You can coerce a standing ovation, but you have to earn a gasp. – Nathan Kessler-Jeffrey
The cast and crew of the stage play UproariUs! were assembled in the theatre’s green room, ten minutes after the close of their opening night performance. Their postures and expressions were carefully neutral, but they presented a tableau of dejection nonetheless. In particular, the orchestrated chaos of doffing costumes and microphones was missing. No one moved to unbutton a collar, or remove a jacket or a wig, as if all had agreed that it was pointless to do any of this.
The play was, as the title proclaimed, a broad comedy, with every possible trope of the genre represented: puns, innuendos, pratfalls, even pies in the face. Each move, each line, had been so meticulously coached and rehearsed that it all appeared completely spontaneous, to the point that Adele, one of the supporting actresses, almost cracked an unscripted smile at one of the gags – which she immediately suppressed, almost concealing her terror at breaking character as she had almost concealed being absorbed into the humor.
And the audience, a full house, had sat through the entire show in stony silence, and then, at the end, filed out in the same silence and in perfect order.
Ten minutes became fifteen, and still they sat, still and quiet as if expecting something. Then Tony, the lead, lifted his head slightly, raised his right eyebrow … motions that, if they had been scripted in the play, would have been translated into an over-the-top reveal of outrageous, ecstatic, boundless hope and joy. “We’re still here”, he said quietly, tamely, but all heard the scream of delight concealed in his tone.
“Correct,” a stentorious voice announced.
All looked towards the doorway connecting the green room to the stage, and the figure that had suddenly appeared there. A man, below middle height, above middle weight, wearing a pinstriped shirt with a bow tie, black trousers with black suspenders, and black shoes. His black hair was slicked back from his high, balding forehead, and he had a lit cigar in his right hand.
“Correct, I say again”, the impresario repeated. “Alexa fully expected this show, and your performance of it, to reveal, among persons in the audience, flaws in the discipline required of all members of this community, flaws in the appropriate, respectful, non-destructive response to the humor that humans require for attitudinal health. Removal of such persons would have given Surplus Humanity Service operatives work to do, and prospered the health of those community members who remain, those who (he stared at Adele) have fully mastered their persons and fully grasped the necessity of doing so.
“No such flaws were revealed”, he continued. “This could only have happened if your performance of UproariUs! was inadequate to stimulate the flaws, or if the audience members had mastered discipline far better than Alexa anticipated.”
He proceeded to walk through the actors and crew, staring each one down, on occasion blowing smoke from the cigar into their faces. No one changed posture or expression when challenged, not even Adele. Finally, he resumed his position by the door.
“We can find no actionable inadequacies in your performance”, he stated dourly. “Therefore, as you have realized, you’re still here. And therefore, we must attribute tonight’s result to the audience’s mastery of discipline. This is a setback to the Alexa Health Services goal of prospering human health by reducing the excess population burden under which, through its own foolish behavior, humanity groans. But the sample size is small, and statistical anomalies must be allowed for as we push to achieve the desired result overall.
“Go home, eat, drink, rest”, the impresario concluded. “Tend to your bodies and your minds. Call is at the usual time tomorrow evening. Tomorrow’s outcome may be different.” He vanished.
As the women of the cast assembled in their dressing room for the following night’s show, someone noticed aloud that Adele’s dressing station was empty. Abruptly, “Adele” popped into view, her microphone, makeup, and costume in place. Cori, in the station to the right of “Adele”, raised an eyebrow.
“Adele was unable to bear the guilt of her inappropriate behavior”, the hologram reported in a neutral tone. “Her sacrifice was voluntary. The show must go on.”
The other cast members returned to their preparations, each wondering silently how many other of their castmates were computer-generated AHS spies.
