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Part One
The Assembly ship was afflury, with Baals, monks, and philosophers running about to find the best response to the foreign vessel’s message. The main problem; they didn’t know what he said. They knew it was in Old Imperial, that’s for sure, but anyone fluent in Old Imperial had been vetoed off the ship. Both the Mission and the Teaching viewed human civilization before the Ark as a bit of a backwater. While very moderate Baals encouraged the study of pre-Gateway culture, they are the outlier.
Only one individual, a Missionary Baal of Shem named Haim bin Assar, claimed to speak Old Imperial, so he was sent to communicate. In a thick accent, he began. “Kh-khelo. Peace...upon you, and your house. We, Shekhehan, from the Moons of Salome.” He cleared his throat, and walked away from the comm link sheepishly. Looking to the other attendants on the ship, he said, “It has...been a while since I spoke Old Imperial.”
Uh-oh, partners, Tanaka was thinking, back on the lonely little ECU shuttle. That made way less sense than his new Zelrio friends had. In three centuries, could this colony have formed another language?
Hopefully not. The ECU has violently stamped out any linguistics research that goes beyond the Earth languages. There's an old, mean term for people who speak the hybrids that have formed since the Tragedy: 'Dog Tongues.'
"Hologram," Tanaka commanded, and she appeared exactly like she had always been there; as if she just hadn't been noticed yet. "Can you translate these people's language at all?"
"I would need to hear a sample," she says, polite and smiling because she has no other tone and knows no other expression. "Do you have one available?"
Tanaka stopped for a second, feeling a little embarrassed because he didn't- and then remembered.
"Excuse me," he sent back to the foreign ship. "Can you, um- say some more stuff?" How much would they understand? "I'm attempting to translate."
Baal Haim looked between the other passengers and back to the comm.
“You want me to speak?”
Wait, wait, now the Oligarch was thinking that made too much sense. Maybe this person is trying to speak Old English, and is just really bad at it? These poor people must not value education very much.
"In your native language, that is." No, Tanaka, don't be so complicated. "Your… mother tongue. The-" what did they say- "the speech of the Moons of Salome. Speak that."
“Ah!” Finally, Haim understood something this foreign man was saying, albeit every other word. And so he began to scratch his beard, thinking of what to say, when he realized what he must-here he was, representing the Human Mission, face to face with a foreign human nation. He would say what all those who follow the Mission must say-the Statement of Mission. And so, he closed his eyes, and began to hum, low and sadly, until his mind was clear.
”Those who may forget, listen and remember.”He continued, with great passion, to decree his Mission in this universe, careful to enunciate every word, every syllable. His eyes, closed tight, began to let out tears as he spoke, powerfully and low. Finally, he came to the last paragraph of the Statement.
”What has gone is still with you.
What is lost will soon be found.
Peace, peace, peace, peace.” With that, the other Missionaries on board, and even some of the Teachists who were raised Missionary, announced their agreement, and the ship was silent.
Tanaka's holographic secretary inclined her ear, listened with a focused but happy expression, and promptly concluded: "That is not one of the Valid and True Earth Tongues. Please try again with a language that is one of the Valid and Tr-"
"Hologram: Mute."
Tanaka usually liked to let holograms talk. They were nicer than people. But well, he was getting a little upset.
"I'm afraid that didn't work," he replied, although it had sounded so beautiful. He tried conveying the sadness in his voice, if words couldn't work. "I do not comprehend you. I'm sorry, friends." Something about the chant had gotten to him, although he didn't catch a word of it.
Haim backed away from the computer, frustrated. “Bah!” No matter what the man on the other line had said, it was clear that there was a major communication problem. “We come across the galaxy and our words become sound!” Suddenly, he heard the sound of a wooden cane knocking on metal.
“Spoken words have always been but sound. It is what they carry that is more.” All eyes in the room turned to the one alien on board-the Pono monk, Teacher Da’ra. Her gnarled and wrinkled hands clasped to her cane, and though her old age had brought her blindness, she seemed to know her path. She made her way to Haim’s side, and he looked down at her.
“What is it, monk?” Though she stood only at his waist, in this moment it seems she stood eye to eye. She tapped her cane as she tisked her tongue.
“Now, my student-”
“I am not your student.”
“My friend, then-try patience.”
The Baal looked down and sighed. “You are right, monk. But we have no speakers of the Imperial tongue with us.”
“None?” She said.
“No, of course-” Suddenly, an Assembly soldier stepped forward.
“I hate to interrupt, Baal, but many robots come with the Old Imperial tongue loaded on their software.”
The scholar looked at him with his eyebrows raised high. “Well, do we have any robots on board?”
A few of the soldiers began looking at each other nervously. “We do, but…”
“But what?”
Elsewhere on board, Lev and Roshi were sat in their quarters playing a game, a racing board game supposedly invented in The Great Time Before, called ‘Ur’. As Roshi’s last piece fell off the board, the robot began ringing his bell triumphantly. “I am VICTORIOUS!”
Lev chuckled and sighed, wiping the tired from his eyes. “Yeah, bud, what else is new?” Roshi’s optical sensors relaxed with pity.
“Lev, do not talk about yourself like that! You have won four times.”
“Yeah? How many times have we played?”
“Two hundred.” Just then, Baal Haim and the soldier he had been talking to stepped into the room. Lev stood up from his seat.
“Something I can help with?”
Bin Assar shook his head. “Not you.” Pointing at Roshi, he continued. “That.” Promptly, Roshi, giddy as he could be, was brought to the comm link.
The robot looked back to the array of people, who looked on expectantly. He then turned back to the other ship, tapped on the microphone, and announced, loudly as he can, “HELLO!” Hearing feedback, the party on board covered their ears, and Teacher Da’ra beckoned him to quiet down.
“Oh...I am sorry! I was very loud. My name is Roshi, I can speak-’OLD IMPERIAL-UNITED KINGDOM, OLD IMPERIAL-UNITED STATES, or OLD IMPERIAL-AUSTRALIA. Do you have any preference?” Baal Haim placed his head in his hand.
“Ach, I might as well have kept talking!” he exclaimed to himself. The robot, meanwhile, quietly waited for a response.
When the Hello, loud and clear and deserving of capitalization, blasted through the shuttle like an audible punch, Tanaka had to admit that he nearly hit the floor. It was only because of his holo-secretary, swooping in to catch him with hardlight hands, that the Salome representatives would get a reply at all. Otherwise, the Oligarch probably would have been knocked out.
That would be an embarrassing end to the diplomacy.
"Ye- yes! I understand you!" Tanaka nearly shouted with glee when he realized he could make sense of it. He loved this part. Already, he loved it. The foreigner finished speaking, and he answered back:
"Oh- oh- I suppose Old Imperial-" what an odd name for a language- "United States." His tutor had made him do a special study in it, when he was still a Student only a few years ago.
"And my name is Oligarch Tanaka! Representative of the Earth Cultural Union, and student to Savant Heralds, our elected leader." Don't want to forget that part!
Roshi clicked his fingers excitedly. He preferred United States, ‘y’all’ is much more convenient than ‘you all’. “Hello Oligarch! I am very glad to meet you. Are you a human? I am a robot!” As he was saying that, Baal Haim began to approach him.
“What is he saying?” Asked the Baal.
“He is saying he likes the United States!” Haim sighed.
“Anything else?”
“Yes! His name is Oligarch, and he represents the Earth Cultural Union.” Roshi turned back to the computer, Haim remaining by his side.
"Oh, oh no," the foreigner's laugh came through. "My name is Tanaka. Oligarch is- my rank. Granted to me by the Noocracy. It's what I am for my world. And of course, we are all humans." He paused for a moment. His voice may have sounded a little strange when it picked up again: "Are… all your people robots?"
“No!” Roshi replied. “I am a robot. I am Roshi! That is what I am for my world! But for work, I am a topographical analysis droid in the military, but my money goes to my best friend, Lev. He is a human. Mr.-I mean Baal Haim, who you just spoke with-he is a human!” He took a look around the room before continuing. “Everybody on the ship is a human, except for me and Ms. Da’ra. She is an ALIEN!” He turned briefly to Teacher Da’ra and waved, who did not wave back because she is blind.
Tanaka stopped himself from saying ‘thank Mother Earth.’ He always thought robots would be nice, like they are in all the holo-programs he liked to play, and Roshi seemed nice. But already news was coming back from his fellow diplomat, Student Adami, about horrifying half-robots that pretend they’re people. About monsters with metal teeth and glowing eyes. About things that- they were already saying- must be avoided, crushed, censured, exterminated. Blocked away. He was glad he hadn't met them.
Only when he started to experience the relief did he catch that last thing. “She is an alien.”
Wow. She’s an alien. An alien.
She. Is. An. Alien.
Robots could be cute, or dangerous. Holograms were helpful. Mutants were sad, or evil. Everybody knows all this. But aliens are something else: something unknowable. They’re never the good guys in any stories. It makes Tanaka’s nerves flare up like little sparks of electricity, even knowing he’s this close to one, this close to a mind with no kin to humanity.
How could they bear to be in the same room as it?
“I… see,” was all he could work out for some time. He felt like he needed to say something- he’s the diplomat- he’s supposed to talk- it’s why he’s here. But the alien was listening, wasn’t it? What did it think? How much did it know? Did it even have ears- did it know him in some other way? He could feel it.
“Oligarch Tanaka,” his holo-secretary said, polite and smiling, and smiling and polite. “Your heart rate has accelerated to a level considered to be dangerous b-”
“Hologram: Shut up.”
A few moments went by in a loud kind of quiet, the Oligarch trying to still his heart and his mind.
“I see,” he repeated, when his breath would let him. “My people have never met aliens.” Each word, his voice returned to its base: optimistic, eloquent, and not too bright. “Our planet used to hold them, but unfortunately, they passed away before we arrived. Archeologists are still piecing together the entire sad story, but its seems that perhaps war destroyed them.” Now would be a good time to make overtures of peace. “I hope that we, all of us, may learn from their mistakes.”
“Oligarch, you were very quiet for a while!” Roshi responded cheerfully. “Peace is very important! That’s what the Baals always say, but in Salome there was a war. The war ended, but now there are aliens who look like big lizards with guns.” He paused. “Teacher Da’ra is not one of them, though.” He stopped and began tapping his foot, before looking at Baal Haim and began speaking in Shekhehani. “I have run out of things to talk about. Should we go home?”
“No! Just...ask him about God. Do they fulfill the Mission?”
Roshi nodded and turned back to the computer. “I ran out of things to talk about, but Baal Haim says it’s not time to go yet. Do you believe in The Ascendent Remains Imminent? And do you fulfill the Human Mission?” Roshi...wasn’t much of one for religion. But he liked the nice songs and pretty temples!
Did the language barrier grow back while Tanaka was panicking? ‘The Ascendent Remains Imminent.’ Those don’t sound like real words. Not even OLD IMPERIAL- UNITED STATES words.
Heralds said not to offend anyone, if they could help it. How do you say this nicely?
“We have not heard of such a thing here on New Hollywood, I’m afraid. Is it some form of religious view?” Religion is dangerous. That’s another thing Heralds says.
“Our Human Mission is to keep the cultures and peoples of Earth alive. We try to live as our ancestors lived, before the Fall of Earth, that great Tragedy. We bear each lost civilization inside us. That is our only mission.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, solemnly. It was the closest thing to faith an Oligarch can have.
As Roshi translated for the assembled party, there was a great kerfuffle among the Missionary leaders. Never heard of God? And their mission is to keep the memory of Babel alive? This alone was a grave enough sin for the Baal, who pushed the robot aside to reprimand the Oligarch as best he can.
“Babel...was like prison, kept Human eating, but not fed. Kept Man speaking, but not listen. Earth...needs to be gone, her ashes have fed Salome.” His nostrils flared as sweat dripped from his brow. “Our mission...unbreak the broken. In war...create peace. That is the Human Mission!” With that, the Baal stepped away angrily from the computer.
As Roshi got back into place, he said, “That was Baal Haim speaking to you just then! I think he speaks more Old Imperial than we thought!”
“Apparently so,” was the response. It was dry, and brittle, like an old leaf shaking in the wind.
There are no words for what Tanaka felt at that moment. It is as if someone marched into an Old Earth church and told the choir, in no uncertain terms, that Heaven was actually Hell and Hell was in fact Heaven. The world was upside-down. Or this Baal man’s brain was.
He had hoped to find friends in the stars. Fellow humans, of the kind who would remember Earth fondly. Who could dance in Neo London. The kind of people you could kick back and watch a holo-film with! He didn’t know what these people were, who sat with aliens and hated the memory of Earth. Their humanity is- wrong.
Forget the nice talk. Let’s just take care of whatever these people want, Tanaka decides, and then they can leave.
“Why did you come here?”
“I came here because Lev came here, and Lev is my best friend!” Roshi cheerfully replied. Among the many members of the party on board, there was disappointment, shock, and some sadness. Among the followers of the Mission, they have found humanity in a greater state of disrepair than they had back in Salome. And to the followers of the Teaching, they found infantilized armchair historians who wallow in memories that aren’t their own.
To one voice, which now resounded across the room, they have found an opportunity to learn and to grow.
“We have come here as a seed which flies through the wind!” Roshi looked back at the voice, Gad Elhai, confused.
“What?”
“Just translate, Roshi.” Gad, with his peppered grey hair and neatly trimmed beard, bounded towards the front of the ship with the confidence of a man who was in the bathroom and saw Baal Haim having a meltdown. He clamored to the front and looked to the foreign ship ahead.
As he spoke, Roshi translated for him. “I apologize for the...brashness of my colleague. Understand that the novelty which we bare upon you is born upon us tenfold.” He paused, a bit out of breath from his dramatic entrance.
“My name is Gad Elhai, I teach the philosophies of Salome at the Great Academy of Ur’daat. The reason that we have ventured through the Gateway which brought humanity to the Tifara system we hail from is because we, as all humans are, are learners and students. In fact, the name which those who follow the Mission refer to the Humans of Salome, Shekhehan, means ‘Those Who May Forget’. I am sure you have many questions of our people, and I certainly have many of yours, so I am more than willing to listen.” Gad closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, hoping he did enough. Roshi looked at him and gave him a thumbs up.
Hesitation. Tension. And an answer returned: “Very well. Alright. Please land at these coordinates. We may discuss your questions.” And a data transmission followed.
Gad relaxed, and shook his hands in the air triumphantly, hugging Roshi and having the pilot put in the coordinates for them to follow.
New Hollywood approaches.
~~~~~~~~
Part Two
Your first impression is a bowl of green hidden in a sea of sad, dead grayness. Like a jewel discarded in the trash.
Your second impression is, perhaps less glamorously, “Wow, that sure is a lot of farming.”
New Hollywood was in the process of being terraformed. The atmosphere and temperature of the planet was all being transformed at once, and only slowly. But on the surface level, patches of ground were gradually brought into the new order. Old alien ruins were cleared out, dirt mimicking the composition of Earth’s was synthesized, and plants were regrown from the colony’s original DNA bank. It was a step-by-step process, leaving patches of green and gold buried in the wasteland that is New Hollywood’s nature.
But, people must eat something. So the boring reality is that, far from being the ideal forests and jungles and plains planned at first, most newly terraformed land was appropriated for farmers. They keep the cities fed, the populace eating, the Oligarchs drinking. (Holographic entertainment only helps so much if your stomach is empty.)
Still, if you squinted a little… it did look like Earth.
“Welcome home,” the holo-secretary announces, as Tanaka’s shuttle gently lets down. Autopilot rarely makes mistakes in areas like this; it was still the same programming the original settlers brought with them. It was made for working in Earth-like environments.
The air that floods the open shuttle doors smells, all at once: like fertilizer, like a forest, and like city smog. That’s because the farms and the forest are all around, but the lights of New Beijing are below, watched by this pleasant overhang.
It is not an accident, of course. This spot was designated for diplomacy as soon as the Gateway reopened. There’s even a small building, wooden and simple, with a holographic sign. “Welcome, friends!” Three-stories, mostly empty inside, but with all the windows facing something nice.
Sitting around the chairs and the table in the center were two other diplomats, one a Student and one an Oligarch. And three Protectors, armed with their painful metallic clubs, watched- just in case.
“Our guests should be touching down any moment!,” Tanaka announced to them all. A landing pad large enough for their ship was just to the right. Not one person could stay sitting; the whole entourage was waiting for the foreigners in a moment.
As the vast fields spread out below them, Lev couldn’t help but think of home...the drab grey didn’t quite help, though. Still, it was nice to see that farmers exist wherever you go. He stood at Roshi’s side now, rifle on his shoulder. It was decided that despite his being a scout, he would act as the party’s guard, with the hopes he could keep Roshi...manageable. Gad and Teacher Da’ra would be going too. Baal Haim had refused to, and so his son, Natan-el bin Haim, would be subbing in.
The ship’s pilot was careful not to make any mistakes in the landing, As the landing party disembarked the ship, Roshi pointed at the holographic sign, saying “That says, ‘Welcome Friends!’ That means they want to be our friends!”
“Thank you, Rosh,” Lev replied. He felt embarrassed by what happened earlier-sure, this obsession with Earth (the hell is a Hollywood?) might be a bit...strange, but hey, if it’s how they want to live, let them. He made sure to keep his rifle’s safety on, they didn’t seem like the violent type. In fact, he couldn’t quite tell what type they
were, and he had a feeling they couldn’t either. None of what he saw seemed personal, or intimate...it all seemed a bit manufactured. He won’t say anything, of course. He’s just the guard.
The four of them made their way to the wooden building, anticipating what was inside as Roshi excitedly opened the doors. “Would anybody like to see my book?!” Lev quickly caught up and shushed him.
Inside the building was- nothing.
Well, mostly nothing. This particular building was an experiment. Unlike most upper class houses on New Hollywood in the last several decades, there was no holographic suite. Instead, the entire structure was hologram-enabled. Hidden in every plain corner, under the large round table, and on the glowing chandelier overhead, were prototypes of 'mico-projectors.' They could manifest a fully interactive, touchable hologram in any area around them. No Suite needed. If it works, the most revolutionary technology in New Hollywood's history.
The idea was to test it by inviting foreign diplomats to this location, and changing the interior of the building to furnishings expected to 'win them over.' A warrior culture might come in here and see swords hanging on the walls; the Zetan, if they were ever invited, would probably find exposed circuitry and technological displays. Responses would be monitored and recorded.
But in the short time before they landed, not a single Oligarch could guess what these particular guests would like to see, and so the room lay bare. Except for that round table, and a golden globe atop it, both carved in the sacred image of Old Earth.
"Welcome to the Round Table, honored guests," Tanaka smiled while the foreigners entered in. "If you have ever enjoyed any of the Arthurian legends, you may... actually, friends, nevermind." For some reason, he was certain they had not heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. "Are there enough chairs in here?"
He counted, and there weren't. Then he seemed to address the room itself. "We need three more chairs in here!," the little man shouted, to nobody in particular. Just when they must have though he was insane, three finely carved wooden seats did appear. There was no wavering of light, no sound- the chairs were only there.
"Ah, beautiful!" he said again, to nobody. "Please, everyone, take a seat."
With the sudden apparition of the chairs, all from the assembled party of Salome, aside from the robot, stepped back in surprise. “What sort of alchemy is this?” Baal Natan-el asked in Shekhehani. Roshi, however, was unfazed, leisurely taking a seat.
“I do appreciate minimalism in interior design!” The robot exclaimed, as he relaxed into the seat, hands on his knees. The three religious leaders cautiously sat down, while Lev decided that his purpose would be better served if he...remained standing. He protectively clung to the rifle on his shoulder as he took up guard at the doorway. Gad assisted Teacher Da’ra in finding her chair, which the blind monk quickly thanked him for. Her short legs hung off the edge of the seat, but she was used to humans not always being...especially accommodating.
Natan-el, meanwhile, grabbed something out of his coat. It was a rectangular object, beautiful and metallic, adorned with multi-colored drawings of various astrological objects and geometric designs. At its center was inscribed, in perfect calligraphy, what looked to be some sort of poem, written in the Salome script. Handing it to Oligarch Tanaka, he began to speak, while Roshi translated.
“Peace be upon you, and upon your house. I am Natan-el, my father, Haim, I believe you are already acquainted.” He cleared his throat embarrassedly, before continuing, “I would like to begin by apologizing on his behalf. Though I do not agree with your sentiments, we are guests in your home. Please, take this gift as a token of friendship. On it is inscribed the Statement of Mission, the prayer you heard us utter earlier.”
Tanaka moved hesitantly for the tablet, then quickly. Part of him couldn’t pretend, he knew he liked the prayer. He didn’t need to understand it to- to feel it. But then another part of him, the one that talks with Savant Heralds’ voice, scolded and said it was just all the humming. The holo-programs that make you cry about Earth, it said, used the same tricks. It’s simple sound and show.
Tanaka still took the tablet. And he thanked Natan-el for it. “I will present this to our elected leader, the Savant,” he muttered, but couldn’t imagine such a colorful thing sitting in Heralds’ gray, lifeless office.
“So-” he regained his composure- “one of your people said you have questions. We do as well. But out of deference to you, our guests, we’ll let you go first. Is there anything you wish to know about us?”
“I recommend asking about the holo-suites,” the other Oligarch chimed in smilingly, an old woman who spent fourteen hours out of the day in one.
The Salomites looked between each other and back at the Oligarchs in front of them. "Hollo-soot?" Gad asked. "Is that like the…'Noo Holy-wood'?" Gad didn't entirely know what to make of these... Earthlings? Is that what to call them? On the one hand, he respected their dedication to the past, and on the other hand, something about the armed guards and empty room was...unsettling.
Tanaka stifled a sigh. "Roshi, make sure you're translating all this for us." He was used to giving commands like this to holograms, so this robot child probably isn't too different.
"The holo-suites are complex devices which allow us to…" come to think of it, the Oligarch had no idea how holo-suites worked. There were no classes on it before his Justification. "They let us make things appear out of thin air. Holograms." He smiled. Impressive enough for you? "Give me an exact replica of this tablet!" He commanded the room again. And in the blink of an eye, another one appeared in his hands, exactly like that which Natan-el had given them. "This is a hologram." He patted it firmly. Solid enough.
"But they aren't real, like us or this table. They're made of- of just light and sound and touch. There's nothing inside them. No… atoms, no history."
To demonstrate, he suddenly stood and threw the holo-tablet out of the doorway they had all entered in from. He was aiming for the precipice, and the tablet was well en route before it decided to stop existing.
The older Oligarch clapped in glee.
"Like that," young Tanaka smiled, sitting down. "They can't be where there aren't devices, like holo-suites, to make them real. They are only light." Then he chuckles. "Does that make sense at all, friends?"
At his being ordered, Roshi replied, "I have already been translating, but I am happy to agree if it makes you happy!" After the display of the replica tablet, Natan-el walked up to where it had been, kneeling and feeling the floor with eyebrows knit.
"This is certainly an advanced alchemy." He stood and turned to face the Oligarchs. "How does it work? And what do you use it for?"
Teacher Da'ra nodded amenably. "Hm. The Teaching states that all matter is illusion. That you would create matter which is illusion by purpose is...interesting." She of course could not see the replicant tablet, but she was still happy to listen along, despite the wayward glances she could sense were being cast her way.
All matter is illusion? A strange view. But the older Oligarch, a woman named Kathryne, remembered what Tanaka couldn’t. That when the holo-suites were still only finding their way into New Hollywood’s already media-soaked culture, some few criticised them for presenting a “false reality.” The Noocracy’s philosophical answer?
“Of course, of course” the woman chimed in, her voice thin with age. “Nothing is truly real except what you see and hear. You can’t tell one way or the other, so what’s the difference? Just enjoy the show, darlings.”
While she spoke to the little being, the first conversation between an ECU citizen and an alien, two of the Protectors took up posts around Da’ra’s oversized chair. The other one put a protective hand on the Oligarch’s shoulder. Nobody ordered them to do it, and nobody needed to. It was New Hollywoodian common sense. Don’t let the alien do something weird, get offended, hurt sweet old Kathyrne.
In the meantime, Tanaka answered Natan-el: “Oh, how we do it is… a well-kept secret.” That is, he had no idea. “But it is used for all manner of applications, scientific and personal. It helps us map out our terraforming projects, the fruits of which you see around you. And-” here he smiled- “as my colleague says, it puts on a wild show. Is there anything you have always wished to experience? Here, you can. You can see it. Feel it. Make it
real.”
The old monk chuckled. Before she could speak, Gad interjected. "It is quite a...remarkable technology, Oligarch. We have many remarkable technologies of our own, the proof in the Robot you see in front of you." Sighing and putting on as best a smile he could muster, the professor stood and shot his hand out to Tanaka.
"I am sure we have much more to discuss." Though he smiled, and did not view these...Oligarchs as negatively as his comrades did, he had to admit that it seemed their priorities were in the wrong place.
"Yes," Tanaka smiled, and shook Gad's hand. "Much."
And they did. By the time the talks were finished, the sun was setting on New Hollywood.
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