THE ISLAND
Written by
Caspian Tredwell-Owen
1/13/04
We PULL BACK, in marked steps, to include neighboring apartments
with identical frosted facades. Then more apartments, above and
below, the tiers linked by ramps and crosswalks. It might be a
prison cellblock but there are no guards apparent. Indeed, the
residents move freely, all notably male, all clad in shearlings,
polo shirts and slacks. It is just another day in Sector Four.
3 INT. NUTRITION PLAZA - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
Satie's Gymnopedie plays from overhead speakers.
A glass wall looks out across a green mountain valley. The plaza,
formed in curves of creamy ceramic tile, is divided into two service
areas.
Male residents in line on one side, females on the other. Both
genders combine in the seating area. Lincoln reaches the head of
the line. He swipes his ethercuff o v e r a scanner. A NUTRITION
CLERK, a surly woman in uniform, eyes the readout on her screen-
NUTRITION CLERK
Lincoln Six-Echo... Options are dried
fruit, oatmeal or anything in bran.
LINCOLN
What? No bacon?
NUTRITION CLERK
You got a sodium flag, pal - now
what's it going to be?
LINCOLN
Whatever.
He shrugs, disgruntled. The clerk taps her screen. Turning to a
row of chutes behind her, she collects a foil covered bowl and a
drink can. Lincoln, less than appetized, loads his tray with the
oatmeal and juice breakfast. Then he heads into the seating area.
In the seating area, male and female residents sit eating and
chatting happily. Uniformed busboys intermix, clearing and wiping
tables. A divide in this community now starts to become clear...
The busboys, like the nutrition clerk, like all the service,
maintenance, and administrative staff we'll see, have distinct
uniforms but no facial marking. They are known as "outsiders".
The "residents", like Lincoln, have crosshatched scars on their
upper left brows and ethercuffs o n their wrists. Mostly Caucasian,
from mid-twenties to mid-sixties. There are no children here.
We isolate a blonde - mid-20's, fresh, bright eyes, a fragile
beauty, a crosshatch of two verticals and one horizontal. Her
name is ESTER TWO-ALPHA. Seeing Lincoln, she smiles and waves-
ESTER
Lincoln ! Over here!
3.
Lincoln crosses, a little surprised to see her. Pleasantly so.
LINCOLN
Hello , stranger.
ESTER
What? You don't recognize me?
LINCOLN
It's just an expression, that's all.
ESTER
You and your expressions, Lincoln. Now
sit down and ask me where I've been.
LINCOLN
(sits , a spreading smile)
Okay, Ester. Where have you been?
ESTER
At the medical center. Just for tests
but they had me on liquid nutrition.
(forks a mouthful of eggs)
Mmmmm. This is the first solid food
I've had in a week.
LINCOLN
Exciting.
ESTER
That's not the exciting part. I got my
first trimester report: happy, healthy
and contaminant-free... Both of us.
LINCOLN
Us?
ESTER
My baby... It's in perfect condition.
I just hope I can keep it that way. I
still have six months to delivery.
LINCOLN
Then you leave all this behind, huh?
ESTER
Why? Will you miss me?
Her eyes betray a flicker of something. It unsettles Lincoln.
LINCOLN
I'll miss your coffee. C'mon, I
already burned up my quota.
4.
ESTER
Okay. But this is the last time.
In a deliberate move, she drops her napkin on the floor. As she
ducks down to retrieve it, Lincoln steals a gulp of her coffee.
Rising again, Ester registers his souring look.
ESTER
What is it?
Lincoln just nods across the plaza. Ambient conversation is now
ebbing at an arrival. An outsider in a grey, vaguely clerical
uniform - sanguine, settled, precise eyes. He might be a prison
warden but for the generally warm reception. He is known as The
Community Director. His name is MERRICK.
He crosses to a lectern, unlooping a chain from his neck with a
three-forked pendant known as a "tri-key". He slots the tri-key
into the lectern. The glass wall frosts over and pixellates i n t o
a live feed of himself. Now amplified by the plaza speakers,
Merrick begins his address-
MERRICK
Good morning. To everyone here and
everyone watching on etherscreen,
welcome to the community address. Today
I'm coming to you from Sector Four. For
those of you here with sugar quotas, let
me recommend the french toast. I just
tried some and it's excellent, really.
But I know what everyone's hungry for
s o let's move on to the lottery. As
always the draw will be made from our
host sector. So tell me, Sector Four -
is everyone ready for The Daily Spin?
Applause and whistles erupt, mostly from the younger residents,
who take on the zeal of a game show audience. The older ones -
including Lincoln - greet the prospect with labored tolerance.
Merrick turns the tri-key i n the lectern. The glass wall
switches from the live feed to a jumbotron o f flashing text;
- - DAILY SPIN!... GET READY TO WIN!... DAILY SPIN!--
MERRICK
Let The Spin begin.
To a burst of cheers, he turns the tri-key another notch. The
glass wall becomes a spinning blur, like a tumbler on a slot
machine. But instead of icons, it clicks through names, each
separated by a blank line - from "Adams One-Alpha" to "Zucker
Three - Charlie" - scrolling the entire population of Sector Four.
5.
As the spin slows, a pent silence falls. Expectant eyes watch the
names click through the P's, the Q's, the R's, the S's and . . .
- - SPIN WIN!... STARKWEATHER TWO-DELTA... SPIN-WIN!--
MERRICK
Starkweather Two-Delta! Step up!
Cheers and applause as everyone looks for the lucky recipient.
The excitement abates as it becomes clear he's not among them.
MERRICK
Well , Starkweather, if you're watching
on etherscreen - your time has come, my
friend! You're moving out to The Island!
(another burst of cheers)
And the rest of you, never lose hope;
what do we know about The Daily Spin?
THE YOUNGER RESIDENTS
Everyone gets to win!
MERRICK
An d tomorrow it could be you...
Merrick steps down and departs. The plaza reverts to its former
mood, dotted with murmurs of disappointment. Lincoln scowls.
ESTER
Don't worry. Your time will come.
LINCOLN
That's easy for you to say. Your time's
guaranteed. All you have is six months.
ESTER
Six months of mood swings, sore back
and swollen feet. Want to trade places?
LINCOLN
(scowl lifting)
Give me some more of your coffee.
4 INT . SUBWAY PORTAL - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
The portal is spanned by a rank of latticed metal gates, known as
an "ethergate." Residents swipe their ethercuffs o v e r scanners,
the gates hiss open and they step through in systematic order.
6.
5 INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
The subway, formed in arches of creamy ceramic tile, is not
unlike our own. In place of escalators, moving walkways deliver
the residents onto the platform. Along the platform wall runs a
strip of mirrored panels, etherscreen reporting in banner crawl:
- - NEXT STOP... SECTOR 5 - SECTOR 6 - CENTERVILLE...
At the tunnel edge of the platform is a safety fence, where the
residents wait in a patient line, Lincoln among them. His focus
is drawn to two younger residents whispering furtively nearby.
RESIDENT #1
A stim unit says it hits the wall.
RESIDENT #2
Okay . But I get to set the can.
Resident #1 shrugs and hands him a drink can. Resident #2 ducks
under the fence, reaching the can down to the track. Or what
looks like a track. The struts lining the bed are not sleepers
but buffers of galvanized rubber. Nor are there any rails. The
relay system is provided by a series of metal posts, flanking the
buffers to run in twin parallel. Known as "lode-poles," they now
start thrumming and pulsing with red light, like runway beacons.
RESIDENT #1
Hurry it up. The shuttle's coming.
Resident #2 regains the platform. We PUSH IN on the drink can,
balanced on a buffer. It starts rattling. Then suddenly shoots
upward into the air, arcing and bouncing off the tunnel wall,
clattering into obscurity. Resident #1 whoops in victory.
A rush of air heralds the shuttle. It sails out of the tunnel,
floating three feet above the track. A hybrid of subway car and
nautical craft, it has runners in place of wheels, like hulls on
a catamaran. It is buoyed by a magnetic flow emanating from the
lode-poles, an invisible river known as a "lode-stream". The
shuttle drifts to a gentle halt, hovering, rocking a little. Its
gangplanks fold out toward the platform and the safety fence
lowers. Lincoln and the other commuters file routinely aboard.
6 INT . CENTERVILLE - DAY
An avenue of cream colored buildings. Uniform in architecture,
rising five stories to meet a mirrored roof. Despite lighting
arrays, the absence of sky lends a chasmic quality . Lincoln
follows the flow of residents up the avenue. Building signs read:
"Dept. Of Labor", "Dept. Of Health", "Dept. Of Sanitation". He
splits off, turning into a building marked "Dept. Of Population."
7.
7 INT. OFFICES - DEPARTMENT OF POPULATION - DAY
Frosted glass workstations, notably circular rather than square.
Lincoln sits at his desk in front of a wraparound etherscreen,
divided into three sections, a formation known as a "visor".
Right-visor shows a polymorph in fractal cycle, like a permanent
screen saver. Mid-visor shows a tomograph of a residential block;
tiers of apartments shown as boxes, most in solid white, a few
blink red with the text label "Vacancy". Left-visor shows a list
of names and sociographic grading sheaded "Residents Pending".
LINCOLN (TO VISOR)
Hudson Four-Alpha; profile reviewed.
Match to vacancy; 171, Sector 5.
Request clearance to populate.
- - PROCESSING . . . FOUR-ALPHA, HUDSON; POPULATION APPROVED
Left-visor, the name highlights then blinks out. Mid-visor, a
box labelled "Vacancy" turns from blinking red to solid white.
A VOICE (O.S.)
Hey, you want to know something?
Lincoln looks up at a face grinning over the partition - mid
30's, jovial, tall and burly. His name is JONES THREE-BRAVO.
JONES
You know that guy who won the Spin in
your sector? Starkweather?
LINCOLN
No.
JONES
I had a bout with him last week. Guess
how long he's been here? Six months.
LINCOLN
Six months?
JONES
You don't believe me - look it up.
LINCOLN (TO VISOR)
Census File: Two-Delta, Starkweather.
- - TWO - DELTA , STARKWEATHER: 102, SECTOR 4 -- DAY: 186 / HR: 09:31
JONES
What do you say now? Still think The
Spin's rigged for the long haulers?
8.
LINCOLN
He got lucky, that's all.
JONES
And don't you wish it was you... out
there on The Island... nature's own
clean air zone... no screening, no
quotas... unlimited pleasure...
LINCOLN
Shut up, Jonesy.
JONES
Why don't you make me? In the ring.
LINCOLN
You're out of my weight-class.
JONES
Not anymore. They just got the new
program in - multi-weight balancing.
LINCOLN
I'll think about it.
JONES
C'mon, champ. A stim unit says you
won't last three rounds.
8 INT . BOXING RING - CENTERVILLE - EARLY EVENING
- C R A C K - The same face recoils from a punch. Jones shakes it off,
retreating, recovering. He resets his guard as Lincoln moves in.
Lincoln jabs at Jones' defenses, his blowing hitting harder than
we'd expect from his stature. Suddenly he breaks through with a
left hook. Jones staggers back. A strange ripple distorts his
face. Stranger still, his skin tone takes on a grainy pallor.
As the bout continues, we widen to see the boxing ring is indeed
a ring rather than a square and beyond the ropes is an outer ring.
With Lincoln in FG, we now see another figure in the outer ring,
mirroring his moves, dressed identically but for the gloves which
are like gauntlets. The gauntlets are rigged to two armatures
which are, in turn, rigged to a gantry-like mechanism. It glides
noiselessly to and fro, shadowing the figure round the outer ring.
RACK FOCUS reveals the figure is also Lincoln . The real Lincoln,
in fact. The one in FG is a derivative hologram known as a "proxy".
As Lincoln fakes and jabs, the counter-weighted armatures drag
and recoil, duplicating the exertions of his proxy. Jones moves
more sluggishly, his proxy now ghostly, transparent. Now being
sent on a last offensive only to be roundhoused by another left
hook. Jones' proxy topples and explodes into a pixellated mist.
9.
LINCOLN
Whoooooo!
Lincoln proxy - and Lincoln - punch the air in victory. Jones
unlatches his gauntlets, sweating, galled by the defeat-
JONES
Sure you input the right weight class?
LINCOLN
You're just too slow, Jonesy.
JONES
You're faster `cause you're lighter.
Programmers... they always miss
something.
LINCOLN
Hey, you put up, now pay up.
9 INT . STIM BAR - CENTERVILLE - EVENING
Rainbow light and swirling electronic music. The clientele are
all male residents. Round the walls, poster-sized etherscreens
display various dancing women, beckoning, text supers flashing:
- - NEW AT THE PLEASURE CENTER!... OR TRY A MYSTERY DATE!...
At the bar, Lincoln and Jones, freshly showered, each swipe their
ethercuffs over a scanner. A uniformed BARTENDER notes the readout-
BARTENDER
Jones Three-Bravo; you got five units.
Your friend, he's got an alcohol flag.
JONES
So make it a beer and a Vita Cola.
The bartender serves the drinks and they settle at the end of the
bar. Scoping for onlookers, Lincoln steals a gulp of Jones' beer.
JONES
You know, you're going to get yourself
contaminated one of these days.
LINCOLN
Shut up, Jonesy.
JONES
So, you up for a rematch tomorrow?
LINCOLN
I can't. I got an interact.
10.
JONES
With who? That blonde again?
LINCOLN
Hey, it's an authorized interaction.
We're on the same meditation program.
JONES
You want to get flagged for proximity?
LINCOLN
No law against friendship, Jonesy.
JONES
Quick . . . Give me that beer back.
TWO CENSUS OFFICERS ("CENSORS") enter the bar; in wireless head-
sets and white uniforms, they seem at once clinical and military.
CENSOR 1 carries a tablet known as an "etherboard". CENSOR 2,
more imposing, carries a wide-muzzle rifle known as a "stopgun".
Their foreboding appearance is greeted without alarm. As they
move up the bar, the customers dutifully swipe their ethercuffs
over the etherboard. Now reaching Jones, who swipes accordingly-
JONES
What's going on, officer?
CENSOR 1
Census check.
Censor1 checks the etherboard; a headshot of Jones spins in 3-D.
He offers it to Lincoln who swipes his ethercuff emphatically-
LINCOLN
What happened? You lost count?
CENSOR 1
I hope nobody's drinking off-quota.
LINCOLN
Vita Cola all the way, officer.
Lincoln sips his cola. As they move on, he grimaces at the taste.
10 INT . SHUTTLE - IN TRANSIT - LATER
Lincoln stares out of the window. The red pulse of the lode poles
catches a glazed look in his eyes. His pupils, a little dilated.
His focus returns to the interior and an etherscreen banner:
- - G E T READY FOR THE DAILY SPIN!... TOMORROW IT COULD BE YOU...
11.
11 INT. BEDROOM - LINCOLN'S APARTMENT - THE NEXT DAY
The horizon. The morning sun streams over the green mountains.
Lincoln lies sleeping, his head buried under the pillow. Off a
beeping sound, he stirs and squints up at the mirrored ceiling:
- - ETHER CALL PENDING ; ACCEPT OR SEND TO MESSAGE BANK?
LINCOLN
Accept.
The etherscreen resolves Ester's face, fresh and bright.
ESTER (ON ETHERSCREEN)
Lincoln? I missed you at breakfast.
LINCOLN
I guess I overslept.
ESTER (ON ETHERSCREEN)
I just wanted to check we're still on
for tonight. The interact.
LINCOLN
Right. I'll be there.
ESTER (ON ETHERSCREEN)
I'll see you then. Enjoy your day!
Her face blinks out. Lincoln gets out of bed with a smile.
12 INT . RESIDENTIAL BLOCK - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
Lincoln exits his apartment and heads up the walkway. We reveal
the walkway ends at another ethergate, governing residential
access. Lincoln swipes his ethercuff o v e r a scanner and a gate
swings open. He heads on, the gate hissing closed behind him.
13 INT . NUTRITION PLAZA - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
Ravel's Pavane plays overhead. The plaza is emptying as residents
leave for work. Lincoln arrives at the service counter. He
swipes his ethercuff and greets the clerk with an amiable grin.
LINCOLN
Just juice today. I'm late for work.
NUTRITION CLERK
Too bad. I gotta serve the full meal.
Lincoln shrugs, his gaze wandering past her into the kitchens.
His grin fades as he spots TWO CENSORS talking to a busboy. Then
the view is lost as he's served an oatmeal and juice breakfast.
12.
14 INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM - SECTOR FOUR - DAY
Not so crowded at this hour. Halfway down the platform we see a
vending machine with confections in nameless silver wrappers. A
mouse-ish resident collects a bar from the trough. His name is
KLEINWORT NINE-ALPHA. Seeing Lincoln approach, he preempts-
KLEINWORT
No, no, no. Use your own sugar quota.
LINCOLN
C'mon, Kleinwort...
He says this amicably enough but he's using his imposing presence
on the smaller man. Kleinwort sighs and breaks off a chunk.
LINCOLN
So what's up with the Censors, huh?
KLEINWORT
They're conducting a census check. Or
don't you watch the bulletins?
LINCOLN
I know what it is. I've just never
seen them out in this sector before.
KLEINWORT
Probably just tracking a glitch. A bad
scanner or maybe an userware defect.
(off Lincoln's puzzled look)
Ethercuffs. They get damaged, you get
a false read. Sometimes even a dropout.
LINCOLN
What are you saying? They lost someone?
KLEINWORT
Someone just isn't showing up where
they should be. What do you care?
A rush of air heralds the shuttle, curtailing the conversation.
Beneath his tousling hair, a frown plays on Lincoln's brow.
15 INT . LINCOLN'S WORKSTATION - DEPT. OF POPULATION - DAY
Lincoln stares at the fractal on right-visor, at the intricate
paths of dysplasia. The glazed look has returned to his eyes,
his pupils, a little dilated. His stare narrows at an errant
thought. He shrugs it off. But the thought returns, persistent.
More to dispel than indulge it, Lincoln turns to mid-visor-
13.
LINCOLN (TO VISOR)
Census File: Two-Delta, Starkweather.
- - T W O - D E L T A , STARKWEATHER: 102, SECTOR 4 - DAY: -- / HR: --
LINCOLN (TO VISOR)
Accomodation Status : 102, Sector 4.
The tiered boxes resolve, zooming in to isolate Apartment 102.
The box shows solid white. Lincoln frowns, assimilating this.
LINCOLN
Hey , Jonesy. Remember the guy who won
The Spin yesterday? His apartment's
still showing as occupied.
JONES (O.S.)
So?
LINCOLN
So you get 24 hours to move out.
JONES (O.S.)
Maybe the system didn't update yet.
LINCOLN
No. It updates on the hour. If he's
gone it should be showing a vacancy.
JONES
(appearing over the partition)
What? You think he's still here? The
guy wins a place on The Island and you
think he just decided not to go?
LINCOLN
I don't know. He wasn't there to step
up. And now there's a census check...
JONES
And now nothing. It's probably the
programmers messing up.
LINCOLN
Maybe.
JONES
A stim unit says I can prove it. Cross
reference with sanitation.
LINCOLN (TO VISOR)
Sanitation Status: 102, Sector Four.
14.
--PROCESSING... APT. 102; CLOSED FOR CONTAINMENT CHECK--
JONES
See ? Standard procedure. They got to
sweep it for the next occupant.
Their supervisor interrupts them - an outsider, efficient-type-
SUPERVISOR
If you gentlemen aren't busy... Perhaps
I could get an update on sector six?
LINCOLN
Still in the electrical phase, sir.
SUPERVISOR
Well the guys upstairs are griping
about the backlog. So go over there
and light some fires, will you?
LINCOLN
(pulls on his jacket to leave)
I'll take care of it.
SUPERVISOR
Aren't you forgetting something?
(holds up A STEEL BRIEFCASE)
Or do you want to get contaminated?
16 INT . CONSTRUCTION ZONE - SECTOR SIX - DAY
An arc of blue light. A uniformed worker steers a plasma torch
over a conduit. In the fog of smoke, we see wires being spliced,
circuits, tested. Outsiders in hardhats, goggles and cup masks.
Lincoln comes over the crosswalk, starkly contrasted in dacron
coveralls and a hooded gasmask. THE CREW FOREMAN intercepts him -
drawn, desiccated features, a husky drawl. His name is MCCORD-
MCCORD
Sorry, chief. I can't let you get any
closer. We got live wires over there.
Lincoln's reply is muffled by the gasmask, lost in the noise.
MCCORD
What's that you said?
Lincoln repeats to no avail. Frustrated, he peels off his gasmask-
LINCOLN
I said I can't hear you.
M c C o r d c h u c k l e s at the irony.
15.
MCCORD
He y , you get yourself contaminated,
don't come pointing the finger at me.
LINCOLN
How are you doing, Mac?
MCCORD
You know how it is. `Gets to the end of
shift, `crew starts draggin t h e i r feet.
LINCOLN
We l l the guys upstairs are griping
about the backlog. They want to know
when you'll be ready for move in.
MCCORD
I guess if we bust our backs, we could
be out of here by the end of the week.
LINCOLN
I'll tell them two weeks.
MCCORD
Thanks , chief. I appreciate that.
LINCOLN
So . . . got any stuff on you today?
17 INT . AIRLOCK - SECTOR SIX
A sign reads "Warning! Contamination Risk!". Lincoln stands by as
McCord u n l o o p s a neckchain w i t h a single-forked pendant known as
a "uni-key". He slots it into the top of three keyholes. A light
starts flashing and the airlock gives a heavily pressurized hiss.
18 INT . EXTRACTOR SHAFT
A deep steady thrum. Giant extractor fans churn above and below,
both directions seemingly limitless. The bleak concrete shaft is
streaked with soot, threaded by ladders and catwalks. On one
such, we isolate Lincoln and McCord. B o t h smoking cigarettes.
LINCOLN
I t ' s too bad.
MCCORD
What do you mean?
LINCOLN
T h a t your shift's almost over.
16.
MCCORD
You mean, these things? Well, these
things ain't good for you anyways.
LINCOLN
The y taste good.
An exchanged smile. A pause as they enjoy the guilty pleasure.
LINCOLN
I like coming here. Talking. Most
outsiders don't like to talk.
MCCORD
That's because we ain't supposed to.
They got rules about fraternization.
Lincoln nods. Another pause as they drag on their cigarettes.
LINCOLN
What do you do when the shift's over?
MCCORD
M o r e of the same. They cycle us onto
the disposal detail. Hump `n dump crew.
LINCOLN
H u m p `n dump crew?
MCCORD
D e b r i s clearance. We hump the heavy
stuff to a site on the outside.
LINCOLN
Is it as bad as they say out there?
M c C o r d l o o k s momentarily puzzled. Lincoln displays his gasmask.
LINCOLN
The air... the containments.
MCCORD
Right.
LINCOLN
But not everywhere. Not on The Island.
MCCORD
( b e a t , stubs his cigarette)
I don't know too much about that.
Lincoln eyes him narrowly. McCord p a u s e s , then tucks his lighter
into the cigarette box and offers it with a palliative smile.
17.
MCCORD
He y , take it from me, you got a sweet
deal right here. So why worry, huh?
Lincoln shrugs, accepting the gift with a slow exhale of smoke.
We tilt up to follow the smoke plume, dissipating into the fans.
19 EXT . THE WORLD OUTSIDE - DAY
A i r blasts up from a giant tunnel.
W i d e n i n g , we see it is one of a huge ring, planted in the dust,
backdropped b y mountainous red rocks. At the hub of the ring is
a large cubic building. From its facets, giant appendages of
ducting plunge into its surround. These are the inlets for the
processed air that feeds the underground...
This is the landscape of the world outside and manifestly above.
F r o m the processing plant, we pull back and up, raking over a
large industrial complex. More cubic buildings, cream colored,
windowless, like stacks of giant playing bricks. Now we see the
front of the complex. The planate f a c a d e , faceless but for the
entrance, cubed in polarized glass, like a dark cyclopean eye.
F r o m the entrance, we follow a walkway out to a dock where the
ground drops away into a broad concrete trench; like the subway,
lined with lode-poles and buffers, it is known as a "lodeway".
From the dock, we follow the lodeway out to a perimeter wall; red
rock slabs, twenty feet high, framing a giant gateway. The gates
now glide open to disclose a view of the world outside the wall-
The shimmering bleached wilderness of The Arizona Desert.
O u t in the distance, where the lodeway tapers into the scrub, a
vehicle emerges from the shimmer. A hybrid of bus and nautical
craft, single hulled, known simply as a "liner". Now as the
liner becomes clearer, a decal on its prow is revealed - a
crosshatch insignia over a blocky l e g e n d "The Sanger Institute".
20 INT . ENTRANCE HALL - THE SANGER INSTITUTE - DAY
The polarized glass shows the liner has docked and A TOUR GROUP
is disembarking. The men are mostly over 40, bloated by luxury.
The women, mostly under 30, wives and girlfriends, all jewels and
haute couture. They filter into the entrance hall to be greeted
by the courtesy staff. Pretty girls in short skirts and blazers
with the crosshatch insignia, led by a pert redhead named LYDIA.
LYDIA
L a d i e s and gentlemen, my name is Lydia
and on behalf of our staff, I'd like
t o welcome you to The Sanger Institute.
18.
LYDIA (cont'd)
Before we start the tour, we'll be serv-
i n g r e f r e s h m e n t s in the visitor center
and circulating our standard discretion
agreements. I should add that today you
are all very lucky because our CEO and
founder, Dr. Henry Sanger, is with us
and will be leading the tour personally.
21 INT . INNER FOYER - LATER
The crosshatch emblem spins on a wall-to-wall screen. Not a real
screen but a projected flat known as a "holoframe". Here, Lydia
assembles the tour group, nursing wine glasses and canapes. The
holoframe fades up a serene music track and a commercial begins:
A series of vignettes; an old man shuffling on a walking frame --
a middle-aged woman in a bathing suit, one breast flattened by a
mastectomy -- a young woman in labor, her face knotted in pain.
The group watches with frowns and disapproving mumbles. Then-
V O I C E (O.S.)
I t ' s not a pretty sight, is it?
E y e s turn to a figure behind them, dressed in a vestmental w h i t e
labcoat - 70's, tall, slightly hunched by senility, eyes like
quicksilver, glittering. He has the hauteur of a visionary
stooping to the role of a salesman. His name is DR. HENRY SANGER.
DR. SANGER (cont'd)
M o r t a l i t y . We all know its face and yet
w e look away, don't we? We deny that our
l i v e s are ordained to suffering. That
w e are all, inalterably, going to die.
He pauses, fielding the various disconcerted looks. Then smiles.
DR. SANGER
I t takes courage to confront mortality,
my friends. And I see it in each of
y o u . My name is Dr. Henry Sanger and
I'm here to reward your courage.
L y d i a applauds. The tour group dutifully follows suit. Sanger
whispers a question in Lydia's ear. She broadcasts her response-
LYDIA
T o d a y ' s group is from New Gaza Health
Care. They're with the platinum plan.
DR. SANGER
N e w Gaza. Yes, very good oncology unit.
M u l l i n g this, he ambles through the holoframe which ripples at
his passage. Rallied by Lydia the tour group follows him into--
19.
22 INT. SALES HALL - DAY
A hall of windows, each window framing a display case, each
display case housing a different taxidermied a n i m a l . Not unlike
a museum. On closer inspection, more like a chamber of horrors.
I n one window is a pig with a horribly distended abdomen. Another,
magnified, shows a mouse with a human ear grown on its back. In
another, a chimpanzee stares out at us with glaringly human eyes.
DR. SANGER
I t doesn't get any prettier, does it?
But this is not a freakshow, my friends.
This is a war museum. A history of our
battles with mortality... and defeats.
Take the stem cell, for instance. A bid
to cultivate human parts for transplant -
in rodents, primates, barnyard animals.
It's enough to make your skin crawl. In
some cases literally, giving rise to a
new range of cross-species viruses. But
that's how we learn. From our mistakes.
The y turn a corner. Another hall of windows, portals onto tanks
of amber fluid that might be formaldehyde. Suspended within are
embryos, fetuses and infants. All human. All grotesquely mutated.
DR. SANGER
C a s e in point, the clone. Back in the
beginning, the mapping of the human
genome was declared a historic landmark-
t o break the curse of heredity, to
correct congenital defect... genetic
engineering became the brave new world
of medical science. A bright future
that led to a dark age and much of the
legislation we know today. But while
the clone laws may have narrowed the
field, science marches on. Only to hit
the same wall over and over again - the
enigma of growth, the alchemy that
takes us from embryo to adult. A clone
barely reaches infancy before its
growth enzymes misfire, resulting in
the kind of monstrosities - which are
only effigies - you see here.
S o m e reassured sighs from the women. They turn another corner onto
another hall. A hall of mirrors. Simple, full-length mirrors.
DR. SANGER
So what do we learn from our mistakes?
That human parts cannot grow outside a
human body. That human bodies cannot
grow outside nature's grand design.
20.
A FAT MAN, supporting his bulk with a walking stick, grunts -
T H E FAT MAN
S o what the hell are we doing here?
DR. SANGER
L e t ' s say one day you go to your doctor
for a checkup. He discovers you have
imminent renal failure and require a
kidney transplant. What would you do?
T H E FAT MAN
I wouldn't do nothing. My brother'd
g i v e me one of his. Or else.
DR. SANGER
E v e n if your brother's kidney is with-
o u t defect, there's still a 38% chance
of rejection. Or less if he's your twin.
T H E FAT MAN
He's not. He's older.
DR. SANGER
But what if you did have a twin?
O f f the fat man's confused look, Sanger smiles and gently coaxes
him to face a mirror. Their reflections stare back at them.
DR. SANGER
What if you had a genetic double who'd
give you not just one of his kidneys,
but both? In fact, any organ or body
part you ever had cause to need?
T H E FAT MAN
What ? You mean like a clone? I thought
you said all that stuff was a bust.
DR. SANGER
I said the problem with a clone is it
doesn't survive infancy. The solution
is to find a different starting point.
Why sow the seed when you can create
the fruit? Or what we like to call...
an "agnate".
L y d i a starts clapping., then s t o p s , realizing this wasn't a cue.
DR. SANGER
An agnate is sequenced from a point on
the cellular timeclock. I t is spawned
post-maturate. It is `created' adult.
21.
DR. SANGER (cont'd)
O f course, its brain is still vestigial
s o for the first three years we keep it
i n suspension. During which time we use
d a t a impression to supply a template
f o r functionality - a process we call
" f o u n d a t i o n " . After foundation we
t r a n s f e r the agnate into "containment"
w h e r e it enters the conditioning
p r o c e s s . An ongoing series of quality
c o n t r o l s designed to test and maintain
i t s functionality. After a minimum of
t w o years conditioning, the agnate
b e c o m e s eligible for harvest...
( t o the FAT MAN, smiling)
An d you, my friend, get your new kidney.
A hush falls among the group as they process what they've heard.
It's a sign of the times that none of them seems to be horrified.
T H E FAT MAN
L e t me see if I got this straight. You
can create this whatever... this walking
spare parts holder... but I gotta w a i t
five years to get hold of em?
DR. SANGER
The spare parts, as you put it, need to
be tested for integrity. But as many of
our clients leave it till late in life
to take out the policy, we do offer the
option for early harvest. Given the
risks, however, a waiver is required.
T H E FAT MAN
S o five years or no warranty? For the
premiums you're asking?
DR. SANGER
An d what if the organ you needed was a
heart? Ask yourself, each of you. If
you had to put a price on your life,
your very survival - what would it be?
A deep lull as the group considers this. Sanger picks his moment.
DR. SANGER
I t ' s a question your insurance company
has already answered. For them, the
agnate obviates costly and ineffective
treatment programs. Should you decide
t o take out our policy, not only will
they lower your existing premiums but
they'll also cover the production cost.
22.
The incentive ripples across the faces. A troubled one speaks up-
T O U R MEMBER
This "agnate"... what happens to it?
After our friend here gets his kidney.
DR. SANGER
That's entirely his decision. Our role
is intermediary. We, as the insurance
provider, guarantee the condition and
availability of the agnate but all
other rights are retained. In legal
terms, the policy holder is defined as
a "sponsor". The premiums, in effect,
becoming sponsorship payments,
maintaining the agnate until such time
as harvest is required. At such time
and where feasible, the sponsor has
the option to extend sponsorship,
retaining the agnate for secondary
harvest or, shall we say, let the
policy expire.
T O U R MEMBER
E x p i r e ? You mean... let it die?
DR. SANGER
N o . Not as you and I know it, at least.
The associations of life and death are
no more applicable to an agnate than to
a cow in a field. It exists in a state
of limited consciousness - aware not of
life but of functionality. Imbued with
the knowledge to maintain its function
but without the capacity to question it.
And yet, in many ways, the end if the
most humane part of the process. The
agnate goes to harvest without any fore-
b o d i n g and is painlessly returned to the
sleep from whence it came. Eternal or
otherwise. There is mortality for an
agnate. Just utility and redundancy.
T O U R MEMBER
S o it doesn't know? It doesn't know
its... its p u r p o s e in life?
DR. SANGER
W h o does know my friend? Who among us
knows our true purpose in life?
S a n g e r ambles on, plunged in thought. Lydia picks up the slack-
23.
LYDIA
This month we're offering a special
rate for new sponsors. Including a 10%
discount on the his-and-hers plan.
She ushers the group round another corner. Another holoframe and
another commercial, displaying the same characters as the first;
The old man with the walking frame is now running in a park--
The woman with the mastectomy is now at a party, her cocktail
dress broadcasting a full cleavage -- The young mother is now in
a waiting room, smiling as a doctor hands her a newborn baby.
LYDIA
DR. SANGER? Would you like to close?
DR. SANGER
Yes . . . Now some of you may be thinking
this commercial is staged. But these are
not actors, these are past customers.
Real p e o p l e enjoying the real f r u i t s of
sponsorship. What we offer here at The
Sanger Institute is not just health
insurance but indemnity. What we offer
is the chance of a new lease on life...
The tour group applauds, this time without prompting from Lydia.
DR. SANGER
N o w Lydia will walk you through the
rest of the tour and explain the
various limitations and exclusions.
But I do have time for a few questions.
H a n d s are raised. A waspish-looking woman butts ahead of them-
T H E WASP
The commercial. The girl with the baby.
What is that? A fix for infertility?
DR. SANGER
You mean the maternity plan? No.
N o t endemic infertility at least. As I
said, the law prohibits genetic
alteration so a defect endemic in a
sponsor will also be present in their
agnate. No, what the maternity plan
provides is a way round the risks and
rigors of childbirth. Under this plan,
an agnate becomes eligible for
pregnancy shortly after foundation. A
simple donation of sperm from the
father, then the agnate is fertilized
and brings your baby to term.
24.
THE WASP
An d then what? You get it in the mail?
DR. SANGER
F o r practical reasons, delivery is
handled by your healthcare p r o v i d e r .
T H E WASP
An d "the agnate" - what happens to it?
When it's, you know - delivered.
DR. SANGER
The same rule applies. You can continue
your sponsorship. Or not. And in this
case, there's a natural window for
compliance as the agnate is routinely
sedated after delivery. As to whether
it wakes up from that sleep, like I
said, the choice is yours...
T H E WASP
( b e a t , a shrug)
An y t h i n g to avoid stretch-marks, right?
The other tour members, some more guiltily than others, laugh.
23 EXT . PROCESSING PLANT
A i r blasts up from the same giant tunnel, swallowing the laughs.
24 INT . EXTRACTOR SHAFT
The acoustic hollowing as we look up from the now empty catwalk.
The blast of air fading into the deep, steady thrum of the fans.
25 INT . CONTAINMENT
The thrum fading to silence. A flat, measured silence as we
revisit the community in soundless montage. The residential
block, the frosted facades. The nutrition plaza, the counters,
the chutes. The subway, the moving walkways. Centerville, the
buildings now emitting a trickle of agnates, ending their
workday - unwitting participants in their own greater utility.
26 INT . DIRECTOR'S OFFICE - CENTERVILLE
A glass wall looks down on the avenue. The furniture is trans-
p a r e n t , ethereal. Merrick sits at a console desk studying an
etherboard. O f f a buzz, he taps a button. The door opens and
Lincoln enters, composing a deadpan. He doesn't like this man.
LINCOLN
You wanted to see me?
25.
MERRICK
Yes . Please, take a seat.
He taps a button. The glass wall frosts over. It's unnerving but
Lincoln stays deadpan, moving the chair before taking a seat.
Merrick reviews the etherboard: Lincoln's headshot s p i n n i n g in
3D w i t h a scroll of data. Then he looks up, forming a smile-
MERRICK
How ' s Lincoln Six-Echo today?
Lincoln shrugs, noncommittal. Merrick eyes him thoughtfully.
MERRICK
E v e r y t h i n g going okay?
LINCOLN
I guess not.
MERRICK
Why do you say that?
LINCOLN
I f I'm here.
MERRICK
I'm not sure I deserve such a negative
association. My job's only to see that
you're happy. That everything's okay.
LINCOLN
Right.
MERRICK
I t sounds like you don't believe me.
LINCOLN
Why wouldn't I?
MERRICK
( s i t s back, smiling)
I t ' s part of your makeup. To challenge
things. To question what's around you.
LINCOLN
Ah.
MERRICK
P e r h a p s you can utilize that facility
by helping me solve a little puzzle.
Lincoln shifts, feeling uneasy. Merrick consults the etherboard-
26.
MERRICK
You're doing well in most areas - pro-
f i c i e n t a t work, exercising rigorously,
your last medical puts you in excellent
condition. But screening's picked up
some deviations. Trace levels, changes
in your sleep pattern... I see you've
also been burning up your quotas...
LINCOLN
A r e you saying I'm contaminated?
MERRICK
No.
LINCOLN
The n what's the problem?
MERRICK
The r e are parameters, Lincoln. When
someone starts straying from those
parameters, we need to find out why.
LINCOLN
Why?
MERRICK
Because you - not just you, all of our
residents - are special. Because people
like me don't get to go to The Island.
He smiles. Lincoln stays deadpan, wondering where this is going.
MERRICK
S o tell me, have you noticed any
changes in yourself?
LINCOLN
No.
MERRICK
What about your sleep pattern? You
feel you've been sleeping properly?
Lincoln shrugs, refractory.
MERRICK
L e t me put it another way, when you
wake up, do you feel... disrupted?
LINCOLN
Disrupted?
27.
MERRICK
R e s t l e s s , disoriented, uneasy...
LINCOLN
I don't know.
MERRICK
They're all words in your vocabulary.
I know you understand what they mean.
Lincoln ' s jaw clenches, patronized. Merrick notes this, resumes-
MERRICK
Quotas . . . nutrition. Do you feel like
you want more than you're given?
LINCOLN
I don't know.
MERRICK
Do you have any difficulty staying
focused? At work, for instance?
Lincoln ' s jaw twitches. Merrick notes this, proceeds with care-
MERRICK
H a v e you been experiencing feelings,
sensations you don't quite understand?
LINCOLN
I don't know.
MERRICK
Do you sometimes feel agitated for no
apparent reason? Frustrated, angry...
LINCOLN
That's it.
MERRICK
An g r y ? You feel angry?
LINCOLN
Right.
MERRICK
When exactly do you feel angry?
LINCOLN
Now...
Lincoln leans forward as if to assert this. Merrick slowly nods
like he's just revealed something. He taps the etherboard-
28.
MERRICK
I'm going to order some tests at The
Medical Center. In the meantime, I'd
like you to stay away from stimulants -
protein, sugar, caffeine...
LINCOLN
I already burned up my quotas.
MERRICK
But I know you can get around them.
He levels a knowing look. Lincoln stiffens again, unsettled.
MERRICK
I'm asking you to cooperate. Not for
my sake, Lincoln, but for your own.
LINCOLN
Is that it?
MERRICK
The r e is one other thing. You have a
female friend. "Ester". Your file shows
you've been interacting regularly.
LINCOLN
The r e ' s no law against friendship.
MERRICK
O f course not. We encourage interaction
in the hope it'll be of mutual benefit.
But given these deviations... let's
just say proximity becomes an issue.
LINCOLN
I know the rules of proximity.
MERRICK
The rules of proximity apply to sexual
contact, Lincoln. In this case it goes
deeper than that. Ester is entering
h e r second trimester. A time of change
and emotional confusion. Further inter-
a c t i o n might be... unhealthy for you.
Lincoln , patronized, looks away. This pill he won't swallow.
MERRICK
An d for Ester - well, she has only six
months left to delivery. Then she'll
move out to The Island and whatever
ties she has here will be broken.
29.
MERRICK (cont'd)
A s a friend, shouldn't you make her
t r a n s i t i o n as painless as possible?
Lincoln ' s deadpan falters. This one, a bitter pill, he swallows.
MERRICK
G o o d . Now I'm also going to refill
your pleasure quota. It may help to
settle you down a little.
LINCOLN
Thank you. I feel much better now.
MERRICK
I'm not sure you do. But I think
you'll do what's right, Lincoln. You
may not trust me. But I trust you.
27 INT . COMMUNITY CENTER - CENTERVILLE - EVENING
A theater in the round. The audience is mostly pregnant females
and older residents. As the lights dim, eyes turn to the stage.
Speakers bring up Handel's O m b r a M a i Fu. Then a glowing mist
rises, condensing into a huge sphere, like a seed. Known as a
"holomorph", it reacts sonically, germinating into stems and
branches and blossoms, growing and evolving with the music. The
diaspora i s as spellbinding as it is pacifying. It is beautiful.
28 INT . FOYER - COMMUNITY CENTER - EVENING
The music from within is like a warm beckoning hand. The foyer is
slightly vaulted to accommodate a statue. On a bench at its
f o o t , Ester sits alone, waiting patiently. As Lincoln enters,
s h e rises to greet him, smiling. He seems more sullen than
usual.
LINCOLN
S o r r y I'm late.
ESTER
I t ' s okay. I was waiting to tell you
something anyway. Guess what?
Lincoln looks at her, unsettled by her flourishing smile.
ESTER
M y baby - I felt it move. And it's the
weirdest feeling too. I can't explain
it. It's like being more... more h e r e .
Lincoln returns a deadpan look. Ester's smile wavers a little.
30.
ESTER
I'm sorry. I'm all excited and we're
supposed to be finding peace of mind.
LINCOLN
I have to cancel, Ester.
His voice is expressionless. Ester shrugs, refreshing her smile.
ESTER
S o I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow?
LINCOLN
I don't think so.
Ester ' s smile falls. Her eyes, reaching, trying to understand.
ESTER
Did I do something wrong, Lincoln?
LINCOLN
No.
A small word but it comes heavily. Before Ester can ask another
question, Lincoln turns and leaves. His jaw, clenching with the
effort of self-containment. Ester watches him, not hurt, just a
little confused. We widen to encompass the height of the statue.
The likeness is idealized but unmistakably that of Dr. Sanger.
29 INT . PLEASURE CENTER - NIGHT
B l u e light. Lincoln walks up a long corridor, carrying a sealed
plastic bag. Along the walls, poster-sized screens like those in
the bar, display images of women, gyrating, licking their lips.
30 INT . PLEASURE CELL - NIGHT
The blue light sustains. To one side is a mirrored wall, known
as an "etherwall". It is currently pixellated t o display a grid
of women's faces, artificial consorts waiting to be selected.
Facing the etherwall i s a large aquarium-like tank, filled with
gelatinous blue liquid. This vessel is known as a "sense tank".
Lincoln sits at the rim, naked, wearing a full-head oxygen mask.
He couples it to a hose dangling from the ceiling. Then lowers
himself into the tank. On the inner facet, a touchlight k e y p a d
resolves. Lincoln taps some keys and the etherwall a c k n o w l e d g e s :
- - P L E A S U R E PARTNER SELECTED; PROGRAM COMMENCING...
Lincoln looks out at the etherwall. The faces blink off to leave
him staring at his reflection. Just one left, a pouting redhead,
who licks her lips in anticipation as the lights dim.
31.
A holographic mist now rises. First resolving a proxy of Lincoln,
naked, replicating his posture in the tank. Then the redhead is
conjured, her buxom nudity glimpsed through the swirling mist.
Lincoln proxy reaches out to stroke redhead proxy's breast. In
the tank, Lincoln's fingers caress only the gel, his fingertips
met by soft arcs of light - neurological charges, conducted by
the gel, creating the sense of touch. They are known as "impulse
arcs". Redhead proxy responds, dappling her lips across Lincoln
proxy's neck. In the tank, impulse arcs flicker across Lincoln's
throat, then down his chest, descending to more erogenous zones.
Lincoln stiffens and closes his eyes, yielding to the sensation.
The sensation engulfing him, Lincoln's brow starts to furrow. Not
with ecstasy. Something darker. His eyes open, his pupils fixed
in a black dilated stare. Resisting the artificiality, his face
forming a sneer, tightening until... he slams h i s palm into the
touchpad. The tank shakes. The proxies blink out. Lincoln stands
mirrored in the etherwall. His hand, pressed against the glass in
a posture of defiance. His reflection, warped and shuddering.
31 INT . ELEVATOR SHAFT
F r o m darkness grows a seed of light. Red light, pulsing to reveal
the shaft, lined by lode-poles, here in triangulated relay. The
polarity cradles a dark mass towards us. An elevator in descent.
32 INT . DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
Merrick is at his console, working late. Off a buzz, he taps a
button. The door opens and an outsider enters - 40's, square set,
hollow, remote eyes. His hair is damp and he wears post-decon
scrubs. A USMC ring is visible on his finger. His name is SCHEER.
MERRICK
K a r l . . . Welcome back.
S c h e e r pauses, his face twitching. Then sneezes violently.
SCHEER
I forgot how much I hate the air here.
MERRICK
J u s t a histamine reflex. Your system's
readjusting to the sterile environment.
SCHEER
I t ' s the smell I hate. Empty.
MERRICK
Yes , well I cut short your leave for a
reason. I take it you've been briefed?
32.
SCHEER
( s i t s , sniffing)
O n e of our lab rats is missing.
W i t h a dour look, Merrick slots his etherboard i n t o a dock. A
proxy resolves over the console, quarter scale, spinning in 3D;
male, African American, bull neck. Data etches across thin air:
- - P R O D U C T ID: STARKWEATHER; FOUNDATION: II; GENERATION: DELTA;
- - I N T E G R A T I O N DATE: 01/27/84 // CONTAINMENT REF: 102, SECTOR 4
MERRICK
His name is Starkweather Two-Delta. He
dropped off the ether two days ago. At
first we thought it was a system error.
Then we found this in a garbage chute.
He opens a drawer and pulls out an ethercuff. He hands it to
Scheer who considers it remotely for a few seconds. Then-
SCHEER
D e l t a generation, huh?
MERRICK
That's right.
SCHEER
I t was a Delta the last time.
MERRICK
T h a t was entirely different. The
product suffered a head injury.
SCHEER
What happened to this one?
MERRICK
We don't know. He just disappeared.
SCHEER
N o t easy to disappear. Unless he
figured a way through the boundary.
MERRICK
He's a code two, Karl. A low functioner.
SCHEER
I f you ask me, it's a mistake giving
them any functions at all.
MERRICK
The y don't function mentally, they don't
function physically - you know that.
33.
SCHEER
The n perhaps if you're going to breed
lab rats, you should breed them tame.
His look, albeit from a distance, throws a stone. Merrick hardens-
MERRICK
I f you bothered to read the clone laws,
you'd realize we have no choice in the
matter. The virtual humanity statutes
accord them a set of freedoms. All we
can do is prescribe the limits. And
even those are subject to regulation.
Scope of knowledge, range of activity,
even their speech patterns. The law
requires that what is of human origin
be provided with human characteristics.
SCHEER
You mean, like fallibility?
Merrick pauses. He's not going to take the bait.
MERRICK
The ether shows no attempts on the
boundary. He's here, Karl. But for
some reason, your men seem unable to
find him. It's your job to contain the
products. I'd like you to do it, okay?
SCHEER
A little sensitive, aren't we?
MERRICK
J u s t after Starkweather went missing,
his sponsor placed an order. An order we
can't fill. Damn right I'm sensitive.
SCHEER
A l r i g h t . How much time do I have?
Merrick taps a button. A holoframe appears beside the proxy.
Even in two dimensions, the face is identical. Just a different
hairstyle and a gold earring. This is the face of The Sponsor.
MERRICK
J a m i l Starkweather . . . last week he
sustained a hepatic trauma resulting in
liver hemorrhage. In medical terms, we
have maybe a few weeks. In legal terms,
we're already o n borrowed time...
( a s Scheer rises to leave)
An d Karl?
34.
MERRICK (cont'd)
I don't want a godawful m e s s like the
l a s t time. Minimal damage. Understood?
33 INT . LINCOLN'S APARTMENT - PREDAWN
The horizon. The green mountains cast black by the predawn
glower. Lincoln sits rigidly hunched on his bed, still in
yesterday's clothes, sleepless. He is staring fixedly out of the
window, hungrily, as if inviting the outer darkness to come in.
His gaze lowers onto his jacket, slung across the bed. He digs
in the pocket. And pulls out the cigarette pack. For a moment he
considers it. Then slowly, purposefully, he opens it. He slips a
cigarette between his lips. And lights up. He leans back, taking
a slow drag. Exhaling, he watches the smoke rise. His gaze rests
on the etherscreen above, expectant. The cursor comes to life:
- - S C R E E N I N G . . . CONTAMINANT DETECTED: ADVISING SANITATION CTRL
R e f l e c t e d in the ceiling, Lincoln grins at his small victory.
34 INT . RESIDENTIAL BLOCK - SECTOR FOUR
Q u i e t , empty at this hour. Just the drum of footfalls as Lincoln
marches up the walkway, puffing his cigarette. He stops at the
ethergate, regarding it as if for the first time. Then he stubs
out his cigarette. And swipes his ethercuff o v e r the scanner.
35 INT . THE ETHER GRID
A blue dot blinks in space. We widen to establish its locus on a
tomograph. Now building the boxes, the quadrants, the sectors.
Revealing a vast, fully dimensional hologram of containment. It
spins in the vaulted chamber like a giant geometrical phantom.
36 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
O v e r l o o k i n g the ether, like a studio control booth. Known as
"Ethercon", it's also the title of the Censor at the console.
Scheer stands over him, now in a white censor uniform with black
chevrons on the sleeves, marking his seniority. He instructs-
SCHEER
R e v e r s e map. Crop to twelve hour
segments. Then put up a sub-grid.
- - S T A R K W E A T H E R TWO-DELTA: ETHER HISTORY; REVERSE MAPPING...
T o one side, a miniature of the ether grid resolves. It peppers
with a series of blue dots. Then a blue line stems from a point
of origin to start joining them. Scheer leans in, eyes honing,
watching the blue line retrace the last steps of his quarry.
35.
37 INT. NUTRITION PLAZA - SECTOR FOUR - PREDAWN
The glass wall reprises the predawn glower. The plaza is empty
at this hour. But the service counters are staffed as breakfast
is being prepared. The clerk looks surprised to see Lincoln
arriving so early. He seems grim, latent, stiffly swiping his
ethercuff o v e r the scanner. She eyes the readout on her screen-
N U T R I T I O N CLERK
Lincoln Six-Echo... Options are dried
fruit, oatmeal or anything in bran.
LINCOLN
I want some bacon.
N U T R I T I O N CLERK
You heard the options.
LINCOLN
An d coffee. I want coffee.
The clerk sighs and taps her screen. Turning to the chutes, she
collects a foil covered bowl and a juice can and sets them on
Lincoln's tray. Lincoln glances down at it, then back up-
LINCOLN
This isn't what I asked for.
N U T R I T I O N CLERK
You want to get into it? Look, I just
work here, pal. I serve the meal and
make sure it goes down on your record.
Lincoln nods slowly. Then picks up the bowl. And flings i t across
the plaza. Then the juice can, trying to outdistance the bowl.
Finally, the tray, which rotors almost to the far side before
clattering into obscurity. Then he turns back to the clerk-
LINCOLN
P u t that on my fucking r e c o r d .
38 INT . SUBWAY PORTAL - SECTOR FOUR
The latticed wall of ethergates. The rising beat of footfalls as
Lincoln approaches. He swipes his ethercuff o v e r the scanner. The
gate slowly hisses open. Too slowly for Lincoln, who kicks it and
barges his way through, leaving the gate to shudder on its hinge.
39 INT . SUBWAY PLATFORM
The walkways, unmoving. The platform, deserted. The echoing beat
of footfalls as Lincoln marches up to the vending machine. He
swipes his ethercuff o v e r the scanner. A screen illuminates:
36.
--SUGAR QUOTA EXCEEDED; ACCESS DENIED
Lincoln glowers at the message. His jaw clenching, twitching with
anger. Erupting, he lashes out, punching t h e machine. He winces
as his knuckles crack. Then grabs the machine, trying to rip it
off the wall. Pulling, straining, sneering with effort, until-
He lets go with a defeated gasp. Then kicks the machine in final
affront. The machine resounds with a dull boom. For a moment, he
stands there, chest heaving. Then suddenly traps his breath...
The r e , in the fading boom, a noise. Faint, rhythmic. Becoming
discernible as THE SOUND OF A MAN SOBBING. Lincoln turns toward
the platform. Tracing the sound, he crosses to the safety fence.
LINCOLN
Hello?
His voice echoes to nothing. He leans over the fence and peers
up the tunnel. There. In the fog of darkness, a figure. A figure
paused, half-standing, like an animal on the brink of flight.
The figure seems to stare at him. Then pulls upright. Now moving
forward and into the light. His face is African American, bull-
n e c k e d , eyes wild and bloodshot. A stranger to Lincoln, we know
him as STARKWEATHER TWO-DELTA. His voice is quivering, unhinged-
STARKWEATHER
Please...
Lincoln stands, frozen by the sight of this dark, dishevelled
resident. As he climbs up onto the platform, we see his hands,
the fingertips grated and bloody. He lumbers towards Lincoln-
STARKWEATHER
P l e a s e , you have to help me...
He rushes forward, grabbing Lincoln, pulling him face-close-
STARKWEATHER
Y O U CAN'T LET THEM TAKE ME!
The stranger's eyes grow darkly, his pupils abysmal, black with
dilation. Lincoln fiercely shrugs off his grip, backing away...
LINCOLN
W h o are you? What's wrong with you?
The stranger's eyes bore into him, obsidian. Face contorting,
baring his teeth like a rabid dog. Suddenly he lunges a t Lincoln-
- B O O M - ramming him back into the vending machine - Lincoln is
stunned - suddenly a vice-like grip on his wrist swings him round-
- C R A C K - into the etherscreen banner, webbing at the impact...
37.
For a moment, all is a blur. Teetering, Lincoln props himself
against the wall. Then his focus resolves on the etherscreen and
his fractured reflection. He releases a deep, bewildered breath.
Then he notices his wrist. His ethercuff i s missing, his skin,
grazed red from abrasion. Confusion yielding to anger, he looks
for his assailant. But the platform is empty. His jaw clenches.
40 INT . SUBWAY PORTAL - SECTOR FOUR
T H E DRUM OF FOOTFALLS as Starkweather rushes up to the ethergate.
H a n d shaking, he swipes Lincoln's ethercuff o v e r the scanner. The
gate hisses open and he barrels through, suddenly spurred by --
LINCOLN BURSTING UP from the well of walkways, charging forward
like a bull. The gate now closing, Lincoln races for the gap,
barging his way through. And the gate snaps shut with a CLANG.
41 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
A N ALARM SOUNDS. The console flashes. Ethercon responds with a
flurry of keystrokes. Scheer rejoins him as he pulls up a sub-
g r i d . This one evolving past tomograph, mosaicing a n g l e s from
etherscreen, conjugating a 3D l i v e feed known as an "etherview"--
M A T C H CUT TO:
42 INT . NUTRITION PLAZA - SECTOR FOUR - DAWN
S T A R K W E A T H E R BARRELING ACROSS THE PLAZA; glancing off tables,
sending chairs flying. Some residents, arriving for breakfast,
scatter at his onset. Shocked faces, looking back and forth as
Lincoln follows, in hot pursuit, vaulting the toppled furniture.
43 INT . ELEVATOR BANK - AN UPPER LEVEL
A SQUAD OF CENSORS CONVERGING; called suddenly to duty, looping
tri-keys r o u n d their necks, donning headsets, priming stopguns.
S c h e e r leads them into the elevator, coolly relaying his orders-
SCHEER
S u b j e c t headed into North Quadrant. Two-
m a n teams - we block him and force him
to ground. If you have a shot, hook him
but keep it above the belt. Management
doesn't want us to "damage the product".
The Censors roll their eyes knowingly. Scheer taps his headset.
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
E t h e r c o n ? Sector Four North; code an
exclusion for tri-key a c c e s s . Then
give me a full quadrant lockdown.
38.
44 INT. RESIDENTIAL BLOCK - SECTOR FOUR
A VERTICAL ONTO A RESIDENTIAL BLOCK: the grid of crosswalks, the
tiers of frosted facades; quiet, the residents still dormant--
A DRUM OF FOOTFALLS: Then a figure breaking frame, racing up the
walkway of an upper floor; then another figure, in hot pursuit --
T H E LOCKDOWN I N I T I A T E S : the lights shifting spectrum from white
to ultraviolet, bathing the quadrant in a lambent purple haze--
S T A R K W E A T H E R : his eyes bulging with panic as he races up the
walkway, straining for an ethergate a t the far end of the floor--
LINCOLN : his eyes charged with adrenaline, straining to close
ground on his assailant; oblivious to the building noise of--
T H E LOCKDOWN: locks hissing, lights flashing, ripping up the row
of frosted facades; sweeping past Lincoln and onward toward--
S T A R K W E A T H E R : the ripple of hissing locks rushing up on him, he
pours on the pace, sneering with effort as he tries to outrace--
T H E LOCKDOWN: the ripple spearing ahead of him to the end of the
floor; now banking across the ethergate a n d sealing the exit.
S T A R K W E A T H E R : stalled by the realization he's trapped; he spins
round, looking for another avenue of escape only to find--
LINCOLN: blindsiding h i s assailant with a headlong tackle; both
men toppling over, hitting the floor with a bone-jarring thud--
S T A R K W E A T H E R : quick to recover, breaking lose of entanglement;
now struggling to his feet, stumbling onward up the walkway--
LINCOLN : gets up to resume pursuit, then pauses, spotting his
ethercuff, discarded on the ground. He looks up in confusion at--
S T A R K W E A T H E R : a short distance ahead, climbing over the walkway
rail; launching himself off, into a seemingly suicidal plummet--
LINCOLN : leaning over the rail, seeing his assailant land safely
on a crosswalk beneath, resuming his flight on the lower floor as-
- B O O M - A GUNBLAST r i p s the air. A KEENING SOUND builds to a wail-
- T H U D - LINCOLN JOLTS as something hits his shoulder, catching him
off-balance, a stab of pain keeling him onto the rail -CLANG -
LINCOLN SLUMPS INTO FG - TWO CENSORS converging like white ghosts
from the purple haze - one reprimanding his recalcitrant cohort-
39.
CENSOR
You asshole! You hooked the wrong one!
He crouches to examine Lincoln. Blood is blossoming from a wound
on his shoulder, jutting from which is a projectile. The censor
presses its base and it snaps loose of its unintended target.
N o w we see the projectile more clearly. A fat metal pellet, snub-
n o s e d , finned at the tail by four metal teeth. On impact, the
nose recesses to release a springload a n d the teeth snap forward
to bite into the target. This device is known as a "hookhead".
CENSOR
J u s t a flesh wound. `Hit his head
pretty hard. Possible concussion.
( i n s p e c t i n g Lincoln's pupils)
T h i n k you can walk, buddy?
Lincoln nods slightly. The censor unloops a tri-key f r o m his neck-
CENSOR
You see this? It'll get you past the
lockdown. You're to report to The
Medical Center. You understand?
O f f Lincoln's blank stare, the censor presses the tri-key i n t o
his palm. Then departs. Lincoln stays where he sits, still dazed
from the concussion. Absently he watches the censors race off up
the walkway, dissolving back into the purple haze as we-
C U T TO:
45 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
S T A R K W E A T H E R RUNNING. Meeting white uniforms at every turn, zig-
z a g g i n g o v e r crosswalks, down ramps. The rat in the maze, dumb to
its inevitable destination. Widening, we see we are watching the
action on etherview, racking and dollying like a deific e y e .
E T H E R C O N (INTO HEADSET)
E a s t side team hold position. Subject
headed for the second floor crossramp.
46 INT . GROUND FLOOR - RESIDENTIAL BLOCK
C l o a k e d in shadow, Scheer listens to the play-by-play on headset.
With a tap, he changes the channel, whispering to his squad-
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
G i v e him some space. I have him.
A N O T H E R ANGLE: Starkweather hits the deck running, sprinting up
the avenue. In BG, Scheer steps forth, stopgun l e v e l l e d , aiming--
40.
-BOOM- The flash of the muzzle, the shrill wail of the hookhead.
- T H U D - Starkweather jolts as the shot hits him square in the
back, arching as the hookhead b i t e s ; but he keeps on running-
- B O O M - B O O M - B O O M - Scheer unleashes his ordnance, filling the air.
- T H U D - T H U D - T H U D - Starkweather jolts from one, two, three more
hits; hookheads b i t i n g , spraying blood; but he keeps on running.
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
A l l clear. Flood the area.
A N O T H E R ANGLE; Floor level, as between the tiles, tiny red lights
start blinking, rippling forward in a wave. Known as "lode-pins"
their small magnetic pulses accumulate into a low level stream.
The hookheads c l a w e d in Starkweather's back also start blinking
red. The invisible stream flowing beneath his feet, Starkweather
feels its force. The duelling polarities stealing his traction.
His run reducing to a slipsliding s t a g g e r . Then his feet leave
the ground. He flails for a handhold. But there's nothing. The
force lifts him a foot clear off the ground before balancing out
to dangle him in mid-air, squirming about like a fish on a hook.
A N O T H E R ANGLE; Scheer advances to reel in his catch. The stream
bows before him, red lights blinking out. Until all that remains
is the section where Starkweather hangs suspended. Scheer stops
at its limit, looking up at him like some curious zoo exhibit.
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
H o o d him, cuff him, patch the bleed.
Then let's get him up to Level Three.
A N O T H E R ANGLE: looking down from high above as the Censors move
in on Starkweather. Scheer now walking away, tapping his headset-
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
E t h e r c o n ? Send word to dispatch.
Starkweather Two-Delta is secured.
R E V E R S E ANGLE: Lincoln in CU, looking down. He has seen and heard
all that has just passed. In his eyes, we see his daze clearing,
consciousness coalescing, deepening. His pupils dilating into a
deep and uncanny stare. What can only be described as a dawning.
47 INT . NUTRITION PLAZA - SECTOR FOUR - LATER
N o w full but unusually quiet. Residents sit in whispered, anxious
discourse. The news of the incident is spreading. Off a series of
chimes, eyes turn to the glass wall, now pixellating i n t o an
outsider's face - calm, official. THE COMMUNITY ANNOUNCER begins-
41.
COMMUNITY ANNOUNCER
Good morning - this is a community
bulletin... Following an incident in
Sector Four earlier this morning, The
Department of Sanitation is issuing an
all-sector contamination warning...
TRACKING the rapt concern of the residents, Ester among them.
COMMUNITY ANNOUNCER
The incident involved a resident found
to be infected with a pathogen. While
the risk is assessed, residents are
advised to be aware of the symptoms.
Should you experience aberrant levels
of anxiety or witness it in others,
immediately contact The Medical Center.
48 INT . DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
The proxy of Starkweather spins over the desk. Merrick regards
i t with a frown. Scheer sits turning the ethercuff i n his fingers
with a demeanor of cool curiosity. Underneath, he's rattled.
SCHEER
You want to tell me what's going on?
MERRICK
There's nothing going on, Karl.
SCHEER
I'm jaded. Not stupid.
MERRICK
What's your point?
SCHEER
I checked up. In the past year, three
products have destabilized. All of them
Deltas... and there's nothing going on?
MERRICK
You're jumping to conclusions.
SCHEER
Once I can overlook. Twice I can call
coincidence. Three times I start giving
a shit. Because if these products are
defective...
MERRICK
Q u a l i t y control is not your concern.
42.
SCHEER
S o it is a quality control issue?
MERRICK
That's not what I said.
SCHEER
He was in the subway tunnels for two
days. In the dark, no food, no water.
His fingers were scraped to the bone.
He was trying to dig his way out. Now
you try to explain to me why that is.
His look says he smells a rat. Merrick weighs him a moment. Then
sighs, a little depleted. He gets up and crosses to the glass
wall. Looks down on the avenue, at the agnates m i l l i n g beneath.
MERRICK
It's not an exact science - biogenesis.
There's a degree of trial and error. If
the agnate doesn't come together on the
first pass, we have to abort and start
over. It's like breaking inertia. The
bioreactor, the growth medium - we just
keep upping the levels till we achieve
integration. At which stage the agnate
is deemed physically stable. We rely on
foundation to provide mental stability -
matching the templates to their capacity
but walling it in with parameters.
( b e a t , considers the proxy)
When signs of instability started to
show up, it pointed to foundation. A
hole in the wall, an oversight. But it
was only happening in the later generat-
ions . Which pointed back to biogenesis.
SCHEER
So there was a production defect.
MERRICK
Actually the opposite. We found out in
the later generations, the levels were
so high that when we broke inertia, the
process kept going. Over-integrating.
Specifically the neural system. It
produced a condition called synesthesia.
SCHEER
Synesthesia...
43.
MERRICK
A fusion of the senses, creating a
component awareness. Sixth sense,
s e c o n d sight, whatever you want to call
it. Its emergence seems to be arbitrary.
But it gives them experiences beyond
their functional parameters. And
ultimately... it destabilizes them.
However, if we catch it early enough we
can control it with re-conditioning.
Scheer absorbs this with a slow grin. Merrick looks puzzled.
MERRICK
You find this amusing?
SCHEER
Poetic.
MERRICK
Poetic?
SCHEER
This "agnate" took off just before his
sponsor placed an order. Maybe he got
the sense his days were numbered...
Merrick ' s composure cracks a little. He hadn't thought of this.
MERRICK
This stays between you and me, Karl. I
trust I can rely on your cooperation?
SCHEER
Don't you mean my complicity?
MERRICK
(hardening again)
Remind me, why is it you were
discharged from the military?
SCHEER
What's your point?
MERRICK
Learn to be a team player, Karl. Or
you'll find yourself out of another
job.
Scheer rises, discarding the ethercuff onto Merrick's desk.
SCHEER
Nobody else would take it.
44.
49 INT. EXTRACTOR SHAFT
The deep steady thrum of the extractor fans. We are TIGHT ON the
frame of an airlock. Hissing, it indents and opens. Lincoln steps
through, eyes black and uncanny. The tri-key g l i n t i n g , dangling
from his fingers. Scanning around, he fixes on a section of wall.
He wipes off some soot. Legible beneath is a number. Twenty. He
assimilates this. Then turns his gaze up the extractor shaft.
50 INT . ELEVATOR SHAFT
Looking up an elevator shaft. The red pulse of the lode-poles,
rippling downward as an elevator descends from the surface.
51 INT . OUTER THRESHOLD - LEVEL THREE
A tiled chamber. Draped off cubicles. The elevator doors slide
open. An outsider emerges, dressed in a flightsuit, emblazoned
"Medical Courier". He announces himself, seemingly to no one-
T H E COURIER
Clearance code: NG-230-2DS.
V O I C E ON SPEAKER
New Gaza Healthcare. Okay, you're
clear. Go ahead and get undressed.
52 INT . DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER
The pressure door hisses, heaving open. The courier steps inside,
naked, covering his genitals, some goggles slung around his neck.
He takes position on two marked footpads and puts on the goggles-
T H E COURIER
I tell you, I hate this fucking r u n . I
always leave this place with sunburn.
V O I C E ON SPEAKER
Try full-course decontamination. It's
even more fun. Especially the colonics.
The lights blink out. A red glow rises. Twin planes of light
scrape across the courier, infra-red, searing his epidermis.
53 INT . INNER THRESHOLD - LEVEL THREE
A chamber like the first. The inner pressure door hisses open.
The courier emerges, dripping wet from a decon s h o w e r . He goes
to a cubicle, grabbing a towel and dries himself off. Laid out
within are some scrubs. Beside them is A STEEL COOLER, inset
with a thermostat and embossed with the crosshatch insignia.
45.
54 INT. CORRIDOR - LEVEL THREE
The courier strolls up the corridor, now dressed in the scrubs
and carrying the cooler. He turns a corner and his footsteps
gradually fade out. A flat, sterile silence falls in his wake.
A metal squeal. A ventilation grid levers down from the ceiling.
A pause. Then a pair of feet drop through, legs, torso. Dropping
to the floor, Lincoln stands revealed. Sweaty, smeared black
with dust. For a moment he looks around to get his bearings.
Suddenly he freezes, hearing-
A VOICE (O.S.)
C h e c k in at the nurse's station. Up
the corridor, left, then first right.
The footsteps are now coming back. Lincoln spins round. He finds
a door. A lock panel. A moment of panic. Then he fumbles the tri-
k e y f r o m his pocket, hurriedly slotting it into the lock panel.
55 INT . THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR - SECONDS LATER
Lincoln waits, ear to the door, listening as the footsteps pass
and fade out of earshot. Lincoln releases his breath in relief,
calming a little, then frowning as he registers another sound.
Very faint, rhythmic. He turns and looks around. The room is in
partial shadow. To one side is a row of seats, to the other, a
row of windows, covered by blinds, light creasing through. The
sound repeats. Muffled. But now unmistakably THE CRY OF A BABY.
56 INT . HARVEST ROOM
A grid of bio-readouts, each square alive with graphs and digits.
The familiar baseline of a cardiograph. A lever-arm mounted with
an IV r e s e r v o i r , dangling tubes and wires onto the OR table.
We see A DOCTOR and A MIDWIFE, in whose arms A NEWBORN BABY
squirms and bawls. Lying on the table, we see THE MOTHER, her
feet up in stirrups, deeply flushed and puffing from exertion.
Marked by her crosshatch as an agnate, she has just given birth-
THE AGNATE MOTHER
May I hold her?
THE DOCTOR
We have to run a few tests on her first.
In the meantime, I'm going to give you
something to help you relax, okay?
Off his smile, the agnate mother nods, anxiously watching the
midwife wrap her baby in blanket. The doctor taps a button and
watches the IV reservoir misting with a pale colored fluid.
46.
The cardiograph marks the drop as the fast-acting sedative takes
effect. The agnate mother watches drowsily as the midwife takes
her baby from the room. Then the cry of the newborn is shut out.
J u s t the cardiograph now, the beeps evening out, the scart o f
peaks shallowing a s the agnate mother falls asleep. The doctor
taps a button. On the grid, the face of a DESK NURSE appears.
THE DOCTOR
I'm incubating the baby for 24 hours
prior to transport. But go ahead and
contact the sponsor. Tell her she has
a beautiful baby girl.
The nurse nods. The grid square goes blank. A pause. Then the
doctor taps another button. Text appears. Reading it, he cites-
THE DOCTOR
Let the record show the sponsor has
signed Clause 22 of The Basic Sponsor-
s h i p Agreement. Initiate compliance.
A light starts blinking. The doctor walks stiffly out of the
room. The door hisses closed. The agnate mother is left alone.
Sleeping peacefully, blind to the fluid now seeping into her IV.
D e a f to the slowing beep of the cardiograph. The peaks of the
baseline falling. Spacing, fading, slowing, slowing, until...
The cardiograph flatlines. An d a sepulchral stillness falls. Our
angle widens with the growing emptiness. The lifelessness.
57 INT . OBSERVATION ROOM
Lincoln looks down from above, eyes frozen in the slatted light.
His fingers are trembling, rattling the blinds against the glass.
58 INT . CORRIDOR
Lincoln tumbles out of the door. He can't breathe, can't think,
his mind is in overload. He stumbles around like a wounded
animal. His focus suddenly and searingly r e t u r n s as he hears-
DESK NURSE (O.S.)
Starkweather ? Like the football player?
59 INT . NURSES STATION - LEVEL THREE - CONTINUOUS
A rotunda spoked by corridors. A console at its hub, manned by
the desk nurse we saw earlier. The courier stands over her-
THE COURIER
That's right. Starkweather.
47.
DESK NURSE
Still showing in surgery. Sorry.
THE COURIER
Honey, I got a bird on the pad and a
storm moving in. How long's it gonna be?
60 INT . ANOTHER OPERATING ROOM
Another grid of readouts. Another cardiograph beeps. A spotlamp
illuminates the OR table and STARKWEATHER TWO-DELTA - his face,
slack with anesthesis, eyes rolling a little beneath the lids.
The rest of him under a sheet, cut out over the belly, the flesh
slit and parted by a clamp, framing a window into his innards.
Standing over him, mid-operation, A SURGEON and SURGICAL TECH.
Interrupted by a chime, the surgeon looks up at a screen, where
a panel flashes: "PAGING". He cradles his bloody gloves and
elbows a button. The face of the desk nurse resolves on screen-
DESK NURSE (ON SCREEN)
The courier's here for pickup.
THE SURGEON
Well he's going to have to wait a while.
It took forever to put this one under.
SURGICAL TECH (O.S.)
Doctor...
DESK NURSE (ON SCREEN)
He's asking for an ETA. Said something
about some kind of storm moving in.
THE SURGEON
For Christ's sake, is that my fault?
Just find a way to stall him, okay?
S U R G I C A L TECH (O.S.)
Doctor.
SURGEON
What is it?
SURGICAL TECH
Subject's heart rate is spiking.
SURGEON
Not again. Boost the anaesthetic lev...
Suddenly he's sprayed with blood a s the clamp springs loose from
the stomach, clattering to the floor. He's frozen by shock as...
48.
Starkweather sits bolts upright. Dazed, he looks at the surgeon,
the tech, then down at his wide-open stomach. Instinctively, he
clutches it. Then, his mind assimilating the horror, he SCREAMS.
Now launching off the operating table, the lever-arm swinging
out, blindsiding t h e tech - tubes and wires snapping loose -
instruments flying - Starkweather lunges for the doorway - the
surgeon steps up to block him - only to be hurled aside...
61 INT . CORRIDOR - LEVEL THREE
THE BLARE OF AN ALARM. Starkweather, clumping down the corridor,
clutching his open stomach, blood streaming down his legs. He's
delirious, running nowhere, anywhere, running blind. Reaching the
end of the corridor, he stops suddenly, seeing WHITE UNIFORMS.
He doubles back up the corridor. Kicking at doors with bare feet,
frantic for any means of escape. He spots a ventilator grid,
slightly open. He jumps, reaching for it. Once, twice, then his
feet slip from under him. He hits the floor with a damp splat.
TWO CENSORS turn the corner, ready for action. But there is
Starkweather, face-down in a starburst o f his own blood.
CENSOR (INTO HEADSET)
Yeah, no sweat, subject is secured.
62 INT . DUCTING - MINUTES LATER
POVCEILING VENTILATOR GRID. Looking down through the slits onto
Starkweather directly beneath. He now has a loose white hood over
his head. His wrists and ankles are bound by plastic cuffs. A
loop of intestine plumps out from his belly. His weight is such
that the Censors have to drag him away, leaving a bloodsmear o n
the floor. His guttural whimpers are the only sign of life.
CLOSEUP: Lincoln's face in part shadow, looking down. The gleam
of his eyes as Starkweather disappears from view. Listening now,
to those feeble whimpers, growing fainter, ever fainter until
they disappear from earshot. Silence again. Emptiness. All that
remains of Starkweather is a wending bloodsmear o n the floor.
SLOW FADE TO BLACK.
63 INT . BEDROOM - DAWN
The horizon. The green mountains in different aspect, framed by
a different window. The bedroom is like Lincoln's but with a few
feminine touches. Ester, in her papery pajamas, sits brushing
her hair. With a chime, etherscreen scales over her reflection:
- - E T H E R C A L L P E N D I N G ; ACCEPT OR SEND TO MESSAGE BANK?--
49.
ESTER
Accept.
The etherscreen resolves Lincoln's face, dishevelled, urgent-
LINCOLN (ON ETHERSCREEN)
Ester . . . I have to talk to you.
ESTER
Lincoln ? Are you okay? I was worried.
LINCOLN (ON ETHERSCREEN)
What are you talking about?
ESTER
The contamination warning. Somebody
said you'd been exposed.
Lincoln pauses to process this. Hunted, more cautious now-
LINCOLN (ON ETHERSCREEN)
I want you to meet me as soon as you
can. But you can't tell anyone.
ESTER
Is it true? Were you contaminated?
LINCOLN (ON ETHERSCREEN)
You know where to come.
His face blinks out. Ester is left frowning at her reflection.
64 INT . BEDROOM - LINCOLN'S APARTMENT - DAY
Lincoln stares at his own mirror image. His eyes, fraught with
revelation. His clothes, begrimed with dirt and blood. He rests
his head against the etherscreen panel, shuddering, pressing his
eyes tightly closed. As if he could ever forget what he's seen.
65 INT . CENTERVILLE - DAY
The routine flow of residents up the avenue. Lincoln walks, head
bowed, trying to look inconspicuous. Showered, white shirt and
blue slacks under his shearling, he looks a little too scrubbed,
too clean. He spots a familiar figure up ahead. He catches up.
LINCOLN
Jonesy. . .
J o n e s lets him fall into step with a look of mild curiosity-
50.
JONES
Hey, champ. Are you alright? I heard
there was a contamination scare.
LINCOLN
I saw what happened to him.
JONES
What are you talking about?
LINCOLN
Starkweather . . . What they did to him.
Jones huffs, dismissively. Lincoln grabs his shoulder, ardent-
LINCOLN
They cut him open, Jonesy. The y took
him upstairs and they cut him open.
Jones holds his gaze a moment, then shrugs off his grip.
JONES
You caught that fucking p a t h o g e n ,
didn't you? You're contaminated.
LINCOLN
J o n e s y , listen to me...
But Jones just backs away. Lincoln makes to follow. Then stops
dead in his tracks. Across the avenue, TWO CENSORS are on patrol
and his best friend is now heading towards them. With a barren,
torn grimace, Lincoln turns away and melts back into the crowd.
66 INT . COMMUNITY CENTER - CENTERVILLE - LATER
R i n g s of empty seats round the empty stage. Ester enters warily,
walking up the aisle. Lincoln waits in the shadows. He checks to
see she hasn't been followed. Then steps forward. Ester recoils-
ESTER
Please . . . don't come any closer. I
don't want to get contaminated.
LINCOLN
Ester, I'm not contaminated.
ESTER
But they said...
LINCOLN
I'm not contaminated!
51.
His shout echoes through the empty auditorium. Ester looks at
him, alarmed by his vehemence. Lincoln calms himself a little-
LINCOLN
Contaminants, pathogens... it's just
what they tell us to keep us inside.
ESTER
What do you mean?
LINCOLN
I saw it. Why they keep us here. To
use us. To take things from us.
ESTER
You're not making sense.
LINCOLN
Your baby... they're going to take
your baby away... you understand?
ESTER
M y baby? Why would they do that?
LINCOLN
I don't know! But I saw it!
ESTER
You're scaring me, Lincoln...
I want to go back now.
LINCOLN
You can't go back! Don't you get it?
A VOICE (O.S.)
N o b o d y move! Stay right where you are!
A CENSOR steps through, stopgun l e v e l l e d . Ester freezes. Lincoln
hovers, mind racing. The censor moves in, tightening aim on him.
Ester looks on anxiously as he approaches Lincoln. Lincoln now
sees the censor pulling out some plastic cuffs. The same cuffs
used on Starkweather, promising the same fate... TRIGGERING HIM--
LINCOLN LUNGES AT THE CENSOR - ramming him - toppling him across
the seats - knocking the stopgun f r o m his grasp - recoiling as--
THE CENSOR RETALIATES - driving a knee into his groin, doubling
him over - then a knee to his head - THUDDING INTO HIS SKULL-
ESTER
Don't hurt him!
52.
ESTER RUNS UP grabbing at the white uniform, trying to restrain
him - the censor swats her blindly - hitting her in the stomach--
LINCOLN SPINS ROUND at the sound of Ester's yelp - only to be
roundhoused b y the censor - the blow sending him to the floor--
Ester DOUBLED OVER - wincing at the pain - clutching her belly
instinctively, protectively - an ominous scowl knotting her face-
THE CENSOR PUNISHING LINCOLN - kicking him down the aisle - then
suddenly hearing a noise from behind - turning to face it as --
- B O O M - A GUNBLAST R I P S THE AIR. The brief wail of a hookhead.
- T H U D - THE CENSOR RECOILING - lurching as the hookhead b i t e s -
starting to gag - blood jetting from his neck - a hookhead
c l a w e d into his jugular - gurgling, collapsing to the floor--
Ester STANDING FROZEN - holding the stopgun - seeing Lincoln now
getting up - she drops the stopgun l i k e it's on fire, aghast-
ESTER
Lincoln?
L i k e she's asking him what she did... Silence - the rasp of the
censor, blood foaming - another sound - FOOTFALLS. Lincoln goes
to the door - an IMMINENT MASS OF WHITE UNIFORMS. He grabs Ester-
LINCOLN
RUN!!!
67 INT . FOYER - THE COMMUNITY CENTER
CENSORS BURSTING IN - led by Scheer, pushing through into the
main hall - the statue of Dr. Sanger looking serenely down--
68 INT . MAINTENANCE CORRIDOR - BEHIND THE COMMUNITY CENTER
A HISS OF DEPRESSURIZATION - a pressure door swings open - Lincoln
and Ester tumbling through - running up the maintenance corridor--
69 INT . COMMUNITY CENTER - MOMENTS LATER
CENSORS FANNING OUT - sweeping the hall, stopguns r e a d y - Scheer
finds the fallen Censor - crouches to examine him, then-
SCHEER
Somebody get someone down here!
A Censor splits off to join him, tapping his headset - Scheer
rises again - in his eyes, detachment yields to cold intensity--
53.
70 INT. VARIOUS CORRIDORS - CONTAINMENT INFRASTRUCTURE
THE CENSORS: flooding through into the maintenance corridor, in
their white uniforms, they seem like a swarm of antibodies--
LINCOLN AND ESTER: deeper in, at another pressure door, fumbling
the trikey i n t o the lock. A tense second. The lock hisses open--
SCHEER : pushes through the opening gap of another pressure door,
taking the lead, his Censors surging up in his wake --
LINCOLN AND ESTER: meeting an intersection, veering at random,
running blind, running deeper into the faceless labyrinth--
SCHEER : catching up, hitting the intersection, pausing to split
his squad in each direction - white uniforms dispersing--
LINCOLN AND ESTER: reaching another pressure door. Footsteps
audible. Lincoln jams the tri-key i n t o the lock. And waits. The
seconds pass. But the door doesn't open. Lincoln looks around
for another exit. Ester looks at him in mounting panic then--
THE PRESSURE DOOR OPENS: not onto a corridor but an elevator
car. Pulling Ester inside, Lincoln finds an array of buttons.
His fingers hovers, uncertain which to press. So he punches all
of them, stabbing madly, trying to prompt the door to close.
SCHEER : turns a corner, seeing his quarry at the far end of the
corridor, he gathers pace. The elevator is closing but he doesn't
break stride. He deftly taps his headset, opening a channel to--
SCHEER (ON HEADSET)
Ethercon! The elevator - override it!
Do you read me? Bring it back down!
71 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
Ethercon is working the console keys like a madman. His gaze
flitting to a subgrid o f the complex, spinning the angles,
navigating the mesh of lines. His voice comes apologetically-
ETHERCON (INTO HEADSET)
You're off the grid, sir. Give me a
second. Can you tell me where you are?
He recoils at the blaring volume of the response.
72 INT . CORRIDOR - OUTSIDE THE ELEVATOR
Scheer stands with his Censors, poised, watching the panel chart
the elevator's descent. A light flashes and the doors open. They
level their stopguns o n . . . nothing. The elevator is empty.
54.
SCHEER (INTO HEADSET)
Foundation Levels - all of them. Lock
them down. Access only on my command.
73 INT . FOUNDATION LEVEL
A dead acoustic. A corridor paved with sound proofing panels. It
ends at a pressure door, where Lincoln and Ester now arrive.
Lincoln looks back to the elevator at the other end. No going
back. He slots the tri-key into the lock. The door hisses open.
74 INT . FOUNDATION CHAMBERS
Amber light. The sound of slow bubbling. Lincoln and Ester pause
to adjust to the gloom. They are in a hall of windows. Ester is
the first to venture forth, as if drawn, to the nearest window.
Behind the glass is a foundation tank. Bubbling with viscous
fluid, laced with various tubes pulsing matter to and fro. The
tubes connect to a form. A human form, an adult form but curled
foetally. I t is known as a "nascent". In this tank is a female
nascent, shifting slightly, causing Ester to gasp. The nascent
registers the noise, turning its head. Its eyelids are closed but
its eyeballs move, questioning. A slight furrow appears on its
crosshatched brow. Ester recoils in sudden horror, perhaps
remembering on some deep level that this is where she came from.
LINCOLN
Ester ! Come on!
Spurred to action, Ester follows Lincoln onward up the hall.
Still conscious of movement all around, of nascents stirring at
the sound of their footfalls like the ripples of a nightmare.
75 INT . FOUNDATION CHAMBER
A STOPGUN n o s e s through the door. Followed by Scheer moving in
silence, honed. How much time has passed is unclear. He signals
his censors to split off. Tracking Scheer's advance, we INTERCUT:
ANOTHER FOUNDATION CHAMBER: Censors making their sweep. Strobes
of light from an armature mechanism moving up the row of tanks.
It angles to project a grid across each nascent's face, then
fires a short laser burst, searing a crosshatch into the brow.
ANOTHER FOUNDATION CHAMBER: another contingent moves up another
row of foundation tanks. The nascents within have cables plugged
into their ears, filaments pulsing. The nascents a r e in a posture
of rigor, sinews straining as they accept the data impression.
RETURNING TO SCHEER as he reaches the end of the first chamber.
No further access, just a continuing wrap of foundation tanks.
He pauses, confused for a second. One of the censors comes up-
55.
CENSOR
Nothing , sir. No sign.
SCHEER
They can't have got past this level.
Scheer peels off his headset, giving full leash to his senses,
straining to concentrate. Seconds of pent silence. Then he hears
a faint humming. His gaze slowly drifts up to a ventilator grid.
76 INT . / EXT . THE FUNNEL - NIGHT
A POV LOOKING UP. The funnel mouth framing a vista of the world
outside. A hostile vista of black sky, maelstroms of sand. The
sound of blasting air, suborned to the giant howl of a DUSTSTORM.
A HAND. Reaching over the funnel lip as Lincoln pulls himself up
with a mighty effort. Blinking, blinded by the sand, he swings
astride the lip. Then he reaches down to pull Ester up. Ester
gains the lip and likewise swings astride, coughing, blinking.
T H E DUSTY EARTH as Lincoln leaps down to meet it. We track up as
he helps Ester down from the funnel. Her feet meeting the earth,
we are now in CU o n their faces. Gaping and blinking at the
prospect of the world outside. A world of darkness and storm.
SUDDEN BLINDING LIGHT as halogens explode the darkness. Lincoln
shields his eyes, scanning for their source. He spots a large
cubic building, banks of spotlights on the roof. He pulls Ester
away. Away from the lights and towards the safety of darkness.
77 INT . EXTRACTOR SHAFT
T H E THRUM OF EXTRACTOR FANS. Scheer pacing on a catwalk. White
uniforms above and below, flashlights roving, sliced by the
blades of the extractor fans. From somewhere, comes a shout-
C E N S O R (O.S.)
Sir ! We got em! Motion sensors just
picked them up at the surface!
78 EXT . FRONT OF THE INSTITUTE - NIGHT
ANOTHER BURST OF HALOGENS. More spotlights engage, their blaze
flooding across the foreview, catching two figures; Lincoln and
Ester, running, now, veering sharply away from the light. Now
disappearing from sight, dropping into the trench of the lodeway.
79 INT . MAINTENANCE ELEVATOR - CONTAINMENT
THE RISING HUM OF THE LODE-POLES. The elevator crammed with
censors. Scheer at the front, staring ahead. He looks very
focused, bitterly so. The look of a man outwitted by lab rats.
56.
80 EXT. THE LODEWAY - NIGHT
THE DARKNESS OF THE TRENCH. Lincoln and Ester running along the
lode-way, stumbling over the buffers. Above them, the dust
flails in lashing tongues, starkly depicted by the halogens.
81 EXT . PROCESSING PLANT - NIGHT
WHITE UNIFORMS IN THE NIGHT - censors spill forth into the
halogen light, splitting in all directions. Scheer suddenly
notices the corona of light from the front of the complex. He
barks something inaudible to his men, launching into a run.
82 EXT . THE GATEWAY - NIGHT
THE GATEWAY LOOMING ABOVE. Beneath, Lincoln and Ester, on their
knees, clawing at the dust. Like burrowing animals, trying to
widen the gap between the foot of the gate and the lodeway.
83 EXT . FRONT OF THE INSTITUTE - NIGHT
A LONE WHITE UNIFORM. As Scheer reaches the forecourt, stopping
to scan the spotlit view, the veils of the duststorm. His face
tightening with urgency. Suddenly he taps his headset, barking-
S C H E E R (INTO HEADSET)
The lodeway! Flood it! Light it up!
84 EXT . THE GATEWAY - NIGHT
THE RISING HUM OF THE LODE-POLES barely audible over the storm.
Lincoln and Ester, washed by pulsing red light. Ester recoiling,
her arm flinging back from the pull. Lincoln grabbing her, his
own arm straining now. The polarity tugging their ethercuffs.
85 EXT . THE LODEWAY - NIGHT
THE RED WASH OF LIGHT from the lodeway as Scheer races up the
edge, eyes trawling the trench for his quarry. His pace now
suddenly dropping, slowing to a halt. He doubles over, catching
his breath. More white uniforms now appear from the dust as the
Censors, unable to match his pace, finally catch up. The first
reaching him, Scheer pulls upright, bellowing over the wind-
SCHEER
G e t me a bird!
CENSOR
A bird?! In this storm?!
SCHEER
The y got out! They got past the gate!
57.
Scheer spins on his heel back towards The Institute. The Censor
lingers, confused. Then he fixes on the lodeway. Floating past
in the red wash are the luminous blue seams of two ethercuffs.
86 EXT . THE DESERT - NIGHT
The perimeter wall silhouetted in the middle-distance. Lincoln
and Ester scramble through the scrub, blinded by dust, driven by
momentum. As Ester starts lagging behind, Lincoln grabs her arm-
LINCOLN
Ester ! We have to keep going!
But Ester resists him, breaking loose from his grasp. Lincoln
looks at her, uncomprehending. Until he sees her expression, the
harrowed stare in her eyes, the labored heaving of her chest.
LINCOLN
Ester?
Ester staggers back, losing balance, reeling as if spun by the
storm. Her eyes widening, senses flooding. The howling wind, the
swirling dustclouds, the pendent gulf of black sky. Her reel
returning her to face Lincoln, Ester opens her mouth to speak.
But all that comes is A SCREAM. A scream from deep within, shrill
and hysterical, the only articulation she can find. Lincoln grabs
her and covers her mouth. Fighting to stifle her, rocking to her
convulsions. But Ester keeps screaming. A scream of everything.
87 INT . BEDROOM - SOMEWHERE - LATE NIGHT
All is still. Just a muted shudder of wind on glass. The room is
in shadow. All we see is a canopied bed where a figure,
obscured, lies sleeping. The still is disrupted by a chime. The
figure stirs, fumbling at the nightstand. A holoframe resolves,
the light revealing Dr. Sanger, rumpled by sleep. He peers into
the holoframe to find the face of Merrick, gaunt with concern-
Merrick (ON HOLOFRAME)
He n r y . . . There's been a breach.
H A R D CUT TO BLACK.
SLOW FADE UP:
88 EXT . THE RED ROCKS - DAWN
A horizon. A brim of dawn over the red rocks. The view is framed
by the mouth of a cave. Lincoln sleeps within, slumped against
the rock, his head bowed heavily. The touch of first light opens
his eyes. His brow creasing, as if waking from a bad dream into
a worse reality. He looks around only to find himself alone. He
gets up, a little shaky at first, then ventures out of the cave.
58.
He emerges onto a ledge, perhaps fifty feet up. He pauses, eyes
adjusting to the quality of light. He sees the storm has reduced
to a low wind, combing the floorland o f scrub. Now, across the
ledge, he sees Ester. Perched on an outcrop, hugging her knees,
watching the sunrise over the desert. He crosses and lowers to a
crouch beside her. Ester turns to him with a confused frown-
ESTER
W h e r e did all the green go?
Lincoln looks deep into her troubled eyes. He answers gently-
LINCOLN
The r e is no green. The windows in
there... they were just pictures.
Ester absorbs this with difficulty. Lincoln rises again and
stands looking out across the desert, into the barren unknown.
89 EXT . THE SKY OVER THE DESERT - MORNING
From the massive sky grows a glinting shape. Like a helicopter
but sleeker, aquiline. Without combustion, its only noise is the
sibilance of blades slicing air. It is known as a "whisper".
90 INT . WHISPER - MORNING
The pilot jockeys with the thermals. Scheer rides shotgun. Now
in civvies, scanning the terrain with electronic binoculars. The
flight console beeps. He taps a keypad. A holoframe resolves:
CENSOR (ON HOLOFRAME)
Ground team checking in.
SCHEER
Anything?
CENSOR (ON HOLOFRAME)
The storm pretty much covered their
tracks. We're scanning for thermals
b u t the hotter it gets, the harder it
is to isolate a heat signature. I don't
know, sir, it's a big desert out there.
91 EXT . CHASM - THE RED ROCKS - DAY
The desert sun clefts the chasm into light and shadow. Lincoln
trudges into view, Ester lagging behind. He stops to let her
catch up, only to watch her slump onto a rock. He allows her a
moment to rest and walks to where the chasm comes to an end.
59.
He surveys the terrain. His eyes roam the carpet of scrub, now
narrowing on an inconsistency. A faint strip where nothing seems
to grow. Tracing its lineage, he walks a few feet out. Then
drops to a crouch and starts clawing away at the dust.
His fingers meet something hard. He sweeps off the dust to expose
a layer of concrete. Continuing, revealing the ghost of a line.
What we might recognize as a lane marker but a curiosity to him.
Continuing, opening a window in the dust. Now his fingers snag
o n something. He tugs it and it gives a little, dust crumbling to
reveal a section of rusted chainlink. A corner of metal is
visible. Lincoln exposes the rest. A sign, barely legible: "US
Government - Restricted Area". He frowns, trying to assimilate.
Ester comes up to join him. Off her anxious look, he decides-
LINCOLN
I think I've found a path.
92 EXT . THE GREEN MOUNTAINS - DAY
W h i t e rock blanketed by stands of fir and ponderosa pine. A
whisper skims over the treecaps, circling in on a high shelf.
Here, remotely nestled in a clearing, stands a glass villa.
93 INT . THE GLASS VILLA - DAY
The flood of light, the majestic view lend an air of beatitude.
The decor is minimalist with Native American accents, kokopelli
spirits in carved silhouette. Dr. Sanger stands at a glass wall,
looking out across the green mountain valley. On the sofa sits
Merrick, now in civvies, still gaunt from worry. The air stirs
as a maid ushers in A WOMAN - 30's, all business, sharp blue
eyes, a severe, mannish coiffure. Her name is ELLEN CROWNE.
CROWNE
Good morning, gentlemen.
SANGER
Bernard, this is Ellen Crowne from our
legal department. Ellen, this is
Bernard Merrick, director of products.
MERRICK
Thank you for coming out here.
CROWNE
Well when Henry called me I got the
sense it wasn't for a social visit.
They settle at a table. A jug of icewater a n d glasses laid out.
CROWNE
I understand there was an incident?
60.
MERRICK
First, let me stress there's no way we
could have anticipated what happened...
CROWNE
We're on the same team, Mr. Merrick.
Just give me the facts down-and-dirty.
MERRICK
(uneasy, clears his throat)
We'v e lost two of our products. They
escaped containment last night.
Crowne casts a troubled look at Sanger. Merrick quickly adds-
Merrick (cont'd)
However, we have all available
resources dedicated to the search.
CROWNE
How exactly did this happen?
MERRICK
We'r e still piecing it together.
CROWNE
Do we expect more products to escape?
DR. SANGER
Don't be so alarmist, Ellen.
CROWNE
I'm sorry, Henry, but you asked me
here to assess our liabilities.
MERRICK
To answer your question, we condition
our products with a deterrent. A fear of
contamination. And thereby of the outer
environment. So to escape, they first
have to escape their conditioning.
Crowne pauses to absorb this and to light a slim black cigarette.
CROWNE
Containment is one of the terms of our
state health license. The fact it was
compromised could put us in violation.
DR. SANGER
Bureaucracy.
61.
CROWNE
Henry , it was a bloody battle getting
our license through in the first place.
DR. SANGER
They're not going to pull our license,
Ellen. We have a lot of friends on the
Commission. Not to mention the goodwill
we earned in DC when we took over the
facility; a bunker complex for a bio-
chemical war that never happened... We
relieved them of a costly embarrassment.
CROWNE
I'm not sure we can rely on that.
DR. SANGER
Alright . What do you suggest?
CROWNE
First, I need you to level with me.
What are our chances of finding them?
MERRICK
Well, in our favor, they've never been
outside containment. They'd have no
coordinates, no sense of direction.
CROWNE
I don't see how that's in our favor.
MERRICK
They're in the middle of the desert.
Food and water become an issue.
CROWNE
So they might return to the trough?
MERRICK
Possibly.
CROWNE
And if not? How long could they last?
MERRICK
A few days maybe. But there is another
variable. We maintain the products in a
sterile environment. So basically their
immune systems are untested. Toxins,
pathogens, environmentals t h e rest of
us overcome routinely, to them...
62.
DR. SANGER
That's a little drastic. Some immune
systems are more adaptive than others.
CROWNE
Let's take the drastic case. What then?
MERRICK
Well . . . the male, we could cover. Fast-
track another generation before the
sponsor ever needed access. The female
comes under the maternity plan. She's
three months pregnant. Even if we fast-
tracked another generation, we couldn't
fast-track the pregnancy. We'd miss the
delivery date, the sponsor would wonder
why and there would be... difficulties.
Crowne looks worried. Sanger pours a glass of icewater.
DR. SANGER
Even so, the worst may not happen.
CROWNE
We haven't even touched on the worst. If
these products reach a populated area,
there's the problem of scrutiny.
DR. SANGER
Ellen , we operate under State license on
a lease from the Federal Government...
CROWNE
( c u t s him off, harshly)
We slipped through a loophole in the
clone laws, Henry. And they only let
u s through because they smelt money.
And they gave us a government basement
to cover their own a s s e s not ours. It's
at the core of our license - why we
screen potential sponsors, why we make
them sign discretion agreements, why
containment is such a critical factor -
to limit the extent of public scrutiny.
DR. SANGER
E i t h e r way, it's unlikely they'd get
that far. It's at least twenty miles to
the next settlement. Right, Bernard?
Merrick hesitates before nodding his assent. Crowne pounces on it-
63.
CROWNE
Something to add, Mr. Merrick?
MERRICK
I just don't think we should under-
estimate them. Especially the male.
DR. SANGER
And I don't think we should panic.
He cautions Merrick with a discreet look, then shakes a pill
from a bottle. Crowne looks forward to both men. Very serious.
CROWNE
Gentlemen, whatever happens we need
t o keep one thing clearly in mind. As
far as the world at large goes, we are
just another medical services company.
Anything that alters that perception
puts us at risk. And we cannot rely on
the sanction of the law to protect us.
Whenever and wherever and in whatever
condition we recover these products, we
have to stay beyond reproach. All it
takes is one nudge to put us in the
spotlight. Then you'll see how fast
politicians can run for cover.
Merrick shifts, uneasy. Sanger takes the pill with a bitter smile-
DR. SANGER
I n other words we need to find them
o r else. That's very astute, Ellen.
94 EXT . DESERT HIGHWAY - SUNSET
The dust swirls and puffs across a highway of yesteryear. A dirt
track but for patches of exposed concrete and angles of buckled
lampposts. The empty path reaches to a blood-red sunset.
95 EXT . SCRAPYARD - SUNSET
The dust skims over mountains of rusted scrap. Nestled in the
mountains is a shack. A sign creaks in the breeze "Osmund D e e r ,
Licensed Salvage Merchant". On the porch sits an old man in a
greasy ballcap a n d dungarees. This is the eponymous owner, OZZIE.
He's sitting on a lounger, surveying his empire, enjoying a beer
and a cigarette. Exhaling a drag of smoke, his eyes crease to a
squint. He sees something through the smoke, silhouetted against
the sunset. An approaching figure, wary, like a flighty animal.
64.
OZZIE
Hello?
The silhouetted figure doesn't answer, just stares back at him.
OZZIE
Can I help you?
This seems to get a response. The figure ventures closer. We
recognize Lincoln. Exhausted, dust-covered and dry-throated -
LINCOLN
My friend... she needs water.
96 INT . BACK ROOM - THE SHACK - SUNSET
A mass of technology and furniture from recent and distant past.
Lincoln lowers Ester onto a threadbare sofa. Ozzie, excited to
have visitors, bustles up with a water gallon, pouring a glass.
Lincoln takes it and tips it to Ester's lips. She coughs it out
at first. Then takes the glass and starts drinking with vigor.
Ozzie sets down the water gallon in front of his visitors. Then
settles in an armchair and cracks open a beer. It lends the mood,
albeit strained, of a social visit. Lonely old Ozzie wanting to
make it so. Despite which, both men have an eye on each other.
OZZIE
Got stuck in that supercell, didya?
Lincoln eyes him, wary of the question. Ozzie reads confusion-
OZZIE
Supercellstorm , that's what they call
it on the news anyways. I n my day, we
just called `em "big ol' h o w l e r s " .
Ozzie chuckles to himself. It seems to put his visitor at ease.
OZZIE
Yep, I heard it shut down some of the
lodeways. Dust in the works, I guess.
Where were you folks headed anyways?
Lincoln gulps down some water, deciding an answer. Then ventures-
LINCOLN
Away.
OZZIE
A w a y ? You mean, like outta s t a t e ?
LINCOLN
" O u t of state"...
65.
The term is meaningless to Lincoln but he likes the sound of it.
Ozzie grins. This is starting to feel like a real social visit.
OZZIE
N o w where's my manners gone? I'm Ozzie.
Osmund r e a l l y . But folks call me Ozzie.
An awkward lull as Ozzie waits for his visitor to reciprocate.
OZZIE
S o m e t i m e s I like to make a joke of it,
my last name bein' D e e r . . . "O. Deer".
O z z i e chuckles but the pun seems lost on his visitor. He lets it
drop. The awkward silence returns. Lincoln drinks the water,
wondering if this strange old man is as harmless as he appears.
OZZIE
We l l now, looks like yer g i r l f r i e n d ' s
made herself at home.
Lincoln looks at Ester, slumped over, asleep on the sofa. Ozzie
puts a finger to his lips, beckoning his visitor out of the room.
97 EXT . SCRAPYARD - DUSK
The porch light comes on, casting the scrapyard in grades of
light and shadow. Ozzie steps out onto the porch, lighting a
cigarette. His visitor hovering at the threshold, he offers the
pack. Lincoln steps out and takes one. Ozzie lights it for him-
OZZIE
Yer girlfriend sure is pretty.
His visitor looks at him curiously. Ozzie misinterprets that
he's said something out of turn. Time to change the subject-
OZZIE
So what's with them tattoos, huh?
He taps his forehead. Lincoln fingers his crosshatch, suddenly
aware of it now and suspicious of the question. Ozzie palliates-
OZZIE
Hey , in the eye of the beholder, right?
Now this place, this is beautiful to
me. This is my place. I own it. `May
not look like much but you'd be
surprised. C'mon, lemme show you...
Ozzie moseys into the scrapyard, beckoning his visitor. Lincoln
hesitates, then follows him, sensing it's better to play along.
66.
OZZIE
M o s t a t h i s heavy stuff's industrial
scrap. Comes in from all over. Easy way
round the recyclin' l a w s . Me, I sell it
on to the boondock b o y s for meltdown.
Other stuff, I pick up at the scrap
markets. Fix it up, `fetches a price.
The y reach a vehicle shell. A rust-pocked chassis, canted on its
axle, we might recognize it as an automobile from our own era.
OZZIE
Fossil fuel transport. This piece o'
junk's a collector's item. All that
Age of the Wheel nostalgia, "elegant
era of transport" bullshit. I find the
parts, she's as good as solid gold.
Ozzie pats his investment and moves to another rusted metal pile.
Steepled by rail tracks, we see elevator sheaves, tension cables.
OZZIE
Now this here's got a colorful history.
Came in from this ol' g o v e r n m e n t bunker
out in the valley. `Got shut down way
back. Then this new outfit took over,
stripped the place out. I guess they're
doin' s o m e more remodelling cause I
just had `em in again the other day...
( a tug of smoke, reflective)
Hump`n dump crew. Nice fellas.
Lincoln frowns. The term is familiar. The taste of smoke, a hint.
But his memory has been clouded by trauma. Ozzie reads his face-
OZZIE
You okay there?
Lincoln looks at him, something breaking the clouds. A sense of
danger, indistinct. Suddenly cautious, he stubs his cigarette-
LINCOLN
I'm going to check on my friend.
98 INT . FRONT ROOM - THE SHACK - DUSK
A front room turned into a front office. Piles of paper teeter
atop junk furniture. A bankers lap we might recognize from our
own era glows over a desk where Ozzie is rummaging, looking for
something. He stops to peer through and check on his visitors-
67.
The woman still lies asleep on the sofa. The man is sitting
beside her armchair, head bowed, seemingly plunged in thought.
O z z i e resumes rummaging to find a crumpled delivery note. He
reviews it for a moment. Then quickly clears away some more
papers to uncover a keypad device. It is known as a "holocom".
He taps a key and a holoframe resolves. Then taps in some digits
from the delivery note. The holoframe snows with static. Then a
crosshatch insignia appears, spinning in 3D:
RECORDED VOICE (ON HOLOCOM)
Welcome to The Sanger Institute. If you
know your party's extension, press...
LINCOLN (O.S.)
What are you doing?
Ozzie jerks round to find his visitor suddenly standing there.
He fumbles on the holocom keypad and the crosshatch blinks out.
OZZIE
Nuthin . I wasn't doin nuthin .
Lincoln frowns, the sense of danger becoming more distinct.
Ozzie reads his visitor's troubled expression, realizing-
OZZIE
I knew it... them clothes... them
weird tattoos... I mean, I heard
stories from those guys but I never...
O f f his visitor's frown, Ozzie bites his tongue. He's cornered
in this cramped space with a freak of science. Time to backpedal-
OZZIE
N o t that I believe `em... buncha c r a z y
stories... nuthin t o do with you...
He chuckles feebly. But his visitor just stares back at him,
pupils dilated and dark, somehow inhuman. Time to wriggle out-
OZZIE
W h a d d y a s a y we just forget about it,
huh? How about I go getcha a beer?
He makes a move past but his visitor doesn't budge. Lincoln
senses danger in this old man, whose fear is now manifest-
OZZIE
What e v e r you want... Just take it...
Whaddya w a n t . . . ? You want money...?
68.
His visitor frowns. Ozzie quickly unlocks a cashbox. He grabs
some colored plastic cards and offers them like meat to a lion.
OZZIE
I t ' s all I got... Take it... just
please... just don't hurt me...
His visitor takes a blue card, inspecting it like a curiosity.
Then steps closer. Ozzie shrinks back. An ominous moment, then-
LINCOLN
" O u t of state" - how do I get there?
O f f Ozzie's cowering and confused look, we -
C U T TO:
99 EXT . SKY OVER THE DESERT - NIGHT
F r o m darkness grows a seed of light. The whisper flies low and
quiet, its spotlight roving the undulant desert. Now picking out
metal glints as it banks over a scrapyard. Now training its beam
on a figure in the dust whirl beneath. Ozzie, his hair flying
wild, gesticulating madly. The whisper follows his directions,
nosing onwards, its spotlight corrugating across the red rocks.
100 EXT . SHUTTLE STOP - NIGHT
I n the middle of nowhere, a canopied platform. Not unlike the sub-
w a y platform, it borders a deeply trenched lodeway. A wave of dust
rolls in, swelled by the whisper, landed beyond. It seems to bring
Scheer to the platform. He scans around for a clue, a footprint
perhaps. But somehow he already knows. He looks up the lodeway,
eyes honing. The deep black line stretches far into the night.
101 INT . THE GLASS VILLA - NIGHT
Silence. Still. Sanger sits nursing a cup of herb tea. Crowne
sits smoking. Stubs in the ashtray speak of long hours waiting.
The still is broken as Merrick emerges from an adjacent room.
Sanger and Crowne look up, expectant. Merrick closes the door
with slow care. Then he faces them, a grim tenor in his voice-
MERRICK
Bad news.
102 EXT . PHOENIX - NIGHT
The whisper slices the night, running lights blinking. We pan to
frame it against a skyline of black towers. A glittering row of
domes and spires, somehow celestial, touching the sky. The city
bears no trace of its origins, once built over Indian ruins, now
rebuilt, subsumed by urban overhaul. It has become a metropolis.
69.
103 INT. ROOFTOP NIGHTCLUB - PHOENIX
A glass dome, faceted, insectile. A haut-monde h i v e . The movers
and shakers of the high-tech boomtown drinking, dancing. Shot
waitresses dose blue tequila. Bass music thuds like a heartbeat.
Scheer looks out of place here but the crowd's too self-absorbed
to care. He moves through them, invisibly, towards a corner booth.
TWO MEN IN SUITS sit with a bottle of blue tequila. The first is
bald, pale and dead-looking, he'd be the grim reaper but for his
fixed leer. The second is long-haired, bearded, hulking, more of
a grim ploughman. He has a metal brace screwed into his forearm.
SCHEER
Which one of you is Diggs?
DIGGS (THE BALD MAN)
That's me, slick. This here's my
partner Burdon. Don't mind him. He
gets a little shy around strangers.
SCHEER
What happened to his arm?
DIGGS
`Pursuit last week. The guy took a
swing at him with a fireaxe. Didn't
stop Burdie though . `Took down that
fucker with one arm, didn't you?
Burdon sips his drink. Scheer, underwhelmed, takes a seat.
SCHEER
You don't look like bounty hunters.
DIGGS
Well we're on the job, see? And it
kind of helps if you bleed in. You
don't look like a bondman either.
SCHEER
I'm just an intermediary.
DIGGS
Now that's what people use when they
don't want to get their hands dirty.
He grins, cannily. Scheer grimaces, a pro suffering an amateur.
SCHEER
I was told you also handled civil
bonds. Debt runners, data-thieves...
70.
DIGGS
What we hunt depends on the bounty.
SCHEER
It's worth ten platinum. Unmarked.
Diggs pauses at this. A huge amount. Suspiciously huge. He licks
some salt, downs a blue tequila shot and bites a slice of lime.
DIGGS
What's the bond?
SCHEER
The parties I represent want to limit
the specific details. But let's just
say industrial secrets are involved.
DIGGS
Ten platinum. Must be big secrets.
That canny grin again. It raises Scheer's hackles-
SCHEER
Any good at keeping them?
DIGGS
Oh, me and Burdie, we're busy bees. We
don't have time to file every report
and we got real bad memories. But just
so we understand each other, slick,
we're talking about a bag job, right?
Scheer returns an equivocal look. Then dips in his pocket for two
digital slides - Lincoln and Ester's headshots, spinning in 3D.
DIGGS
What's up with these tattoos? They
look like fucking boondock types .
SCHEER
All I'm authorized to tell you is they
have no records in this state. Also
that they're not armed or dangerous.
DIGGS
How about we start with their names?
SCHEER
John and Jane Doe...
DIGGS
You're kidding me, right? No names?
71.
Scheer's look says he's serious. But Diggs is still confounded.
DIGGS
The n - with all due respect - how the
fuck d o you expect us to find them?
SCHEER
Because you won't have to look. They
jumped an overnight shuttle. They'll be
headed for the terminal, trying to get
out of state. It's strictly a recovery
job. For you, it should be childsplay.
DIGGS
The n why not do it yourself? Or is the
dog ring just to impress the ladies?
The grin. Scheer moves his hand to cover the USMC ring, stiffly-
SCHEER
The parties I represent want to stay at
arm's length. And just so we understand
each other that means no connection, no
papertrail, no police interest...
DIGGS
Is that everything?
SCHEER
. . . no mistakes. They want these two
brought in quickly and quietly and
unharmed. Once you have them, you'll
contact me for further instructions.
DIGGS
I don't know. What do you say, Burdie?
B u r d o n looks over. Then suddenly stands bolt upright, diving into
his jacket, jerking out what looks like a pump-action shotgun.
BURDON
F r a n k Hofstetter! This is a bond
recovery! Step away from the bar!
F A C E S TURN as he swings aim across the bar - HOFSTETTER, slight,
wide-eyed, looking hunted - customers moving away, exposing him -
Burdon chambering a cartridge, emphatic - Hofstetter f r e e z e s - a
deer in the headlights - a moment of hesitation - then he runs.
- B O O M - BURDON FIRES but the shot misses, hitting the bartender -
exploding on impact with A BLINDING ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE - the
stunned bartender spasms and drops - Burdon pumps and chambers
another slug - his weapon now earned the name of a "thunderbolt".
72.
A STAMPEDE BEGINS - customers running scared - his quarry lost
in the stampede, Burdon vaults over the table - Diggs pulls out
what looks like a twin-barrel sawn-off and launches after him -
Scheer stays seated, watching the hunt with remote curiosity--
H O F S T E T T E R C L A W S THROUGH THE STAMPEDE - spotting Burdon and the
thunderbolt close behind - he drops out of the firing line - onto
his knees - crawling, banged about - almost at the exit, almost--
T W I N BARRELS PRESS TO HIS HEAD - Diggs looks down - grinning,
beckoning him upright - Hofstetter l o o k s up - bleak, defeated -
A GIRL blunders into them - toppling over Hofstetter i n t o Diggs--
H O F S T E T T E R T A K E S HIS CHANCE TO RUN - now scrambling against the
stampede - Diggs disentangles himself and levels his weapon -
the stampede parting - throwing themselves to the ground as--
- B O O M - DIGGS FIRES - the scattershot hits Hofstetter a s he flees
up some steps - peppering his leg - sparks off metal as Diggs
keeps firing - his weapon now earned the name of a "rainmaker".
H O F S T E T T E R R E A C H E S A CATWALK - his leg dragging, numbing from
t h e tranquilizer cores - the catwalk dead-ends - blind panic now -
He ducks under the rail, reaching for the dome - finding a
precarious handhold, he swings across - trying to climb --
D I G G S COMES UP BENEATH - looking up, grinning - the pathetic
sight of Hofstetter - one leg useless - clinging to the dome
like a fly trapped under glass - as Burdon goes to recover him -
DIGGS
Don't bother. He'll drop by himself.
B u r d o n pulls out some handcuffs and stands waiting. Diggs returns
to the booth. Pouring out two tequila shots, he grins at Scheer -
DIGGS
N o w . . . where were we?
104 EXT . THE DESERT - MORNING
S u n l i g h t blinks off a chain of carriages, travelling the trench
of a lodeway. The overnight shuttle slits through the desert.
105 INT . PASSENGER CAR - MORNING
The sun is a muted orb behind polarized glass. Lincoln stares out
of the window at the bleak new world blurring past. He's wearing
Ozzie's ballcap o v e r his crosshatch, his former clothes discarded
for some of the old man's ill-fitting denims. Perhaps a disguise
or perhaps just to shed the memory. He glances across at Ester,
dressed likewise, her hair teased to cover her crosshatch. She's
dozing, head rested on the glass. A TICKET COLLECTOR comes up-
73.
TICKET COLLECTOR
Tickets...
Lincoln looks at the man in uniform, uncertain what he wants. The
ticket collector shakes his head. These two look like deadbeats.
T I C K E T COLLECTOR (CONT'D)
A d u l t fare is forty five currency
units. Do you have the money, sir?
Lincoln assimilates. Money. The word is familiar. He pulls out
the blue plastic card. The man in uniform looks encouraged. He
gives him the card, watching him slot it into a handheld device,
which briefly flashes, then the card is returned. Lincoln sees a
strip at the top is now transparent, like a depleted reservoir.
He assimilates. Not so different from the transactions in the
world below. Then he notices Ester is awake and is looking at
him. Her bright eyes, dim and troubled, somehow accusatory.
LINCOLN
I t ' s going to be okay, Ester.
ESTER
(faint)
Is it?
LINCOLN
We just need to get out of state.
Ester , disconsolate, looks out of the window. In her gaze, the
forlorn air of a hatchling fallen from the nest. Lincoln watches
her, knowing her troubles and knowing that he cannot relieve them.
106 EXT . PHOENIX - DAY
The skyline stands reprised in daylight. A glimmering citadel.
107 EXT . SHUTTLE STOP - PHOENIX - DAY
P a s s e n g e r s climb the steps from an underground gloom. Lincoln and
Ester with them, jostled by the more certain flow. They cross the
portal onto the street and stop, dazzled by the sunlight. Only to
be dazzled again by the sudden, stunning prospect of the city...
F i r s t there's the quality of light, a burning white, perhaps from
depleted ozone, depicting everything in a surreal shimmer. Then
there's the towers, darkly crystalline, facets of polarized glass
rising to domes and spires, like monolothic f i n g e r s reaching for
the sky. The traffic flashing past, the chassis identifiable as
trucks, taxis, compacts, sedans, streamlined in a nautical trim,
hull runners in place of wheels. The sound of claxons, more like
fog horns than car horns. Then there's the street itself, a six-
l a n e lodeway, lanes marked with buoys, bobbing around on cables.
74.
The graceful arcs of pedestrian bridges at the intersections. The
citizens, strange hairstyles, fashions, all wearing sunglasses.
Even to us it's a wondrous sight. The urbanism, the grandeur, as
if here in the heart of southwest, Manhattan has met Venice.
V O I C E (O.S.)
He y , man, spare a little green?
A w e interrupted, Lincoln and Ester look around. Slouched by the
street exit is A HOBO with a mangy dog. He grins toothlessly-
T H E HOBO
A i n ' t eaten in two days, have we, boy?
Lincoln and Ester step back as the dog rises to greet them. Tail
wagging, it noses forward, sniffing. Then, abruptly, drops its
tail and backs off, whining. Lincoln and Ester likewise back off.
Both sides have just discovered a new species. The hobo pets his
whining canine, watching the strangers walk off with curiosity.
108 EXT . STREET - DAY
The sunlight flares off passing vehicles, hypnotic. The faces of
pedestrians flash past. Lincoln and Ester wander in thrall up the
street. Everywhere new sights, new curiosities bombard them...
The storefronts, mysterious recesses behind polarized glass. The
glass, alive with pixellated g r a p h i c s , marquees: "Temps! Temps!
New Tech Opportunities!" - "Beauty Therapy! Manicures, Dermals,
Follicle Grafts!" - "Discount Legal Service! Class Actions Only!"
H o l o f r a m e b i l l b o a r d s loom over the street, huge shimmering
panels like phantom jumbotrons, commercials playing on a loop:
- - A businessman in a conference room, shrinking from a fierce
negotiation; the scene replayed with the same businessman, now
on his feet, stabbing his finger angrily in the air; a pill
bottle in CU, a text super "Combatrine! The Aggression Enhancer"
- - A teenager bemused by his homework: his parents escorting him
into a clinic; the teenager hooded by an electronic dome; his
parents clapping; the teenager smiling as he accepts a diploma;
a text super "Intellex: Data Impression For A New Generation"
Lincoln suddenly looks round, realizing Ester is gone from his
side. He scans the sea of faces. Then spots her stepping through
a doorway. Over the threshold is a holoform: a pig with wings,
circled by the legend "Hog Heaven! Home Of The True Hamburger".
109 INT . HOG HEAVEN - DAY
F a s t food outlets have evidently changed little. Promotional
posters in 3D: "Ham Slam", "Porker Forkers", "Bacon Blitz".
75.
Service counter, seating area. Ester is looking around like
Alice In Wonderland. Lincoln comes up, out of breath, edgy-
LINCOLN
I told you to stay with me.
ESTER
( i n n o c e n t , plaintive)
I'm hungry.
LINCOLN
O k a y . Okay...
He nods, realizing he is too. He plants Ester in a seat and looks
around. People stand in line transacting, receiving food trays.
Not unlike nutrition plaza. Lincoln ventures to the counter. He
offers the blue card hopefully. THE SERVICE CLERK looks at him-
T H E SERVICE CLERK
A r e you gonna tell me what you want?
LINCOLN
( b e a t , no other reference)
What are my options?
T H E SERVICE CLERK
K n o c k yourself out, buddy.
He indicates a menu above. Lincoln assimilates, looking up at
the menu. Understanding now, his face lifts to almost a smile.
It's the first time he's been given an unrestricted choice.
110 INT . SEATING AREA - A FEW MINUTES LATER
Lincoln returns to Ester with a tray of food and drink. She's
staring off again, distant. He puts a burger and drink cup in
front of her. She seems not to notice. He tries to engage her-
LINCOLN
I asked the man how to get to the
terminal. He said it's not far.
But Ester just keeps staring, her brow now furrowing as A LITTLE
GIRL skips past, maybe 11, sipping a soda. Now Lincoln sees her
too and is transfixed. Now the little girl notices the strangers,
staring at her. She hurries onward, uncomfortable. Lincoln and
Ester's eyes follow. It's the first time they've seen a child.
111 EXT . PHOENIX TERMINAL - DAY
A low rumble. A plume of smoke. A sudden eruption of fire. A bird
rises from the flames and a phoenix spreads its wings. Widening,
we reveal this is a holoform o v e r the terminal entrance.
76.
Union Station now looks more like Grand Central. A huge granite
facade, a covered colonnade linking to pedestrian bridges at the
corners. Here, in the flow of figures, we make out Lincoln and
Ester, resembling tourists. Then, a short distance behind, we
spot two more figures. The hobo and his timorous dog. Following.
112 INT . CONCOURSE - TERMINAL - DAY
V a u l t e d . Arched windows, mosaiced i n polarized glass. Sunlight
falls in filtered shafts. Footfalls echo off polished granite.
Lincoln and Ester scan around. Ester looks daunted by the space.
Lincoln looks focused. He sees people in line, transacting.
113 INT . TICKET WINDOW - DAY
The sign on the window reads "Tickets". Lincoln assimilates. The
word is familiar. He steps up to the counter with Ester. A TICKET
CLERK - female, immaculately groomed - greets them with a glossy
smile. Lincoln offers her the blue card. She seems not to notice.
T H E TICKET CLERK
We l c o m e to Phoenix Union Station. What
is your date of travel, sir?
Lincoln has to think. Dates mean nothing to him. He ventures-
LINCOLN
Now...
T H E TICKET CLERK
An d what is your destination?
LINCOLN
O u t of state.
T H E TICKET CLERK
I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?
LINCOLN
We want to go out of state.
T H E TICKET CLERK
I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?
V O I C E (O.S.)
L i k e talking to a wall, ain't it?
Lincoln and Ester turn to look. The interceder is pale, bald,
wearing leathers. A stranger to them, we recognize him as DIGGS-
DIGGS
H o l o s e r v e . C h e a p e r than flesh and
blood but nothing between the ears.
77.
Diggs demonstrates, wafting his hand across the ticket counter.
It cuts through the ticket clerk with a holographic ripple.
DIGGS
F i r s t time I used one of these, I
asked her out on a date...
He grins genially, examining their faces, verifying his quarry.
Lincoln examines the pale man. The sense of danger is welling-
LINCOLN
What do you want?
DIGGS
J u s t wanted to help, that's all.
D i g g s shrugs, disarming, trying to win them over, nice and easy
per the mandate. Then he notices the eyes of his male quarry. The
pupils, black and dilating. Suddenly the male jerks away, like a
shying horse, drawing the female with him. Diggs, unperturbed,
makes no attempt to follow. Turning his back on them, he touches
a device concealed in his ear canal, a miniature two-way radio-
D I G G S (INTO RADIO)
B u r d i e , it's them. East exit.
114 EXT . TERMINAL - DAY
Lincoln and Ester emerge into the colonnade, rejoining the flow
of figures. Lincoln presses the pace, alert, darting looks back.
The pale man doesn't appear to be following. But the sense of
danger is spurring him to gain distance. Ester, vicarious to the
danger, stays close to Lincoln's side, scurrying to keep up.
Neither of them notices the grey vehicle sliding up on them,
kerbside. A commercial transit van known as a "cutter", it's a
common sight on the streets. The driver leans out of the window -
hair tied back, dressed in buckskins, we recognize BURDON-
BURDON
You folks need a ride?
Lincoln and Ester turn to look. The dark giant is just another
stranger, cast in a demeanor of casual inquiry. He's offering an
opportunity to gain distance but Lincoln remains hesitant. The
sense of danger, turbulent, hard to read. Burdon sugars the way-
BURDON
P r i v a t e cab. No state surcharge...
He taps a button and the side-door slips open. Lincoln looks into
the lightless c a v i t y , wavering, uncertain. Ester, hugging close,
nervous. Figures passing, jostling them toward the cavity. The
dark giant, looking on expectantly. The pause stretching, then-
78.
VOICE (O.S.)
He y ! What the fuck are you doing, man?
B a c k down the colonnade, THE HOBO is gesticulating to Burdon-
T H E HOBO
I told you! They went inside!
The hobo doesn't see Lincoln and Ester, unwitting that he's just
betrayed himself as their shadow... and Burdon as their predator.
His dog starts barking. Lincoln starts backing away with Ester,
his eyes blackening, the danger surging, the dog barking, the
giant's face dropping, the elements converging... They bolt.
BURDON
Shit!
B U R D O N JAMS INTO REVERSE - but his pursuit is cut short by a
parked vehicle - he swings a look back, jabbing his earpiece-
B U R D O N (INTO RADIO)
N o r t h Corner! North Corner!
LINCOLN AND ESTER RACE UP THE COLONNADE - against the flow of
figures - darting and weaving like fish swimming upstream --
D I G G S BURSTS FROM THE NORTH EXIT - launching up the north side
of the terminal - thinner foot traffic here, faster going --
LINCOLN AND ESTER SLOWING - the flow massing under the portico -
they peel through - the holoform p h o e n i x rumbling overhead --
D I G G S TURNING THE NORTH CORNER - pausing to touch his earpiece -
now launching south down the colonnade - towards the portico -
jerking a pair of handcuffs from his belt, ready for the snatch--
LINCOLN AND ESTER GAINING PACE - past the portico now, the way
opening - Lincoln's eyes flaring - a face in the distance ahead -
the pale man - he swings Ester around - doubling back to find --
B U R D O N COMING UP BEHIND - the flow of figures, no obstacle -
parting at his thunderous onset - his quarry, stopped and
staring at him - almost upon them - handcuffs at the ready--
LINCOLN FREEZES - caught between the dark giant and the pale man -
Ester cringing to his side - the dark giant charging up on them -
sunlight on metal - the sight of the handcuffs - TRIGGERING HIM--
LINCOLN GRABS ESTER - swinging her off the sidewalk - lowering
her into the lodeway - leaping down to join her - lode poles
pulsing, thrumming - rivets on their denims, rattling from the
polarity - traffic soaring past on lode-stream, chest-high -
79.
DARTING OUT INTO TRAFFIC - Lincoln leads Ester by the hand like
a child - across the lanes, dodging, weaving through the gaps -
claxons b l a r i n g , deafening - sunflashes, blinding - a sudden
shadow - a huge freight truck bearing down, no gaps ahead --
LINCOLN DRAGS ESTER TO THE GROUND - both flattening against the
concrete lode-bed - the shadow engulfing them - the truck's hull
runners shearing narrowly over their heads - the rush of air,
sweeping off Lincoln's ballcap - rousing a storm of dust--
LINCOLN AND ESTER CHOKING - crawling onward through the dust -
hull runners scudding overhead - maybe only a foot of clearance -
buoy cables whipping around like cheesewire - onwards, crawling
across the concrete - fighting their way across the lode-stream--
B U R D O N WATCHING from the sidewalk where Lincoln and Ester first
dropped, scouring the trench for a sight of them. Now he spots
them, climbing up onto the sidewalk the far side of the street.
D i g g s now arrives at his side, sweating, out of breath. Now
seeing their quarry take off up the far side of the street, he
turns to his lumberous p a r t n e t , fury mixed with incredulity-
DIGGS
Why the fuck d i d n ' t you go after them?!
B u r d o n just looks at him, displaying the metal brace on his fore-
a r m . Diggs, out of sheer frustration, gives him a pounding shove-
DIGGS
Fuck!
115 EXT . ALLEY - DAY
The refuge of shadow. The alley is divided by a lodeway and the
walls on each side are jutted with dumpsters. Lincoln and Ester
run up the narrowed strip of sidewalk, forced into single file.
A huge shape looms ahead. A garbage vehicle known as a "scow".
Like a leviathan spreading its tentacles, the scow's tube-arrays
dock with the dumpsters and start sucking the contents out.
Lincoln glances back to find Ester has stopped and is cringing
away from the tentacled monster. He returns to her, his eyes
flicking around, aware that their real predators are close-
LINCOLN
We have to keep going.
He takes Ester's hand, drawing her onward. But Ester recoils,
shaking off his grip. Now he looks at her more closely. She's
panting, shuddering, fraught with trauma. Her voice is haunted-
80.
ESTER
P l e a s e . . . Please, I want to go back...
She shrinks into the shadows, shaking her head. The hatchling
wanting to return to the nest. Lincoln meets her eye, deeply-
LINCOLN
T h o s e men - that's what they want too.
Ester holds his gaze, chest heaving. Then looks back towards the
alley mouth. Her fingers reach for her belly, clawing a little.
Then her eyes lower, assimilating, reason reasserting its heavy
grip. Lincoln senses her turmoil. His voice is soft but sturdy-
LINCOLN
We have to keep going, Ester.
Ester looks up at him again. The forlorn air seems to have faded.
Her eyes, grimly set. Her face, a little haggard. Older somehow.
She takes Lincoln's hand and together they head off up the alley.
116 EXT . ALLEY - MOMENTS LATER
The alley mouth darkens as a vehicle turns off the street. The
grey cutter moves through the shadows, prowling and shark-like.
117 INT . CUTTER - DRIVING
The drone of resistors. The throbbing glow of the drive console,
a panoply of instrumentation. Burdon steers in silence, Diggs
beside him, edgy, intent, combing the shadows for their quarry.
DIGGS
S u n n a v a b i t c h ! What the fuck d o we do
now, huh? They could be anywhere...
BURDON
We go back to the office and run `em.
DIGGS
A s what? John and Jane Doe?
BURDON
We ask the guy.
DIGGS
Y e a h , let's tell him we couldn't hack
it in kindergarten. See how long him
and his ten platinum stick around.
He fires a barbed look. Burdon absorbs this, unflinched, thinking-
81.
BURDON
I t was blue, right?
DIGGS
What?
BURDON
The y were using a blue currency card.
118 EXT . STREET - DAY
Lincoln and Ester walk up the street. Wary of attention, they go
with the flow of figures, eyes peeled for predators. The sights
of the city now seem hostile. Faces flash past, dead-eyed in sun-
g l a s s e s . Traffic rushes like steel rapids. Storefronts construct
a black wall. Holoframe b i l l b o a r d s loom, mocking, half-noticed:
- - A woman in a bathroom, adjusting her sexy neglige; a crack in
the door shows a man in bed, waiting; the woman closes the door
and picks up what looks like a toothpaste tube; she arches her
eyebrow; "F.I.G. F e m i n i n e Impulse Gel... Because who needs him?"
- - A cemetery under a grim overcast sky; suddenly a frisbee flies
across frame; an old woman, dressed like a teenager, catches it;
she tosses it to an old man dressed likewise; a text super "Death
Sucks!", a sting, "New Gaza Healthcare: Your Life Is Our Life."
Lincoln and Ester stop at the corner. They look around, blindly,
no coordinates, no frame of reference. Urban canyons, identical,
gordian a n d chasmic. P a s s i n g figures jostle. Then Lincoln spots
something across the street. It looks like an over-sized phone
booth. Its beacon flashes; "C.I.N. - CITY INFORMATION NETWORK."
119 INT . CIN BOOTH - DAY
A flourish of music greets Lincoln and Ester as they enter. The
fanfare conjures a holoform i n mid-air. A cartoon rattlesnake,
benignly rendered, welcomes them with a clownish, fanged smile:
THE SNAKE
H i there! I'm Tattletail! What e v e r you
want to know, wherever you want to go, I
got the answers! Let's look at the menu!
A set of text frames appear: "Residential Listings", "Business
Listings", "Transport Listings", "Hotel Listings". Lincoln
assimilates. The terminologies are not unfamiliar.
THE SNAKE (CONT'D)
N o w let's make a selection!
82.
LINCOLN
( b e a t , venturing)
Transport...
THE SNAKE
O k a y ! Let me open that directory for
you! I'll be with you in two shakes!
The snake rattles accordingly and coils in a holding pattern.
Then a tomographic map of the city appears. A red dot plants
itself under a text flag "You Are Here!". Then other red dots
scatter across the map, each flagging with transportation icons.
120 INT. CUTTER - STREETS - DRIVING - DAY
B u r d o n steers calmly, scanning the streets. Diggs impatiently
bashes the keys of a holocom on the drive console. A holoframe
hovers, snowed with static. Then a secretary's face appears -
sagging, older, primped and painted young. Her name is JANEEN-
J A N E E N (ON HOLOCOM)
D i g g s & Burdon Bond Agency.
DIGGS
J a n e e n , where the fuck have you been?
J A N E E N (ON HOLOCOM)
B e a u t y therapy. I got a date tonight.
DIGGS
O h , Jesus... Listen, I want you to
punch into the currency stream for me.
Sweep for blue card transactions.
J A N E E N (ON HOLOCOM)
You're kidding me, right? You have any
idea how long that's going to take?
DIGGS
I want serial numbers, batched a n d
cross-referenced. Start from Union
Station and work your way out...
B e f o r e he can object he taps a key. The holoframe blinks out.
121 EXT . BUS STATION - LATE AFTERNOON
A surging sound. A surface of water. A burst of spray. A dolphin
leaps from the waves and hangs suspended. Text scrolls around:
"Get Out Of State & Out Of Mind - Ride the Grey Dolphin Line!"
This is the next incarnation of the greyhound. The blue facade,
crested into waves. We make out Lincoln and Ester, now looking
more like transients than tourists, dirty, worn and exhausted.
83.
122 INT. CONCOURSE - BUS STATION
Low roof. Flat lighting. The faces here seem less threatening,
the young and the low-income. Lincoln and Ester look around. Not
unlike the train terminal. People standing in line, transacting.
123 INT . TICKET WINDOW
Lincoln and Ester step up to the ticket window. A TICKET CLERK -
male, immaculately groomed - greets them with a polished smile.
T I C K E T CLERK
We l c o m e to Grey Dolphin Bus Lines.
What is your destination, please?
Lincoln squints at him. Then wafts his hand across the counter.
The ticket clerk flinches at the impact. Then composes himself.
A trace of camp as he smiles bashfully at the rugged customer-
T I C K E T CLERK
I t ' s okay. Really. I get that a lot.
I'm sorry, now where were we again?
LINCOLN
I want to get out of state. Now.
T I C K E T CLERK
B e l i e v e me, I know how you feel. So
where did you want to go exactly?
LINCOLN
O u t of state...
T I C K E T CLERK
J u s t wherever the wind takes you, huh?
LINCOLN
Where's that?
T I C K E T CLERK
We l l , if it was me, out to the west
coast. It's perfect this time of year.
Lincoln nods, liking the sound of this. The ticket clerk smiles,
enjoying the acceptance of his suggestion, he ventures hopefully-
T I C K E T CLERK
T r a v e l l i n g alone, are we?
LINCOLN
N o . With her.
He gestures, then realizes Ester is gone from his side again.
84.
He scans the faces. The clerk, disappointed, taps some keys.
T I C K E T COLLECTOR
T w o adults, let me see... I'm afraid I
can't get you seats till the morning.
124 INT . FOOD SERVICE AREA - BUS STATION
A grill bar. A rank of vending machines. Ester moves through the
seating area as if drawn. Now over the ambient noise, we isolate
the cry of a baby. Ester is following the sound to its source.
She finds a Mexican woman shushing her infant. The woman looks
up and smiles. Ester just stands there, awe-struck. Lincoln now
comes up to reclaim her. He's about to ask why she wandered off
when she turns to him. He sees her eyes are brimming with tears.
Tears of joy and sorrow. It's the first time she's seen a baby.
125 EXT . STREET - DUSK
The winged pig flutters over the doors of "Hog Heaven". The
milling customers are suddenly parted by Diggs, bursting out
through the doors. He leaps into the grey cutter, parked
kerbside. I t peels out with a flash of its halogen eyes.
126 INT . CUTTER - DRIVING - DUSK
B u r d o n steers, glancing inquisitively at his partner. Diggs taps
the holocom, urgently, galvanized. The holoframe resolves snowed
with static. Janeen's face appears. Less primped, disgruntled-
J A N E E N (ON HOLOCOM)
D i g g s & Burdon Bond Agency.
DIGGS
We got a positive on the serial number.
Punch in and pull up the transactions.
Start with the last hour and work back.
JANEEN
G r e a t . So I got to park my ass in
front of a screen all night?
DIGGS
I t ' s a platinum bond, Janeen. We get
this, I'll buy you a new ass, okay?
He grins at Burdon. The thrill of the chase glows in his eyes.
127 INT . WAITING AREA - BUS STATION - NIGHT
A blue glass partition wall looks out onto the depot. More like
a marina with an embarcadero a n d a row of docks. "Liners" slot
in and out, their nautical trim making them seem like ferries.
85.
Lincoln and Ester sit waiting. Lincoln, rigid, watchful. Ester,
gazing across at the Mexican woman, who as the infant cradled
asleep. Ester glances wistfully at Lincoln. Then she frowns-
ESTER
Lincoln , what is that? On your face?
Lincoln turns, touching his face. He feels stubble there. For
the first time. His body is naturalizing but it feels unnatural
to him. Ester reaches out and runs her fingers across his cheek.
Lincoln stiffens a little, unused to this type of contact. But
her touch is gentle and the contact is warming. Their eyes
slowly meet, flickering, something passing between them. Then
Ester's face contorts slightly. She emits a shallow cough.
LINCOLN
A r e you alright?
Ester clears her throat. But another cough follows.
ESTER
M y throat... it feels dry...
LINCOLN
O k a y . . . I'll get you some water.
128 INT . FOOD SERVICE AREA - NIGHT
E m p t y . The grill bar is closed. Only the vending machines are
active. Lincoln considers them. Not unlike those he used to
know. He finds one that offers water bottles. The sign reads
"Arctic Melt". He pulls out his blue card and looks for the
slot. Then pauses, picking up his reflection in the glass. He
examines the shadowy growth on his face. Then he notices his
eyes. They seem to be darkening. The pupils, welling open. Then
he feels it. The sense of danger, surging up like a geyser.
129 INT . DEPARTURE AREA
Ester sits waiting, anxious now, coughing persistently. Hearing
footfalls, she looks round. But the face that greets her is not
Lincoln. It's the pale man, the one who chased them. Before she
can react, he forcefully pulls her upright, tapping his earpiece-
D I G G S (ON RADIO)
P i e c e of cake, Burdie. J a n e Doe's in
the bag. Keep an eye out for John-Boy.
Ester looks around in panic. Faces turn but none of them are
Lincoln's. Diggs confronts the spectators, flashing a badge -
DIGGS
Bond recovery... state license.
86.
He marches his female quarry towards the exit. Now she starts to
struggle and he jerks her back, slapping a cuff onto her wrist-
DIGGS
Play nice, little girl. Now you want
to tell me where your boyfriend is?
LINCOLN (O.S.)
Behind you.
DIGGS
What?
- T H U D - LINCOLN HAMMERS HIS FIST into the pale man as he turns -
dropping him, flat-on-his-ass - pulling Ester away from him -
D I G G S JERKS OUT THE RAINMAKER - quick to his feet - more insulted
than hurt - targeting his quarry - who suddenly duck down as--
- B O O M - DIGGS FIRES - A WOMAN SCREAMS - the Mexican woman - her
face, peppered with tranquilizer core - her baby starts crying--
Ester FROZEN - horrified by the screaming woman - the bloody,
slack grimace - the baby bawling - Lincoln dragging her down-
- B O O M - THE BLAST OF THE THUNDERBOLT - Burdon positioned behind
them - narrowly missing his target - hitting the partition wall -
- C R A S H - THE PARTITION WALL EXPLODES in a blinding electrical
discharge - shattering into a sudden TEMPEST OF GLASS SHARDS -
LINCOLN AND ESTER SPIN ROUND to see the pale man retargeting -
the dark giant reloading - exit blocked, they lunge towards --
T H E PARTITION WALL - kicking through the hole in the glass -
Ester's last glimpse of the screaming woman - the howling baby -
130 EXT . BUS DEPOT - NIGHT
LINCOLN AND ESTER LEAP OUT onto the embarcadero - running -
faces blur past - liners flash by with glaring halogens--
D I G G S LEAPS OUT AFTER THEM - rainmaker poised - the embarcadero
g l u t t e d with passengers - he can't get a bead on his quarry--
LINCOLN AND ESTER VAULTING over the scattered luggage - the
crowd thinning - the canopy opening onto the street beyond--
D I G G S RIGHT ON THEIR TAIL - people screaming, parting as they
see his weapon - the firing line clearing - he levels aim and--
M E T R O PD OFFICER (O.S.)
M e t r o PD! Drop it!
87.
DIGGS
I'm a bond agent!
M E T R O PD OFFICER
I said drop the fucking w e a p o n !
D i g g s sees his quarry now escaping. With a scowl, he complies.
He laces his fingers, tapping his earpiece in the process-
D I G G S (INTO RADIO)
N o r t h b o u n d on Third. Get `em, Burdie -
and take off the fucking g l o v e s . . .
C U T TO:
131 EXT . STREET - NIGHT
T H E GREY CUTTER VEERS ROUND A CORNER - Burdon at the wheel - his
quarry visible ahead - he jams the throttle - revs rising -
LINCOLN AND ESTER SPRINT UP THE SIDEWALK - disorientation - the
sudden diaspora o f lights and darkness - the sharp acoustics -
T R A F F I C SWERVING - CLAXONS B L A R I N G - the cutter hurtling up the
street, relentlessly - its halogen eyes, burning, growing -
LINCOLN AND ESTER RACING FOR THE END OF THE BLOCK - towards a
pedestrian bridge - trying to outpace the cutter -
T H E GREY CUTTER CLOSING - Burdon punching a button - the side
window slides open - he levels his thunderbolt, angling a shot-
LINCOLN AND ESTER VEER LEFT - up onto the pedestrian bridge -
rising above the traffic - claxons b l a r i n g beneath as --
T H E GREY CUTTER PLOUGHS INTO THE INTERSECTION - banking into a u-
t u r n - vehicles braking to avoid collision - LIGHTS, CLAXONS -
LINCOLN AND ESTER - turmoil raging behind them - a glimpse of
the cutter regaining pursuit - Lincoln sees an opening ahead--
132 EXT . ALLEY - NIGHT
LINCOLN PULLS ESTER INTO THE SHADOWS - the sidewalk narrowing -
they run onward, glancing off dumpsters - DULL BOOMS OF METAL -
A FLOOD OF HALOGENS - the cutter banking sharply into the alley -
pouring on the speed - the quarry trapped in its headlights--
LINCOLN AND ESTER - nowhere to run - THE LIGHTS GROWING - THE
RISING DRONE OF RESISTORS - Lincoln sees another opening --
88.
133 EXT. PEDESTRIAN ALLEY - NIGHT
LINCOLN PULLS ESTER INTO THE DARKNESS - a narrow access, barely
lit, hard to see - a sudden dead-end - they SLAM INTO A BARRIER--
A CHAINLINK F E N C E - the links shuddering - Lincoln looks up and
sees it's scalable - claws into the links - STARTS CLIMBING-
Ester TRYING TO CLIMB - rattled by coughing - fighting to
breathe - her limbs shaking - her muscles failing - then--
- B O O M - A BLINDING ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE - SUDDENLY THE FENCE IS
ALIVE WITH ELECTRICITY - BURNING FINGERS JITTER ACROSS THE LINKS-
LINCOLN AT THE TOP OF THE FENCE - jolted by the sudden shock -
muscles in reflex - falling - landing the far side of the fence--
Ester STILL CLIMBING - the jolt instantly toppling her back -
landing the near side of the fence - more rattled than hurt --
B U R D O N RUNNING TOWARDS THEM - thunderbolt smoking from the shot-
LINCOLN ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE FENCE - recovering from the fall--
Ester ON THE NEAR SIDE OF THE FENCE - cowering, coughing -
B U R D O N JERKS HER UP BY THE HAIR - like a rapacious viking - he
looks through the fence at Lincoln - sniffing her, almost bestial-
BURDON
G o ahead. I'll look after her.
LINCOLN ' S EYES FLICKERING DARKLY - jaw clenching - the sense of
danger urging him to run - but Ester is in the giant's grips -
Ester CLAWING TO BREAK FREE - coughing, rasping - her fingers
snag on the giant's arm-brace - TUGGING WITH ALL HER STRENGTH--
B U R D O N YOWLING AT THE SUDDEN PAIN - lashing out - flinging Ester
into the fence - dropping the thunderbolt - CLUTCHING HIS ARM--
LINCOLN LEAPING ONTO THE FENCE - scrambling up the link - the
dark giant momentarily off-guard - HE VAULTS OVER THE TOP --
- T H U D - BURDON SPINS ROUND - takes the full brunt of Lincoln's
impact - overbalancing - THEY CRASH TO THE GROUND -
LINCOLN STRUGGLES UPRIGHT - winded, but forced to face the dark
giant - who is already on his feet, his mighty fist SWINGING OUT-
- T H U D - LINCOLN TAKES A PUNCH TO THE JAW - recoils, reciprocates
throwing a left hook - hitting hard but the giant barely flinches-
89.
-THUD-THUD- BURDON POUNDS INTO HIM - a storm of punches - his
quarry, ducking and blocking - now backed up against the fence--
Ester RETRIEVING THE THUNDERBOLT - trying to work the mechanism -
coughing - hands shaking - accidentally touching the trigger -
- B O O M - THE SHOT BLASTS INTO THE AIR - enough of a distraction
for Lincoln - he lands the giant with A BONE-JARRING LEFT HOOK-
B U R D O N KEELS OVER INTO THE WALL - cracking the back of his head -
his knees buckling - sliding down - just catching sight of--
LINCOLN AND ESTER SCRAMBLING UP OVER THE FENCE - and then the
quarry is lost from sight in A DOWNPOUR OF ELECTRICAL SPARKS.
134 EXT . BACKSTREET - NIGHT
S I R E N S WAILING IN THE DISTANCE. Lincoln and Ester race down the
sidewalk, along a construction hoarding. Ester slows, doubling
over, rasping. Lincoln looks at her, her l i p s , blue, her face,
pale. The sirens, getting louder. He sees a gap in the hoarding-
135 EXT . ENCANTO PARK - NIGHT
Lincoln and Ester emerge through the gap onto a derelict tract.
A once public park, now a construction site. Mounds and craters
of earth. Dim shapes of huge vehicles, like sleeping dragons.
Patches of parkland, as yet untouched. Bowed palms, dead grass,
a stagnant lagoon, a dull mirror for the ascendant moon. On its
shoreline is a dilapidated construct that was once a boathouse.
136 INT . BOATHOUSE - ENCANTO PARK - NIGHT
The refuge of shadow. The collapsed roof allowing streams and
puddles of moonlight. Lincoln helps Ester onto a rotted bench.
She slumps down, exhausted, Lincoln watches her, helplessly.
She's fighting for breath, wheezing and coughing in deep rasps.
ESTER
I can't... I can't breathe... my
throat... it's so... dry...
LINCOLN
I ' l l find you some water.
He looks around blindly. Some junk in the corner. He rummages,
finds a rusted metal box. Pries it open, empties the contents.
Gauzes, band-aids - evidently a first-aid box - then a bottle.
He opens it, sniffs. It smells pungent. Alcohol, not water.
Ester suddenly starts sobbing. Lincoln returns to her side-
LINCOLN
I t ' s going to be okay, Ester.
90.
ESTER
N o . . . no, it isn't...
LINCOLN
I ' l l find you some water, okay?
Ester looks up at him, wheezing, tears streaming from her eyes-
ESTER
An d then what, Lincoln?
LINCOLN
I ' l l find another way. Out of state.
ESTER
An d then what? What if they find us?
LINCOLN
The n we'll keep going.
ESTER
I can't... I can't run anymore...
Ester folds over, sobbing and coughing at the same time. Pitiful
to watch. Lincoln crouches, gaining her eyeline, very deliberate-
LINCOLN
We ' l l keep going till we get there.
Ester traps a sob, reading his eyes, something reviving in her-
ESTER
The Island... You mean, The Island?
Lincoln answers with a brief smile. If this will keep her going
then the truth is redundant. He eases her out of the moment-
LINCOLN
N o w I'm going to get some water. But I
want you to stay here. It'll be safer.
Ester wipes away her tears, sniffing. Her breaths, calming.
ESTER
Don't go yet. Stay with me, Lincoln.
Stay with me for a little while.
Lincoln looks puzzled by Ester's request. Even more puzzled as
she rests her head on his shoulder, nestling into his neck. He
feels her against him. The warmth spreading through him again.
His arm reaching, as if of its own accord, closing around her.
I t feels right somehow. And there he stays, holding her, looking
out across the dereliction. And the moon rises over Encanto P a r k .
91.
137 EXT. METRO PD STATION - NIGHT
The holoform l o g o of The Metro PD glows over the threshold.
Diggs exits with a dark glower. The cutter is waiting kerbside.
138 INT . CUTTER - DRIVING - NIGHT
Diggs climbs in an Burdon steers out into traffic. The thrill
o f the chase is gone from them now. Both seem equally grim and
determined. Diggs taps the holocom. A holoframe resolves, snows
with static. Then Janeen's face appears, dishevelled, bitter-
JANEEN (ON HOLOCOM)
What the fuck do you want now?
DIGGS
(very calm, very cold)
Punch into the currency stream, close
the net on downtown and keep the search
active. The next time they use the card,
I want to be right on top of them...
O f f his icy tone, Janeen nods without retort. Diggs hits a key
and her face blinks out. And the cutter prowls into the night.
139 EXT . DOWNTOWN STREET - NIGHT
The winged pig flutters over the doors of "Hog Heaven". Another
franchise on a more downtrodden street. Lincoln emerges with a
bag of food and drink. He considers the blue card. The reservoir,
now close to the bottom, his resources almost exhausted. With a
look of foreboding, he pockets the card and turns the corner.
An d suddenly stops in his tracks. But it's not a vehicle that he
sees. Or a predator. His eyes are fixed on a holoframe billboard:
- - A football player in montage; pummeling into a defensive line;
running for a touchdown; gyrating in the endzone; spinning in an
NFL podium shot, super; "Nobody Stops The Juggernaut!"; a team
logo, super; "Come See The Phoenix Admirals! Rulers of the AFC!"
Lincoln recognizes the player's face but it's not possible. He
waits for the loop to restart. There it is again. The face of
Starkweather Two-Delta. Incredulous, he stops a pedestrian-
LINCOLN
The man, the man up there. Who is he?
PEDESTRIAN
What planet `you been living on?
That's the Juggernaut, brother.
LINCOLN
The juggernaut...
92.
PEDESTRIAN
Jamil "The Juggernaut" Starkweather -
highest rushing total in the league.
`Least till that injury blew out his
gut. Now the doctors are saying he'll
be back on his feet next season. Those
fuckers sure can work miracles, huh?
Lincoln doesn't respond. The pedestrian shrugs and heads on,
writing him off. Lincoln lingers, staring up at the billboard.
140 INT . CIN BOOTH - NIGHT
The flourish of music greets Lincoln as he enters. The cartoon
rattlesnake appears and smiles his clownish, fanged smile:
THE SNAKE
Hi there! I'm Tattletail! What e v e r you
want to know, wherever you want to go, I
got the answers! Let's look at the menu!
The set of text frames appears: "Residential Listings", "Business
Listings", "Transport Listings", "Hotel Listings".
THE SNAKE
N o w let's make a selection!
A heavy pause. Lincoln's voice comes with a slight tremor.
LINCOLN
Residential...
THE SNAKE
Please give me the name.
LINCOLN
Starkweather...
THE SNAKE
Okay! Let me find that listing for
you! I'll be with you in two shakes!
The snake rattles and coils. Then a headshot a p p e a r s with the
face of Jamil Starkweather , scaled across with a red line.
THE SNAKE
Starkweather , Jamil... I'm sorry! This
listing is blocked from the directory!
Lincoln stands, darkly intent on the face. Now irrefutably the
same face he saw in his life below. The snake shakes its rattle-
93.
THE SNAKE
You want me to find another listing?
Lincoln looks at the snake, flicking its tongue, coiling.
F A D E TO BLACK.
141 EXT . DOWNTOWN STREET - MORNING
A downtrodden neighborhood. The buildings look like remnants from
our own era. A scruffy man slouches up to a gated storefront. He
slots a key into a lock panel and the gate rolls up, squealing.
We widen to a vehicle parked kerbside. A familiar grey cutter.
142 INT . STORE - MORNING
L i g h t s flicker on to disclose a gunshop. The array of firearms
a s fathomless as their purpose. The scruffy gunshop o w n e r slouches
inside. Diggs and Burdon enter on his heels. He yawns at them-
G U N S H O P OWNER
We ain't open for another hour.
DIGGS
Y e a h , well we ain't in the market.
G U N S H O P OWNER
E v e r y o n e ' s in the market, pal. One end
of the barrel or the other...
DIGGS
We ' r e chasing up a currency record from
last night. These two ring a bell?
D i g g s displays two digital slides. The owner pauses, suspicious.
G U N S H O P OWNER
What are you? Cops? Lawyers?
D i g g s answers by jerking out the rainmaker. The twin barrels
aimed at his head, the gunshop o w n e r loses his cool a little-
G U N S H O P OWNER
H i m , I remember... Came in just before
closing... wanted a shooter but didn't
have no ID... settled for one of these.
He displays a HUNTING KNIFE, unsheathing it, showing the blade.
DIGGS
Did he give you a name?
G U N S H O P OWNER
No.
94.
DIGGS
Did he say where he was going?
G U N S H O P OWNER
No.
D i g g s cocks the hammer. The owner flinches. Then, off the knife-
G U N S H O P OWNER
The r e was one thing. Kinda w e i r d .
He wanted to know how to use it...
143 EXT . APARTMENT BUILDING - MORNING
An apartment building towers overhead, vaguely ominous. Lincoln
approaches the entrance with Ester. We now see he has a band-aid
covering his crosshatch. He takes Ester briefly aside, teasing
some tresses over hers. As she gently smooths down her hair,
Ester catches his eye. A look flickers between them. Then-
D O O R M A N (O.S.)
Fancy dress, was it, sir?
A DOORMAN is looking at them like they just rolled out of a club
he wouldn't be seen dead in. Off their flustered looks, he gives
an apologetic smile. Then opens the door and holds it for them.
Lincoln reaches for Ester's hand. Then stiffly leads her inside.
144 INT . CORRIDOR - AN UPPER FLOOR - DAY
The doors are set with small glowing orbs at peephole level. Like
eyeballs, watching, as Lincoln and Ester proceed up the corridor.
They stop at a door. Lincoln checks the number. Pauses heavily.
Then looks for some type of doorbell. As his eyes cross the orb,
it seems to blink. Then comes a sound of disengaging locks. Then
the door swings open. Lincoln flinches, taken by surprise. Then
frowns as he sees there is no one on the other side of the door.
145 INT . APARTMENT - DAY
Lincoln enters, wary, scanning around. A living room. Framed
pictures. A sofa, chairs. A coffee table, empty bottles,
cigarette packs, a full ashtray. A bureau, some paperwork.
Silence, stillness. No sign of life, no sense of danger. Lincoln
moves across to the bureau and starts leafing through the
papers. Ester ventures in through the door, curious-
ESTER
What are you looking for?
LINCOLN
I don't know. Something. Just wait
there and make sure nobody's coming.
95.
As he leafs the papers, Ester waits dutifully by the door. Her
eyes wander across the framed pictures. Then narrow onto a 3D
p h o t o g r a p h . A college boxing team photo, grinning cup winners.
ESTER
L o o k at this...
Lincoln returns to her. Ester points to the photo. A face in the
row, blurred but eerily familiar. Lincoln seems not to react.
Ester, curiosity piqued, scans the other pictures. She alights
on a framed certificate - "Thomas R. Lincoln, Attorney-at-Law".
A MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
What the hell are you doing?
Lincoln turns to confront A MAN in a robe. Disheveled from sleep,
grey from a hangover... the man's face is unmistakably his own.
This is TOM LINCOLN, sponsor of Lincoln Six-Echo, his bleary
eyes now widening in disbelief as he recognizes his agnate-
TOM
Oh, Jesus...
Lincoln is better prepared for this encounter but still stunned
by the sight of his double in the flesh. Sponsor and agnate stand
frozen. The only movement is Ester, her eyes flicking between
the same men, fraught, confused. Lincoln breaks the silence-
LINCOLN
Who are you?
Lincoln steps closer, eyes piercing. Tom takes a step back.
TOM
The y said... I'd never have to see you.
LINCOLN
Who?
Lincoln takes another step closer. Tom takes another step back.
TOM
The people...
LINCOLN
What people?
Lincoln takes another step closer. Tom stiffens, gathers himself-
TOM
Look, if you don't get out of here
right now, I'm calling security...
96.
Lincoln examines him, assimilating. His double seems to be as
belligerent as he is. Reasoning now, threat response kicking in.
Lincoln draws the hunting knife. Unused to it, he points it like
a gun. But it's enough of a threat for Tom, who swallows dryly-
TOM
Why are you here? What do you want?
LINCOLN
I want to know...
Tom grimaces at the ambiguity. That face. His f a c e . If not for
the pounding headache this would be a bad dream. He lowers onto
the sofa. Finds a cigarette and lights up. A drag, mind kicking
in. The knife cautioning him. With a slow exhale, he confesses-
TOM
One of the partners at my firm... he
told me about it. Gave me a referral.
I thought he was joking at first. I
went out there, took the sales tour.
Even before that I knew it wasn't a
joke. There was this discretion agree-
ment. I never saw anything like it and
I've seen a lot. Ironclad... breathe a
word and they've got you by the balls.
I don't know... There's cancer in my
family. Maybe it was just to keep up.
All the partners were on the policy.
LINCOLN
The policy?
He looks at his agnate. Then realizes the level of ignorance.
TOM
Christ, you have no idea, do you?
LINCOLN
About what?
Tom drags his cigarette, fingers trembling. He shakes his head-
TOM
I can't fucking do this...
LINCOLN
What are you talking about?
Lincoln moves closer, pointing the knife. Tom flinches, then-
TOM
Insurance. You're an insurance policy.
97.
LINCOLN
What is that?
TOM
Health insurance... medical...
LINCOLN
What does that mean?
TOM
If I get sick... if part of me gets
sick... I take a healthy part from you.
LINCOLN
Why?
TOM
How do you expect me to answer that?
It's just how it works, that's all.
Tom looks at his agnate. The insistent stare. The knife, pointing
at him like a finger. His fear yields to a flicker of anger-
TOM
What do you want? A fucking apology?
LINCOLN
Why do I look like you?
TOM
Because you are me . . .
LINCOLN
I don't understand.
TOM
Because they made you from my cells...
LINCOLN
Made me?
TOM
( a flare of anger)
That's right. You were made. Cooked up
in a centrifuge like a fucking boiled
egg. Every thought running through your
head, every word coming out of your
mouth, all of it, manufactured, made...
Lincoln frowns, trying to assimilate. Too much to process.
LINCOLN
You . . . you're the one who made me?
98.
TOM
No.
LINCOLN
Who made me?
TOM
I signed a contract. I can show you.
He gestures to a mirror on the wall. Lincoln steps back but his
eyes are unremitting. Tom rises, cautious, crossing to the wall.
He opens the mirror to reveal a wall safe. His trembling fingers
tap the keypad and the safe hisses open. He draws out a contract
folder embossed with a crosshatch. Then offers it to his agnate-
TOM
It's all right there. Who, why...
Lincoln takes the contract folder and starts flipping the pages,
reading. A pendulous silence falls. Tom stands watching, smoking
nervously. Ester stands by the door, trying to take all this in.
TOM
Look you've got what you wanted. Now
why don't you just get out of here?
LINCOLN
(pause, looks at him)
There are men out there, looking for
us. I want you to make them stop.
TOM
I can't...
Lincoln sets down the contract and brings up the knife again.
TOM
I can't. Look, I'm a lawyer, I know how
it works. The contract, everything, it's
all laced with confidentiality clauses.
It means they don't want this to get
out. It means whatever I do, they're
not going to stop. You understand?
Lincoln pauses, assimilating. His double's expression indicates
that he's telling the truth. Maybe try a more practical request-
LINCOLN
Do you have transport?
TOM
Transport , yes... yes, parked
downstairs... Bay 53... Take it...
99.
LINCOLN
And then you'll call security?
Lincoln steps closer, pointing the knife. Tom tries to stay dead-
pan. The lawyer kicking in. Look them in the eye when you lie-
TOM
I'm not going to call security. I'm
not going to call anybody, okay?
Lincoln looks at his double, reason now yielding to anger. Deep,
roiling. Tom looks at his agnate, fear welling, deadpan cracking-
TOM
Look, maybe there's something... maybe
there's a way to cancel the contract...
Lincoln presses the tip of the blade to his double's cheek.
TOM
For Christ's sake! It's not my fault!
Lincoln inches the blade deeper into the trembling face, drawing
blood. The anger urging, hungry for more blood. Then suddenly-
ESTER
Lincoln ! No!
Lincoln looks at her, the anger interrupted, the knife still in
place. He pauses. Then returns to his double. The dreading eyes,
the trickle of blood down the face. His e y e s . His f a c e . A long,
foreboding moment. Then suddenly Lincoln lashes out. His fist
sends his double flying, falling in a flurry of contract pages.
Lincoln stands over him, looking down, like a dominant species.
His double is unmoving, unconscious. Lincoln abruptly spins away.
146 INT . ELEVATOR - DESCENDING
The light panel flashes. Lincoln stands grimly, head lowered,
trying to fathom the anger roiling within. Ester stares at him,
wanly. Both held in the dark tableau. And the elevator descends.
147 INT . UNDERGROUND PARKING LOT - DAY
The vehicle parked in bay 53 is a hybrid of sportscar a n d speed-
b o a t , a two-seater known as a "skiff". Lincoln and Ester climb
in. Lincoln reviews the drive console, the controls, all of it,
meaningless. His eyes cross an orb set in the steering wheel.
The orb seems to blink and suddenly the drive console lights up.
Lincoln reviews it. A screen in front of him is flashing:
"PILOTING: MANUAL/AUTO?". He assimilates. Then ventures-
100.
LINCOLN
Auto...
The interface processes, then asks: "DESTINATION: NAME/ADDRESS?"
LINCOLN
O u t of state... West...
The interface processes, then reports "UNDOCKING". Lincoln and
Ester jolt as the skiff shunts forward. Lode-poles pulsing ahead
of them, the skiff moves out, as if pulled by a phantom tugboat.
148 EXT . STREET - DAY
The skiff buckets off the ramp into a street inlet. Then stops
rocking a little. The interface reports: "ESTABLISHING UPLINK".
On another screen, a road map appears. A red dot plants at their
point of origin then bleeds into a red line, plotting a course.
The autopilot scans for traffic, then nudges forward on the
throttle. The resistors drone, the steering wheel turns and the
skiff noses onto the street. Finding its lane, it drops to
cruise speed. Lincoln studies the interplay of steering wheel,
throttle and brake. Then glances at Ester. She's plunged in
thought, staring off. She turns to him with a haggard frown-
ESTER
The man back there... who looked like
you... does it mean I have someone too?
Lincoln looks at her blankly, unknowing. Ester stares off again,
her brow knotting with unanswered questions. But Lincoln's gaze
lingers. Her pale skin, her limpid eyes, her hair fluttering in
the breeze. It's the first time he's really seen Ester's beauty.
149 EXT . PHOENIX SKYLINE - DAY
The domes and spires glint in the sunlight. We isolate a glass
steeple. A crosshatch insignia. A legend "Sanger Industries".
150 INT . CROWNE'S OFFICE - SANGER INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
A corner office with a panoramic view of the city. Crowne sits
at a console desk, reviewing some data on a holoframe screen. A
knock on the door and HER SECRETARY enters, looking unsettled-
SECRETARY
I just thought I should warn you. I
have a sponsor holding. His name's
Thomas Lincoln. He sounded... angry.
101.
151 EXT. STREET TUNNEL - DAY
The skiff plunges into the shadow of an underpass. The interface
flashes: "UPLINK INTERRUPT... AUTOPILOT DISENGAGING". Lincoln
sits up, confused. The skiff is now slowing, drifting as if cut
loose. He studies the controls again. Positions one hand on the
steering wheel, the other on the throttle. Then he nudges it.
The skiff lurches, veering out of its lane. Another vehicle zips
narrowly past, rocking them with its invisible backwash. Ester
looks at Lincoln, suddenly alarmed. Lincoln tries again, firm on
the wheel, gentle on the throttle. And the skiff eases forward.
152 EXT . MOTEL - DOWNTOWN PHOENIX - LATE AFTERNOON
D i s m a l . The kind of place that precedes a life on the street. We
push in on a window, cracked glass, the drapes closed within.
153 INT . MOTEL ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON
G l o o m y , musty. A "holovision" plays some type of NFL recap. But
Scheer is not watching it. He is lying on the bed, staring at
the ceiling, motionless. Off a beeping sound, he stirs. He taps
a holocom on the nightstand. A holoframe appears, resolving:
Merrick (ON HOLOCOM)
K a r l , there's been a complication.
154 EXT . INTERSTATE - SUNSET
The sunset melts gold across the horizon as the skiff cruises
westward. Eight lanes of lodeway rake through the salt flats.
Lincoln is driving more confidently now. Ester is huddled asleep
beside him. Suddenly the skiff starts to slow again. Lincoln
reviews the controls. Throttle, forward, foot, off the brake.
The interface flashes: "REMOTE LOCKDOWN E N G A G I N G " . The skiff is
steering itself onto the hard shoulder. It now pulls to a dead
halt. Ester is woken by the sudden inertia. She opens her eyes
and looks around. They've stopped in the middle of nowhere.
155 EXT . THE SALT FLATS - SUNSET
The sun sinks in a slow pink haze. Lincoln and Ester walk across
the salt flats. Visible in the distance is a walled settlement.
156 EXT . THE HERITAGE PARK - SUNSET
An adobe wall culminates at an arched wooden gateway. Lincoln
and Ester approach. They haven't walked far but Ester is already
short of breath. As they near the gateway a holoserve appears,
like a sentry - Native American, buckskins, feathered headdress
and facepaint. His voice seems as old as the wind-
102.
THE INDIAN HOLOGRAM
Welcome to Salt River Heritage Park,
home to the Hohokam Nation for over two
thousand years. The park is now closed.
Please come back during opening hours,
9am t o 5pm, Monday through Saturday...
Ester steps closer. With the sun hazing through, the holoserve
s e e m s angelic or ghostly. She's examining his striped facepaint-
ESTER
He has marks on his face like us.
She turns to Lincoln with a flowering smile. Then rushes up to
the gateway, suddenly galvanized, squeezing through a gap.
157 EXT . THE HERITAGE PARK - SUNSET
A ring of Native American pueblos. Pithouses a n d coursed adobes,
recreations and preserved ruins. Ester rushes around the ring,
looking into the pueblos as if expecting to find them inhabited.
She ducks into one of the pithouses. Lincoln follows her inside.
158 INT . PITHOUSE - SUNSET
The mud walls show a skeleton of saguaro ribs, cholla branches.
It's cosy in here, dim. The living area, recreated with mats and
pottery. Lincoln finds Ester looking around, between excitement
and confusion. She turns to him, her voice wavering, wheezing-
ESTER
Is this... is this place The Island?
Lincoln answers with a softly negating look. Ester's face slowly
falls, the energy draining from her eyes. She lowers onto one of
the mats and lies down, huddling. She looks up to him, wheezing-
ESTER
I'm tired. Let me rest for a while.
159 EXT . PITHOUSE - NIGHT
Silence prevails but for the faint rattle of Ester's breathing.
Lincoln sits on low stool, in sentinel over her as she sleeps.
In his eyes, we see the weight of foreboding. He doesn't know
what they'll do when she wakes. Of a moaning sound he looks at
Ester. Then realizes it isn't coming from her. The sound is far
off, a rhythmic moaning. Now discernible as the chant of voices.
160 EXT . THE PLATFORM MOUND - NIGHT
A blazing fire. Figures in silhouette, moving around, chanting.
103.
The platform mound is situated just beyond the heritage park. An
ancient ceremonial site, stepped in ruins, dusted with caliche.
Pima and Maricopa, descendants of the Hohokam, are congregated
for a solstice ceremony. Off to the side, a group of horses are
tethered, shuffling, snorting. Lincoln approaches, cautiously,
but somehow like a moth to the flame. He stops at a distance,
watching. The curiosity of congruent sound and movement.
VOICE (O.S.)
You look a little lost, my friend.
Lincoln turns to a figure emerging from the night. A tall man -
swarthy skin, mist-colored eyes. His tribal name is GREY DOVE-
GREY DOVE (cont'd)
Or did you come here for a reason?
Lincoln examines the tall man. The face seems as deep and gentle
as the voice. His sense of danger, unstirring, he concedes-
LINCOLN
I was looking for water.
GREY DOVE
Not the best place to look.
LINCOLN
My transport... it stopped working.
GREY DOVE
I see. And where were you going?
LINCOLN
Out of state...
Lincoln sighs, the destination seeming very far away. Grey Dove
considers him. This bruised, weary outsider is somehow childlike.
161 EXT . THE CEREMONY - LATER
The fire blazes across the face of a shaman. Old, gnarled, and
dry as the salt flats. With a sacred mutter, he slips a peyote
button onto his tongue. Then flings back his head, casting his
eyes to the stars. When he lowers his head again, we see his
pupils dilating. He rises, chanting, moving in ceremonial steps
around the fire. Tribespeople s i t in a ring, joining the chant.
Beyond the ring, others are dining at a roasting pit. Roast
rabbit. Cornflour bread. The food is as it might been two
thousand years ago. Only the sight of plastic water gallons
breaks the illusion. Lincoln stands apart with Grey Dove, eating
ravenously, gulping from a water gallon. He looks around-
104.
LINCOLN
What is this place?
GREY DOVE
It is a sacred place. My people come
here to commune with their spirits.
Lincoln looks at him, puzzled. Grey Dove smiles tolerantly.
GREY DOVE
Not easy to understand perhaps. For us,
the spirit is like the shadow on the
rock. Sometimes close, sometimes far
away, sometimes the sky clouds and the
shadow fades. We come here to ask our
spirits to return to us. The man...
(gestures to the shaman)
He speaks to The Grandfather from whom
all spirits are born. The Great Spirit
who binds every living thing. He has no
name. But he is everywhere. In the sun
and the moon, the wind and the rain...
The shaman's chanting grows louder, more insistent. His circuit
around the fire becoming faster, building in religious fervor.
GREY DOVE
Now he asks for the gift of vision that
he may see through to the spirit shape
of things. To find the spirits of the
lost. To bring them into the light...
The shaman's chanting suddenly stops. He is looking directly at
Lincoln, pointing. His face, contorting with what might be anger
or fear. He starts babbling in dialect, ardently. Lincoln frowns
in confusion. Grey Dove quietly draws him away from the mound.
162 INT . PITHOUSE - NIGHT - LATER
Ester stirs from slumber. On the ground beside her, she finds a
bowl of food and a water gallon. Now through the gloom, she sees
Lincoln, sitting on the stool like he never left, keeping vigil.
Something seems different about him as he turns, registering her-
LINCOLN
A r e you alright?
ESTER
I feel better after I sleep.
Lincoln nods absently and stares off out of the doorway. Ester
moves closer, sensing something. He speaks as if from far away-
105.
LINCOLN
The man out there... he said
everything has a spirit... every
living thing... but not...
His voice cuts off. Ester looks at him, recognizing his pain.
She doesn't understand what it is or what caused it. It's pain
and it evokes a response in her. A feeling, taking her over. Her
hand reaches out and strokes his hair. Lincoln looks up at her,
questioning. With supreme knowing, Ester leans down and kisses
him. At the touch of her lips, Lincoln pauses. The first kiss
for both of them but Ester takes it in her stride. The calm
ballet of nature. Fluidly peeling off her shirt, breasts
steeping with moonlight. Lincoln rising to face her, feeling her
proximity, her radiant heat. His fingers touching her breasts.
Ester trembling, her lips once more finding his. Lincoln closing
his eyes, the rush of sensation, overwhelming. He yields to it,
returning the kiss, with hunger, with passion... with spirit.
163 EXT . THE INTERSTATE - DAWN
The sun rises in the east, depicting the traffic in silhouette.
A vehicle arcs from the fast lane onto the hard shoulder where
the skiff sits abandoned. The grey cutter pulls to a halt.
164 EXT . HARD SHOULDER - DAWN
D i g g s and Burdon move up on the skiff, cover positions, weapons
levelled. Burdon spins in to the driver side, snapping aim with
the thunderbolt. But the skiff is empty. The only sign of life
is the interface, flashing red: "REMOTE LOCATOR TRANSMITTING".
B u r d o n exchanges a look with Diggs. No dice. Diggs reaches in his
pocket and pulls out what looks like an electronic telescope. He
puts it to his eye and pans the salt flats. Burdon crouches at
the roadside, looking for tracks. Then Diggs fixes on something-
DIGGS
I got thermals.
165 EXT . PLATFORM MOUND - SUNRISE
The fire is now reduced to a heap of embers. The tribespeople
a r e asleep around the mound, wrapped in ethnic blankets. Diggs
and Burdon move up stealthily, weapons at the ready. The horses
bristle and snort, betraying their approach. The tribespeople,
stirred by the noise, awake. Diggs and Burdon swing aim around
the ring as faces rise and stare at them. None of the faces have
white skin. Diggs lowers his weapon and addresses the gathering-
DIGGS
I'm looking for two bond runners. They
ditched near here last night.
106.
DIGGS (cont'd)
One man, one woman. Tattoos on the
forehead...
(nothing, just silent stares)
Anyone's seen them, I got fifty green.
(still nothing, aggravated)
What the fuck are you? Deaf and dumb?
The tribal faces just keep staring. Diggs scowls. Then suddenly
swings aim with the rainmaker and fires. -BOOM- hitting one of
the horses in the haunch. It rears up, whinnying, setting off
the rest of the horses. Diggs turns back to the gathering-
DIGGS
Somebody start talking.
He scans around the ring. Then fixes on one of the women. She
lifts a trembling finger to a man nearby. Grey Dove stiffens.
166 EXT . SALT MOUNTAINS - SUNRISE
The sunrise depicts two silhouettes, moving across the ridge.
Lincoln and Ester clamber over the calcified rocks. Ester now
stops to catch her breath. She is wheezing again, fighting for
air. As Lincoln looks on with concern, she musters a brave smile-
ESTER
I can make it.
167 EXT . SALT CANYON - EARLY MORNING
A freight barge whooshes through the canyon, trailing a chain of
low, arched containers, capacious in width rather than height.
The conveyance is similar to a lodeway but wider, deeper, known
as a "lode-canal". At each end of the canyon, it intersects with
other lode-canals, converging to use the same passage, a system
of signals and lockgates controlling the flow of freight traffic.
High above, on the south rim of the canyon, we find Lincoln and
Ester. Ester is no longer wheezing but rasping. She looks down at
the passing vessel, daunted. Lincoln offers her small comfort-
LINCOLN
Don't worry. The one we want goes the
other way. He said it goes slower.
They exchange a smile. The chain of containers tailing off, the
barge leaving the canyon with a blast of its resonant claxon.
168 EXT . THE SOUTH FACE - MORNING
Lincoln and Ester descend the rocky slope toward the lode-canal.
Ester stops, having to catch her breath every few steps. Lincoln
tries to hide his concern, looking away towards the sunrise. The
westbound vessel will be coming soon.
107.
They just need to get out of state... Now he frowns, sensing
something. Faint but growing. His jaw clenches. His face
tightens. His pupils start to dilate.
169 EXT . THE NORTH RIDGE - MORNING
The north ridge is evidently threaded by a lodeway as we see the
grey cutter pulling up. Diggs and Burdon get out and look down
into the canyon. Diggs pulls out his scope and starts panning.
Burdon peels off his jacket. It's early but it's already getting
hot. Diggs now pauses, handing him the scope for his opinion-
DIGGS
Up there in the rocks. Three o'clock.
I'm not sure... it could be ambient.
170 EXT . THE SOUTH FACE - MORNING
Lincoln and Ester hide in the shadow of a rock. Ester is muffling
her breaths as best she can. Lincoln now hazards a look over the
top. Two figures are climbing down the far side of the canyon,
now pointing in their direction. He ducks back, assimilating.
Hiding, no longer an option. Nor running, at least for Ester.
His face sets in a grimace of conviction. His eyes glow darkly.
171 EXT . THE NORTH FACE - MORNING
Diggs and Burdon reach the foot of the rocks. Neither speaks,
communicating in hand-signals. Diggs slips into the lode-canal.
Burdon covers, sweeping the thunderbolt across the south face.
Diggs emerges from the far side of the lode-canal. He stays low,
moving up into the rocks. Then, from above, a rock dislodges,
rattling down. Diggs reacts instantly, targeting, opening fire-
- B O O M - B O O M - The shots from the rainmaker swathe across the rock.
The thunderbolt now adding to the barrage, Burdon firing from
the far side - SHOTS, BOLTS, KICKING UP A STORM OF DUST --
SUDDENLY HOLDING FIRE, waiting for the dust to clear, reloading.
No sign of movement. Just a slide of rubble. Fading echoes.
D I G G S STEALS ONWARDS UP THE ROCKS - into the fog of dust - the
sunlight and shadow playing tricks on his eyes - then suddenly-
LINCOLN BURSTS OUT OF THE DUST - from the left - tackling the
pale man - both of them toppling - tumbling down the slope --
THUDDING TO A HALT at the lip of the lode-canal - the rainmaker
lost in the fall - the impact throwing up a billow of dust --
THE DUSTCLOUD - Diggs and Lincoln struggling, clawing, punching -
Lincoln, with surprise on his side, gaining with the upper hand--
108.
DIGGS' CLAWING FINGERS discover Lincoln's knife - tugging it from
his jacket - Lincoln grabbing his wrist, fighting for control -
THE KNIFE MOVING BETWEEN THEM - Diggs with better leverage - the
blade inching towards Lincoln's face - pressing into his cheek--
LINCOLN'S EYES - welling black, almost inhuman - the sense of
danger screaming in his ears - he grabs the pale man's throat -
DIGGS' EYES - bulging as he strains to push the knife home -
oxygen draining - conscious ebbing - he slumps back -
LINCOLN REGAINS THE KNIFE - the pale man seems to be out cold -
but he's not sure - he pauses holding the blade over him, then--
- B O O M - THE KNIFE FLIES FROM HIS GRIP IN A BURST OF DISCHARGE -
BURDON SNAPS AIM FOR ANOTHER SHOT - beading - his target moving
now - dropping out of the firing line - into the lode-canal--
BURDON INCHES TOWARD THE EDGE - thunderbolt angling downward -
into the trench - then suddenly he's GRABBED BY THE ANKLES -
LINCOLN STRAINING to overbalance the giant - feet up against the
wall - like trying to topple a tree - finally winning some give-
BURDON TOPPLES INTO THE TRENCH - his ankles clamped by his
quarry - both men meeting the concrete with a bone-shaking-
- THUD - LINCOLN IS CRUSHED BENEATH THE MASSIVE WEIGHT - the giant
already recovering from the fall - now dragging him upright--
- THUD - BURDON THROWS A PUNCH - mightily - hurling his quarry
across the trench - moving in quickly, following up with a kick--
- THUD - LINCOLN CRUMPLES as the boot smacks into him - then
another kick - then another - the world starts blurring --
BURDON TURNS AWAY - his quarry disabled for now - he recovers
his thunderbolt - turns back to administer the coup de grace--
LINCOLN LOOKS UP - the giant looming - the muzzle of his weapon
thrumming with energy - the rivets on his denims start rattling--
BURDON SPINS ROUND - the thunderbolt suddenly ripped from his
grasp - there, in the distance - AN EASTBOUND BARGE IS COMING -
LINCOLN SCRAMBLES UP THE WALL OF THE TRENCH - muscles straining,
feet slipping on the concrete - escaping the imminent vessel --
109.
DIGGS COMING TO - now seeing his quarry a short distance away -
emerging from the lode-canal - he looks around for a weapon, then-
BURDON (O.S.)
Diggs! Get me outta here!
BURDON STRUGGLING TO CLIMB OUT OF THE TRENCH - with one arm,
it's almost impossible - fighting against his own weight--
DIGGS REACHING THE EDGE - seeing the eastbound barge coming -
grabbing his partner's outreached hand - pulling him upward -
BURDON'S PANIC - his other arm flinging away - HIS METAL BRACE
SNARED BY THE LODE-STREAM - the force shuddering his entire body-
DIGGS PULLING WITH ALL HIS MIGHT - feet slipping - locked in a
tug of war with the lodestream - THE BARGE IS CLOSING FAST--
BURDON'S HORROR - now suspended between the two forces - feet
kicking - THE BARGE IS ALMOST UPON HIM - he screams agonized--
BURDON
Help me! HELP MEEEEE!
THE SCREAM IS INSTANTLY LOST in the whoosh of the barge. Diggs,
stunned, just looks at his hands, empty, spattered with blood.
DIGGS
Burdie...?
THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK - Lincoln rejoins Ester - casting a look
back - the eastbound barge now plummeting into the distance--
D I G G S STOOPING AT THE EDGE OF THE TRENCH - looking down - all
that remains of his partner is a smear of blood at the concrete--
LINCOLN AND ESTER REACHING THE FOOT OF THE ROCKS - seeing THE
WESTBOUND BARGE against the sunrise - snaking into the passage--
DIGGS PULLING UPRIGHT - spotting his quarry - fire in his eyes -
drawing out a boot-knife - slipping it between his teeth--
THE WESTBOUND BARGE pulling through the canyon - lode-poles
pulsing ahead of it - polarity thrumming in opposing flow--
LINCOLN AND ESTER start running as the barge comes towards them -
Lincoln pulling Ester along - struggling to match the pace--
A SOUND LIKE A BEATING TYMPANY COMING TOWARDS THEM - they look
round to see - A SHADOW RUNNING ALONG THE TOP OF THE BARGE--
D I G G S FLINGING HIMSELF OFF THE BARGE - the blade in his teeth -
arms spread - for an instant, like a vulture against the sun--
110.
LINCOLN IS SUDDENLY CRUSHED by the weight of his landing - ESTER
IS HURLED SIDEWAYS - into a ditch - lost in a cloud of dust--
D I G G S PULLING HIMSELF UP, astride of Lincoln - snatching the
knife from his clenched teeth - the sound, like a whetstone--
LINCOLN SPITTING DIRT - suddenly grabbed by the scalp and tugged
sideways - twisted partways o n t o his back, forced to look up at--
A BLACK SPOT AGAINST THE SUN - Diggs' face set in a murderous
sneer - he wants to see this fucker's e y e s - the torment--
LINCOLN DAZZLED BY THE SUNLIGHT - but suddenly knowing the face
of death - now catching the brief glint of the knife as --
D I G G S PLUNGES THE BLADE DOWN - slicing into his quarry's hand as
he throws it up in defense - his quarry YOWLING WITH PAIN--
LINCOLN FEELING THE STAB - his deepest instinct suddenly awoken -
every impulse, every fiber brought into alignment - survival--
D I G G S IS HURLED INTO THE AIR as Lincoln surges upward - he
tumbles backward into the dust - losing hold of the boot-knife--
LINCOLN PUSHES HIMSELF UPRIGHT - only makes it half-way -
scrambling towards the pale man - all fours, like an animal--
D I G G S CLAWING AROUND IN THE DUST - fingers finding metal - the
boot-knife - he brings it up - slashing at his imminent quarry--
LINCOLN RECOILING - the blade nicking his face - sudden rage -
grabbing the pale man by the arm - swinging him round into--
- B O O M - THE MOVING WALL OF FREIGHT CONTAINERS - as the westbound
barge passes - Diggs bounces off - stumbling to keep balance--
LINCOLN ON THE RETREAT - the pale man coming at him with the
knife - another nick - seeing a gap now, shoving him backwards--
- B O O M - THE MOVING WALL RESOUNDS - Diggs howls - snagged by a
bolt - hurt, his fury becomes incandescent - he strikes madly--
LINCOLN STUMBLING BACK - the pale man coming at him - the blade
flashing to and fro - frenzied - like a threshing machine--
F O R C I N G HIM UP AGAINST THE ROCKS - the knife almost upon him -
he grits his teeth and lunges forward - charging like a bull --
DIGGS CAREENS BACKWARD, still swiping the blade - digging into
his quarry - headlong towards the moving wall - hitting with--
- W H U M P - no resonant boom - no bouncing back - Diggs has hit a
gap between the containers and HIS HEAD HAS BEEN LOPPED OFF -
111.
LINCOLN STANDS HORRIFIED - as the headless body is spun by the
moving wall - dropping into the trench as the barge tails off-
The westbound barge gains speed, leaving the canyon. But there
is Ester, running after it, vainly, coughing and sputtering.
LINCOLN
Ester! Stop! It's no use!
ESTER
We have to... get to... The Island...
LINCOLN
It's going too fast!
ESTER
We have to... get to...
Ester staggers a few more steps, then collapses to her knees,
rasping for breath. As Lincoln reaches her, she slumps back into
his arms. Her head lolling, eyes rolled back to white, a drool
of blood spilling from her lips. Then the blast of a claxon c u t s
the air as the westbound barge disappears into the distance.
F A D E TO BLACK.
172 EXT . SEDONA - LATE AFTERNOON
A ranch home in the middle of nowhere. Long shadows.
173 INT . STUDIO - RANCH HOME - LATE AFTERNOON
Late golden sunlight through a mist of sawdust. Abstract wood
sculptures are visible. Juniper wood, carved along the bias of
the grain, polished to accentuate the curves of natural growth.
AN OLDER WOMAN runs a sander over a work in progress - 60's, in
coveralls, gray her tied back, her face shielded by goggles and
a bandana. She pauses to review her work, shutting down the
sander, slipping off her goggles and bandana. Her face is eerily
familiar. Her name is KATHERINE. She now moves to the window,
catching sight of something outside. Curiously, she watches a
vehicle coming down the long driveway. A dusty, grey cutter.
174 EXT . FRONT PORCH - RANCH HOME - LATE AFTERNOON
Katherine opens the front door. The cutter is now docked in the
port and a stranger is staggering towards her. In his arms, is
an unconscious woman. Now Katherine can see the face - younger,
but unmistakable even so. Her voice comes in a chilled whisper-
KATHERINE
O h , God... Oh, my God...
112.
175 EXT. PHOENIX - LATE AFTERNOON
A whisper cuts across the glistening skyline towards The Sanger
Industries Tower. It circles in to land on a rooftop helipad.
176 INT . CROWNE'S OFFICE - SANGER INDUSTRIES TOWER
Silence . Crowne sits at her desk. Merrick sits across from her.
Waiting. The air stirs as the secretary ushers Dr. Sanger into
the office. No greetings are exchanged. Sanger just lowers into
a chair, a little unsettled to find Merrick has preceded him.
CROWNE
I take it you've heard the news.
DR. SANGER
The bond agents. Yes. Unfortunate.
CROWNE
Unfortunate?
(pauses, lights a cigarette)
We're way past unfortunate, Henry.
DR. SANGER
I thought we'd covered ourselves.
CROWNE
The police won't connect the bond
agents to us. But that's not the
problem. It's the sponsor.
DR. SANGER
What are you talking about?
MERRICK
The male agnate tracked him down.
CROWNE
His name's Thomas Lincoln. It seems
they had a genetic reunion. Not a
h a p p y one. It was all I could do to
stop him going to the authorities.
DR. SANGER
I still don't see the problem.
CROWNE
He may not want a police involvement
but he's already threatened to file
suit. And he's one of the biggest
litigation attorneys in the city.
113.
DR. SANGER
That's why we have you, Ellen.
CROWNE
That's why I asked Bernard to come out
here. To find out how it happened.
MERRICK
I told her, Henry. About synesthesia.
S a n g e r casts a betrayed look at Merrick. Then returns to Crowne-
DR. SANGER
I t was a marginal problem. And it was
under control - according to Bernard.
CROWNE
That's not the point. Whether or not
it's a factor in this instance, it
puts us in breach of the clone laws.
DR. SANGER
I t doesn't even touch their genetics.
CROWNE
I'm talking about self-awareness. The
virtual humanity statutes require us
t o give them consciousness to the
l e v e l of functionality. But not beyond.
This gives Sanger pause. Crowne drags her cigarette acutely.
CROWNE
L e g a l l y , we are naked on every level.
Federal legislature, state licensing,
sponsorship contract... But even if we
did manage to weather the legal storm,
we'd never survive the public scrutiny.
S a n g e r absorbs this, calmly shaking a pill from his pill bottle.
DR. SANGER
I've spent my entire career facing down
naysayers, Ellen. Don't think for a
second I'm afraid of facing them now.
CROWNE
You remember cryogenics? At the outset,
people dismissed it as a rich man's
folly. Eccentric millionaires freezing
their brains, hoping to wake up in a new
body.
114.
CROWNE (cont'd)
E v e n when cloning showed signs of
m a k i n g it feasible, it wasn't moral
a f f r o n t that caused the backlash. It
w a s the scope. The scope, Henry. When
t h e size of the customer base was
e x p o s e d , it screamed inequality - one
m e d i c i n e for the rich and one for the
p o o r . The pressure for accessible cryo-
genics a s good as buried the industry.
( a pause for emphasis)
O u r graves are being dug as we speak,
g e n t l e m e n . Every passing second, they
g e t deeper. If we're going to survive,
w e have to act swiftly and decisively.
DR. SANGER
A l r i g h t . What do you suggest?
S a n g e r dry swallows the pill. Ellen opens a contract folder.
CROWNE
O u r security chief - I've been looking
at his file. Ex-marine, served in South
China - do we think he still has it in
him?
DR. SANGER
( r e a l i z i n g , suddenly harsh)
A r e you insane?
The i r eyes deadlock. Crowne gives Merrick a sideways glance.
CROWNE
` You ever wondered why Henry takes
those pills, Bernard? Why he doesn't
avail himself of his own technology?
DR. SANGER
An agnate could give me a new heart
but to get it to function mentally...
CROWNE
B u l l s h i t , Henry. Bullshit. You don't
want to deal with reality. Only with
concept. I may not have been there at
the start but I heard the stories. You
wanted in on every aspect of
construction, from environmental
design right down to the classical
playlists. I t wasn't enough just to
make it work, was it? No, you wanted
your own little utopia.
115.
CROWNE (cont'd)
Swanning a r o u n d in your mountain
r e t r e a t like some self-appointed
d e i t y . But when it comes to getting
y o u r hands dirty...
DR. SANGER
A r e you quite finished?
CROWNE
E v e n God has blood on his hands, Henry.
Are you going to watch it all go up in
flames or are you going to deal with it?
S a n g e r crosses to the window, looking down onto the city.
DR. SANGER
You see that street down there...?
Running east from the stadium. My
father used to take me to church on
that street. An old Spanish church.
CROWNE
What's your point?
DR. SANGER
I didn't know they'd torn it down.
177 INT . GUEST BEDROOM - KATHERINE'S HOUSE - EVENING
A floral bedroom. Ester lies in bed, wheezing, semi-conscious.
Katherine slips a pill between her lips and tips in some water.
Lincoln stands watching. Katherine ushers him out of the room.
178 INT . KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
The kitchen is arrayed with modern technology but softened with
paintings and craftwork. A r t marginally overwhelming science.
Katherine starts making some herb tea in the traditional manner.
LINCOLN
What did you give her?
KATHERINE
J u s t something to help her sleep. I
think she has a bronchial infection.
But I'm not sure I should give her an
antibiotic in case it effects the baby.
LINCOLN
S o you know about the baby...
Katherine pauses, reality sinking its claws. She looks at him-
116.
KATHERINE
Is n ' t that why you came here?
LINCOLN
I found your name in the listings. I
wasn't sure. You don't look like her.
KATHERINE
The y have a plan... For women like me.
LINCOLN
S o you're the one who takes her baby.
Katherine winces at him. It's uttered so matter-of-factly. She
pauses, hanging her head, searching within herself.
KATHERINE
You know when you're young? How you
run around thinking you're immortal?
Lincoln ' s look says he has no idea. She seems not to notice.
KATHERINE
The r e was a lodeway accident. I was...
damaged. After that, I thought no man
would ever want me. I was wrong. His
name was John. He said he married me
for my eyes. Ocean eyes, he called
them. He always loved the ocean. Up
there on the wall, that's John's boat.
O f f her gesture, Lincoln glances at the wall. A watercolor of a
yacht. Meaningless to him but Katherine gazes it at, fondly-
KATHERINE
But I think there was always an unspoken
regret between us. When we heard about
the technology, it was like... forgive-
n e s s , like a second chance. A child of
our own, part of both of us. Sailing
trips, fishing trips, so many plans...
( a flat beat)
J o h n got cancer a year ago. He died.
He r eyes mist, distant and bittersweet, talking to herself now.
KATHERINE
I r o n i c . That the same technology could
have saved his life. And now the baby
is the only part of him I have left.
And the boat. I still have the boat.
Lincoln looks discomfited. There's more to this than he thought.
117.
179 INT. MOTEL ROOM - EVENING
S c h e e r opens the door. Merrick stands at the threshold with an
attache case. Scheer, seemingly unsurprised, brings him inside.
SCHEER
I told you we shouldn't have gone to
outside personnel. They were cowboys.
MERRICK
We had no choice, Karl. We had to keep
this away from The Institute.
SCHEER
An d now?
Merrick lowers in a chair, grim and leaden. He opens his attache
and pulls out a contract folder. He hands it to Scheer.
SCHEER
What's this?
MERRICK
Your resignation papers. Maybe `early
retirement' would be more accurate...
S c h e e r leans forward, frowning, curious.
MERRICK
T e n platinum bounty - if you sign the
papers, their loss becomes your gain.
SCHEER
A parachute... So there's a jump?
MERRICK
You understand that whatever happens,
The Institute must be able to deny it.
S c h e e r says nothing. Merrick reaches in the attache and pulls out
a case. Inside are a row of ampules and a pressure syringe-gun.
MERRICK
We use a chemical to dispose of waste
product. It's called di-halcyonate. I t
reacts on a molecular level to start a
process of internal combustion. The
subject is incinerated from the inside
out. In post-mortem application it's
done its job before rigor mortis. In a
live subject, well... you can imagine.
118.
SCHEER
You want to dispose of your products.
MERRICK
I t ' s a little more complicated than
that. We have to be very... thorough.
If you still have it in you, that is.
S c h e e r gives him a sideways look. Then displays the USMC ring.
SCHEER
Why do you think I still wear this?
MERRICK
I don't know.
SCHEER
I was discharged from the marines for
insubordination. If you asked anyone
i n my unit, they'd call it heroism. I
disobeyed an order to fall back. I took
out a bunker complex single-handed.
MERRICK
S o you wear it is a badge of honor?
SCHEER
N o . It wasn't bravery. I wasn't afraid
of dying. I just didn't care. You see,
I suddenly realized I was just a sack
of flesh with a heartbeat. Life, death,
I just couldn't see the point anymore.
Merrick allows a respectful pause, then-
MERRICK
You'll find a vehicle parked outside.
It's unregistered, difficult to trace.
I take it we have an agreement...?
180 INT . KATHERINE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
A slant of light falls across Ester, writhing in her sleep,
rasping. Katherine and Lincoln peer in through the doorway,
checking on her. Then Katherine quietly closes the door.
181 INT . KATHERINE'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
Lincoln paces around, feeling useless. Katherine considers him-
KATHERINE
What do I call you?
119.
LINCOLN
Lincoln . My name's Lincoln.
KATHERINE
Lincoln , I think she needs professional
help. I think she needs to see a doctor.
LINCOLN
N o . They'll find her. They'll take her.
KATHERINE
N o t if I don't want them to.
LINCOLN
You don't understand. They don't want
people to know about her. Either of us.
KATHERINE
The doctor I'm thinking of, he's an
old friend. He look after John in
t h e final stages. I trust him.
LINCOLN
Why ? So you can take her baby?
KATHERINE
N o . No, that's not what I want.
O f f Lincoln's blunt look, she sighs, lowering into a chair.
KATHERINE
M a y b e I didn't realize she'd be so...
( c u t s off, a deep pause)
M a y b e I just didn't want to. Either
way, I was wrong. I want you to know
that. I was wrong... And I'm sorry.
A heavy lull. Lincoln hangs his head, remembering.
LINCOLN
The y make you believe there's a place
called The Island. Then they take you
upstairs and put you to sleep. They
cut you open. They take pieces of you.
Katherine looks at him, intuiting. She allows a pause, then-
KATHERINE
E v e n if I had taken her baby, I swear
to you, I'd never have... They give
you a choice, you see, to extend the
sponsorship after... after d e l i v e r y .
120.
LINCOLN
N o . I saw a lot of us go to The Island.
But I never saw anyone come back.
KATHERINE
You mean... Even if I had extended the
sponsorship, they'd have... and kept
taking the money? But that's inhuman.
LINCOLN
( b e a t , a lost look)
Is it? I wouldn't know.
182 INT . UNDERGROUND PARKING LOT - EVENING
A sleek low vehicle known as a "straker" pulls down the ramp.
183 INT . APARTMENT BUILDING - EVENING
The orbs on the doors eyeball Scheer, moving up the corridor. He
stops at a doorway. Rings the bell. Tom Lincoln opens the door-
TOM
Yes?
SCHEER
I'm from the Sanger Institute.
TOM
I've given you people enough of my
time already.
SCHEER
I t ' s just a formality. I need to see
your sponsorship contract.
T o m pauses then lets Scheer inside. He crosses to the wall safe,
taps the keys. Then pulls out the contract folder. He offers it.
SCHEER
Is this the only copy?
TOM
Why would I make copies? Do you think
I want anyone else to know about this?
S c h e e r accepts the folder. As Tom turns to close the safe, he
sets it down. And grabs Tom from behind, by the scalp, pressing
the syringe-gun into his jugular. A HISS. Tom clutches his throat
like it's on fire. With a boiling gurgle, he staggers forward.
Sweating, collapsing. Convulsing, belching steam. Then falling
slack. His skin starts to smolder. Scheer pauses, then tosses
t h e contract folder on top of him, leaving it to burn with him.
121.
184 EXT. NEW GAZA HOSPITAL - PHOENIX - NIGHT
E s t a b l i s h i n g . A clean facade of white steel and glass. A hatch-
b a c k vehicle known as a "corsair" pulls down the parking ramp.
185 INT . UNDERGROUND PARKING LOT - NEW GAZA HOSPITAL - NIGHT
The corsair pulls up at the ER entrance, Lincoln at the wheel.
Katherine gets out of the passenger side. A doctor is waiting -
50's, caring face. His name is DR. ABRAMS. He looks curiously at
the man at the wheel. Then greets Katherine with a hug -
D R . ABRAMS
Katherine . . . It's good to see you. I
haven't seen you since John's funeral.
KATHERINE
We l l I've been keeping busy. Trying
to. Thanks for coming down to meet me.
D R . ABRAMS
Your call was a little cryptic. What
is it exactly that's wrong with you?
KATHERINE
I t ' s not me... Not exactly.
She opens the rear door of the corsair. Ester is lying on the
back seat. Dr. Abrams frowns as he notices the resemblance.
186 EXT . THE RANCH HOUSE - SEDONA - NIGHT
The straker p u l l s up into the port.
187 INT . THE STUDIO / MAIN HOUSE - SEDONA - NIGHT
The shadow of Scheer moving outside the windows, looking for a
point of entry. He inspects the studio door for alarms. Then
elbows the glass. Reaching inside, turning the lock. He enters
the studio, glancing at the sculptures. Moving through the home.
S i l e n t l y , systematically, checking the rooms. He reaches the
guest bedroom, looks around. Something catches his eye. Spots of
blood of the linens. Eyes honing, he moves on into the kitchen.
He discovers a holocom keypad on the counter. Taps some keys.
The holoframe flashes "REDIALLING". The holoframe snows with
static. Then a receptionist's face appears-
R E C E P T I O N I S T (ON HOLOCOM)
N e w Gaza Hospital, how may I help you?
122.
188 INT. WAITING ROOM - NEW GAZA HOSPITAL - NIGHT - LATER
Lincoln stands waiting. There are chairs but he's too tense to
sit. Katherine and Dr. Abrams now enter. Lincoln looks at them,
expectantly. There's a pause. Then Dr. Abrams speaks-
D R . ABRAMS
Your friend... she has pneumonia. At a
very advanced stage. Its progress has
been unchecked by her immune system.
LINCOLN
C a n you help her?
D R . ABRAMS
We have two options... One is a super-
b i o t i c . But there's the risk her immune
system might bow out of the fight. The
other is a nodal transfusion. Katherine
has agreed to be the donor. But the new
antibodies may not conform fully. They
m a y decide to attack the baby...
LINCOLN
I don't understand any of this.
KATHERINE
He means that by trying to help her,
we could lose her. Or lose the baby.
D R . ABRAMS
Or , if we do nothing, both. Her immune
system is... remarkably unstable. If we
don't act, the infection will take over.
Lincoln lowers into a chair. He feels a pain somewhere. He can't
quite pin down where. Or what caused it. Or why it hurts so bad.
189 INT . HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT
Ester lies in bed, dozing, looking more relaxed. Her oxygen mask
makes breathing easier. Lincoln enters and sits beside her. She
stirs, meeting his eye with a faint smile. Lincoln returns it-
LINCOLN
He l l o , stranger.
ESTER
You look tired, Lincoln.
LINCOLN
Ester...
123.
ESTER
I t ' s okay. I know. Katherine told me.
She sits up, lowering her mask. Her hand finding his.
ESTER
She told me a lot of things. About how
they used a tiny part of her to make me.
She said it wasn't so very different.
LINCOLN
What do you mean?
ESTER
( t o u c h i n g her belly)
F r o m this... From having a baby.
Lincoln nods. A pause. Ester continues, more troubled, wheezing-
ESTER
She told me how they use us... And I
keep thinking... about the others...
the ones we left behind, about how
they'll never know... how they'll...
Ester ' s out of breath again, coughing. Lincoln helps her put the
oxygen mask back over her mouth. Ester slumps back, relaxing.
Off Lincoln's worried look, she smiles at him with her eyes-
ESTER
I'm going to be okay, Lincoln.
LINCOLN
I know.
But even to his own ears, the affirmation sounds hollow.
190 INT . MEN'S ROOM - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
The stream of water gushes into Lincoln's hands. He splashes his
face. Then looks at himself in the mirror. He looks sallow from
sleeplessness. The facial hair makes him look like a shadow of
his former self. For an instant he tenses at a light blinking in
the glass. Blue light. Like etherscreen. Then he sees it's just
a humidifier on the far wall. Tension ebbing, he splashes some
more water. When he looks up again, he sees his pupils are
dilating. The sense of danger. His voice comes in a cold whisper-
LINCOLN
No...
124.
191 INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - NIGHT
Lincoln emerges from the restroom, scanning for the danger's
source. Figures flash past in scrubs, white coats. Then he sees
it. The figure emerging from the elevator. The face of Scheer...
192 INT . PREP ROOM - NIGHT
A flurry of disturbance from the nurses as someone barges into
the room. Dr. Abrams is prepping Katherine for the transfusion.
Off the ruckus, he looks up. Lincoln comes up to them, urgently-
LINCOLN
We have to go. We have to get her out.
KATHERINE
What are you talking about?
LINCOLN
He's come for her. For us.
D R . ABRAMS
What e v e r this is about, we can't move
her. She's already under sedation.
Lincoln look to see Ester, asleep on the OR table beyond.
LINCOLN
How long before she wakes up?
D R . ABRAMS
The procedure takes three hours but...
LINCOLN
( t o Katherine, emphatic)
You'll take care of it, won't you? Take
her somewhere they can't find her...
Katherine , understanding, simply nods. Lincoln takes a last look
at Ester, then departs. Dr. Abrams, bemused, turns to Katherine-
D R . ABRAMS
Katherine , what the hell's going on?
193 EXT . HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - NIGHT
Lincoln moves up the corridor, purpose in his stride. His black
gaze fixed on Scheer, making an inquiry at the nurse's station.
Lincoln doesn't even break stride. He GRABS SCHEER FROM BEHIND--
H U R L I N G HIM ACROSS THE NURSE STATION - INSTANT CONFUSION -
NURSES RUNNING - PEOPLE SHOUTING - Lincoln takes off at a run--
125.
SCHEER RECOVERING - seeing his quarry through the confusion - no
time for subtlety - he leaps over the nurse's station - pursuing-
LINCOLN pauses at the emergency exit - checking to see his enemy
is following - then pushing on through the doors into--
194 INT . STAIRWELL - NIGHT
LINCOLN HAMMERS DOWN THE STEPS - an alarm sounding - shouting
from beyond - FOOTFALLS BEHIND HIM - deeper into the gloom-
S C H E E R VAULTING THE RAIL - shortcutting t h e flights of steps -
catching sight of his quarry as he pushes through a door into--
195 INT . UNDERGROUND PARKING LOT - NIGHT
LINCOLN BURSTS OUT INTO THE PARKING LOT - flashes of light -
vehicles pulling in and out - off across the parking docks -
S C H E E R BURSTS OUT IN HIS WAKE - his quarry temporarily lost -
now spotting him across the lot - leaping into a vehicle -
LINCOLN FIRES UP THE CORSAIR - resistors droning - jamming the
throttle - lurching out - NARROWLY MISSING ANOTHER VEHICLE -
S C H E E R SPINNING ROUND as the corsair blurs past - it's heading
for the exit ramp - he launches towards the straker -
196 EXT . EXIT RAMP - THE HOSPITAL - NIGHT
T H E CORSAIR BURNS UP the parking ramp - SMASHING THE GATE ARM -
plunging out into the street - bouncing across the lodestream -
T H E STRAKER H U R T L E S UP close behind - into the snarl of traffic -
steering expertly through - picking up the tail of the corsair -
197 EXT . STREETS OF PHOENIX - NIGHT
T H E CORSAIR PLOUGHS UP THE STREET - TRAFFIC SWERVING out of its
path - BUOYS CLANGING as it lurches from one lane to the next -
LINCOLN JAMS THE THROTTLE - the resistors buzzing, growling with
energy - he has one goal - draw his enemy away from Ester -
S C H E E R COOLLY INTENT at the controls of the straker - keeping a
certain distance - waiting for his quarry to make a mistake --
A METRO PD OFFICER PULLS OUT - mounted on a hybrid of motorbike
and jetski k n o w n as a "lode-runner" - SOUNDING THE SIREN--
S C H E E R REACTING - the PD lode-runner pulling ahead of him - he
can't allow a police intervention - he slips in behind --
126.
THE METRO PD OFFICER - darting looks back - headlamps b l i n d i n g
his rear-view - another vehicle is coming up behind him fast -
- C L A N G - THE STRAKER I M P A C T S - glancing the PD lode-runner which
wobbles, corrects - the straker d r o p s back for a longer run up--
T H E METRO PD OFFICER - yelling into his headset - inaudible over
the siren - the headlamps a g a i n - the vehicle coming up behind--
- C R A S H - THE PD LODE-RUNNER fishtails - its resistors suddenly
clash with the prevailing polarity - A HUGE JOLT OF INERTIA-
C A T A P U L T I N G THE METRO PD OFFICER through the air - plummeting
down into obscurity - THE STRAKER W H O O S H I N G OVER HIS HEAD -
T H E PD LODE-RUNNER LEFT SPINNING behind - resistors vying with
the polarity - the drive system melting down - FUSING, SPARKING--
- B O O M - THE PD LODE-RUNNER EXPLODES IN A FLASH OF ELECTRICAL FIRE-
S C H E E R watches the fireball in his rear-view - there will be more
police soon - he jams the throttle - he has to end this.
LINCOLN SEEING THE STRAKER Z O O M I N G UP BEHIND - veering round
another corner - the chassis tilting - A STEEP BANKING TURN -
T H E CORSAIR HULL RUNNERS THUDDING across the buffers - recoil
sending the chassis up against the concrete - SPARKS FLYING--
S C H E E R TURNING THE CORNER - the windshield suddenly sprayed with
sparks - jerking back on the throttle to avoid a collision -
LINCOLN FIGHTING TO CORRECT THE STEERING - seeing the straker
d r o p p i n g back - a chance to gain distance - JAMMING THE THROTTLE-
A N INTERSECTION APPROACHING - Lincoln can't correct his steering
in time - the corsair careens at full res over the intersection--
C R A S H I N G THROUGH A GATE ARM - the ground dropping away into a
steep ramp - suddenly the corsair is flying through the air--
C R A S H I N G - SQUEALING ONWARDS - SCUDDING ACROSS VEHICLE ROOFS,
finally nose-diving into an empty bay with a DEAFENING CRUNCH-
198 EXT . ENTRANCE - HOLSPAR STADIUM - NIGHT
The straker p u l l s up at the smashed gate arm. In the booth, a
holoserve p a r k i n g attendant greets the arrival with a smile-
P A R K I N G ATTENDANT
We l c o m e to Holspar S t a d i u m , home of the
Phoenix Admirals, parking is fifteen
currency units...
127.
Scheer gets out of the straker. He looks down at the crashsite
b e l o w . The parking lot, like a marina, is filled to capacity. A
game is in progress. A corona of light coming from the stadium.
Hoots, music, the roaring crowd. Over which, sirens can now be
heard. Scheer draws the syringe-gun and heads down the ramp.
199 EXT . PARKING LOT - HOLSPAR STADIUM - NIGHT - MINUTES LATER
D u s t blooms from the crashsite. S c h e e r crouches, peering down at
the wrecked corsair. The burst windshield, the dangling driver
side door shows his quarry has escaped the wreckage. He rises
and scans around. On the concrete, a trail of blood is visible.
200 INT . STORAGE AREA - HOLSPAR STADIUM - MINUTES LATER
The blood trail leads down a gloomy stairwell. The game is just
audible overhead. Lincoln stumbles down the steps, clutching his
bleeding arm. Between pain and concussion, he loses his footing
and falls. He tumbles down the remaining steps to the bottom.
I n the gloom we see groundskeeping e q u i p m e n t , supplies - edgers,
aerators, spray rigs, drums of insecticides, herbicides. For a
moment, Lincoln lies stunned. Then hears a noise and rolls over.
He looks up the stairwell. A shadow is descending towards him.
W i t h painful effort, Lincoln starts crawling across the floor,
eyes fixed on the shadow. Tensing as A HANDGUN noses out of the
darkness. Then A STADIUM SECURITY GUARD steps into the light -
S E C U R I T Y GUARD
You , what are you doing down here?
N o w he sees Lincoln more closely - injured, his arm bleeding.
S E C U R I T Y GUARD
O h , Jesus... Are you okay, son?
Lincoln eases a little as he sees the security guard lower his
weapon. Then suddenly the guard is JERKED BACK BY THE SCALP.
A HISS. Now suddenly the guard jettisons the handgun, clutching
his throat like it's on fire. With a boiling gurgle, he staggers
forward. Streaming with sweat. Toppling across a herbicide drum.
Convulsing, belching steam. Then suddenly his body falls slack.
S c h e e r is at the foot of the steps, discarding the spent ampule
from the syringe-gun. Now screwing a fresh ampule into place.
Lincoln turns to him, realizing what he's just witnessed is a
glimpse of his own fate. He pushes himself upright, bracing.
S c h e e r looks at him. Clutching his bloody arm, barely able to
stay upright, but still ready to fight for life. He half-smiles-
128.
SCHEER
I'm jealous of you. You have a reason to
live. I can't say I've ever had that...
Lincoln holds his gaze, looking deep in his eyes. Then, as if
scared by what he sees there, starts inching away, glancing at--
T H E GUARD'S BODY SMOLDERING - lowering, melting through the drum-
S C H E E R MOVING FORWARD, the smile leaving his face. A mask of
hollowness as he moves in on his quarry, the syringe-gun poised.
LINCOLN STUMBLING - collapsing to his knees - hanging his head
as if in surrender... then suddenly his hand flies up-
- B O O M - A FLASH OF LIGHT as he fires THE HANDGUN - recovered from
the ground - AN ENERGY PULSE impacting the wall, fizzling out--
S C H E E R KEEPS COMING, syringe-gun ready, blank-faced, unflinching-
T H E GUARD'S BODY CRACKLING INTO FLAME - the drum splitting open--
- B O O M - ANOTHER FLASH - Lincoln fires again - clipping his enemy--
S C H E E R KEEPS COMING, a charred wound in his shoulder, relentless-
T H E GUARD'S BODY BURNING - sliding into the sands of herbicide -
- B O O M - B O O M - B O O M - LINCOLN KEEPS FIRING - more hits than misses--
S C H E E R KEEPS COMING, blank faced, his body PITTING WITH IMPACTS--
A BLINDING FLARE OF LIGHT - THE HERBICIDE IGNITING - THE DRUM
EXPLODING - STARTING A CHAIN REACTION - OTHER DRUMS IGNITING -
EXPLODING - FIRE - SMOKE - ENGULFING ALL IN A BLAZING INFERNO...
D I S S O L V I N G TO:
201 INT . TOP OF STAIRWELL - NIGHT - MUCH LATER
A cacophony of sirens can be heard outside. A thick grey smoke
gulches up from the stairwell. Shadows are visible. The sound of
extinguishers. A FIREMAN climbs up, emerging from the smoke, he
pulls off his breathing mask to address a waiting PD officer-
T H E FIREMAN
N o t h i n g . . . If there was anyone down
there, they're a pile of ashes now.
F A D E TO BLACK.
129.
202 EXT. CEMETERY - SOME DAYS LATER
P e a c e . Sunlight. A bell tolling in the background. We make out
Katherine, dressed in black, standing at a grave. The headstone
reads simply: "Here Lies Ester & Her Unborn Son - May They Rest
In Peace". There are no dates. Katherine lays down some flowers
then looks across at Dr. Abrams. As he escorts her away, we see
Crowne crossing towards them. She introduces herself delicately-
CROWNE
M r s . Ester? My name is Ellen Crowne.
203 INT . CEO'S OFFICE - THE SANGER INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
A celestial penthouse office. Katherine enters with Crowne.
Merrick and Dr. Sanger rise to greet her. Strained solemnity.
DR. SANGER
M y name is Henry Sanger. I'd like to
offer my deepest condolences.
His insincerity is transparent. Katherine just nods stiffly.
DR. SANGER
This is Bernard Merrick our facility
director. He knew Ester personally.
MERRICK
An d it's a terrible loss.
M o r e insincerity. Katherine nods again. Then settles in a chair.
Crowne allows a respectful pause. Then begins with due delicacy-
CROWNE
L e g a l issues must seem trivial at this
time. But the sponsorship agreement has
certain conditions relating to confident-
i a l i t y . D e s p i t e this tragic t u r n of
events, those conditions remain binding.
We want to be sure you understand that.
KATHERINE
I see.
CROWNE
T h a t said, The Institute is likewise
bound by the terms of sponsorship and
while we reserve every right...
KATHERINE
You can stop there. I know why I'm
here. You wanted to know if I'm going
to sue you for breach of contract.
130.
DR. SANGER
N o t h i n g so devious, Mrs. Ester. We
simply wanted to find some way to
heal the wounds from this incident.
KATHERINE
I don't want restitution, Dr. Sanger.
The reason I agreed to this meeting
was to have the chance to talk to you.
DR. SANGER
O f course. Please...
KATHERINE
I never got to meet you when I visited
The Institute. It was one of your sales-
m e n who led the tour. I remember how
h e described the agnates a s if they
were some kind of mindless organisms.
More like livestock than humanity...
CROWNE
L e g a l l y , human rights don't apply.
DR. SANGER
Don't interrupt, Ellen.
KATHERINE
I remember how eager I was to believe
him. But when I saw w h a t I'd created,
in flesh and blood, when I touched h e r ,
it was I who felt less than human.
DR. SANGER
I understand.
He looks at her expressively. Perhaps he really does understand.
KATHERINE
Ester ' s life was my responsibility and
her death is my cross to bear alone. So
I'm not going to sue you, Dr. Sanger...
( b e a t , a sudden ominous tone)
But I am going to blame y o u . Until the
day I die, I will silently curse your
name. That's w h a t I wanted you to know.
She drives it home with a horrible look. Sanger accepts it with
due gravity. There's an ugly pause. Katherine gets to her feet.
KATHERINE
An d now I'd like to leave, please.
131.
CROWNE
We do have other issues to discuss...
DR. SANGER
N o , Ellen, that's enough. I think Mrs.
Ester has said all there is to say.
204 EXT . STREET - OUTSIDE THE SANGER INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
Katherine descends the steps from the entrance. She crosses to a
black funeral sedan, parked kerbside. D r . Abrams stands waiting-
D R . ABRAMS
I hope you know what you're doing.
KATHERINE
I don't think they suspected anything.
D R . ABRAMS
J u s t understand that I've put a lot on
the line for you, Katherine.
KATHERINE
I know... But it felt good. It felt
like something John would have done.
205 INT . ROOFTOP FLIGHTPAD - THE SANGER INDUSTRIES TOWER
C r o w n e escorts Sanger and Merrick to the waiting whisper.
CROWNE
We l l , I don't know about the two of
you but I'd say we got off lightly.
DR. SANGER
Did we?
CROWNE
Don't start getting maudlin, Henry.
It's a little too late in the game.
She shakes their hands as they climb into the whisper. Then
watches it take off, ascending into the blinding sunlight.
D I S S O L V E TO:
206 EXT . THE SANGER INSTITUTE - SOME WEEKS LATER
A i r blasts up from the giant funnel. Widening, we re-establish
the huge ring, the processing plant, the giant appendages of
ducting, the immutable red rocks. The shot sequence, reprising.
From the processing plant, over the main complex. From the front
of the complex, to the dock.
132.
Following the lodeway out to the perimeter wall. The gateway now
gliding open to disclose a view of the shimmering desert. Out in
the distance, the institute liner emerging from the shimmer. The
crosshatch insignia.
207 INT . ENTRANCE HALL - THE SANGER INSTITUTE - DAY
T h r o u g h the polarized glass we see the liner has docked. A TOUR
GROUP is disembarking. Another parade of plutocracy, aging
bloated me and brittle young women. They filter inside to be
greeted by the courtesy staff, led by the ever-perky LYDIA.
LYDIA
L a d i e s and gentlemen, my name is Lydia
and on behalf of our staff, I'd like
t o welcome you to The Sanger Institute.
Before we start the tour, we'll be serv-
i n g r e f r e s h m e n t s in the visitor center
and circulating our standard discretion
agreements. I should add that today you
are all very lucky because our CEO and
founder, Dr. Henry Sanger, is with us
and will be leading the tour personally.
208 INT . VISITOR CENTER - THE SANGER INSTITUTE - DAY
The tour group pick and mingle at a buffet. We isolate a
casually dressed man, lightly bearded, in a Phoenix Admirals
cap, crossing to Lydia. She turns to greet him with a smile-
LYDIA
Yes . . . Mr. Thomas, isn't it?
The man tilts up to reveal his face. We see he is LINCOLN...
LINCOLN
I can't find my sunglasses. I think I
left them on the shuttle.
LYDIA
We l l we're about to start the tour.
But I can have someone check for you.
LINCOLN
Don't worry. I'll catch up.
209 EXT . PROCESSING PLANT - DAY
Lincoln moves quickly along the wall towards the back of the
complex. Hugging the shadows, scanning for onlookers. There is
the processing plant and there, the ring of funnels. The sight
brings a sudden rush of memories, painful memories, horrors.
133.
Lincoln steels himself, then breaks from shadow and races for
the nearest funnel. He makes a running lap. His fingers grab
t h e lip of the funnel and he pulls himself up. Reaching the lip,
he finds the funnel mouth has been gridded o v e r . Then he hears-
A VOICE (O.S.)
S i r , this is a restricted area...
Lincoln lowers back to the ground. He finds himself facing A
TECHNICIAN in a hardhat. His uniform reads "Air Processing".
210 INT . ELEVATOR - PROCESSING PLANT
The doors slide open and the technician enters, stiffly. Then
suddenly topples forward, pistol whipped from behind. Lincoln
enters the elevator, a familiar handgun clenched in his fist.
211 INT . ELEVATOR SHAFT
L o o k i n g up an elevator shaft. The red pulse of the lode-poles,
rippling downward as the elevator descends from the surface.
212 INT . ELEVATOR - DESCENDING
Lincoln is now wearing the technician's uniform. He watches the
panel lights flashing down. "Level 3: Harvest" "Level 5: Labor
Decon", "Level 7: Labor Quarters". His pupils are dilating but
his face is set with determination. He knows what he must do.
His gaze drifts down to "Level Twenty: Agnate Containment".
213 INT . THE ETHER GRID
The holographic rendering of containment spins in the vaulted
chamber like a giant geometrical phantom. The ether blinks with
blue dots in their hundreds as the agnates g o about their day.
214 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
O v e r l o o k i n g the ether, Ethercon sits at his console. The hiss of
an opening door as someone enters. Ethercon looks round. He
greets the technician's arrival with an inquisitive look. Then
the technician takes off his hardhat. A crosshatch on his brow.
Ethercon reacts almost instantly, reaching for the console. Then
instantly freezes as Lincoln presses the handgun to his skull.
215 INT . CORRIDOR - LEVEL TWENTY SEVEN
P a l e blue light. Ethercon leads the way down a silent corridor.
Lincoln follows him, the handgun firmly levelled on his head.
134.
216 INT. CHAMBER - LEVEL TWENTY SEVEN
The pale blue light sustains. The chamber is reminiscent of the
foundation chambers. The walls lined with tanks. But instead of
amber fluid, these contain blocks of ice. Beside each tank is a
grid of bio-monitors. E t h e r c o n stumbles into frame, prodded by
Lincoln. Then, with a trembling finger points to one of the
tanks. Lincoln holds aim on him and considers the glass facet.
He wipes the condensation off the glass. Suspended in the block
of ice is a shadow. A human figure. A device is attached to his
stomach. Lincoln looks at the bio-monitors. A screen reads:
" P R O D U C T ID: STARKWEATHER/ FOUNDATION: II/ GENERATION: DELTA".
Lincoln looks across the EKG, the cardiograph, indications that
Starkweather is still alive. Then he fixes on the RFI m o n i t o r . A
resonant image of the brain. The shifting aura showing a level of
consciousness. What thoughts must be going through that mind?
The fate of the agnates s p a r e d from expiration. To be kept on
i c e for future harvest. With a haggard look, Lincoln rests his
hand on the glass where Starkweather hangs frozen. Connecting.
217 INT . SALES HALL - THE INSTITUTE - DAY
An embryo in mutated effigy hangs suspended in the amber fluid.
Dr. Sanger stands at the wall of display tanks, mid-way through
his sales pitch. He delivers it now with noticeably less gusto-
DR. SANGER
C a s e in point, the clone. Back in the
beginning, the mapping of the human
genome was declared a historic landmark-
to break the curse of heredity, to
correct congenital defect... genetic
engineering became the brave new world
of medical science. A bright future
that led to a dark age and much of...
( a n abrupt pause, a frown)
. . . l e g i s l a t i o n we know today. But while
the clone laws may have narrowed the
field, science marches on. Only to...
( a n o t h e r abrupt pause)
I'm sorry, I'm f...
S u d d e n l y he clutches his arm, emitting a guttural gasp.
LYDIA
DR. SANGER?
S a n g e r just looks at her. Then jolts from a spasm, clawing at
his chest. His knees buckling, he topples against a display
case. Pawing at the glass, he slides dreadfully to the ground.
135.
LYDIA
He's having a heart attack! A doctor!
Somebody get a doctor in here!
The tour group keeps their distance, unsettled by the face of
mortality. Sanger is now lying in contortion on the floor, his
gaping eyes fixed on the display tank. The embryo in mutated
effigy, rocking about in the amber fluid. The sight of this
little human monster is one that will follow him to the grave.
218 INT . DIRECTOR'S OFFICE - CONTAINMENT
The glass wall looks down on the avenue and the agnates m i l l i n g
beneath. Merrick sits at his console. Business as usual. Off a
buzz, he taps a button. The door opens and A CENSOR bursts in-
CENSOR
S i r , I've been trying to contact you.
It's the ether... Something's wrong.
Merrick taps another button and the glass wall frosts over. It
pixellates o n t o an image of his own face. A recorded playback-
Merrick (P/B O N ETHERSCREEN)
We l l , Starkweather, if you're watching
on etherscreen - your time has come, my
friend! You're going to The Island!
P / B J U M P CUT TO: STARKWEATHER RUNNING IN AN ULTRAVIOLET HAZE,
MEETING WHITE UNIFORMS, ZIGZAGGING OVER CROSSWALKS, DOWN RAMPS.
MERRICK
( s t a b s at a key on his console)
E t h e r c o n ! Ether control, come in!
P / B J U M P CUT TO: STARKWEATHER RUNNING FOR HIS LIFE, LURCHING
FROM IMPACTS, HOOKHEADS B I T I N G INTO HIS BACK, SPRAYING BLOOD-
MERRICK
An y o n e ! Somebody pick up!
P / B J U M P CUT TO: STARKWEATHER DANGLING IN MID-AIR LIKE A FISH ON
A HOOK -- SCHEER LOOKING UP AT HIM LIKE A CURIOUS ZOO EXHIBIT.
CENSOR
That's what I mean. We can't get
through. The circuits are locked.
P / B J U M P CUT TO: STARKWEATHER CLUMPING DOWN A CORRIDOR,
C L U T C H I N G HIS OPEN STOMACH, BLOOD STREAMING DOWN HIS LEGS.
MERRICK
How wide is this going?
136.
P/B J U M P CUT TO: CENSORS SHROUDING STARKWEATHER'S FACE WITH A
WHITE HOOD -- BINDING HIS WRISTS AND ANKLES IN PLASTIC CUFFS --
CENSOR
C o m m u n i t y - w i d e , sir. Everywhere.
P / B J U M P CUT TO: CENSORS DRAGGING STARKWEATHER AWAY. THE LOOP OF
INTESTINE PLUMPING FROM HIS BELLY. THE BLOODSMEAR O N THE FLOOR.
219 INT . CONTAINMENT
I N T E R C U T T I N G : Agnates a t workstations watching on visors. In the
subway watching on platform banner. In the plaza watching on the
glass wall. An agnate in an apartment, watching on a wall panel.
P / B J U M P CUT TO: A STILL IMAGE OF STARKWEATHER'S STORAGE TANK.
T H E BLINKING GRID OF BIO-MONITORS. T H E SHADOW IN THE BLOCK OF ICE.
We are still in the apartment when the playback cuts out. The
agnate looks around as every piece of glass dissolves to trans-
parency. The mirror panels, the frosted walls, the window, which
now shows no view at all. Just the gleam of a holographic lens.
220 INT . DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
Merrick looks down from the glass wall at the agnates m a s s e d in
the avenue beneath. They are all looking directly up at him.
221 INT . ETHER CONTROL ROOM
Alarms sounding. The ether grid blinking with red dots. Ethercon
sitting frozen at the console, the handgun pressed to his head.
Lincoln stands over him. His face cast in a chill of vengeance.
222 INT . RESIDENTIAL BLOCK - DAY
A glass facade. A noise from within. A primal, guttural noise,
building to a roar. Now warping as we drop to slow motion. The
glass webbing, bursting open from within, the facade exploding
in a GLITTERING SHOWER OF SHARDS...
S L O W FADE TO BLACK.
223 INT . BASEMENT - A YEAR LATER
No windows. No clue of where we may be. A safehouse somewhere.
The passage of time is marked on Lincoln's face, careworn, long
hair, a full beard. He sits in front of a data tablet, his image
recorded on its screen. His voice also seems older as he speaks-
137.
LINCOLN
I t ' s been a year since the breakout. A
year in hiding, waiting for things to
quiet down. I don't know how many made
i t out or how many who did, survived. I
know there are people called politicians
trying to say it never happened. That's
why I've kept this journal. To keep the
truth alive. Alive... I've learned what
that means but it still confuses me. In
functional terms, I've been alive for ten
years. In human terms, more than thirty.
Human... I'm not sure about that one
either. They say I'm not human because
I have no mother or father. I guess I
have more to learn. But one word I do
understand is hope. So maybe this
j o u r n a l will give hope - to those like
me, who may be out there. To know
t h e y ' r e not alone. My name is Lincoln
S i x - E c h o and this is my testament...
He sits back, contemplating the screen with an air of closure.
Then he stirs at a sound. At first just a gurgle. Then a moan.
Becoming the sound of A BABY CRYING. Lincoln crosses to a cot.
He lifts up a baby boy, 6 months old, bawling and squirming.
A WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
Is he hungry again? I just fed him.
Ester steps into the room, sleep-mussed, her beauty deepened by
maternity. The baby reaches out for her. Lincoln hands him over-
LINCOLN
Lincoln Junior, huh? It still doesn't
sound right. That name.
ESTER
I t ' s the name of his father.
She lovingly kisses him. Lincoln smiles at her, then the baby,
sweeping the hair from the forehead. Unscarred, blemishless.
LINCOLN
We should finish packing.
224 EXT . JETTY - THE PACIFIC COAST - DAWN
A private jetty stretches out to a pile of supply canisters. A
yacht is moored. We recognized it as John's boat. And we recognize
Katherine, holding the baby as Lincoln and Ester finish loading.
The last canister stowed, Lincoln comes up to her. He smiles at
the sight of her with the baby. Then prompts her gently-
138.
LINCOLN
Time to go.
Katherine hesitates, part of her unwilling to let the baby go.
Then she plants a lingering kiss on his downy hair and lets
Ester take him. Lincoln presents her with the data tablet-
LINCOLN
You'll make sure this gets out?
KATHERINE
Yes . There are people sympathetic to
the cause. I'm going to get it to them.
LINCOLN
Thank you, Katherine. For everything.
He smiles. Katherine points to a canister left on the dock.
KATHERINE
Don't forget that. It has the
operating manuals for the boat.
LINCOLN
I've been looking at them for months.
KATHERINE
But the maps, the charts...
LINCOLN
( b e a t ; a meaningful look)
I don't need them either.
Katherine nods, understanding. Nothing more to say, she hugs him.
Then turns to Ester with the baby. She folds them in a yearning,
almost maternal embrace. Tears well in her eyes. Then the sorrow
turns to laughter as the baby starts tugging at her gray hair.
225 EXT . THE PACIFIC - DAWN
The sun rises in the east, casting the coastline in silhouette.
The light glows across Lincoln's face, at the helm of the yacht,
staring back to the shore. He looks at Ester sitting beside him,
the baby swaddled in a blanket at her breast. Then he looks out
to the west, to the soft reach of dawn and the boundless horizon
of sea. There never was an island. But perhaps there will be...
T H E END
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