(The Zocalo of Babylon 5, a long shot. Theme music {perky, bouncy, traveling music}. The camera is tracking down the long axis of the station.
We see Garibaldi's head whizzing along, sometimes just above the tops of the stall counters and sometimes obscured by intervening people or structures, out of sight ... occasionally for long periods.)
Title: The Tour of Duty
Garibaldi is obscured a few more times, then disappears from sight. There is a screech of brakes and bustin' glass, mixed with the scream of a frightened hen and a stifled shout of alarm. We are still in long shot and see nothing. The music stops abruptly on the crash.)
Garibaldi (Voice Over): April 10th. Fell off in Red 12. The exhaust caught in my trouser leg, and my sandwiches were badly crushed.
(Cut to interior of cafe. A rather surly proprietor (Bo) with cigarette in mouth is operating an Espresso machine. Garibaldi, in sweater and trousers, is leaning over the counter, talking chattily).
Garibaldi (small abrasion under right eye): The exhaust caught in my trouser leg, and my sandwiches were badly crushed.
Bo: 2 credits. (He goes back to working the machine).
Garibaldi: These sandwiches, however, were an excellent substitute.
(Enormous dockworker {Mack} comes up to counter)
Mack: 10 subs to go, Bo.
Garibaldi: Hello!
(Mack spares him a withering glance, goes off with subs)
Garibaldi: It's funny how you can go through life, as I have, disliking bananas and being indifferent to processed cheese spread, and then be able to eat, and enjoy, a banana and processed cheese sandwich like that.
Bo: 2 credits.
Garibaldi: Right. I only have a 5. Do you have change?
Bo (with heavy sarcasm): I'll look, but I may have to run down to the bank.
(Bo fumbles around, gives him change)
Bo: 3 credits.
Garibaldi: Oh, good. Well, all the very best. (Garibaldi proffers his hand. Bo ignores it) Thank you for the excellent sandwich.
(He bustles out. Bo looks after him, shakes his head, and absent-mindedly flicks his cigarette ash in the Espresso machine.)
(Cut to B5 corridor. Theme music. Long shot. Garibaldi's head zipping along, being obscured. At the same point in the music his head is obscured for a long period. Squeal of brakes, etc. as before mingled with grunting of pig.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): April 15th. Fell off in Green 5.
Cut to a woman, busy sorting merchandise. Behind her we see Garibaldi's head peering over the counter)
Garibaldi (has a contusion on left forehead also): ... and the exhaust caught in my trouser leg.
(She carries on sorting, trying to ignore him)
Garibaldi: And that's why they were damaged...(no reaction)...the eggs...you remember...the hard-boiled eggs I was telling you about...(he comes round to the door of the booth and leans familiarly against the jamb)...they were in a Tupperware container, supposedly self-sealing, which fell open on contact. (He looks for a reaction. She goes on sorting, very butch)...in the corridor...(he looks again for a glimmer of interest)...right over there...(again no reaction). That shouldn't happen to a self-sealing container, should it?
(Woman leaves sorting, walks out of shot. Garibaldi waits for a few moments)
Garibaldi (shouting): What do *you* keep your hard-boiled eggs in? (No reaction) I think in the future I will tape them to the handlebars. Then that won't happen again. Well, I can't stop here all day...must press on...I'm touring the station by motorcycle.
(Cut to corridor again. Garibaldi's head...etc. Theme music. At same point...out of sight...sound of crash and cow moos.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): April 16th. Fell off near Blue 20. The exhaust caught in my trouser leg. I will wear shorts from now on.
(Cut to another corridor. Garibaldi's head...theme music..crash)
Garibaldi (V.O.): Fell off near Brown 16. Perhaps a shorter exhaust is the answer.
(Cut to dingy corridor, deserted except for an old woman. Garibaldi motors into shot, carefully parks his motorcycle. He is in leather shorts with biker boots. He approaches the old lady.)
Garibaldi (nose is bloodied also): Excuse me mam, can you tell me of a good motorcycle shop near here, where I could shorten my exhaust, or, if that won't work, buy a shorter one?
She looks at him as if he is daft and nods her head, indicating the wall to her right. Camera pans very slightly to the right to reveal a shop with a huge sign, covering the wall:
"RABBI BEN SLIME: CIRCUMCISIONS AND EXHAUSTS SHORTENED -- WHILE-U-WAIT"
(After a second the camera pans back to Garibaldi and the old woman)
Garibaldi: Well, that's convenient.
(Cut to interior of shop. A knock on the door. The Rabbi is wearing a motorcycle jacket and a yamaka with a WWI German helmet spike in the middle.)
Ben: Oy vey! Come in already.
Garibaldi: A very good morning to you Rabbi.
Ben: I gather you had an accident?
Garibaldi: Yes, my exhaust got...
Ben: ...caught in your sock.
Garibaldi: Yes, and my fruit cake was damaged on one side.
Ben: Well...
Garibaldi: It's got dust all over it.
Ben: Well, were you hurt?
Garibaldi: I escaped without injury fortunately.
(Pause)
Ben: Well, what *can* I do for you?
Garibaldi: Oh...Yes...I'd like my exhaust shorted, please.
Ben: I've got a two-for-one special. 10 credits more and you can have a circumcision.
Garibaldi: Oh no, really, thanks, just the exhaust.
Ben: You look like a nice boy. I'll tell you what. For you...only 9 credits and I'll throw in a tube of anaesthetic cream.
Garibaldi: No...quite sure...just the exhaust.
Ben: As you say. (Starts rummaging around behind counter)
Garibaldi: But it is interesting. How did you come to combine circumcision and exhaust shortening into one business?
Ben (straightens up with HUGH pipe cutter): One tool fits all.
(Garibaldi finches and his hands instinctively more to protect his genitals.)
(Cut to the corridor again. Garibaldi's head...theme music...reaches the same point as before...head disappears, the music cuts off...but no crash. Camera stops tracking. Suddenly, Garibaldi's head appears near the edge of the shot. Camera quickly tracks over to Garibaldi and the music starts up again)
Garibaldi (V.O.): April 18th. Did not fall off outside C&C.
(Cut to a cafeteria area. Lots of people sitting eating. Garibaldi's head just over the crowd. Theme music. He is suddenly obscured. The music stops as there is a crash.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): Fell off in Brindle 10.
(Cut to a discreet corner of Erhart's. Carpet and soft music. A middle-aged businessman and a sexy secretary, who obviously want to be alone, are sitting huddled over a small table. On a third chair sits Garibaldi, his glass of water barely finding room on the table.)
Garibaldi: My leg got caught in my trousers and that's how the water bottle broke.
Girl: Tell her today. Use the public channel to Earth.
Man: I can't. I can't.
Garibaldi: I said you'd never guess.
Man: 16 years we've been together. I can't just use a public channel.
Girl: If you can't do it now, you never will.
Garibaldi: Do you like ISN?
Man (to Garibaldi): What? No. NO.
Girl: Do you want me or not? It's your decision, Jack!
Garibaldi: I suppose it's still available here?
Girl: Do you want me or not, Jack?
Man: What?
Garibaldi: ISN
Girl: Yes or No!
Garibaldi: Is it available here?
Man (to Garibaldi) I don't know.
Girl: In that case, it's good-bye forever, Jack!
Man: No! I mean, Yes.
Garibaldi: Oh. So it is available.
Man (to Garibaldi): No.
Girl: You never *could* make up your mind.
Man: I can...I have.
Girl (pulling off ring): Good-bye Jack! (She runs out sobbing).
Man: No...wait...Lucy!
Garibaldi: Does your daughter like ISN?
Man (tuning on Garibaldi): Would you like me to show you the door?
Garibaldi: Well, that's very thoughtful, but I saw it on the way in.
(The man starts to grapple ineffectually with Garibaldi, who has no trouble fending him off)
Garibaldi: I had just fallen off...and my cheese tartlet had become embedded in the...
Man: Damn your cheese tartlet!
Garibaldi: ...generator...which wasn't working...
(Two bouncers come up and bodily carry Garibaldi away.)
(Cut to exterior of Emhart's. Garibaldi picks himself up. Sees girl outside, still sobbing.)
Garibaldi: Just had a nice chat with your Dad.
(Girl bursts into further tears. Whistling cheerfully, Garibaldi gets on his motorcycle and, happier than he has been for a long time, heads down the corridor and into the shuttle bay. Sounds of tire screech as Garibaldi drives straight into a shuttle.)
(Cut to interior of shuttle in hyperspace. Garibaldi is in right-hand seat. Marcus Cole is piloting.)
Garibaldi: Yes.. my rubber instep caught on the rear mud-guard stanchion and...
Marcus: Really? And what happened to your corned beef rolls?
Garibaldi: They were smashed beyond all recog...Now just a minute. How did you know about the corned beef rolls?
Marcus: I saw them -- or what remained of them. I noticed also that the lemon curd tart had sustained some superficial damage.
Garibaldi: The curd had become...
Marcus: Detached from the pastry base.
Garibaldi (with some surprise): Yes...that's absolutely right!
Marcus: Otherwise the contents of the lunch box were relatively unharmed, though I detected small chrome shavings in the chocolate cup cakes.
Garibaldi: But they were wrapped in foil!
Marcus: Not the hard chocolate top, I'm afraid.
Garibaldi: Damn, that's the part I liked.
Marcus: But I couldn't see whether the salami was damaged.
Garibaldi (coldly): Only my wife gets a look at my salami.
Marcus (flustered, as he realizes the double entendre): Oh...of course...same with me.
Garibaldi: What!! My wife gets a look at your salami.
Marcus: No...no...not at all. What I meant was, only *my* wife gets a look at my salami.
Garibaldi (becoming mollified): Ah...yes...your wife. So how long have you been married?
Marcus: Well, to tell the truth, I'm not.
Garibaldi: What, not married? Then why'd you say that you were married?
Marcus: I mean to say...I mis-spoke just then. If I *were* married, then my wife would be the only one to get a look at my salami.
Garibaldi (thinks it over): Then who does look at your salami?
Marcus: No...bloody...one, more's the pity.
(After this outburst Garibaldi is subdued for a moment, then he says in a small voice).
Garibaldi: Actually, I think my salami is bruised.
Marcus: It is not.
Garibaldi: It could be.
Marcus: It's fine.
Garibaldi: Awful spill back there.
Marcus: Well, I'm not going to kiss your boo-boo. Besides, it's not your salami that's bruised, it's your garlic.
Garibaldi: Garlic? (Garibaldi tries to think of what unmentionable body part could be euphemistically called the 'garlic'. He mumbles to himself and keeps shaking his head.)
Marcus: Garlic! (He reaches into lunch box and pulls out a clove of garlic.) It's stinking up the whole bloody shuttle:
Garibaldi (looking crushed): Oh no!!! Now I can't make my Tuti Il Brosco!!!
Marcus: Huh!
Garibaldi: You take one stick of butter and melt it in a sauce pan. When it's bubbling hot, you drop in one, whole, UNBRUISED, clove of garlic. Quickly smother that with a quarter cup of heavy cream and whisk into a white sauce. Add the already cooked pasta and turn out onto a bed of crumbled parmesan cheese. Serves two.
Marcus: It's just a little bruise.
Garibaldi: Though I suppose that I could make Oleo E'Agliho.
Marcus: Huh!
Garibaldi: Take one clove of garlic. Lightly bruise it and rub the inside of the pan. Then melt one stick of butter, add crumbled parmesan cheese and a quarter cup of heavy cream. Blend and turn out onto a bed of already cooked pasta. Serves two.
Marcus: That would work.
Garibaldi: But is the garlic lightly bruised or heavily bruised? Might you call it crushed?
Marcus: And if it's crushed.
Garibaldi: Why then it's only good for Cosi Il'ya Gusto.
Marcus: Huh?
Garibaldi: Bring to a simmer, but do not boil, one quarter cup of heavy cream. Cut one stick of butter into enough crumbled parmesan cheese until the butter-cheese combination is pea sized. Drop into simmering cream and immediately turn out onto a crushed clove of garlic. Pre-cooked pasta on the side. Serves two.
Marcus: Now wait just a minute. All of those dishes had exactly the same ingredients. They're all the same.
Garibaldi: No they're not!
Marcus: Are too. Cream, butter, parmesan cheese, pasta, and bloody garlic!
Garibaldi: Well that's the secret of authentic Italian cooking. All the same ingredients...but what you do in the mixing makes all the difference.
Marcus: You're putting me on.
Garibaldi: Moi?
Marcus: That's not the secret of Italian cooking. You forgot oregano and tomato paste. What's Italian cooking without oregano and tomato paste.
Garibaldi: Hunan?
Marcus: No...I mean you can't have Italian cooking without oregano and tomato paste.
Garibaldi: Oh...right...I left out the last step. Smother with tomato paste and sprinkle with oregano to taste.
Marcus: Now that's more like it.
(pause)
Garibaldi: How do you know so much about food?
Marcus: I'm making a special study of accidents involving food.
Garibaldi: Really?
Marcus: Do you know that in our laboratories we have produced a banana and processed cheese sandwich that can withstand an impact of 4,000 lbs. per square inch?
Garibaldi (burps): Good heavens!
Marcus: Amazing, isn't it? We have also developed a tomato which ejects itself when an accident is about to happen.
Garibaldi: Even if it's inside an egg and tomato roll?
Marcus: Anywhere!! Even if it's in your stomach, and it senses an accident, it will come up your throat and head for an escape pod. Do you realize what this means?
Garibaldi: Don't clench your teeth just before an accident?
Marcus: No you ninny! It means safer food. No longer will food be damaged, crushed or squashed by the incompetent pilot. (Becoming messianic) Whole picnics will be built to survive the most enormous forces! Snacks will be indestructible! An ordinary pot of Jell-O, treated in our laboratories, has been subjected to the force of a 9,000 lb. steam hammer every day for the last 6 years. And has it broken?
Garibaldi: Er...
Marcus: Of course it has, you ninny!
(A tomato pops out of the glove compartment and hovers, then jets to an escape pod and ejects)
Garibaldi: That tomato just ejected!!!
Marcus: Really?
Garibaldi: Yes
Marcus (embracing Garibaldi): It works! It works!
(Crash and cut to black)
(Fade up, long tacking shot in corridor of B5. Same as opening scene except Marcus' bandaged head is behind Garibaldi. Music is "These Are a Few of My Favorite Things" from Sound of Music. Marcus's head bobs rhythmically.
Garibaldi (V.O.): What a strange turn this tour has taken. Marcus appears to have lost his memory and, far from being interested in safer food, is convinced that he is Julie Andrews! I am taking him for medical treatment.
(Cut to Garibaldi and Marcus driving up wheelchair ramp into hospital. Sign: "Vorlon District Central Hospital -- The Best Socialized Medicine Your Taxes Can Buy.")
(Cut to nurse receptionist in interior of hospital. Noise of splintering wood and crash out of view. Camera pans to benches in waiting area. Garibaldi has driven into first bench which has collapsed in the middle. Half a dozen or so patients sitting on it have slid into a heap in the middle where they prop up the motorcycle. Some have burnt hands, bandages, bloody heads, etc. Garibaldi and Marcus disentangle themselves and the camera tracks Garibaldi as he advances to the desk.)
Nurse: What can I do for you?
Garibaldi: Not 'What do you want?'?
Nurse: We *never* say that here! (she makes a sign with her hand to ward off the evil eye.)
Garibaldi: Well, I am at present on a motorcycle tour of Babylon 5.
Nurse: Could I have your name please?
Garibaldi: Not "Who are you?'?
Nurse: No, silly! You could be the Queen of England for all I care! I just need your name for this claims form. Can't get reimbursed without a form.
Garibaldi: My name is Garibaldi.
Nurse: OK, Garry. Now what's your last name. And if I may say so, you shouldn't take to yourself labels that other people have given you. I mean...'Baldy'. That's just a tag that other people have hung on you to make up for their own lack of self-esteem. Don't call yourself 'Baldy.' Think of yourself as reflectively enabled.
Garibaldi: My first name is Michael, but...
Nurse: How silly of me. Of course, Michael Garry. I just assumed that Garry was your first name...short for Gerald (though that might be Gerry) but anyone could have made that mistake...
Garibaldi: My last name is Garibaldi, all one word, and there's nothing wrong with my hair!!!
Nurse: I see...
Garibaldi: I had just had this delightful conversation at Erhart's...
(Sound of terrific crash. Cut to an ambulance on its side. The patient, still strapped to the gurney, has slid half-way out. A wave of hospital instruments and bottle comes pouring out over him.)
Nurse: Sh!!!!
Garibaldi: And I was just heading down to the shuttle bay...
Nurse: Where were you injured?
Garibaldi: Not...no I guess nobody's asking that question! Well, it was just as you turn into the shuttle bay there's this low steam pipe that you're gotta duck under and you can't really see where you're going...though why you'd have a steam pipe on a modern space station...
Nurse: No - on your body...
Garibaldi: Ah no.. it's not I who was injured, it's my friend. (Adding in a small voice) Though I may have bruised my salami.
(Nurse scowls, crumples up claim form and throws it away. The piece of paper hits a glass cabinet covering the back wall which topples forward. A small wave of broken glass and bottles washes over the Nurse's feet.)
Nurse: Let's start again...Name?
Garibaldi: Garibaldi.
Nurse (long sufferingly): Your *friend's* name.
Garibaldi: Julie Andrews...
Nurse: Julie Andrews!!!
Garibaldi: Well...since about 4:30...
Nurse: ...well, I think you ought to tell Dr. Kosh... Doctor!!
(Cut to patient in a wheelchair being pushed down ramp. The handles detach. The nurse is left holding the handles as the wheelchair accelerates out of the shot.)
Patient (Off Camera): Aaaaaagh!
(There is a terrific crash. Cut to doors, which are flying open, knocking over a nurse with a tray of surgical instruments. The instruments fly out of the shot and from off camera comes a series of shrieks and gurgles.)
(Marcus pauses in the door, looks toward the shrieks and winces, then hurries up to Garibaldi.)
Marcus: No time to lose - we must make for Narn tonight. (grabs Garibaldi and pulls him out.)
(They rush to the bench where nurses and orderlies have just finished disentangling the injured patients from the motorcycle. They hop on.)
Garibaldi: Thanks ever so much. (He accelerates straight ahead, over the next bench, which collapses, spilling its patients.)
(Cut to camp fire at midnight. A desolate setting. By the light of the fire, Garibaldi is updating his personal log.)
Garibaldi (to link): June 4th. We are now on Narn. But Marcus' plans are changed. Marcus wishes to go on to Z'Ha'Dum. He is neglecting his rehearsals for the InterStelar Entertainment's "Narn Homeless Benefits Concert."
(Marcus enters the scene. His head is still bandaged. His goatee seems smaller, pointier.)
Garibaldi: Hello
Marcus: We cannot stay here. We must leave immediately. There is a ship heading to Z'Ha'Dum.
Garibaldi: But the ISE Special. All the Narn homeless that you will help!
Marcus: I have seen an agent in the city. My life is in danger!
Garibaldi: Danger?
Marcus (becoming more bombastic as the scene progresses): Morden has always hated me. The Shadows always loved him best!!
Garibaldi: No one hates you, Marcus.
Marcus: I will not let myself fall into the hands of these scum.
Garibaldi: I suggest that you take a nap. You have a busy day of interviews and promotional visits tomorrow.
Marcus: I...One of the founders of the greatest alliances in the galaxy. I! Who Justin called his greatest friend.
Garibaldi: Perhaps you should practice. I notice you can't quite cover four octaves any more.
Marcus: I! Who have fought and suffered that all people should live free. I! Before whom even Bester quailed!!
Garibaldi: Bester! Did you say, Bester
Marcus (in a normal tone): Yes, Bester. I said Bester. You know..Good..Better..Bester.
Garibaldi: We are off to Z'Ha'Dum in a hot New York minute.
Marcus: Justin. My friend. I come. (He dashes off, possessed.)
(Cut to a few quick shots of Marcus dashing through the night and then of Garibaldi searching for him on the motorcycle.)
(Cut to street in THE CITY of Z'Ha'Dum. Garibaldi and Marcus are on the motorcycle. Garibaldi's face has healed.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): After several days I succeeded in tracking down Marcus. After transferring at Braki homeworld...
(Cut to military man in studio. He has a star chart hanging on the wall and a pointer which he uses to rap the chart as he names stars.)
Military man: Braki homeworld. 52 light years from Sol. 17 light years from Epsilon Eriadni. 20 light years from Centauri Prime.
(Cut back to Garibaldi.)
Garibaldi: Thank you. I decided to check...
Garibaldi (V.O.): I decided to check...
Garibaldi: No. You go on.
Garibaldi: I decided to check into a hotel while I visited the IA Embassy to ask for help in returning to Babylon 5.
(By the end of this speech, they are leaving the motorcycle on the curb and entering a door with the sign "Y.M.A.A." over it, looking like a Y.M.C.A. logo.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): And so we registered at the Z'Ha'Dum Young Men's Atheist Association.
(Cut to military man.)
Military man: Y.M.A.A. Corner of Darwin Drive and Freud Way.
Garibaldi (by now standing at the reception desk with Marcus, to military man): Go away!
(Clerk departs)
Garibaldi (to departing clerk): No..not you. A single room for my friend please.
Clerk: Yes sir. Bugged or unbugged?
Marcus: I think I'd feel happier with a bugged one.
Clerk: One bugged with bath.
(As Marcus starts to sign the register, Garibaldi starts to leave. He says...)
Garibaldi: Why don't you take a short nap. I'm just off to the Embassy. (He goes.)
(Desk Clerk looks at register.)
Clerk: Jack!!! My lack of God, it's Jack!
(A crowd rushes in excitedly.)
Marcus: Comrades. Chaos is not just a philosophy, it's a way of life... (Fade.)
(Mix through to sign: "Interstellar Alliance Consulate Z'Ha'dum". Sing on is wrought iron fence. Garibaldi pulls up on cycle, puts it on kick-stand, and goes in. Imperial music.)
(Mix through to interior .. air is hazy .. floor is cluttered .. strange lights are running up and down the walls. Zathras approaches.)
Garibaldi: Excuse me. Is this the IA Consulate?
Zathras: Yes, yes...That is correct. Yes. IA Consulate...John Sheridan...Woohoo.
Garibaldi: I wish to see the consul, please.
Zathras: That's right...so you do...and you are...speak up...Zathras IA consul.
Garibaldi: Oh! ( He punches his link a couple of times then holds it up to his ear.) Are you ... Rear Admiral Dudley de Vere Compton Bart then?
Zathras: No. Zathras, Zathras. Always Zathras. Always be Zathras. Never anything but Zathras. Except maybe someday dead. That's what happen to him..
Garibaldi: Who?
Zathras: Man you ask about. He died. He have heart attack and fell out of window onto exploding bomb. Then was run over in a shooting accident. Nasty business. Very messy. Zathras clean up. They tell Zathras, 'You consul now.' Zathras not know what consul do, but Zathras do it. Zathras always does what he's told.
Garibaldi: Oh, I see.
Zathras: Perhaps a drink. A game of Bingo!
Garibaldi: Well ... a *drink* might be pleasant.
(Zathras snaps fingers. Another Zathras appears and bows obsequiously.)
Z1: Zathras. Go and get whiskey.
Z2: Yes Boss. (Goes.)
Z1: So how is the Zocalo. How I long to see once again walls of garden.
Garibaldi: I don't get out too much. I spend most of my time in Red Sector.
Z1: Ho yes! Red Sector ... Russia...China...Lenin and Marx.
Garibaldi: No -- Red Sector -- on Babylon 5
Z1 (with difficulty and lots of hissing noises): Babar ... Bubu ... Baby ... Baa.Bee.Loon Five.
Garibaldi: Babylon Five.
Z1: BaaBaaLyn Fife... oh yes. Know BaaBaaLyn Five very well. Go to school there, Mother and Father live there, ah yes, have lots of friends there. Go for weekend parties and polo, playing cards and smoking cigars in evening. Oh yes, many years at BaaBaaLyn Fiss.
Z2 reappears, with drink and plate of pastries. He puts them down.)
Z1: Ah, saki and bakewells tart.
(Hands glass of saki to Garibaldi)
Z1: Now then Mr... er..
Garibaldi: Garibaldi
Z1: Garibaldi ah yess.... fine old Earther name. My father, he Garibaldi, and mother, she Garibaldi... all friends Garibaldi... Now we Earthers here in Z'Ha'Dum very interested in playing clicket.
Garibaldi: Clicket?
Z1: No...you not speak English very well. We like to play *clicket* - not clicket - clicket. You notice difference. Clicket...clicketty...click...housey housey...Bingo.
Garibaldi: Oh... Bingo.
Z2: Yes. Bingo!
Z1: (trying to get a grip on himself): Bingo.
Z2: Bingo! Bingo!
(Hammering on door.)
Voice Over of MANY Zathras: Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
Z2: Control. Must control selves.
Z1 (beating floor with fist): Bingo!
Z2: Zathras! Control self!
Z2 (turning to Garibaldi): Zathras sorry. Zathras get very excited.
Z1 (under breath): Bingo.
Z2: Perhaps you help us join Bingo Club back on BayBaron Fife.
Garibaldi: Well, it's not quite my line...
Z2: You put in good word for Zathras. Zathras and Zathras join really smart Bingo club.
Garibaldi: Well...
Z2: We very quite...sit at back...only shout "Bingo! Bingo!" (Obviously trying to control himself, but too late.)
Z1: Bingo! Bingo!
Z2 (With supreme effort of will): Control selves.
(Hammering on door and V.O. of Many Zathras): Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
(Z2 runs onto balcony. Shot of horde of Zathrases.)
Zathrases horde: Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
Z2: Ni akawate nihi, keo t'sin feh t'sung, nihi *watai* bingo cards!
(There is a sudden silence form the horde below except for slightly shocked muttering. Z2 turns, and goes back inside. Cut back to interior. Z2 stalks in looking grim.)
Z1: Nihi *watai* bingo cards?
Z2: Nihi *watai*!
Z1: Zathras knows, but no one listens.
(Z2 turns to Garibaldi.)
Z2: Now then, Mr. Garibaldi, which do you think better, Hackney Star Bingo or St. Albans Top Rank Suite?
Garibaldi: Well. Zathras, I was hoping that you could help me and my friend to get back to Babylon 5 as...
Z1 (very quietly): Hackney Star Bingo.
Garibaldi: I'm actually trying to tour the station by...
Z1 (falling to the floor): Star Bingo!
Z2 (turning on Z1): Control selves!
Z1: Top Rank Bingo...
(V.O. of the horde of Zathrases in a rising swell): Bingo! Bingo!! BINGO!!!
Garibaldi: Well, I think I'll be off...
Z2: Please don't go yet...
Z1: Wimbledon Granada Bingo.
Z2 (gradually succumbing): Shut up! Please, Mr. Bingo, don't bingo yet... I mean bingo... BINGO!
(Garibaldi escapes as Zathras horde climbs over balcony, into room, shouting): BINGO! BINGO! BINGO!
Cut to Y.M.A.A. lobby. Garibaldi walks up to desk.)
Garibaldi: Is my friend in his room please?
(Garibaldi is suddenly surrounded by four secret policemen dressed in heavy trenchcoats and pork pie hats.)
Grip: Come with us please.
Garibaldi: Who're you?
Bag: Well, we're not secret police anyway.
Wallet: That's for sure.
Grip: If anything we are ordinary citizens of the galaxy with no particular interest in politics.
Bag: None at all. Come with us.
Garibaldi: Where are you taking me?
(Secret police huddle to confer.)
Wallet: What do we tell him?
Grip: Don't tell him any secrets.
Bag: Agreed.
Grip: Tell him anything except that we are taking him to be present as an Honored Guest when Jack is reunited with the Shadow Minion Advisory Committee.
Wallet (turning to Garibaldi): We're taking you to a Clam Bake.
Garibaldi: Oh! A clam bake. I've never been to one of them.
Grip: Right, let's go.
Bag: Who's giving the orders around here?
Grip: I am. I'm senior to you.
Bag (pulls pistol, shoots Grip): I got promoted. Let's go.
(Close Up - A flag, quartered with the Hammer and Sickle, Swastika, The Red Eye of Mordor, and the White Hand. Pull out to reveal the stage of a huge hall. A banner reads "Minions of the Shadows -- 42nd annual Clambake". At one side of the stage sits an impressive table on a dais. At a bank of mikes in center stage a flunky is orating. Garibaldi sits with other important guests at the table, his bike on its kick-stand near his chair.)
Flunky: Dostoievye unsye Jack borodins (Applause)
Subtitle: Here is the man who brought Jack back.
Flunky: Beluntanks dretsky mihai ovna isky Mike Garibaldi.
Subtitle: The friend of the Minions - Mike Garibaldi.
(Cut to shot of wildly cheering Minions.)
(Cut back to flunky, who beckons for silence.)
Flunky: And now, in order to save time, I will continue in English. Fellow Minions, now let us welcome the return of the greatest leader our Committee has know...Jack!
(Marcus appears. He has no facial hair and a pageboy haircut. Pandemonium breaks out. He raises his hands for silence.)
Marcus: Comrades. Minions. Friends of the Shadows. I have returned. (renewed cheering.) Repression is past. I bring you new light of permanent revolution (his resemblance to John Lennon is striking, as he sing).
You say you want a revolution...
Continues singing for a few bars.
(Shot of Garibaldi, looking amazed, and confusion among the honored guests.)
Marcus: Comrades, I don't want to destroy in order to build, I don't want a state founded on hate and division (sings):
Love, love, love...
(Marcus is totally John Lennon. Cut to Garibaldi.)
Garibaldi (slack jawed, V.O.): Poor Marcus was clearly undergoing another change of personality.
(Flunky appears beside Garibaldi with two guards.)
Flunky: So! You have duped us. You shall pay for this. (to guards) Seize him!
(The two guards drag Garibaldi away. In background Marcus switches to 'Help!')
Flunky (to Bester, who has been sitting unnoticed): Shall I seize *him*, sir? (indicates Marcus)
Bester: Wait, I think he's going down well.
(Cut to shot of audience in the throes of Beatlemania.)
Flunky: Well, he *is* more fun than he used to be.
Bester (tapping finger): We used to sing this in the Black Omega Squadron.
(Interior of Prison Cell. Garibaldi is in cell, speaking into link. Sign behind: "Condemned Cell'.)
Garibaldi: Personal log. June 26th. Thrown into cell. Severely damaged my Mars bar. Shall I ever see Io Station again? Shall I ever...
(Two guards enter)
Garibaldi: Oh, excuse me...
(Guards grab him and lead him out of cell.)
(Cut to exterior of door leading out into prison yard. The door is thrown open and Garibaldi is marched over and stood against a blank wall. There are lots of small holes and scorch marks in and on the wall.)
Garibaldi (into link): What a pleasant exercise yard. How friendly they are all being.
Officer: Cigarette?
Garibaldi: Players?
Officer: Senior Service.
Garibaldi: No thank you, then.
(Cut to shot from behind Garibaldi, including his back to see him facing a line of uniformed men with guns, obviously a firing squad. At that moment a regular, slow, measured drum beat starts.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): After a few minutes I perceived a line of gentlemen with rifles. They were looking in my direction...
(Cut to Garibaldi against the wall, looking behind him.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): I looked around but could not see the target.
Officer: Blindfold?
Garibaldi: No thank you. Sun's not really *that* bright.
Officer (stepping clear): Slowotny.
(Firing Squad snaps to attention.)
Officer: Gridenwa. (Clicking of blots.)
(Cut to sot of firing squad and the officer, his front is to the camera.)
Officer: Verschnitzen.
(They raise their rifles pointing in the direction of Garibaldi, who is in shot. The drum starts to roll. Officer raises his arm. We hear running footsteps approaching, and shouting. Officer waits. A Psy-Cop runs in, waving a telegram. He runs up and hands it to the officer.)
Officer (opens it and reads): It's from Bester! It says, "Carry on with the execution".
Officer: Verschnitzen! (They raise their rifles.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): Bester!!! Now I was really for it.
(Cut to shot of officer with his hand raised, the same shot as before, only with Garibaldi in shot. Drum rolls again. He brings his sword down. A volley of shots. Officer is looking in Garibaldi's direction. Long pause.)
Officer (turning to squad): How could you miss?
Gropo: He moved.
Officer: Shut up! Go and practice. (To Garibaldi) I'm so sorry. Do you mind waiting in your cell?
(Garibaldi is flung back in his cell by guards. The door is slammed. Garibaldi has a slight abrasion under his right eye.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): What a stroke of luck. My Crunchie was totally intact. I settled down to a quick, intermeal snack...
(Fade down. Fade up.)
Garibaldi has just finished his Crunchie.)
Officer (outside door): Aha! Good!
(The guards race in and take him out. The door left open. We hear shouted instruction. Drum roll then stop. Then a volley of shots. Pause. Sound of feet coming back. Garibaldi is thrown into the cell. He gets a contusion on his left forehead. Officer follows him in.)
Officer: Next time. Definitely! (To guard as he leaves) Now then, how many of them are injured? Oh my lack of God....
Close Up on Garibaldi. Outside we hear odd shots and muffled screams and curses.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): As I lay down to the sound of the gentlemen practicing their shooting, I realized that I was in a bit of a pickle. My heart sank as I realized that I might never see Grey 17 again... (he lies down)
(...we close on his sleep face then we ripple and mix through to his sleeping face, waking up, shaking himself in disbelief at finding himself in a beautiful garden, with the sun shining, the birds singing, he is in a deck chair, and Lise dressed in a skimpy bathing suit, having poured him a jug of iced tea, is gently nudging Garibaldi to wake him.)
Lise: Wake up dear, wake up.
Garibaldi: Lise!
Lise: Come on dear.
Garibaldi: So, it was all a dream.
Lise: No, no dear, *this* is the dream, you're still in the cell.
(Quick ripple to him waking up in cell.)
Garibaldi (V.O.): What a disappointment.
(The guards race in and take him out. The door left open. Shouted commands. Drum roll...stop. Volley of shots. Pause. Racing footsteps and Garibaldi is thrown back into the cell, bloodying his nose. Officer enters.)
Officer: Next time. For sure! (To guard as he leaves) How many are left alive?
(Fade down. Fade up. Close up on Garibaldi. Officer enters.)
Officer: O.K. We're going to have another try. I think we've got it now. My boys have all been looking down the wrong end, see.
Garibaldi: No, no. They want to look down this end.
Officer: Oh! I thought it was that end.
Garibaldi: No, no. This end. Otherwise you won't hit anything.
Officer: Alright. If you insist! We'll give it a whirl. Guards, seize him.
(They take him out.)
Officer (V.O.): Here, come here. You've got to look down this end!
(We zoom into and mix through a poster on the wall. Poster says, "Beatles Reunion Tour." Mix through to an exterior of a huge hall. Mix through to stage where Bester is standing with a ventriloquist's dummy. He gets up and takes his bow, walks off as the curtain swings down. Lots of applause and atmosphere. D*ck Clark comes on from the wings smiling and applauding.)
D*ck Clark: Great. Great! (He tells a quick joke and roars with laughter. Audience roars back. Holds up his hands and becomes very sincere, saying deeply moving, wonderful things about the next act. He finally introduces...)
D*ck Clark: The Beatles...reunited!!!!
(He backs off. The opening intro to "I Think I'm Gonna Be Sad" is played. Marcus in a Mao jacket steps to the mike, the music stops. He speaks like...George Bush.)
Marcus: Republicans ... believe strongly ... virtue thing. Allow people...get on...run their own lives...stand on own two feet...no constant interference from the Government.
(Slight consternation from the audience.)
Voices say: "That's not John Lennon." "That's George Bush." "Who?" "Bush." "I didn't want to see Bush, I wanted to see the Beatles." "Bush is just a Beatles wannabe." "No, you idiot, that's Oasis."
Marcus (as G. Bush): Not shirk responsibilities...nor desert principles.
(Cut to audience)
Man: It's John Lennon
Man2: No. It's George Bush.
Teenybopper: Sing "Day Tripper"
Marcus: ...Remain united, in our determination...
Audience is shouting: "Day Tripper" "Day Tripper" "Day Tripper"
(The first fruit starts being thrown. It spatters around Marcus.)
Marcus: ...Reiterate...determination..responsiblity for own actions.
(More fruit comes flying. Marcus dashes off and comes back with large shield which he holds in front of him. There is a large picture of the head and shoulders of Ronald Reagan on the shield.)
Marcus: ... I'm very fond of alternative music.
(The fruit is now so thick, that it is impossible for him to continue. At this moment a piece of fruit thrown from the audience hits him in the head {an arty shot in slow motion}. The words "alternative music" echo as we hold a close shot of him, indicating that he is reverting to being really Marcus again. He looks at a piece of the fruit in his hand that has landed on him.)
Marcus (in original voice): Well, that melon's certainly not safe. (He looks up and becomes more aware of his surroundings.) Good heavens. What's going on? What has become of Mr. Garibaldi?
(At this point it is becoming precarious on stage -- the audience is preparing to rush the footlights -- so he turns tail and runs off the stage. Cut to outside stage door. Marcus comes running out of the stage door past a big poster saying "Next Week - Julie Andrews - Redux" and runs down street closely pursued by angry audience.
There now follows a chase sequence which should be as dramatic as possible. Lots of close shots of Marcus, hair flying, as he runs for his life, shouting 'Garibaldi'. Close shots of audience pursuing, thin lipped and avenging. Secret police, no longer comic, driving and shooting. Horde of Zathrases shouting 'BINGO!!! BINGO!!! BINGO!!!' Marcus, exhausted, finally turns a corner and discovers that he's run into a cul-de-sac. There is no escape. One last time he shouts desperately, 'Garibaldi. Mr. Garibaldi.' From over the wall of the cul-de-sac comes an answering shout.)
Garibaldi: Yes?
Marcus hears it, reacts and, in the nick of time, uses his fighting staff to pole vault over the wall. Low angle shot from other side of wall of Marcus dropping over it. He lands.)
Garibaldi: Marcus
Marcus: Garibaldi! What a stroke of luck.
Garibaldi: Well, yes and no. (He indicates with his head.)
(Cut to show that both of them are standing in front of a firing squad. The men of the squad are bandaged and bloody with shoulder, arm, and head wounds.)
Officer: Charge Blasters!
(The men are carrying HUGE, bulbulous, electronic thingie guns. With a high pitched hum that disappears upward out of hearing, various tubes on the guns begin to glow.)
Office: Squad! Fire!!!!!!!!!!
(Multi-colored beams of high energy lance out at Garibaldi and Marcus. When they are about two feet from them {!}... Cut to black.
CAPTION --- Due to insufficient budget, CGI rendering incomplete.
(Cut to corridor in B5. A sign on wall says 'Amber 21'. Garibaldi stands beneath with Marcus and the motorcycle.)
Garibaldi: Phew, what an amazing escape.
Marcus: Yes, and the aftermath...
Garibaldi: I wouldn't even try to describe it. Well, goodbye.
Marcus: Yes, goodbye
(They shake hands, Marcus strides off with a swirl of his cape. Garibaldi mounts his bike and rides off out of frame. Music swells. Sounds of tires and crash but music plays on over credits.)
THE END
Intense apologies to MPFC. What was really frightening was how little of the dialogue I had to change.
GO:
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