Masters of Science Fiction

From the very beginning,

we have wondered how life began,

what our purpose is and where we are headed.

We have struggled to understand time,

matter, the infinite universe,

who we are and if we are alone.

Great minds have imagined the most wonderful

and the most terrifying answers to these questions.

Company halt.

Sweep the mines, Joes.

On my order— Wait for it.

If necessity is the mother of invention,

what will drive our ingenuity

when all our needs have been fulfilled?

Mr. and Mrs. Van Vogel, Tibor Cargrew.

How do you do?

Hmm. Welcome to Controlled Genetics.

Walk this way.

Wait.

Here at Controlled Genetics, we don't try.

We just do.

That's very profound thinking.

Yes, from people whose wisdom comes from reading T-shirts.

Oh, arrogance and money. I like that combination.

Well, we have buckets of both.

Well, let me take you on a little tour on the way to my office.

A private tour, yes?

We don't have to share it with anyone, do we?

No one from the, uh, what do you call it?

Uh, the public.

Good Lord, no. What do you take me for?

- Sigret, boss? - What?

Sigret.

I think he wants a cigarette.

Get back to work, Joe!

Jerry. Uh... Jerry like sigret.

No, Jerry, cigarettes are bad for you— very bad for you.

- Oh... Jerry like candy. - I like candy, too.

- Don't encourage him, Brownie. - Get back to work!

This way.

Sigret?

- This is the plasto-biology atrium. -Oh.

I hope you like it. I designed it.

- Oh, did you? - Yes.

Welcome to the Joe nursery.

Baby Joes don't cry real tears.

He is a charming fellow...

[continues speaking indistinctly]

Before we can assign the workers

to the job that they were built for,

we take them out of the hatchery,

and then they go through their first operation

to meld the plasto with the biological.

Mrs. Van Vogel, may I have a word, please?

Have you ever considered any plasto-biology for yourself?

What?

- How old are you now, 1007 -85, I'm only 85.

Oh.

Must be the lighting in here. Please, over here.

Radiation doesn't stop the Joe.

Radiation can be fun if you're a Joe.

That is a glowboy, isn't it? Isn't that a glowboy?

Brownie, you know a new word. Wh-what's a glowboy?

That's a clean-up Joe at a nuclear reactor.

They don't last long.

Believe it or not, it's cheaper than getting the locals

to do the same job for 3 cents and a Bob Marley T-shirt.

The best thing about it is, no health insurance.

You know, it used to be very dangerous work.

Now the Joes do it.

You won't see any of these things

applying early decision at Cornell, eh, Cargrew?

Yeah...over here.

Radiation can be fun if you're a Joe.

- Now over here, we've— - Double soy latte!

Very good.

We've just received an order for 25,000 of these Joes.

So they'll be working at a certain chain of coffeehouse

which I'm not at liberty to name,

but suffice to say, there'll be no more

of those little tip jars by the cash register.

- You know what I'm saying? - Tipping, us?

Would you like a muffin with your coffee?

Fellow at the club comes into the club—

the Bradbury Club—

They wouldn't let you in because, well, you work.

We're there every day, our usual place,

having our usual conversation...

And since they're only $50,000 each, we'll get both.

Why don't we just get all three?

- -

Pudgy, you know the rules.

Pudgy, you know the rules.

No dogs except seeing eye dogs allowed inside the club.

And since we don't accept the blind as members...

And since we don't accept the blind as members,

no dogs at all.

Oh, my God! Is there a dog in the clubhouse?

That's a dog, Pudge.

No, not legally. You're not a real dog, are you, boy?

I'm not a real dog.

I'm a plasto-biological hybrid. Yes, yes, yes, yes—

A plasto-biological hybrid.

And I only cost $1 million.

I'm the million-dollar puppy!

The million-dollar puppy.

A 6-legged dachshund.

And he made a fool out of us.

We want to come back with something...more impressive.

What, like an 8-legged dachshund?

We don't do dachshunds.

Funny little dogs— just not us.

Vulgar, grotesque.

It's your idea, Brownie. You can tell him.

$500 million, and he thinks he's rich. Ha.

$500 million, and he thinks he has the right

to make fun of us, to show off.

A million bucks...

and a 6-legged wiener buys him a few minutes of attention.

What kind of designer animal do you think it would take

to burn that smile off his fat face?

I have an idea.

- Mm-hmm? - Oh, I have a very good idea.

Will it cost lots of money?

Oh...so much, so very much.

Ooh!

I like it!

Mmm.

- What? - Pegasus.

I want a flying horse.

I want to land on the roof of the club on a flying horse.

Big gold wings...and then I want that flying horse

to step on that damn dachshund and squeeze

all the dachshund out of it like a dachshund burrito.

A dachshund isn't even a decent animal

when it has the regulation four legs.

You know what I'm saying?

We want it as fast as you can make it.

A Pegasus— how much?

Oh, just hold on a second. I want to show you something.

The seventh richest woman in the world

just told you what she wants.

Get it for her.

Just hold your genetically unmodified horses, Brownie.

I want you to meet someone very special.

Is he going to bring out someone

retarded and ask us for charity?

If he does, we walk out.

Thank you.

Someone very special, indeed.

Come on, come on.

Come on, come on.

A baby elephant!

Oh, look, Bron, a baby elephant.

Where is your mommy?

Actually, ahem, I'm his mommy, and he's not a baby.

Oh, yes, he is. He's a vewy young elephant.

In spite of the quaint way that you are addressing him,

he really is a fully grown, fully formed adult.

Je vous présent Napoleon.

What?

He said, "I present to you Napoleon."

- It's French. -Oh.

...and he's been housebroken.

For the price I'm sure you're asking, that's the least.

For the price we're asking, he can read and write.

Oh, what beautiful writing.

He likes me!

Oh, look, Bron, he likes me.

He doesn't even know me, and he likes me.

I want a horse, Martha.

Get the horse, if you want it. I want the baby elephant.

Um, actually, he's not a baby.

He's full grown, and he comes with his own little bed.

Oh, sweetie...

Does anyone else have one of these things?

Oh, good Lord.

I wouldn't dare show him to you if you weren't the first.

- - How much?

$3,350,000.

Oh, write the check, Bron.

I just don't think that a scribbling elephant is going to trump Pudgy's dachshund.

- What about the Pegasus? - Well, get the Pegasus if you want it.

Napoleon makes me give up all thoughts of ego and revenge.

He makes me want to be pure and good and kind.

Anyway, we couldn't possibly supply you with a Pegasus today.

You don't want us to have a Pegasus, and I know why—

Because you don't know how to graft wings on a horse.

I don't know how to graft wings on a horse?

That's like saying the creator of "Bugs Bunny"

wouldn't know how to animate a bouncing ball.

Look here, Brownie, you're not the first cabana boy

to come waltzing in here with his wife's money,

asking for Pegasus.

I have never been so insulted.

Who's Bugs Bunny?

Let me explain something to you.

I can make you a living thing— I won't call it an animal—

The size and the shape... of this table here.

Alive? Yeah, but good for what?