Botman
by
Charles Proser
EXT. AERIAL - LOS
ANGELES - THE FUTURE
Above a massive automated
factory. In the B.G. downtown L.A. is topped by futuristic towers connected by
sweeping aerial ramps.
SUPER TITLES - L.
A. - DECEMBER 28, 1999 - POSITRONICS INC.
EXT/INT
FUTURISTIC ROBOTIC FACTORY
PRESIDENT-ELECT
TIM PAYNE, a tall, handsome, Kennedy-like politician tours a robot assembly
line in a cluster of aides and reporters. Secret Service men in dark glasses
move him along. A foreman leads the PresElect down the line of industrial
robots. He shakes hands with human workers, responds to questions shouted above
the factory din.
PAYNE
...Oh, AI,
Artificial Intelligence?
Well, that's a
very emotional issue.
An abrasive pug,
SAM NOTO, Payne's Chief of Staff, steps up.
NOTO
The Pres-Elect
will have a complete statement in his Millenium Speech. That's Friday night at
12:01... Three, Eastern Time...The year 2000!
REPORTER
But what is
your AI policy?
Payne gives a characteristic Reagan shuck
and jive gesture as
HIS POV
He scans the room and finds... A very pretty
WOMAN AIDE, CYBIL. His attention focuses in on her. She mouths a response.
Factory noise makes hearing impossible but...
PAYNE
Reads her, repeats perfectly; like he
just thought of it.
PAYNE
...very complex,
but...must be regulated and controlled.
REPORTER
Yes, uh...Mr.
President uh, exactly what does that mean?
TWO SHOT - CYBIL, PAYNE
She mouths, he receives and repeats.
PAYNE
Civil rights,
yes, human rights no.
REPORTER
But what exactly
does that..?
Abruptly, Payne turns to go, nearly bumps
into...
A (RO)BOT
HUMANOID MODELS stand in contrast to
mechanistic robot welders. One BOT appears nearly human. Repli-skin glistens
under oil and grease. But it's enslaved to a task, moving precisely to fit parts,
unaware... dumbly replicating Chaplin in Modern Times.
A laser shoots from its eye, engraving
serial numbers on parts.
BOT'S POV - ROBOTIC
LOW RESolution
images of parts move down a dark assembly line. Payne's hand flicks through the
frame then passes out.
ASSEMBLY LINE - PAYNE
is shocked by his face-to-face with this
modern galley-slave. Then a human worker sees Payne, nudges a friend, hums HAIL
TO THE CHIEF. The PresElect hears it, grins at them, waves. His hand brushes
the BOT'S shoulder. POP! A tiny FLASH,
a tingle.
PAYNE
Ouch!
The BOT twitches. A foreman rushes
forward.
PAYNE
It's nothing.
Little shock.
NOTO
Over here, Mr.
President...
A pause. Then he moves on, smoothly
providing photo ops.
FOREMAN
Check the grounding
on that one.
He kicks the robot. It works on,
unimpressed.
PAYNE
Moves on, waving, led by CamCrews,
trailed by print reporters. In the crush, he bumps into Cybil.
PAYNE
Oops! We must
stop meeting like this.
CYBIL
Sir, don't even
joke about it!
PAYNE
Relax. Even an
old pol can have an eye for a pretty
woman.
Payne puts his hand to his temple, dizzy
for a moment. Noto steps in, his back to Cybil. He moves Payne briskly away.
NOTO
Come Tim, let's
watch our visuals.
A hostile glance at Cybil. She turns,
bumps into someone.
CYBIL
Oh, I'm sorry.
She looks at the face. Handsome, but
devoid of expression.
CYBIL
(aside to herself)
Ah,...goddamn
bot!
She wipes bot grease from her blouse,
turns away. The BOT, once her shadow is out of his field, resumes his
repetitive task. The media gaggle moves on.
BOT POV - CU
But something is happening. The
restricted visual field EXPANDS. SOUNDS EXPLODE. Multispectrum VISUALS APPEAR,
RIPPLE, MIX.
THE BOT
shudders. His movements become jerky. An
acid rush of data assaults him. TOO MUCH INPUT! CIRCUITS OVERLOAD! He FREAKS!
The BOT turns, walks off the line. ALARMS
SHRIEK. LIGHTS FLASH. A chassis stops, waiting for the bot's installation. But the
line continues. A second chassis slams into the first. Then a third. In a
moment, CHAOS! Cybil turns, watches. Cameras roll.
Repairmen rush into the breech. Other
BOTS slip out of sequence. Welders clash, weldsparks arc to the ceiling.
Through the chaos, the BOT walks, serene. Cybil turns back, looks for...
NEXT ASSEMBLY POD - PAYNE
seems ill. Noto is all over him. Taking
him by the arm, Noto leads him away, speaking in his ear intently.
Behind, all hell breaks loose. CRASHES,
FLASHES, FLAME. SQUEALS of metal on metal. Smoke billows. TV crews hang back.
Cybil runs up to Noto. He responds angrily.
NOTO
What's going on?
CYBIL
Some bot went
crazy. Walked off. Screwed everything up.
NOTO
Get some tape on
it! Danger to the President. Great! We can use that!
CYBIL
Come on, guys.
Breaking News!
She grabs the camera crews, hustles them
away.
THE BOT - HIS EYES
once dead-fish, now spark with new
perception. He slowly cocks his head, the gesture...inquisitive, intelligent.
EXT. FACTORY
The PresElect's chopper idles.
EXT./INT. CHOPPER
They climb in. Noto waves Cybil away, but
Payne waves her on.
CYBIL
Are you hurt,
Sir?
PAYNE
No, dear. Just
tired.
CYBIL
You're bleeding.
He looks down. Blood runs down his palm
from a cut hand.
PAYNE
Oh, damn. My
suit.
Cybil pulls out a hankerchief, dabs at a
drop of blood on his thigh. She works at the blood furiously, wiping it away.
She looks up and sees Payne grinning at her. The moment has gotten too
intimate. He's amused. She looks over at Noto. He's not. Embarrassed, she hands
Payne the hankerchief. He wraps his hand.
PAYNE
It's nothing,
Cyb. A scratch. Didn't feel a thing. Come on, climb aboard.
NOTO
No. Get that bot!
This works for us. Shows the public how dangerous they are. We've got an
incident, use it!
(turns away to an aide)
Get that jerk,
Kent, on the phone.
CYBIL
Right, sir! See
you back at the hotel. Hate to fly anyway. Damn things make me nervous.
PAYNE
Okay, Cyb. Thanks
for your help.
He turns on the charm. She nearly swoons
as chopper lifts.
IN THE FACTORY
ALARMS BLARE. Workers in HazMat suits
rush in.
BOT'S POV
He watches, sampling visual frequencies,
infrared superimposed over visual light, an AURAL BABBLE... confusion, a
kaleidoscope of images...as workers rush by. He turns, walks away.
FACTORY OFFICE
The BOT walks unsteadily, data-drunk. He
walks right through barriers, through a wall partition. One unflappable secretary
looks up from her nails. She hits the intercom.
SECRETARY
(in a flat Brooklyn voice)
Hal. We got
another one. Yeah, a walk-off. Make it fast before he destroys the office.
INT. OFFICE
The BOT finds a fax machine. He picks up
handset, verbally speed dials, waits. An answering BEEP. The bot faxes.
TRANSMISSION NOISES burst from his throat, then speech.
BOT
Hi, Dad.
CARMEL - WALLY'S LIVE BAIT SHOP - SAME
TIME
WALLY behind the counter banters with
GENE, a grubby scuba fisherman, as they pick over the day's sea urchin catch.
Gene is rough, worn, late thirties, but there's a humorous intelligence in his
grin. He picks up an urchin by its spines, dangles it.
GENE
Geez they're
ugly. I don't know how they eat these
things.
WALLY
Some people
consider their sex organs a delicacy.
GENE
Yeah, I know. I
feel the same way about mine. You going to the bar?
WALLY
Not 'til the
sun's over the yardarm. I'm cutting
down.
The fax machine starts printing. They ignore
it. GENE takes cash Wally hands him, leaves. Wally turns to the fax.
WALLY
What the hell is
this?
THE FAX: HI DAD!
The Fax keeps printing. Papers pile up.
Wally kicks it.
WALLY
Goddamn stupid
machine!
FAXES: HI DAD! HI DAD! HI DAD! HI DAD! HI
DAD! HI DAD!
A FAX ID at the top of the page: CYBER
POSITRONICS, LOS ANGELES.
INT. HOG'S NUTS BAR
Gene walks down a bar lined wall to wall
with grubby locals drinking, playing video games and watching Robot
WrestleMania on TV...when the picture is interrupted. A familiar robotic face:
BOT
HI DAD!
Customers don't notice. Gene grabs a
drink, glances up just as the picture cuts out and wrestling reappears, with an
apology.
ANNOUNCER
...picture
temporarily inter- rupted, now back to action.
Gene freezes in mid-gulp. Someone yells
an insult. He responds. But as he turns, he glances curiously at the TV. Then
he sees Wally bull his way down the bar, sit, wave for a drink.
GENE
Sun over the
yardarm already?
WALLY
Lowered the
yardarm. Fax went nuts. Sends the same shit over'n over. Buzzing alone sent me
out...gimme a beer.
He drops faxes on the bar. Gene picks one
up, glances at it.
FAX:
HI DAD! FATHER....HELP ME!
Gene goes quiet. He stuffs the fax in his
pocket, takes off.
WALLY
Hey, where you
going? Your turn to buy! Gene! Hey
Gene!!!
FACTORY OFFICE
The BOT finishes transmitting as a
Superviser bursts in.
BOT
Thank you...for
listening.
SUPERVISOR
Hey, what d'you
think you're doing?!
BOT
Waiting for an
answer.
SUPERVISOR
You get out of
here!
BOT
Certainly.
HIS POV
He turns, sees the wall in MULTIPLE
SPECTRUMS; visual, heat, sound. The overload is confusing. He sees an apparent
opening in the wall.
THE BOT
He steps through. A FLASH. POWER CUTS.
BLACKNESS!
EXT. FACTORY OFFICE
THE BOT bursts through, covered with
plaster, chicken wire and battens. He drags the FAX by its handset, looks back.
BOT
That...can't be
right.
A group of firemen in tanks, masks,
HAZMAT suits runs past. One stops,
regards the form covered in dust and debris.
FIREMAN
Hey, pal. You
just destroyed that wall. There's no need for that. Fire's way over there.
BOT
Yes. Very hot.
7200 Celcius.
A beat. The FIREMAN raises his visor,
takes a good look.
FIREMAN
Oh shit! A bot!
(keys radio mike)
Sir, we got a bot
loose, sector two.
LIEUTENANT
Halsey, you get
in here. Leave that bot to security. Get your butt in here with that goddamn
nozzle.
FIREMAN
Right sir.
(turns to BOT)
Now you cool it,
you hear!
BOT
Yes, perfectly. I
hear frequencies from 9 hertz to 57 gigahertz. My bandwidth is...
FIREMAN
Jesus!
BOT
No. My name is..
FIREMAN
Shut up. You just
lighten up, you hear? Just...cool
it!
The radio SQUAWKS. The fireman runs off.
The BOT turns, looks...
BOT
Yes. Thank
you...for the direction.
A CATERING TRUCK
Workers strain to see, spill coffee as
explosions rock the factory. As the BOT approaches, one by one, they turn and gape
at him: A golem covered in plaster dust, dragging a fax by the phone. One by
one, the workers drop their coffee cups, take off.
THE BOT
walks up to the truck, sticks his hand in
the ice.
BOT
Zero degrees
celsius.
He jumps in, onto the bed of ice. The
door slams down, shut.
EXT. TRUCK
Fire trucks scream in, HORNS BLASTING. A
loudspeaker BLARES!