5 Screenplays: None

By George N. Rumanes

George N. Rumanes, who now lives in Los Angeles with his family, is a writer who works in the film industry. His second novel, The Man With The Black Worrybeads, a worldwide best seller, will be filmed in Hollywood, Greece and North Africa.

During the past seven years, Mr. Rumanes wrote five original camera ready screenplays and he is now finishing, Between the Palm and the Cypress Trees, his next novel.

THE SCREENPLAYS:

The Land of Gods and Lovers
Vector One
Mystery George
Malvasia
Two Ladies and the Mob

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469781310

George N. Rumanes

George N. Rumanes is a native of Greece who now lives in California with his wife and two children. He currently works in motion picture production in Hollywood and, in his spare time, is busy writing his third novel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by George N. Rumanes.

Author Credits: Screen Plays And Novel The Man With The Black Worrybeads And Others

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-8130-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8132-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8131-0 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 06/14/2012

SCEENPLAYS

After his bestseller, The Man with the Black Worrybeads, George Rumanes was all primed up to start a new novel but, there was another story that he was not able to put aside so, he decided to take it out of his mind by writing it as a screenplay.

Three months later he had 200 pages of work that was too short for a book and 85 pages longer than the average, 110 page screenplay

While he let that work gestate, to take another run at it later, he started on another screenplay that it, again, turned out to be too short and too long.

Two years later he ended up with eleven first draft screenplays, all of them, the size of the first, none of which, according to George, was suitable to be shown to his agent or to any of his friends.

The novel? Very soon. No more screenplays.

After a twelve month break, he lifted five first drafts from a stack of many and started rewriting, editing, taking out and adding new characters, shaping his works to a level that satisfied his literary demands.

After he started on his second rewrite I asked him if he was going back to work on the script he had just finished. No, he said. Since I am not thinking about it anymore, it is finished.

In time, he had five original, camera ready screenplays, and according to the research of his agent, no bestselling author had something similar published as a book.

Now he is working on his computer every day but he refuses to reveal details and, I am waiting for the fifth month where he will print something more that the five to ten pages he is shredding after printing.

Mrs. Rumanes

Contents

VECTOR ONE

LAND OF GODS AND LOVERS

MYSTERY GEORGE

TWO LADIES AND THE MOB

MALVASIA

This work is dedicated to

Camden George

Stavros George

and

Styliani Sophia

SCENE HEADING AND EXTENTIONS

VECTOR ONE

by

George N. Rumanes

WGA Registered

FADE IN:

After three BANG, BANG, BANG recessions the country is broke. The good thing is that we are at peace.

EXT. SEA MIST—DAY

A helicopter camera glides through the mist to reveal the outline of a huge square BLOCK of something.

CLOSER TO THE BLOCK:

It is an EIGHT LEGGED LAUNCH PLATFORM holding above the sea. As the mist thins out, we see a forest of cranes, tubes, and multiple apartment-size structures taking half of the platform, and the other half is taken up by construction and freight mats.

A HELICOPTER lands on the S of the LOGISTICS sign that crosses the large helipad.

Even before the rotors stop, FOUR MEN jump out and run like hell toward a structure.

PLATFORM—ANOTHER ANGLE

Space SHUTTLE AURORA with the UPS logo on its sheathe is primed up for liftoff.

INT. AURORA COCKPIT

The fidgety UPS-uniformed five-man CREW from Tennessee have been on hold for a long time.

PILOT

(bored but pissed)

Sagging peckers up here, brothers. Too long…

No response. The pilot pounds the instrument panel with his fist.

PILOT

Hello… Brad.

NAVIGATOR

Did they go home?

BRAD ON RADIO (O.S.)

Hold on, Aurora.

NAVIGATOR

Hold what, Brad? Are we coming down?

BRAD ON RADIO (O.S.)

Our President.

CO-PILOT

Wants to come along?

BRAD ON(O.S.)

He died.

PILOT

(casual)

Terrible.

(after a thought)

Second year in his second term wasn’t he?

CARGO CHIEF

Something like that.

NAVIGATOR

We are nailed to the ground here, Brad. Come on… put a match to this bucket of screws, Brad.

BRAD ON RADIO (O.S.)

There’s a talk… postpone to Monday. Respect. The boss said.

PILOT

Bullshit! I have an AA meeting Wednesday.

NAVIGATOR

We all have.

After a long hold.

BRAD ON RADIO (O.S.)

(giving up)

Launch is a go then.

(a pause)

Just one minute, gents.

INT. UPS PLATFORM CONTROL ROOM—DAY

Out of breath, the four men from the helicopter, with name-tags and headphones run in and stop before BRAD. They are Russian INSPECTORS.

RUSSIAN INSPECTOR

(panting)

We need another inspection.

BRAD

We are seconds from burn.

RUSSIAN INSPECTOR

The treaty. We have the right.

Brad produces a form and shows it.

BRAD

(about to explode)

The manifest with your signatures on it. You went over the cargo three times. You found foodstuff and replacement parts and shit. You approved every fucking item.

RUSSIAN INSPECTOR

But… we just got a directive from Moscow.

BRAD

I have four signatures here.

(into the mic)

Brace up, gentlemen.

RUSSIAN INSPECTOR

It is from Moscow!

BRAD

This is a delivery service. We are truck drivers. Talk to DC.

(into mic)

Make sure you don’t lose your passenger.

A MAN who looks like and talks like a middle age ANDY GRIFFITH steps close.

ANDY

Hold on there, partner.

BRAD

How can I help you?

Andy flashes his card.

ANDY

Defense Intelligence Agency. DIA.

BRAD

So?

ANDY

I want to have a word with the passenger you just mentioned.

BRAD

Talk to him on the radio when in orbit.

ANDY

In person. Now. Briefing.

After a long pause, and just before he explodes, Brad lowers his voice, and pointedly he:

BRAD

Sir, what I just got through telling our friends here, it goes for you too, so… over there please.

(into his mic)

Pucker up, guys.

Andy writes something on his pad and backs off.

Brad pokes a few buttons and after a glancing up at God he flips up the go switch. Nothing. Then the UPS control rocks and, after a moan, a deafening basso grind…

EXT. LAUNCH PLATFORM—DAY

Aurora groans and then slings up and its roar takes us to:

INT. THE OVAL OFFICE—DAY

A WASP beanpole is being sworn in by a female Supreme Court JUDGE. The VICE PRESIDENT is Harvard. Family wealth. Smart but not street smart. Easy going and very polite. He is a former senator with not many connections.

CHIEF JUSTICE

I do solemnly swear…

VP

I do solemnly swear.

CHIEF JUSTICE

That I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States…

Present are: cabinet members, GEORGE SENAMUR(Director of CIA), JERROL MERTZ(slithering White House Chief of Staff), MIGUEL ENSISO(National Security Advisor), a group of Senators and three Secret Service men with the names of ANDREW, EDDIE and TIMOTHY.

EDDIE

(in whisper to Andrew)

Some kind of infection

ANDREW

None of us screwed up.

VP

And will do the best of my ability to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

CHIEF JUSTICE

So help me God.

VP

So help me god.

CHIEF JUSTICE

Congratulations, President Julin.

PRESIDENT

It was my pleasure, Justice Mubarak. My pleasure.

As the Justice wraps her arm around the president Jerrol Mertz interrupts:

MERTZ

If you’ll come with me, Mister President.

SENATOR #1

That’s it?!

MERTZ

(insolently)

The man has a country to run. Give us some space here.

Mertz, the President, and Andrew head for the door.

SENATOR #1

Not even a goddamn croissant?

SENATOR #2

If there’s anything you want at the hill, Mister President.

(jabs his chest with index finger)

Just give a nod.

PRESIDENT

Why thank you, Harold.

The President, Mertz and Andrew exit.

INT. HALLWAY—DAY

The fidgety Mertz leads the President.

PRESIDENT

(meaning Senator #2)

That man hated me when I was just a VP. I heard that he used to call me… Uh…

MERTZ

Numb nuts, sir.

ANDREW

If he happens to even think about that again, sir, I’ll be right here.

A SMALL MAN waiting by the door has a black briefcase under his arm tied with a chain to his waist. The Man follows them down the hall.

MERTZ

I’ve arranged to have your personal belongings brought to the White House.

PRESIDENT

I have a two year lease.

MERTZ

No problem, sir.

PRESIDENT

My landlord.

(confidentially)

He is… Korean.

EXT. USS VECTOR ONE—DAY

A space station under construction. Tubes, girders, bus size modules and loose cables stand still and frozen.

CLOSE ON A TV SCREEN

The camera pulls back from the TV screen to reveal:

INT. VECTOR ONE—CONTROL ROOM—DAY

A small group of men watching the TV. ALFREDO and URIEL, two Mexican-American civilian electronic specialists on contract with the government, join the group.

On the TV screen we’re looking at an AERIAL SHOT of SEA LAUNCH PLATFORM and the climbing shuttle.

ALFREDO

Good launch. Tracking.

URIEL

Nothing but routine, amigo. U.P.S.

ALFREDO

Who’s that VP. He’s only been in office for three months?

URIEL

Julin or something. Senator. Took over after the other VP got the boot. I think.

INT. THE SHUTTLE COCKPIT—DAY

The acceleration has forced the men against their seats.

Compartment covers pop open and spew maps and papers all over the crew. The Cargo Chief slams the covers shut as other compartment covers pop open and more stuff falls out.

CO-PILOT

Goddamn Oldsmobile crap.

INT. WHITE HOUSE HALLWAY—DAY

The ever-efficient Mertz presents a clipboard with a card on it to the President and holds it in front of him.

MERTZ

And I’ll need to see your Social Security card along with another form of ID… passport, driver’s license.

PRESIDENT

(aghast)

You kidding me, mister Mertz?

MERTZ

New job, sir. Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1996. Form I-9. No exceptions. The undocumented alien’s workforce thing and… transparency?

The President gives up, hands over his wallet, and Senamur commences to dig into it.

MERTZ

Credit cards and valuables.

The President stops and stares at him in disbelief.

MERTZ

You won’t be needing them.

EXT. SPACE SHUTTLE AURORA—DAY

It is in orbit, and the engines have shut down. On the shuttle nose we see the U.P.S emblem.

INT. SHUTTLE COCKPIT—DAY

Six compartment covers have popped open: Manuals, papers, pencils, and maps float around, and as the men try to retrieve them, an ALARM blares and red lights flash.

CO-PILOT

Goddamn!

As he starts to flip switches, the door behind them slides open and a terrified 22-year-old passenger, LIEUTENANT VINGA, appears holding a PIZZA box.

LT. VINGA

It flew off the rack.

Relieved at the cause of the alarm, the crew settles back. The Cargo Chief barks.

CARGO CHIEF

You were told to stay strapped down, Mister Academy Man! Had you pressed the other button . . .

(sudden attitude change)

Let me have that.

(takes pizza)

Thanks.

(another thought)

And put on your space boots. You don’t want to walk head down, do you?

He steps back into the cargo hold that has stacks of food on crates.

EXT. LONG SHOT OF USS VECTOR ONE—DAY

A huge erector set.

INT. LASER STATION—DAY

These are two round sections with TV monitors, one chair on each, two joysticks on each chair, two portholes and a lot of buttons. The WEAPON TURRETS.

ROMAN, a young Air Force man, sits on one chair sipping coffee. His partner, MARK, is catnapping on the other chair. Suddenly an ALARM sounds, and as the turrets spin, the cup of hot coffee splashes over Roman’s legs.

ROMAN

Goddamn you, Manuela! You burned the shit out of me!

MANUELA (O.S.)

(Latin accent)

I burned you and three space junk, stupido. You want those poquito space things up your culo?

MARK

(pissed at Manuela)

Switching off the bitch. Going on manual.

ROMAN

(into his headphones)

Bogey! Fifty thousand yards!

INT. CONTROL ROOM

It is a long room with workstations for six people.

Big screens line the wall, showing maps, trajectories, etc. One entire wall is the Earth below, outlining the borders of every country.

URIEL

What’s up?

ROMAN (O.S.)

Russian busybody. Scout or attack vessel, maybe.

ALFREDO

On my screen, too. Where’d they come from?

ROMAN (O.S.)

Feel like zapping the motherfucker.

URIEL

We are here to install this shit, cowboy, not fight a war!

INT. LASER STATIONS

Roman and Mark wiggle in their chairs in anticipation.

ROMAN

If you don’t rip off their kneecaps, senor, they’ll be up your culo.

URIEL (O.S.)

I’d rather have that than start a war with your BB guns, soldier.

Roman gets off his chair and looks at a CLOSED DOOR behind him. Mark pushes him back in the chair.

MARK

(a command)

Sit down!

ROMAN

(under his breath, indicating the door behind)

BB guns?

MARK

Shut the fuck up!

Mark points at both his ears and circles the space around him. They can be heard.

MARK

Dumb shit!

INT. CONTROL ROOM

A big friendly looking man enters and looks at the monitor screens. He is SERGEANT BRUCKNER, United States Air Force.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

What we’ve got?

URIEL

UFO, and I ain’t got time for this.

ROMAN (O.S.)

(eager to zap)

Holding just out of the kill zone, Sergeant.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

(to Uriel)

Raise ’em.

ROMAN (O.S.)

Vector One to UFO. Respond with your ID. Now!

They listen to the STATIC for a moment.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Manuela pick it up?

ALFREDO

No. There. All of a sudden.

MANUELA (O.S.)

(offended)

All of a sudden? . . . My culito!

They disregard Manuela. Uriel punches on the keyboard.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Must be a bug.

MANUELA (O.S.)

(on same thought)

. . . Dickheads.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Can someone make her stop?

URIEL

Shut up, Manuela.

MANUELA (O.S.)

You shut up.

Uriel shrugs his shoulders in defeat. He gave up a long time ago.

URIEL

(to the UFO)

You are encroaching on United States space claim. Get out of here, man!

ROMAN (O.S.)

Lasers here. Please? A gentle kiss? A puny one. Just to sizzle their paint a bit.

They know that they are being heard by the bogey and they nod in agreement.

ALFREDO

(nonchalant and slow)

Okay, Roman. Let’s roast them pendejos.

MARK (O.S.)

Rim off a slice? Maybe two.

On the screen we see the blip moving off fast.

ROMAN (O.S.)

(painfully)

Shit! And I was just about to pluck his ass.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

(knowingly)

Guess who’s snooping around.

CLOSE ON A FIST:

As it pounds hard on a mahogany table.

A VOICE (O.S.)

Russians!

INT. THE WHITE HOUSE—CABINET ROOM—5 HOURS LATER—DAY

Army General DORSEY is the person who owns the fist and he is mad.

Wall-to-Wall GENERALS, the President and some civilians. This is a sudden emergency meeting called by Mertz regarding the intruders in the sky.

GENERAL DORSEY

Russian renegades, Mister President! Still a bunch of commies and I don’t trust them, sir! Especially that mad dog from Kazakhstan…

PRESIDENT

Nazabra… or something.

ENSISO

Nazarbayev.

GENERAL DORSEY

He must have a lot of multiple-head tubes buried in his territory. That Mongol is lurking.

PRESIDENT

General Dorsey, we have a treaty with all the Republics. A treaty.

GENERAL DORSEY

Yes. START treaty. We gave them the plans to the space stations and the shuttles. The latest technology. American technology, Mister President.

MERTZ

They paid for it!

GENERAL DORSEY

(pointing at Mertz then speaks to all)

And this information comes from the White House Chief of Staff.

(raising his voice)

They paid with rubles! With truckloads of rubles! What in hell can you buy in the U.S. of A. with rubles? Fuel? Half tracks? Combat boots? The austerity program has driven the stake deep into the Army’s heart and I am bleeding. The funding has been cut just this side of the bone marrow and… our science for rubles?

SENAMUR

This scientific exchange with the Russians, structured as, ‘it protects them from us and it protects us from them.’ Go figure.

GENERAL DORSEY

Mister President. The U.S. of A. hired a bucket full of brigades, headed by private contractors overseas and they laugh at me. Seventy thousand men, forcing seventy thousand American kids not in the service but on the streets or in prison. And their troops? Only God knows where they found them but, look at their equipment! State-of-the-art assets… stealth tanks, stealth trucks, helos and, their special forces morph from something to nothing and then back to something in full damned gear. And, Mister President. I am back to using donkeys and mules.

GENERAL BAKER

You have horror stories? Mules and donkey stories?

General Baker dumps the contents of a shoebox, and rolling on the table we see plastic shuttles, little space stations, rockets and GI Joe dolls in spacesuits.

GENERAL BAKER

This is a horror story, General Dorsey. This is how we propose to fund part of our space systems. Cash by any means because I gotta finish soon.

(indicates the sky)

and because my balls are in a vice, soldier.

PRESIDENT

Hold it right there, General Baker. We have a treaty. That treaty, as much as I can recall, states that all space projects, theirs and ours, are to be completed and become operational at exactly the same year, month, date and time.

The President stares at Mertz for confirmation.

MERTZ

It so states, sir.

PRESIDENT

(to Baker)

Well?

EVERYONE

Yes, sir.

GENERAL DORSEY

Yes! We are all aware of the treaty, sir.

(rubbing it in)

The Strategic Defense Command is down to sixty missiles.

ENSISO

We operate its equivalency, General Dorsey. Their number has been reduced to eighty.

The President picks up a space doll and examines it.

PRESIDENT

Remarkable craftsmanship.

ENSISO

And the videogame’s made in Cambodia.

GENERAL BAKER

They’re developing a whole Christmas line for us. Sad, but the Air Force must accept breadcrumbs to stay above ground. Your predecessor initiated this endeavor, Mister President.

GENRAL DORSEY

(to himself)

Just can’t put my finger on it. That Russian. That Mongol…

EXT. SPACE—SHUTTLE AURORA

The BROWN color and the UPS emblem shine as it travels at 1700 miles per hour.

EXT. RUSSIAN CRAFT

Dwarfed by the shuttle, the three-man Russian craft creeps from behind and drifts along and next to the shuttle’s cockpit.

INT. COCKPIT

The crew is startled at the sound of a BUZZER and look outside.

CO-PILOT

Bogey! Coming up… Ooops. Alongside!

Through the window we see a small Russian Republic craft that pulls up and parallels Aurora. The Russian Republic’s flag is painted over a red hammer and sickle graffiti. The three-man crew is looking at us, and one of them thumbs his nose.

CARGO CHIEF

Ruskie! Cruising for trouble!

The co-pilot shoots the Russians the bird. One Russian drops his pants, moons Aurora, and the craft drifts out.

PILOT

The son-of-a-gun!

CARGO CHIEF

Creep over and bump the crap out of them motherfuckers.

NAVIGATOR

Hold your course. They aren’t armed. Snoopy craft. Maybe.

CO-PILOT

No damn respect and they are supposed to be our friends. Punks. Fucking Russian punks!

NAVIGATOR

And we are supposed to help them out by keeping an eye on the Chinese.

The Russian craft scoots ahead, swerves, fires its engines right in our face and disappears into the stars.

EXT. VECTOR ONE

A dried up octopus.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Uriel walks around nervously.

URIEL

I am spooked.

ALFREDO

It’s a free space, Uriel. Long as they don’t fly up your nose.

URIEL

If it wasn’t for the money…

AURORA ON RADIO (O.S.)

UPS to the heavenly darlings. Permission to—

ALFREDO

We know you’re coming, knuckleheads. Hope our pizza is hot.

INT. SHUTTLE COCKPIT

The co-pilot flips through the pages of a TOP SECRET APPROACH CODES booklet. We see a page marked: USS VECTOR ALASKA, another marked: USS VECTOR ARIZONA.

He creases the page marked USS VECTOR ONE and pushes a string of numbers on a keyboard.

INT. VECTOR ONE CONTROL ROOM

Alfredo checks his list of APPROACH CODES. The numbers match.

ALFREDO

Confirmed, dickheads.

URIEL

I hope my pepperoni is still hot.

ALFREDO

(to everyone)

Roach coach here… not your kind of food, Manuela. You and the Chief… we know.

MANUELA (O.S.)

Have some respect for me, gay caballero. Mucho, mucho gay!

ALFREDO

Shut up.

MANUELA (O.S.)

You shut up.

ALFREDO

Okay.

INT. LASER STATION

MARK

Chuck wagon.

ROMAN

Have ’em hold a steak out the window, control. I’ll cook it done, medium… Poke donut holes in it…

INT. COMPUTER ROOM

It is the center of the space station. A STICK SKETCH of a senorita on a computer panel, introduces MANUELA, the TRACKING unit who speaks with the accent.

The COMMANDER, Air Force COLONEL NOLAN, talks to a middle age, private contractor computer expert known as the CHIEF who thumbs the pin-up.

CHIEF

She’s not all that daffy.

MANUELA

(devastated)

Oh, no! My heart bleeds for you Chief and—

(about to cry)

you brush off my talent and feelings—

ALFREDO (O.S.)

Commander.

COMMANDER

Yes.

MANUELA

(sobbing)

No heart inside you…

ALFREDO (O.S.)

Pizza time.

MANUELA

(pissed)

Pendejos… all of you!

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Alfredo drops some cables and nudges Uriel.

ALFREDO

Let’s go eat.

The station is bumped by the shuttle.

URIEL

Lame-brain truck drivers.

INT. DOCKING BERTH

Aurora is hooked in. The black civilian COOK and his HELPER are waiting to unload the provisions. Bruckner joins them.

COOK

(surprised at the visit)

The Sarge here?

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

New man.

COOK

Another infantile! Still tit nursing infantiles? They should send up their mummies, too. That’s what I say. Am I right?

We hear AIR PRESSURE and WARNING BUZZERS. The airlock opens, the crew marches out while all of them are eating pizza.

CARGO CHIEF

Long time no see, space vultures.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

This is an honor to finally be the first on your route.

CARGO CHIEF

Regular milk run to the stations, but we were told to drop the live meat here first.

The Cargo Chief takes a bite of pizza.

COOK

Is that our pizza you’re eating?

The Cargo Chief ignores him, turns to Bruckner and hands him a shotgun and bag full of shells.

CARGO CHIEF

(imitates John Wayne)

For the Duke.

COOK

(to Cargo Chief)

I am talking to you, motherfucker!

CARGO CHIEF

Fuck you.

As the Cook grabs the Cargo Chief and spins him around, Lt. Vinga steps onto the loading dock, sees the fight, grows taller and hollers his first order, ever.

LT. VINGA

At ease!

COOK

This motherfucker is eating our pizza and don’t you ‘at ease’ us! We aren’t in the motherfucking service so screw you, too.

CO-PILOT

Fell off the rack, heartburn king.

Bruckner disregards everything and salutes Lt. Vinga.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Welcome to sure-footed station, sir. I am Sergeant Bruckner, Chief NCO.

LT. VINGA

(points at boots)

You mean these?

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

It is the only thing the Russians are kept off. They are drifting and we aren’t.

LT. VINGA

Excited to be here, Sergeant.

They exit the docking bay and enter a corridor.

INT. THE CONTROL ROOM

Lt. Vinga and Bruckner enter and the sergeant speaks to the Commander, who is busy at a console.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Sir, Lieutenant Vinga.

COMMANDER

(genuine pleasure)

Welcome aboard! It’s good to be up to strength again.

He presses a key on the board and the screen lights up with Lt. Vinga’s 201 file and orders.

COMMANDER

Academy. Great!

At the word Academy, everyone in the room makes eye contact and represses a smile. The Commander looks at the shotgun.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

For the Major. Special order.

COMMANDER

Man’s expecting trouble?

(to Lieutenant)

We are talking about Major Haggar. A good man. Army. You’ll like him.

(his arm sweeps the room)

Your station.

They walk over to the master console. Wrap around blinking lights and display screens.

LT. VINGA

Just like the simulators.

Alfredo gives Uriel an uh-oh look.

ALFREDO

(whispering)

Academy.

COMMANDER

We’ll check you out on this later.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Right now we are in the middle of mollycoddling Manuela.

LT. VINGA

Problems?

ALFREDO

Foot long cockroaches up her culo.

MANUELA (O.S.)

I hope your mouth dries, Alfredo!

COMMANDER

Our new crew here got her to talk. Our two geniuses.

LT. VINGA

What’s her capacity?

COMMANDER

Space junk burns and enough to scare away snooping marauders.

(a pause)

But we question her selections. We don’t trust her.

LT. VINGA

Nothing beyond it?

COMMANDER

That is all she can give.

MANUELA

I can give more, but you must make me mucho happier, caballero.

After a long uncomfortable and thoughtful stare, Lt. Vinga turns and stares at the computer set up.

COMMANDER

All yours. Starting tonight you’ll hold down the graveyard. Nice having you.

EXT. THE WHITE HOUSE—NIGHT

A STARVING STUDENT’S moving van pulls up to the front gate.

DRIVER

That sucker moved uptown.

INT. WHITE HOUSE HALLWAY—NIGHT

The President is alone and lost. A busboy passes by and looks at him oddly.

PRESIDENT

Excuse me, but where am I?

BUSBOY

No hable, senor.

PRESIDENT

Donde el Oval Office?

BUSBOY

(taps forehead with palm)

El Oval Office… El Oval Office?

The busboy makes a slow 360 scratching his head, then:

BUSBOY

El President despacho?

PRESIDENT

Si.

BUSBOY

(shrugs but with smile)

El Presidente cocina, no?

PRESIDENT

Oval Office.

The President gives up and walks away as the busboy recognizes him.

BUSBOY

Ah! Numb-nuts! Que pasa, man?

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Alfredo has taken out the guts of a computer and works on it.

Uriel seems too concerned by what he sees on a screen.

URIEL

Refinery fire in Kazakhstan. Another one in Baku.

(taps monitor)

What do you make of it, Alfredo?

ALFREDO

Don’t worry about it.

URIEL

Maybe they are up to something. Maybe they test the new president. Maybe they think we are ahead of them and checking us out. Maybe—

ALFREDO

Uriel. Go get a beer and a pill or something. You are driving me nuts.

URIEL

And these intruders buzzing around. Day and night. I just don’t like it. I have kids down home, Alfredo. Besides, why don’t they give us something to cruise around in like they do… ? Instead of the monkey suits with the lousy power pack?

INT. HALLWAY

Shotgun in hand, Bruckner and the Lieutenant stop by a door. With his head the Sergeant indicates the room behind the door.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

The most decorated man in the army.

LT. VINGA

Army? Up here?

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Long story.

Bruckner knocks and enters. Vinga, worried, follows him in.

INT. MAJOR HAGGAR’S QUARTERS

A Spartanly furnished cabin. Sitting on his desk is MAJOR HAGGAR, 55, a big muscular man who is cleaning a pair of revolvers.

The pieces are laid out on the table, gleaming with oil. By his elbow there is a can of beer, and from the looks of him, he already had a few. Bruckner hands him the weapon.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Requisition came through, sir and a new man aboard.

The Major looks at Vinga who snaps to attention.

LT. VINGA

Lieutenant Vinga, reporting for duty, sir.

MAJOR HAGGAR

At ease. I’m not your CO. Colonel Nolan is your Commanding Officer. He’s everybody’s commanding officer. I’m in exile here.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Quite a weapon, sir.

The Major loads the weapon.

MAJOR HAGGAR

Are you adept in the use of firearms, Lieutenant?

LT. VINGA

No, sir.

MAJOR HAGGAR

Neither is anybody else up here.

(indicates outside)

A day or two back I saw a goose fly by. You believe that, Lieutenant?

LT. VINGA

I find it hard to believe, sir.

MAJOR HAGGAR

(sadly)

So does everybody else.

The Major crunches the beer can and drops it in a plastic bag full of more crunched cans, then he begins to get into the RAPID WEAR space suits.

MAJOR HAGGAR

And your M.O.S., Lieutenant?

LT. VINGA

Computer tracking and surveillance, sir.

MAJOR HAGGAR

You are replacing an Academy idiot. He walked outside without a suit.

LT. VINGA

Oh my God!

MAJOR HAGGAR

That’s what everyone said when they pulled him back in. Two eyes the size of bowling balls.

They both salute and Bruckner walks Vinga toward the door.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Good night, sir.

Bruckner shoves Vinga through the door and into:

INT. THE CORRIDOR

After a whistle of relief the Sergeant wipes the sweat beads from his forehead.

LT. VINGA

Exile?

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Accused of training militias. Michigan Militias. You don’t court-martial heroes. They just ship them up to us.

He leads him to the control room and near the monitor.

THE MONITOR SCREEN

Major Haggar, dressed in the suit, walks into the vacuum chamber, opens a window, lets out the bag with beer cans then fires both shotgun barrels and waits.

MAJOR HAGGAR

Bull’s eye!

BACK TO VINGA AND BRUCKNER

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

A real foot soldier.

VACUUM CHAMBER

Major Haggar counts down and when a faint blue hue paints the chamber, his lips part into a slow satisfying smile.

MAJOR HAGGAR

Blue burn. Bluer than a blue star. American aluminum. Not the foreign amber crap.

EXT. SPACE—NIGHT

A beautiful blue shooting star.

INT. WHITE HOUSE HALLWAY—NIGHT

The President walks the hall admiring the portraits of his predecessors.

At the sight of the President, the little short man jumps down from the chair and, with the briefcase under his arm follows his leader from the distance.

A PUERTO RICAN LADY is scrubbing the floor and the President greets her politely.

PRESIDENT

Good evening.

CLEANING LADY

Good evening, Mister President.

PRESIDENT

Going for a little walk. Okay?

CLEANING LADY

Okay, but it is still wet.

PRESIDENT

I am so sorry.

The President turns and walks the other way. The little man follows. The cleaning lady takes a deep breath and leans against the wall to rest.

CLEANING LADY

(mutters)

Puerto Rico, si. Gringoland, no.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

The Commander is flat on his back, staring up into the guts of the console. He wiggles a wire and sparks shoot out. He scrambles out and brushes sparks out of his hair. Looks up at Vinga.

COMMANDER

The cooks took care of you?

LT. VINGA

More than I could handle. Good people.

A light flashes on the console.

COMMANDER

What the heck…

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

Flipped on a second ago. Manuela thinks there’s a bogey out there.

The commander stands up and starts to flip switches.

COMMANDER

(to Vinga)

We are pushing it. Short-handed and we all have to help.

(holds back a thought)

Have you been properly briefed on your operation?

(a pause)

You were briefed. Weren’t you?

(another pause and a question)

That we are to protect our expanse at all cost?

LT. VINGA

Sir. As soon as the bars were on my shoulders, I was pushed into a van, then into a chopper and right into the shuttle. They didn’t even give me time to kiss my mom.

COMMANDER

(thoughtfully)

Well then, fine.

(changing tone)

Manuela is one quarter dependable and all she does is shoot at things we aren’t able to see or track.

MANUELA (O.S.)

Just doing my job, mister.

COMMANDER

(gives up)

I’ll dig into it later.

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

(to Vinga)

A lot of unusual activity from the other side and we can’t seem to make a reasonable assessment.

LT. VINGA

Hmm. Stealth activity in space? Bogeys and all that? Holograms?

SERGEANT BRUCKNER

At times we see them and at times Manuela raises hell. We are stumped. But, this new puzzle below…

LT. VINGA

Well… Let us see.

Vinga presses a button, and on the big screen we see an aerial shot of North America. Each U.S. state is outlined, and placed over the screen are three space stations: USS VECTOR ONE, USS VECTOR ARIZONA, and USS VECTOR ALASKA.

LT. VINGA

Let us take a look at our friends.

He presses another button, and the image of the RUSSIAN REPUBLICS along with their space stations fill the screen: RSS MOSCOW, RSS MINSK, RSS KIEV and RSS BAKU, one more station than the U.S. due to the larger area.

LT. VINGA

Going to infrared.

The screen changes to reds and oranges. The fire in Kazakhstan remains the same but the intensity in the Baku fire has increased twofold.

LT. VINGA

Refineries. Only refineries. Huge refineries. Just like the simulators.

CHIEF

I was blaming Manuela. Been trying to fix a non-existing bug. Screwy things here and out there. Nonstop.

The Chief moves off shaking his head. Vinga glances over at the Chief, points at the screen and shrugs.

LT. VINGA

Just a fire.

COMMANDER

(indicating the room)

It’s all yours, Lieutenant.

As the Commander heads out:

LT. VINGA

Good night, sir.

Vinga settles back when Uriel walks up, presses a button and glances at the monitor.

URIEL

A ball game scheduled on Military channel from Seattle.

LT. VINGA

Rain out. Try PBS. Your sport is a waste.

URIEL

Yeah… Thanks.

LT. VIGNA

You are missing good stuff.

As Uriel leaves, Vinga takes a bite of his apple, on the screen he sees: A BURST OF INCREDIBLY BRIGHT LIGHT and cuts through the clouds in Siberia. The light boils out and wipes out the screen for a few seconds. Then, as it fades, we see