Scene 6.03 - The Real World, Part 1
ANIMATION STYLE 2
INT. U.S.S.S. Enrapture NC-1769-01
(We see the brightly-lit interior of the Star Fleet transporter bay. [In the sole dimension that has never been compromised with any quantum paradox.] You may ask: Did it really take all those long-ass, alternate-dimension chapters just to get to arrive at this scene? I reply: Why, yes indeedy, it shorely did now...)
VERNE
Captain's Log: Stardate 99.69.31.10.13.21 - While orbiting the Rhea System for a routine in-flight refueling mission, I have been ordered to transport two officers, Admiral Jeremy of Naval Command, and Commodore Zale, Fleet Commander of The Nevada Colonies to Planet Halceron, far beyond the Coma Wall. Although I do not know the specifics of their mission orders, I can't help but feel compassion for the men and the mission they will face, for although I have blessedly never had the need to journey to The Halceronian star system before, all throughout my medical career, I have been painfully reminded that planet Halceron is specifically reserved for only the gravest of the terminally ill. "Hopeless Halceron," or the kinder, gentler moniker, "Hotel Halceron" is known sector-wide as a final destination for those beyond redemption from even the most qualified intensive care nurse or faith healer. It is a place where automated bots do everything a noble person would rather do for themselves, and it's where the most radical and hypothetical medical treatments are routinely field-tested by all-too-willing patients -- if only seeking a last thread of hope or diversion from their inevitable fate; a reality surely faced by all of us who are alive. It's curious, knowing that the only real answer or certainty one would have on Halceron is knowing the durability of death there. Very, very, very few patients under my care at any time have ever claimed to have survived a stay on Halceron, and most of those were men and women are also listed in medical journals that strive to explore the miracles of medicine -- then again, longevity is the most optimistic anyone can hope for, and echoes of our permanance are only derived by us -- it is the song of our children who carry our voices across the stars. I can personally attest that while I choose to remain childless, I have seen much over the last thousand years of my life to appreciate the beauty of progeny. Perhaps being able to pass on a little hope to a future beyond us is the very reason we choose to live in the first place. (Pause.) The dire mission of these two officers surely is one of somber note, and the mission notes suggest by its medical classification that these men are being sent to that R-&-D-hell-hole to help some person die quickly, gracefully, conveniently and out of the way of healthier-and-wealthier souls. I suspect that perhaps these men are surgeons, or advisors, sent to offer some scant, last hope to a dying patient, as I am well-aquainted with at least one name on the manifest through his reputation alone. Dr. R. Jeremy is paramount in my field, and is regarded by the more-academic of my Professors to be the true father of modern quantum neurosurgery. When I went back to medical school, I was assigned to repeat in a white room an extensive exploratory study pioneered by Dr. Jeremy a scant fifty years prior, and I was absolutely dumbfounded on the brilliance, tenacity and efficiency shown through the product of this man, and the opportunity to meet him in person has got me feeling very anxious to say the least.
INT. TRANSPORTER BAY
(WELLS [George], VERNE [Sickle], CLARKE [Clark] stand at ease, facing the floor plates, awaiting the guests. HEINLEIN [Roberts] is at attention, posted at the door. SIMAK [Ford] is at ease behind the trasnsporter terminal, observing ASIMOV [Isaac], who works the transporter controls with skill. this is the only stage direction where I will note the one, distinct difference between CLARKE from the other universe and this one: In this one, CLARKE is not a Virginian -- he's a Vulcanian, and yes, he's got those pointed ears that look so hauntingly familiar.)
VERNE
I think I'm gonna be starstruck, Doc. I feel my jaw dropping already. You might have to welcome them aboard for me. To our science officer, it would be like having a money-meld with Malinowski and Adam Smith -- to you, doctor, like Freud asking you to lie on his couch. R. Jeremy wrote the most of the modern bible of Quantum Neurosurgery and, to a guy like me, it's like meeting a true prophet in the flesh. I simply can't wait to meet this man in person.
WELLS
I am as excited as you are, Julie. I've referred to The Jeremy Journals a thousand times. He might be the greatest genius of our time, but remember that he puts his pants on just like you do -- one leg at a time. He's just like you, Julie, just a regular guy, relax. (Punches his shoulder playfully, then slaps his back.) Be yourself, they'll find that you're actually kinda like-able, once they get past your sarcasm.
VERNE
Doc, speaking of pants -- if I pee mine, please hit me with your hypo and haul me off to sick bay post-haste.
SIMAK
What's the transporter's staus, Mr. Isaac?
ASMIOV
De moonz orbit is quit a few kill E meet airs avay, sear. Veer neering ze iptamill transporter range, sear. About two minnits avay, sear.
SIMAK
Aye.
CLARKE
Although I do not have a background in medicine, Captain, I certainly understand your excitement. Admiral Jeremy is one of the Navy's most decorated officers. His name is synonymous with perfect military bearing. I'm sure all of us have heard the phrase, "Be as sterling as Admiral Jeremy."
WELLS
Yes, he's probably gonna be our next Surgeon General if he keeps making headlines. In a white room no less, Dr. Jeremy successfully-separated the Siamese Swift Twins who were conjoined at the cerebellum -- I'm sure everybody's heard about that surgical miracle.
VERNE
Trivial stunts, I'm sure, to a legend like R. Jeremy: Frankly, gentlemen, I'm a little embarrassed. You see, I thought that the good doctor was deceased. My remedial med school was nearly a hundred years ago, and The Jeremy Procedure was already the standard for quantum navigation even then. He must have written The Jeremy Journals at a very young age. I cannot wait to ask him about the Boulle' Paradox-
WELLS
I may want to borrow his brain too, Julie; leave some of his short time aboard to me. Dr. R. Jeremy isn't only known just the neurosurgeons, his insights have advanced medicine across many disciplines.
VERNE
We'll play a hand of crib to see who gets to give him the tour of our sick bay.
WELLS
You're on -- But leave all the quantum stuff under my discretion.
(Pause.)
VERNE
It's your sickbay, Doc; it's my ship. We'll play it over a hand and then give them the tour. (Pause.) That is, if we can ever get them aboard. How's it coming, Mr. Isaac?
ASIMOV
Kimming into ringe new sear.
VERNE
Do it- (Half-Beat over first squelchy-sound-) Belay that, Mr. Isaac, (Nods to the men, knowingly-) Let us all have a quick smoke before they beam aboard. I don't want to hear any lectures on Lung Cancer Prevention and it may be hours before any of us will be able to sneak off to our quarters.
(SIMAK breaks out a tobacco pipe. WELLS shares a square with CLARKE, who nods no as he produces a clove cigarette from his portable dry replicator. VERNE breaks out with his own brand of Lucky Star Filterless Coffin Nails. Asimov pulls a stick of Big Bubble Juicy Fruit Stripe Gum [The winning result of the Gum Wars of 4148.] and works to blow a mondo bubble.)
ASIMOV
Vaht shoodeyedoo sear?
VERNE
Share some of that bubblegum you got with the rest of us -- we don't need ashtray-breath to give us away.
ASIMOV
(Shares.) E mean about ze men on ze moon, sear?
VERNE
Keep 'em waiting, Mr. Issac, wait until we're almost out of range... it will make their ride up seem more exciting. (He nods to SIMAK.) All hail, Mr. Ford. Ship-wide. And get them air vents in here... (Motions with a circular hand wave-) circulating a little more.
SIMAK
(Looks at dial, sniffs.) She's giving her all she's got, Captain. (Squelchy-squelch knob and button:) All hail, sir.
VERNE
(Serious and far-from-relaxed. Echo chamber:) Attention, this is your Captain speaking. As you may know, we're about to beam aboard two very important officers. They are to be given all the respect and courtesy that their rank deserves. For many of you who have gotten the chance to see my stern disciplinarian face, if you thought your Captain was creative with your brig activities, just think what a Commodore or an Admiral can devise with my eager prompting. Please, let's not go there. Be on your best behavior, no shenanigans and only the best for our guests until we arrive at Halceron, where I offer a weekend furlough to everyone aboard if every single one of you can mind your P's and Q's while we have our guests aboard. However, until then and until further notice, no drinking, smoking, gambling, loitering, no pranks... and no fooling around -- no public displays of affection and not one whiff of Nag Champa from anywhere -- to include the engineering deck -- yes, boys, I know what you've been up to, you can't con a con or hide from a smuggler and all thirteen of you know exactly who you are and why I'm bringing this up -- but time is brief and we're on a ship-wide channel so I'll end the suspense for you now -- men from sections Alpha-seven through nineteen in engineering are to report to the mess hall for K-P duty at one-six-zero-zero hours until both the Galley Chef says the dishes are squeaky clean and Mr. Ford comes to free you at two-two-zero-zero hours. If both of those conditions are met, and you boys cook-it-up just right for your favorite captain and his guests, I'll forget about the toilet paper roll with the resin-stained dryer sheet and rubber-band thing I found in your community stash-box next to the air-circulation override control panel and I will let all of that go down as a ship-wide verbal reprimand with a little dishwashing and table-bussing duty and then all will be forgiven and right as rain again. (Pause.) As for the rest of you lummoxes-who-just-haven't-gotten-caught-yet, work on some of your mitigating factors already: Show our guests the very best our ship has to offer and simply be as strack as I ask you to be at all times anyway -- only pretend I'm watching your every move -- which I am, so keep that in mind. Let me make myself perfectly clear: For the next forty-eight hours, I want to run a tight ship. When we get to Halceron, we'll party it up, or my name isn't Julian Oberon Tiberius Ignatious Rodham Sickle. Let's show these officers and the brass back at home that The Enrapture is the most coveted ship in the Navy for a reason. I know you're the best crew a captain could ask for -- please be on your best behavior for our guests. Be the polite and disciplined crew I know you to be. Sickle out.
(The men lose their smokes and wave the air about them while chewing gum quickly and spitting it out into the wrapper and getting rid of that too, all while VERNE addresses the ship. Finally, SIMAK brings down the all-hail channel while ASIMOV brings up the bodies from a neighboring moon.)
VERNE (Cont'd)
(Loses gum after a quick chewing over line:) That goes for you too, men. I'm as anxious as all of you: if not even more so; let's all try to keep our cool. We're about to deal with the seriousness of higher brass and the professionalism of our country's top men. (Into wrapper:) Chin up, chest out.
(All men but VERNE come to attention as the bodies materialize. Pause. Chest out, at least. Yes, it's AZALEA and RONNIE in two exceptionally-hot and revealing [1960s Starfleet] uniforms; the admiral in a mustard yellow miniskirt and the commodore in a vivid, sky blue, plunging-neckline blouse. RONNIE has a doctor's bag and AZALEA carries a purse. And a dog. A pink dog. Wearing striped red-and-white doggy leg-warmers. And it's got a rhinestone-studded white collar. With a leash. A pink leash. All men lose posture and VERNE'S jaw literally drops. Pause. Wait for it-)
WELLS
Forget what I said about pants, Julie.
CU: VERNE, NEARLY CATATONIC, JAW OPEN, WIDE-EYED, ALMOST DROOLING, SHOCKED BEYOND SENSIBILITY
CLARKE
Ah-bub-um, Welcome aboard... ladies.
RONNIE
Oh! What a beautiful ship you have! (Looks across the men, finding the highest-ranking one, crosses-) Captain... (Swaps lit blunt in right to left. Offers hand.) High, I'm Ronica; you seem friendly enough -- you can call me Ronnie. This is Leah. (Sotto:) She's a lezzo, so fahgetaboudit. I'm a byke, tho... you know? Bisexual dyke? No? (Louder:) We'll go over that later, just know that a little chivalry goes a long way with me, Fly-boy, and you've been great so far. We sure appreciate you coming to our rescue and giving us a lift to Halceron in this really neat-o ship of yours with all these... men!
VERNE
(Limply shakes, in shock:) Captain Julian Sickle, Admiral. A pleasure to have you aboard, I'm sure.
AZALEA
Oh, it's so nice to be aboard! That stuffy, automated moon-base-weigh-station thingy was simply dreadful! Nothing but robots! No toilets! So where's the latrine already? I've been tanked all day on them gin-and-whateverz that replicator thing kept dishing out and I've like been, so holding it in, like forever! "Like a Russian Racehorse!" My bladder's bloated!
CLARKE
Mr. Roberts-
HEINLEIN
This way, Mam.
(AZALEA hands SIMAK a pink leash with a yippi little dog attached who takes great excitement at going at SIMAK'S bell-bottom trouser leg. The dog growls and barks. [Simply annoying.])
AZALEA
Be a doll and watch my Lil' Nippi Longstocking, willya? Thanks, cutie.
(She exits with HEINLEIN. The men are all in shock.)
CLARKE
Mam, please indulge me a question, for I believe it may clear up some confusion we all seem to be experiencing.
RONNIE
(Mondo hit, deep inhale, lifts a finger, blows smoke ring, pokes it:) Sure, high-brow, shoot-
CLARKE
Are you the same Admiral R. Jeremy who pioneered the modern quantum neurosurgical technique; the one who devised the famous Jeremy Procedure?
RONNIE
(Jovial:) Heard of me, huh? Yeah, it's me, you got me. (Frames herself in a photo with her free hand, smiles and passes the blunt to VERNE who awkwardly receives it.) Did all that when I was younger and still trying the more popular experimental drugs. Go on, try summa my Crystal Ambrosia... what? Don't you ever toke-up on this ship, Fly-boy?
VERNE
(Receives blunt awkwardly, looks to men:) Uh, yes, we've been known to 'toke-up' every now and then.
(CLARKE raises an eyebrow as VERNE tries to toke and coughs. [You saw it here first!])
CLARKE
You're Dr. Jeremy, the father of modern quantum neuroscience?
RONNIE
More like the mother, but the public affairs boys coined it and said "father" sounded more respectful. They said "Mother of Neuroscience" sounded like an acute headache. Hey, Sir-Camp-A-Lot, you gonna hit that?
VERNE
Yes, I'm working on it.
RONNIE
Work a little harder! You not liking the taste?
VERNE
(Hits lightly, passes back to RONNIE:) It... tastes fine, I suppose.
RONNIE
(Tokes it, hands it back to him, dimissing the blunt:) Great, great... so which one of you cuties is the ship's doctor, eh?
WELLS
Lieutenent Commander George, Mam. Chief Surgeon aboard The Enrapture. Delighted to meet you in person.
RONNIE
Doctor! Oh no, sir! It is I who am delighted beyond measure! Your sick bay precedes you! Back at command we've all heard about the wonderful modifications your ship has made to your quantum prism and the word on the street is that it's even capable of performing a miracle or two. (Pulls an even-fatter blunt from her brassiere. Coy:) So, Dr. Georgie-Porgie-Pudding-Pie-Sweetie, please, pretty please with a cherry-on-top: (Bats eyes, throws large handbag from her side to across her back -- it becomes a golden, tiny, shiny, satin-ey, back-clinging ruck sack!) Could I possibly tempt you into giving me a quick tour of your sickbay before you get me settled into my quarters?
WELLS
I'd be absolutely delighted to, Admiral. (Across:) Looks like we'll have to postpone that game, Captain. I win by default.
VERNE
(Feeling the buzz hit, a little stoney, very committed to being practically perfect in every way:) Hmmm. Either way, I'll get to sit next to our... charming Admiral when we finally eat, at one-eight-zero-zero, sharp. Tonght's special is Chef's Salad with Tofu-Chicken Cordon Bleu Chunks with microbiotic-culture proscuitto-flavored "bacon bits" and Caesar dressing. A vegan version will be available without the cheese. Or the egg. Or the chicken. Of course, only I know which came first. Admiral, thanks for the stone -- we'll catch up, later, I'm sure. As you were, Doctor -- we still got a game on for other stakes.
WELLS
(Getting his own buzz on.) Pardon me, Doctor... commander-captain-dude. Lemme explain -- you see, Mam, Captain Sickle is also a neurosurgeon, like yourself, and he's been at it longer, and better at it than anyone I know in existence.
RONNIE
Oh, that's so sweet! Captain! Aw, you wanna talk summa the lingo?! Talk shop?!
VERNE
Yes, Mam, I would be honored to... talk shop with you.
RONNIE
Okay Cap'n, it's a date. Chow tonight, you and me. I'll wear the best dress uniform I got with the miniskirt I KNOW you'll like -- and you can be as dolled-up as they let you be. Don't want to get your hopes up too much tho -- you might think I'm prime-time, but I'm more like part-time, past her prime. You're cute tho, Cap'n, so go easy on the roofies and the garbonzo beans in that salad and I may be talked into a dance or two or three or more... (looks at all the men about her, all nearly speechless) ...alot more if you all play those cards right with me and what-not. Charming as you all are; know that I dance only to swing! (Pause. Double entendre, anyone?) I tend to lead, tho, so it may be a lesson for you on how not to step on anyone's toes. (Blows VERNE a kiss, winks at CLARKE, draws back her pinky as a subtle gesture while looking at ASIMOV and squints and bites her bottom lip in a pleased way when looking over SIMAK. All that in about two and a half seconds - it's an ability-of-the-fairer-sex-thing, I suppose. She takes WELLS' arm, pulls him in:) As for you, honey, meow! Such a handsome man you are! Lead me on, Doctor, show me your sickbay -- you have the royal ear, and who knows? Maybe a few more body parts as well... (Arms locked she teases his chest with her fingers:) Plus, Georgie, in addition to being a little touchy-feely and constantly showering you with gratuitous flirtations and my endless barrage of wit -- (Squeezes bicep -- he's strong!) -- suitable only for gentleman and scholars -- there's also much I'd like to discuss with you, at length, about my present case. (Looks about.) It's highly uncanny -- no, perhaps that's not the word -- it's unique.
(Slaps his butt to get him walking and... Out the door.)
WELLS
(Sheepish, gloating:) See ya tonight, Julie.
(Swish.)
SIMAK
Lieutenant Isaac, take this dog out of here. Now.
(The dog is suddenly friendly and hops into ASIMOV'S hands, licking and tail-wagging all the while.)
ASMIOV
Vere shill Eye tick (looks) her, sear?
SIMAK
The brig, an airlock, the other side of an airlock, anywhere but near me, Mr. Isaac, is that understood?
ASIMOV
Yes sear.
(He exits with a kinder, gentler dog.)
CLARKE
We misassumed the gender of our guests, Captain. It defies logic, yet the fact is and is all the fact shall ever be. On an academic scale of one to ten, I know Admiral R. Jeremy is a ten-point-nine. However, on the babe scale, both ladies defy all rational numbers; in the end, it seems beauty overcomes science as well as the beast. Those ladies through either their entrancing curves or their mind-blowing herbage have completely confounded my sense of logic; among other things.
SIMAK
(Nodding yes like he was understanding then nods no after CLARKE finishes and he simply sums it up that it was more of CLARKE'S logical-schmogical blathering.) Aye. They were doctors, Captain? I've heard them medical types were a wee bit lax, but-
VERNE
Mr. Ford, please give the rest of the crew a heads-up. Quietly. Flirtatious as the Admiral is, please distance her from our... randier and more-bold ensigns. NO fooling around for the next two days, Captain's orders. That means everybody on this "neat-o" ship. Everybody means it applies to both genders doing anything with either gender, and I mean anything. (Getting worked up:) I see a lip-lock between anybody not giving C-P-R, I swear after I have my own coronary I'll have their heads giving each other a lip-lock through a stockade -- in the stockade. Crude and irreverent slang or no, or whether R. Jeremy is a self-admitted byke, dyke, or shrike, I don't want to hear one off-color joke or wolf whistles or profanity or anything, Comprende? Understand it is of paramount importance that our ship's highest-ranking officer doesn't get goosed on the way to the mess hall. Is that clear enough, Mr. Ford?
SIMAK
Aye, sir. I'll get the word out; quietly, sir.
(He exits.)
VERNE
(Passes blunt without hitting it:) Well? (Pause.) At a loss for words? (Pause.) That's a new one...
CLARKE
(Looks at blunt strangely:) Before the ladies arrived, to amuse my thirstier thoughts, I was fully prepared to make a mockery of your star-struck attitude toward the Admiral. Instead, I found myself drooling and thinking of things very unbecoming of an officer. Irony, perhaps. Perhaps Karmic Justice. They're mesmerizing, Captain, and posses a charisma unequalled -- they're two of the finest, freshest faces this side of- (Yeah, he's stoned, but VERNE'S enjoying seeing this side of CLARKE, especially while he's ripped as well.) It seems we are being reminded of an old Earth adage, one particular to your hobby.
VERNE
My hobby? What? You mean my collection of water pipes? They're just for show, ya know...
CLARKE
(Whiffs the blunts' second-hand smoke, cringes. Takes a light toke, blows through nose, raises eyebrow, inspects it, retokes with more fervor and passes:) Though perhaps very apt as well, I was referring to your bibliophelia.
VERNE
Hmmm. What about it?
CLARKE
I think today, we have been dutifully reminded to never judge a book by its cover.
(A toking VERNE nods in agreement as a Nemo look creeps in.)
FTB