ACT ONE
Scene 1: A Press Conference on the planet of Blerontin
A podium with a microphone is surrounded by various anxious Blerontinian reporters. The Head Reporter is facing away from the scene (toward the audience) and speaking into his own microphone.
Head Reporter: Good morning to you, ladies, gentlemen, and things! Today is a very special day as it marks the Pre-Launch Press Conference held by the Great Mr. Leovinus concerning the unveiling of his newest and greatest achievement, the wonderful Starship Titanic.
To this day, because of security robots and thousands of square vorgas of pink silk sheeting, nobody but the construction teams have glimpsed so much as a nut or bolt of the ship, but its fame has already swept the entire Galaxy from spiral arm to spiral arm. It is, after all, the brainchild of Mr. Leovinus, to whose architectural genius we owe the great North-South Bridge that now links our two polar caps, to whose musical inspiration we owe the Blerontin National Anthem, "Our Canapˇs Triumph Daily," and to whose unsurpassable mastry of ballistics and biomass energetics, we now owe our third sun which shines above us with its own famous on/off switch!
The lights dim and a spot shines on the podium. The reporters grow more excited with the anticipation. A man steps up to the podium, glancing at the entryway behind him.
Man: Ladies, Gentlemen, and things, please welcome The Greatest Genius the Galaxy Has Ever Known, Mr. Leovinus!
The crowd of reporters begin cheering wildly as, Leovinus, an old man with a long white beard and a pair of eyebrows that look quite obviously fake, enters. With an air of complacency and arrogance, he steps up to the podium.
The Head Reporter turns and walks closer to the Great Man.
Head Reporter: Mr. Leovinus, sir? What does it feel like to be not only the greatest architect the galaxy has ever known, but also the greatest sculptor, mathematical genius, as well as a world-class garnisher and canapˇs arranger?
Leovinus, still acting very aloof, simles at the Head Reporter while a female cub reporter, wearing a revealing dress calls out.
Cub Reporter: I loved your Pandax Building with the interchangeable rooms and total reassembly potential!
Leovinus fixes his gaze upon her and smiles warmly.
Leovinus: Thank you.
The two regard each other for a moment, when the Head Reporter clears his throat.
Head Reporter: Mr. Leovinus, what exactly was the scientific experiment you were working on when you had your recent accident and is it true that your eyebrows still have not grown back?
Leovinus, stirs uneasily for a moment as the crowd murmurs loudly in embarrassment and surprise. He turns around, checks his eyebrows, returns, and fixes his gaze on a shabbily-dressed journalist in the back row who is trying to ask a question, but is being overridden by the rest of the reporters. Leovinus, gestures for quiet, which the audience does at once. Then, resuming his arrogant air, signals for The Journalist to ask his question again.
The Journalist: (In a very cold voice) I said, how do you answer the allegations that corners have been cut on the construction of the Starship and that there have been financial improprieties involving your manager, Antar Brobostigon and your accountant, Droot Scraliontis?
Leovinus draws himself into a dignified posture, with his hands trembling behind him.
Leovinus: (Arrogantly) Such insinuations are beneath contempt! Mr. Brobostigon is a man of unblemished reputation and has the highest regard for correct procedure. Droot Scraliontis has been my accountant for the last thirty years and has been unimpeachable throughout that time.
The reporters murmur their assent. The Journalist, unconvinced, presses on.
The Journalist: But isn't it true that the standard of workmanship has dropped since the construction was transferred from the planet Yassacca to the workshops here on Blerontin?
Leovinus, clenching and unclenching his hands behind his back, refuses to panic.
Leovinus: Absolute poop! I am personally checking the standards of craftsmanship on every facet of the ship and I can guarantee that the standards have – if anything – gone up since the transferal to Blerontin.
The Journalist refuses to back down and continues his interrogation.
The Journalist: What do you say about the collapse of the Yassaccan economy, Mr. Leovinus?
Leovinus shows a brief moment of exasperation, but quickly tries to hide it.
The Journalist: Do you feel personally responsible at all for the present sufferings of the Yassaccan people?
Leovinus: (With the air of a great charismatic dictator) I am an artist, Mr. Journalist. Of course I deeply regret the destruction of an entire culture that their economic mismanagement has brought upon themselves, and I hereby offer my heartfelt condolences to the people of Yassacca. I am deeply concerned that it should have been the construction of my vision that should have been the catalyst for their monetary downfall. But I am an artist. My responsibility is to my art and I would be betraying the sacred trust of my genius were I to compromise my vision for the sake of fiscal expediency.
Throughout all of this, the Cub Reporter is becoming quite obviously turned on.
Cub Reporter: Oooooohhhh...
Leovinus, now just barely able to keep his panic under control, nods to the crowd.
Leovinus: Thank you.
The Great Man turns and exits, the crowd gapes. There is silence for a moment, then the reporters except for The Journalist file out. The Journalist waits alone, Leovinus re-enters, looks The Journalist up and down.
Leovinus: (Muttering darkly) Oh, it's you.
The Journalist: Are you afraid something's going to go wrong with the launch?
Leovinus: (Coldly) Of course not!
The Journalist: But come on! You must be a bit worried. Everyone knows that the workmanship here on Blerontin hasn't been a patch on the Yassaccans. In fact, you know and I know that Blerontin craftsmanship is nowhere near good enough to finish a ship of this sophistication.
The Great Man is now quite noticeably upset.
Leovinus: Just because the Blerontin government chooses to employ the Amalgamanted Unmarried Teenage Mothers' Construction Units, there is no reason to think that the work is in any way slipshod. I have every confidence in their work.
The Journalist: (Sneering) I don't believe you.
Leovinus can't believe the cheek of this under-achieving Journalist and decides to teach him a thing or two.
Leovinus: Very well! I'll show you!
Leovinus and The Journalist, exit.
Scene Two: Starship Titanic Embarkation Lobby
This room would be an unutterably beautiful place to be... if it were finished! The decorative marble-like floor and plush appointments around the passenger hatch and the reception desk are finished. The rest is girders, exposed wires, and Styrofoam coffee cups lying around (it looks like a construction site). There is a large square hatch in the far wall labeled "Waste Disposal Unit." Across the room from the desk is a hole in the floor surrounded by sawhorse barricades and danger signs. A marble pillar stands in each of the far corners of the room. A round coffee table with a small sharp-edged lamp sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by chairs. A freestanding signs point in different directions toward the following: "First Class", "Second Class", "Super Galactic Class," and "Crew and Personnel Only"
Behind the reception desk and stooped over (meaning not activated) is the Deskbot: a robot, dressed to look like a freestanding ornamental lamp.
In the middle of the room and facing the entrance hatch is the Doorbot: a tall robot dressed in a tuxedo, wearing a pair of big headphones and white linen gloves.
Leovinus and the Journalist enter. Leovinus, seeing the lack of finished workmanship, freezes. A look of horror and disbelief is on his face.
The Doorbot activates, strides over to the two Blerontinians and smiles.
Doorbot: Welcome to the Starship Titanic. Allow me to show you and your lovely wife the facilities available to second class passengers.
The Doorbot turns sharply on its heel, walks straight into the desk, rebounds, walks backward and falls into the arms of The Journalist. The Journalist lays the robot down as it extends its hand and points at the ceiling.
Doorbot: Here you may see the Grand Axial Canal, Second Class. From here you may enjoy a drink in the Second Class Brasserie where they serve fresh moonswill every hour of the day. You also have the option of taking the lifts up to the Promenade Deck where you can the stars in the resolution of a powerful telescope without stirring an unnecessary muscle.
The Doorbot's arm drops and it switches off. Leovinus, now going through all the stages of a mid-life crisis at once, takes two steps past the collapsed Doorbot, surveys the wreckage and sinks to his knees. The Journalist is talking to a recorder on the end of his thumb and maneuvering around the room, examining the scene closely.
Leovinus: (Pleading) It can't be true. Even Brobostigon... Even Scraliontis couldn't lie so... I mean, only this morning they told me it was all... (He falters, weeping.)
A workman in dirty overalls and a cap wanders in, checking some loose wires. He sees the Journalist and hides behind the nearest pillar. Not seeing him, The Journalist turns, regards the old man, and smirks.
The Journalist: (Sarcastically) I don't know, but I think the Yassaccans would have probably done a little better job than this.
The Doorbot re-activates, sits up, regards the inventor and smiles genially.
Doorbot: Good morning, sir! Would you like your nasal hair cut?
The robot collapses once again. Leovinus now goes from depression to outright blinding rage. He jumps to his feet and screams at the inert robot.
Leovinus: BASTARDS!!!
He turns and shakes his fist at the unfinished works.
Leovinus: BASTARDS!!!
He looks up and sees the workman trying to hide further behind the pillar. Leovinus bounds across the room, grabs the workman by his suspenders and brings him out into the open.
Leovinus: WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?
The workman anxiously looks around, sees a loose piece of wiring, and pretends to adjust it, attempting to remain as calm as possible.
Workman: Oh, just... just making good.
Leovinus: (Aghast) Making GOOD!? (Gestures at the room) You call this GOOD!? We launch the ship tomorrow and there's months more work to do here!!
The workman shrugs.
Workman: Uh, yeah, it's... been a bit... slow.
He starts trying to back away from Leovinus. Leovinus advances on him.
Leovinus: What were you doing just now?
Workman: (Feigning innocence) Who, me?
Leovinus: Yes! I saw you doing something!
Workman: Me? No no, I wouldn't do nothin'. I only came to collect my parrot.
Leovinus reels. The Journalist speaks into his thumb recorder.
Leovinus: (Shocked) Parrot? Parrot!!! What parrot!?
Workman: It's... er... just a parrot... you know... couple o' wings... that sort... you know?
Leovinus: What's a parrot doing on board my beautiful ship!?
Leovinus turns away from him and walks toward the opposite end of the room trembling.
Leovinus: (Raving) A parrot!? On my Starship!? What the hell's been going on!!? (He starts weeping) What's happened? What shall we do!?
Leovinus EXITS toward Second Class. The Journalist walks up to the workman, his recorder ready.
The Journalist: All right, what are you really up to?
Workman: I have a pet parrot. I always take it with me when I'm working. I know Mr. Leovinus wouldn't allow a bird on board so I've been keeping it hidden. But when I came back to get it just now, I've found that some bastard opened the cage door and it's escaped.
The Journalist, thinking this has got to be the biggest load of nonsense, looks at the ceiling, then returns his attention to the workman.
The Journalist: Look, I'm a journalist. I know when there's something fishy going on and I know you're hiding something. I'll cut a deal with you.
The workman turns on him.
Workman: I'm really very upset! I loved that parrot!
The Journalist: You tell me everything you know about the Starship and I'll not tell anyone else about the parrot.
The workman, resigned, shrugs. The Journalist activates his thumb recorder.
The Journalist: Why's the work got so far behind? They've been cutting corners, haven't they? Leovinus seemed to be in the dark about it. And all those stories about financial problems, they're true, aren't they? What's going to happen tomorrow? This ship isn't in a fit state to take off, is it?
The workman sighs.
Workman: (resigned) Yes. Everything you say is true.
The Deskbot activates, regards the two men and smiles.
Deskbot: (Like a travel salesman) If you're enjoying your stay on board, why not celebrate with an evening in the Champion Canapˇ Lounge, featuring canapˇs from the All-Blerontin Finals for six centuries?
The Deskbot switches off. The Journalist turns back to the workman.
The Journalist: So?
Workman: So? If you see my parrot, give it this.
The workman hands the Journalist a metal bracelet and EXITS through the main hatch. The Journalist looks at the bracelet.
The Journalist: (Confused) The Yassaccan Embassy Building?
The Journalist ponders a moment, then EXITS toward Second Class. A moment later, Brobostigon, a middle-aged man wearing a nice suit, enters from the Crew area carrying a small silver computer component. He glances around as he tiptoes toward the disposal unit. Leovinus enters from First Class and sees the manager. His expression becomes very grim.
Leovinus: Brobostigon!!! What in the name of darkness are you playing at!?
The old man charges Brobostigon. Brobostigon drops the piece of equipment and pushes Leovinus away. Leovinus falls to the floor, picks up the silver component, and gapes.
Leovinus: This is a piece of the ship's computer! YOU'RE DESTROYING IT!!!
Leovinus tries to get up but Brobostigon gives him another shove and the inventor falls back and away.
Brobostigon: (Hatefully) You're blind, Leovinus! You sit up there in your ivory tower thinking you're too high-minded and pure to deal with grubby matters like business and finance! Well, this whole thing's gone way out of control thanks to you!
Leovinus is almost crying by now.
Leovinus: What do you mean!? What are you talking about!?
Brobostigon: This whole project is a financial catastrophe! Didn't you realize that!? We're on the brink of a major fiscal meltdown!
Leovinus: So, what are you trying to do?
A sudden, horrifying thought strikes him and Leovinus finally realizes just what Brobostigon has planned. The manager, meanwhile, has backed up in front of the disposal unit hatch.
Leovinus: The insurance!!! You're going to scuttle my priceless ship and claim the insurance!!!
Brobostigon: Grow up! This is the real world...
Leovinus is back on his feet while Brobostigon is speaking. He slams into the manager. Brobostigon is knocked backward and into the disposal unit hatch. The hatch opens and Brobostigon screams as he's sucked in. There's a sickening crunching noise, the hatch closes, and a soft bell chimes once.
Scraliontis, a man dressed in a suit and with thick glasses, rushes in, Leovinus sees him blocks his path.
Leovinus: Scraliontis! Stop whatever it is you're doing!!
Scraliontis: You're too late, Leovinus! This ship's going nowhere and it's going there tomorrow at Noon, fast!
Leovinus rushes him, grabs him and pushes him against the coffee table. He then reaches to Scraliontis's throat and tries to choke him.
Scraliontis: Brobostigon! Help!
Leovinus: Brobostigon's garbage!
Scraliontis: He may be garbage, but he's got a gun!
Leovinus: HE'S DEAD!!!
Leovinus tightens his grip.
Scraliontis: Aaaargh! You're choking me!!
Leovinus, not really wanting to kill anyone deliberately, falters slightly...Scraliontis reaches back for the table lamp.
Leovinus: (Angry, but faltering) I know! That's what I'm trying to do!
Scraliontis knees Leovinus in the stomach. He doubles over as the accountant takes the table lamp and crashes it against the inventor's head. Leovinus falls to his knees and the accountant smacks Leovinus with the lamp several more times until the old man falls unconscious. Scraliontis stares down at his foe in abject terror.
Scraliontis: (Panicking) God! I've killed the Great Man!!
Scraliontis looks around, then drags Leovinus behind one of the pillars. He turns and heads toward the exit, still carrying the table lamp. He reaches the hole in the floor when The Journalist enters from Second Class.
The Journalist: Droot Scraliontis!
Scraliontis turns and hides the bloody lamp behind his back.
Scraliontis: (Sneering) I know who I am.
The Journalist smiles and activates his recorder.
The Journalist: Just the man I was looking for.
Scraliontis screams, looks around as though expecting the police to arrive and panics again.
Scraliontis: He's not dead! I swear it!
The Journalist is completely taken by surprise, he walks up to stand between Scraliontis and the main hatch.
The Journalist: (Interrogating) Who!? Who isn't dead!?
Scraliontis recovers himself enough to realize he'd just made a big blunder. He tries to push past The Journalist.
Scraliontis: Get out of my way!
The Journalist grabs the accountant by his jacket.
The Journalist: Not so fast!
Scraliontis screams and tries desperately to flee, but The Journalist pins his arms to his sides and presses him against one of the sawhorses at the edge of the hole in the floor.
The Journalist: Tell me what's going on! What's the scam!
Scraliontis: Scam? You'll never find out!
The Journalist: Oh yes, I will!
Scraliontis: Alright, I'll tell you everything.
The Journalist is about to say "oh no you won't," but stops himself quickly.
The Journalist: Oh n... uh! That's very decent of you!
Scraliontis: We're going to blow it up! How's that for a story!?
The Journalist, horrified, let's go of Scraliontis.
The Journalist: You mean... You mean there's a bomb on board the Starship!?
The Journalist looks away as Scraliontis brandishes the lamp like a spear, its sharp point aimed at the reporter.
Scraliontis: (Evilly) But you'll never find it, because you're not going to be alive.
The Journalist turns back as Scraliontis stabs and is hit in the stomach. The Journalist cries out and falls back. Scraliontis steps over him, the end of the lamp has been snapped off and what's left is dripping with blood.
Suddenly, in from the First Class section swoops a giant parrot. The bird is screeching loudly and begins attacking Scraliontis, beating him with his wings and biting with its big beak. Scraliontis staggers back against the sawhorse, trying to defend himself.
Scraliontis: Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!!!
The sawhorse snaps and the accountant falls backward into the hole, screaming.
Scraliontis: Bloody parrots!!!
There is a terrible crash. The Journalist gets back to his feet and, clutching his bleeding hip, staggers toward the hole and looks down.
Parrot: Bloody accountants!
The Journalist looks at the parrot and nods.