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.

Clark's Logs, Session 12

ECU of CLARK’s eyes, pupils dilated.  Heavy breathing can be heard as the camera zooms out on CLARK’s face, covered with sweat and specks of dried blood.  He sits with his back to a low stone wall, plumes of smoke rising up from behind it.  The sounds of shouting and gunfire can be heard, but their quality is muted and dreamlike, showing them to be in CLARK’s head.  As the view zooms out to a CU, CLARK is holding a hand clamped over his bleeding left arm.  The ComGuard are climbing over the wall to secure the convoy as CLARK casts a panicked look around the forest’s edge.  His eyes fall on a GARTER SNAKE curled up in a crevice at the base of the wall - the only animal not to have fled the recent battle.

CLARK

Well, hello there.

SNAKE

…

CLARK

You must still be cold from last night, huh?  I guess it’s

still early in the day.  I’ve never done so much so early.

SNAKE

…

CLARK

Well, don’t worry.  You’ll have time to warm up, yet.  We

won’t hurt you. Not like...what happened to those guys.

CLARK jerks his head back over his shoulder.  The SNAKE twitches a bit, but otherwise seems to only just be rising out of torpor.  CLARK shakes his head.

CLARK

That was insane.  Honest and truly.  Never been through

anything like that before.  I can’t believe I’m still alive.  I

thought running afoul of TerraSec was bad, but that giant gun...

CLARK shudders and clutches his injured arm more tightly.  His perforated left hand is elevated on a jutting stone.

CLARK

I hope I never have to do something like that again.  And yet, it

was kind of...exhilarating.  At first it was just loud and terrifying,

and then I got shot and it was loud and terrifying and painful, but

I could hear Alex yelling for me to get up and pull myself together.

I don’t know how I did it, but I did.  I got back up.  I shouldered

that giant damn machine.

The SNAKE catches a stray ray of sunlight and moves its head feebly, trying to soak up the warmth.  CLARK seems to take this as a sign of rapt interest.

CLARK

And, you know what?  We blew that armored vehicle to pieces.

Punched in its rear armor like a bullet collapses a lung.  And

damn if I didn’t feel a rush!  I whooped, I screamed, and in that

second, I understood how anybody could be a soldier.  There’s

something primal about combat.  But I guess I don’t have to tell

YOU that.

SNAKE

…

CLARK

Is it wrong, though?  I mean, of course killing people is wrong.

But the Word has done that, and much worse, and they’re not

going to stop until they’ve strangled the life out of my beloved

Terra and crushed the whole universe underfoot.  They’re

maniacs.  No doubt they say the same things about us.

CLARK shifts a bit and hisses a bit, breathing in sharply as he jostles his injured arm unintentionally.

CLARK

I can’t get philosophical now.  I can’t afford it.  People are

counting on me.  When I saw Alex go down, my training took

over.  It’s because of that he’s still alive.  Maybe I can still

save a few more lives today.  Alex doesn’t seem happy with

poor Simon for running off.  Can’t say I wasn’t tempted to

do the very same thing.  Shin got shot when he was taking that

truck, and our Resistance allies...it sounds like they really

took some casualties.  But with my arm like this, I don’t know

how much I can do.

SHIN MAGNUSSON, huge and hulking, returns from securing the cargo truck, and wordlessly hands CLARK a single singed piece of paper.  CLARK’s eyes dart over the page, his eyebrows raising.  OSS to the document, clearly showing the Word of Blake’s citation of CLARK’s post-doctoral dissertation.  A low growl escapes the veterinarian’s lips, and he stands up without flinching.

CLARK

They cited me here.  They took my research and used it to

create an incubator for the most deadly biological weapons

that Terra has ever seen.  I was doing that research to preserve

the Branth species, expand its opportunities for colonization

outside its native range on Lopez in case a catastrophe

destabilized its home ecosystem.  They took that and they

twisted it, and now, everyone who dies from one of these

infections is my responsibility.  They won’t get away

with it.

The SNAKE begins to move sluggishly, uncoiling itself and slithering slowly across the leaf litter in search of a better place to bask.  CLARK nods.

CLARK

Good.  You’re awake.  I’m awake, now, too.  It’s time

for me to make good.  Before, this was about right

and wrong.  Important, but abstract.  Now, it’s personal.

And I’ll be damned if the Word of Blake is going to use

MY research to take more innocent lives.  I’ll stop them, and

they’ll rue the name they ever heard the name Clark

Cameron.

CLARK looks around, hearing the moans of the wounded, and seeing his injured teammates scrambling.

CLARK

I’ve got a job to do.

Clark's Logs, Session 11

WS, slowly panning through the door of CLARK’s home office.  CLARK sits at the computer in the office, which is wirelessly connected to a blocky, chrome-covered machine that resembles a small refrigerator/centrifuge combination.  Models of RNA strands flash on the computer as the camera circles around beside CLARK, who takes a sip of coffee from his “I’m a Fun Guy” mushroom novelty mug.

CLARK (to the screen)

You know, you’re really not the sort of critter I would prefer to

be spending my spare evenings with.  Wait...I could have

phrased that better.

He places the mug down on the table and pushes up his thin-framed glasses.

CLARK

I mean, you’re not an animal.  You’re not even a living thing, really.

Okay, you sort of are.  But not really.  I guess the cytocentric theory

of organism biology is pretty outdated at this point, anyway.  So

what if you don’t have a cellular structure to speak of?  You’re still

damn interesting.

He gives a wary glance over to the chrome box, which is gently whirring.

CLARK

Of course, you’ll excuse me if I don’t want to get TOO well

acquainted.  Once was enough for me, Candidate 17.  We should

really come up with a better name, but I think I’ll wait until

you’ve been formally described in the literature.

CLARK continues the painstaking work of modeling the virus’ RNA structure in a protein modeling program that looks, to the contemporary eye, severely outdated.

CLARK

Blake’s blood, I wish I had sprung for the cutting-edge software.

Oh well, who figured I’d be doing immunology again all these

years after finishing my post-doc work?  Heh, nothing like

gene-sequencing on a budget.

CLARK opens a new window to begin plotting the necessary conditions for a PCR run to amplify useful amounts of cDNA from the small sample of RNA he managed to salvage after creating the vaccine.

CLARK

I guess we have time.  It doesn’t look like the other members of

the Resistance are in any special hurry.  But hey, planning secret

operations right takes time and resources.  I hope they can accept

that we want to help.  It’ll be nice to have some direction.

CLARK sets the program to run in the background, while a small “ding!” indicates that the necessary data has been acquired from the RNA sample.  He gets up and walks over to the chrome box, donning gloves and a surgical mask just in case.

CLARK

It’s funny, when you think about it.  We’re sort of like viruses in

the Word of Blake’s vision of Terra.  We hide out in their structured

society, gathering strength and resources before bursting forth to

cause mayhem.  There’s a little poetic license there, I grant you,

but a little truth, too.  Maybe we’re not so different.

CLARK pauses.

CLARK

Except for the part where you indiscriminately kill untold numbers

of people.  Who knows, though?  I think this Resistance stuff might

start getting ugly before too long.  Up until now, we haven’t had the

resources or logistic support to pull off anything that could actually

make a dent in their forces.  I guess I don’t disagree with that in

theory.  But actually killing people?  Those TerraSec officers were

bad enough.  I still dream about it, sometimes.

After a moment of sober silence, CLARK pops the top of the chrome machine open and carefully extracts a small, red-capped tube of cloudy media.  Wisps of condensing vapor surround the open machine, indicating the low temperature inside the analysis chamber.  The tube is labeled BIOHAZARD.

CLARK

It was sure a puzzle figuring out what those other Resistance guys

were up to.  I think I could’ve figured it out my way with a few more

minutes, but...credit where credit’s due.  The big grid got us the right

info.  As far as we know, anyway.  At least Simon was able to make

contact with Alexei and get us an exact date for the first operation.

CLARK returns with the virus to a refrigerator in the corner of his small working lab/operating theater.  The refrigerator has a recently-installed electronic lock, which takes CLARK’s retinal scan before allowing him to enter the passcode on a digital keypad.  He places the vial in a rack alongside a number of other samples of various animal pathogens.

CLARK

And how did Operation HPG go, you ask?  Pretty normally.  A couple

of Resistance agents put a signal router on the HPG’s main transmission

tower.  Sounds like Shin and Cho made contact.  Boy, if I could have

picked the LAST two people I’d want talking to someone I want to be

my ally...but they couldn’t have made too bad an impression.  Could

they have?

CLARK grimaces and closes the fridge door.  He strips off the gloves and mask and disposes of them in a BIOHAZARD canister.

CLARK

Boy, talking to viruses.  I’ve hit a new low.  My ma always

used to say I could make friends with anything that walked

or crawled on God’s green Earth.  I think I need to start

screening my friends a little more carefully than I used to, though.

CLARK sits back down at his computer before glancing back over to the closed refrigerator.

CLARK

Especially friends who are so good at killing.

Fade to black as CLARK frowns.

Clark's Logs, Session 10

TS of CLARK walking with KENT HOPWELL, a gentleman farmer with a dignified air.  They are striding across the modest pasture at Hopwell’s farm, where a small flock of sheep are grazing placidly.  Cut to WS of both men walking to the back of the barn, talking as they go.

CLARK

And how long ago did you notice this?

KENT

Just yesterday evening.  I couldn’t get him to come outside to graze.

He seemed to be in considerable pain.

Cut to MS of CLARK kneeling down outside a small straw-lined pen within the barn.  In the pen is a rather miserable looking ram, WILSON.

CLARK

Hmmm...any recent changes in his environment?  Switch feeds, maybe?

KENT

Well, I’ve switched him onto grain for a bit, as he was looking a bit

thin, and I think he should look impressive for the ladies, don’t you?

CLARK’s eyes widen when KENT speaks, and he reaches over to gingerly feel he ram’s left side, near its rear end.  WILSON bleats disagreeably, but CLARK soothes him with a pat and a low “shhhhh.”

CLARK

That would explain this, then.  He’s bloated.

KENT looks relieved.

KENT

Oh, is that all?

CLARK frowns

CLARK

Bloat can be pretty serious in ruminants, even life-threatening.

KENT goes from relieved to horrified quite quickly.

KENT

Oh, my heavens!

CLARK

Don’t worry, I’ll just need to pass a stomach tube through to

vent the gas, since he can’t belch.  You’re welcome to stay

and watch.

KENT blanches a bit.

KENT

Perhaps...I’ll just leave you to it.  Come by the house when you’re

done, Clark.

KENT quickly exits, as CLARK unzips his bag ad begins uncoiling a long, flexible tube.

CLARK

Well, Wilson, this isn’t gonna be fun for either of us.  It beats exploding,

though, I promise you that.  Say, “ahhh”

With a bit of cajoling, CLARK gets a speculum into WILSON’s mouth and begins gingerly threading the tube into the ram’s upper rumen.

CLARK

Lemme tell you what I’ve been up to lately; it’ll

keep your mind off the big rubber snake crawling

through your guts!

WILSON

Mrraaaa!

CLARK

Okay, no need to get testy, I was just joking around.  You think

you’ve got it bad?  I had LIVE BOMBS dropped on me last

week!  Me and these, uh...

He looks around conspiratorially, but relaxes when he realizes they are alone in the barn.  CLARK gives WILSON a mock-suspicious look.

CLARK

How about it, Wilson?  Are you a Word of Blake sympathizer?

The ram gives CLARK a pained yet patient look.  He sighs.

CLARK

Okay, fair enough, we’ll keep going.  But these ComGuard guys

I’ve been hiding at my ranch keep wanting to spy on the Word’s

activities as long as they’re stuck on Terra.  I can’t blame them,

and the Word really are out of their minds, so I help them sometimes.

WILSON

Mrrrrrrrggg!

CLARK pauses to adjust the speculum and calm the ram down.

CLARK

I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s for your own good!  Now, like
I was saying.  We heard about a demonstration of some weapon

they were trying to sell to TerraSec called a “Wyrm.”  Well, who

knows what that means, but with them messing around with Branths

and noroviruses, any new weapon to come out of WoB R&D had to

be trouble.  My friend Simon did an A-1 job cracking TerraSec

communications, and he found out that the Denver chapter hadn’t

sent any response to the invitation!  So, we faked one.  Pretty clever, eh?

CLARK, apparently satisfied that the tubing has gone in far enough, begins adjusting it carefully until he hits a pocket of gas, which he allows to vent.

CLARK

Alex and I went in as TerraSec representatives while Shin and Cho

snooped around as maintenance people at the docks down in

Galveston.  Uh, that’s in Texas, if you didn’t know.  Simon stayed

back to monitor WoB communications.  Well, let me tell you, this

Wyrm was a piece of work.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Well,

I guess that’s not saying much since I’m a large animal vet, but the

actual military guys with me seemed pretty impressed, too.

A faint tooting can be heard as some of the ruminant gases begin to vent through the tube.  CLARK nods, and WILSON seems to relax a bit.

CLARK

Of course, the funny thing was, the WoB was trying to sell

one of these loaded-for-bear super war-subs with like four

different kinds of missiles that can engage in low-earth orbit, and

they were trying to sell it to the cops!  Did they really think that

civilian law enforcement would shell out for an armored weapons

platform of that magnitude?

WILSON fidgets, and CLARK gently but firmly pushes his hindquarters down to prevent him from rising.

CLARK

I guess someone wanted to axe the prototype and take out a lot of

TerraSec reps at the same time, though, because just as the WoB

guy is giving his sales pitch, a bunch of bombers swoop overhead

and start dropping their payload!  Alex and I high-tailed it, but they didn’t

cover jumping five yards down off a war sub in the middle of an aerial

bombardment at veterinary school.  I fell on my keister, so it’s a good thing

Alex was there to drag me along before I got toasted.

The last of the gas seems to finish emptying itself from the ram’s system.  CLARK begins to slowly draw the tubing out.

CLARK

I guess it’s nice to know we’re not the only ones trying to mess

with the WoB, but I wish we knew who these other guys were!  We

need to start coordinating so we don’t accidentally drop bombs

on each other, at the least.  I think the others may have gotten some

blueprints of the Wyrm, so hopefully they can make some use

of them if we ever manage to contact any other Resistance people.

Me, I’m just glad to not be blown to smithereens!

WILSON

Baaaaaaa!

CLARK removes the last of the tubing and the speculum from the ram’s mouth.  He pats WILSON on the head as the animal rises to its feet unsteadily.

CLARK

You’re lucky you didn’t blow up, yourself!  I need to have a talk with

Kent about switching you over to an all-grain diet from pasturage

cold turkey.  That’s probably why you got so bloated.

CLARK washes off the tube and speculum, packs up his things, and exits the barn.