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CHAPTER FOUR
Jupiter rotated majestically in space. Philm Phan reached down a virtual finger and smeared the Red Spot, making it just a little larger; after some consideration, the finger returned, its tip dipped in Scarlet Letter, and brightened the millennia-old storm. Philm switched focus from her Jupiter to the real-time image of Jupiter relayed directly from the Hubble II liquid-mercury telescope. Her lips pursed. The real thing, while impressive, did not have the flair she required. She squinted at Jupiter’s equator, where the Sun was about to set.
As Jupiter’s globe became limned by a single gold ring, a black, rectangular mass emerged from the corona of the dying Sun’s rays. Barely larger than two grains of sand, a speck against the luminousity of the solar wind, it quickly grew. Impossibly. Grew impossibly quickly. The small rectangle would have to be tens of miles on a side to been seen at an apparent distance of 10 million kilometers. Spinning, it grew until it needed no longer the sun’s glow to seen; the sun had set by now, but the rectangle could be sensed where it blocked off stars, sateillites, and occasionally parts of the face of Jupiter.
PP ran an absent-minded check of her visual software for bugs and viruses. WolfmanWare reported no interference.
The rectangle ended up resting horizontally directly in front of Philm Phan’s face, blocking out all of Jupiter. Only a few stars appeared at the ends. Philm Phan could not look away, felt herself falling vertiginously in the black mass when the first rattling drumrolls of the 20th Century Fox fanfare interrupted her reverie. This was the full fanfare, used only before Cinenmascope films. As the last ringing strains of the trumpet section died out, words appeared on the screen (for that is what PP’s mind had to imagine): A Crankyland Production . . .
(Hairhead returns to a darkened studio. His temper now mellowed by 3 hours, a shot of tequila, a hit of acid, and a bruising back massage from Tick, he is visibly relaxed. He sits in the recording chair and glances through the window into the producer’s booth. PP is sitting there, rigidly upright, her eyes just slightly glazed, and she is breathing heavily.)
HH: I’m back. Glad to see you stuck around. You know (he begins flipping through the pages of his script) I think we can finish this tonight. I can even see the humour in your choice of music! If we forget about the music for now, I’m ready to lay this track down. (He raises his head.) Ms. Phan? (She remains still, rapt, absorbed, catatonic.) Philm? (Hairhead tosses his script at the window; it strikes and bounces off noisily. PP remains still.)
HH: (now concerned) Philm! (He pushes himself over to the window and looks intently at his manager. Her wig is impeccably placed, the earbuds are pressed right in. He squints at her eyes. One of her eyeballs flickers with colour and movement; the corneal implant is obviously playing. He flings himself at the studio doors again, vanishes through them, and appears in the producer’s booth. His hands rest on PP’s shoulders and she spasms backwards into his arms. She lies looking upward blankly. The wig feels coarse in his hand as he slowly pulls it off, hearing little plucky-sucky sounds from dozens of small connectors pulling free. The corneal implant suddenly goes dark and her blue iris is once again visible.)
PP: (whispering) That was the most wonderful film I ever saw!
HH: (shaking her gently) Philm!
PP: (louder) Yes, it was the film that John Wood should have made, and there he was, twenty-two, all nose and very handsome . . .
HH: What site were you logged into?
PP: (Almost normal conversational tone) Definitely. Definitely the best movie I ever saw in my LIFE! I have to see it again . . . I never saw the end! You! (Her eyes finally focus on HH) You interrupted me before it ended! You BASTARD! (PP’s left hand swings around and claws HH’s face)
HH: (Grabbing her hand, small droplets of his blood spraying from the tips of her fingernails) Wake up! WAKE UP!
PP: What . . What did I just see? (Her hand reaches for her wig, finds only her short natural hair.) I . . I just saw . . . .
HH: You saw what?
PP: The most magnificent . . . (memories passed before her eyes) . . . the magnificent . . lost . . . (PP breaks down in tears.)
END OF CHAPTER FOUR
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