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Russian Girl



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FADE IN:

AERIAL ANGLE ON

breathtaking Lake Baikal. Pristine uninhabited and untrammeled nature
in Siberia.

FEMAL VOICE (V.O.)
The future's bright...

The supertitle FADES IN: "The future's bright..."

FEMALE VOICE (CONT'D) (V.O.)
...the future's Russia.

A second supertitle FADES IN alongside the first: "...the future's Russia."

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

EXT. SIBERIAN CITY -- DAY

SUPERTITLE: ANGEL, NOVOSIBIRSK OBLAST -- SIBERIA -- WINTER
2057

It is winter but there is no snow. Vegetation is still mostly green, much
like it used to be in the temperate parts of Britain before the "Shift". There
is little light, though it's mid day, and cars (the few there are) use their
headlights.

Today the city prospers. Most of the Soviet era concrete has either
collapsed or has been torn down in favor of ultramodern Scandinavian
designed high-rises. Russia is now the wealthiest country in the world
and no one can remember what dialectical materialism meant.

EXT. CITY STREET -- ANGEL CITY CENTER -- CONTINUOUS

The tarmac has been torn up and replaced with paved pedestrian streets
lined with grass and trees. Apart from bikes no surface traffic is allowed
and citizens travel by a subway network.

EXT. SUBWAY ENTRANCE -- CONTINUOUS

VICTORIA, sixties but still sexy (perhaps people age slower in the
future?), exits the subway.
She knows that she's attractive she is and isn't afraid to put her "talents"
to good use. Her dress is casual and professional; says businesswoman
who can't help but turn you on.

Her left arm begins to spasm. She tries to control it but it quickly gets
worse and worse. She has to use her right hand to restrain the tremors.

After a few seconds the tremors begin to subside.

She looks at her watch. Satisfied with the time she removes a bottle from
her purse and taps out a tablet which she discreetly swallows.

She continues walking.

EXT. PEDESTRIAN BOULEVARD -- NEXT

Victoria is rolling around on the pavement in the throws of what appears
to be a violent epileptic fit. Several BYSTANDERS have gathered to help.

INT. ANGEL HOSPITAL -- MSIS SUITE -- NIGHT

Victoria, fully intubated, is on an exam table. A small device with a
gyroscopic head, attached to a robotic arm, keys in on the appropriate
part of her head/brain. A simple brace keeps her head sufficiently still for
the procedure to be preformed. This is the Micro-Neural Symbolic
Imaging System (MSIS), the technology that made magnetic-resonance
imaging redundant.

INT. ADJACENT CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

An image "prints" on a computer screen for FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR: a 3-D
image of the brain with neural geography rendered in blue tones and
problem sites highlighted in red. On this scan there is more red than blue.
The doctor doesn't know what to make of it.

SECOND ANGEL DOCTOR enters --

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
(to Second Angel Doctor)
This is not epilepsy...nor is it Parkinson's.

SECOND ANGEL DOCTOR
C.J.D.?

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Obviously it's degenerative, but I can't find
match on the neural diseases database.
The structural defects we're looking at
here are totally undocumented.

First Angel Doctor stands --

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Let's get her to I.C.U.

-- enters the MSIS PATIENT ROOM with Second Angel Doctor following.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
I'll get her off to Moscow tomorrow; I don't
think there is any more we can do.

The MSIS arm retracts. First Angel Doctor begins releasing Victoria's
restraints.

SECOND ANGEL DOCTOR
She came in with a seizure?

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
She had had one before passing out, I'm
told... Where the hell's the nurse?

SECOND ANGEL DOCTOR
I'll call one.

Second Angel Doctor starts to the exit.

EXT. ARAB SHANTYTOWN -- NIGHT

SUPERTITLE: SOMEWHERE IN SAUDI ARABIA, BRITISH SECTOR --
APRIL 2008.

(N.B.: This war to install a new pro-American regime after the fall of the
House of Saud -- or at least take control of the Shi'ite, oil-rich, part of the
country -- would ultimately go down in history as the "Last War". After
two unsuccessful years foreign troops were withdrawn. The American
and British public would no longer tolerate military intervention as a
means of administering an empire.)

A solo LAND ROVER DEFENDER 110, inappropriately panted in "forest
camo", turns onto the dirt street.

A curfew is in effect and the streets are otherwise empty.

INT. LAND ROVER -- CONTINUOUS

Lieutenant DAMIEN (NTZU by birth) NBUTA, black and in his early
thirties, is at the wheel. Sergeant ADAM LUIS, twenties, rides shotgun.

Adam is trying to read a map under a red-filtered flashlight.

DAMIEN
Don't these "presence" exercises bore you
to death...?

Private GORDON THOMAS, -- about sixteen by his looks -- riding in the
back seat, passes two cans of Tennents (a cheap Scottish lager) forward.

GORDON
(Scots accent)
Drink up lads.

Damien and Adam crack their respective cans.

ADAM
I tell you what...I know a park -- well more
of a field really -- where we can try out one
of our wackers. What you's saying to it?

It doesn't take Damien long to come to a decision --

DAMIEN
Hell yes!

His excitement causes him to stomp the gas.

EXT. CITY PARK -- NEXT

The Land Rover drives off the street and into the park.

The ground is dirt, there has been little attempt at landscaping, and there
is no building apart form some rusting monkey bars.

Damien plants a cylindrical ordinance under the monkey bars -- the
"Wacker".

He returns to the others, who are standing by the Land Rover.

DAMIEN
What's the range on these?

ADAM
Like a mine. We should be safe from fourty
meters. I'd say we're sitting pretty at this
distance.

He hands Damien the detonator.

ADAM (CONT'D)
Will you do the honors? Press here to arm
and here to detonate.

Damien arms the device, then --

DAMIEN
Wacker armed... Countdown to detonation:
T minus 5... 4... 3... 2... Detonate!

An ELECTRONIC BEEP issues from the Wacker itself --

But no detonation.

ADAM
Eh?

Damien rearms and tries again.

Still nothing. The Wacker doesn't even beep this time.

GORDON
Good job. You killed it!

DAMIEN
Obviously made in England.

Adam quickly, as though it is a logical course of action, retrieves the
Wacker and brings it back to the others.

ADAM
Lets put some tape on it and label it
"defective". Bloody typical they give us
weapons that don't work.

DAMIEN
Hold on mate. We're not taking that back
with us?!

ADAM
It's perfectly safe. The wacker has a fail
safe mechanism of sorts. It requires both
an arming signal and a detonation signal
within thirty seconds to detonate.

Damien is incredulous.

DAMIEN
No way. If it failed to detonate on cue it
could just as easily self-detonate. Why did
it beep, by the way? I don't like it.

ADAM
What do you propose we do with it, then;
leave it for the enemy to find?

DAMIEN
Put that sodding thing back RIGHT NOW!

ADAM
Jesus mate... I'll do it...

Adam lobs the Wacker back to the center of the field.

Damien winces expecting it to explode on impact.

It does not.

ADAM
Happy?!

Sound of a light vehicle (DIESEL MOTOR) stopping. Doors OPENING and
SLAMMING SHUT. (N.B.: The car is a white Toyota Land Cruiser 90.)

SEMI-AUTOMATIC RIFLE FIRE: RAT TAT TAT... RAT TAT TAT...

ANGEL ON GORDON

as he surreptitiously withdraws a machine-gun from the Land Rover.

ANGLE ON

four INSURGENT GUNMEN who are firing in the general direction of
Adam and Damien.

Disciplined and well-trained, Gordon is careful to aim at his targets. He
fires a single shot at each Insurgent, taking each down, and completing
the action in just a few seconds.

ADAM
Damien's hit bad.

GORDON
(re: the insurgents)
They're all dead.

ADAM
Help me get him in the jeep. It's obviously
dangerous here.

They hastily load Damien in the back. They get in -- and peel off into the
desolate night.

EXT. CITY STREET -- NIGHT

SUPERTITLE: ST. PETERSBURG -- MAY 2010.

A sodden night.

A solo PROSTITUTE standing under feeble sodium streetlights.

A BLACK MERCEDES S-CLASS stops next to the Prostitute.

The tinted passenger window slides down (the passenger seat is empty).
The Prostitute communicates with the driver.

She gets in. The Mercedes pulls away.

BLUE LIGHTS and single SIREN BLAST -- this was a trap.

The Mercedes quickly obeys and pulls over. A POLICE SALOON overtakes,
parking in front of the Mercedes. An UNMARKED V.W. VAN parks behind
it. Both cars effectively prevent easy escape.

The Prostitute piles out of the car in flight --

-- but she trips on a loose paving stone and practically falls into the arms
of a UNIFORMED COP.

She is cuffed and hauled into the back of the van.

A SECOND UNIFORMED COP addresses the driver, who has remained at
the wheel.

The Police Saloon pulls forward giving the Mercedes enough space to pull
out. The car speeds away.

INT. V.W. VAN -- NEXT

Two STRONGMEN sit on either side of the Prostitute.

She breaks into a violent panic attack.

After a beat she accepts the futility of struggling, relaxes somewhat.

The van starts moving.

A man in the front passenger seat turns round: VLAD -- he is late twenties
and wears a white lab coat, apparently designed to give him an air of
professionalism.

VLAD
Age?

The woman is mute.

VLAD (CONT'D)
You can't fuck with us! Age!

One of the Strongmen looks to Vlad hoping for permission to beat it out of
her. He cocks his hand --

But the Prostitute has the sense to acquiesce --

PROSTITUTE
Twenty-seven.

Vlad writes this on a pad.

VLAD
H.I.V./AIDS?

She shakes her head: "No."

VLAD (CONT'D)
T.B.?

"No" again.

EXT. RESISDENTIAL STREET -- NEXT

The Van parks in front of a particular building.

Vlad opens the back door to let the Strongmen and the Prostitute out.

INT. FLAT -- NEXT

The large living room has been converted into a MAKESHIFT LAB. It
contains a microscope, centrifuge, and other relevant artifacts.

The Strongmen sit the Prostitute in a chair with sturdy armrests, and
switch on a light above her head.

One of them pulls up her sleeves.

Vlad inspects finding TREAD MARKS on both arms --

VLAD
A user. Fuck!

Vlad prepares a syringe.

Dons surgical gloves.

He takes a blood sample.

Puts the sample aside, in its appropriate place.

He makes a gesture indicating "rise". The Strongmen pull the prostitute to
her feet.

VLAD
Strip.

Before she can comply she is disrobed in one sweep by the two men.

INT. LAB -- ANGEL HOSPITAL -- DAY

First Angel Doctor enters the lab. The LAB TECH is reviewing a mass
spectrometry printout on his computer.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
You find out what those tablets
where...and whether she had any of it in
her blood?

LAB TECH
I know the chemistry and indeed the
patient had taken the drug. Based on the
half-life of at least one of the substances, a
dose had been taken just before the patient
came in.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
So, what is it?

LAB TECH
Well, it's a mystery. The tablets appear to
be a synthetic hallucinogen. They contain
a fungal extract -- the same fungus used in
L.S.D. -- as well as a chemical compound.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
A chemical compound?

LAB TECH
Yes.
(re: his computer printout)
I know chemistry now; what I do not know
is what these chemicals do in this
combination. I have never seen this drug
before and so far have come up with no
record of it on the books. It may be a so
called recreational drug.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Could abuse of this sort of drug lead to
symptoms she's got?

LAB TECH
Possibly...though L.S.D. on its own doesn't
cause the sort of brain damage you're
reporting. Without further testing it's
impossible to know.

The Tech prints a paper document and hands it to First Angel Doctor --

LAB TECH
For your reference.

First Angel Doctor takes it.

INT. SECRET LAB

SUPERTITLE: AXAGORA PHARMACEUTICALS ST. PETERSBURG
RESEARCH CENTER

WINSTONE -- not what you'd expect: not an intellectual, but a practical
man in his early thirties, healthy and in good shape; wearing a crisp lab
coat -- passes through the biometric security checks and enters a clean
area --

A technologically sophisticated CONTROL ROOM with a large window
looking into a dark space.

Accessing a control panel on the wall he illuminates the adjacent room:
fluorescent lights warm up and kick on in random order. In the center of
the room is a large and cumbersome apparatus that resembles a "closed"
M.R.I. This is the Neural Mapping Device (N.M.D.), patent-pending
Axagora Pharmaceuticals of London.

INT. AIRLOCK -- NEXT

Winstone dons white disposable coveralls, a mask and hat -- outfit
required in order to prevent exposing sensitive equipment to dust. (N.B.:
The airlock is of the size and shape to accommodate a gurney.)

He enters the STERILE ROOM.

Stands in awe of his invention for a beat.

He opens a large plastic case that has been left on the floor and removes
some of his tools.

He places a spherical sensor the size of a bowling ball on the "slab", the
bed the patient will lie on. He connects some leads to it and to a laptop.

Someone TAPS on the glass.

Winstone looks up --

To see SIMON standing in the control room. Simon is in his forties,
wearing a grey suit: a company man and Winstone's boss.

Winstone waves perfunctorily.

He quickly finishes, types something on the laptop -- he disconnects the
leads going to the sensor, leaving the sensor itself in place, then exits the
sterile room.

INT. CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

Winstone enters, pulls his mask off.

Shakes Simon's hand.

WINSTONE
Just got to run some final diagnostics.
We'll be up and running by tonight, I
reckon.

SIMON
You lot are always running bloody
diagnostics!

Simon pulls a fancy P.D.A./mobile, more of a gadget than a phone, out of
his pocket --

WINSTONE
(re: the phone)
I can't have you using that in here.

SIMON
Oh, sorry.

He puts the phone away.

The control room has two workstations, each with its own monitors and
keyboards. Winstone starts up the computer of the workstation on the
left.

Blue L.E.D. lighting illuminating the "barrel", the interior of the N.M.D.,
comes on. The slab drawn inside, as it would with a partient, and a hatch
closes behind it (N.B.: To work a vacuum around the patient has the be
created -- the hatch forms a "plug seal".).

(N.B.: In spite of superficial similarities to an M.R.I., the N.M.D. in fact uses
very different technology. It is more like a scanning electron microscope
with its resolution increased by two orders of magnitude combined with
an X-ray -- a "penetrating particle microscope", i.e. This is theoretical
physics' latest contribution to the world of medicine.)

From the control room the interior of the barrel, which is still
illuminated, can be seen on a CLOSED-CIRCUIT VIDEO MONITOR integral
to workstation.

Graphs on the workstation monitors begin to register healthy readings.

SIMON
How much radiation does this give out?

WINSTONE
A lot...but in short, localized bursts. You
wouldn't want to spend all day under an X
ray either.

Winstone types away at the workstation. He is beaming with pride.

Suddenly the lights dim... The barrel L.E.D.'s go out. The lights come back
up but the L.E.D.'s stay out.

The LOW VOLTAGE ALARM sounds.

WINSTONE
(re: the brownout)
The mains grid here can't take the loads.

SIMON
What about the generator?

WINSTONE
Do you understand how much power this
draws? -- fifty kilovolts. The generator you
gave us can run the lights and that's about
it.

The alarm CANCELS itself.

Winstone starts typing. The L.E.D.'s come back on.

WINSTONE
I think we'll be okay now.

He opens a panel on the workstation. Beneath it is a B.N.C.-type coaxial
connection. He plugs in a small C.R.T. monitor, basically a vectorscope.

He punches a key. The N.M.D. kicks into action. A trace image forms on
the C.R.T. Then: BZZT! Something inside the vectorscope explodes. The
screen goes black. Smoke rises out of the back of the unit. Winstone kills
the test.

SIMON
What just happened?

Winstone gropes for an answer --

WINSTONE
Em...the C.R.T. Must have shorted...

He feigns an inspection of the unit, although he knows a short didn't
cause this. Then --

WINSTONE
Ah!

He refers to something in the service panel he previously opened, where
the B.N.C. connects, --

WINSTONE
The gain is up to sixty decibels.

With a philipshead screwdriver he reduces the gain to a sensible level.

INT. CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

Winstone connects a new vectorscope: at last he can run his diagnostic.

He hits the "start" key. The building BLACKS OUT without warning.
Emergency power kicks in and a few lights come hack on along with the
same LOW VOLTAGE ALARM. The computers and the N.M.D. unit stay
OFF.

INT. POWER DISTRIBUTION -- NEXT

Winstone opens the box housing the circuit breakers. He switches the
master breaker off...and back on. NOTHING. He tries again. Nothing...

INT. CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

Winstone returns (the power is still out). Simon has been waiting, has
taken a seat in a chair.

WINSTONE
That knocked out power in half of Saint
Petersburg. I want our entire power
supply covered by generator before we go
to human trials. As you can see, the grid
here is rubbish.

Simon excepts this, but does not look forward to the budgetary
consequences.

INT. FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR'S OFFICE -- DAY

First Angel Doctor is staring at his computer screen: he is making A/B
comparisons of Victoria's MSIS results to reference scans of other
patients with various types of neurological diseases or trauma.

There is a KNOCK.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Come in.

The Lab Tech enters.

LAB TECH
Listen, I've phoned a pharmacologist
friend in Moscow, about those tablets...

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Tell me.

LAB TECH
It turns out he is participating in research
using the same fungal extract to treat
Parkinson's.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
The an interesting coincidence, indeed...

LAB TECH
I thought so too... But the drug has not
been approved for human trials. It's
possible she may have obtained it illegally,
in desperation.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
These scans do indicate what appears to be
a degenerative disorder, but it is definitely
not Parkinson's. I have gone through the
neural diseases database again and again,
but whatever we've got appears to be
undocumented. There's synaptic
disturbance that I simply cannot identify.
However, interestingly, we did find that
the structural damage is similar to that
found on victims of the early MSIS trails.

LAB TECH
MSIS? That's, what, same the scanning
system you've used for her?

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
The Micro-Neural Symbolic Imaging
System. It used to be called something else,
but it's basically the same technology. In
the early scanners a high level of a
harmful type of radiation was used.
Moderns MSIS units only emit about as
much harmful radiation as a light bulb. It
doesn't quite have the resolution, but the
trade-off is that it's much safer.

Beat: there is more on his mind --

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
I'm not sure yet, though. Some of the red
could be do to scanner artifacts. If not, the
damage is very very discrete.

The Lab Tech starts to exit.

INT. MAKESHIFT LAB -- DAY

Winstone consults a bacterial culture: something has started to grow.

WINSTONE
(unable to produce even an
expletive)
FFFUUURRRAAAGGGHHHHHH!

He picks up a piece of lab apparatus and smashes repeatedly on the
ground.

Vlad rushes into the lab -- to the rescue.

Winstone breaths, mediating himself back to the point where he can form
words.

WINSTONE
Your prostitutes all have T.B. and H.I.V.!

Vlad speaks good English with a "British" accent, as though he lived in
the U.K. at one point, --

VLAD
What do you expect, they're prostitutes?

WINSTONE
Don't mess me about.

VLAD
Look: There's no way we can carry on. The
police don't give a shit -- I mean they're
practically helping us -- but if too many
disappear someone might start asking
some questions, you know -- the clients, if
no one else. Saint Petersburg is running
out of whores.

Winstone considers for a beat, gets an idea --

WINSTONE
Do you have a gun?

Vlad isn't sure about this --

VLAD
In the van, yes.

WINSTONE
Come on then.

Winstone gets his coat.

EXT. HOUSING PROJECT (SOVIET STYLE) -- DAY

The V.W. Van is parked conspicuously next to the unlandscaped and
apparently unused square in front.

INT. V.W. VAN -- CONTINUOUS

Winstone points --

WINSTONE
Her.

Vlad is in the driver's seat, across from Winstone. He squints --

VLAD
Which one? -- the old lady?

Winstone smacks the back of Vlad's head --

WINSTONE
Open your eyes. The one in the blue dress.

He stabs his finger at the windshield, making it obvious who she is --

-- a TEENAGE GIRL in a blue dress, walking across the square, carrying
several bags (of groceries). She is tall, as is common of Russians, and a bit
awkwardly proportioned; thin and lanky, but never the less attractive --
at least to the right eye.

Vlad spots her.

WINSTONE (CONT'D)
She looks clean to me. Get in the back.

Vlad gets out. Winstone moves into the driver's seat. Vlad gets in the
back but he does not close the sliding door.

Winstone starts the motor.

WINSTONE
Ready?

VLAD
Ready.

Winstone reaches for the shifter with his left hand and bangs the door --

WINSTONE
(sotto)
Bloody left-hand drive!

With the correct hand he puts it in gear.

EXT. VAN -- CONTINUOUS

The vans tears onto the dirt of the square accelerating --

Winstone angles it so that he just cuts the girl off.

Vlad grabs her and --

INT. VAN -- CONTINUOUS

-- hauls her into the van. Slams the sliding door shut.

EXT. VAN -- CONTINUOUS

They tear away.

INT. VAN -- CONTINUOUS

The Girl is screaming. In a wild panic she swings at Vlad, tries to bite
him.

VLAD
Can I knock her out?

WINSTONE
NO! Bloody-hell. Brain damage is the last
thing-- Were's your gun? -- show it to her.

Vlad flashes a handgun. The Girl gets the point and relaxes.

In the confusion Winstone has veered into oncoming traffic -- they're on a
collision course with another car, the driver HONKS, --

Winstone swerves back into the correct lane.

WINSTONE
(to himself)
Okay...okay...

He restores his composure, gets on script --

WINSTONE
(to Girl)
Do you have H.I.V./AIDS?

VLAD
(translating)
(H.I.V./AIDS?)

The Girl (henceforth THE RUSSIAN GIRL) shakes her head in the
negative.

WINSTONE'S FACE -- NEXT

WINSTONE
Vlad, let's loose the van, eh.

INT. SECRET LAB -- DAY

A pen traces down a checklist of potential (easily testable) diseases and
disorders... It looks like negatives across the board --

Winstone is satisfied, he's finally landed one. He initials the bottom of the
paper (as a matter of absurd bureaucratic procedure).

He picks up the phone. Dials. Beat...

WINSTONE
(to phone)
I have a donor: She's young, fit, and one
hundred percent healthy.
(phone beat)
She's about sixteen, I'd say.

He puts the phone down, an elated child. They are ready for they're first
human trial.

INT. FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR'S OFFICE -- DAY

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER enters, sits at the desk. First Angel Doctor looks
harried.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
We've got a name: Victoria Shealds.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
You work quick. I didn't know you'd even
been informed.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
It's our job to know.
(continues, impatient)
Appears to have been born twentieth
November 1992 in London, then England.
I say 'appears' because there was a flag on
her birth certificate.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
A flag?

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
Yes, indicating that her official birth
records were either lost or destroyed. A lot
of official records where destroyed during
the Insurrection. From the age of about
eighteen records are good. She studied
Political Science at the University of
Edinburgh from 2012 to 2015. After her
st--

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
(interrupting)
I don't need her C.V.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
This is medically relevant -- let me speak,
please.
She then did brief stint in the Territorial
Army, but was discharged after six months
because of unspecified health problems.
After that there is a two year blank spot --
it appears she was living in London, but we
have no record of employment. In --
(clears throat, continues)
In 2017 the Insurrection in what was then
Britain started and it appears she was
involved in some capacity -- as a member of
the Anarchosyndicalists or a similar
organization. Those were the anarchists...

First Angel Doctor nods telling the Officer to continue; his patient's
political affiliations are of no concern to him as a doctor.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
In the early twenties she joined the U.N.
Peacekeeping Force as a member of the
United Europe Army and fought in Iran, in
Afganistan, Pakistan and elsewhere in
central Asia.

The Officer starts removing a folder from his bag.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER (CONT'D)
In 2029 she was again discharged on
medical grounds. Here is a copy of her
records.

First Angel Doctor takes them.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
You went to a lot of work here...

He opens the folder and flips through it --

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR (CONT'D)
(paraphrasing)
Treated in London for mental illness --
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder... In 2013
preliminary diagnosis of M.S...that was
later changed early-onset Parkinson's.

He flips some more --

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR (CONT'D)
In 2029 diagnosed conclusively with M.S...

He continues reading silently.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
I don't know if this is of any interest, but
she was arrested several times for the
possession of drugs. First in 2016 for the
manufacture of a banned substance. A year
later recreational drugs were legalized and
her criminal record was officially
expunged. Then, in 2026, she was charged
with the unlicensed manufacture of a
dangerous substance.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Did they say what substance?

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
The first charge was for manufacture of a
"Class A" hallucinogen -- "Class A" seems
to have been some sort of British legal
definition bearing on the severity of the
offense; Presumably 'A' refers to the most
legally offensive type one could possess.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
And the second charge?

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
Um...

The Officer has to reread the document he is holding; shaking his head --

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER (CONT'D)
It doesn't say what she was making.

FIRST ANGEL DOCTOR
Thank you...you've gone to too much
trouble.

ANGEL POLICE OFFICER
It's our job.

Angel Police Officer starts to rise...

INT. STERILE ROOM

A second N.M.D. unit, with a subtly different design, slightly smaller and
simpler, has been placed in the room. (N.B.: The second unit is for
"scanning" only. Not for "neural printing".) Winstone removes a plastic
dust-cover from it.

INT. CRITICAL CARE UNIT CUBICLE (SOME WHERE IN U.K.) -- DAY

Damien is unconscious, appears to be in a coma.

A gurney is wheeled into the room and placed next to the bed.

Winstone watches as two nurses shift Damien onto the gurney.

EXT. AIRSTRIP (SOME WHERE IN U.K.) -- NIGHT

Damien is wheeled out to a waiting AIR AMBULANCE (a small jet).

He is placed onboard.

The Air Ambulance takes off.

EXT. PRIVATE AIRPORT -- ST. PETERSBURG -- DAY

Dawn. The Air Ambulance touches down.

A (terrestrial) AMBULANCE, a surprisingly nice one for Russia, is
waiting.

Damien is transferred to it. Winstone follows.

EXT. SECRET LAB -- DAY

The Ambulance backs into an open garage entrance --

INT. GARAGE -- CONTINUOUS

-- and stops.

The driver opens the back doors...

INT. PREP -- SECRET LAB -- NEXT

Damien's head is shaved: first clippers are used -- then a razor.

Four bolts are screwed into his skull. To these bolts a sort of frame is
connected and is locked in place (N.B.: Both the bolts and the halo frame
are made of a non-metallic composite.).

De-fibrillater pads are affixed to his chest.

INT. PREP -- SECRET LAB -- NEXT

The Russian Girl's head is shaved: first clippers are used -- then a razor.
This uncovers a salient birthmark in the shape of mainland Britain right
on the top of her head.

Four bolts are screwed into her skull. The halo frame is locked in place.

De-fibrillater pads are affixed to her chest.

Finally (as distinct from Damien's prep), her body, excluding her head, is
covered in bags of ice.

INT. STERILE ROOM -- NEXT

Damien is transferred by TECH ONE and TECH TWO from a gurney to the
slab of the N.M.D. unit on the right from the perspective of the Control
Room (i.e., the scanning-only unit).

The halo frame is clamped to the slab.

The de-fib leads are connected.

INT. STERILE ROOM -- NEXT

The Russian Girl is placed on her slab, the halo frame is secured, and the
de-fib leads are connected to her.

INT. CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

Winstone boots up the computer system.

The two Techs enter and take their stations, Tech One sitting at the right
hand console and Tech Two on left.

The slabs are drawn into the barrels. The hatches close-up.

WINSTONE
Station one report.

TECH ONE
Station one processor efficiency at one
hundred percent. A/D exceeding thirty
two bit clarity.

WINSTONE
Station two report.

TECH TWO
Station two processor efficiency at one
hundred percent. D/A conversion plus ten
decibels or more.

WINSTONE
Run serial diagnostic.

Tech One enters the appropriate command.

TECH TWO
Serial transfer rate exceeding ten T.B. per
minute.

WINSTONE
Station two core temperature?

TECH ONE
[Twenty-eight point seven-four-zero]
degrees.

Winstone psychs himself up, takes a breath.

WINSTONE
Here we go... I hope the mains hold...

An E.C.G. ALARM suddenly inturupts. The donor (left-hand) E.C.G.
"flatlines" --

TECH TWO
Donor cardiac arrest!

This is normal: the cue to begin --

WINSTONE
Set the clock. Seven minutes.

Tech one enters the commands -- a CLOCK, prominent above the control
desk, lights up. It displays "-07:00:00" in a green hue.

WINSTONE
Initiate automated sequence. Recipient
E.I.C.A.

The E.C.G. monitor for Damien reads a normal heart-rate -- he is
SHOCKED by his defibrillators -- his E.C.G. flatlines initiating a second
E.C.G. ALARM TONE (this is electrically induced cardiac arrest).

WINSTONE
Alarms off.

The alarm tones STOP. The clock is counting down: "-06:57:96..."

WINSTONE
Depressurize.

(N.B.: Both units generate a vacuum so that the scanner can operate
without atmospheric interference.)

TECH ONE
Station one vacuum achieved.

TECH TWO
Station two vacuum achieved.

RED LIGHTS next to the hatch on each unit illuminate and the N.M.D.'s go
into action -- an internal scanning head in the scanning (right-hand) unit
begins to track: it moves very rapidly.

Data begin to fill both station monitors.

TECH ONE
M-image acquiring.

A simple progress bar on Tech Two's computer hits "1%" --

TECH TWO
Beginning reification.

The head in the printing (left-hand) unit begins moving with a similar
rapidity.

The lights DIM.

Everyone in the room freezes --

-- but they come back on. The N.M.D. remains stable. The transfer of a
soul continues...

INT. CONTROL ROOM -- NEXT

Tech Two has his face is glued to his station monitor.

Less than ten seconds are on the clock...

A tense beat, then --

TECH TWO
Bingo!

Winstone glances at the clock -- they have two seconds to spare.

WINSTONE
Station two pressurize.

Air-pressure is quickly restored and the red light goes out.

WINSTONE
Station two de-fibrillate.

The hatch on the printing unit opens and the slab is pushed out -- the
E.C.G. ALARM TONES -- the Russian Girl is JOLTED back to life -- the
alarm SELF-CANCELS and is replaced with the sound of a stable, if weak,
HEART RATE -- a faint spike returns to her E.C.G. monitor.

INT. STERILE ROOM -- NEXT

The Techs begin removing the ice bags from the Russian Girl's ghostly
white body.

Damien's body is covered with a sheet -- he will not be revived.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM -- DAY

SUPERTITLE: LONDON, JANUARY 2011

A large private room with a desk as well as a bed.

The RUSSIAN GIRL is standing naked before a tall mirror. Her hair is
short (after only three months of regrowth) and hasn't been styled in any
way. A female nurse is present.

NURSE
(re: her body)
What do you think?

The Russian Girl is silent.

INT. SIMON'S OFFICE -- DAY

The Russian Girl enters; she remains in a distant, seemingly stoned, state.
She sits.

Simon hands her a passport.

She stares blankly -- does not take it.

He sets it down on the table.

Beat.

She picks it up and opens it to the first page. What she sees she cannot
comprehend: the stranger's photo...the name...the new identity.

SIMON
From now on you're Victoria Shealds.
(beat)
Note you're date of birth: twentieth of
November 1992.

VICTORIA just stares, lost.

SIMON
That makes you eighteen.

She musters a nod, but her new age was not what she was thinking about.
(N.B.: the Russian Girl was actually sixteen, but Axagora have increased
her age by two years.)

SIMON
You've been given a flat; it's small, but I
think you'll find it more than adequate. It's
only temporary.

Another uncomfortable beat. Simon presses on, by rote, --

SIMON
You will never be able to see you're...wife
again. There will be someone following
you. In time you may emigrate. This is for
you're own good. The emotional strain for
both of you would simply be too much.

VICTORIA
What if I run into the family?
(beat)
Her family?

SIMON
Your donor was from Russia.

Beat.

SIMON
This is a miracle of modern science. You'll
be regarded as a hero.

VICTORIA
You should have left me to die in Saudi
Arabia.

SIMON
It's the P.T.S.D. Give the drugs time to
work.

Victoria closes the passport, gets up and, leaving the passport behind,
heads to the door. She stops in front of it, stymied as if she's forgotten
how to open doors,...memory returns, she opens it and exits.

Simon picks up the passport and opens it the first page: to him the photo
of a pretty girl with a celebrity name --

SIMON
Hmmph.

He closes it again, tosses it carelessly away.

INT. CAR -- DRIVING -- DAY

Victoria stares out the window -- It's strange seeing the world after
months in hospital.

A young man, some sort of assistant, is driving: DRIVER.

Victoria, only vaguely, focuses on different objects: a flock of pigeons
scared off by a threatening child -- a biker yelling at a van driver -- a black
woman from behind --

A glint of familiarity! -- could this be her wife? -- the woman turns toward
the car -- alas, it is not.

INT. VICTORIA'S FLAT -- DAY

Victoria lets herself in for the fist time. The Driver follows. He stops and
stands just inside the door.

The room is on one of the upper floors of a modern West End high-rise. It
is actually a property that must be worth a fortune, not that it matters. It
has already been furnished, in a minimal modern style. It feels stark and
cold.

VICTORIA
(to Driver)
Thank you.

The young man approaches. He holds out a business card.

DRIVER
I am on twenty-four-hours call.

Victoria takes the card. Forces the closest thing to a smile she has yet
been able to manage.

DRIVER
If there is anything at all you need, don't
hesitate to call.
(with dubious implications)
Anything.

The driver exits.

INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE -- DAY

Victoria, plainly dressed, sits uncomfortably in a chair.

VICTORIA
I don't feel sexual at all.

DR. DAWN SURRY, a professional therapist pushing fifty, sits opposite
notepad duly in hand.

DR. SURRY
Have you tried pornography...?
Pornography for strait men, perhaps?

Beat.

VICTORIA
When I was about fifteen, I imagined that it
would be sexy to have a female body --

DR. SURRY
That's quite a common fantasy, actually --

VICTORIA
But how can you think I would care about
that now...after everything?

DR. SURRY
It could be do to the effects of the S.S.R.I.'s.
Your sexual apathy, that is.

VICTORIA
I don't understand how come you're so
worried about my sex-life?

DR. SURRY
It is important that every aspect of your
mental health is taken into account.
Arguably, sex is one of the most important
components of that.

VICTORIA
I don't want to talk about this, okay.

DR. ANDREWS
Fair enough. What do you want to talk
about?

Beat.

VICTORIA
Nothing... I feel nothing.

Ever dower, Doctor Surry puts her notepad down; Victoria will be a tough
patient.

INT. TUBE STATION (UNDERGROUND)

Victoria waits near the edge of the platform.

A train enters the tunnel, approaching the platform.

Victoria leans forward...out over the track. She wants to let herself
fall...onto the rails...

A BYSTANDER (an Axagora spy?) pulls her back just before the train hits
her.

BYSTANDER
Mind the gap.

VICTORIA
(vague)
Sorry...

Victoria steps safely back.

CUT TO:

VIDEO PRESENTATION

Images of a woman's body (a model) sliding into the N.M.D.

NARRATOR
With the Neural Mapping Device it is
possible to render three-dimensional
images at the resolution of a single Svansk
Mitchell Particle. That means circles of
least confusion of less than nought-point
nought-eight-nine Œngstršm in diameter.

Computer generated simulations of the results obtained: the image starts
on the brain as a whole and then magnifies a particular part of it...
Eventually we can see individual neurons. As the image continues to
magnify, it is replaced by what looks more like a wiring diagram than a
biological structure; an image that has symbolic value only, like the
"trace" on a vectorscope.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)
It is anticipated that on average a
diagnosis can be made in under one hour.

INT. AUDITORIUM -- CONTINUOUS

Simon is standing at a podium. The image (above) freezes behind him and
the lights go up. He turns from the screen to the audience --

SIMON
I will now let our Doctor Andrews, the
technology's inventor, introduce an
additional application of the N.M.D., in the
final stages of development.

Winstone steps up to the podium, struggles to find the teleprompter (P.R.
isn't his dayjob). Through the telepromter he can see --

The lecture hall is well-filled: many members of the audience wear official
uniforms that apparently demote high military rank; others look like
business executives -- this is an elite crowd, one that could virtually
constitute a G8 summit.

He begins --

WINSTONE
We believe that immortality is now
possible. In the past we have only thought
of harvesting individual organs to, very
temporarily, prolong life.
Now, as has been demonstrated in
numerous successfully executed animal
trials, it is possible to reuse, as it were, an
entire healthy body. It is virtually possible
to perform a mind/brain transplant. The
procedure retains all of the important
defining characteristics of the patient:
personality, memory, learned skills, etc.
And there is no theoretical reason this
procedure couldn't be repeated infinitely
enabling at least virtual immortality. The
only obstacle that currently stands in our
way is lack of human donors. Therefore,
we feel the legalization of human cloning is
crucial for our work to continue.

He pauses, ready for questions.

CARLOS MENESES, a retired Latin American military dictator (probably
of the Reagan era), now in his seventies, rises to ask a question. He has to
support himself with a cane.

WINSTONE
(re: Meneses)
Yes?

MENESES
These claims you make are totally
incredible. We have no proof. How do you
know if a lab rat has taken another rat's
soul? I for one don't even think rats have
souls.

WINSTONE
That's a very fair question. In fact, most of
our advanced research has been with
chimps. We teach a chimp a particular
skill, scan and print, -- apologies for the
jargon -- and then perform tests to see if
the donor chimp has also acquired the
same skill. This is one of the cruder tests;

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