Virtually True (37 page)

Maxi laughs, sounds like a squeaky screen door opening, closing. “A lot of factories down there, but Sato’s a majority investor in that bugger there. The rest are to be left alone or ADC’ll have to pay restitution.”

“Could get expensive.”

Maxi doesn’t hear him. “Can you believe this bulldust? Corp warfare? It’s finally happened. Why aren’t you recording, mate?”

“It’s your scoop. Working on something else. Mind if I watch your screen?”

“Don’t come the raw prawn with me. What’s your biz?”

Where to start? “Had a run in with Bong Bong in the shanties. He got my wrist-top. I got out alive.”

Maxi scratches his head through his hat. “Bong Bong’s been bonked? You pulling my dick?”

“He’s dead.”

“That bloody ocker feel a lot of pain when he got offed?”

“Homemade napalm.”

“Ouch!” Maxi reaches into his pocket. Takes out a wrist-top transmitter. Ancient: 2-3 years old, but it’ll work. Eden can clean up transmission if need be. “I owe you, mate. Every journo who’s ever been stuck in this never-never land does. Take a spare.”

“Thanks.” True sets up a link with Eden. Posts the images.

“I’m getting the pix. What do you want me to do?” Eden asks.

“Send them direct to WWTV head office in New York. Tell them it’s me transmitting.” Technically, True is required to have all footage edited and approved by the anchor. But WWTV isn’t going to turn down primo war footage.

The clones are collecting at the bottom, on an equal plain with the mercenary army. They are like a well-conceived business plan: neat, crisp, clean, in stark contrast to the rag-tag mercenary force. True’s eyes blur over the thousands of cloned troops on the move, identical goggles and uniforms, the same height, weight, build, all bred for battle.

The mercenaries fire first, low-wattage lasers, the color of concentrated urine. True and Maxi film it, both automatically enhancing the color. One hundred percent attention focused on their wrist-top 3-D screens. True sees all the action via his wrist-top recording, feels like he’s in an action movie himself, with his gangly sidekick Maxi. He can almost see the script unfold.

MAXI

(
ducking as airborne debris rains down around him
)

Whoo! Would rather cauterize me own wound.

TRUE

(
breaking his 3-D screen into 16 separate action scenes, zooming in at will, fingers dancing over the touchscreen
)

Here. Cover your wound with this.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

TRUE, who’s stopped typing long enough to rip a piece of his shirt off, handing the strip to MAXI, who uses it for a makeshift sling. Both back to filming, expressions grim.

CUT TO

THE BATTLEFIELD: from where they are, quite a distance, down the hill. They feel safe here. Other thrill-seekers mill about. A pickpocket works the crowd, mostly robbing tourists, legs ghostly white, their skin splotched by early-stage melanoma.

ZOOM IN ON

THE FACTORY, which is pummeled by CLONE artillery, bullets and searing laser-fire. A wall disintegrates, topples on some dug-in mercenaries. The noise is deafening, even from TRUE and MAXI’s vantage point. Bedlam.

CUT TO

TRUE taking in the action on his wrist-top.

ZOOM IN ON

TRUE’s screen, still divided into 16 sections with 16 different camera angles, 16 miniature battles playing out at the same time.

CUT TO

WITHIN THE SCREEN, a CLONE firing his laser at a BOY, maybe of Pakistani descent, maybe Indian, and the BOY is cleanly severed. Legs lie a meter or two away. The boy’s arms are wrapped around his torso, his mouth is contorted in agony. TRUE cannot mike his screams over the hubbub, but knows he can overdub them later. The factory is popcorned with artillery, splashed by lasers. It crumbles.

MAXI

Look at them shoes in the rubble. As soon as this is over, these Luzonian looters going to have themselves a party.

CUT TO

MERCENARIES on the run, retreating, and in some cases, circling back around the CLONES, racing around the hill and up the sides toward True and Maxi. The battle is now over the land under the factory and the CLONES have the upper hand. The sounds of battle, juked up on TRUE and MAXI’s receivers, get louder as MERCENARIES swarm toward them, the battlefield shifting as CLONES take up positions on Sato factory land. A nearby factory—another company, another country—lies untouched. The CLONES secure the land, working smoothly, while other CLONES give chase to the MERCENARIES.

CUT TO

A laser streaking over TRUE and MAXI’s heads.

MAXI

(
checking his hat for damage
)

That was too close.

TRUE

We have to get out of here. The mercs can shoot whoever they want, journos included.

MAXI

Too right.

TRUE

They under the standard merc contract?

MAXI

That’s right. They lose, they get nothing.

TRUE

Not much incentive for a neat little war, is there?

MAXI

GDAYGDAYGDAY
.

TRUE

What?

MAXI

(
shouting red
)

I said not from their perspective.

CUT TO

MERCENARIES flooding their only rear guard route of escape. TRUE and MAXI are hemmed in on all sides. CLONES are fortified in front of them, protecting newly conquered territory.

TRUE

We’ve got to get out of here.

MAXI

How?

CUT TO

An explosion rocking the hill, and TRUE and MAXI stumble trying to retain their balance. A tourist is hit by whistling shrapnel, falls to the ground screaming. There’s panic, as the crowd of onlookers races in five different directions at once. A CONVENIENCE STORE is hit and shortly after beer and soda fizz out on the street. Other liquids as well. A few desperate onlookers fling themselves on the rising tide of soft drinks, lapping at it with their tongues.

CUT TO

TRUE, enhancing the scope of his screen to 360 degrees. Behind, he can see that the MERCENARIES have stopped running and are massing behind them. The CLONES in front. Realizes HE and MAXI are seconds away from being caught in the crossfire.

TRUE

Sato’s mercs are regrouping to take this hill.

CUT TO

TRUE, WITH A DESPERATE IDEA. CLOSE UP.

PAN BACK TO

TRUE, pointing at the CLONES.

MAXI

(
shaking his head in disbelief
)

You out of your fucking Yankee head? Run straight into an army pointing lasers? That’s hara-kiri, mate. Those clones have no soul. They’ll kill you in a quick sec.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

MAXI, looking to run toward the mercenaries. TRUE grabs MAXI’s injured arm.

MAXI

Fuck! That hurt.

TRUE

You’re not thinking clearly. Listen. The clones only shoot pre-scanned enemies. It’s the mercs we have to look out for.

MAXI

Don’t wait around on my account.

CUT TO

TRUE and MAXI running full throttle down the hill, into CLONE fortifications. TRUE feels he may not be the fastest man who ever lived, but then again, maybe at this moment he is. As they get closer, bullets and lasers piss across the sky, over them, not on them, from behind. The hill provides temporary shelter, a shield from the mercenary volley. CLONE lasers and guns are held, ammo not wasted. True and Maxi skid to awkward stops when a CLONE laser is fired. The smell of an electrical fire. TRUE and MAXI see a MERCENARY melted into a small pond. TRUE holds up both hands in surrender. MAXI holds his hat to his head.

TRUE

(
shouting hoarse
)

We’re journalists.

MAXI

That’s right, you bloody laboratory experiments. Show them your press pass, Ailey.

TRUE

(
hissing
)

Me? I’m not reaching into my pocket with a billion jigs of laser fire power trained on us. Show them yours.