DuracellEnergizer

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/LEVEL 22/MESS HALL – EVENING

Daniel, Meyers, and Barbara are seated close together at one of the small tables taking up space inside the mess hall. Beyond them, four solitary airmen having meals by their lonesome, and a sandy-haired civilian member of the personnel arguing with a cook over the lemon content in the lemon chicken, the room is eerily empty.

DANIEL: (cont’d) … why bring us in on this project? Why bother recruiting an Egyptologist, a comparative linguist, and an astrophysicist if you’re only going to cuckold them? If there’s any method to their madness, I fail to see it.

MEYERS: I suppose that’s why the term “military intelligence” is considered an oxymoron.

BARBARA: Lovecraftian languages and OOPArts are all fine and dandy like sour candy, but they’re not subjects the military goes gaga over. Meanin’-of-life stuff is meanin’less to them unless there’s somethin’ big in it for them to exploit. (beat) Mark my words, my two big stud-muffins – the coverstone is to the Staff of Ra what whatever-it-is is to the Ark of the Covenant.

Meyers whistles the tune from Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Nazis melt, and everyone at the table laughs.

MEYERS: I can’t get my mind off that Col. O’Neal. (beat) There’s something off about that man.

BARBARA: (waves her hand with dismissal) Col. Flattop’s just a product off an assembly line.

MEYERS: I doubt it. He reminds me too much of my third cousin Richard. (beat) You see, Richard served in Vietnam, was one of the soldiers who were there at the My Lai massacre. Things he saw there really took their toll on him. (beat) O’Neal has the same eyes Rich had – the same hard eyes.

BARBARA: (takes a bite from the drumstick on her plate) This palaver’s losing its pizzazz. How’s about we try a different genre?

DANIEL: Fine by me.

BARBARA: Glad to hear it. (beat) Why don’t we open up some, get to know a little bit more about one another? (turns to Meyers) I nominate Meyers, here. He likes talkin’ about kin, so now he can find somethin’ closer to home to talk about.

MEYERS: (smiles) Oh, I don’t think so, Doctor. It was your idea to open up so you start.

BARBARA: Oh, very well. (punches Meyers playfully in the arm) As you can both probably guess, I’m a thoroughbred Texan through-and-through. I grew up on a ranch with my Mama and Pop – both of whom are still kickin’, thank God – and my brothers Kenny and Laurel. Laurel has a daughter – my niece, Mistress – who’s the cutest little carrot top in pigtails. A bona fide Annie in Green Gables. (beat) She’s just darlin’.

MEYERS: I don’t like subscribing to stereotypes, but you don’t really strike me as the astrophysicist type. What got you into the game?

BARBARA: I guess you could say I’ve always had a connective streak, for want of a better term – an eye for connectin’ the proverbial dots which make up reality as we know it. (beat) It started when I was a little girl, just this little skinny thing of about seven. The family had taken a trip to Florida, and one day at the beach I was just runnin’ a stick through the wet sand of the shoreline – I had it in my head that this was the way to catch a fish – and I just happened to spy some trash some litterbugs had left half-buried there in the sand. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw a isosceles triangle – an honest-to-God isosceles triangle. Lord, it was frightenin’.

DANIEL: (incredulous) Frightened … by a triangle.

BARBARA: (gives him the evil eye) It’s not just that I say a triangle – hell, apophenia makes it impossible not to see triangles everywhere – it’s that I could recognize the mathematical significance behind it. Me, a girl of seven who was still learnin’ how to carry numbers. (beat) I didn’t understand it, but I could recognize it, and that’s what scared me. (beat) But later it began to fascinate me. And the more it happened – in different places, under different circumstances, with different shapes – the more fascinated I became. Here I was, seeing all these random, disconnected items joinin’ together, forming concrete shapes … shapes that were random, disconnected items in-and-of themselves, just waitin’ to be interconnected in ever bigger shapes. (beat) I fell in love with discoverin’ these shapes, of uncoverin’ their secrets, of seein’ the universe in its entirety. I suppose, in the end, that I wanted to see my personal universe in its entirety as well. (beat) Well, that’s the cut-and-dry of it. (to Meyers) Your turn, Big Bear.

MEYERS: (blushes) Let’s just say that when it became apparent that I’d never compare with Plácido Domingo, I went with my second love and chose the life of a comparative linguist.

DANIEL: (deadpan) That’s it?

BARBARA: (smirks) A man of few words, our darlin’ Gary is.

MEYERS: (shrugs) I’m an open book. What you see is what you get.

BARBARA: And other cliches, I’m sure.

Daniel chuckles. Meyers just frowns.

MEYERS: And what’s your story, Dr. Wunderkind?

Daniel suddenly goes silent and still, his face growing stony.

BARBARA: (places a hand on Daniel’s shoulder) Hey, shug, Meyers’ just pokin’ some fun your way. Don’t become an icicle on us now.

DANIEL: (shakes his head) It’s not that. It just reminds me ….

BARBARA: (concerned) What is it?

DANIEL: It’s just that … well … as a kid, my biggest dream was to become a successful comic book artist. (beat) I’d gotten into comics when I was around six and I just fell in love with the medium of telling stories through sequential art. My parents, on the other hand, were scholarly types. They tolerated my hobby but didn’t exactly approve of it; comics were lowbrow entertainment, they told me. (beat) Anyway, the day came when I decided I wanted to begin taking art lessons. Mum and Dad said they’d go through with it, but they kept putting it off and off. Eventually I got tired of their excuses and one night I just blew up in their faces, just had a great big tantrum. (beat) As luck would have it, that was the night they had to take a flight to Cambridge to attend a conference. (beat) I guess taking up Egyptology was my way of apologizing to them for the things I said to them that night, of making amends ….

An awkward silence settles over the three scholars. After a few moments, Meyers reaches into the front pocket of the shirt under his sweater and pulls out a bronze-coloured flask.

MEYERS: Well, this is our first night as a team on Project Giza. I suggest we propose a toast. (unscrews the cap) To Project Giza. (takes a sip)

Meyers hands the flask to Barbara.

BARBARA: To Project Giza. (takes a sip)

Barbara hands the flask to Daniel.

DANIEL: To Project Giza. (takes a gulp)

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/LEVEL 18/COVERSTONE ROOM – TWILIGHT

The twin doors of the coverstone room swing open and Kawalsky escorts Daniel, Meyers, and Barbara inside. Seeing the immense room’s main attraction, their mouths go agape; there – beyond three long tables outfitted with various artifacts, documents, and advanced computer equipment – is the large sandstone coverstone recovered from the Langford excavation, secured high above on the far wall. Standing there, like a high priestess within the Holy of Holies, is Catherine Langford.

CATHERINE: (turns toward the new arrivals) I’m glad to see you made it.

The three scholars slowly make their way towards Catherine, their eyes transfixed on the coverstone.

DANIEL: Where did you find this?

CATHERINE: Giza Plateau, 1967. (beat) As you all can see, there are two rings of glyphs. The inner tract of writing is an extremely early form of hieroglyphics and we’ve managed to make preliminary translations of it, but the outer one has been giving us the fits. The symbols, as you can see, are unlike anything we’ve ever found before.

DANIEL: Could be some form of hieratic.

MEYERS: Maybe cuneiform.

CATHERINE: Like Champollion with the Rosetta Stone, we thought the two scripts might be parallel translations, but if they are, we can’t find the similarities. It doesn’t help that it’s written in a circle without any discernible punctuation.

DANIEL: Alright, I understand why Gary and I have been brought on board, but what’s Barbara’s role in all this? An astrophysicist’s expertise doesn’t exactly lie with five-thousand-year-old Egyptian tablets.

O’NEAL: (O.S.) My report says ten thousand.

The six people in the large room quickly turn towards the owner of the voice. Standing behind them, black folder in his left hand, is Col. Jack O’Neal. In his crew cut and immaculate uniform, he is the very picture of self-assurance and command.

KAWALSKY: (snaps to attention) Sir!

O’NEAL: At ease.

CATHERINE: (to Daniel) Barbara was brought in to analyze the concentric lines etched on the coverstone. There’s evidence they hold some geometrical significance. (to O’Neal) Do I know you?

O’NEAL: (opens his folder and withdraws a document) I’m Col. Jack O’Neal from Gen. West’s office. I’ll be taking over from this point forward.

Kawalsky walks over to the colonel, who hands him the document to look over.

DANIEL: (to no one in particular) Wait a second – ten thousand years?

MEYERS: (to Catherine) I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Egyptian culture didn’t even exist –

CATHERINE: (her attention on O’Neal) The various dating methods we’ve used have all been conclusive.

DANIEL: This is a coverstone. Was there a tomb underneath?

CATHERINE: No, not a tomb. We’ve found something far more interesting. (to Barbara) There’s a secondary reason I wanted you for Project Giza, Barbara. There’s –

O’NEAL: (takes a step forward) Excuse me, but that information’s become classified.

CATHERINE: (surprised) What!?

BARBARA: Catherine, what the hell is goin’ on here?

CATHERINE: I’m not sure.

O’NEAL: (to Kawalsky) Effective immediately, no information is to be passed on to non-military personnel without my expressed permission.

DANIEL: We’ve all just come here from all across the country. What exactly is it you want us to do here?

O’NEAL: You’re all translators and analysts, so translate and analyze. (to Kawalsky) Colonel, I want all information not directly pertaining to this tablet to be removed from this workspace and brought to my office immediately. Until that happens, you are the only individual authorized to be in this room.

With that last command, O’Neal turns and leaves. Wasting no time, Catherine follows after him.

BARBARA: (smirks) Who was that masked man?

DANIEL: (walks up to Kawalsky) You guys can’t be serious about restricting us from information. I mean, if we’re going to have any chance of figuring out what this stone says, we’re going to need information. Otherwise, what the hell are we doing here?

KAWALSKY: (sullen) Your quarters are over there, directly across from the hall. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.

DANIEL: (angry) Didn’t you hear what I just said!? How am I supposed to decipher this thing without any information?!

KAWALSKY: (frowns) I have my orders.

Kawalsky points toward the double doors, silently ordering Daniel, Meyers, and Barbara to leave the room at once.

DANIEL: (shakes his head in disbelief) Do you always follow orders? Always?

KAWALSKY: As a matter of fact, I do.

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/LEVEL 18/CORRIDOR #2 – TWILIGHT

Col. O’Neal walks through the corridor at a brisk pace, Catherine keeping pace right behind him.

CATHERINE: Col. O’Neal, I think you owe me an explanation. I was personally assured by Gen. West that I would have complete autonomy.

Hearing her words, O’Neal stops. Turning around, he regards her with hard eyes.

O’NEAL: Plans change.

CATHERINE: Apparently. I’d appreciate some elaboration.

O’NEAL: The way I understand it, the folks at headquarters find things have gotten a little too loose around here. And now you’ve brought in more civilians.

CATHERINE: (stern) Colonel, they were approved.

O’Neal remains silent.

CATHERINE: This doesn’t have anything to do with them, does it? (beat) What’s this all about? Why’d they bring you in on this project?

O’NEAL: I’m here in case you succeed.

This time Catherine remains silent.

I find her pretty hot in some of these photos. I never have found her exceptionally attractive in the movies, though, including ROTJ.

I used to care about official canon, back when I was naive and actually thought Lucas cared about holding to the EU and his own films.

These days, though, I spit on the very concept; any "canon" which changes on a weekly-to-monthy basis is a canon in name only.

A big chunk of my distaste for "official canon" was also been coloured by the EU completists; they've done nothing but piss and moan about how the Clone Wars has contradicted history established in the EU -- and the same is likely to be true in regards to the ST when it comes out -- but not once did they criticize Lucas for doing the very same thing with the PT. Cognitive dissonant/double standardizing idiots all.

Reegar said:

Zimmerman is softcore.

That guy's still around? I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in a raccoon's age.

RicOlie_2 said:

And allows a guy to ignore stupid detailed explanations of why the wrong arm ended up on the floor in the cantina scene

If something innocuous like this gets their panties in a bunch, I wonder how they'd react to something really distasteful -- like Julius Zimmerman's Leia fan art, for example.

CROSSFADE TO

An overhead shot of an old black '68 Dodge Charger moving along a twisting two-lane highway deep inside the Colorado Rockies.

INT. DODGE CHARGER – SUNSET – TRAVELLING

Daniel is hunched over the wheel, struggling to simultaneously drive the car, read a map, and sneeze into a tissue.

CUT TO

The back seat of the car, which is cluttered with dozens upon dozens of used tissues.

EXT. HIGHWAY – SUNSET

Daniel spots a large sign which reads “CREEK MOUNTAIN, U.S. GOVERNMENT SPECIAL ZONE”. He makes a turn off the highway onto a steep, tree-lined entrance road leading toward the top of a low mountain in the distance. The mountain top looms closer and closer as Daniel drives on, and in no time at all he comes to a military checkpoint.

SUPERIMPOSE: “MILITARY INSTALLATION, CREEK MOUNTAIN, COLORADO”

As Daniel pulls up to the closed metal gate and rolls down his window, a guard leaves his kiosk and walks up to Daniel’s side of the car.

DANIEL: I’m Daniel Jackson. I didn’t think I was going to make it.

GUARD: Your documents?

As Daniel reaches forward to open the glove box and retrieve his documents, he sneezes loudly. Making a diversion for a tissue, he blows his nose hard, then hands his papers to the guard through the window. As the guard starts checking the papers, Daniel sneezes again.

GUARD: (glancing at the balled-up tissues taking up space in the car’s backseat) You’ve got quite a cold there, Dr. Jackson.

DANIEL: Allergies. Always happens when I travel.

Finishing his run-through of the papers, the guard unstraps his radio and speaks into it. He waits a moment for a reply, then turns back to Daniel.

GUARD: Well, your papers check out. We’ll raise the gate and wave you through.

The guard returns to the kiosk, and in a moment the metal gate slides open, allowing Daniel access to the access road beyond. Rolling his window back up, Daniel shifts gears as the car begins to stall and pushes on ahead.

In no time at all Daniel reaches a parking lot, beyond which lies an entrance tunnel cut into the apex of the mountain top.

Finding a spot close to the entrance tunnel, Daniel parks the Charger and disengages the ignition. With an intense backfire and a rough shudder, the car dies. As he climbs out and circles around the car to retrieve his belongings from the trunk, a big, muscular officer in a crisp blue uniform – LIEUTENANT COLONEL ADAM KAWALSKY – steps out of the shadows of the tunnel and approaches Daniel.

KAWALSKY: Daniel Jackson?

DANIEL: (turns toward Kawalsky) Yes?

With a large grin, the lieutenant colonel takes Daniel’s hand and gives it an eagre shake. Daniel winces from the strength of his grip.

KAWALSKY: I’m Lt. Col. Adam Kawalsky. (beat) Where’ve you been? Dr. Langford thought you changed your mind.

DANIEL: I had car trouble, so it took me longer than expected to get here. (beat) So, is this an Army base?

KAWALSKY: I’m not authorized to discuss that.

DANIEL: (grins) No, seriously. Is this like a camp for Army scholars, a think tank or something?

KAWALSKY: Until you sign the non-disclosure agreement, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss that subject.

DANIEL: (shrugs) Alright. I guess we’ll get that taken care of once we’re inside.

Daniel turns back to the truck and opens it, exposing his large book sack along with two bulging suitcases.

KAWALSKY: (eyes the sack) Help you with that?

DANIEL: Careful. They’re books and they’re really –

Without any visible effort, Kawalsky hefts the sack out of the trunk single-handedly.

DANIEL: (cont’d) – heavy.

With Kawalsky carrying the book sack and Daniel carrying the suitcases, they start towards the entrance into Creek Mountain.

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/ELEVATOR – TWILIGHT

Some time has passed, and Daniel and Kawalsky – book sack and suitcases no longer in tow – step into an elevator. As the doors close, Kawalsky slides a keycard through a slot and – pressing the button marked “18” – the box begins its descent.

KAWALSKY: (hands a stick of gum to Daniel) Equalizes your ear pressure.

Silently, Daniel takes the gum and, unwrapping it, stuffs it into his mouth and begins to chew nervously.

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/LEVEL 18/CORRIDOR #1 – TWILIGHT

Soon the elevator finishes its descent and the doors swish open. Stepping out, the two men begin making their way down a sterile hospital-type corridor.

DANIEL: Are you taking me to Dr. Langford?

KAWALSKY: We’re going to meet with the others, first.

DANIEL: Others?

KAWALSKY: You didn’t think you were Project Giza’s only recruit, did you?

DANIEL: Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. (beat) Still don’t, really.

INT. CREEK MOUNTAIN/LEVEL 18/CORRIDOR #2 – TWILIGHT

The two turn a corner and Kawalsky soon stops in a corridor lined with doors. Stepping up to a pair of doors, the officer raps on both of them loudly.

KAWALSKY: Dr. Meyers – Shore – are you in?

In a few moments the doors open. The first individual to emerge is DOCTOR GARY MEYERS, a tall, chunky man of about fifty-seven dressed in pressed black slacks and a beige sweater; though he should look studious and serious, he comes off more as the boisterous type with a strong sense of humour. Shortly following is BARBARA SHORE, a forty-eight-year-old Texan woman in midnight blue coveralls; tall and sexy with wavy black hair, she wouldn’t look at all out of place on a fashion runway.

MEYERS: (grins) You must be Jackson. (puts out his hand) I’m Dr. Gary Meyers, Ph.D on loan from Harvard.

DANIEL: (shakes Meyers’ hand) Dr. Meyers (beat) Of course – you’re a professor of comparative linguistics. Your thesis on the influence Sumerian cuneiform had on the early development of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics is interesting. (grins) I can’t say I fully agree with your conclusions, though.

MEYERS: I have similar sentiments in regard to your theories on the Predynastic origin of Khufu’s pyramid.

DANIEL: (looks about at their surroundings) Where the hell are we, anyway?

BARBARA: A goddamn nuclear missile silo. (notices Daniel’s sudden dismayed expression) Don’t worry, darlin’. The place has been completely converted, but technically it’s still a military installation, so these flyboys get to act like they own the place. (beat) Anyway, I’m Barbara Shore, the token astrophysicist on the team. Hello.

DANIEL: Hi.

Barbara shakes hands with Daniel then turns her attentions to Kawalsky.

BARBARA: So, Lieutenant, isn’t it –

KAWALSKY: As I’ve already made clear to you, Doctor, it’s lieutenant colonel – or just colonel – not lieutenant. I wear silver oak leaves, not single bars.

BARBARA: (flirtatious) Oh, shut up, Kawalsky, you overgrown testicle. (cont’d) As I was sayin’, Lieutenant Colonel, isn’t it about time you reintroduced us to our illustrious host and let us know just what it is we’ve all hauled ass here to do?

KAWALSKY: That’s why I’m here. Dr. Langford’s waiting to meet all of you in the coverstone room. Let’s go.

Kawalsky starts walking down the corridor and the three scholars hurry to follow after him.

MEYERS: I don’t get why we couldn’t have all met with Dr. Langford when we each arrived individually. This waiting game has been a pain in the ass. (turns to Daniel) No offense.

DANIEL: (half-smiles) None taken.

KAWALSKY: Seeing you all together at one time saves her the effort of repeating the same information thrice. (beat) Besides, she has a taste for the melodramatic.

All-Star Superman (2011)

Contrary to popular opinion, my least favourite version of Superman is not the pre-Crisis Superman of the Silver & Bronze Ages. No, not at all. The truth is my least favourite version of the character is the pre-Crisis Superman of the Silver & Bronze Ages as interpreted by Modern Age navel-gazers like Grant Morrison.

Suffice it to say, any interest I ever had in reading the comic version of the story is now stone-cold dead. One of the best takes on Superman my ass.

5.6/10

darklordoftech said:

The modern EU repeats the same story over and over, just like The Legend of Zelda. Specifically:

1. Jedi and Republic are complacent and believe the Sith to be extinct
2. The Sith, who were defeated long ago, corrupt someone and take over
3. The Sith are betrayed by a high-up apprentice, saving the day

Wikipedia said:

Carrie at the time was a 32DD

Reegar said:

I was surprised to find DuracellEnergizer had some of the same views. Maybe we're all more alike than we assumed.

CROSSFADE TO

A panoramic shot of a suburban neighbourhood on an intensely sunny day.

Though it is late fall, the temperature is scorching, causing rippling waves of heat to rise from the baking sidewalks and roads. Except for a few pets resting here-and-there about on the lawns of their homes, there is no outdoor activity going on.

SUPERIMPOSE: “YUMA, ARIZONA”

A navy blue sedan drives past the front yard of a home where a large black-and-white Border Collie/Labrador Retriever cross sits panting under the shade of an elm tree. The dog, half-interested in the vehicle’s passing, regards it with a slow turn of its head.

The sedan pulls up to a pretty two-storey house with a modestly landscaped front yard, coming to a stop in front of the garage. The front doors click open and TWO OFFICERS in crisp blue uniforms – one TALL and one SHORT – step out, regarding their surroundings as if on a recon mission. They walk up to the front door, the tall one in front. The short officer, a black folder tucked under his arm, regards the garage; a boy’s red-and-teal bicycle leans against the wall beside the garage door, obviously neglected and disused.

The tall officer – his tag identifying him as LIEUTENANT SILAS ANDERMAN – knocks on the door. Moments later the door opens a crack and a PRETTY ASH BLONDE in her late forties peeks out from behind the chain.

LT. ANDERMAN: Mrs. O’Neal?

The door is quickly closed again. The two officers, dumbfounded, exchange glances. As Anderman prepares to knock on the door again, it swings open, revealing the full form of SARAH O’NEAL, who regards the pair with an icy glare. The officers, intimidated by her cold eyes, unconsciously shrink back.

SARAH: (cold) Wipe your feet.

Sarah turns around and disappears into the house. The officers exchange glances again then follow her inside.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/ENTRY HALL – DAY

The two officers step inside the immaculate interior of the house, closing the door behind them. Moving further into the house, they find the living room to their left; perfectly clean and tidy, it is also completely empty. Turning to their right they find the kitchen.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/KITCHEN – DAY

Walking inside, the officers find Sarah busy slicing raw meat up on a cutting board.

LT. ANDERMAN: Mrs. O’Neal, is your husband home?

SARAH: (eyes fixed on the meat) Yes, he is.

LT. ANDERMAN: Ma’am, do you think we might be able to speak with him?

Sarah finishes cutting up the red flesh. Cleaning her hands off on some paper towel, she reaches into her front shirt pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes. Pulling out a cigarette, she lights it with a green plastic lighter then puts it to her lips. Taking a deep drag, she then exhales loudly, creating a small cloud of smoke about her head.

SARAH: You can try.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY

A MAN sits inside the dim interior of what appears to be a teenaged boy’s bedroom. Among the various items we see taking up space within the room is a Star Trek poster above the headboard of the room’s bed; a small shelf packed full of books, comic books, and magazines; various LEGO models; sports trophies; and a catcher’s mitt complete with softball. Seated in an armchair, the man is shirtless and unshaven, his face perfectly blank of expression. Staring straight ahead, his eyes unblinking, he grips the stock of an uncocked Smith & Wesson Model 29 loosely in his hands.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/HALLWAY – DAY

As Anderman and his comrade walk on down the hallway on their way toward the bedroom, they pass by several framed photographs hanging on the white wall to their left. All the photos depict images of life, love, and happiness among friends and family.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY

Perched atop the small shelf is a framed photo of a thirteen-year-old boy in a softball uniform, standing outdoors beside a beefy, red mustached-man in a coach’s uniform. The boy, tossing a softball into the air, is beaming into the camera. The boy is Tyler O’Neal, the last tenant to inhabit this room.

Staring at the photo, the unshaven man pulls back the gun’s hammer, cocking it.

LT. ANDERMAN’S P.O.V – BEDROOM DOOR

Reaching the door, Anderman seizes the door knob, twists it, and gently pushes the door open.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY

Sensing the officers’ arrival, the unshaven man quickly disengages the Model 29 and quickly – but stealthily – hides the weapon underneath the armchair’s cushion.

The two officers tentatively step inside the boy’s bedroom. The man they seek, though well aware of their presence, pays them no heed, continuing to stare straight forward.

SHORT OFFICER: Pardon us, Colonel O’Neal. We’re from General West’s office.

For the first time, JACK O’NEAL turns his head sideways toward the officers, regarding them stonily.

SHORT OFFICER: (holds out the black folder) We’re here to inform you that you’ve been reactivated.

O’Neal – shirtless, unshaven, with greasy, shoulder-length hair and clad in a pair of wrinkled blue jeans only – rises from the chair. Slowly, he turns toward them. Lt. Anderman, turning around, slowly closes the bedroom door.

EXT. O’NEAL HOME/FRONT YARD – DAY

The front door of the O’Neal residence opens and the two officers step outside. As they return to their car, it is apparent that the short officer no longer carries the black folder on his person.

From the kitchen window, obscured behind a heavy curtain, Sarah peers out at the two officers as they leave.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/KITCHEN – DAY

Sarah turns away from the kitchen window, looking toward the hall. Slowly, she leaves the kitchen, stepping out into the hallway. Stealthily, she makes her way down the hallway until she comes to the door leading into her son’s bedroom.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY

The door creaks open and Sarah peers in. Her husband is no longer there. Slowly she leans back out, closing the door once again.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/HALLWAY – DAY

Sarah steps back from the bedroom door. At this point she hears the faint sound of a shower running from the bathroom. A troubled expression on her face, she quickly begins walking toward another room – the bedroom she shares with her husband. She soon comes to the door leading into their bedroom and, hesitating only for a moment, reaches out toward the doorknob.

INT. O’NEAL HOME/O’NEAL BEDROOM – DAY

The bedroom door swings open and Sarah enters. As she looks out at what is in front of her, her mouth drops open.

There, lain out on the king-sized bed like a corpse prepared for a funeral, is her husband’s neatly pressed uniform. Resting beside it, like a profane idol dedicated to an obscene god, is the black folder.

FADE TO

Daniel in the here-and-now, sitting on the pile of tires, soaking wet in the rain.

DANIEL: (deadpan) I’d like to meet that nice lady again. Fix some tea, have a little chat, then slowly strangle her to death.

Daniel rises to his feet, takes off his waterlogged hat, wrings it out, then places it back on his head. Turning around, he heads back toward the crumbling building.

INT. DANIEL’S APARTMENT BUILDING – EVENING

Daniel ascends the stairwell leading to the second floor of the ramshackle building. Making his way down the short corridor, he suddenly halts dead in his tracks, dropping his book sack to the floor with a large THUD. There, before him, the door to his apartment stands wide open.

DANIEL: Burglars.

INT. DANIEL’S APARTMENT/ENTRY HALL – EVENING

Daniel cautiously steps inside his apartment and, wary of potential threats, reaches into his coat and pulls out the bottle of wine. Brandishing it like a club, Daniel presses himself up against the wall, listening for sounds, then leaps out into his living room.

DANIEL: (waves the bottle above his head) YAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

There, going through the loose papers strewn atop his old mahogany desk, is the same middle-aged woman in black from the conference. Her head is turned towards him, her eyes unblinking.

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (nonchalant) Come in. (beat) Your cleaning lady must be taking the year off.

Perplexed, Daniel slowly steps forward, tossing the bottle unceremoniously onto a duct taped recliner.

DANIEL: Uh … is there … what the hell are you doing in my apartment?

The mature lady, her attention now diverted to a marble bust of a lovely Egyptian woman sitting atop Daniel’s desk, picks the graceful sculpture up and begins examining it, turning it slowly over in her hands.

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: Now this is a truly beautiful piece of art. I’d guess 14th century BC, probably from the area around Edfu. (looks about at the shabby furnishings adorning the apartment) How did you ever manage to afford it?

DANIEL: (nervous) Please, be very careful with that.

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (carefully places the bust back down on the desktop) I’ve come to offer you a job.

DANIEL: (furrows his brow) What kind of a job?

The lady steps away from the desk, moving over to a wall adorned with a medium-sized photograph. In the photograph are three figures: a handsome blond man built like a linebacker, a willowy woman with auburn hair, and an eleven-year-old Daniel Jackson; the three figures are posed in a group hug, broad smiles on their faces.

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (turns to Daniel) Your parents?

DANIEL: Foster.

ELDERLY WOMAN: Oh, that’s right. Your parents died in that plane crash back in … what was it, '87?

DANIEL: (sarcastic) Ah yes, let me think. Yes, I believe it was '87. An excellent year for a fiery death, wouldn’t you say?

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN : (ashamed) I’m sorry. It was –

DANIEL: (angry) No, really, if it would amuse you, let’s definitely have a chitchat about the way my parents died!

Daniel stares daggers at the woman, who averts her eyes. Fuming, he walks past her into his small kitchen, opening the refrigerator and peering into the wasteland that lies within.

56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: My name is Catherine Langford. I have some very early hieroglyphs I’d like you to work on.

Coming to the conclusion that none of the few foodstuffs left inside his refrigerator are fit for human consumption, Daniel closes it and rejoins Catherine’s company.

DANIEL: Since when is the military interested in Egyptian hieroglyphs?

CATHERINE (56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN): (cocks an eyebrow) Military? What makes you think this has anything to do with the military?

DANIEL: The chauffeur across the street was sporting a military-style crew cut. An oddity on the streets of Hollywood, wouldn’t you say? (beat) I think I’m too old to run off and join the Army.

CATHERINE: (grins) Very impressive, Doctor. (drops the grin) Look, I wish I could explain everything to you, but there’s a certain amount of secrecy involved with this project.

DANIEL: Well maybe you can divulge this much: Why should I take a job I know nothing about?

CATHERINE: You have no family or friends stateside, your landlord mentioned that he’d served you an eviction notice, there’s a stack of unpaid bills on your desk, and your grants have run out. Now, it looks to me like young Dr. Jackson needs a job, and after your talk this afternoon, I wouldn’t sit home waiting for the phone to ring. (beat) But there’s an even better reason you should come to work for me, Daniel.

DANIEL: (smirks) And what might that be?

CATHERINE: (unclasps her handbag and pulls out a large brown envelope) To prove that your theories are right.

Catherine hands the envelope to Daniel. Taking the envelope, he pulls open the tab and pulls out the contents. There in his hand are several black-and-white photographs of the unusual coverstone that her father’s expedition had uncovered in Egypt. Going through the photos, Daniel’s mouth goes agape.

CATHERINE: (pulls the set of photos out of Daniel’s hands) That’s enough for now.

DANIEL: Hey!

Sliding the photos back in the envelope and the envelope back in her handbag, Catherine withdraws another envelope – a white envelope emblazoned with the Air Force logo. She hands it to Daniel, who tentatively takes it.

DANIEL: What’s this?

CATHERINE: Travel plans.

Opening the envelope, Daniel peers in at the contents.

DANIEL: Denver? (sneezes) Look, as you can imagine, I’m not real big on flying.

Without a word, Catherine walks past Daniel. Coming to the open door leading out of the apartment, she turns to Daniel, a slight smile on her lips.

CATHERINE: Get over it.

She steps out, closing the door behind her.

Calling the PT fan fiction is disingenuous ...

... to fan fiction.

SilverWook said:

I'm not sure why Leia is wearing this outfit, but I don't mind! ;)

I never, ever, ever, ever expected this thread to ever come back.

"Ach du lieber" is my favourite German phrase.

I blame The Simpsons for this.

Reegar said:

I thought I was the only person here who preferred a less than perfect picture quality to Star Wars. Especially for ESB.

Here's what I personally find wrong with the Geonosis lightsaber scenes

1. The fighting style (I loathe Nick Gillard's overchoreographed ballet-styled swordplay)

2. The (mostly) homogenous appearance of their uniforms

3. The lack of variety in the colours of their lightsabers (I fully expected to see more colours and more shades of colours in regard to the Jedi's lightsabers going into the movie, and was completely disappointed when everyone but Windu showed up with only the same standard shade of blue and green)

Why do no tires have treads?

I watched the prequels too largely in my childhood, more-or-less liked them at the time, but I still think they're utter shit now. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

I personally hate every scene from AOTC with a lightsaber. Monotonous blue-and-green smears, stupid coloured-light rave scenes between Hayden and Dooku, and constipated CG Yoda on speed -- bleech.

I'm getting pretty sick of all the "YouTube + Google" thing, too. I didn't know they were starting to delete accounts after ninety days, though -- that's just bullshit.