Scene 6.05 - Oh, Calderon!
EXT. SPACE - NIGHT
MUSIC -- DARKNESS -- WIND - THE PLANET OF CALDERON IN SPACE - HOME PLANET OF HOUSE MERCEDES.
EXT. LAVA FLOW - CALDERON - NIGHT
(Out of the DARKNESS we see hot lava flowing from a black rock cliff wall.)
EXT. CASTLE CALDERON - NIGHT
(High on the volcanic cliff stands Castle Calderon, its appearance is dark and medieval. There is a window on the lavaward wall lit from within...)
INT. TRAINING ROOM - CASTLE CALDERON - NIGHT
(Lit by a drifting blowglobe, PORSCHE sits at an L-shaped table studying web pages and maps of Darrukus and the Universe on his U-pod cell phone.)
INSERT - CELL PHONE
(We see vast star fields and galaxies.)
BACK TO SCENE
PORSCHE
(Whispering:) Here we are now... seventeen light years beyond...
INSERT - CELL PHONE
(We see the galaxies move as we hear a hum.)
PORSCHE V.O. (Cont'd)
(Whispering:) ... beyond Phi Epsilon Mu, the cross-dressing planet... is Topiary IV; Darukkus.
(We hold on this, then we see Darukkus grow larger on the U-Pod screen and we see it is a planet of vast jungle with enormous trees and wet, rigid, green-and-purple, variegated leaves. Torrents of rain abound.)
BACK TO SCENE
PORSCHE
(Whispering again:) It does look damp.... U-pod, Dude... what's up with this Simolean Power Joint thing?
U-POD V.O.
The Simolean Spice Melange Power Joint: The blend that allows the Spaced-Out Guild navigators to fold space.
PORSCHE
Oh yeah? I know it's a J wrapped with paper made from the Simolea Leaf from Darukkus, but what's all IN it?
U-POD V.O.
The Simolean Spice Melange Power Joint: Brain, God's Bud, Lavender Jones, Mendocino Purple, Golden Goat, 398 Kush, Banana Kush, Blueberry, Blackberry, Dream Berry, Double Bubble Berry, Death Star and Pure Vida.
(While doing research for this story, I remembered learning in Journalism School that the best writers stick to writing what they know. [Not that I would admit to, advocate or condone any criminal activity of any... Kind...])
INSERT - CELL PHONE
MS: PICTURES OF VARIOUS STRAINS
(...Wow!!! If you believe the adage that you have to cough to get off, perhaps it's applied here in spades. Perhaps it was creeper-plus-outer-body-plus-body-high-plus-head-high-plus-mind-expanding-plus-munchie-cravin'-plus-cottonmouth-plus-mild-paranoia-plus-cool-apathy-plus-cosmic-consciousness-plus-fearlessness-plus-a-hint-of-why-cannabis-is-categorized-as-an-hallucinogen. Then again, perhaps not. I'm gonna 'plead the fifth' here...)
MS: PORSCHE LOOKING AT U-POD, WHIFFS AND SMIRKS, LOOKS OUT OF CORNER OF HIS EYE
SOUND: DISTANT FOOTFALLS OF THREE MEN ROUNDING THE CASTLE WING AND APPROACHING
INSERT - CELL PHONE
(The picture grows larger again, and we see the Darukkeen Lily. A large break between boughs allows a large, round-leaf-lookin' plant to grow in the gap. A human fortress is built upon the camouflaged, green, mile-wide lily-pad leaf. A phallic cone.)
U-POD V.O.
Each day the plasma-torches along the outer wall of the Palace at Darukkeen waste and burn enough precious Simolea leaf to sustain the highs of one hundred men. The plasma-torches were placed by the Narc-On-Ems to flaunt their herbal wealth in front of the city Brew-men. The official herb of Darukkeen is Narc-On-Em-produced, Half-Baked, Grimean Schwag-Weed.
(We see a stalk of schwag-weed with the Narc-On-Em "anarchy" symbol stamping "Official")
BACK TO SCENE
PORSCHE
(Inner voice:) Grimean head-ache weed? I'd sooner smoke lawn clippings. (Out loud:) Hey U-pod, where are the Narc-On-Ems from there?
INSERT - CELL PHONE
(The star fields and galaxies move slightly then. Then we see an all-too-familiar CG display with a little round clock-ticking glyph...)
CG: Buffering video, please wait...
CG2: [37%, 54%, 62%, 74%, 90%, 92%, 94%, 97%, 99%, 100%]
PORSCHE V.O.
(Whispering:) There!... Greedy Grime and the Baron Narc-On-Em... the enemy.
MS: Greedy Grime
U-POD V.O.
The Baron Narc-On-Em has sworn to obtain Duke Cheeto's Heirloom Signet Mood Ring for himself and vows to crush House Mercedes-
MS: Mood Ring with the Mercedes "Peace" Sign
CUT TO:
MS: PORSCHE
PORSCHE
Blah, blah, blah. Are there any chicks on Darukkus? Hey U-pod, what are guys like me on Darukkus watchin' on their U-pods?
(PORSCHE is sitting at a table in the middle of a room, smoking a long, pinner joint rolled with red, white and blue papers like the REV. MOTHER’S spleef. PORSCHE'S a little over fifteen years old and has a high-and-tight haircut; shorter than normal military regulation. There is an annex to the room that appears to be a futuristic dojo of some sort. PORSCHE looks on his rhinestone-decorated, blingin' U-pod cell phone, adjusts his chains and ill-fitted cap. Picture Jamie Kennedy as B-Rad in Malibu’s Most Wanted for reference. He just finished downloading the latest UniTube video that was pirate-uploaded from Darukkus. It's a high-budget, spice-packed video of CDM -- the Crazy Darukkeen Mental. Yes, PORSCHE'S favorite, most-ultra-cool rap-artist and four-time Galactic-Grammy winner, SKEEZER MCGREAZER; singing his latest, subversive chart topper --"Dankin' Blues" -- all while hot, scantily-clad women dance about him; all while he crunks. One can tell SKEEZER'S a true Brew-man, he's got them red-within-red eyes. The beat is bumpin' and trendy, and SKEEZER'S face is somehow... more... shiny. PORSCHE watches in awe; his head bobbin' to the beat.)
MS: U-POD SCREEN
SKEEZER
Got Brew-men a chillin' cuz the jungle is hot, yo!
Narc-On-Em boys illin' -- they be bakin' our pot, no!
Mercedes and his ladies rollin' on to our spot, ho!
Da battle for da dank is a battle well-fought, yo!
BACK TO SCENE
(The beat goes on. La-dee-da-dee-dee, la-dee-da-dee-da... SMARTY ALLECK, DR. LOOGY and SURFER HAZMAT enter the room. Without turning, PORSCHE smiles and gestures with his pinner, as if it is a teacher's pointer. He addresses his mentors and they seem equally-uneasy at the nonchalant attitude of the ducal apprentice.)
PORSCHE
(Smells air:) Angorian Blue-Tooth from a chestnut pipe; Smarty Alleck. (Sniffs:) Crystal Ambrosia from a vaporizer nose-ring and matching septum; Dr. Loogy; and what's this? (Double-sniffs, begins flipping though cell-phone pages as if he's web-surfing.) Surfer Hazmat, I would thought you'd know better than to bring your home-grown, Purple Yog-Soggoth schwag all-ground-up like that in your boxwood one-hitter; you know we all like to use it for blunt-wrap.
SURFER
Oh, Porsche, don't look so elated, you know those smells could be imitated!
PORSCHE
(Chuckles:) I would know the difference.
SURFER V.O.
(To himself:) That he would. That boy is good. He's still having fun -- Could he be the one?
(PORSHE turns; SMARTY'S got some long, musical water-pipe.)
PORSCHE
So what is it, then? Music? I see you got your Balls-In-It; that infamous Andalluvian Gravity Pipe; shall I crunk to your slurpy sounds?
SMARTY
This; is going on the voyage. No, no music today, dear Porsche. Today, we practice pearl-diving! Open-air combat! Deep-breathing exercises!
PORSCHE
Pearl-Diving? I took my deep-water mega-power hits this mornin'. (Disdainful:) I'm not in the mood.
SMARTY
Mood? Not in the mood? Moods are for hustlers and pushers, not for a Duke's son! Ready yourself!
(SMARTY pushes a button and a mask unfolds into his hand; he puts it to his face. It sticks and hugs his head, as if alive. It fills with smoke and spits a thin stream outward in periodic bursts, like blows from a fist or puffs from a cannon. PORSCHE does the same and responds in kind, literally. Both begin exhaling massive amounts of pale green smoke. The masks connect via hoses and sparks fly and cover the combatants with wisps of the eerie stuff. A duel, of sorts.)
PORSCHE V.O.
(Huffing hard:) Smarty's not faking this. If my lungs can’t take the pressure, he'll outsmoke me and my mask will flood it all to me at once and the mix won't allow me to breathe and I'll be over-stoned; I'll pass out... I must not pass out; Where am I going with this? Light-headed. Yes, I must swallow the pearl... (Measured:) Deep breath. One pearl at a time. Deep breath.
(He points to SMARTY'S mask, it's light flashes amber.)
PORSCHE
(While holding in a hit:) A knock-out: Is this what you seek?
SMARTY
(Also holding breath, but smoother:) I see, but look at your own.
(PORSHE'S indicator light is blinking neon red. Decision: Stalemate.)
SMARTY (Cont'd)
We would have passed out together. The slow breath penetrates.
(They remove their masks, the smoky air dissipates. The masks fold away.)
PORSCHE
Would you have really stoned-me-to-death, Smarty?
SMARTY
If you would have taken that hit one whit under your abilities, I would have left you with an oregano-smellin'-bunk-schwag-migraine you wouldn't soon forget.
PORSCHE
Head-aches, yes. The word's always been out on the street that Grimean Ditchweed gives you a headache like you are "Free-Breathin' On Darukkeen." I had to consult Dr. Wacki just to know what that phrase meant. (Points to U-pod) Dr. Loogy, Wackopedia says that on Darukkus, people must wear special collars or else they suffer from migraines and general symptoms that are usually associated with P-M-S.
LOOGY
Yes, that much is true. Cramping, bloating, sounding like a woman ever-scorned. The atmosphere of Topiary IV is strikingly void of enough oxygen to sustain fire, much less a good high, and while humans can survive in the atmosphere unaided, special, plasmic-vaporizers and steam-generators must be used for smoking, and locomotion. The atmosphere is a tender one; it can make a person light-headed if they are without special spice-filters, like my Imperial Septum, here. After days of exposure, a person can suffer from dementia, even sociopathic behavior.
PORSCHE
What about the Brew-Men? Is that why they are so violent?
LOOGY
Not much is known about the Brew-Men, they are scattered about in the jungles. Most live far below the tree tops. I'm afraid I can't tell you much.
PORSCHE
What about the glow-worms of Darukkus?
LOOGY
Glow-worms? Oh, you mean Vermignis Ardeopilosus Giganticus Ignis Neo Astra, the elusive native specie.
PORSCHE
I guess so, sure.
LOOGY
They're leaf-eaters, and somehow, sulfur-breathers. They're luminous when they want to be. Not much else is known of them. Despite their enormous size, they're hard to find and even harder to catch. They’re deceptively-clever at camouflage, like a chameleon -- and they can also drop from branch a mile above and not sustain any injury from landing on a branch a mile below.
PORSCHE
They only eat leaves?
LOOGY
They eat anything that gets in their way. I have a small film-reel on the glow-worms of Darukkus you might find interesting. Early in the days of the planet's colonization, one was caught and studied; just a small specimen, I'm afraid, only four hundred and twenty meters in length.
PORSCHE
Four hundred and twenty meters!
LOOGY
I'll send it to your phone.
PORSCHE
Cool. Could it translate that to feet? You know House Mercedes hasn't gone metric yet.
(SURFER crosses over to PORSCHE, sparking his one-hitter. He clasps PORSCHE, like a protective uncle.)
SURFER
It's not by idle chance or for a sporting glance or mere happenstance that we should all meet, Four hundred and twenty meters is almost one thousand three hundred and seventy-eight feet. (Beat.) Porsche. Porsche. (Fleeting pause -- can't seem to rhyme Porsche with anything but Borsch and thinks better of it in less than a nanosecond:) I may not know what the Porsche rhyme is, but, you know how important this time is.
PORSCHE
("Wash" spoken in Mid-Western: Wore-sh rhymes with Porsche... oh well:) Yes, everyone's so serious all of a sudden; not even one blingin' party.
SMARTY
We leave for Darukkus a fart shy from two days, young Duke. Darukkus is real. The Narc-On-Ems are real. We need to be ready.
LOOGY
(File transfer complete, points to PORSCHE'S phone, PORSCHE checks it out:) There are have been documented sightings of worms as large as seven-hundred meters -- uh, about twenty-three hundred feet -- off in the deep jungle -- far from where we'll be in Darukkeen.... The jungle belt and the sub-surface regions are marked forbidden....
SMARTY
Why?
LOOGY
No one seems to know.
PORSCHE
The sap-swamps and the worms. Is it true that a typical Toparian Simolea-tree can produce 69 gallons of sap a minute?
LOOGY
No, it can produce 69 liters a second -- uh... around 20 gallons or so -- it draws from its resin-root reservoirs. You must consider the planetary scale -- we are but microscopic wood gnats, making camp on leaves of trees that are tens of kilo- er, many miles wide at the base and at least fifty miles tall at the top. The sap produced is natural to the plant; deadly to us. Many Toparian leaves can drown a person in minutes. And the wet winds and damp air can extinguish even the hottest explosion. It's plasmic fire without any flame, I'm afraid. Our electric-arc hookahs won't have enough oxygen to operate in the open air on Darrukus. We can't use oxy-fed arcs. We simply can't carry that much oxygen with us.
PORSCHE
Well, how do the Brew-men smoke there? Atomic vaporizers?
LOOGY
We don't know much about the Brew-men... They live in the deep jungle... some of them mill-about in the top-leaf cities -- and they all have the red-within-red eyes..
PORSCHE
(Smiling:) The eyes -- yes, yes... saturation of the blood by Simolean Spice. Could the spice affect us in other ways?
SURFER
Many planetary dangers exist over there. Not just the worms, not just the air.
PORSCHE
For one, we know the Narc-On-Ems would not have given up their CHONG company contract so easily unless there was something in it for them -- like our demise.
SURFER
A nasty Narc-On-Em is best left dead with a mark on 'em.
PORSCHE
(Rising:) That's pushing it, Uncle... Kind of a stretch, there... The Narc-On-Ems are our enemies, yes... but behind them, I suspect, is the Emperor. Surely he's heard reports of my mother and father's collaborative invention... The scattered and incomplete Imperial intelligence reports and the Emperor's fear of inaction during crisis has resulted in an extreme preventive action, which betrays a latent motive of malice against House Mercedes in the guise of Darukus -- a Trojan Planet; if you will...
SURFER
Make love, not war and abolish the nuke, you will make a formidable Duke!
(PORSCHE bows.)
SURFER (Cont'd)
Now remember this adage and you will fare well for the distance -- the first step in defeating a trap is knowing of its existence.
PORSCHE
You said it, Uncle Surf. But if it is a trap, Uncle, then why are we going?
SURFER
We have our new army. (Again at a loss for a good rhyme.) Best to try the protoype, we can't afford to lose it -- What good is a new weapon if you cannot use it? (In the same breath -- with a straight face, no less:) I see everyone agrees, I see you nod, you all... Dr. Loogy, give the young lad a weirdo mod-ju-all.
(After a Nemo glance, LOOGY does -- crossing to a secret panel -- retrieving a strange-looking contraption. SURFER, noticing a SQUAD OF GUARDS NOT IN ANY OTHER SHOT at the other end of the training room, calls out to them.)
SURFER (Cont'd)
Clear and lock the room! We're gonna Zoom-a-zoom-a-zoom-a-zoom-a-zoom!
(The security team unobtrusively-lining the walls unobtrusively-file-away. LOOGY puts a studded dog-collar around PORSCHE'S neck.)
SURFER (Cont'd)
(To PORSCHE:) Be ready, young toker... (To upstairs somewhere:) Activate a smoker!
(From the ceiling comes an odd device; part bong, part fog machine, part pipe, part squirt-gun. It whirls-and-twirls-about in the dojo. PORSCHE dances about it, inhaling every wisp that escapes the device. Occasionally, he grunts out a reply and a weird hum bursts-out and obliterates the various sections of the machine.)
SMARTY
(To LOOGY:) Precise control....
(After thoroughly destroying it, the collar is removed and the men cross to him.)
LOOGY
I must go, there are some last-minute preparations to attend to.
SURFER
Porsche, you've done well, quite well, I'll tell Belle on the cell, how well it fell to your hellish spell. You are my brightest of students, the paramount of prudence! And you're not even a Mental, so sharp, yet so gentle! You'll go far, my boy, very far, you'll raise the bar, you're ten under par, the star! Now that you've given me hope, I feel a new-found coy-age. I, too, must go and see that all is ready for our voyage. I'll see you again, my lad, on Darukkus. Then we'll pick-up some goils, the kind who will-
PORSCHE
(Bold:) Peace-out, Surfer!
(A shiny-faced SURFER soft-shoe shuffles out the door, humming some old ditty from the Space-Swinger days. Skattily-skittilly-de-shoo-be-doo-wop-te-doo...)
DISSOLVE TO: