Port Of Call (WT) Episode 1

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 4,818
7/28/2020

 

[[SFX: High class dinner music plays in the background]]

[[Indistinctive dinner guest chatter]]

[[SFX: Series of glass tings]]

Onyx Tenbroi (ONT): Could I grab everyone’s attention, please.

[[Indistinctive dinner guest chatter dies off]]

ONT: Thank you. I promise you can get back to your—uh—chit chat and all that momentarily. I know I wasn’t the—uh—winner of the charisma lottery in my—our family [pause for laughter that does not come] [clears throat] Anyway, uh—it would be remiss of me not to thank—uh—the patron—you, our patrons—for your—uh—donatio—investments. I really think, you’ll find here in—uh—just a moment that we—your money has been put to good use. Thank you again.

[[SFX: Light, unenthusiastic applause]]

ONT: Now if I could direct everyone’s attention to the back wall—uh—screen. Um… Obsidian Tenbroi.

[[SFX: Fuller yet brief applause]]

[[Silence]]

ONT: Is it…? Could we check the speakers? Is the volume up?

Obsidian Tenbroi (OBT): —veal of the Tenbroi—

ONT: False start, Sid. Could you—uh—start over?

OBT: But of course. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for attending our unofficial reveal of the Tenbroi Port of Call Technology. We will be hosting a public release party later this week, for which you should have already received your digital invitations. If for any reason you haven’t, please reach out to either myself or my two younger brothers to correct the oversight. With that out of the way, the brothers and I felt it was vital to give back to all of the stock-holders and investors who enabled us to reinvent the travel industry in a similar way to Henry Ford with the Automobile or even Elon Musk with the Martian Railway.

[[SFX: Thunderous applause]]

OBT: Thank you. Now I will quickly yield the floor to my youngest brother for a technical explanation before the first human demonstration of Port of Call. Try not to bore them too much, Jet.

Jet Tenbroi (JT): Thank you, I promise I will be brief so we can get to the fireworks everyone actually came to see. And I can think of no better way to do that than by using a mainstay of Science Fiction movies for well over a century. You know the one I mean, the one involving a pen and piece of paper.

[[SFX: Friendly chuckles]]

JT: In such classics as Edge of Atlas or The Coming of the Earth that Was. What else?

Audience Member #1: Interstellar?

JT: Careful, your age is showing.

[[SFX: Laughter]]

JT: Two dots on opposite ends of a paper, the shortest distance between them is a straight line. But if there was a way to fold the paper, representing space-time and—

[[SFX: Paper ripping]]

JT: —punch through. You can jump from point A to point B in far less time. 3 minutes give or take. Regardless of physical distance. That is what the Tenbroi family has spent the last decade developing. On demand wormhole technology. Near-instantaneous transportation. Sound impossible? Great. I believe it was Arthur C. Clarke who first said that and sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic. Forgive the theatrics, but have I got a magic trick for you. Onyx?

ONT: Yeah?

JT: Could you remind me where you are again?

ONT: Uh, Seattle.

JT: And Obsidian and I are streaming to you live from—

[[SFX: Electronic whine of blinds opening]]

[[SFX: Audience gasping with mild surprise and amusement]]

JT: A red planet away. Needless to say, I will not be seeing any of you in person using traditional means of transportation. But I would still like to shake your hands. Enter the Port of Call. Now, does everyone recall the antiquated physical invitations we elected to send for this event? I happen to have one here. Same as all of yours. Illegible script on the front, blank back. A back on which I will now take audience suggestions on what to write. Someone, call something out. One word, short phrases. Maybe 2 or 3.

Audience Member #2: Fireworks.

JT: Yes, very good. Another one, anyone.

Audience Member #3: Chartreuse.

JT: Yeah, all right. How do you even spell that?

[[SFX: chuckles from the audience]]

JT: Okay, close enough. Let’s do one more.

Audience Member #4: Port of Call

JT: I love it. Now, let’s show this to the camera. Look at it, remember it. And watch for any sleight of hand.

[[SFX: Friendly chuckles]]

JT: The card is inside my coat pocket. And will be in one of your hands in just a few minutes. Now [grunts] this backpack weighs about 20 pounds. We are hoping to reiterate on the design and remove any excess weight in version 2.0 to make it more accessible to say the elderly or children perhaps.

[[SFX: High pitched electronic whirl continues throughout]]

JT: [raising voice to talk over the machine] As you can imagine, the calculations already taking place, as indicated by that noise, is extremely complex. It in fact, makes up 96% of the total travel time. After taking into account the destination coordinates, rotation of motion of the planets, and so on, Travel should take mere moments, I’ll be basically sidestepping through a portal into your room.

[[SFX: Electronic whirl increases in volume and pitch, continues throughout]]

JT: [raising voice further] At this point, you should be able to notice slight changes in the magnetic field. This will perhaps manifest in shivers through your skin, hairs standing on end. Coins, if they were still in circulation would feel practically weightless.

ONT: Actually, could I get everybody to—uh—just take a step back. Give him space to—

JT: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Tenbroi brothers give to you [pause] Port of Call.

 

---

 

Introduction

 

---

 

[[SFX: light coffee shop-esque talk continues throughout]]

Averi (A): The publication finally loosened your leash, huh?.

Braylen (B): Hey, Averi. How’s No Man’s Land been treating you?

A: Oh, you know. Recover from one annual reorg just in time for the next.

B: Which side of the border did you land on this time?

A: Unclear. There’s still a month before the paperwork is finished, but the way things are looking. You and I will be under the same umbrella.

B: That’s rough. I always admired Verum Gazette for their liberal criticism of… anyone.

A: So long as they’re not on the board of directors.

B: Still. Comparative freedom.

A: Eh, you serve one corrupt corporate entity, you’ve served them all. Just keep your pen to paper and everything’s fine.

B: I see a pretty big hole in that theory of yours.

A: Yeah?

B: When is the last time you’ve seen a piece of paper, much less wrote on one?

A: [slight chuckle] So what’s your first assignment? Puff? Column filler?

B: Actually, I scored exclusive interview rights.

A: No kidding? You must be nervous.

B: Extremely. Management wants the story live in less than an hour. Not to mention they compelled me the have [taps microphone] audio supervision.

A: Aww, your first shoulder mount. Baby Braylen is growing up.

B: [unamused, spoken word] Ha ha.

A: Lighten up. You’ll do fine.

B: What about you? If your publication is moving to the Northwest territory, wouldn’t your coverage be redundant.

A: Oh, I’m not reporting. I just wanted to see a human popsicle.

B: Come on, show some respect. She’s alive in there.

A: No, she’s a viable subject. They’re confident her heart will start. The rest, well…

B: I’ve seen the reports. They’ve come a long way in perfecting the process.

A: [scoffs] Perfecting. That’s what you call 60% chance of brain damage? Plus, a little birdy says she wasn’t a picture of health when she went in. Cancer. Stage 4.

B: For which, we have suitable treatments.

A: To stop further damage, not fix whatever was done to the poor woman during the dark ages.

B: Off by a century or ten, Ava.

A: They were still using chemo cocktails. Medicine named after booze. How much cruder can you get?

[[SFX: series of dings and tones, as heard before announcements]]

Voice over Intercom (VI): Would everyone please take a seat? The reanimation process is about to begin.

[[SFX: Air rushing from high pressure valves]]

[[SFX: Liquid travelling through tubes]]

A: [whispering] Bets on her first words?

B: [Matching volume] Whatever it is, every digital publication this side of the Rockies will have it plastered across their sites within the hour.

[[SFX: More releases of high pressure valves]]

Yakini Travere (YT): [deep gasps]

VI: Reanimation process complete.

[[SFX: light applause briefly, then dies off]]

YT: [gasps turn to heavy breathing] Tell me Sid Tenbroi died in prison like he deserved!

[[SFX: indistinctive murmurs]]

B: [Just above a whisper] Sid?

A: [Matching volume] Obsidian.

B: As in—?

A: —yep. Sure glad I don’t have to be the first one to talk to her.

Press Member #1: [Alarmed] Somebody grab her.

[[SFX: thud, body hitting tile floor]]

YT: Does anybody got a coat? It’s freezing.

 

---

 

B: Yakini Travere? Braylen Guillaume. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I know circumstances are strange in this case. Having made arrangements with agents of your… estate? That sounds wrong, assets? My point is, I feel for the fact that this interview caught you blind-sided and I appreciate that you were willing to follow through despite everything. Now, if we could—

YT: Young man, I refuse to answer any of your babbling until you answer the only question that matters to me. What happened to Sid Tenbroi? That’s T-E-N-B-R-O-I.

B: Yes, of Tenbroi industries. Most anybody you meet in this day and age will recognize the name. He’s sorta…President. Well, his company is. He died a long time ago—well, presumably—

YT: For real? How on earth does a company become President of the United States.

B: United Corporate Entities, actually. A lot has changed since 2056.

YT:  You gotta be kiddin’ me. How would anyone be alright with a that. Dang businesses running a country.

B: I mean, it was happening behind the scenes for decades, even back when you were… alive. That was poorly worded. At some point, we all just agreed to stop pretending.

YT: And now Tenbroi is president?

B: At the moment, yes. We’ll see if they stay at the end of the month after the annual reorg.

YT: The what, now?

B: Major corporation buy and sell smaller businesses every year. And at the end of everything, the entity with the largest combined assets is declared president. I’m grossly oversimplifying, there’s arguments over Martian assets, conversion rates—

YT: May I presume Sid Tenbroi released his [disgust] Port of Call?

B: You may.

YT: So Sid didn’t go to prison.

B: Definitely not.

YT: This is a nightmare.

B: I’m aware this is a tremendous amount to take in, but I am under a strict deadline. I do need to get through a few questions before—

YT: Sid murdered my husband!

B: Okay. Let me just—

[[SFX: Microphone being manhandled. Through the garble and thumps, Yakini’s next line is barely made out.]]

YT: What are you doin’?

B: I can’t… [heavy breathing]

[[SFX: Microphone being further manhandled.]]

B: [flustered, to self] Is there an off button?

YT: What is that?

B: [sigh] It’s an audio recorder. Every reporter wears one. Big corporations like to spy on their employees. Track where they go, what conversations they have. You know, make sure they don’t break any of the rules. Like I am now. Northwest Journalism is particularly harsh about enforcing their rules. [pause for emphasis] I work for Northwest Journalism.

YT: And? They have a rule against reporting actual news?

B: Northwest Journalism is owned by a shell which is, in turn, owned by Tenbroi Industries. It goes without saying the boss doesn’t appreciate bad press from their own networks. I can’t hear this. I can’t discuss this. I can’t report this.

YT: This is the story of the century. Lit-er-al-ly. You just gonna run from the truth cause a man in a suit told you to. This country ha’n’t changed one bit.

[[Long pause]]

B: I have just a few questions. Can we please focus on them.

[[Long pause]]

B: Can’t wait to explain this to Kior. Look. This interview isn’t going to work for a piece. I’m not going to bother with this story.

YT: Young man—

B: —Please let me finish! There’s no story here. But maybe, since we have a few extra minutes, I could indulge you a bit. Maybe, listen—for listening’s sake alone—[overly emphasized] another story. Perhaps a story about how your husband was… assaulted by a… let’s call him Sam. Sam Ten… brot. Do you understand what I’m saying?

YT: I’m old, not stupid.

B: [Not quite under his breath] Well, 60% chance.

YT: Excuse me?

B: Nothing. Please, continue.

YT: Jaxon was a good man. A big man. Twice as gentle. Like a teddy bear, he was. Was always good with kids, but I couldn’t have any on account of my medical problems. We dated a while before I had the strength to tell him that his greatest hope, being a father, wa’n’t meant to be. Not if he was gonna keep me around. That man didn’t flinch. We married that summer.

B: He sounds like a great man, Mrs. Travere.

YT: Young man, do not interrupt a storyteller.

B: Of course.

YT: We were happy for a long time. A life time, almost. But then I… got cancer. He worked two jobs. It was enough to keep a roof over our heads until. Being sick, though. Most expensive thing a person can do. What savings we had disappeared. I got worse. Jax, he started looking for a third job. That’s when—what’d you call him?

B: Sam.

YT: That’s when Sam walked into our lives. He needed people bad. Some party up north didn’t go as planned. Sam had to fix his machine in no time. Less than that. He offered Jax more money than we ever saw in our lives just to use that blasted machine once. One time too many.

B: The machine kil—uh, assaulted your husband?

YT: mmm-hm.

B: Then why have I never heard of this. Port—I mean, the machine is used daily, by thousands of people. It replaced air travel practically overnight. Such a horrific beginning would surely have made the history books.

YT: Well, I can’t tell you that. All I know is, it didn’t work then. Killed or maimed anyone who touched it. Including Jax.

B: I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Travere.

YT: Ain’t nothing to say sorry for. That man loved me through and through. That oughta be celebrated, not apologized away. Sam, he paid me and the other families for his broken machine. A lot of money to keep our mouths closed. I had a mind to put that money to use, honor poor Jax. Get better and spend the rest of my long life screaming to the world how he died. But the doctors, they told me otherwise. Gave me six months. You know, Sam, he stopped by just to laugh in my face. Finally have all this money, he said, and nothin’ to spend it on. That’s how I ended up in that ice cube. Least, I outlived him. Was hoping to outlive his legacy too, but seems that’d take a bit of help.

B: Ma’am, I wish I could, but, my…

YT: Shoulder devil.

B: Yeah. I promised I’d listen. Just listen.

YT: And if I had proof?

[[SFX: paper unfolding]]

YT: Kept his picture with me, clipped from the local paper.

B: [reading] Portland Tribune? This was before the great Corporate Takeover. I wonder which publication that became. Somewhere south of us. Hmm… Do you have the rest the article?

YT: You’ll look, then? For Jaxon.

B: No ma’am. I’ve made my position clear. Not me. But, give me 24 hours, maybe I can point you to a… real reporter.

YT: I’d appreciate that.

 

---

 

[[SFX: footsteps on tile floor echo]] 

B: Whoa

[[SFX: reverberation through the empty hall]]

A: Bray.

B: I know my interview was exclusive, but no one stayed for more questions?

A: They’re all racing to get their article out first. You know how precious those few seconds can be.

B: And you? Just here to—

A: Offer a bit of advice on her first words. “Does anybody got a coat?”

B: From what I recall, those weren’t her first words.

A: That’s what every news site in this territory is going to write and you know it. No one is dumb enough to attempt to challenge Tenbroi Industries. No one except you, Bray.

B: So, I’m supposed to lie.

A: If you don’t, your article is dead on arrival and your career in the field is over as soon as it began. Take my advice. Pen to paper.

B: When is the last time you’ve seen a piece of paper.

A: Her first words.

B: Much less wrote on one?

A: Her first words.

B: [sigh] “Does anybody got a coat?”

A: Pen to paper, Bray.

 

---

 

[[SFX: Mouse clicking]]

[[SFX: Sporadic typing between mouse clicks]]

B: [mumbling to himself indistinguishably]

Tyrus (T): Wasn’t your article due an hour ago?

B: Huh? Yeah, it’s live already.

T: [Exasperated] Then why are you still working?

B: [distracted] uh-huh.

T: Not an answer.

B: What? Hey, do you know what The Bite publication was called before the Corporate Takeover?

T: I failed history class.

B: hmm…

[[SFX: more typing and clicking throughout]]

T: All right, workaholic. I’m taking a trip down to archives and you’re coming with me.

B: I’m busy.

T: I know. Everyone in the office knows. And now I’m doing them all a favor by making you go to archives.

B: What do you need from archives?

T: Some land dispute back in ’89. Apparently someone before my time wrote the same think piece on it that I’ve been assigned. Nothing wrong with a little cheat sheet.

B: And why do I have to be involved in this?

T: Because I want to do as little work as possible, and last I checked, I’m your senior.

[[SFX: clicking and typing suddenly cut out]]

B: Wait a minute. Archives.

[[SFX: rolling chair quickly pushed back]]

[[SFX: bang into the side of a filing cabinet]]

B: I’d love to help. When did you say? ’56?

T: ’89. That’s not even close.

 

---

 

[[SFX: background hum of an air conditioner or water heater]]

[[SFX: mouse clicking in a monotonous, almost rhythmic pattern throughout]]

T: Awful lot of clicking going on for one measly article.

B: Want to come over here and help?

T: No. Someone’s gotta hold this wall up.

[[Voices fade for a moment, leaving just the background noises to fill the air]]

T: What would you have done if I called your bluff?

B: Would never have happened.

T: So what are you actually looking for? You know what, I don’t care. As long as you got me what I need.

B: It’s in your inbox.

T: Carry on.

B: When Tenbroi bought the network, did the contract allow them to purge archives?

T: I don’t think so, why?

B: I thought you didn’t want to know.

T: I don’t. So, be vague.

B: I’m looking for something—anything on a rather significant event. Any new site worth their salt would have covered it, I’m sure. But—

T: How far back?

B: …

T: Shot in the dark. ’56?

B: Starting to sound like a reporter.

T: That was over a century ago. There’s a thousand different ways something that old could have gotten lost along the way. And that’s assuming it was backed-up in the first place.

B: Yeah, I suppose.

T: Don’t go looking for conspiracies when simple basics of nature are good enough. Occam’s Razor and all that.

B: Now you really sound like a reporter.

T: I know. You’re a horrible influence.

[[SFX: Cell phone rings twice before cutting off]]

B: Guillaume… Yeah… Yeah? [countenance drops] I see. No, thank you for—for letting me know.

[[SFX: Cell phone disconnect]]

B: [releases long breath] Tyrus.

T: Huh?

B: Would you know of a way—If I needed a moment of privacy—to turn this damned recorder off.

T: I wouldn’t worry about it. If they get to listen in on all the juicy gossip, it’s only right that we make ‘em hear a few other juices too.

B: [edge of crying] That’s not… [half way between a breath and a sniff] That’s not what I meant.

T: Oh, man. Sorry, I didn’t—Sorry. Honestly, there’s no way to shut it off, but as long as you don’t red flag, no human is ever going to hear it. No need to stay composed for their sakes.

B: Thanks.

T: Someone pass?

B: Yeah.

T: A friend of yours?

B: Actually, only just met her today. But…

T: She was your ’56? Gave you a lead on a story you can’t follow-up on any longer?

B: With a little effort, you’d be a damn good reporter.

T: Then it’s a good thing I’m such a slacker.

[[Both share a melancholy chuckle]]

T: Go find a closet or whatever, I’ll finish up here.

B: Thanks.

T: And Bray.

B: Yeah?

T: Sorry, man. I mean it.

 

---

 

[[SFX: light wooden door closing]]

B: [sniffs and clears throat]

Kior (K): [from a distance] There you are, Braylen. Get your ass in here.

B: Yes, sir.

[[SFX: footsteps across carpeted concrete]]

K: [close now] Close the door.

[[SFX: metal door with blinds closes]]

K: I looked over your article, Braylen.

B: Okay? Was there a problem with it?

K: Third paragraph, second sentence. “Among her first words was a plea for warmth. [Quote] Does anybody got a coat? [Unquote].”

B: Yes?

K: Was it her first words or not? Did she say something else? If so, what was it? You’re giving the readers unnecessary questions. You’re verbose. Your language is imprecise. Three things I despise.

B: All due respect. Why are you wasting your time editing? We have… editors for that.

K: I seem to recall an exclusive interview with the subject of this piece. Our budget certainly recalls! And yet, no mention of one anywhere. What the hell’s going on here, Braylen?

B: Sir, there wasn’t a story to—

K: Any idea why I might have been searching your article in the first place, Braylen? Care to take a guess?

B: uhh…

[[SFX: folder slamming down on desk]]

K: You’ve been flagged. One of my reporters was fricking RED FLAGGED! What the hell happened over there?

B: I—I… You don’t know?

K: What’s that supposed to mean?

B: I just assumed they would have sent you a copy to listen through—

K: I don’t have time for that nonsense. You already wasted enough of my time. Beside, they don’t send recordings down this low. Don’t even send them to humans without a reason. But someone heard it. Sent a follow-up meeting with Mrs. Travere.

B: They what? What’d they say? What’d she say?

K: What’s it matter? That’s dozens of man hours on top of interview rights. I want an explanation!

B: Yeah, of course. But what’d she tell them? I just received a call—

K: You don’t get to make demands! That’s my job. Explanation! Now!

[Pause]

B: There’s a 60% chance of brain damage during the reanimation process.

K: You’re telling me she had brain damage?

B: I’m not a doctor, but yeah. She said a lot of things, some of it was incredibly rude, I’m sure she set off numerous flags. But, nothing she said was useful. And she definitely didn’t answer any questions. I made the most of an impossible position. What would you have done?

K: [single tsk] Damn it, you couldn’t have given me a heads up about the brain damage?

B: Didn’t want my first assignment to be a complete wash.

K: Fine, get out of here.

B: What about the second interview? Why wasn’t I told of it?

K: There’s nothing to tell. Whatever they discussed, they didn’t bother to tell me. Just sent this cryptic message.

B: Message?

K: Pen to paper.

B: Pen to paper.

K: Yeah, who even owns a pen anymore?

 

---

  

[[SFX: through earpiece, a phone rings 4 times, then picks up]]

A: This better be good.

B: Have I got a story for you.

A: And why would you just give me a story instead of posting it yourself?

B: Ava, I need you to listen. And I mean really [overly emphatic] listen.

A: Okay?

B: Have you heard about the Brot family?

A: Brot?

B: B-R-O-T. Don’t forget it. They’ve got themselves a whole clan. Think there’s TEN of them. Big enough they can push around just about anyone they want.

A: This isn’t ringing any bells. Have they been in the last couple news cycles?

B: I’m afraid they’re silencing anyone bringing light to a few old skeletons. Rocky family past, it seems.

A: Silencing how?

B: Murder. Maybe. I’m not positive. But they may have gotten to a recently made acquaintance of ours.

A: Let me guess. Slender, elderly black woman. Mild case of brain damage.

B: That’s the one.

A: Where are these guys operating out of? They have any criminal records I can lean on?

B: I could be seeing ghosts here. Maybe it’s nothing. But if you could take a look. I’ve been swamped lately.

A: Bray, I need more information. I still don’t even get why you’re telling me this.

B: I have faith in you. We’re all going to be under the same umbrella in the next month. Figured we should get a head start before all the Ts are dotted and I’s are crossed.

A: You mean I’s are dotted and T’s are crossed.

B: Right. Sometimes I confuse my I’s for T’s.

A: You said Brot?

B: Yes, Brot.

A: With a T?

B: Now you’re getting it.

A: And how many were there?

B: Ten.

A: Brot.

B: With a T.

[Pause]

A: Are you sure about this?

B: If you could take a look for me… preferably be discreet about it.

A: I’ll see what I can find.

B: Thanks.

A: In the meantime, Bray—

B: Yeah, I know—

Both: —Pen to paper.

 

---

 

[[SFX: High pitched electronic whirl continues throughout]]

JT: [raising voice to talk over the machine] As you can imagine, the calculations already taking place as indicated by that noise, is extremely complex. It in fact, makes up 96% of the total travel time. After taking into account the destination coordinates, rotation of motion of the planets, and so on, Travel should take mere moments, I’ll be basically sidestepping through a portal into your room.

[[SFX: Electronic whirl increases in volume and pitch, continues throughout]]

JT: [raising voice further] At this point, you should be able to notice slight changes in the magnetic field. This will perhaps manifest in shivers through your skin, hairs standing on end. Coins, if they were still in circulation, would feel practically weightless.

ONT: Actually, could I get everybody to—uh—just take a step back. Give him space to—

JT: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Tenbroi brothers give to you [pause] Port of Call.

[[SFX: Variant on the standard “portal thwoomp”]]

[[SFX: Audience gasping in horror]]

JT: [violent dying breaths]

[[SFX: Audience murmuring amongst themselves, in a flurry]]

ONT: Oh my—let’s—uh—everyone out. Everyone out now, please. Now!

[[SFX: Audience murmuring die away]]

[[SFX: Closing/Locking doors]]

ONT: Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

OBT: For once, I prefer your bumbling, Nyx. What is it? Where’s Jet?

ONT: We killed him. He’s dead. Oh my god, he’s dead. I don’t understand it. Every test has been textbook. I guess when we tested with the rats, they seemed a little spooked. But—

OBT: No. I cannot accept this. We are so close to releasing. We’ve already bought ports across the United States. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t accept this!

ONT: Jet’s dead, Sid.

OBT: No. He can’t be!

ONT: How about a magic trick, since you’re so fond of them. What’s this inside his jacket? Is this your card?

[Pause]

ONT: What are we going to do?

OBT: We’re going to release on time. We still have a week. I’ll buy as many last minute volunteers as I can find. We’ll work all hours until you fix this.

ONT: Me?

OBT: You must keep this quiet. Pay the guests if you have to, but they cannot breathe a word of this to the press.

ONT: And what about—uh—what about Jet?

OBT: Port him back to me.

ONT: Port? You saw what it just did? What if—

OBT: What, Nyx? He’s already dead. Port him back!

[[SFX: High pitched electronic whirl starts up again]]

OBT: We’ll make this work. Port of Call will be in every major city by week’s end… whatever it takes.