Scene 5.17 - First Segment Of An Overdue Explanation
INT. Fourth-Orbit Entry Station, The Zeta Colonies
(THE BARON and CLARKE are at the front of a long line. CLARKE’S is in 100th-century dress, sans pointy-ears, and tries to appear non-chalant and cool. Several hundred people behind him noisily zig-zag single-file across a crowded room, rarely straying from the nylon straps that function as velvet ropes that guide the wayward stretch of people to one, solitary window at the end of the long, long hall. To the right of the window is a large, digital sign, reading: "NOTICE -YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A CONTROLLED AREA - Fourth Orbit; Zeta Colonies; Please have all pertinent documents ready before approaching the service window. Documents must include: Inter-spacial Passport. Notice Of Intended Orbital Destination. A Printed Copy Of All Citizenship Verification Codes. A Completed And Hand-signed 99-A Customs Declaration Form. Proof Of Lineage Designation. A Holographic, Digital Or Paper Copy Proving Issuance And/Or Series Number From Mt. Adlous Administrative Headquarters; Or In The Case Of Child-Birth Or Existence Before 9711 A.C.E., Date And Place Of Birth Or Cloning With Maiden Name Of Maternal Source Of D.N.A. You May Also Need To Provide:" A sublist continues in a smaller font. There is also a sign listing items of contraband and a contraband-disposal bin with a sign reading "DUMP IT HERE - No Questions Asked." The latter is adorned with nuclear, biotoxic and hazardous material logos that seem to encourage disposal of such items in the orange and green laundry chute below the sign. Filling the clerk's small window is a pane of plexiglass that is apparently bullet, radiation, germ and laser-proof. The pane also stretches far above, covering a large LED screen that reads: Now Serving Number 108,965. What is most-unnerving to the casual observer is that the entire crowd is made up of only a mere-fifty-or-so examples of human genetics. Seemingly, all are clones from the same vat of limited D-N-A. There are fat Clarkes, a young Wells, many short Vernes, an old Rose, a heavily-tattooed Lily, and two or three versions of all the cameos seen in this chapter coming from a variety of backgrounds and occupations. Strangely, there aren't any children, nor is a version of RONNIE present. RAMONA'S visage is also absent from the crowd. The line patrons wear flamboyant, functional and fantastically-futuristic dress and are typical of the crowd one might see in a 21st-Century airport, except that the technology about them seems quite magical. A businessman talks loudly into a floating video-phone so everyone can hear what a high-stakes-roller he is; a foreign couple argues in fast-talking future Spanglish over whether they left their replicator running back at the hotel and whether they'll be charged for it; a young woman rifles through her luggage, looking for heaven-knows-what; a group of football players returning from a victorious game dish-out autographs to a few picture-taking fans and gracefully-endure the ribbing and advice from a throng of overweight, out-of-shape camoeos who themselves couldn't catch a thrown football if it were thrown-directly to their arm-chair from their respective wide-screen holographic display panels -- even if only sitting a mere three feet away. CLARKE clears his throat. An over-weight, over-worked-and-overly-bureaucratic-version of POPPY [WINDOW CHICK] sits at the window, chomping on gum and talking into a small headset to someone unseen. Various, pre-recorded, public-service announcements continually-and-unintelligibly-squawk overhead with merciless repetition.)
WINDOW CHICK
(Looking at CLARKE'S papers:) Mr. Clarke, I see you have the correct papers; a Virginian, huh?
CLARKE
Yes, I was developed at The Jeffersonian Institute Of Reproductive Science.
WINDOW CHICK
Length of your stay, and final Orbit?
CLARKE
Just long enough to charter a vessel. Fourth orbit. I'm not terribly fond of Zeta.
WINDOW CHICK
No, no, that won't do -- you'll get pushed to next year. (Raises eyebrows, suggestive:) Two weeks? Shopping? Third Orbit Clearance?
CLARKE
Sure. Two weeks. Third Orbit. (To THE BARON:) The Space Malls. Wonderful.
WINDOW CHICK
Declared items?
CLARKE
None.
WINDOW CHICK
None?
CLARKE
None.
WINDOW CHICK
Very well. Take this receipt and proceed to door 14. You're cleared to go, Arthur Clarke 11-81.
CLARKE
Uh, there's my companion-
WINDOW CHICK
Oh, yes, hello! I didn't see you there! We get so-few-people using that disabled express lane, that I- What can I do for you, sir? (Unsure:) You a ‘71 model?
(The little "arm" from THE BARON'S chair feeds his old-school paper files through a slot in a drop box. WINDOW CHICK opens them.)
WINDOW CHICK
‘69. Close enough, I guess. Oh yes, Mister Julian Rodham Sickle? (To CLARKE:) He a Verne model?
CLARKE
Yes.
WINDOW CHICK
You sure there ain't a typo? There's no digits of nomenclature.
CLARKE
Negative. He has none. He's an original. He dates from the 70th century. He was born naturally.
WINDOW CHICK
(Her first one. Thought they were all dead.) Really? Is that why he's like that? (Beat.) In a chair and all?
(THE BARON beeps no.)
WINDOW CHICK (Cont'd)
This might take a moment. (Into headset:) Stevie, I got a disabled guy sitting here who looks like he was around when rocks were soft. No, right here in front of me, no listen, his papers practically date back to the Bronze Age. Uh-uh, he was born. No, no, he was born from a woman. Nya- of course he’s human. Born in Oklahoma. Yes. It's on Earth. Our Earth. Sol system Earth, Oklahoma. Yeah. Yeah. I think it was a country or a little island we annexed before we colonized- Maiden name Rodham. Not sure, should I send him to you? No, no, his paperwork's fine, but I really think he might need some medical attention. (Eyes him discreetly, THE BARON is zoned-out, drooling on himself:) He don't look too good.
(A person behind CLARKE speaks up.)
CAMEO SEVEN
Yo, man, this gonna take all day? I got another flight to catch...
CLARKE
Uh, I'm sure this shouldn't take too much longer...
WINDOW CHICK
Oh, okay. You too. Peace. Okay, Mr. Clarke. Zetan immigration laws madate that anyone returning to Zeta with a discrepancy in their paperwork as pertaining to a medical condition must be cleared by our resident medical officer before proceeding...
CLARKE
What?
WINDOW CHICK
This paperwork; it doesn't describe his medical condition, it's noted on form K-177, but not the original G-42, and that's the one in triplicate; the one that counts. I'm sorry for a delay, but he's got to be examined by the 5th-Orbit physicians on The Nightingale; we've got to be sure he's okay to travel.
CLARKE
Sure, he's fine. We've made it this far...
WINDOW CHICK
That's not relevant, sir. What we got here is a three-thousand-year-old relic of humanity and not one scrap of medical documentation to explain why. He might be the oldest man alive for all we know. What did it? Gen-fusion? Transplants? Why's he so messed-up lookin'?
CLARKE
I believe he fell victim to the time-space effects of an event-horizon, which explains his age. As for his medical condition, it occured well after the time anomaly; in a red room.
(Three orderlies enter with a gurney and are immediately befuddled. THE BARON simply sits, encased in his Love-Around.)
WINDOW CHICK
Well, you're cleared to proceed, Mr. Clarke. However, Mr. Sickle will have to proceed-to secondary screening.
CLARKE
I can't leave him. We're together.
WINDOW CHICK
Well, you're free to go with him if you want. I'm sure it's just a routine examination. You'll both be out within the hour, I'm sure.
(The line gets more impatient. ROMEO enters, in casual attire. We've never seen ROMEO before. He's a new face that I'll describe in detail later. He's only new to us. Despite the fact that there are no other examples of him in the crowded room, his face is known to the crowd -- a time cop. Just picture an old-looking, bald man appearing to be in his forties with a subtle light-blue scar on his right cheekbone that kinda looks like a teardrop tattoo, but ain’t a tattoo. He quickly flashes a badge towards WINDOW CHICK. She nods and blazes a joint; a momentary break, suddenly making her quite uninterested in the trio. He waves the orderlies away, and they depart.)
ROMEO
Excuse me; Mr. Clarke?
CLARKE
Yes.
ROMEO
I'm Colonel Romero; I'm working with the Zetan Authorities. I've been alerted to your presence and would like you and your companion to accompany me to Second Orbit -- immediately.
CLARKE
Second Orbit? What's this all about? What about his medical screening or whatever?
ROMEO
(Dismissive:) I've waived it; I have executive powers here. Will you come with me to my ship? I've been waiting for one of you stragglers to show up for quite some time now.
CLARKE
One of us? Stragglers?
(The cameos start grumbling louder, as if ROMEO wasn’t aware of their presence.)
ROMEO
(Scanning for that end on the horizon:) Pardon me, I thought I heard someone say they wanted to go to the back of the line. (Everyone-else in line suddenly is aloof and unaware of what ROMEO is doing and nothing about the front of the line is interesting in the slightest. He continues:) You are Lieutenant Commander Arthur C. Clarke, the 1,181st?
CLARKE
Yes.
ROMEO
First Officer of The Warship Eliza N-C-C-17-69?
CLARKE
Yes, how do you know? That's sensitive information.
(CLARKE moves ROMEO and THE BARON farther from earshot of the line. The tension releases; normalcy resumes. The trio clacks and rolls away a few feet.)
ROMEO
You may not be aware of this, but your ship has been missing for... a while now. Completely off our radar -- I'm glad I've found you. You have new orders from your command, and I'll be more than happy to show them to you -- if you'll come with me. You too, Ensign Sickle...
(CLARKE raises an eyebrow, THE BARON is aware the reference to his rank and true name was not an accident -- no, not from a time cop. THE BARON chooses to follow. It's a long, long hallway.)
WINDOW CHICK
(Puts the joint down for a second.) Next!
CLARKE
What's this about? They tell me The Baron must receive medical treatment on The Nightingale, which is currently in 5th Orbit-
ROMEO
Oh, he’ll see The Nightingale, alright. But not here. From my ship, we'll have him patched up and good as new in no time at all. You'd be amazed at the automated medical facilities I have at my disposal. You call your commander The Baron?
CLARKE
Colonel, this man you see before you is not my actual commander; rather, he is a phantasmic replicant of my commander, brought into existence long before my service on The Eliza, when he was Ensign Sickle, aboard the-
ROMEO
Or perhaps he's the original -- I'm quite aware of much, Mr. Clarke.
CLARKE
Then perhaps you know my intentions: With a quantum vessel at my disposal, I hope to find my commander and somehow reunite the two, bringing resolution to the primary paradox that has thrown our ship and its occupants across time and space in a most haphazard fashion.
ROMEO
Funny you should mention time. You know, The Eliza and its crew are responsible for one of the most maddening conundrums that we've ever encountered; we call it the Verne Paradox.
CLARKE
That is precisely the paradox I wish to remedy. I don't find it surprising that you've been alerted to us; after all, we've moved through time. (ROMEO is unimpressed and unaware CLARKE was waiting for some big reaction to his statement. Pause.) I take it that when you say "we," you are referring to the Time-Police.
ROMEO
Aye, you got me pegged. What do you know of the Time-Police?
CLARKE
I know you are very secretive and that your authority is supreme.
ROMEO
Right on both counts. That's what I like about you, Mr. Clarke; you exceed your reputation, which is quite impressive already -- and that is why I am authorized to make you an offer. You've been pre-approved. I would like you to be my chief science officer aboard my vessel, The Timeship Ventura. (Pause.) Sound enticing?
CLARKE
(At once, captivated:) Timeship?
ROMEO
Oh yes; take a look at her; think it over. Ensign Verne, er, The Baron, too; we need his D-N-A matrix. He could be my number-one once I promote him to captain, officially. You're still on active duty, aren't you, Ensign?
(THE BARON beeps yes.)
ROMEO (Cont'd)
Yes; I think you may be invaluable to my mission, Mr. Clarke.
CLARKE
Suppose we accept your positions -- temporarily -- we are in need of a space vessel, and a timeship exceeds what I'd hoped to find. What about you, Colonel? What would you require of us? What mission?
ROMEO
The mission to set this right. I seem to be the only one of us who remembers anyone being aboard The Enrapture, with your commander and his rescue-party stranded on Tellusia-
CLARKE
What?
ROMEO
(Patient.) I come directly from your future, a very certain future, and I need you to help me sort out this mess -- we need to find the crew and cargo of your phantom ship, The Eliza. We need to get this right again. Our existence depends on it.
CLARKE
I must say the thought is very appealing. Your ship's computer banks must house a great store of knowledge.
ROMEO
Oh-ho! She's the ghost with the most. Her name's Betsy; and she's real user-friendly if you know what I mean.
CLARKE
It is tantalizing, I must admit. Still, my primary duty is locating my captain. I cannot vary from my purpose.
ROMEO
We share that purpose -- I'll put him first on our list of people to find, okay?
CLARKE
Very well. (Pause.) It cost me everything I had saved just to get the Baron and I this far; I cannot refuse. Phantasmic and para-temporal travel within a paradox costs a pretty penny on the Black Market -- not to mention all the forms I had to submit from an Internexual Gateway just to make this transfer to 9969 look all legal and above-board -- Hmm. How does payroll work when you travel time?
ROMEO
Yikes! You had to ask. A flat stipend, no matter how long it takes.
CLARKE
How unfortunate. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
ROMEO
No one said the future is perfect, it's just a little more acceptable. Plus the wonders we can do with bionics. We'll have your "Baron" up and walking in no time.
(VERNE slaps and pats the back of the Love-Around, chummily. THE BARON doesn't buy it, neither does CLARKE.)
CLARKE
I'm not so sure; his tragedy was due to a quantum-mishap that-
ROMEO
Relax. You're with me; everything's gonna be all right.
(ROMEO even tussles THE BARON'S white hair! THE BARON ain't happy.)
CLARKE
Tell me; do they still have... in the future, do people still smoke?
(ROMEO chuckles.)
ROMEO
Weed, right? You kidding? See this scar? It holds an implant. I'm continually-fed T-H-C at an optimal dosage rate for the rest of my days or until my dope-a-mean receptors burn-out. Hey, and that's not even counting all the schwag I get to replicate on the timeship.
CLARKE
Eh? They've figured out a way to get replicators to make... weed?
ROMEO
I think you're gonna like being aboard. Come; down this hallway, She's still in dry dock, but she's all ready to go.
(CLARKE pauses his step. Everyone momentarily stops at the intersection of hallways before proceeding down a shorter hall.)
CLARKE
I only ask because at customs, I-
ROMEO
Oh, I get it; say no more. (Effortlessly produces and sparks a joint, offers it to CLARKE.) I keep forgetting I'm all the way back in 99-69, you gotta spell it out to me.
CLARKE
What year are you from?
ROMEO
Sorry; classified for now. Let's just say far enough ahead that it slipped my mind that in this age these medieval types still trade with this stuff, heh, heh. (Pause. Takes joint from CLARKE.) Still, we'd better smoke it here, though. I just remembered that all you folks also still barter with them expensive rocket fuels and all that primitive, black star mess. (Passes it back to CLARKE.) Face it, explosions happen, and the farther away, the better. No telling what they got out there next to ol' Betsy. Better finish that left-handed cigarette before we get to the air lock.
CU:BARON
(CLARKE has the joint to the mouth of THE BARON who is hot-boxing it like there's no other way to do it. It seems as if THE BARON wants to smoke the entire joint in one inhale and the joint's cherry is at least a third of the length of the joint. THE BARON exhales through his nose and quickly puffs on the joint; having been passed up once already, he is quite afraid the joint might be taken away all too soon.)
MS: CLARKE AND BARON
CLARKE
Colonel, I don't think that will be a problem.
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