Original subtitles

Oh, lornsome night.

An' babbits bawlin', the wind biting t'bone.

Wind like this...

full of voices.

Ancestry howling at you...

yibberin' stories...

all voices tied up into one.

One voice differin''...

one voice...

whisperin'' out there,

spyin'' from'a dark...

that fangy devil...

Old Georgie hisself.

Now you ear up close...

and I'll yarn you 'bout the first time we met...

eye to eye.

And thus it was that I made the acquaintance of Dr. Henry Goose,

the man I hoped might cure me of my affliction.

Have you lost something?

Question one:

what secret in Sixsmith's report would be worth killing him for?

Question two:

is it reasonable to believe

that they would kill again to protect that secret?

And if so, question three:

what the fuck am / doing here?

While my extensive experience as an editor

has led me to a disdain for flashbacks and flash-forwards

and all such tricksy gimmicks,

I believe that if you, dear reader,

can extend your patience for just a moment...

...you will find there is a method to this tale of madness.

My dearest Sixsmith:

I shot myself through the roof of my mouth this morning

with Vyvyan Ayrs'' Luger.

A true suicide is a paced,

disciplined certainty.

People pontificate, "Suicide is a coward's act.”

Couldn’t be further from the truth.

Suicide takes tremendous courage.

Any problems, sir, you just hit this button.

Thank you.

On behalf of my ministry and the future of Unanimity,

I would like to thank you for this final interview.

-Hello. -Press pass.

Expecting trouble?

I was Dermot Hoggins's publisher,

not his shrink or his astrologer.

And the ruddy, bloody truth is

I had no idea what the man was gonna do that night.

This beach was once a cannibal's banqueting hall,

where the strong gorged on the weak.

But the teeth, sir, they spat out

like you or I would expel a cherry stone.

Do you know the price a quarter pound of these will earn?

Remember, this is not an interrogation or a trial.

Your version of the truth is all that matters.

Truth is singular.

Its "versions" are mistruths.

Don't let them say I killed myself for love.

Had my infatuations, but we both know in our hearts

who is the sole love of my short, bright life.

There you are, Mr. Ewing.

As binding a covenant there can ever be between men...

outside the province of scripture.

Thank you, Reverend Horrox.

I know my father-in-law is profoundly excited about this deal.

Haskell Moore is a great man.

Future generations depend on men like him,

men capable of speaking the truth.

Quite.

When I first encountered Haskell Moore's writing,

its perspicuity struck me as though delivered

through divine revelation.

The learned doctor here and I have already spent many a night

debating Mr. Moore's tract us.

I'm only willing to concede that he makes a compelling case

as to why we are sitting here

enjoying this divine lamb...

while Kupaka stands there content to serve.

-Indeed. -Well, Kupaka...

you enjoy your life here with us, do you not?

Oh, yes, Reverend, sir. Kupaka very happy here.

You see? You see, this is Moore's "ladder of civilization,”

the reason behind this natural order.

Please, Giles, do shut up.

I've been listening to this for weeks.

I would love to know what his own son-in-law

has to say about it.

Oh, well, let's see...

it is an enquiry concerning God's will and the nature of men.

And what does he have to say about the nature of women?

I'm afraid that's a subject he prefers to pass by in silence.

He wouldn't be the first.

Pray, Mr. Ewing, continue.

Well, uh, the question he does pose is...

if God created the world,

how do we know what things we can change

and what things must remain sacred and inviolable?

Reverend Horrox real specific how to run plantation.

Georgian way, best way, he say.

Oh, God, this heat is unbearable. How do they take it?

Reverend Horrox say slaves like camel, bred for desert.

He say they not feel heat like civilized folk.

Now we should get you out of the sun.

And what...

what is that noise?

Oh! There you are.

What happened?

It is as I suspected.

Gusano coco cervello...

better known as the Polynesian worm.

I once saw a man's brain

after the worm had finished with him.

Maggoty cauliflower. Oh.

But have no fear.

This particular devil and I are well-acquainted.

Here we go.

Ah, yes, yes. Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug.

I don't know what I would have done

had our paths not have crossed.

Well, for starters, you would have died.

I shall find a way to repay you.

Oh, no, unnecessary, I assure you.

I am a doctor, Adam.

A tiger cannot change its stripes.

Sixsmith...

I do hope you will be able to find it in your heart to forgive me.

Mr. Frobisher!

Mr. Robert Frobisher!

The management would like a word with you, please, sir!

Mr. Frobisher, open this door, please!

We do know you're in there, Mr. Frobisher.

Please comply!

A letter is being drafted to your father, sir.

Mr. Frobisher!

Hated leaving you like that.

Wasn't the goodbye I had in mind.

That one's in a hurry.

By the time you read this,

I will be on my way to Edinburgh.

On my way to fame and fortune.

I know you haven't heard of him, but trust me:

Vyvyan Ayrs is one of the musical greats, Sixsmith.

The tragedy is that he hasn't produced any new work in years due to illness.

My scheme is to persuade him to hire me as his amanuensis

and aid him in the creation of a masterpiece...

...before shooting up

through the musical firmament,

eventually obliging Pater to admit that, yes,

the son he disinherited

is none other than Robert Frobisher,

the greatest British composer of his time.

I know, Sixsmith, you groan and shake your head,

but you smile too, which is why I love you.

P.S. Thanks for the waistcoat.

I needed something of yours to keep me company.

St. George and the Dragon.

Reminds me that composing is a crusade.

Sometimes you slay the dragon, sometimes...

the dragon slays you.

All right then.

Frobisher, is it?

I trust Mackeras taught you enough to be useful.

I've had this little melody for the viola

rattling about my head for months.

Let's see if you can get it down.

♪ Tarr, ta-tjaah-da-dah ♪

Subtle grace note before the third.

♪ Tatjaah-da-dah-da-da ♪

Soft and simple, got it?

Now it gets interesting.

♪ Tarr, tatjaah-da-dahh-da-dahh ♪

♪ Dah-dah-dah-dahh... ♪

Good. Play that back.

I'd love to, sir.

Um... what key are we in?

What key? G-minor, of course!

And the time signature?

For Christ's sake, did you hear it or not?

Just...just need a little more time--

You need?

My dear boy, who is working for whom here?

-I apologize, sir.. -Are you an amanuensis

or an apologist? Now pay attention.

3/4 changing to 4/4 on the fourth bar

and back to 3/4 on bar five, if you can count that high.

Crotchet G, pause for a quaver,

repeat G quaver, then E flat on the downbeat.

♪ Tarrdi tjaaahh da da da da ♪

And so on. All right, let me hear it.

Stop! Please, you're hurting me.

You must have misheard me:

I said I had a melody, not a malady!

Vyvyan?

Jocasta! Deliver me.

What's going on in here?

An exercise in futility.

Should I be introduced?

There's really no point.

The boy's as useful as the clap.

Fortunately, he'll be much easier to get rid of.

Would you be a dear and

get Henry to show the boy out?

Yes, of course, darling.

It's beautiful.

Yes.

That's it!

That's my melody!

Come on, Luisa!

We're meant to be together.

Please, Luisa, come on, come on. I'm telling you.

I'm telling you, baby, you can't leave me.

It's a... you know,

it's a past life thing or a future life thing.

But, you know, it's you and me.

Look, for the last hour,

all I could think about was throwing you off your balcony.

Who the hell do you think you are?

You write a bullshit column for a fucking rag!

Elevator!

Thank you.

Nice to know the age of chivalry isn't dead.

You okay?

No bones broken, I think.

No, no. You sit, you sit, you sit.

Let me see.

Great.

Power outage.

Perfect end to a perfect day.

Still glad the age of chivalry isn't dead?

I'd still rather be right here than back up there.

Guess Mr. Capon isn't everyone's cup of tea.

Guys like that are just an occupational hazard.

You were interviewing him?

Yeah, for Spyglass Magazine.

Luisa Rey.

Rufus Sixsmith.

Rey?

You wouldn't happen to be related to the journalist Lester Rey?

Yeah. He was my father.

Really?

He must have been enormously proud of you,

following in his footsteps.

That's her. My niece, Megan.

She's lovely.

A born physicist with a better mind

for mathematics than I ever had.

Did her PhD at Cambridge. A woman at Caius!

Gives you hope for the world.

It's hot.

And we're still here.

That's a very peculiar birthmark.

Yeah.

My little comet.

My mother swore it was cancer.

She wanted me to get it removed, but...

I don't know, I kind of like it.

I knew someone who had a birthmark that was...

similar to that.

Really?

Who was it?

Someone I cared about very much.

A hypothetical question for you, Miss Rey.

As a journalist...

what price would you pay to protect a source?

Any.

Prison?

If it came to that, yes.

Would you be prepared to... compromise your safety?

My father braved booby-trapped marshes

and the wrath of generals for his journalistic integrity.

What kind of daughter would I be

if I bailed when things got a little tough?

Saved.

Taxi!

You sure you don't need a cab?

No, I've got my car.

Well, you know, if...

there's ever something I can do for you...

please give me a call.

Thank you, I will.

Bye.

'Twas the night of the Lemon Prizes...

and amidst all that forced jollity,

I recall a moment of introspection.

Why?

Why would anyone in their right mind

choose to be a publisher?

This was the precise moment that Dermot found me.

Oi! Timothy.

Ah! Eh, Dermot.

-Bad news inexorably does. -Fuckin' bullshit, it's a fuckin' waste.

Never forget, Herman Melville writes a ripping yarn

about a big white whale which is summarily dismissed,

and yet today...

it is lugged around in the backpacks

of every serious student of literature in the world.

I don't give a fuck what happens when I'm dead.

I want people to buy me book now.

Well, as your publisher, obviously

nothing would make me happier.

But sadly, for whatever reason,

Knuckle Sandwich has yet

to connect to its audience.

You want a reason?

I'll give you a reason.

-Right there! -Ah, you mean Mr. Finch?

Felix fuckin' Finch!

The cunt that shat all over me book

in his poncy fuckin' magazine!

It wasn't that bad.

No?

"Mr. Hoggins should apologize to the trees

felled for the making of his bloated autobio-novel.

400 vainglorious pages expire

in an ending that is flat and inane beyond belief."

Steady now, Dermot.

What is a critic but one who reads quickly, arrogantly,

but never wisely?

Fuck him.

Dermot.

Ladies and gentlemen!

We have an additional award tonight,

fellow book faeries...

an award for most eminent critic!

Mister.. Oop!

Beg pardon, "Sir" Felix Finch,

O, B, and E!

And what might my prize be, I wonder?

A signed copy of an unpulped Knuckle Sandwich?

Can't be many of those left.

Well?

Just what does that lead-less pencil you call an imagination

have in mind to end this scene? Hmm?

I think you're gonna love this.

Now, that's an ending that is flat and inane beyond belief.

My thoughts?

If I am honest, I admit that the obvious emotions,

like shock and horror, flew as Finch had,

here and gone...

Tequila. Couple of fingers.

...while deep down,

I experienced a nascent sense of a silver lining

to this most tragic turn.

Overnight, Dermot "Dusty"” Hoggins

became a cult hero to the common man.

Grabbed the critic and sent him plummeting to his death...

And Knuckle Sandwich shifted 90,000 copies

in less than two months.

I was, for the briefest of moments, Cinderella,

and all memory of past misfortune receded

in the rearview mirror of my dream come true.

-What the... ? -Tim-o-tee Cavendish...i presume.

Caught with your cacks down!

My office hours are eleven to two.

My secretary would be more than happy

to schedule an appointment, if you so desire.

Friends like us don't need appointments.

We like it all cozy like this.

Visited Dermot in the joint.

Our brother's got a question for you.

Where's our fuckin' money?

Boys, boys, look here.

Dermot signed what we call a copyright transfer contract,

which means that, legally--

Dermot didn't sign no fuckin contract

for the event of the fuckin' season!

All right, perhaps, uh...

we could moot a provisional sum

as a basis for ongoing negotiation.

Okey-okey.

What sum we gonna moot?

50k'd do for starters.

50 sounds reasonable.

Tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon?!

-Cash. -No bollocks.

-No checks. -Old-fashioned money.

-Gentlemen, the law says... -The law?

What'd the law do for Felix fuckin' Finch?

Ordinarily, I begin by asking prisoners

to recall their earliest memories...

to provide a context for the corpocratic historians of the future.

Fabricants have no such memories, Archivist.

One 24-hour cycle in Papa Song's is identical to every other.

May I say you speak consumer surprisingly well.

Unanimity...

As an officer of Unanimity, I am, of course,

restricted from using subspeak.

Of course.

Please describe a typical 24-hour Papa Song cycle.

At hour four, each server is woken by auto-stimulin.

Sonmi-451, Yoona-939...

From revival, we proceed to the hygiener.

After dressing, we file into the dinery.

At hour five,

we man our stations to greet the new day's consumers.

Welcome to Papa Song's!

For the next 19 hours,

we input orders, tray food, vend drinks,

up stock condiments, wipe tables, and bin garbage,

all done in strict adherence to first Catechism.

What is the first Catechism?

"Honor thy consumer.”

After the final cleaning, we imbibe one soapsac

and return to our sleep box.

That is the blueprint of every single day.

Did you ever think about the future?

Papa Song servers have just one possible future.

You mean "Xultation"?

Could you describe this annual rite of passage?

On first day,

Seer Rhee would stamp a star on each of our collars.

12 stars meant an end to our contract.

How did you feel

when you watched one of your sisters ascend?

Excitement.

I was happy for them. But envious as well.

Did your sister servers feel as you did?

Most of them.

I would like to ask about the infamous Yoona-939.

Sonmi-451.

If Yoona-939 woke you,

who woke her?

Seer Rhee.

Why would a Seer wake a server?

Perhaps you should ask him, Archivist.

What's wrong with him?

He drinks soap.

It makes him happy.

Then he sleep like us, in our box.

Do you ever think about...

what it must be like...

up there with the consumers?

Third Catechism forbids such questions.

Yes.

It does.

Come. Let me show you a secret.

Accessing storage. Lost and found.

Now...

Sonmi-Ja...

we are inside... a secret.

A kino?

We're not allowed...

Sonmi-Ja. No one will ever know.

Come.

This is a violation of the ruddy incarceration act!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

This is a violation of the ruddy incarceration act!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

You could have been excised.

How did you justify such a risk to yourself?

She was my friend.

Please describe the events of September 18th,

from your perspective.

I was stationed at pedestal one.

-Go on! Do it! -Yeah, do it!

Go on!

Go!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.

-Look out! -Watch out!

Elevator approaching.

Step away.

Code yellow. Area is secure.

Nay, this life of rotted luck

ain't no smiley some yarnie.

And rares time I ever 'fess the secret of Sloosha's Hallow.

Adam, my bro'by law, and his son and me

be trekkin' back from Honokaa Market.

Was Adam's custom to kowtow his ancestry

with offerings and honorings.

Suddenwise...

that fangy devil's eyes, I felt 'em.

Who there?

Zaaaaachry.

Ahh, a darky spot you're in, friend.

Old Georgie?

Ain't no blade can protect you from the true-true.

Pa!

Jonas! Jonas, go!

Go, go!

Zachry?

Zachry!

Zachry!

Stay here.

Safe here.

Zachry!

Kona'll be feasting on Adam and his boy by sunup.

Zachry! No! Nay!

Zachry! Zachry!

You say all'a time, yeah?

"The weak are meat, the strong do eat"?

Father!

No, Jonas!

The true-true, is what that is.

Whole valley whispering 'bout the blood of Adam

and his son on my hands.

But Rose and Catkin never believed no yibberin',

and stood by me.

Unc'a Zach, look!

Yeah. I see 'em.

Prescients come bartering twice a year,

their ships creep-crawling on waves,

just floating on the smart of the old 'uns.

Barter'll be startin' soon.

Yeah. You must go find your ma.

What're you doing?

Ma says ya ain't been right since Sloosha's.

Say I gotta keep eye wise on ya.

You minding me while I mind the goats.

I see.

Stump is, who's gonna mind your ma at the barter?

She got no tongue for haggling, not like you and me.

Sure you're all right?

Swear'by. Be home for suppin'.

Why words slink'n slide off'a tongue when we need 'em most?

If my tongue been more bold,

could I'a stop all the diresomes 'bout to happen?

Unc'a Zach!

This my big bro I yarnin' 'bout.

What's what, sis?

Spesh guest hosting.

Thank you for the kind some host of my valley stay.

I ain't yaysoed this, Rose.

Abbess say so a gift of great honor.

She can be hosting then.

I bring you gift, Zachry.

Need no gift from a stranger.

Now kin 'n' bros 'n' half-strangers,

yeah, even the Abbess,

all come knocking to gape in wonderment,

like Sonmi herself were sitting in our kitchen.

Questions about Prescients and their woahsome ship

poured thick 'n' fast.

How your ship slide 'n' glide so silent some?

Fusion engines.

No one queried what "fusion engines” was

'cause they didn't want to look stupid front of the gatherin'.

Fusion engines.

True really was, Meronym answer the questions,

but no answer ever quenched your curio.

All that answerin' done

was teached everyone to not trust her.

Nay, not a flea.

She a sly one.

Schemin' and wormin' herself in.

Watch her, watch her close.

She's got secrets.

-Zachry Bailey! -Sorrysome for wakin' you, Abbess.

I dream somethin' diresome's gonna happen.

Come in, come in.

Oh, let Sonmi guide your heart.

Oh, I can hear her voice a'prayin' for you.

Oh, Old Georgie's a"hungerin' for your soul.

Ah, I know'd it.

Spit'n cuss on your dreams.

I know'd it.

"Bridge a'broken', hide below.

Hands'a'bleedin', can't let-go.

Enemy's sleepin', don't slit that throat.”

An augurin'.

Oh, Zachry.

Trust Sonmi.

Keep her warnin' with you.

Nail it to your mem'ry.

Thank you. Thank you, Abbess. Thank you.

Sonmi-451.

Wait, wait.

There's no reason to hide.

I know you are Sonmi-451.

My name is Hae-Joo Chang.

What has happened to Seer Rhee?

Soap overdose.

It is unfortunate that it had to happen

with everything going so well...

because now it is probable

that the Enforcers and the DNA sniffers

will find out about you.

And if they do,

if they realize your connection to Yoona-939,

you will be excised.

But you have a choice:

you can remain here and risk being discovered...

or you can come with me.

The foresail!

-Two, six, heave! -Heave!

-Two, six, heave! -Heave!

Close the gaskets!

Bear away a point.

Aye, aye, Captain!

Friday the 15th.

We made sail with the morning tide.

Mr. Boerhaave had my cabin changed.

I have been quarantined to a storeroom

away from the other passengers and crew.

Henry argued in vain that

the Polynesian worm is not contagious.

Hardly matters.

All I want to do now is return home

and unburden myself of this responsibility.

My dear Sixsmith, I am in desperate need of your help.

After my last letter,

I'm sure you're rushing to pack your bags,

but you needn't, really,

unless, of course, you wish

to witness the rebirth of Robert Frobisher.

A, C, F...

Is it not miraculous

how one's fortune can turn so quickly, so completely?

One moment, leaping from a hotel window,

the next, gainfully employed

by one of the world's greatest living composers.

My only problem is that I accidentally

got hooked on a journal written in 1849

by a dying lawyer during the voyage

from a Pacific isle to San Francisco.

To my great annoyance, the pages cease mid-sentence.

Half the book is missing.

It's completely killing me.

Could you be a mensch and,

when you're next foraging at Otto's Books,

make an inquiry?

A half-finished book is, after all,

a half-finished love affair.

...my chief engineers, and then we will take some questions.

America loves oil.

America is addicted to oil.

Some fantasize about wind turbines or pig gas.

But I'm here today to tell you that the cure for oil

is right here.

The cure is nuclear power.

The cure is Swannekke.

-Hello? -Hello, Miss Rey.

I'm frightfully sorry for calling at this hour.

Dr. Sixsmith?

I need help.

I need 50,000 pounds!

Not two thousand, 50 thousand!

I can go through it again, Mr. Cavendish,

but the total's right. 2,343 pounds and 16 pence.

How is this possible?!

The ruddy money was pouring in.

Debts mostly, Mr. Cavendish. Solvency has its drawbacks.

The situation looked dire,

but I knew that

Timothy Cavendish's capital in this town

could not be defined by an accountant's balance sheet.

McCluskie!

Look, how are those delightful kiddies of yours?

Ma Chere. It's "Cavendish the Ravenous."

Your favorite Timothy...

Ma Chere?

You heard correctly.

Charles Dickens' own, original, authentic writing desk

for 60,000 pounds.

I think that's very fair.

But our records indicate that the desk is already accounted for

by the Dickens House Museum.

Okay, what about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's desk?

In the darkness, I suddenly saw the light.

Blood has always trumped water.

If the Hogginses brutes wanted to turn this

into a family affair,

they'd find the Cavendish clan

more than ready for the task at hand.

Oh, Satan's gonads, not again.

Look, just bugger off and leave us in peace.

I'm only gonna ask you nicely once.

Good to see you, Denny.

I'm not lending you a ruddy farthing till you pay back the last lot.

Why should I be forever giving you handouts?

Denny, I've had a minor run-in with the wrong sort.

If I don't get my hands on 60,000 pounds,

I'm going to take an awful beating.

Well, get them to video it for us, would you?

Now fuck off!

I'm not joking, Denholme.

Why is this my problem?

Because we're brothers!

Don't you have a conscience?

Couple of my special little pills and a G&T should set me right.

Denny...

help.

Please?

Den, who are you talking to?

Hello, Georgette.

Hello, Timothy.

Right. All right. All right. All right. All right.

What is it, 60 grand?

It's gonna take some time, but, uh, in the interim,

I've got the perfect place for you to hide.

Rise tacks and sheets!

I have begun to fear

I may never hold my beloved Tilda in my arms again.

The parasite writhes at night, igniting spasms of pain,

while visions and voices,

obscene and monstrous, haunt me.

Mr. Ewing?

In the name of God! Help, help!

Mr. Ewing, no fear, no harm, no shout...

Please.

My name Autua.

You know I, you seen Maori whip I.

You know I.

What do you want?

You help, Mr. Ewing.

If you no help, I in trouble dead.

Well, you're already very much "in trouble dead.”

The Prophetess is a mercantile vessel,

not an underground railroad for escaping slaves.

I able seaman! I earn passage!

Well, then I suggest you surrender to the captain's mercies forthwith.

No, no!

They no hear I!

They say, "Swim away home, nigger," and throw I in drink!

But you lawman, aye?

Please, Cap'n hear you, Mr. Ewing.

No, | can't help you.

I'm afraid your fate is entirely your own.

I desire no part in it.

Then kill I.

Don't be absurd.

If you no help, you kill I, just the same.

It's true, you know it.

I ain't be no fish food, Mr. Ewing.

Die here better.

Do it.

Do it quick.

I found an old transway marker, Captain.

It's got to be the right mountain.

Problem is, the valley people are afraid of it.

They think the devil lives up there.

I can't find anybody to guide me through the Kona territory.

Meronym...

every day you are out there, you increase your rad levels.

This dream of yours is going to kill you.

And for what?

The off-world colonies may no longer exist.

I gotta go, Captain.

Thank you for coming. I'm in 1404.

I'll be right up.

Dr. Sixsmith?

Dr. Sixsmith?

It's Luisa.

Go call the police, right now. Call the police!

Right.

My dear Sixsmith,

you alone could understand how I'm feeling right now.

Today, Ayrs and I presented our first collaboration

to Tadeusz Kesselring,

Ayrs' favorite conductor who arrived from Berlin.

It's called "Eternal Recurrence.”

Wish you could hear it.

It's the most accomplished tone poem

I know of written since the war,

and I tell you, Sixsmith,

that more than a few of its best ideas are mine.

At our time of life, Ayrs,

a man has no right to such daring ideas.

I suppose I've won a rearguard action or two

in my war against decrepitude.

Dinner of pheasant and Bordeaux,

rich as butter-cream.

How I love to listen to men of distinguished lives

sing of past follies and glories.

The only broken note in the entire evening

was Ayrs' wife, Jocasta,

excusing herself early.

Sensed a buried bone. Later I asked Ayrs about it.

He said Kesselring had introduced Jocasta to him.

I pried, "Had Kesselring been in love with her?"

The subject was a prickly one.

Jocasta is a Jew.

So, obviously, a relationship was impossible.

Why "obviously"?

Can you really be so ignorant of what is happening in Germany?

At this point in my life, all I know, Sixsmith,

is that this world spins from the same unseen forces

that twist our hearts.

How is it'n, Zachry?

Samewise.

Mindin' some comp'ny?

Nay.

But goats'n surlywise herders

ain't known for our howziting temper.

Feelin' I ownin' you a real kowtow

for "vadin" y'house with no say so.

True sorrysome.

Fuggit, done's done.

So, you mindin' a stranger queryin' 'bout your troddin'?

Swap you, query for query.

Fair'by.

Cog y'ain't come t'learn stitchin' or milking or herding.

Why you here?

I needin' a guide.

Guide? To what?

Mauna Sol.

"Bridge a'broken. Hide below."

What's wrong?

We cross and recross our old tracks like figure skaters,

and just as I was reading a new submission,

a powerful "déja-vu” ran trough my bones.

I had been here before,

another lifetime ago.

Ursula...

the love of my life?

I could think of no other serious applicants.

What had happened to her?

And more importantly,

what had happened to the young man

who had ridden this same train composing sonnets

to his "soul-bound love"?

The auguring come true, Abbess.

Broke bridge just like you say.

Meronym were there yibberin' 'bout trekking up Mauna Sol,

horses'pess'n, woman come cussing n'twisting up my life?

Mind the words o' Sonmi.

"Our lives are not our own.

From womb to tomb, we are bound to others...

past and present...

and by each crime...

and every kindness..."

"...we birth our future.”

Welcome to Neo Seoul.

Come on, out you come.

This may be the biggest mistake in my life, but here.

Thank you, Mr. Ewing. Thank you.

Now to tell the truth, I was worried you might try and eat me

if you didn't get something in that stomach.

Well, you safe, Mr. Ewing.

I no like white meat.

Oh, right.

But before I decide what I am going to do with you,

tell me why you were being whipped so savagely.

My uncle was a sailor.

He took me on a French whaler when I was 10 years old.

I seen too much'a the world.

I no good slave.

Why did you look at me?

Pain strong, aye?

Friend's eye more strong.

You are a runaway slave, and I am a lawyer.

How do you imagine we could possibly be friends?

All you need.

Jesus!

Javier Gomez, what did I tell you

about jumping onto my balcony?

Why do you leave the door open if you don't want me to come in?

Because, smarty-pants, the only thing worse

than having you jump onto my balcony

is the idea of you jumping onto my balcony

-and being stuck out there. -Okay!

What are you reading?

Just... old letters.

Sixsmith...

the plot has taken a sensual turn.

Last week, Jocasta and I became lovers.

But don't alarm yourself.

It is only a carnal act performed in service.

Not unlike my role as amanuensis.

And I confess, women's hearts, like their desire,

remain a mystery to me.

Afterward she cried and thanked me for bringing life back into their home,

making it clear that Vyvyan had been there the entire night,

between us like the silence between notes

that holds the key to all music.

P.S. Best news of all:

I've started my own work.

Uh, I called about an old recording,

written by a man named Robert Frobisher?

Oops. Uh, busted.

I know I shouldn't be playing it.

I was checking it to make sure it wasn't scratched.

But, honestly, I just can't stop listening to it.

This is the "Cloud Atlas Sextet"?

It's the symphony.

It's beautiful.

But I think I heard this before.

I can't imagine how.

I doubt there's more than a handful of copies

in all of North America.

But I know it.

I know I know it.

Before I realized it,

my feet had borne me back

to the temple of sacrifice

where I offered up my virginity.

Back to those four days of paradise

when Ursula's mater and Pater

slipped off to Greece for a long weekend.

Or so we thought.

Ursula!

Sir, madam!

I assure you this is completely innocent!

Two sprained ankles, one cracked rib.

Official cause of accident listed on the hospital form, "pussy.”

What were the chances that she still lived in this house?

And yet, there she was.

Ursula.

Why had I never returned her calls or letters?

Shame. Spinelessness.

Hallmarks of the Cavendish clan.

I realized I had a choice.

I could slink off and continue as planned,

or I could go boldly to the door

and discover what hope, if any, lay within.

Abbess, come quick! It's the Bailey girl!

-Catkin? -Aye.

She dyin'.

-What happened? -Zach!

-Sonmi... -A scorpion fish.

Healer say she be gone by sundown.

Ain't right, ain't fair but nothing to be done.

Be very still. Termination charge, here.

Just enough to blow carotid.

How does it feel?

Good.

Catkin's dying!

-What? -Trod on a scorpion fish.

You can save her.

You got spesh smarts in that gear bag what'll save her!

That's the true-true.

Prescient Council swear by special order,

say I can't go play Lady Sonmi for every fate twistin' wrong

n' click fingers make right.

I just a stupid goat herder,

but I cog you killin' Catkin by not acting

just as if I left you up on that bridge, you Kona meat!

If a Prescient be laying with poison melting her heart'n'lungs,

if it be your kin?

Why's a Prescient's life worth more'n a Valleysman?

I'll take you to Mauna Sol.

I know the way.

If you save Catkin,

I will guide you through the devil's door

if that's where you want to go.

While the past may call to us

with the enchantment of a siren,

better, I believed, to stay the course

set by dear brother Denny.

Just sign right here.

And tomorrow, life could begin afresh, afresh, afresh!

This way.

Come.

Welcome to habitat mainframe.

Security: maximum. Accessing design database.

Designating skin.

Designating texture.

That's Old Seoul.

If the tides keep rising at their present rate,

Neo Seoul will also be underwater in a hundred years.

Your food is in here.

It's not what you are used to, but I think you will like it.

This is your bed.

These are your clothes.

Mine?

But these are pure blood clothes.

No. They are yours.

Did you know he was Union?

No, but it wouldn't have mattered.

Why not?

Because it was the first time

a pure blood had shown me kindness.

Mama?

I hungry.

Do you like them?

You look lovely.

Here.

Come here.

Now, this used to play viddys, but the chip is corrupted.

Stuck in a loop, so I diggied it and found the rest of it.

The rest of it?

What the ruddy hell are you doing in my room?

Keys go walkies.

Let's give these to Ms. Judd for safekeeping, shall we?

Leave my things alone, you pilfering cow!

Because you're new, I shall not

make you eat soap powder, this time.

Be warned,

I do not stand for offensive language in Aurora House.

Not from anyone.

And I never make idle threats, Mr. Cavendish. Never.

I'll talk to you how I ruddy well like, you thief!

Make me eat soap powder?

I'd like to see you try!

Oh! Gawd! Bloody hell!

A disappointing start.

Is this some sort of kinky S&M hotel?

I am Nurse Noakes.

You do not wish to cross me.

I am so sorry to keep you waiting.

Uh, I know it's a Ms...?

Rey.

Luisa Rey. Spyglass Magazine.

Right. Right.

Luisa, this is Joe Napier, he's our security chief.

I was surprised to get your query.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a feisty magazine, but...

Anything you need, sir, just let me know.

Will do.

Guys, I'm good. Thank you very much.

-Right, see ya. -Thank you.

Our editor's trying to spice things up a little bit.

He says the public wants more substance, so...

Ah, probably just a fad.

Uh, come on, follow me.

Let's start you with the chicken ranch.

That is where we keep the eggheads.

Say hello to Nemo? Okay.

Hello, Mr. Cavendish.

Feeling super this morning?

No. I checked in last night

believing that Aurora House was a hotel.

My brother made the booking, you see.

His idea of a practical joke.

But listen, you have a bigger problem closer to home.

There's some demented bitch calling herself Noakes

rampaging about the place, impersonating a chambermaid.

But the point is this:

she struck me and she stole my keys!

Right?

I'll need those keys back, straight away.

Aurora House is your home now, Mr. Cavendish.

-Your signature authorizes us to apply.. -Signature?

The custody document you signed last night.

Your residency papers.

No, no, no, no! That was the hotel register!

Never mind, it's all academic.

This is gonna make a heck of a dinner-party story.

Most of our guests get cold feet on their first mornings.

-My keys, please! -Residents are not..

I'm not a ruddy resident!

You'll find temper tantrums won't help you at Aurora House!

You're breaking the... ruddy...

anti-incarceration act or some ruddy thing...

and I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

Outside, fat snowflakes are falling on slate roofs.

Like Solzhenitsyn laboring in Vermont,

I shall beaver away in exile.

Unlike Solzhenitsyn,

I shan't be alone.

Off somewhere?

You bet I am!

To the land of the living.

Soylent Green is people!

Soylent Green is made of people!

Oy! Get back here, you!

You keep away from me or I'll be forced to name you

in the police report as an accomplice!

I have better things to do than this!

Then go ahead and do them, you bloody sodding soap-dodger!

Right!

Let go of me, you ruddy cruddy rugger bugger yob!

Put me down!

"You can maintain power over people

as long as you give them something.

Rob a man of everything

and that man will no longer be in your power."

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, 20th-century philosopher,

complete works banned by Unanimity.

How do you know about him?

Hae-Joo.

But...

Seer Chang...

Please, you must call me Hae-Joo.

Hae-Joo...

fabricants can be excised for this.

Our survival often demands our courage.

Knowledge is a mirror,

and for the first time in my life,

I was allowed to see who I was...

and who I might become.

Go clean the head!

Good morning, Captain.

You would help it remain so, Quillcock, by buggering off.

I'm afraid I can't do that, sir.

If I was, I would be unable to inform you of the stowaway

-that I have discovered in my cabin. -Stowaway?!

I assure you that this Moriori had no choice.

Now, he has sworn to me that he is a first class,

able-bodied seaman,

capable of earning passage, if only given a chance.

A stowaway is a stowaway even if he shits silver nuggets!

Did he ever explain anything to you?

He told me their goal

was the creation of a free-willed fabricant.

Yoona had failed.

I was their last hope.

I have to say, if all lady journalists looked like you,

I might start to take this, uh,

women's lib thing more seriously.

Well, I'm sure they can use your support.

Nice.

Okay, uh, you wait here and

I will go and find someone smarter

who can walk you through the details of some of your questions.

Great.

Okay, what would Dad do?

Who the bloody hell is this? Have you any idea what time it is?

Denny? It's me, Tim.

Timothy?

Where are you?

I think you ruddy well know where I am!

But residents aren't allowed access to phones.

Has someone smuggled one in?

You know the rules?

I helped write them, Timmy.

I have been a principal investor in Aurora House for 12 years.

It's incredibly lucrative.

You can't believe what people will pay to lock up their parents.

Look, Den. You've had your fun.

I think it's high time you put an end to this little game of yours.

No, no, Timmy. My fun has just begun.

What are you talking about?

I'm your brother! Why are you doing this to me?

I think a better question in this instance would be:

what have you done to deserve this?

I don't know what you mean.

Oh, come now, dear brother, don't insult me.

You can't think that I didn't know about you and Georgette!

Georgette?

Look, Den, I didn't mean to hurt you.

I'm afraid your penance has come due, Timbo.

It's time to account for your crimes.

Denholme...

I'm, I'm so, so sorry.

No, no, no. There's no need to apologize.

Your exile is more than enough reparation.

Although I do have my fingers crossed

for a scenario involving you,

Nurse Noakes and a broom handle.

Cheerio, Timmy. Bye-bye now.

Sends his love.

I would like to ask about the night of your arrest.

I remember listening to his heart beat.

Your heart beats much slower than ours.

There is a gentleness to the sound.

I find it... comforting.

Vyvyan, what time is it?

I don't know. Who cares?

I've heard a melody, boy. For violin.

Quick. Find a pen!

I heard it in a dream.

I was in a nightmarish café...

blaring, bright light...

but underground, and no way out.

And the waitresses...

they all had the same face.

There was music playing,

but unlike any music I've ever heard in my life.

It...it began...

it began...

Wait.

It was so clear a minute ago.

Help me, Robert! Help me!

It's slipping away.

I've lost it.

It'll come to you, sir.

The minute you stop trying to find it, it'll find you.

You are naive, Robert.

I am anything but.

There is a gulf between these chairs.

What you want is no different from what I want.

The gulf is an illusion.

How do I describe that night, Sixsmith?

What had happened between Vyvyan and I

transcended language.

It was music that poured from his eyes,

that breathed from his lips.

Music as beautiful as any I have ever heard.

What are you doing in here?

They found us.

I'll be with you the whole way.

Now focus on me.

Hae-Joo!

Stay with me.

I'm right here. I won't let you go.

-Mr. Ewing! -It's all right.

I've talked to the captain.

He'll hear your case.

What's your name, boy?

Autua, sir.

This Christian gentleman,

who knows nothing about ships,

tells me that you're a first-class sailor.

Very well.

Let's see you lower the main topsail.

Mr. Roderick, my bottle is empty.

Mr. Boerhaave, ready my piece.

What?

Sir, you gave me your word, Captain.

Please. You can't do this!

Nobody tells me what I can

and cannot do on my own ship,

especially when it concerns nigger stowaways.

That bloke!

He's got fish-hooks for toes.

Mr. Boerhaave, do not make a mess of my deck.

No! No...

Hae-Joo!

Captain, please!

Look, if you could just

hear me out, please!

Look!

The darkie's salt as I am!

Mr. Boerhaave?

It appears we have an addition to our crew.

Be sure he earns his keep.

Mr. Hooks!

Found her.

She was in the chem labs looking for the bathroom.

Ah. Well, perfect.

Then why don't you take over from here, Sachs?

You know, introduce our little tribe

and, uh, and guide Ms. Rey

through the, uh, through the tower.

Funny thing is, I'm not even supposed to be here.

I was meant to be in Seoul,

but the air-traffic-controller strike

screwed everything up,

so how I'm on the pond-jumper tonight.

You ever think the universe was against you?

All the time.

You mind?

I'm cool.

You seem nervous, Isaac.

-Do I make you nervous? -No.

Actually, just the opposite.

Are you gonna tell me why you covered for me?

"Freedom,”

the fatuous jingle of our civilization.

But only those deprived of it

have the barest inkling of what it really is.

There's much disagreement on what should be done with you.

The corprocrats want you euthanized as a deviant.

The manufacturer is demanding a period of study.

The psychogenomicists are screaming

for an immediate cerebral vivisection.

However, the problem you create is a political one...

which means you're my problem.

I find it intriguing to imagine that,

beneath these perfectly engineered features,

are thoughts that terrify the whole of Unanimity.

I'm not afraid of such thoughts because I do not fear the truth.

There's a natural order to this world, fabricant,

and the truth is, this order must be protected.

Inform the Archivist and prepare her for excisement.

-Yes, sir. -Sir?

Can you tell me what happened to Hae-Joo Chang?

Killed, I was told.

All these recent excitements,

really, Adam, it's far too much.

You need to rest.

I had...

a girlfriend once.

She kept trying to get me to read Carlos Castaneda.

You ever read any of that shit?

Oh, yeah.

But the relationship was doomed.

Every time she brought up any of that karma, past life stuff,

I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

And yet...

I can't explain it,

but I knew when I opened that door...

They destroyed most of the copies of the report.

Most?

There's no good choice here, is there?

If I help you, I could lose my job...

or worse.

If I don't, a lot of people...

Yeah, it'll be worse than worse.

You have to do whatever you can't not do.

Something pre yin' on you, Zachry?

You really ain't feary 'bout meetin' Old Georgie on the summit?

More scaresome 'bout the weather than any devil.

You cog he's real?

Who tripped the fall, if not Old Georgie?

True-true?

The old 'uns.

That's jus' a rope o' smoke.

Old 'uns got the smart.

They mastered sick and seeds...

mak'd mir'cles 'n' fly 'cross the sky.

True. All true. But they got somethin' else.

A hunger'n their hearts,

hunger that's stronger'n all they smart.

Hunger? For what?

Hunger for more.

Belief, like fear or love,

is a force to be understood

as we understand the theory of relativity

and principles of uncertainty...

phenomena that determine the course of our lives.

Yesterday, my life was headed in one direction.

Today, it is headed in another.

Yesterday, I believed I would never have done

what I did today.

These forces that often remake time and space,

that can shape and alter who we imagine our self to be,

begin long before we are born and continue after we perish.

Our lives and our choices,

like quantum trajectories,

are understood moment to moment.

And each point of intersection, each encounter,

suggests a new potential direction.

Proposition: I have fallen in love with Luisa Rey.

Is this possible?

III just met her, and yet...

I feel like something important has happened to me.

That's it.

The music from my dream.

This is from my dream.

That night I came to your room,

this is the music I heard in my head.

Somehow I gave it to you.

I've been working on this piece for weeks now,

and I suspect you heard it

and incorporated it into your dream.

I call it the "Cloud Atlas Sextet."

This is obviously the result of our collaboration.

The "Atlas," I believe,

is the only thing I have done in my life that has value.

Yet, I know I could not have written it...

if I hadn't met you.

There are whole movements in the "Atlas"

that I wrote imagining us

meeting again and again in different lives,

in different ages.

Yes.

Something as important as this cannot be described as yours...

or mine.

It is ours.

That is exactly how I feel, Vyvyan.

I'm sorry, ...I thought..

You thought? You thought what?

That I might fancy a little buggering

from a fine young dandy like yourself?

I'll pack my bags and be gone by morning.

You'll do no such thing!

You'll leave only when I say you can leave.

You will continue working on Vyvyan Ayrs' "Cloud Atlas."

When it is finished,

then I will decide what to do with you.

You can't keep me here! I'm leaving.

Good luck with your composing.

I'm sure a sterile old fuck like yourself

is still capable of something completely immemorable.

I suggest you think about this, Robert.

Think about reputation.

Reputation is everything in our society.

Yours, my disinherited reprobate, has expired.

Did you not think that we would inquire

about someone living under our roof?

Mackeras himself wrote, and I quote,

"He is a prostitute

whose liaisons with perverts and sodomites

were commonplace in his brief

and forgettable career at Caius.

Lock up the silverware.”

Unquote.

Be warned:

leave here without my consent

and all of musical society will know

of the degenerate Robert Frobisher.

After that,

even if you compose one of

the greatest symphonies ever written,

no one will hear it...

because no one will want anything to do with you.

I won't let you go again.

I told you he'd come.

Two things became clear.

Hanging myself from

Edinburgh's flagpole was preferable

to letting that parasite plunder my talents a day longer.

I must complete my sextet.

I can't do it here, so tonight I plan to make my escape.

Please stand by for vehicle scan.

Clearance granted.

Any jailbreak's a risky proposition.

One little cock-up

and we're dangling at Her Majesty's pleasure.

I know, I know.

We could use code names,

but truth is, I'd probably be the first to forget mine.

So, Mr. Cavendish...

Ernie Blacksmith.

This is Mr. Meeks, and my girl, Veronica Costello.

To trust.

To trust.

I know, I know.

What about the parrot, then?

If ever there was a likely songbird.

Mr. Meeks is a fine and honorable gentleman.

He would never betray us.

Besides, no one's ever heard him say anything else.

I know, I know.

Question is, old man: think you're up to snuff?

Unanimity requires compliance.

We have a security code red. Prepare to be boarded.

What are we going to do?

Just stay calm. Stay calm.

"It will end in tears."”

You warned me.

I suppose I'm as hopeless as Adam Ewing,

oblivious to all the unspeakable forms lying in wait,

blind to the fact his friend is poisoning him.

Henry, please.

The idea of losing this ring

distresses me beyond measure.

Don't be a silly puffin, Adam.

I'm sure your wife would set

your health above a gold loop.

I have seen the onset for dropsy

and it is not a pretty sight.

I know an excellent Spanish goldsmith

who works with such alacrity

that your Tilda may not have to know this was ever removed.

Give it to me!

Get your fuckin' hands off my pudding!

It's not your pudding, you Alzheimer's lout!

You've already eaten your pudding!

Stop it!

Don't you talk to me like that!

You better get in here.

It doesn't mean you can have two puddings

just because you've already...

You ruddy idiot!

You think you can get away with this?

Mr. Cavendish!

The room stank of bitter medicine.

Curiously heavy things, guns.

Why did I take it exactly? Can't say.

An intuition, a sense of significance...

that from this point on...

there was no going back.

Okay.

Sussin' them clouds...

we run out time.

Hey, don't need no smart rope.

Yea. See you fall, I catch you.

-Hands in the air! -Move it.

-Step off the vehicle. -Get down!

Momentai, huh?

-Now! -Get down! Now!

Fucking migrant monkey-talk.

Why do they hire these greasy subs?

Negative, sir. Definite illegal.

Detain him for now.

I'm reading a second life form!

-Where? -In the truck.

-Check it out. -Yes, sir.

Aah!

You troddn' on the devil's ground now, Vall'ysman.

I'm sayin' jus' once.

That off lander ain't gettin' to the top.

Time for you to let go of that rope.

You trespass, you pay the price.

Now drop that rope.

Drop that rope!

Drop that rope!

Forcecon One entering the truck.

Roger that.

Maintaining visual.

-It's her! -Everything okay, huh?

What?!

Freeze!

Who are you?

Commander Hae-Joo Chang.

First Science Officer of the Union Rebellion.

Why are you doing this?

'Cause I believe you have

the power to change this world.

Now drop that rope.

Let go of that rope! Let go of that rope!

Hands'a'bleedin', can't let go.

-Let go! -Hands'a'bleedin'...

-Can't let go. -Don't let go. No.

Thank you, Zachry.

You savin' me twicely now.

You fall, I catch you.

Excessive force confirmed.

Stop them. Stop them now!

What are you doing, boy?

I thought I'd made myself clear.

Do what you want. I'm leaving.

Fine, Frobisher. Go.

But I'll take this.

Give that to me!

-It's mine! -I'm warning you.

Under the conditions of this relationship,

I'm certainly within my legal rights.

Give it to me!

Give it to me or, I swear to God,

I will kill you as you stand!

Please.

You're a coward.

I'll do it.

You won't pull that trigger.

Your kind never does.

Ah, yes. Yes, well...

how fares our worm today, Adam?

I'm afraid it has taken the best of me.

Oh, no, no, no. Nonsense. Nonsense.

You mustn't give up.

You must think of your beautiful wife.

You must think of Tilda.

They're trapped in the damway. We've got them.

Come on.

What are you doing?

Come on, come on. Hurry!

Nay, the dead never stay dead.

Open your ears 'n' they never stop a'yibberin'.

What is this place?

Before the fall,

old 'uns built dwellings,

beyond the sky, among the stars, and...

this place joined here with there.

Sonmi...

'Tis she.

The old 'uns prayed to Sonmi same as Valleysmen?

Nay, not 'cisely same.

Move it! Move it. Step aside.

Over here. This way.

Get out of my way!

Come on.

Now, stay close. Fabricants get snatched here.

All clear.

-Thank you. -No sweat.

We're partners.

But you gotta tell me what's happening.

Okay. Let me take off these clothes, call the cops,

and I promise I'll tell you everything that happened in the morning.

Okay, but I hope you realize you just said

exactly what every character in any decent mystery says

right before they get killed.

Good night, Javier.

What'd you mean down there, 'bout...

the old 'uns and Valleysmen prayin' to Sonmi,

not 'cisely the same?

I mean...

they were differing.

Differing.

How?

You want the true-true?

This is where you live?

This is where Union was born.

Sonmi weren't no god.

She died hundreds of years ago

on a faraway pen'sula dead landed now.

What?

I cog Valleysman b'liefs'.

I know Abbess teach'd you Sonmi was a mir'cle,

birthed o' Darwin God o' smart,

but ain't the true-true.

Lies.

Her life was sad 'n' Judased.

She died tr yin' to change the old 'uns thinkin'.

Lies, nothin' but lies.

Nay, nay, you're lyin'.

The nature of our immortal lives

-is in the consequences of our words... -Sonmi?

'Fore she died, she spoke of her acts 'n' deedin's.

Her words a heart sake blessin'

minder me what's the true-true.

How long you lissin t'this?!

How long you jus' stand there an' let a stranger

keep fuckin' your b'liefs

up 'n' down, and in 'n' out?!

Our lives are not our own.

From womb to tomb, we are bound to others.

Zachry.

You o'right?

Finish your sussin'.

If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead.

I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna talk.

Be cool, all right?

And if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already.

How's that feel, huh?

Good conversation starter, isn't it?

You are Lester Rey's daughter, that's for goddamn sure.

You knew my father?

Korean War. I was in the 2-1.

That's me on the end, next to your dad.

The mortar landed so close it could've dropped out of my ass.

If your father hadn't done what he did,

I wouldn't be here.

Guess that makes two of us.

Oh, yeah, you ain't let go that rope

'cause you a lustin'...

for that darkly, sweet ' meat.

Ah, cog it all now.

This whore, with her cokeynut skin

'n' her slywise mask, Smilin' 'n' wormin' her way

so you trust 'n' bring her here...

scavin' 'n' sivvin' for what?

For what, fool?

They want the island.

Prescients want it all.

You Judasing your Kin...

for a piece of ass.

She ain't your tribe! She ain't even your color!

This Jezebel ignores your yarns and ways,

spinnin' and spoutin' her woahsome lies,

and you lap it up like a dog in heat!

It ain't true.

Ain't it? Then do sumthin', stop her!

Take your spiker and slit her throat.

Protect your tribe!

Protect your sis and little Catkin!

Kill her now 'fore it's too late!

They will kill you.

You don't know these people like I do.

Yeah?

Well, if that's all you came to tell me,

you're a little bit late.

Somebody just forced me off the Swannekkee bridge.

This is out of control.

You know who did it?

A contractor. Calls himself Bill Smoke.

And...

What?

He got Sachs.

Isaac?

A bomb on his plane.

The press is blaming the PLO.

He was a threat, like Sixsmith.

Like...you.

They all need to get in here to pass behind.

Bring them through.

Sonmi-451.

I am most honored to meet you.

I am General An-Kor Apis, leader of Union.

Who's paying him?

The same guy that pays me.

Lloyd Hooks?

He was in Pikes Consulting.

Yeah, I heard of them. They're, uh...

lobbyists for oil companies. But...

why would big oil hire Lloyd Hooks

to run a nuclear reactor?

You got that same look your father used to get.

You see it, don't you?

Hooks doesn't want the report discovered

because he doesn't want the reactor fixed.

He wants it to fail.

This is about the future of energy in this country.

They want the explosion, the chaos and carnage.

The more deaths, the better.

Can't cog it.

Words and worrins like a wasp's nest, poke'd and prod'd by you!

You come elbowing in my life,

yibberin' about the true-true

an' never telling the whole true.

I need to cog what you're doing!

I told you. I come to send a plea o'help.

Help, why?

To steal our land?

To kill and slave us all? What you want?!

Prescients dyin', Zachry. Jus' like Catkin.

This world poisoned me and all my kin.

We get no help, find no home off land away.

I say so true some, we not s'vive.

We not s'vive.

Ayrs has the dogs after me.

The bullet passed through,

killing little more than his appetite,

yet he's out for blood.

I'll have to pay the piper.

I should call the cops.

Won't help.

How do I know you're not lying to me?

Smoke"ll be coming for me

as soon as he figures out I'm with you.

We need that report.

I can't protect you for long without it.

General Apis...

You, my dear...

are proof our efforts were not in vain.

But I'm just a dinery server.

I was not genomed to alter reality.

No revolutionary ever was.

I'm sorry. I cannot do what you're asking.

It would be a difficult choice for anyone.

But before you call your decision final,

there is one last thing I would like you to see

in order to fully understand what we are fighting for.

Cross your fingers and toes.

If your prayer be answered...

will Prescients never return to the valley again?

Those wishin' to come with us, be welcome.

The valley is my home.

Are you all right?

I know it is forbidden.

Sixsmith, I climb the steps of the Scott Monument every morning,

and all becomes clear.

Wish I could make you see this brightness.

Don't worry, all is well.

All is so perfectly, damnably well!

I understand now

that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions.

All boundaries are conventions

waiting to be transcended.

One may transcend any convention

if only one can first conceive of doing so.

At moments like this,

I can feel your heart beating as clearly as I feel my own,

and I know that separation is an illusion.

My life extends far beyond the limitations of me.

All hands wear ship!

All hands!

Storm is comin', Mr. Ewing.

Got to get you down below.

Yes. Okay.

I'm not running a fucking charity.

Out with you!

On you go!

Oh, Mr. Ewing.

A-a-a-a word, if I may?

Dangerous times we live in, eh?

Quite a scandal.

They say this ruffian, Robert Frobisher,

is a composer.

You're a composer too, aren't you, Mr. "Ewing"?

What do you want?

The constable asked to search my rooms.

I know how hard you're working,

so I told him there's no one on the third floor.

It costs quite a bit of money to keep an entire floor empty.

That's all I have.

What a beautiful waistcoat.

If these letters aren't important,

why do you keep reading them?

I don't know.

Maybe I'm just trying to understand something.

What?

Why we keep making the same mistakes over and over.

Maybe you should ask...

Megan.

What?

Do you know a Megan?

That's his niece.

How do you know that?

Looks like he mailed something to her.

Probably used the envelope he was keeping the letters in.

Come on, Luisa. First rule of mystery writing:

a good clue always leads to another clue.

When The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish

is turned into a film,

I'm thinking for the role of the hero

one part Sir Laurence Olivier...

with a dash of Michael Caine.

Who the hell is this?

Dr. Conway, Aurora House.

I'm covering for Dr. Upward.

Oh, is this about Mother?

Yes, it is, Mr. Hotchkiss.

I'm afraid you must steel yourself.

I don't think she's going to last the night.

Unfortunately, it isn't a convenient time for us.

Do we really need to come right now?

No, no, of course not, but she did ask for you specifically,

and she seems quite upset about her last will.

We'll be right there.

The plan was a series of toppling dominoes

that had commenced with Ernie announcing my death

to Nurse Noakes.

I know, I know!

The entire ambush hinged upon the silence of Mr. Meeks.

I know, I know.

Mr. Cavendish?

Everything all right?

Don't leave me here!

Mr. Cavendish?

You!

I knew it was too good to be true!

You cantankerous witch!

Mr. Hotchkiss, your mother is my dearest friend here.

Do please hurry.

And so, adieu!

Which, translated literally from the French,

means 'to commend before...

God'!

I have Joe Napier on line one, Mr. Hooks.

He said he can't wait.

For God's sake, Joe, I am late already. What's up?

I got a call from that reporter. Rey?

She was asking about Sixsmith.

I see.

You said she wasn't gonna be a problem.

Well, some problems are more resilient than others, Joe.

Where's the ruddy key?

Did he not leave it in the ignition?

His wife was driving! She took it!

The ruddy female took the key in with her!

Oh, sweet Saint ruddy Jude, what do we do now?

Look under the sun flap!

Yes!

What is it?

It's not a key. What do you do with it?

-What else could it be? -Well, how does it work?!

Shite!

Oh, no!

Well, think of something! You're the genius!

You're the ruddy, ruddy genius!

We're done for.

Oh, boy.

I can't even believe I agreed to do this.

Is this thing working? I mean, is it even on?

Can you hear me?

Just keep walking.

I think he's behind me.

Whatever you do, don't look back.

Get out of my car or I'll sue!

I'm gonna flay your arse straight into a coma

if you don't open this door!

-Get out of my car! -You! Out!

-Get out of my bloody car! -Cavendish!

What's that button for?

Get out of my bloody car!

Yes!

Yes!

Oh, no. It's Mr. Meeks.

He does want to come. Oh, dear.

Ruddy bloody hell.

All for one and one for all?

The gate!

Veronica, would you unlock the door for Mr. Meeks?

Hello, Mr. Meeks! We're out for a nighttime drive.

I know! I know!

Ramming speed!

Oh, how thrilling!

Oh, no!

Foot to the floor, Cavendish!

Here we go!

Here we go.

Come on now, Adam, handsomely does it.

Oh, the worm fights back.

It is always darkest before the dawn.

Mr. Ewing!

Mr. Ewing is at a critical juncture in his treatment.

The next few hours will determine if he lives or dies.

Then I stay here.

No, no, no, no, no, you can't.

I must. Mr. Ewing save my life.

He my duty.

Listen to me, you ignorant ape.

Mr. Ewing doesn't want you around him.

You probably infected him to begin with!

He begged me, and I quote,

"Keep that dirty nigger away from me."

So, please, kindly respect his wishes!

-Where'd he go? -I don't know.

Oh, shit.

To freedom!

Freedom!

Bullshit!

That's it. England does it again.

Scotland goes down in flames. Oh, the embarrassment!

You are going to be sorry in ways you cannot even imagine.

Fuckin' English bastards!

Heeeeeeeelp!

-Fuck! -Joe!

-No illegals here! No illegals here! -Look.

-I'm not an inspector. -Bossaway! Bossaway!

We need your help.

Los papeles estan en Orden. Mi Jefe no esta...

I don't understand.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

Are there no true Scotsmen in the house?

Those there English gerunts

are trampling all over my God-given rights!

These people are mine.

They've used me and my pals most direly,

and we're in need of a wee bit of assistance!

Aye, pal.

We'll not let you down.

Now you just look here, you grebo.

You can go shag your bloody sporran..

Y usted quien es? No es dia de visit as.

No queremos a nadie aqui ni a usted tampoco.

Two people came in here. Which way did they go?

We treat workers good!

Los tratamos muy Bien. No need union!

Which way did they go?

Ay mamita! Tranquilito, mi pobre...

Shut up!

My boss has many friends. He's a very...

Shut the fuck up!

Don't make a mistake!

Stupid fucking wetback.

What, what, what is that, Adam?

How shall I comprehend when you drool and dribble so?

Oh, let me hazard a guess.

Something in the key of,

"Oh, Henry, how could you do this to me?

I thought we were friends."

Well, unfortunately, you were wrong.

Wrong.

Like Horrox and your silly father-in-law.

There is only one rule that binds all people,

one governing principle

that defines every relationship on God's green earth.

"The weak are meat and the strong do eat."

That way.

I told Hooks you couldn't be trusted, Joe.

You'll be next, you son of a bitch.

Part of the business.

Enjoy your retirement.

And don't call me a fucking wetback!

Stand by to take in...

Why, you ask?

It's absurdly simple.

There is gold in your trunk. I want it...

so I have killed you for it.

Get away from Mr. Ewing or I kill you.

You!

Mr. Ewing, Mr. Ewing!

Got to flush you out.

Come on, Mr. Ewing, come on.

What was that?

Kona, war cry.

Zachry!

Oh, no, no, no, Sonmi, no!

Zachry!

This is what the general wanted me to see?

The end rushes towards me.

Unable to eat or sleep.

Like Ewing, the "mortal coil” has become a noose.

Would rather become music.

They believe they are going to Xultation...

but they are not, are they?

Welcome. Oso oseyo.

Take a seat.

Just relax.

This is to remove your collar.

Nay.

Nay.

Rose.

Enemy's sleepin', don't slit that throat.

Their genomics industry demands a huge quantity

of bio matter for wombtanks.

But more importantly,

to sustain their engineered labor force.

Recycled fabricants are a cheap source of protein.

Soap.

They feed us to ourselves.

That ship...

that ship must be destroyed.

Yes.

The systems that built them must be torn down.

Yes.

No matter if we are born in a tank or a womb,

we are all pure blood.

Yes.

We must all fight...

and, if necessary, die...

to teach people the truth.

This is what we have been waiting for.

It's done.

Here, here, Catkin.

Oh! Oh, Catkin.

No.

You were then taken to a Union-controlled satellite link.

I broadcast my revelation

to the 12 states and four off-world colonies.

18 minutes later, the Enforcers attacked.

To be is to be perceived.

And so to know thyself is only possible

through the eyes of the other.

The nature of our immortal lives

is in the consequences of our words and deeds

that go on apportioning themselves

throughout all time.

Zachry.

Unc'a Zach!

Hide, hide.

Zachry! Nay! Nay! Nay!

You Kill chief. Now you meat.

Catkin.

-Safe now. -Unc'a Zach!

Safe, safe now.

Thank Sonmi.

No, thank you.

Come on, Mr. Ewing, one more.

One more.

Salt clean out your stomach.

Good, good.

Come on, Mr. Ewing, come on. Come on.

See where we are? See where we are?

Stay here.

Home.

Home.

Megan Sixsmith?

Make them pay.

You can count on it.

Thank you.

My uncle was a scientist,

but he believed that love was real...

a kind of...

natural phenomenon.

He believed that...

love could outlive death.

Finished in a frenzy that reminded me

of our last night in Cambridge.

Watched my final sunrise, enjoyed a last cigarette.

Didn't think the view could be any more perfect...

until I saw that beat-up trilby.

Honestly, Sixsmith,

as ridiculous as that thing makes you look,

I don't believe I've ever seen anything more beautiful.

Watched you for as long as I dared.

I don't believe it was a fluke that I saw you first.

Okay.

Thank you.

Captain say-soed take you with us.

I wanna go with Meronym.

Go where?

Prescients 'n'same boat as us.

Got no home neither wise.

Nay...not yet.

You think someone going to hear your prayer,

come down from the sky?

P'haps.

P'haps one day.

One day ain't but a flea o' hope.

Yay, and fleas ain't so easy to rid.

I believe there is another world

waiting for us, Sixsmith.

A better world,

and I'll be waiting for you there.

May I help you, sir?

Yes, thank you,

I'm looking for a friend who came to Edin...

burgh.

I believe we do not stay dead long.

Find me beneath the Corsican Stars where we first kissed.

Yours eternally, R.F.

No.

No!

No!

The report said Commander Chang was Killed in the assault.

That is correct.

Would you say that you loved him?

Yes, I do.

Do you mean you are still in love with him?

I mean that I will always be.

Our lives are not our own.

From womb to tomb...

we are bound to others...

past and present...

and by each crime and every kindness,

we birth our future.

In your revelation,

you spoke of the consequences of an individual's life

rippling throughout eternity.

Does this mean that you believe in an afterlife?

In a heaven or a hell?

I believe death is only a door.

When it closes, another opens.

If I cared to imagine a heaven,

I would imagine a door opening...

and behind it...

I would find him there...

waiting for me.

I'm home...I'm home.

Oh, God, I missed you so much!

Thank you, sir.

If I may ask one last question...

You had to know this Union scheme was doomed to fail.

Yes.

Then why did you agree to it?

This is what General Apis asked of me.

What, to be executed?

If I had remained invisible, the truth would stay hidden.

I couldn't allow that.

And what if no one believes this "truth"?

Someone already does.

Adam? Good God!

I have just been recounting your astonishing adventure.

Please join us.

Get him a chair.

No, no, thank you. I cannot stay.

Well, what are you doing here?

I thought the doctor said at least three weeks in bed?

He did, but this couldn't wait.

I need to speak with you, sir. Privately.

Of course.

Excuse me.

Is that the contract from Reverend Horrox?

It is indeed.

Well, you know, I could have sent a boy.

Are you insane?!

I owe my life to a self-freed slave.

And I cannot in good conscience

participate in this kind of business any longer.

This would make such a good book.

I'll drink to that.

Outside, fat snowflakes are falling

on slate roofs and granite walls.

Like Solzhenitsyn laboring in Vermont,

I shall beaver away in exile.

Unlike Solzhenitsyn, I shan't be alone.

Goddamn you, sir!

If you were not my daughter's husband...

Hello, Father.

Tilda?

What is going on?

I've come to say goodbye.

Goodbye? Where are you going?

We're moving back east to work with the abolitionists.

What?

That poison has rotted your brain!

Well, if it has, I highly recommend it.

I've not felt this good in years.

Tilda, I forbid you from going anywhere with this madman!

I've been afraid of you my whole life, Father.

I'm going with my husband.

Adam!

Listen to me.

For the sake of my grandson, if not your own.

There is a natural order to this world,

and those who try to upend it do not fare well.

This movement will never survive.

If you join them, you and your entire family will be shunned.

At best, you'll exist as pariah to be spat on and beaten.

At worst, lynched or crucified.

And for what?

For what?

No matter what you do,

it will never amount to anything more

than a single drop in a limitless ocean!

But what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?

Well, firey dyin'.

Just as well.

My yarning is done.

No! Please!

-Tell us one more! -Come on! Please!

Come on in here, you little buggers!

Come on, it's gettin' cold!

Now, you heard your Grammy. Go on. Get on with ya.

Come on.

You like it out here, don'tcha, Grampy?

Supposin' it minders me of my valley, huh?

Which is Earth?

There.

That one there. That blue shimmerer.

Yeah.

Now, help your Grampy up.

Oh, yeah.

Are you gonna tell us 'bout the woahsome ship

and the big sleep and all the nex'nexs?

No, your Grammy tells the nex'nexs way better than me.

Do you still love Grammy?

Your Grammy...

is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Come on here, Grampy.

Lemme warm them old bones.