Jadrus - Chapter 1 Script

This is the script for the first part of the first chapter of my comic, which will be starting next week. I usually fine-tune it right before putting it into the comic (basically just tweaking the phrasing so that it's appropriate to the situation), but I could always use input. This comic is long-form, which means that it's going to be sloooow in its buildup. I've been having difficulty with trying to keep it interesting. 


Well, we'll just see how much I improve over time, I guess....


NOTES: Gehnn has a severe speech imdediment as a result of her scarring. So any 'speaking' done by her would be in thought form (with a few exceptions)
Remish-plural
Rem-singular (somewhat deragotory)
Remishman-singular (proper)
(but no one uses it.)
(oh well.)

Chapter 1: The Man in the Bush
Gehnn: There's always a reason for everything, Paskkah used to say.
He was the smartest person I knew, and so I took his word for it. He always answered my questions. Not the answers everyone else always gave me, the ones that dodged around telling me what I wanted to know.
Of course, there are some questions that don't really have good answers.
And it seems the older you get, the more of them there are.
It stinks. But that's life, I guess.
And honestly.....it would be real boring any other way.
(Gehnn is standing at a food stand, leaning on her elbows. A fly comes in. She watches it.)
Gehnn: Hello, Mr. Fly.
Your eyes are looking especially shiny today.
I imagine you want a taste of the yams we've got here.
I don't blame you. You must be tired of people's garbage.
Too bad you're a fly, though. If you were a cute little dog, I might've given you something.
(Shadow approaches - fly goes away.)
Yul: Talking to bugs again?
(Gehnn sighs, straightens)
Yul: So....Min left you to man the stall, I see.
During dead time. Again.
Gehnn: (shrugs)
Yul: Where is he, anyway?
Gehnn: (points in some direction - mimes talking with hands)
*translation: he's at the Market District.
Yul: Ah. Market District, huh?
What do you wanna bet he'll come back with another load of wormy apples?
Gehnn: (waves a hand)
Yul: Always sticking up for him. Sheesh, Gehnn.
Gehnn: (shrugs again, with hands)
Yul: Whatever. He's not going to be back for a few hours, right?
Gehnn: shrug.
Yul: Stop that.
 How about we head over to Moiah's stall? She's actually got some fresh rabbit in the stew today.
She said she'd give us first dibs if we snuck some of the thornapples from Min.
Gehnn: Looks disapproving.
Yul: Come on, Gehnn, he's got more than enough to sell. You told me he had to throw out half the shipment a few days ago.
So come on. Let's not waste.
Gehnn: raises eyebrow. looks from right to left and then starts packing in apples.
(Min approaches.)
Min: GEHNN!
(Gehnn hides the bag and shoves Yul under the counter)
Min: (getting closer)
Gehnn! I actually have something for you to do!
Yul: I'll bet.
(Gehnn kicks her)

Further in the Valles Marineris story

Control Room of Mariner II: Incoming transmission from UNKNOWN
Phillip Ottenson, this is Lawrence Major at Valles Marineris colony! Our radar can’t track a thing in this storm—have you changed course yet? The situation here is rapidly degenerating into insanity! We’re abandoning the colony, Ottenson! You’re as stubborn as stubborn will allow by its dictionary definition, but listen to me: do—not—come—here! Get as far away as you can! You have equipment to settle elsewhere—do so!

I repeat, we are abandoning the colony at Valles Marineris! I don’t know what the future holds for the nn, but it’s not here! People have disappeared, died, and … Phillip, we’ve discovered something in the mines. We dug too deep. There was … something down there, I don’t know what it was, but it’s not down there any more! And then people started having hallucinations, and disappearing, coming down witht he sickness …

Phillip Ottenson, are you reading me? Can you hear me? If you can hear anything I’m saying, for the love of all that is good and holy, pick up the receiver and answer me immediately!

We’re going to hide inside the mine, where we can set up a much tighter security detail. Change course immediately!

Phillip, answer me!

Isaac Davis’ Personal Log
At the promised time, I left the Mariner II and climbed into the dark tunnels of the Mariner. As I promised myself, I did actually bring a flashlight. the shaft of light did little dispell my apprehension. something about the fact that it was actually night (it’s hard to tell on board the Mariner, but the security monitors on board the II showed as much) caused me an extra measur eof anxiety. Maybe it’s the old Earthly notions of ghosts and monsters int he dark still held sway over me, somewhere deeep in my subconscoous. A lot lurks down there that my rational mind would put an end to if it could. The flaishlight really only served the send the shadows of the tubes and pipes rinning everywhere dancing on the walls as I moved, or make a black cloud of gas that spewed in front of me white like some sort of phantom. I paused periodically as I followed the arrows to the residential district (the Sleepy Willow Suites) to listen for footsteps other than mine, but I heard nothing.

I reached the stairs which lead up to the shaft to the Sleepy Willow, when my light fell upon a man’s face, a man standing beside the stairwell. I nearly dropped my flashlight before I recognized the man as Thompson, one of the security men, young and somewhat wild-looking, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“Hello,” I said as I walked passed him, “Sorry, you kind of startled me.”

He didn’t say anything, but only nodded as I passed, and lit his cigarette. His eyes followed me as I climbed the stairs, and my back almost prickled, knowing he was watching me as I walked. I stole a glance down. He hadn’t moved. His eyes gleamed reflecting the flashlight’s beam above him, underscored by the red glare of the cigarette tip. He is a quiet one. I can’t abide quiet people. I always feel like they’re evaluating everyone and everything, and everything is falling short in their evaluation.

Finally I came to the shaft. I was glad to leave the tunnels. I climbed eagerly and opened the hatch.

It opened to new wonders. I climbed out and found myself in the service closet that opened to a long, ill-lit narrow hallway hemmed in on each side by doors and lit by a canopy of small, dim yellow lights set in glass casings in the shapes of various flowers, twelve feet off the ground and covering the barrel-vaulted ceiling. The ceiling itself was painted to resemble branches of twisted bushes and vines. The carpet was dark crimson, and at least as thick as that of Le Canape d’Aphrodite. Rich red wood framed doors in beautifully carved arches, each resembling a miniatureized entry to the City of Petra, the tops of which held ornamental wooden canisters which melted into ribs, panelling hte barrel-vault ceiling with its electric flower garden of lamps. The doors themselves were black and metallic, panelled and covered in swirling patterns of dark steel. In ornate, victorian-style golden panels set at eye level of each door were engraven the number of the apartment.

I wasn’t sure what surprised me more: the richness of the common accomodations or the fact that no one else was gawking up at them. The hallway was deserted. I sat alone in the half-lit corridor staring like an idiot at the pretty lights. What’s with this design and keeping everything so dark? Something about the hallway felt cold, and I felt uncomfortably vulnerable. The barrel ceiling loomed overhead with its pacifying flower-lights, and it seemed that more than my staring at them, that something was staring at me.

After a minute I came to my senses and remembered the number I was supposed to be looking for—32791—and started looking.

The number nearest to me was 32004. I was a good seven hundred away, but on the right floor. my feet made no sound on the carpet, and the silence was almost as much a part of the hallway as the doors or the ceiling. I didn’t like it. I couldn’t hear myself—I hated to let my imagine run away, but I couldn’t shut out the thought of Thompson, quiet Thompson, creeping along the hallway behind me. I’d never know it. That sent me looking over my shoulder until I finally came across door 32791, after what seemed like hours and miles.

I knocked, not really knowing what else to do. Almost immediately, the door swung open, and there was Caroline. She was wearing the same gown, and her hair was the same, if a bit unkempt. Her eyes were wide and her relaxed smile from earlier was gone. She still did not directly at me, but rather through me.

“Good of you to come,” she said, wasting no time, “now get inside.”

I obliged, all too happy to leave the hallway.

She shut the door quickly and locked it. Her room was circular, and more brightly lit than without. A bed lay in the center of the small room, also circular, with four posts where they would normally be found on a four-poster bed, thrust up toward the muraled ceiling, where they met, wound around one another, and finally entwined into a spiral shape which dipped downward. At the end of the drooping spiral, like a carved stalagtite, blossomed another, larger glass flower, illuminated by a bright yellow lightbulb, whose light filled the room with the warmth and security the hallway lacked.

She went to a chair by the bed and took a seat, leaving me to find my own seat. I took the bed. She turned to me and opened her mouth. For a moment, no sound came out. Then she said in a hushed tone,

“Isaac, I think

ALERT FOR UNKNOWN RECORDING DEVICE: ISAAC DAVIS’ PERSONAL LOG: POWER SURGE FAILURE. EMERGENCY POWER DOWN. INSTANT BACKUP SAVED.

Control Room, Mariner II.
Black Box
[POWER FAILURE]
[Tech Officer] Computer, switch to emergency generators!
**emergency generators engaged. Vital systems operational. All auxiliary power: off. Entertainment systems: off. Lighting: minimal—work lights engaged. Security systems: minimal.**
COMPUTER: Do you wish to engage emergency security measures, sir?
[Tech Officer] Of course! What do you take me for?
COMPUTER: Idiom not understood, sir. Engaging.
**emergency security measures engaged. Doors: sealed. Blast doors: engaged.**
[Tech Officer] Computer, what happened?
COMPUTER:  Unknown power surge, sir. Effects similar to that of an EMP, sir.
[Tech Officer] Any hints as to what may have caused this surge?
COMPUTER:  Restatement: Unknown power surge, sir.
[Tech Officer] Fine, fine. Scan for life, make sure everyone is okay. We don’t want anyone to panic. Now would be a very bad time for mass hysteria.
COMPUTER: Agreed, sir. Scan in progress.
[Tech Officer] Staff accounted for?
COMPUTER: 27 staff members accounted for, sir. 5083 total life forms detected on board the Mariner I, the Mariner II, and the Mariner III.
[Tech Officer] Good … wait. Weird. Confirm that number, 5082 total life forms on board?
COMPUTER: Error, sir. Total life forms on board: 5083.
[Tech Officer] What, did someone give birth?
COMPUTER: Medical scans conducted prior to departure would have revealed any stage of fetal development as an additional life form. No pregnancies or births are possible for another five months, approximately, sir.
[Tech Officer] But that can’t be right. Computer, confirm the manifest for the three Mariner vessels.
COMPUTER: As of departure date [datestamp: ‘44], 5082 life forms were admitted to the Mariner vessels.
[Tech Officer] So what’s this extra one?
COMPUTER: Unknown.
[Tech Officer] You’re telling me that we picked up an extra passenger somewhere?
COMPUTER: Scans indicate 5083 life forms. Confirmed, scans detected one more life form than are accounted for in the manifests. Attempting to discern location 5083rd life form.
[Tech Officer] Patch me in to Ottenson immediately. We need to tell him we have a visitor.

Isaac Davis’ Personal Log:
MICROPHONE ONLINE
REBOOTING RECORDING DEVICE: DATA SAVED. RESUMING RECORDING.
[do not put into present tense in re-write]
I guess my recording device is working again, because the light came on on my neck. I can see it because it’s pitch black in here. I’m in Caroline’s room. The power just died on us, and everything just plunged into black, not even a flicker int he lights to warn us. At least the carpet is nice and soft. Caroline’s pretty on edge. I haven’t heard a woman scream in a long time. It’s pretty jarring if you’re not used to it.

I know we have emergency power, because I can see a faint glow from the hallway seeping in underneath the door.

[rewrite above section in past tense]

Caroline just clung to me, her fingers digging deep into my arm. Her breath was hot on my ear as she leaned near to whisper, “Isaac, I’m getting that feeling again. Like someone’s following me.”

I hushed her, because under the door, the light from the hall was blocked by the shadow of someone’s feet, walking down the hall. The person made no sound. The pair of feet passed the door, and then returned a moment later. They shifted back and forth, as if uncertain, and then finally stopped directly in front of the door.

“Ottenson,” I whispered, “Phillip Ottenson, can you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence, and then a voice came in my ear,

“This is Technical Officer Whitman[?]. Phillip Ottenson is not available at present. We are dealing with an emergency. Where are you, Isaac?”

“Whitman, are any security cameras working?” I asked. The person hadn’t moved a muscle. He didn’t knock, he didn’t go away. He just stood there. He seemed so close, his nose must be touching the door.

“We’ve regained power enough for that, yes. Why, where are you?”

“I’m in room [room] in the Sleepy Willow. Someone’s standing at our door. Can you see him? Is it Thompson?”

Caroline’s nails were biting into my flesh. The person remained in place. Was he listening for something?

“We have visual. Camera 62. Let’s see … no … no idea who that is, Davis. I can’t see his face. It isn’t Thompson, I know that. Look, you’re safe where you are. Don’t move until the power comes back. But you need to know, we think there’s an intruder on board. So stay where you are. We’re going to try to get the security systems online first.”

The shadow then moved, slowly, deliberately, almost awkwardly away and out of sight. As they left, I let out a deep sigh. Caroline even relaxed a short moment. And then the lights came back on.

Computer Log: Black Box, Mariner I.
[Tech Officer] The power’s back. Computer, status report.
Computer: All systems functional, power reserves at 88.56%.
[Tech Officer] Life form count?
Computer: I am pleased to announce that the life form count is again at 5082, sir.
[Tech Officer] Now that you’re up and running, any idea as to what caused the glitch?
Computer: Sir, there was no glitch. A power surge struck out the main power grid upon the addition of the 5083rd life form, sir. The power returned shortly thereafter, and the life form count dropped to 5082.
[Tech Officer] No ID on the person in Camera 62?
Computer: None, sir.
[Tech Officer] I’m confused. Any diagnostic?
Computer: My recommendation, sir, would be to ensure that none of the staff is missing.
[Tech Officer] Computer, broadcast the following throughout the vessel: All staff, go to the nearest ID station and acknowledge you can hear my voice. Alert me to any suspicious activity. End message.
Now, Computer, get me into contact with Phillip Ottenson.
Computer: Phillip Ottenson’s chambers have been in contact for the duration of the voyage.
[Tech Officer] So you’ve been listening in this whole time, Ottenson? You keep awfully quiet.
…
[Tech Officer] Ottenson? You there?
…

Personal Log: Isaac Davis [datestamp: the next day]
I don’t know that to think anymore. Thompson is nowhere to be found, but the life-form count still reads 5082—the number of people we started with. Either he’s dead and someone snuck on board or he’s just … missing. I saw the security footage. Can’t figure out who our mystery man is, but it’s not Thompson. I guess it could just be one of the other passengers, but he was behaving strangely, and Caroline seemed like she knew he would be coming.

I moved her into the staff’s quarters—Quartermistress had no problem with it, but here’s where things get really weird: Ottenson isn’t responding to anyone. So there was no point in asking his approval. Caroline’s relief was visible, but now we’re starting to worry about Ottenson. The computer at first said his office—which, I found out, is in the civilian vessel Mariner and not the science vessel Mariner II where the rest of us live—has been plugged in and monitoring all comm channels and camera feeds, but yesterday, the computer stopped accepting questions about Ottenson. We don’t even know exactly where his office is to go check up on him. This after the Tech Officer hacked into the ship’s official comm channel and intercepted a transmission from the nn colony already at Valles Marineris.

That transmission told us to stay away from the Valles Marineris, and that they’re abandoning it. Why? Because people started going missing, and something else they didn’t elaborate on, but sounded rather grim. We should be at the—abandoned—Valles Marineris colony by tomorrow, if we keep to schedule. Whitman, the chief Tech officer, is diverting us for a moment, pausing the trip till we can talk to Ottenson and figure out what’s going on.

And here’s the really lovely thing in all of this, something I haven’t told anyone else because I don’t want to sound paranoid like Caroline: on the way back from her room, I came down the same shaft I ascended to get to the Sleepy Willow apartments. I noticed, with everything lit with safety lights, a cigarette lying on the floor, half-burned, still smoking from somewhere inside its ashes, right where I had passed Thompson on the way up.

Maybe Caroline isn’t crazy. Maybe she is. Either way, I think we all need to have some words with him.

Computer Log: Black Box [datestamp]
Computer: Incoming call from Phillip Ottenson.
[Tech Officer] Finally! Patch him in.
[Ottenson] How’s it, Whitman?
[Tech Officer] Where have you been, Ottenson? Why didn’t—
[Ottenson] Let’s not linger on the “didn’ts.” There’s a “did” I’ve taken rank with. Why, Whitman, did you stop us?
[Tech Officer] You’ve been watching and listening this whole time; you know very well why.
[Ottenson] Yes, that brings me to another “did.” Why did you hack my personal communications channel and listen to my mail?
[John Turon] You’re insane, Ottenson! There’s a very good reason whoever that was told us to stay away from the colony!
[Ottenson] I’m talking about the fact that you hacked into my private personal communications channel.
[Tech Officer] None of us has a private channel. I wouldn’t have had to hack it if you hadn’t restricted access to information we should all be privy to.
[John Turon] Whatever you believe about survival and anarchy and whatever you’ve planted in the minds of these people, you have no right to knowingly lead us into danger you don’t even understand!
[Ottenson] Whitman, shut him up, would you?
[Tech Officer] No can do. I happen to agree with him.
[Ottenson] You’re taking orders from Turon, now, are you? I’ll bet he’s the one who—
[Tech Officer] Look, he’s right! You no priest to be the intermediary between us and information we need, and you’re no God to decide our fates for us!
[Ottenson] I saved you all from certain death! I’m saving mankind! I’m closer to being God than anything!
[Tech Officer] Ottenson, listen to yourself. You sound ridiculous. We all know that the Valles Marineris colony expressly warned us not to come, that some catastrophe has happened there, and when we came within a hundred miles of them, we experienced last night’s fiasco. One man is missing. Thousands of people are aboard this vessel, and their lives are in our hands. We’re not going anywhere until we’ve come to a consensus.
[Ottenson] All right, I’ve had enough of this. Computer, patch me through to the Mariner public address system.
Computer: Yes, sir.

Mariner PA System: Announcement from Dr. Ottenson
Alright, so I hear there’s some contention about who’s in charge and where we’re going.

You know, the ancient explorers feared to sail across the globe thinking they would fall off the edge of the world. They were more right than they knew, or than most people care to reflect upon. They were absolutely correct in their fear—they really COULD fall off the face of the earth—except in their belief that the world is flat. They didn’t realize they were standing on the edge of the world—the ground was earth’s end, the tipping point to falling off into the starry void of space. In fact, if it weren’t for the planet’s gravity, they’d have flown off the face of the earth into space. Years later, man intentionally shoved off the earth and took care to fall off the edge of the earth. He drifted, not wholly sure he would even be remembered if he died, like the thousands lost in the ancient seas. He plunged forward and plotted a course for red, rusty, freezing shores here on Mars.

The first colonizers and the Earth government that came with them were a lot more like the ancient mariners than we like to think. They settled unknown shores. We’ve been here for a good while, actually—Mars itself, the whole planet is one big edge of the earth, one big Pacific ocean that their triremes were bobbing in. Now it’s our turn to shove off to stranger shores. It’s our turn to go down in history with Buzz Aldrin and Luis Armstrong. We’re shoving off the edge of the world—instead of an ocean, it’s a desert, but they’re kind of similar, I guess—and some of us are scared we’ll fall off into the inky black void of whatever. You know, that’s a risk we have to take. That didn’t stop the explorers of the past, and it won’t stop us. We aren’t superstitious seafarers who trust stars as compasses and fortune-tellers. We’re us. We’re armed, we’re well-protected, we’re alert. We’ve come a long way, cast off from Spain, only we’re no Columbus, and the Spanish king and queen want us on the Inquisition’s rack. We’ll either succeed and be heroes for generations to come, or we’ll die. We’ll die if we turn around, too. Our options are “definitely death” or “maybe survival.” As long as “survival” is in my list of options, it’s the one I’m going to choose. We have to keep going. It’s the only rational thing to do.