Gattaca Page #13

Jerome, always aware, scanning the club, suddenly spies

NAPOLEON, his Gattaca colleague, on the other side of the

room. Napoleon is taking a hit from a vial concealed in his

hand. Jerome abruptly turns his back to avoid being recognized.

JEROME:

Let's get out of here.

EUGENE:

(knocking back his drink,

misinterpreting the hasty departure)

You're right, there's more atmosphere

where you're going.

INT/EXT. CAR. NIGHT.

Driving along the freeway, Jerome's car suddenly dives down an

escape road. EUGENE looks sideways at JEROME.

JEROME:

You drive.

INT/EXT. CAR. NIGHT.

The car careens around and around a small circular building -

a cloud of dust billowing up behind the car. We focus on a

BRICK wedged against the car's gas pedal.

EUGENE is at the wheel, JEROME in the passenger seat.

The hard turn is repeated with increasing recklessness, Eugene

fighting to control the bucking car.

EUGENE:

(screaming in both fear and exhilaration)

I gotta stop!! I gotta stop!!

JEROME:

Keep going!! Keep going!!

Finally the car spins to a halt in a cloud of dust. When the

dust settles it is revealed that they have been circling the

base of a huge satellite dish in a desolate location.

EXT. SATELLITE DISH. NIGHT.

EUGENE lies on the hood of the car, leaning against the

windshield, drinking from a bottle of vodka. In the

background, the unmanned satellite dish. JEROME relieves

himself against the building at the base of the satellite.

EUGENE:

(gently chiding Jerome over the joyride)

You idiot. You could ruin everything

with a stunt like that.

Eugene spies a spacecraft launching from Gattaca city.

EUGENE:

(gazing up into the night sky)

At least up there your piss will be worth something.

(smiling at the thought)

You'll all be showering in it, right?

JEROME:

(zipping his fly)

And drinking it. It's like Evian by the

time it's filtered.

EUGENE:

(referring to the rocket ship)

What is that one?

Jerome doesn't bother to look in the direction of the craft but

merely glances to his watch. He joins Eugene on the hood of the

car.

JEROME:

(looking at his watch)

11.15 to the port. A maintenance crew.

EUGENE:

How long do you stay up there before you go?

JEROME:

A day or so.

EUGENE:

(beaming)

I still can't believe they're sending you to

the Belt--you of all people--never meant to be

born, on a mission to discover the origin

of life.

Eugene laughs to himself and passes the bottle to Jerome.

JEROME:

You should be going instead of me.

Jerome taps Eugene's lifeless legs with his foot.

JEROME:

Up there they wouldn't be a problem.

EUGENE:

(glancing heavenwards, shaking his head)

You know I'm scared of heights.

INT. CRIME LABORATORY - AUTOPSY ROOM. NIGHT.

The body and clothing of the MISSION DIRECTOR, lying on a metal

examining table is scanned with a blue-light magnifying

instrument. Fingernail specimens are taken for analysis. In

another area of the laboratory, the labelled vacuum bags are

attached to analyzers and the contents sucked out and

automatically identified. ID names and photographs of GATTACA

EMPLOYEES begin appearing on a computer screen at high speed

along with other personal details - all data automatically

logged for later review.

The photographs and personal details of JEROME and IRENE flash

past, amongst the faces of other employees.

We focus on a magnified close up of JEROME'S EYELASH, still

clinging stubbornly to the side of its specimen bag. We

continue to follow its journey as it is finally sucked into the

analyzer.

INT. CRIME LAB - ANALYZER MACHINE. NIGHT.

Inside the machine, a minute, cell-thin sliver is sliced from

JEROME'S EYELASH and analyzed.

INT. INVESTIGATOR'S CRIME LAB. NIGHT.

A severed HUMAN TONGUE sits on a tray in a sterile, sealed

chamber. Using gloves that protrude through the chamber's glass

wall, face buried in a binocular eyepiece, the INVESTIGATOR

takes a swab from the tongue.

INVESTIGATOR:

(to the tongue, as he inserts the

tip of the swab into an analyzer)

Let's see what you've got to say for yourself.

A FEMALE ASSISTANT, looking on, hardly has time to smile at the

remark before information begins to appear on a nearby computer

terminal. The computer gradually builds a portrait of the owner

of the tongue using genetic predictors. The Investigator

wanders over to the window as his Assistant reads the

information from the screen.

ASSISTANT:

The tongue is male. Mature. Blonse hair.

Brown eyes. Light complexion. Between

5'11 and 6'1. Pronounced Caucasian nose.

Thin lips. Weak chin. Lobeless ears.

Prematurely balding. Slightly bow-legged.

Broad shoulders. Barrel chest...

(pause)

Blind.

INVESTIGATOR:

(interest piqued)

Blind?

(mildly amused, checking the

monitor for himself)

The tongue is blind?

ASSISTANT:

(confused)

Who cuts out the tongue of a blind man?

INVESTIGATOR:

(shrugs)

Someone who is mindful that the blind

still speak.

The INVESTIGATOR is alerted by the chime of his nearby computer.

On the screen, he discovers the face of 20-YEAR-OLD VINCENT

and the accompanying flashing message: TRACKING IN-VALID

883000181105-10 - NEW DATA -

INT. CONDOMINIUM COMPLEX - PARKING GARAGE. NIGHT.

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