FADE IN:

INT. LABORATORY. EVENING.

A male SCIENTIST in a white coat walks into a room filled with electronic gadgetry, vials of multi-colored fluid, tubing and miscellaneous scientific equipment. A YOUNG WOMAN lies on table. Her skin has a blue cast in the pale light. Fog, like that from dry ice, is seen through a glass window in an adjoining room.

The woman is covered from upper chest to just above the knee with a dark sheet. The scientist is 50-ish, balding with wispy gray hair on top of his head and thick glasses. He addresses the woman lying lifeless on the table. She is very lovely, in her early twenties, oblivious to the scientist as he speaks.

SCIENTIST

Liebchen, liebchen, do you hear me?

His face draws closer to hers. She does not respond. The scientist moves over to the control box. He adjusts several controls and the faint hum of machinery becomes more audible.

SCIENTIST

Hello, my liebchen.

The scientist puts his hand under the sheet, moving it at will over her breasts, down along her stomach, emerging from under the sheets over her thigh and down along her calf. The scientist’s face reflects a demented satisfaction as he grins perversely.

The woman, smiling, opens her eyes. She gets up slowly from the table; the sheet falls off to reveal her fully as she stands erect. She wears a slim black band around her breasts, a black thong-like bikini bottom, and knee-high black leather boots. She turns to face the scientist, moving seductively as she approaches him, putting her arms around him. Sweat glistens from his forehead as he kisses her.

Suddenly, his eyes widen in a pained expression as he opens his mouth to scream. The woman’s teeth are seen clamping down hard on the man’s tongue. He begins to try screaming in panic but it’s too late. The woman’s face reflects sadistic glee as she bites down hard, severing the scientist’s tongue.

The woman sports the bloody trophy for a few seconds before spitting it to the floor while simultaneously the scientist recoils in terror, clutching his mouth as blood spills down his chin and neck, spattering his white lab coat.

The scientist rushes over to a wall where a small alarm switch is located, struggling to pull the lever while still covering his mouth with his other hand. The woman’s long finger nailed hand reaches over his shoulder, pulling him away from the emergency switch, which has now triggered red lights and sirens.

The name tag on the scientist’s lab coat has capital letters which read R.C.I. and an undecipherable name underneath. He spins to confront his attacker. Horrified he rushes to the door but the woman grabs him and throws him down onto the floor, his screams are now gurgling from the blood he is swallowing.

The woman picks up her foot; stiletto heel comes down full force into the scientist’s chest, his back arches, shuddering as the blow is a fatal one, his eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling as a pool of every widening blood forms on his white lab coat from the impaled boot heel. The woman pulls her heel out and the scientist continues to writhe spasmodically on the floor, as if in the throes of death.

The woman continues to smile, reaches over to turn on the radio which plays a song while the sirens and red lights continue, creating an overall effect of hellish chaos. She closes her eyes, raises her arms and dances rhythmically, seemingly oblivious to the scene of carnage surrounding her.

CUT TO:

CREDIT SEQUENCE:

SAMANTHA Q-10

INT. APARTMENT. MORNING.

A residential living room. A man looks through a window. The man’s face reflects light coming from the window breaking into a linear pattern from the blinds. Man’s name is ELLERY ZANNER (El for short). Ellery is medium height, slender, with short dark hair brushed back. He is wearing a coat and tie.

Unkempt HOMELESS MAN is outside walking up the street, pushing a grocery cart filled with junk talking to himself unintelligibly. El also begins muttering to himself as he looks through the window.

That’s the third time this week

I’ve seen that guy walking around

here. You think you live in a

pretty good neighborhood and

then you see some bum roaming

around. I wonder what the hell

he’s talking to himself about?

Geez! Poor bastard.

El closes the blinds with disgust. He looks at his watch.

Man! It’s time for work! I guess I

have nothing better to do than talk to

myself.

El contemplates this statement momentarily.

INT. THE OFFICE. MORNING.

El walks in and turns past rows of cubicles, each with a person at a desk facing a computer, emphasizing the repetitious, anonymous nature of a generically sterile corporate office environment.

El arrives at his desk and sits down. He looks at the computer resignedly, takes off his coat absentmindedly and turns on the computer. The videophone beeps at his desk, he picks up the handset.

Good morning, El Zanner speaking.

(A beat)

Well, Mr. Caine, sir, we CANNOT

provide quality service to you because

we do not even attempt to provide

service to sick perverts such as

yourself.

(A beat)

El begins to laugh.

EL (CONT.)

What’s up, man?

(A beat)

I don’t know, Caine, I think I’m busy.

(A beat)

Oh yeah? Well, I do have other things

to do, you know, besides going to a bar

for overpriced drinks.

(A beat)

Okay, okay. You’re right. I don’t

have anything better to do tonight

than to spend money I don’t have.

Will you leave me alone if I say yes?

(A beat)

All right, yeah...later.

INT. OFFICE. EVENING.

El is at his desk, looks at his watch showing eight minutes past six. He speaks to his computer.

Logging off.

The COMPUTER responds in a benign female voice.

COMPUTER

Thank you for your effort in assisting

our team in its goal to meet quota. We

appreciate your additional sixty-eight

minutes of work product.

INT. BAR. EVENING.

Bar is smoky, dimly lit, noisy. El walks to bar and sits down next to his friend, IAN CAINE. Caine is also 30ish, slightly overweight but attractive in a waspish way. He runs his hand through his blonde hair impatiently. Caine is yelling across the bar but his words are indecipherable over the noisy din. Caine’s huskiness contrasts with El’s slim figure.

Hey, Ian, still sitting by yourself?

You’ve probably been here almost ten

minutes, and you’re still being ignored

by the ladies. Must be that old Caine

charisma.

Ian laughs.

BARTENDER approaches and El orders a drink.

IAN

Yeah? I’ve been here ten minutes

and you see her?

Ian points to an attractive blonde FEMALE in the corner of the bar.

IAN (CONT.)

Did her.

Ian turns and points to a tall brunette FEMALE standing at a table.

IAN (CONT.)

See her? Did her too.

That sounds about right. Let’s see,

you’ve been here ten minutes, you

did two chicks; that’s about five minutes

per liaison. That’s a big improvement

from what the ladies tell me, Ian.

IAN

Maybe, but then again, I’ve got twice

the dick you’ve got.

Three inches is nothing to brag about.

Bartender delivers the drink and El takes a swig. Ian orders another drink for El and himself.

EL (CONT.)

So what are we doing in this joint,

anyway?

IAN

You might as well be here than

at home yanking your crank. What’s

up with you?

The usual stuff. You know, we have this

new computer that tells you in a sweet

voice about what a crummy job you’re

doing for the Corporation. Soon I’ll be

taking orders from a damn computer.

The Infoera gives me a pain in my ass.

Ian appears to be only half-listening.

IAN

The what?

The Infoera. Isn’t that what they

call this decade? The Infoera is a

bite. A Mega-bite!

Bartender delivers drinks to Ian. He hands one of the shot glasses to El.

IAN

Cheers, dude.

Ian and El drink. Ian then looks intently at El, then back away, as he picks up conversation.

IAN (CONT.)

Yeah, right. The Infoera.

Ian has a vacant look on his face for a few seconds, then wipes his face with his sleeve and burps loudly.

El laughs at Ian’s rudeness.

I can see why you’re still sitting

by yourself. You haven’t lost

that old Caine sophistication and charm

after all.

Ian is not paying attention. Instead, he addresses a FEMALE that the audience can only vaguely see.

IAN

Hey baby! Lemme’ buy you a Rocket

Cocktail then you can tell me

the story behind those fabulous tits

of yours. I’ll bet it’s a book I

could bury my face in!

El puts his hand on his friend’s arm in an apparent effort to quiet him down.

Settle down, man. Geez!

Unidentified female turns and gives Ian the sign of her middle finger then walks off.

IAN

You don’t know what you’re missing,

baby!

Bartender approaches Ian with a form in his hand.

BARTENDER

Could you please sign this liability

waiver now, Mr. Caine. You know we

normally request it be done before

we start serving drinks, but

you’re such a good customer.........

IAN

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll sign the

shitty thing so you don’t get sued.

Ian takes the form and signs it. He hurls it back to the bartender while dismissing him at the same time. Ian looks at El, smiling.

IAN (CONT.)

You said you have a computer

that talks? That’s nothing new,

man. I have a computer that does

a lot more than talk.

Oh yeah?

IAN

I have a computer that will break

new ground, some cuttin’ etch’

technology!

What? ‘Cut-n-etch’?

IAN

CUT-TING EDGE, man. Cutting edge

with a passion wedge. You’ll

like the way it walks, you’ll like

the way it talks.

Ian forms a circle with his left hand, waves his right index finger in and out of the circle repeatedly.

What in God’s name are you talking

about?

El turns to bartender and shouts.

EL (CONT.)

No more for this guy, PLEASE!

Ian is completely oblivious. He turns and stares intently at El. Ian’s face is sweaty. A sinister grin forms on his face.

IAN

Cutting edge, ace. A techno-trip

with hips and lips.

Ian turns away and shouts at bartender.

IAN (CONT.)

Over here!

Ian turns back to El, still smiling.

I don’t techno-trip. It’s messed

up too many people. I think it’s

dangerous, regardless of the recent

government approval.

IAN

You pussy. You just need a little

self-discipline like me, and you can

techno-trip with control.

El rolls his eyes at Ian’s last sentence, shaking his head in disbelief and smiling.

I find it ironic that you’re using

words like ‘self-discipline’ and

‘control’.

IAN

I’m not talking about synthetic

cyber-mind shit anyway. This is

not virtual reality. This is real

virt-u-assity, dude.

I don’t get it.

Ian laughs.

IAN

Fucking-A you don’t. That’s why

you should tag along with me tomorrow,

so you can see how you DO get it.

You’re being kind of cryptic...

Ian looks at a passing FEMALE PATRON, then returns to face El.

IAN

Like I said before, I’m not talking

about some virtual reality, jerk-off.

El, I’ve got babes to talk to here.

Just meet me at my place at about

eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.

We’ll take a little ride to the

Android works.

(A beat)

Ian points with his glass to a fat GIRL, smiling in the corner.

IAN (CONT.)

El, man, I think she’s looking

at you.

Android works? Again, I rise

a toast to your roasted brain.

The rockets are talking. You’re

delusional.

Ian is visibly agitated, but grins.

IAN

Not so loud. If you exercise a

little restraint, we’ll be first

in line.

You’re telling me to exercise

restraint?! I still don’t follow

you. Besides, Android Works...

IAN

You will soon, comrade. Let’s

just drink to tomorrow.

Ian and El toast.

EXT. IAN’S APARTMENT COMPLEX. MORNING.

El walks down a hall of a building clearly in need of repair. There is evidence of paint peeling on the walls as El moves to Ian’s apartment. He begins to knock and is interrupted by the sound of a cat walking down the hallway. He looks at the cat and then looks back at the door, knocking. No response. After a few seconds, El knocks again. He hears the muffled response of Ian. El raises his voice.

Caine, it’s me. It’s eleven o’clock.

Get your mangy ass out of bed.

The apartment door across the hall opens slowly and an OLD MAN peers out through the small slit where the door is open. El turns to stare at him for a moment, then turns back to Ian’s apartment. The door across the hall shuts abruptly. El lowers his voice.

EL (CONT.)

Caine, it’s me. Lemme’ in.

The door to Ian’s apartment opens and Caine looks like death warmed over. His hair is messed up; he’s in his underwear. Ian is in a state of severe hangover.

IAN

Come on in.

Wow! You look like a pile of sun-

dried dog crap on a dirty sidewalk.

Ian reaches down for a cigarette.

IAN

Funny, I don’t feel like I’ve been

in the sun lately. Otherwise, your

assessment may be accurate.

El surveys Ian’s physical condition. Ian is in no shape to go out in public.

You just wanna’ can this idea?

I mean, you look pretty whipped.

(A beat)

Maybe you don’t remember, but you

said we’re going to Robot City

or some such imaginary place.

You said be here by eleven, in

case your scorched brain cells

can’t recollect.

Ian plops down in an easy chair abruptly.

EL (CONT.)

Hello, Ian. Do you read me?

Or are you still blinded

by the Rocket’s red glare?

IAN

Android Works, dipshit, not Robot

City.

Ian slowly inhales a cigarette.

So you do remember. You may have

a vestige of brain left after all.

Think about saving it for future

use.

Laughter from FEMALE is heard in the next room.

EL (CONT.)

Who’s that?

IAN

That’s Sheila. She’s just heading

out. Maybe I’ll introduce you next

time, if there is a next time.

Shee-lah....

IAN

Yeah, Sheila.

(A beat)

Sheila, the Squealah.

Sheila the Squealah. Does she

like Tequila?

IAN

Yeah, and she’d like to feel

ya’!

If ya’ ailin’, will she heal

ya’?

IAN

No. But when she’s drunk she’ll

peel ya’!

El and Ian break into laughter, and SHEILA peers around the corner. Sheila turns out to be one of the girls in the bar the night before. Sheila is about thirty with washed out sandy brown hair. She is slightly overweight, smiling and congenial.

El abruptly stops laughing and looks somewhat sheepish, waving hello gingerly. Ian continues to laugh and at this point is dancing around the room merrily with a cap he has found on the floor. He is singing in the ridiculous rhyme.

SHEILA

Hi and bye. I’ll see you mega-skanks

later. Some of us have to work.

Sheila exits out the front door.

Ian stops dancing and throws down the hat with a look of disdain on his face, taking another drag from his cigarette. He plops back down in a big recliner, takes a final drag of the cigarette and dowses it. He then gets up.

IAN

I gotta get dressed. It’ll only

take a couple of minutes.

El walks over to the recliner, seeing the corner of a box poking out from underneath, he pulls the box all the way out from under the chair.

Hey Ian, how old is this pizza?

INT. IAN’S CAR. DAY.

We see El in front passenger seat of car and Ian is driving.

So where is this Android City,

anyway? And, more importantly,

what is it? Basically, what the

hell are you getting us into?

Ian pulls a flask from his pocket and offers El a drink. El shakes his head.

IAN

Android City is a high-tech design

firm that specializes in creating

robots that look more real than

you’d believe.

Ian and El’s faces alternate in light and dark from the staccato rhythm of light though the bare trees.

IAN

They were initially developed to

be used in warfare, instead of

real people. But the early models

weren’t very reliable, as well

as being very expensive and

difficult to maintain. But the

the technology was refined over

time.

You mean that this Android City

place made synthetic creatures

that would be used in place of

real human beings in case of war?

IAN

You got it, man. The idea was

that if we got into some sort of,

you know, international skirmish,

we could use the androids instead

of real soldiers. Imagine a war

without casualties for our side.

Okay. No death, no injuries, no

human lives at stake. So, war

just turns into a kind of board

game. Chess, anyone?

IAN

The idea started off based on

that concept, but the.....

(A beat)

The what?

IAN

There was a lot of objection

from our military establishment.

Seems to me like the military

would applaud the idea of not

having to risk the lives of its

soldiers.

IAN

You’ve gotta’ remember what our

nation’s fighting forces are all

about. There’s a whole machinery

in place to support our military.

Without the employment provided

by the Army, Navy, Air Force,

etcetera, you’re looking at a lot

of people out of work. If they’re

gonna’ be replaced by computerized

fighting machines, who needs

‘em?.

So the whole idea was quashed

because the military industrial

complex had too much at stake.

The potential for the end of human

suffering in war was overshadowed

by economic considerations.

IAN

Bingo!

What does all that have to do

with us, or me, anyway?

IAN

That has everything to do with

us, El. I do contract work for

the U.S. Government, El, you know

that. I learned about all this

just as it was being declassified

in covert operations.

Ian salutes with his right hand while driving with left hand. He swerves with momentary loss of control of the steering wheel and regains control. An oncoming truck that passes blows its horn loudly. Ian grabs his crotch symbolically, as if holding penis. He screams at passing truck.

IAN

You can really blow your horn!

Can you blow this, bitch?!

Get a grip, man.

IAN

I gotta grip.

What kind of covert activity are

you involved with? If getting

drunk and laid is part of your

covert activity, it’s no secret!

IAN

I found out about the Android

Works through my government

contracts. The project was

top secret when it started up.

Ian squints through the glare of sunlight on the windshield as if looking for something, as he tries to remember which road to turn on.

What do I want with a robot that’s

designed to fight in an armed

conflict? I’m a lover, not a

fighter.

IAN

All the more reason. Once R.C.I.

realized they weren’t going to get

the fat government contract they

had been counting on, they began

modifying their product to accommodate

pathetic pricks such as yourself.

Explain.

IAN

Don’t you see, man? If they can

make a fighting machine that

resembles a human being, why

not a sex machine that resembles

a human being?

So we’re in the market for a

sex slave robot. C’mon.

IAN

That’s right, my man. A synthetic

woman, gorgeous, absolutely

complete in every detail that can

fulfill your every desire.

Androids that look like models...

IAN

...Look like they walked off the

fucking pages of a high fashion

magazine, except instead of ignoring

you like you’d expect in real

life, they’ve been programmed to do

whatever you want ‘em to.

Ignored would be a step-up for you.

Ian turns off the main highway onto a secluded roadway lined with trees on both sides.

IAN

These synthe-babes are in the

research mode. In a few weeks,

they’ll probably be mass marketed,

but for now they’re in the final

experimental stages. And you,

my man, have just been guinea-pigged.

I..I..don’t like the sound

of that. It just doesn’t sound

natural.

IAN

Like all the rest of your relation-

ships were natural?

At least they were real human

beings.

Ian shakes his head in disbelief.

IAN

Real human beings, huh? You call

Angela a real human being?

She was flesh and blood, at least.

IAN

Flesh, maybe. But I’m not sure she

had blood running through her veins,

more like ice water!

Yeah, well, you know what I mean.

Having an android for a companion,

being intimate with a silicone sex

machine...it’s just kind of a weird

concept.

Ian shrugs and shakes his head.

IAN

Look, man, we’re here. Why don’t

you just check it out. If it still

bothers you, forget it. I just

thought you were a man who was,

you know, unconventional and

interested in new experiences.

All the more for me, I guess.

All right, all right. We’ll

check it out.

IAN

I should warn you, however, that

the androids have a few bugs in

them that need to be worked out

before mass marketing starts.

Bugs? Like glitches?

IAN

Yeah. It seems that one of these

test androids was getting it on with

a customer, and she went kinda’

berserk and ripped his balls off.

It’s said that she was spinning

around like a gyroscope, arms

flailing...

Ian lets go of the steering wheel and waves arms spastically for a moment, laughing.

IAN (CONT.)

....one hand gripping this poor

bastard’s testicles, blood flying

everywhere. He’s looking down where

his nuts oughta’ be and sees a gaping

hole. He’s freaking out.....

Okay, turn around. We’re going home.

El fidgets nervously in his seat, squirming as if to escape.

IAN

Wait a minute. You haven’t heard

the best part of the story!

What?!

IAN

I made it up!

You asshole!

Car turns into secured gateway and is seen pulling past security guards and into parking lot.

IAN

Here we are. Hold onto your jewels,

Jake!

El and Ian get out of the car, walk toward a large, non-descript building with a sign on the exterior that reads: R.C.I., Inc.

INT. R.C.I. BUILDING. DAY.

El and Ian enter a reception area. The walls are plain with minimal decoration. A receptionist sits at a desk, smiling. Behind the desk is a window revealing a hallway ceiling lined with white fluorescent lights. The name plate on the desk has only one name: VANESSA. Vanessa has olive colored skin, with hair pulled back tightly in a bun. Her white suit jacket and blouse are perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place.

Ian picks up her nameplate and begins playing with it.

IAN

Hey, Vanessa. We have an appointment.

Vanessa looks up bored and responds in a monotone voice.

VANESSA

Whom may I say is calling?

IAN

Ian Caine and Ellery Zanner.

VANESSA

Please sign in.

She turns a book around to face Ian and El and hands Ian a pen. She turns and speaks in direction of a black box.

VANESSA

Ian Caine and Ellery Zanner.

El leans over to whisper to Ian.

She sure doesn’t have much personality

to greet the public.

IAN

Good help is hard to find.

Vanessa turns around to face Ian and El, smiles and responds in a monotone voice.

VANESSA

You CAN get good help these days.

R.C.I., Inc. can provide you with

trained professionals designed to

assist you in every facet of your....

every facet of your lifestyle.

Ian and El look at each other in surprise at her response, as they were speaking very quietly. They are also surprised by her recitation. El smiles nervously and forces laughter.

You really have great ears. I

mean..you have a....uh.... really

great sense of hearing.

Vanessa looks at El blankly.

VANESSA

I have excellent aural receptors.

Yeah, that’s it. You have excellent

aural receptors.

El looks to Ian for reassurance. Ian is amused.

VANESSA

I am another quality product of

R.C.I.

Vanessa pulls chair up close to El’s body. Vanessa gets up and clasps El’s coat and pulls his face close to hers. Their noses almost touch. Vanessa speaks slowly and deliberately.

VANESSA (CONT.)

I AM another quality R.C.I. product.

Have you tried us yet?

El looks silly as he smiles nervously and begins to perspire.

Yes you are! That is, I’m sure you

are...another product of quality...

Vanessa lets go of El’s coat abruptly while smiling and licks her lips. El falls back suddenly, nearly losing his balance.

VANESSA

Someone will be with you in a

moment.

El sits back, a bit stunned by the whole scenario and collects himself. Ian is sitting in a chair, laughing quietly. He lights up a cigarette, shaking his head and chuckling.

CONRAD HAUSER enters the room abruptly, smiling broadly. He is meticulously groomed, has slicked back blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and is very handsome. He walks over to Ian, who stands up, and extends his hand. Conrad speaks in a slight European, maybe German accent.

CONRAD

Hello, Ian. Good to see you again!

IAN

Yeah, good to be here. Conrad, meet

my friend, El Zanner. Remember, I

told you about him?

Conrad pauses momentarily and looks at El as if dissecting him. Conrad then breaks into a grin and extends his hand.

CONRAD

Yes, Mr. Caine told me that you

may be interested in our test program.

My name is Conrad Hauser. I am the

PR man, so to speak, for the

Corporation. Welcome!

Uh....yeah, thanks.

CONRAD

Please follow me, gentlemen.

They walk into a hallway. Conrad turns back into the door of the office as Ian and El walking. Conrad looks at Vanessa sternly. Vanessa smiles in a fake manner.

CONRAD

Perhaps you should ease up on

the Cyber-Kaffe. Auf Wiedersehen,

Liebchen!

Conrad joins El and Ian and the three men walk down a white hallway.

CONRAD

So, Mr. Zanner, has my colleague,

Mr. Caine, explained the concept

of Android Works to you?

Yeah, more or less. Your company

made these life-like robots designed

for warfare, which didn’t quite make

the grade as far as the U.S. military

establishment was concerned.

Conrad looks at El sternly and waves a finger in the air.

CONRAD

Correction! We are committed to

quality!

El shrugs.

Okay, sure.

CONRAD

War is hell, but it is also good

business. You see, Mr. Zanner,

the initial development of this

product for our government has

led to a peace-time application

that’s even more exciting.

Swell.

CONRAD

It is swell, El! We have re-

tooled for the private sector

to market our invention in order

to bring more enjoyment and

leisure time to the masses.

So you came up with these...sex

machine androids, or whatever you

call them, for the masses such as

myself.

CONRAD

Please, Mr. Zanner! You sound so

judgmental! Mr. Caine has apparently

only explained one facet of the

many uses for which our product is

designed. Our robotic products can

be employed in a wide variety of

applications, depending on their

capabilities....

Conrad stops speaking as he realizes El and Ian are staring down the hall at an APPROACHING FIGURE. He realizes he has lost their attention, and smiles.

The figure is female, clad in high patent leather boots, a leather-like two piece bathing suit with a chrome breast plate. Her upper face is slightly covered by a leather-like mask with two eye holes.

The figure moves spastically, followed by a MAN in a white suit with a box in his hand. He is a few feet behind the figure and appears to be attempting to control the female figure with the box.

The two pass by and Conrad resumes talking. El looks at Ian and raises his eyebrows, as if perplexed. Ian grins and moves both of his eyebrows up and down quietly.

CONRAD (CONT.)

As I was saying, the robots have

a wide variety of uses. They are

not all simply pleasure machines.

They can be used as housekeepers,

companions, bodyguards, and surrogate

spouses. Right now, we are in the

final stages of our product develop-

ment before it’s release to the public.

We expect to market our androids in

the next few months.

Conrad approaches a door and opens it for Ian and El. The room is windowless, and painted pure white. On each side of the room there is one long row of chairs. Each chair seats a stiffly-postured modelesque female. The WOMEN are wearing whitish-silver swimsuits. All the figures sit motionless.

CONRAD (CONT.)

Well, here we are, gentlemen.

El appears very nervous.

Wow! What do we do now?

IAN

Check it out, man.

Ian begins to walk down aisle. El is slow to follow. Conrad accompanies them, walking slightly behind. El and Ian walk between the rows of figures in amazement.

CONRAD

Perhaps a demonstration, Mr. Zanner?

Demonstration?

Ian points to a seated blonde, who stares into space expressionless.

IAN

Yeah. I wanna’ demo with this

one. Demo da’ better!

CONRAD

Certainly, Mr. Caine. This is Xyla.

Xyla, say ‘Hello, Ian’.

XYLA

Hello, Ian.

Conrad waves his hand to a figure we cannot see. A LAB ASSISTANT in a white coat comes in and escorts Ian and Xyla out of the room. Conrad turns to El.

CONRAD

And what is your pleasure, Mr. Zanner?

El mutters under his breath.

A high-tech bordello.

(A beat)

Maybe I’ll just wait out front

for Ian.

CONRAD

Whatever you wish, Mr. Zanner.

But certainly a demonstration can

do no harm. It simply takes a

manner of minutes and is intended

to allow you to get a taste of what

our fabricated frauleins can do for

you.

Conrad points to a female figure named LIL. Lil is nearly six feet tall and sturdy, with the build of an Amazon. She has short reddish-brown hair and high cheekbones.

CONRAD (CONT.)

Here, this is Lil. Why don’t you

let Lil demonstrate her talents

for you? It is painless, I assure

you.

Conrad raises his hand again, signaling for the lab assistant, and points down to Lil. Lab assistant enters and escorts El and Lil out of the room.

They walk around the corner to a small room. The lab assistant opens the door and steps aside to allow El and Lil to enter. The lab assistant leaves the door ajar and exits the scene.

The room is white with only a white chair and table. There is also a small black tape player on the table.

LIL

Sit, please.

Okay.

LIL

What is your name?

El.

LIL

El. That must be short for Elvis.

Elvis, the patron saint of rock-n-

roll. Where is your cadillac, Elvis?

What happened to your pompadour?

My name isn’t Elvis. You see, I

was named after.....

LIL

Elvis lives! You must be the

living Elvis. Elvis died for

our sins. You old hound dog, you!

Lil moves closer to El and runs her fingers through his hair.

My name isn’t.....

LIL

Elvis died for our sins! Long

live Elvis! Where is your guitar?

Maybe we could just go back outside.

It was a nice conversation, Lil.

El attempts to rise out of his chair. Lil pushes El down firmly into the chair and becomes very stern.

LIL

Sit, please! I have something to

show you. I am in the demo mode

and I have something to show you,

Elvis. Listen to this!

She reaches down to the tape player and presses a button.

LIL (CONT.)

Listen now, and I will entertain

you, Elvis. I am another quality

R.C.I. product. Let’s play some

Elvis.

The music starts. It is an instrumental, featuring guitar, drums, and organ to a rock beat. Lil begins to dance. Lil dances for one to two minutes and then we see El’s eyes as he looks on intently.

This isn’t Elvis, and neither am I.

CUT TO:

INT. R.C.I. BUILDING. DAY.

El and Lil return to the main room where all the androids are seated. Lil sits and says nothing. Conrad approaches from off screen in an enthusiastic manner.

CONRAD

Well, Mr. Zanner, how did you enjoy

the demonstration?

She thought I was Elvis.

CONRAD

Well, she must have been most

impressed.

The point is, she really didn’t

seem to know or actually care,

who I was.

CONRAD

Yes, well, she was probably programmed

with a rock-n-roll chip or something.

You know we have a wide variety

of programs.

Yeah, I’ve heard. I think I might

get kind of bored being around

an android who has me confused with

someone else. She appears to

have a one-track mind.

CONRAD

Our products all have multi-track

mental capabilities, I assure you.

Well, like I said, I just don’t

think I’m interested.

CONRAD

Yes, well then, why don’t you wait

here while I check on your friend.

It will give you some time to think

about it.

I don’t think I really need any

time to think…

El’s voice trails off as Conrad has turned and is walking away, not giving El a chance to finish his thought.

While El’s sentence trails off without ending, we hear a voice in the background.

FEMALE

You won’t be bored with me.

El becomes startled and turns to see a female android staring straight ahead. She is slender, but shapely with dark straight hair parted in the middle.

Huh....?

FEMALE

I am made in such a fashion

that boredom is not probable.

Really?

FEMALE

But I have spoken in violation

of encoded norms and, therefore,

should speak no further.

You’re not supposed to be talking?

No response from the female android.

EL (CONT.)

What is your name?

FEMALE

Samantha.

I thought you weren’t supposed

to speak.

SAMANTHA

I was not in the demo mode and should

not have initiated conversation.

Now that you have initiated it,

I may respond.

Oh.

SAMANTHA

You may tell me your name also,

if you wish.

Ellery. El, for short.

SAMANTHA

Lil called you Elvis the King.

The only Ellery I can recall

has Queen for his surname.

Ellery Queen.

You could hear us in there?

SAMANTHA

No, but my vision is very acute.

I could read your lips through the

small opening in the door.

Your vision must be supersonic.

SAMANTHA

Hyperbolic orbital lenses.

Yeah. I guess that’s what I meant.

How do you know about Ellery Queen?

El squints his eyes as if to figure out Samantha.

SAMANTHA

I have a great deal of information

at my command. Why do you stare

at me so intently?

Hmm...No reason. Can you dance

like Lil?

SAMANTHA

I am programmed to give pleasure

like Lil. But unlike Lil, I

have a much more highly developed

intellectual program. Lil has

been designed much like a....

sex machine? I have a more

advanced informational and

intellectual capacity.

El shakes his head slowly, with a feigned expression of sorrow.

Ahh...but what of the metaphysical?

The poetic? The intangible?

Can a synthetic being, such as

yourself, have abstract or

romantic notions?

Samantha begins to recite a poem in French.

CUT TO:

INT. R.C.I. BUILDING.

Ian is in a room with his android, Xyla. He is holding the android by her shoulder straps and begins pulling them over her shoulders in a violent manner. Her clothes rip and she lands on the floor with Ian falling on top of her and they are face to face.

Xyla’s face looks as if her makeup has been smudged by a blow to her face. Ian looks up behind him as Conrad enters the room. Ian gets up slowly, collects himself and looks completely disheveled.

IAN

You did tell me this model could

take some abuse.

Xyla picks herself up off the floor. Conrad smiles.

CONRAD

That is exactly what she was designed

for, my friend.

Ian wipes his brow.

IAN

Good, I’ll take her.

CONRAD

Let’s collect your associate and

we’ll draw up the paperwork. You

won’t be sorry, my friend. This

model is as durable as they come.

Conrad slaps Xyla on the back, hard.

Conrad and Ian leave the room and enter the main exhibition room. They walk past El who has crouched down to engage in conversation with Samantha. Conrad speaks to El while looking at Samantha accusingly.

CONRAD (CONT.)

What happened to Lil? Did Samantha

speak to you? They are not supposed

to initiate conversation!

I don’t like Lil. She seems vapid

and one dimensional. I started

the conversation with Samantha.

El stands up and faces Conrad. Conrad seems a bit disturbed that El has chosen Samantha. He then smiles.

CONRAD

Well, of course. You should be

happy with your choice. Listen,

perhaps you would like a few minutes

with Mitzi.

I don’t want Mitzi. I’m interested

in Samantha.

The smile fades from Conrad’s face as he looks at Samantha, who seems quite lucid as she follows the conversation.

CONRAD

So you want Samantha.

Yeah. What? Is there something

wrong with her?

Conrad responds in a very deliberate manner.

CONRAD

No. She is another quality R.C.I.

product, of course.

(A beat)

Come. We will complete the paperwork.

El, Ian and Conrad leave the room, but not before Conrad turns back and gives Samantha a very stern look.

CUT TO:

INT. R.C.I. BUILDING. CONRAD’S OFFICE. DAY.

The three are sitting at a table. Conrad pulls out assorted documents.

CONRAD

Well, here we are gentlemen.

Before we start with our signatures,

let’s get the bad news over with.

How much is this going to cost?

CONRAD

Such advanced technology does not

come cheaply, my friend. But,

since you are kind enough to participate

in our experimental program, we can

give you a reasonably good deal

before mass marketing occurs.

How non-cheaply does this technology

come, anyway?

IAN

C’mon, El, ya’ didn’t expect this

to be free, did you?

What’s the bottom line?

CONRAD

Both of these units, Xyla and Samantha,

can be had for a few dollars a month.

Just give me a number.

Ian laughs nervously, looks at El and then back at Conrad. Conrad assumes a business-like demeanor.

CONRAD

800 units a month.

800 units a month? That’s pretty

stiff.

IAN

Yeah. I thought we were going to

get some kind of discount here.

CONRAD

When these machines are offered to

the public, they will go for twice

that much. And, they will be very

hard to obtain. We expect demand

to outstrip supply for the first

two to five years of production.

Ian shrugs and lights up a cigarette.

IAN

Okay. Where do I sign?

800 units a month seems like a lot

of debit card.

IAN

‘Bout the same as a car payment.

Yeah, maybe, but a real nice car.

IAN

The hottest roadster will never give

you a ride like these babies.

CONRAD

Exactly right. Now if you will be

so good as to sign and date each

of these forms at the bottom, I

will bring in the designers who can

talk to you about each model and

their capabilities, normal

maintenance, ecetera. Oh, and don’t

forget! We have a very flexible

trade-in policy.

Conrad gets up and leaves the room. El looks at Ian skeptically.

A flexible trade-in policy for

your girlfriend. This is bizarre.

IAN

Yeah, you get tired of one and you

can come in and get a new model.

Why are we so lucky to get a deal

like this before everyone else.

IAN

Free advertising, buddy. If these

babies live up to their hype, then

we’re word-of-mouth advertising

with the product on our arm.

Besides, you worry too much. Don’t

acid rain on the parade, man.

You’re buying right into this, aren’t

You? There’s got to be a downside.

IAN

Like you could wind-up screaming

for your balls back, while Samantha

dances around the room gaily with

one bloody testicle in each hand?

El shakes his head, as they both start laughing.

A male and female engineer, each in a white lab coat, enters the room. They take a seat across from El and Ian. Ian turns to talk to the MALE ENGINEER while El converses with the female engineer, DR. SYBIL VAN ARK. She has brown hair pulled back in a bun, wire-rim glasses and is dressed in a white lab coat.

SYBIL

Hello. My name is Dr. Sybil Van Ark.

El rises to shake hands and they both sit.

SYBIL (CONT.)

So, you’re interested in Samantha.

Yes.

SYBIL

I should warn you that Samantha is

the latest version of an experimental

prototype which has never been

completely tested like the others.

Sounds a bit dangerous.

SYBIL

Not actually. You see she, unlike

most of the other synthroids, is

the newest in a line of robots

with highly developed thought

processing computer chips.

What’s wrong with that.

SYBIL

Nothing. But you should understand

that most of these products are

simply pleasure machines. They are

life-like in every detail, but are

programmed with basic mental

capabilities for the most part.

They are completely synthetic except

for their skin which has been cloned

from living tissue. Some of Samantha’s

intellectual chips also contain cloned

brain cells. Samantha is sophisticated

enough to actually generate original

thought.

So she’ll be more like a real human

personality?

SYBIL

Precisely. Our experience with

that concept is limited. She has

been programmed to be unprogram-like.

I’ll take her. She sounds interesting.

SYBIL

We can make no guarantee as to

performance,_as we could not guarantee

the actions or thoughts of a real human

being. The papers you sign will waive

R.C.I. of anyguarantee that she will

act_or behave in any prescribed manner.

But I can assure you that she is not

dangerous...to you.

That explains why she spoke to

me in the exhibition room.

SYBIL

She spoke to you? Yes, you see,

a case in point. The ‘droids are

not supposed to initiate conver-

sation until prompted to do so for

a specific purpose. The intellchip

gave her the thought process

necessary to go ahead and begin

speaking. She’s more like a human

than any of the other ‘droids, and

therefore, more unpredictable.

I think predictability would be

boring.

SYBIL

But it can also be reassuring.

Sybil stands up.

SYBIL (CONT.)

Well, Mr. Zanner, you may complete

the documents and take Samantha

with you. An owner’s manual is

provided in the information packet

I just gave you.

Thank you. By the way, does she

have a last name or ..... what do

I call her? Just Samantha?

SYBIL

She’s the tenth prototype of the

Q series. The Q series being the

most intelligent model. We just

call her Samantha Q-10.

EXT. IAN’S CAR. DAY.

Ian and Xyla are in the front seat. In the back seat are El and Samantha. Samantha is staring our the window on the passengers side of the car. El stares at Samantha as she looks out the car window.

In the front seat, Xyla is chewing gum and she and Ian are looking at each other, smiling and laughing.

IAN

Hey El! D’ya believe this, man?!

No, I’m not really sure I do.

IAN

Well, you’d better because these

living dolls are the real thing.

Ian slaps Xyla on the knee, and she giggles.

That’s funny. I thought they were

the unreal thing.

IAN

Looks real to me.

800 units a month is pretty expensive.

I didn’t know it was going to cost

that much.

IAN

It’s bargain basement, man. Stop

worrying. God! You’d have people

at a carnival sobbing, I swear.

El turns and looks out the passenger window, then turns back to look at Samantha.

Samantha recite that poem again_

Samantha begins to speak in French.

SAMANTHA

Par un temps humide et profund

tu etais plus belle.....

IAN

I hope you didn’t pay extra so

you could hear that French shit

you don’t even understand.

Samantha points at Ian.

SAMANTHA

El, you’re so much different than

your friend. I find your pairing

very incompatible.

Ian and I have been friends for

a long time. We’ve known each

other since high school.

IAN

Yeah. I saved your ass from being

beat to a pulp.

Sure, but you never would have

gotten out of school without my help.

SAMANTHA

Your relationship began based on

positions of mutual benefit which

developed into a bond of friendship.

Ian rolls his eyes.

IAN

Whatever.

Yeah. I guess that’s a pretty

accurate evaluation.

IAN

Your ‘droid talks too much. Maybe

you can control that.

SAMANTHA

You may refer to me as Samantha.

IAN

Or I may refer to you as a fuckin’

piece of plastic and wire!

Don’t be such an asshole.

IAN

She’s a machine, for Christ’s sake!

You pay for her in monthly

installments. You better get a

grip, man. She’s not real. She

has no feelings. I think you

actually managed to find a robot

with a pissy attitude. You sound

like you’re already getting pussy

whipped.

Samantha’s face shows a tear running down her cheek. El hands her a handkerchief.

Now see what you did?

IAN

That’s just great? You got yourself

a robot that bawls like a real bitch.

Good choice, man.

You should apologize, Ian.

IAN

I might apologize to a real woman.

Samantha looks up smiling with no trace of previous tears.

SAMANTHA

I might get an apology from a

real man!

Samantha and Xyla start laughing. Ian looks a Xyla.

IAN

What’s so funny? I tell you El,

you’re gonna’ have to tone that

bitch down. She’s already problematic

as far as I’m concerned. You may

as well get a real girl. I mean,

what’s the point?

SAMANTHA

If there was a point, you wouldn’t

get it anyway!

IAN

Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll buy your ass

when El is through, bitch.

The car stops in front of El’s house. El and Samantha get out of the car and the car speeds away.

INT. EL’S HOUSE. EVENING.

El and Samantha enter through the front door. El leads the way and sits down on the living room sofa. Samantha walks over to the aquarium which is the only source of light on the otherwise darkened room. She looks down at the fish.

SAMANTHA

Clown loach, Tiger Barb, Neon.....

You sure know your fish.

Samantha proceeds to stick her finger in the fish bowl.

SAMANTHA

Temperature could be two to three

degrees warmer.

That’s amazing.

He reaches for the remote which switches on the music in the room. It is a slow guitar instrumental.

Samantha turns on a small lamp and aims it at herself. The light shines on her, creating a translucent effect around her loose fitting dress, revealing a silhouette of her lithe body underneath.

Samantha begins to dance slowly as the music plays. She dances in front of a large patio-type window.

The stars begin to emerge in the dark blue sky as she moves rhythmically to the music.

The patio door fades and Samantha seems to be dancing outside as any semblance of an interior disappears. Samantha almost appears to be dancing in the outdoor cloudless, starry sky.

EL (CONT.)

You look like......

Samantha continues dancing, her eyes closed. She is seemingly oblivious to El. Then she opens her eyes and pulls off her dress and looks at El. Samantha is wearing a body stocking underneath.

El appears a little off guard and is nervous at the thought of being alone with Samantha.