Clark's Logs, Session 17

EWS on two figures converging on a large, agricultural property - the Reinhardt farm.  OSS over the shoulder of CLARK CAMERON, one of the two figures, showing him approaching CINDY REINHARDT.  In her late 60s with steel-gray hair, CINDY still gives off an aura of youthful energy, and her smile lines are prominent.  She reaches out to shake CLARK’s hand as the camera switches to a Two-Shot.

CINDY

Thanks for coming, Dr. Cameron.

CLARK

No problem, Cindy.  What seems to be the trouble?

CINDY

Some of my flock are stumbling all over themselves.  They’re not hurt or

anything, and I haven’t used any herbicides or pesticides that might be messing

with their heads.  It’s the darnedest thing.

CLARK

How long ago did you notice this?

CINDY

Just yesterday.  Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I’ve never seen it before,

so...

CLARK

...you figured better safe than sorry.  Makes sense to me.  Mind if I go poke

around your pasture?  You’re free to come along.

CINDY smiles and shakes her head.

CINDY

Too many chores to do, but you go on ahead.  Come by the house

and let me know if you find anything interesting.

CLARK nods and the two part ways, CINDY walking towards a modest homestead while CLARK walks over to the large pasture where fifty-odd head of sheep are roaming.  As he approaches the gate, a lanky llama strides over to inspect him.  It at first appears tense, but seems to relax as it draws nearer and CLARK extends a hand slowly.

CLARK

Hello there, girl.  You must be Linda.  Cindy’s told me all about you.

LINDA

Squeak!

CLARK

It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt your herd.

CLARK looks distant at that as he begins walking.  The llama paces him, occasionally sniffing or nudging him curiously, but otherwise seeming content just to follow him.  CLARK, apparently used to this treatment from animals, pats her absently while apparently deep in thought.  His forehead creases, and a frown grows on his face as he inspects the pasture.

CLARK

I can understand why you might worry, though.  I’ve done some

things I’m not proud of recently.  I killed a man with an experimental

wormhole-generating weapon.  I aimed that weapon at him because I

wanted him to die, and he did.  Boy howdy, did he ever.

CLARK shakes his head as he approaches the flock of sheep.  They begin to stand as he gets closer, though some of them have obvious difficulty getting to their feet.  These sheep flail in an almost comical manner, falling repeatedly as they clumsily fail to get their feet beneath them.  One falls over completely, and CLARK quickly approaches it, staying low and moving slowly.  He calms it with a touch and a few gentle words, the presence of LINDA also seeming to reassure the ovine.

CLARK

Easy, girl.  Let me take a look at you.  Sorry for the interruption, Linda.

LINDA

Mrrreeeeh!

CLARK opens his bag and begins examining the sheep, looking down its throat and into its eyes as he speaks.

CLARK

But this guy was wearing power armor.  He was paid by the Word of

Blake to guard a secret lab where they were manufacturing weapons of

mass destruction.  And he was going to kill Simon.  He had to die.  It...I’d

be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, but I’d do it again.  I would.

This admission seems to steel CLARK a bit as he rolls the sheep gently upright, feeling its flanks for irregularities.  Seemingly satisfied, he helps it to its feet, and watches it walk wobbily off to rejoin its comrades.

CLARK

It almost seemed like this would just be a silly adventure.  Shin wearing

that ridiculous gorilla suit over his power armor, them denting my truck and

outwitting TerraSec officers.  The Missouri team had good intelligence and a

good plan.  I had hoped Simon hearing about someone misusing HIS research

the way they misused mine would help galvanize him a bit.  Boy, was I wrong.

CLARK begins to meander through the field, eyes sweeping the plant life until he comes to a heavily cropped bunch of hardy-looking green grass.  LINDA walks close behind.

CLARK

Ah - is this ryegrass?  Do you eat ryegrass here, girl?

As if to answer, LINDA ducks her head down toward the tuft of grass.  CLARK steps gently towards her, enough that the llama’s natural reaction is to stop bending over, and guides her head away from the grass.

CLARK

Better let me have a look first.

CLARK takes a small hand lens out of his bag and stoops over the grass, searching for its small flowers.

CLARK

When we took out the guards, Shin wanted to execute all the scientists.

What the Hell?!?  Yeah, they were working for the Word, but not only

were they no threat to us, I guarantee you that those fifteen scientists

would NEVER work for the Word of Blake after what happened to them

at this place.  They were scared out of their minds!  They would have run

for the hills, setting the project back years and costing the WoBies tons

of C-bills in tracking them down.  I told him as much, and he said he’d only

maim them, so he started chopping off their hands!

At this point, CLARK’s hand is shaking so violently that he drops the hand lens.

CLARK

Blake’s blood.

It takes the veterinarian a few moments of sifting through the tall grass to recover his tool.  After this he resumes examining the flower, brushing something off onto his fingers from the small blossom.

CLARK

I tended their wounds as best I could.  He was a psychopath, but at

least they weren’t dead.  We had to leave, then, and I was just about

coming to terms with what had just happened when Cho blew up the

entire fucking floor!  All those people...those terrified, harmless, suffering

people.  That was wrong.  That was beyond wrong.  I can’t believe...

CLARK’s eyes widen and he snaps the hand lens back into its folded position.

CLARK

Aha!  Just as I though.  Acremonium.

LINDA

Squeak?

CLARK

It’s a genus of saprophytic fungus.  Some of them specialize in perennial

ryegrass, and they create a nasty toxin that can mess with the neurobiology

of grazing critters such as yourself and those sheep.  What we’ve got here

is a bona fide case of Ryegrass Staggers.  Good thing Cindy caught it early

enough, I can prescribe an enzyme blocker that should stop the toxic effects

while she gets all this ryegrass out.  It might be a pricey undertaking, but this

field’s no good for grazing.  You’d all be dead or moribund in a few weeks’ time.

CLARK’s short-lived eureka enthusiasm fades at this statement.

CLARK

I should go tell Cindy what’s up.  Come to that, I think I need to have a

few words with my houseguests.  I’m giving them a place to stay, I’m

tending their injuries, I’m building an entire goddamn silo I don’t need to

hide the stolen ‘Mech they need to fight their little war.  If I talk, they’ve

got to listen.  And if they don’t...

LINDA spits.

CLARK

Yeah.  Then good riddance.

Clark's Logs, Session 16

WS of the inside of CLARK’s lab, focused on the large double door to the outside.  The sounds of a hose being turned off can be heard, and a moment later, CLARK pushes the heavy metal doors open.  Walking behind him as he enters is a slowly plodding white Shorthorn cow, BERYL.  BERYL’s tongue is hanging from her mouth, and appears visibly red and swollen.  Copious drool trails from her mouth as CLARK leads her over to the sizable livestock operating theater in the center of the room.  Her hooves leave wet, but clean, footprints on the linoleum floor - apparently, they were rinsed thoroughly before she came inside.

CLARK

I’m sorry again about this, Beryl.  I should have caught this a

while ago, but between the missions, the repairs to the house, and

trips out to the mountains, I’ve not been looking after you all as

closely as I should.

BERYL

*pant, pant*

CLARK

I know it hurts, girl.  We can fix it, I promise.  Come on over here

and have a lie down.

CLARK gently coaxes BERYL into a laying position in the operating theater before pulling on a pair of gloves and donning a surgical mask.  He takes a syringe from his bag and rummages through one of the supply cabinets for a few moments before coming out with a clear bottle of anesthetic.  He performs some quick calculations based on BERYL’s body mass and then fills the syringe, chatting all the while.

CLARK

Wooden tongue’s a lot easier to treat early on, but you must have

gotten worse over the long weekend.  We’re gonna have to drain

the swelling and put you on antimicrobial irrigation.  Guess you must

be wondering what I’ve been up to that’s more important than looking

after you, huh?

BERYL

Mooooooo.

CLARK

Well, I feel like I owe you at least a little explanation.  Me, Simon,

and the ComGuard have been busy as bees these last few months.

You’ll never guess what our latest big escapade was!  Go on, guess.

BERYL merely regards CLARK with a patient but pained expression.  He sighs.

CLARK

Sorry.  Let’s get you squared away.

CLARK approaches BERYL and coaxes her into opening her mouth a bit more, revealing that her tongue is grotesquely swollen, red, and quite rigid.  He probes for a bit, to much grunting and consternation from BERYL, before choosing a place to inject the local anesthetic.  Only CLARK’s tight but comforting grip on the back of her head and his soothing manner with animals prevent the cow from thrashing as her tender tongue suffers the injection.

CLARK

There, there, girl.  You’re gonna be just fine soon, don’t you worry.

Now, where was I?  Right, Operation Mechsteal.  Our fellow Resistance

fighters don’t get points for creative codenaming, but the information they

gave us was good enough.  We were able to find a mech hangar out in

the middle of the woods near Devil’s Tower, and there were just four Wobbie

guards playing poker.

BERYL seems to relax as the anesthetic numbs her aching tongue.

CLARK

Yeah, I was relieved too.  I gotta say, I had no idea what we’d be

getting into.  Alex formed a plan, and we all went in, sneaking

across the clearing and using the sides of their prefab hangar to

hide us from view till we were practically on top of them.  Shin

and David went in first, David in his crazy shrubbery outfit.  I guess

they saw him, ‘cause I heard one of the Wobbies say to his

buddies, “We’re allowed to shoot bushes, right?”

BERYL

Mooooo!

CLARK

I know!  The nerve of those assholes, pardon my French, joking

about being about to kill a man.  Well, David got behind cover

before they opened up, and Shin sure let them have it.  That was

Alex’s and my signal to come at them from behind as they were turning

to face David and Shin.  It was tense, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

There is a distinct pause as CLARK, who was sterilizing his tools, stares off into space.

CLARK

It hardly bothered me at all, this time.  The Word of Blake has

done so many terrible things.  They’re still people, of course, but...

things are different, now.  We’re at war, and I think I see what that

means.

CLARK takes his scalpel and a suction tube attached to a small, rolling bucket over to where BERYL is laying peacefully.  He slips the suction tube into her mouth and powers up the vacuum.  Slurping sounds can be heard as the tube clears the cow’s mouth of drool, and BERYL barely flinches as CLARK begins making incisions to drain her swollen tongue of pus and fluid.

CLARK

In a way, it’s not so different from medicine.  If something goes

rotten, sometimes, you just have to cut it out.  If there’s complications

in a birth, you sometimes have to lose the calf to save the mother.  It’s

hard, but I’d gotten used to it.  Someone has to make those kinds of calls.

That someone might as well be me.  Dangerous hubris?  Perhaps.  But

I know right from wrong, dammit, and what the Word is doing is wrong.

BERYL

*Grunt*

CLARK calms himself, shoulders slumping a bit as he releases tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

CLARK

Thanks for understanding.  It’s good to get that off my

chest.  Anyway, Alex got in the ‘Mech while I took care

of the bodies and Simon took care of the hangar’s cameras and

communications feed.  I guess it needed some sort of code thing,

because Cho had to go up and install it before Alex could move the

thing.  I guess its neural sensors were off, too, because Alex

practically tripped his first step out of the hangar!

As he makes the last cut, CLARK tosses the gore-soaked scalpel into a shallow metal tray.  He gets up and fetches a large bottle of iodine solution, then settles back down to begin hooking up an irrigation system that will keep BERYL’s mouth constantly disinfected.

CLARK

We split off into the forest after that, with David flying his chopper

and Alex forced to run over land.  The Word showed up pretty quickly,

of course, but Alex managed to keep one step ahead them for a while.

Considering how misaligned the neural uplink sounded like it was, he

must really be a hell of a pilot.

CLARK gently tilts BERYL’s head so that she doesn’t swallow any of the iodine solution, and then begins to rinse her freely flowing wounds.  The suction tube’s slurping increases in volume and intensity.

CLARK

Speaking of pilots, it’s a good thing David knows what he’s doing in that

chopper.  They almost caught Alex at one point, but he buzzed them so

close that I could practically see the stunned Wobbie pilots sitting in their

‘Mechs as we passed!  It gave Alex the distraction he needed to get away

again.  But he might never have outdistanced them if Simon hadn’t come

up with his bright idea.  Simon spoofed the ‘Mech’s tracking signature to

Cho’s chopper while Alex powered down to hide and rip out the transponder.

By the time the Word realized they were chasing a wild goose, we were

both long gone!  Ha!

CLARK allows the rinse to continue as he seems to collect his final thoughts.

CLARK

We stashed the ‘Mech in a chasm with a cave at the bottom I know about

from some mycological excursions, and hid it as best we could.  We still

need to take trips out there once a month to do maintenance on the thing, though.

I guess building a new silo for it would probably be worthwhile in terms of

help to the Resistance - i.e., us.  Sorry we were gone so long this time, girl.

I promise I won’t let anything like this happen to you again.

BERYL nuzzles CLARK’s shoulder, her mouth hanging open and fluids flowing freely.  Fade to black.

Clark's Logs, Session 15

VWS on CLARK, a relatively small figure against the expanse of grass dotted with grazing livestock.  He threads his way through the tall grasses to an area where the plants look to have been fairly well cropped down.  He carries his rifle over his shoulder and his vet’s bag in the other hand, and he gazes about his property with a fair bit of paranoia until he reaches ILYANA.  The prize Galloway is nibbling unconcernedly as her new young calf, ANATOLE, nurses at her udder.

CLARK

Hey, you two.  Look alive, there.

ILYANA takes a single step forward without lifting her head, forcing ANATOLE to scramble for a few steps or lose access to his breakfast.  CLARK gives a small grin, but then pauses again to scan the edges of the property.

CLARK

Sorry if I seem distracted.  Home invasions have way of making

us humans a little jumpy.  Thank Blake you all were safe in the

barn.  I don’t know what I’d have done if those mercenaries had

hurt you.  Poor Bailey sure got a scare.

CLARK waits patiently until ANATOLE finishes nursing, then steps over and gently catches the calf up in his arms.

CLARK

We might have to move soon.  All of us, I mean.  If those guys

know where I live, and they think we might know where to

find Shin, they could be back with more firepower.  I’m really

starting to hate this whole darn business.

ANATOLE
Meh!

CLARK

You too, huh?  You don’t know the half of it.  I was just at

work in my lab, minding my own business, and Alex left

to go get something.  Then, I heard a knock on the door.

I opened the door, and before I know what’s what, the guest

room Simon was staying in exploded!

ANATOLE

Snuff.

CLARK takes a stethoscope out of his bag and begins examining ANATOLE from head to toe. He looks in his eyes and ears, and prods him gently as he continues speaking.

CLARK

Sorry about this, but we need to make sure you’re in good

health so you’re strong enough to make the move if we have

to go somewhere, right?  There’s a good boy.  Now, as soon

as I heard that, I sprang into action.  Alex showed up with my

rifle, and not a minute too soon.  We got into a firefight with

the guys who had broken in through the windows.  They had

flash grenades and tranq darts.  Strange, isn’t it?

ANATOLE

Meh!  Moooo!

CLARK

Well, they were no match for us.  I was scared for Bailey, though.

Scared for Simon, too, but he got out of the room before it blew

up, and he had the presence of mind to get the fire extinguisher

from the kitchen and start putting out the fire that grenade started!

Between me, Shin, and Alex, those guys didn’t stand much of

a chance.  Sounds like Cho went out and found a sniper they had

hiding in the woods, too.

CLARK gives a weary sigh and a shrug.  He lets the squirming ANATOLE down, who trots over to rejoin his mother.

CLARK

At least you seem to be doing fine, boy.  I can’t help but

wonder what Shin did to make some people so angry

that they’d hire mercenaries to track him all the way to Terra

and get past WoB security to try to take a shot at him.  Should

I be worried?  Well, yeah.  I pretty clearly should be worried.

He’s moving out, that much is for sure.  I just need to figure out

if I’m moving also.  Might they just find me again?  Maybe

I’ll see what the ComGuard thinks.  Fighting off armed attacks

is supposed to be THEIR job, not mine.

CLARK gives a brief, humorless laugh.

CLARK

Of course, my job was supposed to be helping sick animals.

Not having my research used in bioweapons programs, or

taking bullets out of people.  Or putting bullets into people.

But that’s what makes us humans so damn successful.  We adapt.

CLARK puts his rifle back over his shoulder and stands in the center of the pasture as the camera zooms out, his expression grim and vigilant.

Clark's Logs, Session 14

EXT. CLARK’S HOUSE - DUSK

CLARK CAMERON is standing behind his home, in the small yard that abuts the grazing pasture for his cattle and horse.  He is swinging a large maul with a slow, steady rhythm, apparently driving some sort of crude wooden marker into the ground.  Beside it are two similar markers, each slightly lopsided.  He pauses for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and regard the three markers.

CLARK

I wish it didn’t have to be like this.  Any of it, I

mean.  The occupation, the resistance, and you

poor creatures getting caught up in our mess.

CLARK shakes his head and thwacks the top of the memorial marker a few more times before stopping to take a drink of water.

CLARK

It’s bad enough that we humans can’t get along.

But I’ve accepted that.  It’s part of our nature to

group up and then wage war against other groups.

It’s not pretty, but it’s our own.  You know?  I just

wished we could stop catching the rest of creation

in the crossfire.  It’s like we’ve regressed to the old

Industrial Ages, back when Terra was the only world

we lived on and we just kept using more resources

than the planet could sustain.

CLARK leans to his right, right hand resting on the maul, holding his canteen in the other hand as he catches his breath between gulps of water.

CLARK

They never think about how much the other creatures

suffer.  This was supposed to be simple.  Let the others

cause a distraction, get in, grab the relevant samples, get

out.  Of course, then those bulls in a China shop from

Missouri had to show up.  At least, I hope it was them.

If it wasn’t...we’re seriously compromised.

CLARK shudders, puts down his canteen, and goes back to hammering.  After a few more blows, he seems satisfied, and begins trying to wrench the marker into a straight up-and-down position from its current left-leaning stance.

CLARK

Of course, by the time we got in there, everything had

gone pear-shaped.  They had blown the door clean off,

but I guess they just pinned the guards down with

weapons fire, or something, ‘cause they were still

alive and kicking when we passed the posts.  Thank

goodness that Cho and Alexander were quick enough

to take them down before they ventilated me.

CLARK lets go of the monument and glares at it, seemingly realizing that he did not shift it at all.  Finally, he shrugs and shakes his head before plopping down onto the ground.

CLARK

It was all falling apart from there.  Those gorillas had

already tripped the self-destruct, so we had less than

three minutes to decode their filing system, find the right

samples, take out whatever guards were left, and get

out alive.  Shin and Cho took out the last guard, and they

found the giant bomb in a closet.  Simon danced through

their system’s security like it wasn’t even there, even

despite the self-destruct lockout.  Me?  I just tried to

find as much data on the filing as I could.  When I heard Alex

call for help, I had no clue what I’d find.

CLARK stares off into the distance, eyes glazed over with deep reminiscence.

CLARK

It was you three, of course.  Three ladies far from

your home, where hardly any of your kind had

ever lived before.  But, here you were!  Undefed, of

course, and being used to brew Blake-only-knows

what kind of microbial nastiness.  But alive!  Here,

on Terra!  I had a wild urge to set you free and take

you in, right there.  But we had a mission, and I had

to undo all the damage my work had done.  I had

to find those samples and get them out of that place.

After shaking his head again, CLARK laughs bitterly and takes another swig of water.

CLARK

Simon got me the info I needed, and he somehow

used his computer to stop the whole place from

exploding.  Thankfully, Cho and Shin had disarmed

the bomb.  Cho started looking for a way out, and Shin,

Alex, and Simon came in to help me load up as many

“Operational” samples as I could find.  It really

looked like we were gonna make it okay.  Then,

the other bombs started going off.  Or maybe

it was the bombardment from the giant spaceship.

CLARK gives each of the markers a conspiratorial glance.

CLARK

Yeah, you heard me right.  They really didn’t want

you girls getting out.  Knowing what you were carrying

inside you, of course, I agreed.  Once Simon got

concussed by rubble and our exit was blocked, Cho set off

a grenade to try to blow us free while he ran for the hills.

All that did was make more collapses.  The only way out

would be past you three.  Alex and Shin would have shot you.

That wouldn’t have been right.  You needed to be put down.

I knew that.  But you deserved better than that.  You’d

survived a trip few of your kind could, and you’d been treated

like so much shit on the bottom of the Word’s shoe.  You at

least deserved to die free from your little pens, with full

bellies.  I fed you, and led you away, and bless your hearts,

you followed.

CLARK stands up and walks slowly over to the middle marker.  He rests a hand gently on top of the rough wood, his eyes growing wet as he shakes his head at the unfairness of it all.

CLARK

They’d been starving you, but I could fix that, at least.

One of the few things I’ve been able to fix.  Some

doctor I am.  Shin and Alex got Simon’s unconscious

body out of there, and Shin got that weird armor.

He blew out the window so I could get out of the

room I lured you back to.  You snapped at me, but how

could I blame you?  You were light-years from home, starving,

and probably stir-crazy.  Did they even let you stretch your wings?

CLARK turns and walks a few paces away, crossing his arms with his head bowed.

CLARK

I never looked back as the bombs fell.  I couldn’t bear it.

Simon will live - from the head injury, anyway.  He doesn’t

believe me about you all.  He never has.  That hardly matters, now.

We might all be infected, if whatever was cooking inside you

had mutated enough to make the jump to people.  It’s too early to tell

if we’re all going to come down with something horrible.

Maybe we’ll all die here, behind my self-imposed quarantine.

Hoisted by my own petard, so to speak.  That would be

poetic.  But if we survive...

CLARK clenches a fist, staring at the markers with determination in his eyes.

CLARK

If we survive, I’ll make the bastards pay.  For perverting my work

and dooming you three - you, who could have been the most

celebrated Branths in history - they’ll bleed.  I’ll make sure of it.

With a grunt of effort, CLARK hoists the maul up, cradling the head low in his hand and leaning the handle against his shoulder.  He turns and walks off briskly into the darkening evening.