The Relic Page #4

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INT. PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY LAB - DAY

Huge centrifuges, hissing autoclaves, electrophoresis apparati,

glowing monitors, elaborate blown-glass distillation columns and

titration set-ups. One of the most advanced technical facilities of

its kind. And mixed in with all the modern machinery are

SKELETONS OF ALL KINDS. Complete homo sapien specimens are scattered

around the room. Standing midst all this is GREGORY KAWAKITA, early

twenties. Kawakita makes sharp, jerky overhead movements with his left

hand, waving something about. He's practicing casting. We hear the

zing of a line and the whirring of the fly reel as MARGO ENTERS. A fly

whips out, passing right under her nose.

KAWAKITA:

Third from the end! Right shoulder.

Aleut, provenance unknown.

The fly zooms across the room and lights on the shoulder of the third

skeleton from the end, labeled "Aleut, provenance unknown." Margo

rolls her eyes and Kawakita smiles with pride.

KAWAKITA:

If I spent half the time on my

Fractal Evolution thesis that I

spend on this fly rod, I'd have my

PhD.

MARGO:

(small smile)

But at what a price.

Kawakita reels in his line as Margo drops her backpack on her large

desk. An enormous MICROSCOPE stands by the equally imposing computer

topped by a tiger skull. A screen saver of an animated pterodactyl

plays. Margo unpacks boxes of fossil teeth, hits some keys revealing

columns of seemingly indecipherable chemical equations on the computer

screen.

MARGO:

I have the species identification on

these teeth. We can extract DNA and

start running tests on the

extrapolator program. Call Dr.

Frock. He wanted a demonstration.

KAWAKITA:

Margo, you haven't heard?

MARGO:

What?

KAWAKITA:

Frock's been fired.

Margo straightens, stunned.

MARGO:

That's impossible.

KAWAKITA:

(awkward)

I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad

tidings, but you know me. Telegraph.

Telephone. Tell Kawakita. I got the

definitive word from Cuthbert's

secretary. This is Dr. Frock's last

week.

Margo is already out the door.

INT. CORRIDORS/STAIRWELL - MUSEUM - DAY

Margo charges through double doors leading into the southwest tower.

She half runs down an elegant, Edwardian fifth-floor corridor, her

footsteps lost in the thick carpet. At the very end is a heavy oak

door bearing a plate entwined with bronze leaves that reads simply

"Dr. Frock".

INT. FROCK'S OFFICE - DAY

Margo bursts into the unique office, which is in startling contrast to

the modernity of her own. Two large bow windows look out over the

park. Upholstered Victorian chairs in a leaf motif sit on needlepoint

carpets featuring large red roses. Plant specimens and drawings of

flora and fauna line the walls. Cardboard boxes cover the floor.

Seated in a wheelchair is a white-haired man in a tweed jacket and a

loud floral tie. Glasses slip down his nose.

This is DR. FROCK, and he's in the middle of packing. He looks up,

smiles apologetically.

DR. FROCK

Hello, Margo. Sorry about the mess.

MARGO:

Is it true? Greg said you'd been

fired.

FROCK:

Yes. Bit of a shock. But as Cuthbert

so tactfully put it, the museum

needs new blood. And since I've been

here since the Mesozoic Era --

MARGO:

I don't believe it.

FROCK:

Now Margo, don't overreact. Cuthbert

has to cut costs somehow. My leaving

makes perfect sense. This isn't

exactly early retirement. I've

overstayed the party a bit.

MARGO:

We can't do without you. You're one

of the foremost authorities on

primitive pharmacology. You're

practically an institution around

here.

FROCK:

That, apparently, is the problem.

I'm yesterday's news. Who needs a

Curator of Plant Biology in a museum

with one exhibit on plants? Monsters

and dinosaurs, cannibals and shamans

are the new currency of the realm.

Frock goes back to his work packing to hide his emotion and Margo

moves to his side. She pulls Frock's books back out of the box,

returns them to his desk.

MARGO:

"Phyletic Transformation and the

Tertiary Fern Spike" is not going

anywhere. I'll talk to Cuthbert and

put a stop to this right now.

She starts for the door and Frock wheels into her path. Now for the

first time she sees what he's been carefully hiding... the deep pain in

his eyes.

FROCK:

Please. Don't humiliate me further.

MARGO:

Let me help. I can take care of

everything.

FROCK:

No, Margo. This is one problem you

can't solve. You have to stay out of

it. The fact is, I want to retire.

MARGO:

How can you say that? You know it's

not true.

FROCK:

Yes it is. I'm tired and I'm no

longer needed --

MARGO:

My work on fossil intermediates

would be crippled without you.

FROCK:

With all due respect, dear, that's

bull. You dance rings around me with

your new technology. You've left me

in the dust.

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