Komodo mentioned that in his modest opinion, watching the great reptile blow his massive snout was actually quite humorous.
But the tight expression on his friend’s face told Gojiro that the letter was no joke. “We have an offer to go to America,” the blackhaired Japanese said quietly.
“Yeah? We win another contest? I told you never to send back those forms, it only encourages them.”
“No. This is an offer for work. To make a movie there.”
A movie? Gojiro couldn’t believe his earwhorls. The mere mention of making movies had been banned for years, ever since Shig’s treachery became known. Go to America to make a movie? Had Komodo finally flipped out, blown his every cookie? “I’m retired from show business,” Gojiro snapped. “Tell ’em to get themselves another monster.”
“I would never burden you with these matters,” Komodo blurted, “but this letter . . . I sense a relevance about it, a potential impact on our Promise.”
Gojiro tried not to listen. He glued his eyes to the Dishscreen. That desultory blue-gray light was his refuge; it raised no expectations, supposed no soon-to-be-dashed desire.
“This letter—it is from Sheila Brooks.”
Komodo’s skin looked ashen. “Yes. She is offering us an opportunity to come to America to make a film entitled Gojiro vs. Joseph Prometheus Brooks in the Valley of Decision .”
* * *
Of all the madness inherent in the outlandish notion that he should go to Hollywood and share top billing with Joseph Prometheus Brooks, the thing that drove Gojiro to the greatest distraction was Komodo’s insistence that it was a good idea.
“But my own true friend, he is a great scientist. One of the most brilliant men ever to live. If there is one person who might fix us, it would be him.”
“ Fix us? ” Gojiro spat back. “Don’t you think he’s fixed us pretty good already?”
“That’s just it. It was Mr. Brooks’s creation that brought us to this state, so perhaps he might be able to devise a method by which we could escape it.”
If a stray planet had happened to be passing within Gojiro’s grasp right then he would have snatched it from its orbit, bearhugged it to dust. Joseph Prometheus Brooks! The inventor of the Heater itself!
Gojiro looked at Komodo in disbelief. It hadn’t been all that long ago that the monster had convened a Great Tribunal of the Anti-Speciesist League for the express purpose of putting Brooks on trial, in absentia, for High Crimes against the Evolloo. The meeting ended inconclusively after the two friends engaged in a terrible argument, nearly coming to blows. It was Komodo’s refusal to endorse the necessary extreme prejudice that infuriated the giant lizard.
“We cannot condemn Mr. Brooks until we have the complete evidence,” Komodo said, acting for the accused.
“You want proof? Look at these feet, look at these dorsals, look at these . . . flanks , which, thanks to your pal Pro Brooks will never know the sweet rub of a female’s leathers. Look at yourself, why don’t you.”
Komodo would not be budged. “We can’t condemn what we don’t fully understand. Perhaps Mr. Brooks had no control over events; rather, it was the workings of his unique mind that caused him to act as he did.”
“You trying to cop a temporary insanity plea for this fuck or something? Like ‘hey, I didn’t mean to grab the Universe by the balls—it’s just some cupcake I ate.’ ”
“I am saying that in Art and Science there are ideas that, once created, take on a life of their own.”
“Oh, the old Art and Science riff, huh? The old technically too-sweet excuse! Give those willowy boys with paintbrushes the whole canvas, but later for us scufflers down here in the street. I can’t believe you’re trying to absolve Brooks. I suppose the Heater just sprang from his head, a fullblown, kicking Athena, and all he did was throw the plutonium through the bars at feeding time.”
The Tribunal broke up amid
But the tight expression on his friend’s face told Gojiro that the letter was no joke. “We have an offer to go to America,” the blackhaired Japanese said quietly.
“Yeah? We win another contest? I told you never to send back those forms, it only encourages them.”
“No. This is an offer for work. To make a movie there.”
A movie? Gojiro couldn’t believe his earwhorls. The mere mention of making movies had been banned for years, ever since Shig’s treachery became known. Go to America to make a movie? Had Komodo finally flipped out, blown his every cookie? “I’m retired from show business,” Gojiro snapped. “Tell ’em to get themselves another monster.”
“I would never burden you with these matters,” Komodo blurted, “but this letter . . . I sense a relevance about it, a potential impact on our Promise.”
Gojiro tried not to listen. He glued his eyes to the Dishscreen. That desultory blue-gray light was his refuge; it raised no expectations, supposed no soon-to-be-dashed desire.
“This letter—it is from Sheila Brooks.”
Komodo’s skin looked ashen. “Yes. She is offering us an opportunity to come to America to make a film entitled Gojiro vs. Joseph Prometheus Brooks in the Valley of Decision .”
* * *
Of all the madness inherent in the outlandish notion that he should go to Hollywood and share top billing with Joseph Prometheus Brooks, the thing that drove Gojiro to the greatest distraction was Komodo’s insistence that it was a good idea.
“But my own true friend, he is a great scientist. One of the most brilliant men ever to live. If there is one person who might fix us, it would be him.”
“ Fix us? ” Gojiro spat back. “Don’t you think he’s fixed us pretty good already?”
“That’s just it. It was Mr. Brooks’s creation that brought us to this state, so perhaps he might be able to devise a method by which we could escape it.”
If a stray planet had happened to be passing within Gojiro’s grasp right then he would have snatched it from its orbit, bearhugged it to dust. Joseph Prometheus Brooks! The inventor of the Heater itself!
Gojiro looked at Komodo in disbelief. It hadn’t been all that long ago that the monster had convened a Great Tribunal of the Anti-Speciesist League for the express purpose of putting Brooks on trial, in absentia, for High Crimes against the Evolloo. The meeting ended inconclusively after the two friends engaged in a terrible argument, nearly coming to blows. It was Komodo’s refusal to endorse the necessary extreme prejudice that infuriated the giant lizard.
“We cannot condemn Mr. Brooks until we have the complete evidence,” Komodo said, acting for the accused.
“You want proof? Look at these feet, look at these dorsals, look at these . . . flanks , which, thanks to your pal Pro Brooks will never know the sweet rub of a female’s leathers. Look at yourself, why don’t you.”
Komodo would not be budged. “We can’t condemn what we don’t fully understand. Perhaps Mr. Brooks had no control over events; rather, it was the workings of his unique mind that caused him to act as he did.”
“You trying to cop a temporary insanity plea for this fuck or something? Like ‘hey, I didn’t mean to grab the Universe by the balls—it’s just some cupcake I ate.’ ”
“I am saying that in Art and Science there are ideas that, once created, take on a life of their own.”
“Oh, the old Art and Science riff, huh? The old technically too-sweet excuse! Give those willowy boys with paintbrushes the whole canvas, but later for us scufflers down here in the street. I can’t believe you’re trying to absolve Brooks. I suppose the Heater just sprang from his head, a fullblown, kicking Athena, and all he did was throw the plutonium through the bars at feeding time.”
The Tribunal broke up amid
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