There Was a Silence: The Novelettes of T. E. Mark - Vol IV

By T.E. Mark

‘Four winning stories. A great follow-up to DREAMS INC and NET 2.3.’ Writer’s Intl
‘Nice story movement - great plots.’ The Evening Book Review.
A University of Chicago Neuroscientist, plagued since childhood with visions of a post-apocalyptic Earth, explores the 3rd degree of consciousness to confirm her belief that our world ended in a nuclear holocaust nearly 100 years earlier. THE 3rd DEGREE OF CONSCIOUSNESS
Peyton Webb is unknowingly creating alternate futures with his newest novel. And the survivors of one of those futures are desperately trying to conquer time travel in an effort to send someone back to 2019 to stop him from finishing it. THERE WAS A SILENCE
Capitoline-E is the world’s largest, most illustrious city-state. For those in the restricted sectors, it’s a vast open-air prison and an Orwellian nightmare. When Jin Cress’ family is targeted by the ruling elite, he must choose between his comfortable existence and a battle for the right to control his own mind. BORDERS

In this sensitive, often amusing tale of a failed screenwriter faced with execution over a drug debt, we are invited into Michael Lemont’s world of dreams, inadequacies and his struggle to remain a 17-year-old party guy. Along the way to understanding the supernatural forces which intervened in his murder, Michael will uncover the difference between what is fun and what is important. PLAIN AND SIMPLE

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.E. Mark
• Release date: Feb 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463399767

T.E. Mark

T. E. Mark is an Anglo-American Science Writer, Screenwriter and Editor. He has studied Architecture, Music and Literature in the UK and in the US and has been penning stories since childhood. His first novel, Fractured Horizons, set in the wonderful of Bath England, was written at the age of 12.Mark has written novels for young and adult readers and a selection of science articles for national and international magazines. He also writes and edits academic papers on a variety of subjects for universities, governmental and non-governmental organisations.Follow T. E. Mark at:temarkauthor.wordpress.commthomasmark.wordpress.comtemarkurbanscratch.wordpress.comContact T. E. Mark at: [e-mail].

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CONTENTS

THE 3rd DEGREE OF CONSCIOUSNESS

THERE WAS A SILENCE

PLAIN AND SIMPLE

BORDERS

____________________________

T. E. MARK’S NOVELETTES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

(1)

THE 3rd DEGREE OF CONSCIOUSNESS

THE EARTH FROM SPACE

Blue and white – the Earth – a vibrant gem spinning like a jewel in the blackness of the cosmos.

As we saturate ourselves in this scene, we hear overlapping communications – a jumble of a million million voice calls.

THE EARTH FROM SPACE – CLOSER

Moving closer, we’re struck by an odd change. The colours are now muted greys and blues with a dingy bronze hanging above the planet like an eerie smog. There are few surface lights, and the overlapping communications have diminished to a rumble.

THE EARTH FROM SPACE – EVEN CLOSER

Moving even closer, we see the Earth: Cold, dark and desolate. Except for the recognisable oceans and land masses, it could be Mars or Titan or a lifeless planet in another solar system.

The surface lights are gone, and the overlapping communications continue diminishing – then… silence.

THE EARTH FROM SPACE – THE AMERICAS

Now, even closer, we begin to see detail and realise we’re looking at the aftermath of a devastating, world ending holocaust.

The world we once knew is now a scorched, lifeless ball spinning through space unaware of its savage history and demise. Remains are scant: crumbling buildings, twisted roadways and bridges – all reduced to blackened, pumice-like ash.

The only sound we hear is wind – cold and vacant – forever blowing across the surface.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

In the distance, beneath an eerie, bronze coloured sky, with yellow-gold lightning, the aftermath of man’s atomic madness constant, a young soldier in grey/white fatigues walks along a heat-blistered road in what was once San Francisco California.

Beyond, towards the north western horizon, a single section of the Golden Gate Bridge looms in the distance. To the east, the Bay Bridge is mostly submerged in the crud covered bay.

The wind is fierce, blowing the black ash making it difficult for the soldier or us to see. Our planet, once lush and beautiful and brimming with life, has become a hostile alien landscape.

In the young soldier’s hands is a glowing white ceramic rifle which he uses to dig into the terrain when he stops and eyes something of interest.

‘Something. I’m not sure.’ He continues poking into the ash.

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12- THE UNIV OF CHICAGO

Two scientists sit next to an immense ED-fMRI machine (an elongated prism with a lighted hole cut through its core – a gurney like table extending out from it) inside the University of Chicago’s radiology department.

Their eyes are glued to a large LCD monitor, hung on a wall opposite them, with a row of speakers evenly spaced across its top.

On the table, projecting out from the machine, is Major Andrea Lauten. Lauten is (mid 20s), trim, handsome with wavy black hair and the quiet face of an academic.

He’s asleep or unconscious with his head banded in a stretch synthetic mesh attached to spaghetti-like electrodes, completely inside the imaging machine.

Gazing into the LCD, studying the images pulled from Lauten’s mind – everything he sees in his deeper than unconscious state, both neuroscientists appear curious but casual.

The male scientist looks up to a digital readout beneath the LCD.

It reads: 00.12.27 – 00.12.26 – 00.12.25 –

‘You have time, Major.’

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

We close in on the soldier’s face and realise it’s Major Lauten – the same man currently unconscious in Radiology at the University of Chicago.

Lauten pokes his rifle into the glistening dirt at something rounded peeking out at him. He drops to a knee, pulls a knife from his fatigues and begins digging around it.

‘It appears to be in-tact. I’ll see if I can… maybe… maybe free it.’

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 – THE UNIV OF CHICAGO

The female scientist, Zarinah Fadish, (mid 40s), dark and attractive but severe leans forward.

She squints trying to make out what it is through the grainy static on the LCD.

‘Describe it, Major. Our visuals aren’t…’

‘…we’ve got interference here, Andrea. It may be…’

Fadish leans over to her colleague. The interruption has her visibly unsettled.

‘He needs to focus. At the level we have him, any distraction will degrade the output.’

The male scientist shakes his head and whispers.

‘You know what these kids are going through. The…’

‘…Save the lecture, Gordon. They knew what they were getting into when they volunteered. They either perform or we replace them.’

The male scientist, out matched, just shakes his head.

Again he leans forward – closer to the machine and the large LCD.

‘Try clearing your thoughts, Major. We’ll pull you out at minus 20. And relax. Your vitals are showing us a guy on his first date.’

Nervous, Lauten chuckles. ‘Copy that.’

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten continues digging. From his point of view we see the top edge of something smooth, convex and metallic.

‘It’s definitely cylindrical. Right dimensions… Not sure.’

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 - THE UNIV OF CHICAGO

The scientists exchange looks. Dr Gordon Bartlet, (50s), stocky, balding, looks more like a football coach than a scientist, places his eyes on the Lauten in the radiology bay, then back on the LCD.

‘Scan your surroundings, Major. Let us see where you are.’

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten looks up – begins surveying his surroundings.

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 – U-CHICAGO

Both scientists focus hard on the LCD. The view though the Major’s eyes is grainy and bouncing.

‘Something’s rattling him.’ Bartlet leans forward.

Fadish appears dismissive – just stares into the large display.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

While completing his 360-degree scan, Lauten whips his head right, then left.

He sends both hands to his ears.

‘Are you getting this? It’s that weird rushing sound… I… I can’t seem to…’

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 – U-CHICAGO

‘Ignore it, Major.’ Fadish’s voice is commanding and also edgy. ‘Focus on your surroundings. Where are you now?’

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten tries shaking off the eerie feeling and struggles to focus on the shambles surrounding him.

‘It’s a… a building. I’ve somehow worked my way into a… not sure how I… how I did that.’ He pauses obviously suffering from confusion. ‘Could be the sub level. Hard to tell. The coordinates are right. It should be the university.’

He returns to the cylinder and continues digging. After several minutes, now on both knees, he grasps it with both hands – begins trying to loosen it.

‘It’s not what you’re looking for.’

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 (CONT’D)

The two U-Chicago scientists are in wide-eyed disbelief as they look at each other after hearing a girl’s voice – amplified and clear from the speakers.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten spins.

The girl, (18-20), is dark with nearly black hair. She’s petite, beautiful and dressed in a white, NASA type one-piece jumpsuit.

With the wind whipping her hair, she kneels and places a hand on the cylinder.

‘The answers aren’t in here, Andrea.’ Stymied, he blinks and shakes his head as if trying to clear away a hallucination.

‘Who are you? How do you… how do you know my name?’

She looks him in the eyes, gives him a sweet smile.

‘When you come back, Andrea. Perhaps then I can help you find the answers you’re looking for.’ She looks into the distance with sad eyes. ‘Maybe help you understand what we did to our world.’

She places her soft hands on his and smiles sweetly.

‘When you come back.’

GOVERNMENT SUV – MORNING

Two men, one uniformed the other business dressed, inside a US Government SUV, pass into a city at the base of the Rocky Mountains.

The sign along the road reads:

BOULDER COLORADO

GOV SUV – (CONT’D)

Once through the city, after a climb into the snow-capped mountains, they pull from the paved road onto a gravel one leading to nowhere.

GOV SUV – POINT RIDGEWOOD – U.S. D.O.D.

Over one rise, then another and another, tossing up a dust-storm, they approach a guard gate. This site defines remote & clandestine.

The road from the gate leads to a metal lined tunnel cut into the side of a mountain. A sign stretched across a posted fence reads:

POINT RIDGEWOOD

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF DEFENCE

An armed guard, not the friendliest looking fellow, approaches.

‘What can we do for you Gentlemen?’

The driver pulls documents from the dash and hands them to the guard.

‘Just here to have a look around, Corporal. Heard about the live music you have on Thursdays.’

The guard scrutinises the papers, then the two men, then the SUV, and without smiling, nods to the guardhouse – gives his partner a thumbs up.

He hands the driver the papers.

‘Enjoy your stay, Advisor Lutz… Lieutenant.’ They nod. ‘You may want to pop the guy who gave you the tip about the music though.’

Not even smiles.

As the gate rises, the SUV moves ahead until they’re swallowed by the tunnel.

INSIDE THE TUNNEL

The tunnel into POINT RIDGEWOOD is vast, 30 metres wide, ribbed like a roadside culvert, and strung with bright, roadway lights. The 15-metre-wide road slicing through it is lined with skids and heavy equipment.

Lieutenant Dan Malik, (30s), looking straight ahead, speaks to Edward Lutz, (40s), the President’s balding National Security Advisor.

‘I’m not typically the nosy type Mr Lutz… but…’

‘…good Lieutenant.’ They slow to a stop outside the fortified entrance. ‘That’s a valuable quality you should hold on to.’

Advisor Lutz, a rigid, all-business type, grabs his briefcase and climbs from the SUV – turns:

‘Thanks for the lift.’

The lieutenant nods. ‘My pleasure, Sir.’

ON CAMPUS HOUSING – U-CHICAGO – EARLY

Dr Zarinah Fadish, in leggings T-shirt and gym shoes, is sipping coffee while moving quickly about her efficiency kitchen. Though the TV news is biting into the morning quiet, she is obviously more interested in getting out the door.

ON CAMPUS HOUSING – OUTSIDE

Now wrapped in a wool coat, Zarinah locks her door and heads out into a gloomy fall morning.

AEROBICS/DANCE STUDIO – U-CHICAGO

High intensity aerobics – a room full of sweaty women all moving to loud Hip-Hop – an instructor with a mic is pushing them to the limit.

Break, and Zarinah falls to her mat exhausted – breathing heavily.

A quiet Indian woman of (40), Indrani, leans over.

‘My last lecture is at six. Jamie and I are going to a concert at Logan then out for drinks.

‘The Middle Eastern Ensemble. You’ll love it.’

‘Come with.’

Zarinah gives her a look. ‘Can’t… and you know the reasons.’

Her friend shakes her head, defeated again. This is obviously a recurring theme between these friends. They climb to their feet when the music starts up.

‘You’re going to work yourself to death while waiting for him to hear no from enough 22-year-olds to convince him he’s an idiot – and of what he lost.’

Zarinah scoffs.

‘I’m not waiting, Indrani. Trust me. And you have no idea of Marc’s capacity for handling rejection.’ She stiffens – tries looking serious then breaks into laughter.

CAMPUS CAFÉ

Post workout, Zarinah and her friend are in a café near a window. Indrani stirs her tea but has her eyes on Zarinah who appears lost in her thoughts.

‘Come on Zarinah, I’m your closest friend in the world, and I can honestly say I barely know you.’

‘That’s not…’

‘…It is true, and you know it. I tell you everything. Hell, I don’t even know what you’re working on that keeps you locked away like some cloistered nun 80 hours a week.’

‘It’s never…’

‘…Work is work, but there’s something called life away from work.’ She sips her tea. ‘It’s a concept I think you missed along the way.’

She shakes her head and grabs her fruit.

Zarinah casts a searching gaze out the window – watches the people – the cars – glances up into the sky – reaches and slowly drags her fingers along the window as if feeling glass for the first time.

‘It’s… something…’ Her voice is slightly above a thoughtful whisper.

Watching her, Indrani shakes her head. ‘Yeah. That’s pretty much what I thought. Though I admit I was expecting it to have a loftier name. Or at least some big juicy government acronym.’

Zarinah pulls her hand from the glass, closes her eyes for a moment and breathes. When she opens them, she’s calm – but still far away. She looks at her concerned friend.

‘I’ll have them work on it later today. Maybe have something for you by tomorrow.’ Indrani rolls her eyes – makes a mouth noise. Zarinah – a slight smile. ‘Okay… I’ll push it. Have it for you later tonight.’

POINT RIDGEWOOD, COLORADO (CONT’D)

NTL Security Advisor Lutz is met by a young officer, (20s), who, after a cordial greeting, leads him deep into the cold, utilitarian facility.

As Lutz follows, he appears ambivalent to the site’s seemingly intentional austerity. He’s been here before and has much more on his mind than the lack of décor.

CLASSROOM – UNIV OF CHICAGO – LATER

In a typical university classroom, Major Lauten is at his desk taking notes. There are six others. Three female and three male. All are young, studious and bright. All are in uniform.

Their focus is on the two neuroscientists, Bartlet and Fadish – seated at a table facing them.

‘So what do we have?’ Zarinah waits – scans their faces. ‘Besides the growing evidence that our world ended sometime within the last 75 to 100 years?’

POINT RIDGEWOOD, COLORADO (CONT’D)

After an interminable trek through Point Ridgewood, miles of corridors and numerous security scans, NTL Security Advisor Lutz follows the young officer to a cold, ice-like glass and steel lift.

After entering, the officer identifies with a full handprint and voice scan, then programmes the digital panel. Moments later they begin their slow descent into this highly classified facility.

CLASSROOM – UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

A female soldier looks up at Dr Fadish.

‘My last time under, Tuesday at 13 hundred, I heard the same strange sound the others have heard.’

Fadish pours her eyes briefly into her tablet – then up to the soldier.

‘You said in recovery, that you remembered feeling… anxious?’

The young soldier nods. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell us more about that.’

LOS ANGELES – FLASHBACK

The female soldier, climbing through the burnt remains of UCLA, tosses her head right.

She hears an eerie rush of wind, augmented by the constant lightning, as if a sudden gust through an old growth forest, only… there is no forest. There’s not a tree left standing on Earth.

‘It was more than just the sound.’

She turns, takes a step, then quickly tosses her head the other direction.

‘It was everywhere.’

She turns again and again – panicky – her face is fear streaked.

‘I was certain it was…’

CLASSROOM – UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

Dr Fadish leans forward. All eyes in the room are on the soldier.

‘I don’t know… alive. And I know how that sounds.’ Her voice rises. ‘How could there be… anything?’

The others nod in agreement.

A male soldier adds his comment. ‘Often it sounds like a voice… but… deep. From inside.’

More affirmative nods.

Another soldier adds his comments. ‘Like it’s in your head.’

Bartlet turns to Fadish who takes a moment.

‘This voice… is it ever…?’

‘…no. Never clear enough. You just know someone or something is trying to tell you to – something… or maybe… maybe guide you.’

Fadish casts her eyes on her counterpart Dr Bartlet. Together they turn to Major Lauten.

‘Major?’

CORRIDOR - POINT RIDGEWOOD, COLORADO

When the lift doors open, NTL Security Advisor Lutz and his assigned escort step out and are soon walking another dreary, featureless corridor.

They reach a stove black door and stop.

Lutz looks to his young guide.

‘How long?’

‘Dr Karkarov arrived about an hour ago. Mr Wei, the Secretary General’s science advisor, bout an hour before that.’

MEETING ROOM - POINT RIDGEWOOD

As Lutz enters, he receives cordial nods from the two men. Dr Nicola Karkarov, (45), a Russian Scientist, is big, blonde with striking blue eyes and strong.

Zhang Wei, (40), the Chinese Science Advisor, is a slight academic with thick glasses.

Lutz takes a seat at the room’s plain, grey table and looks at the men.

He hesitates a moment, as if unsure, then places his grey-metal briefcase on the desk, opens it and pulls out two identical folders. Each containing printed notes and data storage drives.

‘What I’m about to do here gentlemen would have constituted treason in my country 10 months ago.’

Another hesitant moment passes – he hands each man a file. They eagerly begin leafing and reading.

‘Ten months ago, Edward…’ Wei adjusts his glasses – continues reading. ‘…we were still living under the delusion that we could trust our senses – that what we saw, heard, felt and tasted was real.’

Lutz nods – his response is deeply thoughtful and penetrating. ‘Yes… ten months. A long time.’

An uncomfortable minute passes as the men continue reading.

‘You’ll find everything there. Specifications for the Electro Dynamic Functional imaging machine, as well as notes dating back to the project’s inception. Including the recent discovery of one of the ten North American capsules.’

Quiet minutes pass as the two men scour the files. Karkarov closes his – Wei follows.

‘The 3rd degree of consciousness, Edward?’ The large Russian scientist shakes his head. ‘I’ll have fun explaining this one in Moscow.’

‘Quite simple, Nicola. A chemically induced state in which we’re relieved of the reliance on our conscious mind’s perceptions. Sight, smell, hearing…’ He pauses in thought. ‘…And certainly without the fantasy our subconscious minds spin out for us. We experience what’s real.’

Wei stands, as does Karkarov who poses his question to the American security advisor – a man who looks like he has just given away his country. ‘Real, Edward?’

‘Yes, though…’ His response to the Russian is deep and sombre. ‘…suddenly an odd term.’

Wei decides to add to this deeply esoteric concept. ‘Here’s an analogy for you, my friend. It’s the yellow cake hidden inside the chocolate frosting.’ A chuckle. ‘Without the fantasy that the inside is also Chocolate.’

‘Or even cake.’ Lutz stands and makes his move for the door.

CLASSROOM – UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

Holding all their eyes, Lauten takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

‘My last time out, three days ago, Monday, I had what I had assumed to be another hallucination.’ He looks at their faces. ‘I met a girl…’ Their brows go up. ‘…while I was trying to pull out what may be one of the time capsules.’

The room is pin-drop silent. He looks up to Fadish and Bartlet who continue to stare.

‘Only… as it turns out…’ Fadish gives him a slight nod. ‘…she was no hallucination.’

THE MAIN QUAD – UNIV OF CHICAGO

Doctors Fadish and Bartlet launch umbrellas on the steps of the Applied Sciences building following the meeting with the project team.

Fadish, suddenly far away, holds out her hand – studies it as it collects raindrops.

RESIDENTIAL STREET – FLASHBACK

Eight-year-old Zarinah in purple pyjamas is outside her family home in a stiff downpour spinning – looking up and cackling with gleeful laughter.

The curtains are pulled aside. Her mother in the window has a hand to her head.

The door opens, and her father steps out onto the porch.

‘Kali! Your raincoat.’ He nervously looks left then right. ‘The neighbours, Kali. They will think you’ve lost your senses.’

Little Zarinah shakes her head and continues spinning. Spinning and laughing.

‘Oh, papa. There are no neighbours. No people left at all.’ She stops spinning – faces him and holds out her hands.

‘And look, papa.’ A very big smile. ‘There is no rain.’

THE MAIN QUAD (CONT’D)

Snapping back to the present, Zarinah allows the droplets to fall to the pavement. Bartlet watches her. He doesn’t know what to say.

‘Gordon… are we…?’

‘…We’re all asking the same questions, Zarinah.’

She eyes him for a long moment. Then shakes her head as they begin walking down the steps moving away from a wave of students.

‘Yes, but… we’re supposed to have the answers.’

THE MAIN QUAD – UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

The two neuroscientists cross the Quad and leave through a broad Gothic arch taking them towards the U-Chicago hospital.

THE WHITE HOUSE

Like a mythical bird descending from the top of Olympus, a Chinook helicopter falls from the sky and lands on the south lawn of the White House in Washington DC.

Moments after landing, a guard pulls the side door open and Edward Lutz, in a grey trench coat, steps out. He’s met by a sharp woman, (30s), his aide, holding a large umbrella.

They begin walking in a steady Fall downpour.

‘Any word from Chicago?’ Lutz pulls tight his raincoat as a gust hits them head-on.

‘They’re sending Lauten in again this afternoon. He’ll try to get to the contents of that capsule.’

They reach the steps and begin their climb passing uniformed guards.

‘When?’

His aide speaks while closing her umbrella. ‘16:00 our time.’

They reach the French doors, and Lutz turns.

‘Professor Aberdeen?’

‘Waiting in your office.’

Lutz waits for the guard to push open the doors then steps in – his aide follows.

FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE OFFICE – MOSCOW

Walking briskly through a wide corridor inside the SVR RF is Karkarov speaking in Russian with two men and a woman who are struggling to keep up.

Angered, the large blonde scientist turns on them.

(In Russian)

‘They found it in San Francisco…Thursday!! And I had to fly to Washington to get that information?’ Red faced; his voice rises more. ‘From the Americans?!’

They cower as he shakes his head and resumes walking.

(In Russian)

‘Foreign Intelligence Service.’ He scoffs angrily… ‘Buffoons!’ …shakes his head and makes his way out the door.

U-CHICAGO – PSYCHIATRIST’S OFFICE

Zarinah sits in a chair facing a finely dressed, heavy-set woman, (40s) with grey streaked hair.

The woman waits patiently – watching Zarinah who has her eyes to the windows following rain droplets as they slide down the glass to the sill.

After minutes, Zarinah, lost and away, pulls her eyes from the windows.

‘I… I don’t think I have anything for you today, Regina.’

Concerned, the therapist stares.

‘You said that last week.’

Zarinah turns her eyes back to the windows.

‘Did I?’

‘Yes. And the week before. Zarinah, there must be something.’

‘I’m working.’

‘You’ve said that. And besides work?’

‘Work keeps my mind active. And keeps me from thinking about… things. (Pauses) Things I can’t… solve.’

She looks away – her eyes back on those raindrops.

‘Like what? Give me an example.’

‘You know I can’t…’

‘…I know you work is sensitive – but there must be something you can share. I need something if I’m going to… (she breathes out) …if I can be of any help. Something – Anything.’

Zarinah chews at her lip – her eyes follow the raindrops as they weave their way down the window to the sill.

‘Rain.’

The therapist raises her brows.

RESIDENTIAL STREET – FLASHBACK

Eight-year-old Zarinah is in a downpour still spinning – her face to the sky – with her hands out.

U-CHICAGO – PSYCHIATRIST’S OFFICE (CONT’D)

Zarinah turns and catches her therapist’s expression.

‘Don’t worry, Regina. It isn’t time to recommend drug or shock therapy. My mind just wandered.’ She gives her a warm, reassuring smile as she stands. ‘I just realized – (shrugs) I left my umbrella at the hospital.’

The therapist just stares, unconvinced as Zarinah heads for the door.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO – LATER

The same as in the opening scene. The blackened, lifeless planet Earth. First from space – then a rapid zoom to the San Francisco Bay Area.

And, as in the beginning, the sky is dingy and bronze and a firestorm of lighting pulverising the remains of the decimated world.

Mini cyclones of sand and ash criss-cross the landscape. The horizons are rimmed in a fire-brick red.

The Earth is now an inhospitable alien landscape.

We zoom in on Major Lauten in his grey/white camouflaged fatigues with his glowing white rifle walking along a butchered San Francisco street.

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 - THE UNIV OF CHICAGO

Bartlet and Fadish are again seated in the massive radiology bay with their eyes glued to the large LCD.

Also in the room, are two U-Chicago physicists and two men in suits – definitely government guys.

Major Lauten is stretched out on the long gurney-like table with his head banded, inside the massive Electro Dynamic fMRI machine.

THE WHITE HOUSE – EDWARD LUTZ’S OFFICE

Lutz and Dr Marc Aberdeen, (mid-40s), slick – swarthy, hardly the look of a scientist, the president’s science advisor, face each other across Lutz’s desk.

On Lutz’s large monitor is a live feed from U-Chicago – the same streaming images from the LCD in the radiology lab.

The audio is coming through Lutz’s computer’s speakers.

RADIOLOGY – U-CHICAGO – BAY 12 (CONT’D)

Dr Fadish leans forward.

‘Anything unusual, Major… anything… I want to hear it.’

Bartlet, more the friendly, congenial type, eyes her for her sharp, commanding tone.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO

Lauten gazes high into the sky.

RADIOLOGY – BAY 12 - THE UNIV OF CHICAGO

In radiology, the image on the LCD blurs then stabilises when Lauten stops moving his head.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Still with his eyes skyward. His voice is nearly lost in the harsh wind.

‘Unusual, eh Doc? Does the nifty, reddish brown sky count? Or the gold-yellow lightning?’ He looks down. ‘How bout the phosphorescent rain that boils and evaporates as soon as it hits the ground?’

‘Hold on to that sense of humour Andrea. Your girlfriend shows up again, she may find it appealing.’

Lauten chuckles and continues walking up the very road we saw him on in the opening scene.

THE WHITE HOUSE – EDWARD LUTZ’S OFFICE

Aberdeen leans back with his hands woven together behind his neck – his eyes on Lutz who is glued to his monitor.

‘You’re still having trouble with it, aren’t you, Eddy.’

‘What, that we no longer exist? Or that reality and relativity are suddenly first cousins. Both depending on the position and velocity of the observer.’

Aberdeen laughs, pulls his hands down and does a drum roll on Lutz’s desk.

‘Ha! Eddy… Jesus! I’m impressed. This administration gets swept away in the election… as it should…’ He cackles more. ‘…I’ll make room for you on my staff at Harvard.’ He continues to laugh.

Lutz shakes his head but never takes his eyes from the video feed.

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten begins climbing up the same street towards the row of fragmented foundations.

On the LCD in Chicago, the small audience can see what he sees. Over the speakers, they can only hear what he hears.

The images are often grainy, and the audio mostly static.

He nears the spot where he first caught sight of the time capsule.

RADIOLOGY – U-CHICAGO – BAY 12 (CONT’D)

Fadish leans back in her chair and addresses the government men.

‘Ten academic institutions in the US, 16 abroad, are continually feeding data into iridium and tungsten time capsules. World news, newest publications: Science, technology, economics, literature. Everything. Our hope is…’

She has her attention drawn to the LCD where she catches the twisted I beam and crumbling foundation wall. Lauten is almost there.

Bartlet fills in. ‘…our hope is…’

WASTELAND SAN FRANCISCO (CONT’D)

Lauten sets his eyes on the rounded metal cylinder mostly buried in ash. He moves towards it.

RADIOLOGY – U-CHICAGO – BAY 12 (CONT’D)

Everyone in radiology leans forward. Then, on the LCD – the capsule, as seen through the Major’s eyes, bouncing as he moves closer.

‘Our hope is…’ Bartlet continues. ‘…they did too.’

The scene on the LCD jerks as Lauten drops to his knees to work the capsule free.

His next response is heard over the speakers in Radiology. ‘We’re there. How are your visuals?’

THE WHITE HOUSE – EDWARD LUTZ’S OFFICE

‘You know Edward…’

Lutz raises a hand. ‘Hold on.’

Aberdeen plants an elbow on the desk and supports his chin as he too is suddenly intrigued.

‘I’ll be damned. He found one.’

RADIOLOGY – U-CHICAGO – BAY 12 (CONT’D)

The radiology bay is a theatre of tension – everyone leaning forward in their seats.

Fadish speaks to her colleague in a soft, excited whisper. ‘Gordon…’

Bartlet gives her a kind smile. He knows what this means to her – has watched her spend her days and nights obsessed with it.

‘…I know, Zarinah… I know.’

He takes her hand and squeezes it. They lock eyes. There’s a sweet, less formal moment between them. The friction – suddenly gone.

He then turns to the government men.

‘One capsule and we could conceivably piece together what happened.’ He pauses in thought – his eyes return to the LCD. ‘…and possibly conclude where the hell we are now.’

The men just stare. This is too much for anyone to absorb.

WASTELAND SAN