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From a Stranger Future..Prologue & Ch. 1
By Parasaur.w
The Following PREVIEW Has Been Approved For
ALL AUDIENCES
By the Motion Picture Association of America
DARKNESS....
THE PLANET MARS APPEARS...
NARRATOR: WE SEE WHAT WE SEE
~SCENE OF A GIRL HOLDING A PICTURE
NARRATOR: WE KNOW WHAT WE SEE
BOY: NICE PICTURE...
GIRL: YEAH.
NARRATOR: BUT SEEING ISN'T BELIEVING...
~CLOSE UP OF THE PICTURE AS THE PEOPLE MOVE TOWARD HER...SHE DROPS THE PICTURE AND IT CRASHES TO THE GROUND.
GIRL: IT JUST MOVED!
~SCENE OF A BOY BACKING INTO THE GRINDER GENERATOR AS HIS FRIEND WALKS TOWARD HIM.
BOY: BACK AWAY FREAK!
FRIEND: WHOA CALM DOWN!
NARRATOR: THIS SUMMER...
~SCENE OF GIRL RUNNING FROM A SUPPOSED TIGER CHASING HER
NARRATOR: SPACE...
~SCENE OF GIRL SHOOTING AT A HOLLUCINATION OF A ZOMBIE, WHICH IS REALLY JUST HER FRIEND TRYING TO CALM HER DOWN.
NARRATOR: REALLY...
~SCENE OF BLOOD SQUIRTING OUT AS BOY FALLS INTO THE GRINDER GENERATOR
NARRATOR: IS...
GIRL: MAYDAY, MAYDAY, THIS MISSION IS F**KED..
NARRATOR: SCARY...
RED FEAR
June 2002
*************************************
The Following PREVIEW Has Been Approved For
ALL AUDIENCES
By the Motion Picture Association of America
**Lightning flashes
NARATOR:"Somehow the unexpected has occured..."
**Camera shows all of the survivors screaming as a Tyrannosaur roars at them nearby.
NARATOR:"Bringing dinosaurs...."
**Camera shows a team running in the Costa Rican Jungles
NARATOR:"To the mainland!"
**Camera shows people moving through a large lab complex
TIM:"Site C?"
ROLAND:"That's what it looks like."
LEX:"This can't be possible! Why would InGen create another site?"
**Camera shows the team running from velociraptors in a clearing.
NARATOR:"Get ready for the breakout!"
Breakout: Jurassic Park 5 Movie Script
Coming May 2002
***********************************
And now our
FEATURE PRESENTATION
FROM A STRANGER FUTURE
Prologue: Butterflies
“The feeling is very hard to place at first. It’s as indescribable as color the first time. But, I’ve done it so many times I found a way to classify it. You know when you ride a roller coaster at some theme park, and you get butterflies in your gut? And sometimes you feel like its too intense? Well, it’s like that, only to a higher degree. You strap in, gear up, hold your breath, and anticipate the worst. And the butterflies always come. I’ve done it…oh let’s see, at least thirty times. Probably more like forty, *chuckles*, I lost count after twenty, but every time, the butterflies get you. You feel panicked, and you just know something is going to go wrong. You say to yourself: ‘Did I make sure the Rear Radial Thruster is calibrated to the Forward Thruster?’ Even though you know it is. *Laughs*. Yeah, it’s frightening. But when it’s all said and done, oh lord is it worth it! I’ve seen some incredible things. Some things I’ve seen things that defy any…rational reasoning that our brains are programmed to comprehend. Yeah, those are as indescribable as color.”
Present, May 13, 2087 ad
To Jeremy Stinson, the rev of the D4 Module’s motor sounded more like a jet engine then anything else, but he guessed he was alone on that one. Everyone else seemed to think it sounded like any ChronoLeaper would, even though there was only one in existence. All of them hadn’t been in the Air Force though. Paul Metz had flown shuttles for NASA, but he couldn’t hear much of the engine.
Stinson covered his ears as the D4 Module was revved and tested. He stood high up on a catwalk in the warehouse, practically above the D4 Module, and its tumultuous racquet, observing the Operations Crew go to work on it. The Module itself was only as large as a car, yet that’s where the similarities between the two ended. The module was thin and shaped in a high arc, with spinning rotors, and four large circular panels, one on each face of the object. The discs, when activated glowed bright blue and spun four-foot long blades. It actually looked quite frightening and intimidating, but the blades were constructed out of a thin paper like material and would shatter harmlessly on contact with anything, even water.
The Ops Crew was nearly finished. All that was left was a test of all the internal Mercury Transfer Shafts (MTS). This was really the only dangerous part of the two-hour long process. The Ops Crew would drain the Shafts of their mercury and then flush them with water. But, because when the D4 Module was activated it was such a bumpy ride, the MTSs would rattle, causing mercury to get trapped in any dents or divots caused by the severe shaking and not be drained. As soon as the water flowed through, though, the trapped mercury would be swept away with the strong current and flow with the water as it exited the shafts. Sometimes, Operators close to the port where the water would drain out of would get splashed with raw mercury, a very unhealthy thing. As rare it was to happen, the Ops Crew was always cautious during this procedure.
“Phase nine of the D4 Module Routine Diagnostic now complete. Entering Phase Ten: MTS Flush now initiated,” droned an unknown voice from the PA.
A red alarm flashed as high-pressurized water shot through the pipes and shafts of the D4 Module at high speeds. The water sprayed onto the floor, soaking it and everyone within fifteen feet. Shouts from the Ops Crew and big thumbs up indicated everything was all right. Another alarm sounded, this one louder.
Although Stinson could not see it, he knew what was now happening. The MTS’s were now being refilled with their deadly contents.
“Phase ten of the D4 Module Routine Diagnostic now complete. Entering Phase eleven: System Test. A reminder that all personnel on the Floor—,” (Floor meaning in the D4 Modules radius) “—must wear a hard hat when Phase eleven is initiated,” The forty-two year old Stinson put the hard hat in his hands on top of his neatly combed hair. “Now initiating Phase eleven,” said the voice.
A couple of Ops Crew technicians, security cards in hand, strode to a control panel a wall. The two men slipped their cards through a slot and each entered a code. Stinson recognized this procedure; he had done it himself numerous times. One of the men pressed a large button and pulled a large red lever down. The D4 Module roared to life, with all its blades churning. It sounded high pitched, with a distinct piercing whistle. Stinson covered his ears again. The D4 Module, basically the engine for the ChronoLeaper, hovered a foot or so above the metallic floor, rocking and shaking as though it might explode. But it wouldn’t. The D4 Module was dependable. It had to be. And if it wasn’t, it meant lost hope to eight people, either in the future or the past.
Jeremy Stinson surveyed his all-too-strange creation with grim satisfaction. This is the future, he thought and made his way back to his office.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chapter One: Futura Centra
“Uh, whose idea was it to begin with? *Chuckle*. I can’t really remember. It was over thirty-five years ago we started this project. I don’t know whose idea it was (Maybe Al Christensen), but it was Jeremy who got it to work. Jeremy Stinson. He was always so damned serious about his work. We first hired the kid about fifteen years into the construction of the ChronoLeaper. Straight from the Air Force, a pure genius. He fixed planes there. He never flew, but he repaired. He actually built better jet engines for them. Pure genius that boy. He had a very complex grip on physics, and of course we had to train him a little bit, he was always up and rearing to go. *Laugh*, we could not have done it without him.”
Past, December 28, 2071 a.d.
David Connor and Sharon Rhodes, both distinguished professors of Physics, quarreled in the personal galley of a great oil tanker named “The Santa Marie,” as it sailed through the mid-Atlantic.
“Dave, think about what you’re saying here! You’re not making any coherent sense! You mean to tell me I am responsible for the disappearance of these?” She gestured toward a brightly colored box on the table. “If you remember, I have been down on the Floor all day! This is the first time I’ve been up here since yesterday!” She flared. The forty-nine year old woman had a cold and angry scowl upon her face.
Dave, a sixty-three year old man, known for his placidness and laidback lifestyle scratched at his white beard. “Sharon,” he said quietly, “Everyone else stays away from those. It’s like a rule. You’re the only one who might take some.”
Sharon flashed a deadly glare and was about to say how much she disliked the man before her when Phil Jackson, who’d been observing the entire incident stepped in. “Calm down, guys. They’re just donuts.” He strode over to the box on the table and opened it. “See, there are still four left. Two for each of you.”
“But the cook makes those especially for me! I don’t appreciate it when someone goes through and raids it. All you need to do is ask and I’ll give you one.” Dave said, glancing at Sharon.
Phil, a twenty-eight year old grad student with a Masters Degree in Mathematics chuckled and said to his former professor, who had always asked him not to address him as professor but as his name: “Dave, you can be such a whiner. Oh, and Sharon, they need you on the Floor.”
With one last glare at Dave, Sharon grabbed an orange and strode out the door. Dave looked at his former student. “She took them.”
*****
The floor was hectic. The hustle and bustle was always a little too much for Sharon. She much preferred doing things in the quiet of an office, where one can concentrate. There was always something incredibly noisy going on. In one of the corners, someone might be welding or cutting some large piece of metal, there were always motors running, either pumping power into the D3 Module or charging monstrous batteries, pipes were always letting out pressurized air with a loud hiss, and somewhere, always some alarm was going off. Usually the alarm meant people were about to be doing something dangerous. Sometimes it meant something was going wrong. Sharon took two aspirin every morning.
She walked through the Floor towards the small office in one of the far corners. The Floor was huge. The Santa Marie was a modified oil tanker. It was no longer used as a cargo boat. Where the gigantic vats of oil used to be was the Floor. This was useful, because it left plenty of room to work, and the whole thing was mobile.
The tiny office in the back was no relief of the commotion surrounding it, considering that it lacked a door. It took nearly five minutes to reach the office for Sharon and when she did, she found a man, dressed in a designer suit with slicked back hair and a toothy grin named James Turner; a person that Sharon had a distinct distaste for. “Sharon!” He said, with feigned joy, the feeling was mutual. “Good to see you again!”
“Hey, Jim,” She replied just to be polite. “What do you want now?” Jim Turner worked for Futura Centra, the company that was helping to fund this project. Every so often, Jim was sent from Chicago, Futura Centra’s headquarters, to check up on the situation. Usually, while he was down here he’d fire some low-level worker. Sharon always felt bad them.
With his extraordinarily large smile, Jim replied: “Well, for one, to evaluate the progress of the project, and also, Futura Centra has hired someone new to come down and work for you.”
Sharon, deep down, groaned. The last time FC (Futura Centra) sent someone new to help, they had gotten stuck with Patrick “Trick” Lancey. Trick Lancey was a brilliant man, but his own arrogance and self-righteous personality often got in the way of his work. In fact, Sharon could see him now, standing at a computer talking to a random worker, spreading his arms about four feet, as if measuring some fish he had caught, his mouth moving a mile a minute. No doubt he was lying about something. “Who is it?” Sharon asked.
Jim expression turned puzzled. “His name is Jeremy Daniel Stinson. He worked for the Air Force. Apparently, he’s pretty amazing. Never met the guy myself. But the company says he’s the right man to get things back on track.”
“Where is he? Here?”
“No, not yet. He’ll be arriving in a helicopter in about a half hour. I’m going to want you to accompany me with his formal introduction. You’re going to explain to the kid all your know-how about this project, this ship, and you know everything else.”
Sharon disliked being told what to do. She knew she hadn’t much of a choice, considering this annoying man was her boss, but she’d prefer it if she was treated with a little more respect. “All right. I don’t think I have anything in that time slot. Any other background info on this guy?”
Jim opened a black leather briefcase he’d been holding. He rustled through some papers and came up with a manila folder labeled “J.D. Stinson.” He flipped through more documents, chewing at his lip, a habit that drove Sharon crazy. “Aha, here we go. Uh, it says here that he was born in Fort Myers, Florida on the twenty-seventh of October 2045. He grew up in Fort Myers with his parents until the age of twelve when he was sent to Military school. His father was a Marine, his mother an architect. Not much else really. He’s been impressing the military ever since he joined at the age of nineteen.”
“Oh, I see,” Sharon said, not really sure what to say.
“So, how have things been going? Any big mishaps I should know about?” He grinned.
Sharon faked a chuckle. “No, no, not yet.”
He laughed. “Good, good,” his smile faded. “Listen, Sharon, this thing is big. As you know. The government has taken a real interest in this. Mr. Christensen is, as you know, not only the CEO of FC but is also running for Senator of Illinois. This puts a real pressure on him to make this work. He personally asked me to make sure that everything is going well. If it’s not, you have to tell me,” He looked at Sharon as if she were some guilty child who buckle to the pressure and fess up.
“Everything’s fine, Jim,” She replied shortly. She store directly into the aggravating man’s eyes.
His charming personality had all but vanished as his deep blue eyes gazed directly back. “Well, that’s good. That’s very good,” As if he had just been snapped from a hypnotic trance, his smile spread across his face again and he glanced at his watch. “Ok, you want to head up the landing pad to meet our newest employee?”
*****
The two reached the Heli-pad on the deck of the Santa Marie before the chopper had arrived. Sharon, bundled up in her large winter coat, she stared out into the vast cold sea that was the Atlantic. In the Atlantic, in mid-December was like being in a giant freezer. The biting wind whipped everyone on the deck as they awaited the arrival of the helicopter. The enormous boat hardly rocked in the choppy dark green waves as the ocean flowed past it. Some of the larger swells splashed up on deck, sprinkling Sharon with cold drops of seawater. The sky was a deep gray, clouds swirling at high speeds. This was definitely unpleasant. Growing up in Oklahoma, Sharon had only ever been to the ocean once before she went on this voyage, and the smell of it made her sick. She set her jaw and stomached the smell. She wouldn’t be out her for too long she figured.
About five minutes after they had reached the deck, the dull thud, thud, thud, thud of a helicopters rotors spinning could be heard and up high in the sky a red speck, undoubtedly the chopper, could be detected. “Finally,” she said.
The helicopters landing struts touched down the surface of the pad, and deck hands rushed to it to tie it down. With this wind it was better safe then sorry. The side door opened and a guy in jumpsuit helped a young man, visibly green, from the chopper. Jim and Sharon scurried up to greet them. “Hello!” Jim said over the rotating blades above that were still slowing down. “How was the flight?” he asked the guy in the jumpsuit.
“Bumpy,” was the man’s reply.
The pale guy, Jeremy Stinson, nodded in agreement.
No wonder this kid never flew in the Air Force, thought Sharon.
Jim extended his gloved hand toward Jeremy, who weakly took it. “Jim Turner, Chief Supervisor here,” he introduced himself.
“Jeremy Stinson, uh, formerly of the Air Force,”
Sharon took his hand, “Sharon Rhodes,”
Jeremy Stinson looked weak and nervous. He seemed to not know what he was doing here, and what was going to happen.
Jim clapped the kid on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of this weather. Want some soup?”
*****
The trio walked into the bridge of the massive oil freighter. It was warmer in there and somehow much more cozy, despite the narrow hallways and the fact that most everything was metallic. Jim led them to small bare room with a table and a few chairs. “Have a seat, please Mr. Stinson,” he gestured toward one of the chairs. He and Sharon took seats on the opposite side of the table.
Jim cleared his throat before beginning. “Mr. Stinson, my company Futura Centra has offered you a considerable amount of money to aid us in this special project. You do intend to do this, correct?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” Stinson nodded.
“Good, good. Do you have any idea of who we are and what we’re doing?” The pale man, whose color was barely starting to return, shook his head. “Good, that’s what we like,” Jim glanced at Sharon and laughed. “Anyway, Futura Centra is a company founded in 2017 by a man named Charles Whitaker. This company started out as communications business. It had grown quite large and started to pursue other means to improve upon our world. Whitaker started to go into the designing and manufacturing of personal transportation ships. Although this was only moderately successful, it was enough to kick-start this project. Whitaker didn’t live to see it fully blossom. He left the company to a man named Alan Christensen, his chief advisor. And Christensen is exactly what this company needed to plant its feet firmly into the ground and make this project happen! Mr. Christensen was originally the mastermind behind this project, code-named Project Nova. It was his idea to begin with. Scientists had been toying with this idea for decades, even centuries. And Mr. Christensen wants to be behind the actual birth of this idea with Futura Centra. Now, I know you’re probably saying: ‘What has this got to do with me? And what is this project this guy keeps jabbering on about?’ Well, the answer to the first question is that we need you to help us build this thing. Or at least improve on it. The Air Force tells us that you are a fantastic mechanic and that you can build an engine for just about anything with just about anything. So, what’s the second question, you ask? Well, the project is one that, like I said, has been dreamt of for centuries. And now, that dream has come true. The concept is simple: time travel. Yes, I said it. Yes, you heard right. Time travel. Futura Centra has researched this plan for decades. We have the top minds of our world working for us, right now, below you. It wasn’t cheap, but Futura Centra has the proper funding because we’ve proved to our investors that such a hair-brained idea is plausible. No, we haven’t journeyed through time yet. But we have the schematics for doing it. Unfortunately, the engine for this project, the D3 Module as it’s called, is unstable and is need of redesign, and our engineers are stumped. That’s where you come in. You’re the man to do this.”
Jeremy looked flabbergasted. “Uh, I don’t think I have the proper education to handle such a thing. I mean…time travel? I know nothing about….”
Jim laughed. “We can teach you. Don’t forget, we have brilliant minds down there, which will work with you. You’re not alone. We just need a little assistance. Which you can provide. What do you say?”
“I suppose I could give it a try. I can’t promise anything successful though,” Jeremy looked frightened.
“And that’s all we need from you, Jeremy!” Jim laughed. “And don’t forget about the paycheck you’re going to receive. Futura Centra is quite liberal when it comes to money. It’s cause we want the job done right. Money is a great motivator. Just ask Sharon here,” He nudged her with his elbow and laughed. Sharon faked a smile.
Jeremy had relaxed a bit. “What about Health-care? And Dental? And Benefits? And all that good stuff?”
Jim smiled another broad smile. “Full Health, full Dental. You can read about it all in this manual—,” he held up a blue booklet about the size of an encyclopedia, “—if you sign this contract.” With his free hand, he slid a slip of paper and a pen towards Jeremy.
Jeremy picked the contract up, and read it. Fast. From the moment he picked it up till the moment he put it down, he had read the whole thing (including the fine print) in less then thirty-five seconds. “Ok, I’m in,” he sighed with a smile and signed the dotted line.
“Great!” Jim said, standing up to shake his hand, “Good to have you aboard! Now, I’ve asked Sharon here, one of our chief engineers, to show you around a bit, and maybe fill in some of the blanks you might have,” he dug into his pocket and extracted a security card. “Here is where your room is. You’re in bunk number thirty-two, and your luggage has been removed from the chopper,” Jim glanced at his watch. “Ooh, which I have to catch. So let me bid you adieu and welcome you aboard the Santa Marie!” He scurried out of the business room, flashing a grin at Sharon.
“All right, follow me,” Sharon instructed the kid. She had given the same tour to Trick Lancey just a month and a half ago. She prayed that Stinson would be less annoying.
*****
They headed downstairs to the Floor, Sharon occasionally pointing out important things along the way. “Ok, welcome to the Floor. This is where you will spend most of your time. The Floor is crazy, hectic, and full of things that can kill you. You have to watch out for them. Whenever you walk around on the floor, doing whatever, you always, always keep your security card with you. Mr. Christensen is too paranoid about spies from other corporations stealing our technology. You need verification that you work here, in case any doubts come up. Come, I’ll show you the D3 Module.”
Further down the Floor was the D3 Module. Hanging from metal cable about two feet off the ground it was strange looking. About fifteen feet in length, the object was oval shaped with circular panels on each end. “This is the engine for Project Nova, the engine for the time machine.
Jeremy stared at it. “I’ve never seen something quite as interesting. That is going to take you through time?”
“No, it’s not. We can’t make it work. That’s why we need you.”
“Again, I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, I know nothing about the physics involved. I can build practical engines. Not time machines.”
“Well, you’re here to try,” Sharon replied, “Look, we’ve done all the nasty work. We have all the proper components. We just can’t put them together properly. You’re the man to do it, apparently. We’re going to brief you on all you need to know. We just need your engine expertise. Now, follow me. I’ll take you to the briefing room, and then to the galley.”
Jeremy sighed and laughed. “Okay. I don’t understand this. But I guess in this day and age, anything’s possible.”
“You’re damn right,” Sharon said, laughing as she pushed the button for the rickety elevator that would take them to the personal galley.
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4/25/2002 1:30:56 PM
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