Redshirts

passionate hug. Kerensky reciprocated.
    “I wish we had more time,” Corey said.
    “So do I,” Kerensky said. They hugged again and separated. Corey walked out of the lobby. Kerensky watched him go.
    “Wow,” Hester said. “You’ve got it bad, Kerensky.”
    Kerensky wheeled around. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    Hester held up his hands. “Look, I’m not judging,” he said.
    “Judging what?” Kerensky said, and looked at the others. “What? You all think I had sex with Marc?”
    “Didn’t you?” Duvall asked.
    “We talked, ” Kerensky said. “The most amazing conversation I have ever had with anyone in my entire life. It was like meeting the brother I never had.”
    “Come on, Anatoly,” Hester said. “We heard thumps .”
    “Marc was putting on his pants,” Kerensky said. “I gave him back his pants, and he was still unsteady, and he fell over. That was it .”
    “All right,” Hester said. “Sorry.”
    “Jesus,” Kerensky said, looking around. “You people. I have one of the most incredible experiences I’ll ever have, talking with the one person who really gets me—who really understands me—and you’re all down here thinking I’m performing some sort of time-traveling incestuous masturbation thing. Thanks so very much for crapping on my amazing, life-altering experience. You all make me sick.” He stormed off.
    “Well, that was interesting,” Duvall said.
    Kerensky stormed back in and pointed at Maia. “And we’re through,” he said.
    “Fair enough,” Duvall said. Kerensky stormed off a second time.
    “I’d just like to point out that I was right,” Dahl said, after a minute. Duvall walked over and smacked him on the head.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    Charles Paulson’s private offices were in Burbank, off the studio lot, in a building that housed three other production companies, two agencies, a tech start-up and a nonprofit dedicated to fighting thrush. Paulson’s offices filled the third floor; the group took the elevator.
    “I shouldn’t have eaten that last burrito,” Hester said as they entered the elevator, a pained look on his face.
    “I told you not to,” Hanson said.
    “You also said that the twenty-first century had food safety laws,” Hester said.
    “I don’t think food safety laws are going to protect you from a third carnitas burrito,” Hanson said. “That’s not about food safety. It’s about pork fat overload.”
    “I need a bathroom,” Hester said.
    “Can this wait?” Dahl said, to Hester. The elevator reached the third floor. “This is kind of an important meeting.”
    “If I don’t find a bathroom, you’re not going to want me at the meeting,” Hester said. “Because what would happen would be grim.”
    The elevator doors opened and the five of them stepped off. Down the hallway to the right was a sign for the men’s bathroom. Hester made his way toward it, quickly but stiffly, and disappeared through its door.
    “How long do you think this is going to take?” Duvall asked Dahl. “Our meeting is in about a minute.”
    “Have you ever had a carnitas incident?” Dahl asked Duvall.
    “No,” Duvall said. “And from the looks of it I should be glad.”
    “He’ll probably be in there a while,” Dahl said.
    “We can’t wait,” Kerensky said.
    “No,” Dahl said.
    “You guys go ahead,” Hanson said. “I’ll stay and make sure Hester’s all right. We’ll wait for you in the office lobby when he’s done.”
    “You’re sure?” Dahl asked.
    “I’m sure,” Hanson said. “Hester and I were just going to be spectators in the meeting anyway. We can wait in the lobby just as easily, and read magazines. It’s always fun to catch up on three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old gossip.”
    Dahl smiled at this. “All right,” he said. “Thanks, Jimmy.”
    “If Hester’s intestines explode, you let us know,” Duvall said.
    “You’ll be the first,” Hanson said, and headed toward the bathroom.
    The receptionist at Paulson Productions smiled warmly at Kerensky as he, Dahl and Duvall entered the office lobby. “Hello, Marc,” she said. “Good to see you again.”
    “Uh,” Kerensky said.
    “We’re here to see Mr. Paulson,” Dahl said, stepping into Kerensky’s moment of awkwardness. “We have an appointment. Marc set it up.”
    “Yes, of course,” the receptionist said, glancing at her computer screen. “Mr. Dahl, is it?”
    “That’s me,” Dahl said.
    “Have a seat over there and I’ll let him know