Agent to the Stars (32 page)

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Authors: John Scalzi

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The tivis immediately started to warm up; the wires were apparently heating elements. Through my noseplugs, I smelled something acrid, but I was also immediately overwhelmed by a sense of wistfulness, with overtones of happiness but the slightest bit of regret. It was the feeling you get when you see an old girlfriend, realize that she's a wonderful person, and that you were kind of an idiot to let her go, even if you're happily
married now. I mentioned this (without the drama) to Gwedif.
“It worked, then,” Gwedif said. “Tivis work by stimulating certain emotions through smells. This one,” he pointed to the one we were at, “is actually fairly crude—it's just one primary emotion with only a couple of emotional harmonics. Any of us could have made it, actually. It's the tivis equivalent of a paint-by-numbers. Some of our tivis masters can create works of incredible emotional depth, layering emotion on emotion in unexpected combinations. You can get really worked up over a good tivis.”
“I'll bet,” I said. “These could go over real big on Earth. You need to introduce me to some of the Yherajk who make these.”
“Looking for clients already?” Gwedif said.
“I've already got all of you as clients, Gwedif,” I said. “Now I just need to find out which ones of you need individual attention.”
We sampled a few more tivis before I got restless and wanted to return to the ambulance. If I was going to be worried, I wanted to be worried near something familiar. Van Doren came with me. We hung around the ambulance for an hour before Van Doren fished through the glove compartment and unearthed a pack of cards. We played gin. Van Doren kicked my ass; he apparently didn't believe in or understand the concept of a friendly game of cards. After I got sick of cards, I grabbed a blanket out of the ambulance, spread it out on the floor of the hangar, and willed myself into another nap.
I was awakened this time by someone sticking their toe in my side. I swatted at the leg. It jabbed, harder.
“Wake up,” someone said. It was Michelle's voice.
I spun up, whacking my head on the ambulance as I struggled to get up. Michelle stood before me, naked. There was a crooked and slightly sardonic grin on her face. Never in all the years that I knew her had she ever had an expression like that. Sardonicism would have been a little much to ask out of Michelle.
“Joshua?” I asked.
“You were expecting maybe Winston Churchill?” Joshua said. “By the way, I think you might as well start calling me Michelle. There are very few people who look like this,” she motioned to her body, “who would be called Joshua.”
“All right … Michelle,” I said.
Van Doren came over and frankly stared at Michelle's naked form. “Wow,” he said. “I may have to revise that comment about taking you off my list of women to date.”
“Back off, jerky,” Michelle said.
“I just can't win,” Van Doren complained.
“I guess we can say the transfer was a success,” I said.
“It was easier than I thought,” Michelle said. “It helped that Gwedif had rummaged around through a human brain before. When I first suggested the idea of going into Miranda's brain, he shared his knowledge with me so I didn't have to fly completely blind. And Miranda was very open as well. Between the two of them, we made some remarkable progress.”
“Where is Miranda?” I asked.
“She's sleeping,” Michelle said. “The experience took a lot out of her.”
“Is she all right?” I said. “I mean, no damage to her?”
“Other than fatigue, no, none,” Michelle said. “Though you might give her a few days off when we get back. Let her rest up.”
“She can take the rest of the year off,” I said.
“Give her a raise, too,” Michelle said. “Hazard pay.”
“Pretty soon she'll be making more than I do,” I said.
“And about time, don't you think,” Michelle said.
“How much of you is you?” Van Doren asked Michelle.
“Which me are you talking about?” Michelle said. “Joshua, Michelle, or Miranda?”
“Michelle, for starters.”
“There's actually quite a bit of who Michelle was in here,” Michelle said. “Miranda's insistence on that matter made me take a look at the whole picture again. It took more time to get it all in, but now I agree with Miranda. It was the right thing to do. Now, I
did
do some judicious editing. Miranda's natively smarter and has more common sense than Michelle. In those matters, I had a tendency to model the template towards Miranda than Michelle. And at the end of it, everything that was Joshua is in here too, although a lot of it is being subsumed by the parts from Miranda and Michelle. I'm much more human than I was before. And yet I retain all my endearing qualities from before. Truly, a perfect being.”
“And modest, too,” Van Doren said.
“Feh on you,” Michelle said. “I'm going to remember that comment when the revolution comes.”
The door to the hangar opened and a stretcher wheeled out, pulled along by Yherajk. Miranda lay on it. She smiled and waved as her stretcher was pulled up to where we stood.
“You ought to be sleeping,” Michelle said, severely.
“You ought to be dressed,” Miranda said.
“That hospital gown was so
not
me,” Michelle said. “I've retained Michelle's fashion sense.”
“I urged her to rest, but she insisted on coming back here,” Gwedif said. He was one of the Yherajk pulling the stretcher.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I'm fine,” Miranda insisted. “I feel like my sinuses were used as a bypass for the 405, but that's over with. Now I want to go home. It's been fun having an alien probe, really, but I have plants to water and a cat to feed. I've already missed two feedings. I miss one more, and I get classified as food myself.”
“Is she well enough to move?” I asked Michelle.
“She's fine,” Michelle said. “But I still think she needs some more rest.”
“I can sleep on the way down,” Miranda said.
“Good luck with
that
,” Michelle said.
“Don't make me get huffy,” Miranda threatened. “Besides, we have to go back. You need to be outfitted, Michelle.”
“That's true,” Michelle admitted. “There is much shopping to be done. We should head back immediately. Stores are about to open.”
“Do we all have to go back?” Van Doren said. We all turned to him. He shifted, slightly uncomfortable. “If no one minds, I'd like to stay here for a while.”
“Why?” I asked.
“If my job is to be the storyteller for this little venture of ours, then it stands to reason that I should spend time getting to know the Yherajk,” Van Doren said. “I think Gwedif and I could stand to spend a little more time together. I want to get this story right, Tom. Besides, it's not like I have anything going on back on Earth. I don't even have a cat. And this way you're guaranteed that I'm out of your hair.”
“Gwedif?” Michelle asked.
“I don't mind,” Gwedif said. “It could be valuable, in fact. It could be helpful in figuring out what we need to do to make the
Ionar
more friendly to humans.”
“Start with air freshener,” Van Doren suggested.
“Watch it,” Gwedif said.
We said our good-byes to Van Doren and Gwedif. Miranda, still in her stretcher, lay in the back; Michelle, still naked, stayed in back with her. Two Yherajk pilots arrived and positioned themselves; in a moment a platform formed beneath them and a transport cube began taking shape. Behind the wheel, I waved again at Gwedif and Van Doren. Then the cube wall slid higher, obscuring the view.
Michelle poked her head up to the front. “Well, you did it,” she said. “You got me into this body. You've made me a human. What are we going to do now?”
“It depends,” I said. “How well do you think you can act?”
Michelle snorted. “Better than I could before, that's for sure.”
“Well, then,” I said. “I have a plan.”
“Tom,”
Roland Lanois said, stepping out of his office. “What an unexpected pleasure.” His intonation stressed
unexpected
slightly more than it emphasized
pleasure
.
“Roland,” I said. “Sorry about the sudden visit. But I have a proposition that I think you'll be interested in, and I thought you'd want to hear about it immediately.”
“I'm afraid that you've picked a rather hectic time to drop by,” Roland said. “I have a five o'clock, and it's already a quarter of five.”
“I only need five minutes,” I said. “I'll be long gone before your five o'clock.”
Roland grinned. “Tom, you are so unlike other agents. I actually
believe
that you only need five minutes. Very well,
then,” he motioned into his office with his hand. “The clock is ticking.”
“Here's what I came here for,” I said, after Roland had closed his office door behind us. “I've got a deal for you on the Kordus material.”
“That's excellent,” Roland said, taking a seat at his desk. “I hope your price is not too steep. We'll be doing this story on a shoestring.”
“Oh, I think you'll be able to afford it,” I said. “You can have the rights to excerpt any of Krzysztof's writing at no cost.”
Roland sat, silent. “That's impossibly generous,” he said, finally. His intonation this time stressed
impossibly
more than
generous
.
“I spoke to the Kordus family,” I said. “I showed them the script. They love it. Moreover, they are well acquainted with your work and trust that you will do a brilliant job. They feel that if giving you the rights at no cost will help this script make it to the screen, it's worth it. They expect that the additional book royalties that will be generated through the exposure of the work in the film will offset any loss they take giving you permission to use the work. They're taking the long view. Of course, they will want your permission to use artwork from the film to help promote the book reissues.”
“Yes, of course,” Roland said. “Of course. Tom, we'd be happy to do that. And you must thank the Kordus family for me, profusely. This is a true gift.”
“Well, yes and no,” I said. “There is one thing you have to do for me first.”
“What is that?” Roland said.
“Give Michelle Beck another reading for
Hard Memories
.”
“Um-hmmmm,” Roland said. “That might be difficult.”
“Why is that?” I said.
“Well, to begin with, I understand that she is currently in a coma.”
“She was,” I said. “She got better.”
“Better?” Roland blinked. “How does one get
better
out of a coma?”
“We took her to an exclusive clinic where we tried some experimental therapies,” I said. “She's fine, really.”
“Experimental therapies.”
“Very experimental. You wouldn't believe how experimental.”
Roland continued to look dubious. “If you say so,” he said. “However, there is the more pressing issue that Avika Spiegelman is dead set against Michelle for the role. I don't think that there's anything that could be done to change her mind. And without her consent, nothing happens.”
“Let Michelle worry about that,” I said. “All you have to do is get Avika to come here for another reading.”
“She won't come if she knows it's Michelle who is having the reading.”
“Surprise her,” I suggested.
“I'd rather not,” Roland said. “Tom, you don't understand how close I am to losing this project to begin with. If Ms. Spiegelman shows up with Michelle here, I will be well and truly screwed.”
“Roland, you're well and truly screwed anyway,” I said. “You don't have an actress. None of the actresses who could carry this film are available. You have slightly under two weeks to cast this thing, if I'm correct. If you blow it now, you're only losing something
that's already lost. This is in fact your last chance to
save
the project. All Michelle wants is a second reading, Roland. That's it. You really have nothing to lose.”
“Except possibly my professional reputation,” Roland said. “It might be cheaper just to pay cash for the Kordus rights.”
“All right, Roland,” I said. “You force me to bring out my big gun.”
“I can't wait, Tom,” Roland said. “Are you going to suggest Pamela Anderson in a supporting role?”
“How much would it take for you to produce the Kordus film?”
“The Kordus film?” Roland said. “I did a preliminary budget not long ago. My first estimate is about twelve million. Possibly less if I film entirely in Poland.”
“How would you finance it?” I asked.
“I'm still thinking about that,” Roland said. “I have a nice arrangement with BBC, which will finance three and a half million on the front end in exchange for broadcast rights in the UK. The CBC will kick in just under a million and a half for Canadian rights. I might be able to extort financing out of the French if I hire enough French nationals to work on the film. Miramax or Weinstein might be worth a few million, although with these sorts of properties, they tend to purchase distribution rights on the back end rather than up front.”
“But no matter what, you end up a couple of million dollars short,” I said.
“That's the drama of making small, serious films,” Roland said.
“Here's the big gun,” I said. “Get as much financing as you can from your usual sources, and whatever your shortfall, Michelle will cover it. Whatever it is.”
“What if I get less financing than I expect for the Kordus project? Or none at all?”
“Then Michelle will bankroll the entire production cost,” I said. “Though I think we should reasonably expect you to make the effort to line up other financing as well. But no matter what, you get the money from Michelle if you need it. It's solid.”
“And all I have to do is give Michelle another reading,” Roland said.
“That's right. If Michelle dazzles, then you get to make
Hard Memories
and then go with the Kordus story. If not, you can get to work on the Kordus picture right away. No lost time. You win either way.”
“Christ, Tom,” Roland said. “You sure know how to pack your five minutes.”
“You know me,” I said. “Always go for the dramatic gesture.”
“When do you want your reading?” Roland asked.
“Give me three days,” I said. “I need that much time to prepare Michelle.”
“Tom,” Roland said. “I appreciate your offer, and Michelle's as well. But I have to tell you I suspect that three days is not going to be enough time for Michelle to get herself up to the level she needs to be to convince Avika Spiegelman.”
“I think you'll be surprised,” I said. “Michelle's accident changed a lot of things. In some ways she's a whole other person.”
 
“
I
still don't know why I'm going to Arizona,” Michelle said.
“You're going there because I asked you to,” I said.
“Remind me not to listen to you when you ask me to jump off a cliff.” Michelle said.
“Arizona is not so bad,” I said. “It has some lovely scenery.”
“Are we going to visit any?” Michelle asked.
“No,” I said. “But you can look out the window.”
Our chartered jet was descending into Sky Harbor International Airport.
“Let me take a different tack,” Michelle said. “Why did you want me to go to Arizona?”
“Because there's someone here I want you to meet. Someone I think will make a difference in your reading tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes,
that
,” Michelle said. “The one you gave me so much time to prepare for. Thanks.”
“You said you still retained Michelle's memories of the script and her reading,” I said.
“I did,” Michelle said. “But Tom, just because she read it doesn't mean she
understood
it. It was not as much reading as staring at the page and waiting for the sentences to come into focus. Michelle was a nice person, but she really was in over her head.”
Our jet was now sliding over the runway. We landed with a small bump and much squealing of tires.
“Thank God,” Michelle said. “I'm afraid of flying.”
“You were never afraid of flying before,” I said. “And you weren't scared when we were dropping into the atmosphere in a cube at Mach 20.”
“Welcome to the new me,” Michelle said. “And I trust Yherajk technology a lot more than I trust yours. Now get me the hell off of this plane. I have to go kiss the ground.”
A limo driver was waiting for us as we exited the plane. We went through the crowd rapidly, before anyone could recognize Michelle, and were in the limo and on our way in a matter of minutes.
I rolled up the barrier between us and the driver almost immediately. “How flexible are you?” I asked.
“Why?” Michelle asked. “You looking for excitement in the back of a limo?”
“No,” I said. “What I mean to say is, can you generate any tendrils or tentacles?”
“Sure,” Michelle said. “It's not like when I was in Ralph and I was stuck in his digestive system. I've got Michelle's whole head undergoing transformation. See, look.” Michelle's eyes suddenly bulged, dropped out of her eye sockets, and began swinging around.
“That's the most disgusting thing I think I've ever seen,” I said.
“Now you know what I'm going to be doing for Halloween,” Michelle said.
“Can you make the tendrils any smaller?” I asked.
“Of course,” Michelle answered. “I can make them invisible, if you like.”
“I would like,” I said. “I think you may need them where we're going.”
“Where
are
we going?” Michelle asked again.
“We'll be there soon enough,” I said.
Less than half hour later, we were there.
“The Beth Israel Retirement Home,” Michelle said, reading the stone sign out front of the facility. “Tom, I realize that Hollywood stops hiring actresses after a certain age, but this is ridiculous.”
“Hyuck, hyuck, hyuck,” I said. “Come with me.” We went inside.
The nurse at the reception desk wasted no time looking at me, preferring to look at Michelle instead.
“Aren't you Michelle Beck?” She asked.
“I'm not Michelle Beck,” Michelle said. “But I play her on TV.”
“Excuse me,” I said, drawing the nurse's attention to me. “I made an appointment to see Sarah Rosenthal. I'm Tom Stein, her grandson.”
“I'm sorry,” The nurse said, snapping out of her celebrity stupor. “Of course. She's just woken up from a nap, so she should be quite alert. It's good of you to visit. We've heard a lot about you. Your mother comes in quite frequently, you know.”
“I knew that,” I said. “Since I was in town, I thought I might come for a visit as well.”
“That's very sweet of you,” the nurse said. She glanced over at Michelle. “Are you two together?”
“For the first ten percent, yes,” Michelle said. The nurse looked slightly confused. Below the nurse's view, I stepped onto Michelle's toes. Hard.
“Yes, we're together,” I said.
“Follow me,” The nurse got up and motioned towards the corridor.
Sarah Rosenthal, my grandmother, was in her wheelchair, staring out her window. The nurse knocked on the open doorway to get her attention. My grandmother turned, recognized me, and broke into a wide grin. Her teeth were in. I went over to give her a hug; the nurse excused herself. Michelle stood in the door, attentive but uncertain.
“I didn't know your grandmother was still alive,” Michelle said.
“She is,” I said, crouching down and holding my grandmother's hand. “But I don't see her very much. She retired down here while I was still in elementary school. We'd see each
other at high holidays and during the summer, but not very much beyond that. Grandmama was a very independent soul. She had a stroke not long after my father died, which took away her power of speech; my mother came down to be closer to her.”
My grandmother peered over at Michelle and motioned her over. Michelle came over; Grandmama held out her other hand, and Michelle gave her hand. Grandmama shook it in welcome, and then turned it over. Then she looked at me.

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