|
TRIUMVIRATE (Installment Six)
By The Host
This next bit's a little longer thatn most. It covers the next thirteen minutes of film, taking us an hour and five minutes into the film. The next installment, due out Sunday, will bring us almost to the film's first major action sequence since the opening installment's. With that the first half of this screenplay will be complete and released. I hope you've enjoyed things so far -- and I assure you that, especially with the next chapter, they're only going to get better.
EXT. THE UNDERGROUND CITY
Transports and shuttles move between the buildings of the spectacular underground city.
INT. GAULEIUS BASE -- DINING ROOM -- DIM
Jack Davies now finds himself inside a dark dining room with Admiral Dawson. Their table, polished black, is lit; the rest of the room is engulfed in darkness. A variety of foods expertly arranged lie between the two men, and as they eat – taking a plate at a time and finishing its meager contents – SERVERS appear to remove their cleaned dishes and replace them with new foods before melting back into the shadows.
DAWSONSo, Mr. Davies, tell me about yourself.
Davies stammers a bit, smiling, as he answers.
DAVIESI – well, what is it you’d like to know?
DAWSONI’d like to know about your life. I suppose to begin with you can tell me why you joined the Fleets.
Davies plays with his food, now a small pasta dish, twirling the noodles with his fork.
DAVIESWell, sir . . . I guess for financial reasons. I’d like to go to university, study psychohistory, and that takes money. But, also, well, a very good friend of mine joined up and I figured I would too.
Dawson nods. Davies eats in silence for a moment, then puts down his fork. Immediately a server comes and removes his plate, startling him, and another server leaves a shrimp dish in the middle of the table.
DAWSONAnd what do you think of military life?
DAVIESActually, sir, I think it kind of sucks, with all due respect. I didn’t think we’d go to war, but here I am, risking my life for the USS.
DAWSONI’ve been in the military as long as I can remember, Mr. Davies, and even before that. I can’t imagine a life out there, outside of the Fleets. But I have watched in my years – which are considerable, but how considerable I’ll never tell – I have watched this government slowly rot and wither. Or perhaps it has long been rotten and withered and I’ve only gradually become aware of it.
DAVIESI understand; I mean, for a government with no enemies to manufacture a biological weapon.... That is what they’re doing, right? Why?
DAWSONNot the United government, not that Corporate Punch and Judy show. The cult of money strangles our government. The Senate pushes and pouts and demands higher salaries and blocks attempts to reform at every turn. Thus the Senators convince themselves that they still matter, they’re still vital cogs in the great machine. But they’re not. They simply legitimate the actions of the Corporation, the CEO, and his Presidential marionette.
DAVIESThen the Corporation. What’s in it for them? They already control the government of the mightiest nation of men in the universe; what else do they want?
DAWSONLust for power, Mr. Davies, is a beast not so easily tamed, and rarely rational. I can’t understand what they could hope to gain by conquering barbarians. But whatever their intentions may be, they shall be foiled by what you have brought here with you.
Dawson’s plate is removed from under his nose and a sponge cake is added to the orgy of food. Davies thinks for a moment before speaking.
DAVIESAbout that. I was going to ask you about that. Um . . . What -- what should I do with it?
DAWSONHold on to it tightly. Hide it. Keep it safe. In time you can give it to me for safer keeping, and I will see to it that it is replicated and distributed at need. But grant it to me only when you are ready – when you trust that I will use it justly. Time is pressing, and I urge you not to tarry too long with your doubts. But until such time as you feel it’s safe to pass it on you shall have it for yourself.
Davies nods and takes a tentative bite out of the strange black substance now on his plate. Stifling a look of disgust he puts down his fork and pushes the plate away.
DAVIESWell, sir, I think I’m done. Thank you so much for the meal. But what’s next, if I may ask?
DAWSONDessert.
DAVIES (Chuckling)
No, I mean, uh, more broadly. What’s next for me here?
DAWSONOh. Well, Mr. Davies, I’ve read your dossier.
The attendants, who have quickly cleared the table, now place a rather disgusting-looking dish before each of the men at the table. Davies doesn’t notice; he looks keenly at Dawson.
DAWSON (CONT'D)I must say that I was very impressed. You’re an intelligent man, Jack. Very intelligent.
Jack smiles at this, his cheeks shading subtle scarlet.
DAWSON (CONT'D)
A little inexperienced. But you could be a very valuable resource for our rebellion. Leadership qualities, amiable – all of this I could have guessed without looking it up, just from our conversation – and an incredible drive to achieve. The last surprised me, I admit. So many men are drawn to the Fleets by the promise of power; they’re barely able to restrain their ambition and they have no ability to hide it. In my experience these men are usually failures. Your determination, however, is well hidden by humility. You are a subtle man, Jack. I admire that.
DAVIES (Smiling coyly)
Thank you, sir. But I’m not in the Fleets for the long haul and I’m really not that ambitious.
DAWSONExactly. I’m assigning you to Flight Wing eleven, the so-called Black Aces. They’re good, Jack, very good. You’ll thrive.
Dawson brings a forkful of his dessert to his mouth and chews it slowly, savoring the taste.
DAWSON (CONT'D)
It’s very good, Jack. An imported delicacy. We’ll be wanting for such things in the dark days before us.
Jack takes a bite, failing to hide his reluctance, and chews with a half-smile half-grimace plastered across his face.
INT. STARBASE ONE ONE FOUR -- COPLEY’S OFFICE -- DIM
Admiral Copley dominates his desk. Across from him sits Robert Johnson, looking altogether uncomfortable.
COPLEYSo Davies told you no more than you already told us?
JOHNSONNo, sir, he didn’t.
Copley leans back in his chair, nodding.
COPLEYVery well then. Robert, I must thank you again for coming here and chatting with me tonight. I hope you understand that this is a very serious matter – your friend’s leaving us when he did was an act of defiance and insubordination. With that in mind your request for reassignment to Dawson’s Fleet has been declined.
Robert remains poker faced.
COPLEY (CONT'D)I’m sorry, boy, but you know better than that. Dawson’s on the verge of open rebellion right now. But I was saying, Jack’s untimely departure is serious in and of itself, but we also have reason to believe that he might have stolen something very valuable from us before he left. He—
JOHNSONWhat did he steal?
Copley is momentarily caught off guard.
COPLEYInformation ... It’s classified. But we’re treating this with utmost seriousness and secrecy, so I’d ask you not to talk to anybody about it, and I also hoped you’d agree to a battery of tests. Verifications. It’s not that I don’t believe you, Robert, because really I do, but for something as serious as this it’s standard procedure. And you know it’s got to be followed. Protocol’s a bitch.
Copley chuckles. Robert nods his assent.
JOHNSONI’ll do whatever’s necessary, sir.
COPLEYAll right, Robert. We’ll be calling you. But it’s not ‘sir’.
Copley smiles and stands, shakes Johnson’s hand.
COPLEY (CONT'D)Good night.
JOHNSONGood-bye.
Johnson leaves. Copley sits heavily at his desk and withdraws a fresh bottle of vodka and two glasses. The CEO emerges from the murky shadows.
THE CEODo you think he’s telling the truth?
Copley holds one of the glasses to the CEO, waving it in the air with an expectant look on his face.
THE CEOI don’t drink.
Copley replaces the glass and pours himself vodka while he speaks.
COPLEYThat’s a shame. But in my not-so-expert opinion, no, Johnson wasn’t telling us everything. Doesn’t matter, though; the verification tests will tell us whatever he won’t.
The CEO sits in the seat Johnson had previously occupied.
THE CEOYou know, you really shouldn’t drink. You drink quite a bit, don’t you?
COPLEYSobriety, Papa, is a curse I’ve done without for a very long time.
(He guffaws as he takes his first drink)
But what’s our little friend the President going to do about Dawson and Davies?
The CEO sighs.
THE CEOHe’s a born bureaucrat, Admiral. Afraid to gamble, prone to indecision and delay. He’s doing nothing but he’s given us – The Corporation, I mean – carte blanche to do what we will. He just refuses to understand or admit the gravity of the situation, and he’s frustratingly short-sighted. Still, he’s smarter than we first thought.
Copley chortles.
COPLEYThat’s dangerous. ‘A little knowledge. . .’
The CEO nods; Copley takes another drink.
COPLEY (CONT'D)Government just slows everything down. We’d be better off without it, I say.
THE CEOMaybe.
COPLEYI meant ‘we’ in the you and me sense, not ‘we’ in general.
THE CEOMaybe.
Copley downs the rest of his drink.
INT. GAULIEUS BASE -- QUARTERS -- BRIGHT
Flight Wing Eleven’s quarters are better-appointed and more alive than Davies’s back at Starbase One One Four. There are no bunks, only beds, beside each of which is a small table. The lounge area is near the main entrance; it is carpeted and furnished with comfortable leather chairs and couches. There are several computer monitors of varying sizes strewn throughout the room.
There are five men there when Davies enters the room. STEVE JAMESON, tall and slender, is sprawled across one couch; FLIGHT OFFICER HAYDEN DOYLE, with grey hair and steely blue eyes, stands behind him. Across from the two men rests HOLDEN GETTY, a bespectacled young man, munching on a snack. A little removed from the group sits LIEUTENANT HARRISON ‘HAWK’ MACY contentedly reading from a screen he holds in his hand. Rounding out the party is WILLEM BOYD, who is making coffee at the nearby kitchenette.
When Davies enters, Doyle immediately turns to him and shakes his hand. Steve sits up and with the others (save Macy) looks on in interest.
DOYLEJack Davies, right?
Jack drops his bag to the floor.
DAVIESYes, sir.
He salutes. Steve laughs.
STEVELook, he’s saluting. He keeps doing that and Doyle’s gonna start to think he’s in charge.
Doyle smiles.
DOYLEThat’s Steve Jameson, who thinks it’s his job to keep earnestness in check.
STEVEI like to think of it as propagating irony.
Davies nods hello and shakes Steve’s hand.
DOYLEI’m Flight Officer Hayden Doyle, and whatever he says, I’m in charge.
STEVENominally.
DOYLERight. That’s Holden Getty.
Getty springs up and shakes Davies’s hand.
DOYLE (CONT'D)Willem Boyd is kindly mixing us a brew. He’s another recent addition to our team.
Willem grants Davies a little wave.
DOYLE (CONT'D)And, if he can tear his eyes away from his reading you might be greeted by Lieutenant Harrison Macy.
Macy looks up to Davies.
MACYName’s ‘Hawk’.
Davies nods a greeting, but Macy’s already back to his reading.
DOYLEWelcome, Jack, to the Black Aces, best in the fleets.
Davies nods again.
DAVIESThanks, sir.
DOYLEYou can put your stuff over there.
Doyle nods to an empty bed. Davies shoulders his burden but stops himself before making his way to his bed.
DAVIESUm, sir, where’s the rest of the squadron?
Doyle is slightly surprised.
DOYLEWell, this is it. We lost one of our men a month ago. You’re his replacement.
DAVIESBut aren’t there usually eighteen men to a flight wing?
Doyle is slightly puzzled. Macy looks up now with keen interest.
DOYLEFlight wing?
Davies grabs a paper out of his pocket, looks at it closely.
DAVIESIsn’t this Flight Wing Eleven?
Macy speaks up.
MACYDawson didn’t tell him.
Doyle looks at Macy for a minute, then back at Jack.
DOYLEWe’re, uh, not a standard flight wing, Jack. We’re -- I guess you’d say we’re into special operations.
Davies looks to his paper again.
DAVIESOh.
DOYLEWell, what sort of experience do you have?
DAVIESI’ve been fully certified basic training plus Gunship and Zed Fourteen simulations. I did pretty well with the Zed Fourteen, near the top of my class.
DOYLENo, I mean experience, not training. How much battle experience have you got?
Davies considers this.
DAVIESWell . . . I fought in the fourth battle against Al T’Har . . . Took out a few gun emplacements before my ship was disabled.
Steve looks to Willem with surprise.
DOYLEAnd . . . ?
DAVIESAnd . . . And that’s it.
Doyle thinks about this for a moment.
DAVIES (CONT'D)Well, isn’t that as much experience as anybody’s got right now? It’s the first war we’ve had in ages.
DOYLEYou don’t have to be at war to have combat experience. We do things you don’t hear about on the holovision.
Davies feels suddenly very awkward, very exposed. He looks at the floor and absently scratches his nose.
DOYLE (CONT'D)Don’t worry, we’ll get it all straightened away. We’re a pretty close-knit group here, we have to be, and you’re part of the team now.
Davies nods silently.
DOYLE (CONT'D)Go on, go unload your stuff. We’ll be going to the mess in a little while, I’ll show you around.
DAVIESThank you, sir.
Davies walks over to his bunk. As he begins to unpack he hears Steve whisper something to Getty, followed by a loud snigger. Macy continues to eye him.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. GAULEIUS BASE -- QUARTERS -- DARK
Davies can’t sleep. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling. At the far end of the quarters, in the lounge area, he can hear hushed voices in conversation.
STEVE (O.S.)Well, Jesus, we can’t do nothin’ with him. We need somebody who knows his arse from his elbow in a pickle.
DOYLE (O.S.)I know. I know he’s not very experienced, but we’re just going to have to train him and go easy on him. Give him simpler tasks at first.
BOYD (O.S.)Why is he even here? Might it be a mistake?
DOYLE (O.S.)I don’t think so. Direct orders from Dawson.
There’s a moment of silence.
STEVE (O.S.)You think he’s a narc? Working for Dawson, keeping an eye on us?
MACY (O.S.)Steve, you’re so fucking paranoid.
STEVE (O.S.)No, seriously, though.
DOYLE (O.S.)No, Steve, I agree with Macy, God forbid. I think that’s going a little far.
STEVE (O.S.)Still. Don’t go telling him about your sex life or the Admiral might come knocking.
Willem laughs; Doyle shushes him.
DOYLE (O.S.)Well, guys, it doesn’t matter why he’s here, he’s here. Try to be nice to him. The last thing we need is another outsider.
STEVE (O.S.)We’ve already got one of those . . . Macy.
MACY (O.S.)Shut the fuck up, Steve.
Steve and Willem laugh and Doyle shushes them again.
Once again: if you read this, and if you enjoyed it -- or even if you didn't -- consider all of the work I put into writing this and then go comment. Do it for me. Do it for the children. Do it for yourselves. Well, at least do it for the children.
-The Host
12/6/2002 1:10:57 AM
(Updated: 12/7/2002 2:05:23 AM)
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
