Scene 3.27 - A Real Dilemma
EST: INT. Bridge, Archimedes - Mid-Afternoon
(VERNE hits a few buttons and adjusts a few dials, eyes on windhield in front of him constantly, at least one hand on the steering joystick. Hearing the beeps and gears nearby, decides to man up and buddy up and do some male bonding with his new pupil.)
VERNE
We got about a half-hour to kill before we get there, know the rules to cribbage?
RONNIE
Sorry. I only know how to play go-fish.
VERNE
(Offers joint.) Want some of this? Come on, it’s okay, it’s a human thing to do. Relax, you’ll enjoy it. Can you suck-in with that mouth-looking thing or what?
(In the cockpit, VERNE is manually flying The Archimedes. RONNIE is co-piloting with skill. She takes the joint with metal-gloved hands. She takes her helmet off and it looks like she just stepped from the salon. She’s the cameo actress that played APHRODITE and still has some room in her contract. She removes the helmet, shakes-out her cropped-and-dyed and shaved-on-the-sides hair, and flashes a wide, beautiful smile. RONNIE is a seventeen-year-old boy’s wet-dream.)
RONNIE
Yeah, I can smoke. (Hits it. VERNE didn’t notice the sudden gender-change in the voice, his eyes are glued to the ocean road. She tries to pass it back, exhaling sexily:) I sure appreciate all the help you’ve been giving me on how to act human, Jules.
VERNE
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! When you told me you wanted to be a robot, you didn’t tell me you were going to be a chick!
RONNIE
What’s the matter? (Removes gloves; hitting the joint.) My primary logic processor is female; it’s from a military design-
VERNE
(Trying to keep his eyes on where he’s flying, still cheating:) So... is that a suit?
RONNIE
Yes, a suit of armor. Underneath, I’m exactly like a real woman. I designed this body. (Pause, excited:) Want to see?
VERNE
Oh- (Eyes glued to road, one hand on joystick and one vaguely gesturing:) Not right now. You got those tamper-proof seals. Keep ‘em on. Especially near that chastity-belt-lookin’-thing there. (Cheats a look, both hands on joystick, fingers extend for a second.) I gotta girlfriend now, she wouldn’t understand.
RONNIE
If you say so. You’d be surprised how many women understand relationships with mechanical devices. (Pause.) You look tired. (Pause.) Wanna put the ship on auto-pilot? (Longer pause, licks lips, looks down, then slowly at him.) Want me to give you a-
VERNE
Atavachron!
RONNIE
(Pause.) ...Backrub? (Gestures.) Hey, I thought you were gonna call me Ronnie. (Pause. Tilts head.) How about Ronica?
VERNE
Fine. I’ll still keep calling you Ronnie, tho, kinda like a pet name.
RONNIE
(Massaging her thighs absently with her soft hands:) Cool.
VERNE
And for now, just for a little while, until we solve all this mess, why doncha leave your helmet on, so I don’t get... (Can’t find a better word:) distracted from the mission, okay?
RONNIE
(Pause; she looks down, hands in lap.) You don’t think I’m pretty?
VERNE
No! I mean, yes! Of course you’re pretty. It’s not that, it’s uh. (Flips it on auto-pilot, the switch lights up! He gets up, accidentally bangs his head on the only panel in the cockpit that doesn’t have a vital button, dial or monitor. It clangs!) It’s just that, I want your first intimate moment to be special, when there’s time, and maybe we might have Azalea with us, to offer her womanly guidance. Things like, nuances that let men know they are desired. If I let you parade your beauty to the rest of the crew, they might want to use you to exploit me and destroy all we have worked-on together. (Kisses her forehead, she touches his chest, thinking he was going to kiss her lips.) Do you understand?
RONNIE
(As the kiss cools, so does she, replaying exactly what he said in her mind. Unpuckers lips, opens eyes. Snorts and grabs helmet.) Perfectly. (Puts on helmet. Gets up. In masculine robot voice:) I’ll be in the back, in sleep mode, sir. (Puts on gloves.) Activate me if you need me to kick-some-butt or if you got any more questions about flying the ship, sir. (At aft door with a half-ticked, two-fingered salute:) Check-ya-later, sir.
(VERNE bangs his head against the panel again, this time on purpose; a jet of water squirts at him, as from a small, toy, plastic squirt-gun. Captain Nemo, report.)
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