Kurt Cobain. But it couldn’t be them- they were both dead. Plus, they were wearing very silly looking spaceman outfits- like the kind people wore in 1950’s science fiction movies. He figured it must be the distortion of the fish-eye lens. Of course, this didn’t really solve the question of why two guys who looked like Marvin Gaye and Kurt Cobain were standing outside the door. Marvin said, “Excuse us, Mr. Ledger. We need to speak with you for a moment.” “No, I’m good.” Heath said, hoping they would just go away. Fat chance. Kurt Cobain said, “Please Heath, look. I know you recognize us. Now please open the door.” “I think you know you cannot be who I think you are because who I think you are- is a couple of dead guys. Therefore, you aren’t who you look like- so I’m fine, now please go away before I call security.” “We would both really prefer if you just opened the door. But if you won’t, we can open it quite easily. Please stand away.” Marvin touched a different node on his arm. Heath watched in amazement as the entire lock mechanism on the door simply ceased to be there. One minute there was a knob- the next there was a hole. An already weird day had clearly decided to up the ante a bit. Because the excuse of the fish eye lens was gone- there was no denying the two men in the stupid outfits were Marvin Gaye and Kurt Cobain. They looked very much not dead. Yet, Marvin didn’t look any older either- he looked to be basically the same age he was when he died. “What is happening here?” “Something quite unique actually, you are being recruited.” Kurt answered. “Recruited to what?” “To an elite team of celebrities- all recruited at the height of their fame: The Dead Celebrity Space Corps.” Heath barked out a laugh of disbelief. “The what? The Dead Celebrity Space Corps? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Good job with the look-alikes though- you guys are dead ringers. Not sure how you pulled the trick with the door knob- but well done and all that. Jokes over boys, okay?” Marvin and Kurt looked at him with sympathy, but they didn’t move. “Look Heath, we understand. Trust us, we really do.” “I was in a rehab center when John and Marvin here showed up. Imagine what that was like!” “John?” “Yeah. John Lennon. He’s in the Corps too. Second in command actually.” “And so the outfits-“ “Are space suits, yes. I know they look dorky here on earth, but this baby is the height of fashion in the Grebulon system- which is where we’ve been stationed for the past couple of years. “ “That’s just great. So clearly, I’m having some sort of drug induced hallucination. Must’ve been in the room service or something.” Heath made a mental note to send a very stern complaint to the hotel manager in the morning. It was at this point that Kurt looked over at Marvin and gave him the nod to call Elvis. Normally, they would just leave and come back in a day or two- but there was no time. They needed to get Heath to agree to come along quickly- there was a cruiser waiting to take them back to the Grebulon system- too much delay could cost thousands of lives. Heath was two-thirds of the way to convincing himself he wasn’t having a breakdown when Elvis Presley suddenly materialized in the middle of the hotel room- all progress towards mental stability was lost. Instead of the classic jumpsuit, Elvis was also dressed in one of the silly space-suits Marvin and Kurt Cobain wore. “Hello there Heath- loved your Joker.” Elvis said in his universally recognizable drawl. “This is insane.” “Tell me about it.” Elvis agreed, “Look Heath- I’m not going to soft-pedal this to you. I’m going to come at you straight. There’s no easy way for you to wrap your head around this- it’s a tough one. For me, my day of reckoning was August 16, 1977. This day is yours. At the time, I admit I was a bit of a fat mess, but I was Elvis dammnit so I thought I deserved some slack. I was in my room, eating a fried banana and peanut butter sandwich- when all of a sudden, these three little grey fellas just materialize in my bedroom- in pretty much the same way I did just now. Naturally, I thought I’d taken one too many prescription pills. Which I suppose I had, but these aliens, it turned out, were really there. They told me they needed my help. Well, President Nixon made me an honorary member of the FBI- so I felt it was my duty- hallucination or not- to hear the aliens out. It turns out- the little grey aliens are just a single example of a whole buttload of different races of aliens- there’s more of them than flavors of ice cream.” “Why did they pick you? Why not the President?” “I wondered that too- it turns out- this is just how the program works.” “What program?” “The program designed to introduce the human race into the League of Aliens Worlds. The politicians come much later. With every new world- they start with the celebrities- with the members of the species whose genetic traits make them the most universally appealing in their artistic discipline. In practice, the policy seems to break down to musicians and movie stars. I was the first, but many more came after me. Each one of us chose to fake our own deaths in order to act as one of the spokesmen for the entire human race. We’re expected to start space exploration in a serious way over then next century or so- the decision about whether to destroy us as a threat- or to let us join the League- rests largely on the shoulders of what we affectionately call the Dead Celebrity Space Corps. When the Army drafted me in ’58 I knew I had no choice but to serve. And when the little grey aliens came in ’77- it was the same deal. Son, when Elvis and Kurt Cobain and Marvin Gaye come to your door and ask you to serve. You serve.” “And what happens to me here?” “That is the hard part. Here on earth, you must die. It is part of the process. Don’t worry- it’s painless. You just step into a machine, it makes a quick, non-living copy of your body which we pump full of pain killers or flu medicine or whatever and leave for someone to find- and you come with us.” “You’re really serious.” Heath said, the truth of it starting to press down on his head, like the gravity in the room had just increased by 45%. “Serious as the heart attack everyone thinks killed me.” Elvis agreed. Heath looked from one famous face to the next- and thought of getting the chance to meet John Lennon. The possibility John and Kurt Cobain and Elvis and Marvin Gaye were playing in a band together was, in itself, a pretty compelling argument- Heath had never been all that fond of being famous anyway. He looked Elvis in the eye. “I’ll do it.” Elvis snapped and gave him the patented Elvis point- “Awwright.” He purred. “Let’s get out of here boys.” Deep down, a not insignificant part of Heath was expecting everyone to admit they were very well paid celebrity look-alikes when no one teleported- because teleportation was a technology that didn’t exist. But then he did teleport. The sensation was quite peculiar- like sneezing and farting at the same time. Then, with an audible pop in his ears, Heath found himself standing on the bridge of a no bullshit spaceship. “Okay Phil (Hartman), let’s go.” In the voice of Troy McLure- Hartman said, “On our way mi cap-i-tan.” Heath only felt the slightest sense of acceleration as the ship began it’s trip to the Grebulon system. He was sad to leave earth, but his excitement soon outpaced his sadness. “Please tell me you dead rock stars still jam.” Heath begged. “8 O’clock, every night.” Elvis grinned. “I think I’m going to like this job.”