Cloud Atlas (2012) - full transcript

Lonesome night.

Babbits bawlin', wind bitin' the bone.

Wind like this...

full of voices.

Ancestry howlin' at you,

yibberin' stories.

All voices... tied up into one.

One voice different...

One voice,

whisperin' out there,
spyin' from the dark.

That fangy devil,



Ol' Georgie hisself.

Now you hear up close,

and I'll yarn you about
the first time we met,

eye to eye.

And thus it was when 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 I doing here?

While my extensive
experience as an editor



has lead 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 a 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 problem 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' 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 and 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.

CLOUD ATLAS

PACIFIC ISLANDS, 1849

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 tractus.

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, ain'it. Kupaka...

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

Oh yes, Reverend, sir.

Kupaka very happy here.

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.

Well let's see...

It is an inquiry 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... 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 is real
specific how to run plantation.

Georgian way best way he say.

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.

Now what... what is that noise?

– There you are. – What happened?

It is as I suspected.
Gusano Coco Cervello,

better known as the Polynesian worm.

Once saw a man's brain after
the worm had finished with him...

maggoty cauliflower.

But have no fear, this particular
devil and I... are well acquainted.

Here we go. Ah, yes, yes, all gone.

- I don't know what I would have done had our paths not crossed.

Well for starters, you would have died.

I shall find a way to repay you.

Unnecessary I assure
you. I am a doctor, Adam.

A tiger cannot change its stripes.

CAMBRIDGE, 1936

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!

I 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.

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.

Alright then.

Frobisher is it?

I trust Mackerras taught
you enough to be useful.

I've had this little melody for viola
rattling about my head for months,

let's see if you can get it down.

Subtle grace note before the third.

Soft and simple. Got it?
Now it gets interesting.

Good.

Play that back.

Would love to sir.

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.

Three-four, changes to
four-four on fourth bar

and back to three-four on bar five,

if you can count that high.

Crotchet G, pause for a quaver, repeat
G quaver, then E-flat on the down beat.

And so on.

Alright 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 is 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!

SAN FRANCISCO, 1973

Com'on, Luisa, we're
made to be together!

Luisa, Luisa, com'on,
com'on, I'm telling you,

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

Don't know if it's a past life
thing or a future life thing,

but you know, you and me...

Look. For the last hour, all I could think
about was throwing you off your balcony.

Well then who the
hell 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, no, 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. Kipin 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. – Hmm.

That's her. My niece, Megan.

She's lovely.

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 was sure it was cancer,

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

don't know. I kinda 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.

LONDON, 2012

It was the night of the Lemon Prizes,

Amidst all that forced joviality,

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.

– Oy Timothy. – Aah, Dermot.

Bad news inexorably does.

Fockin' 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 fock 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! – Aah.
You mean Mr. Finch?

Felix fockin' Finch!

That cunt that shat all over me
book in his poncy fockin' magazine!

– It wasn't that bad! – No?

"Mr. Hoggins should apologize to the
trees felled for the making of his

bloated autobio novel. Four
hundred vain-glorious 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.

Fock it.

Dermot!

Ladies and gentlemen!

We have an additional award
tonight, fellow book faeries.

An award for "most eminent critic".

Mr... oh, 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 one.

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

My thoughts?

If I'm 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.

"Knuckle Sandwich" shifted ninety
thousand 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 fuck... – Tim-o-tee
Cavendish... oy presume.

Caught wi' your cacks down!

Uh, my office hours are
eleven to two, and 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 focking money?

Boys. Boys, look here.

Dermot signed what we call a
copyright transfer contract,

which means that legally...

Dermot didn't sign no fockin' contract
for the event of the fockin' season!

Er, Perhap-perhaps... er, we
could moot a provisional sum...

as a basis for on-going negotiation.

Okeydokey.

What sum we gonna moot?

Fifty K will do for starters.

Fifty sounds reasonable.

Tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon?

– Cash. – No bullocks.

– No checks. – Old fashioned money.

Gentlemen...

– The law says... – The law?!

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

NEO SEOUL 2144

Ordinarily I begin by asking prisoners
to recall their earliest memories...

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

Fabricants have no such
memories Archivist.

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

May I say you speak
Consumer surprisingly well.

It is unfortunate that the officials of
the Unanimity can only speak one language.

As an officer of Unanimity, I am of
course restricted from using sub speak.

Of course.

Please describe a typical
twenty-four hour Papa Song cycle.

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

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 nineteen hours, we
input orders, tray food, vend drinks,

upstock 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 soapsack
then return to our sleepbox.

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 "Exultation".

Could you describe this
annual Rite of Passage?

On first day, Seer Rhee would
stamp a star on each of our collars.

Twelve 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.

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'.

Platform four, Lost and Found.

Now... Sonmia,

we are inside a 'SECRET'.

A kino?

– We are not allowed!
– Sonmia, no one will ever know.

Come.

This is a violation of the
ruddy incarceration act!

I will not be subjugated
to criminal abuse.

This is a violation of the
ruddy Incarceration Act!

I will not be subjugated
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.

I will not be subjugated
to criminal abuse.

Step away. Code yellow,
the area is secure.

Hawaiian Islands 106
Winters after The Fall

Nay, this life all rot n'
luck n' no smilin' in some yarnin'.

In rear's time, I ever fessed
the secret of Sloosha's Hallow.

Adam, my bro' by law, n' his son n' me
be trekkin' back from Honokaa Market.

It was Adam's custom to kowtow his
ancestry with offerin's n' honorin's.

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

Who there?

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

Ol' Georgie...

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

Pa!

Jonas. Jonas go. Go, go!

Zachary! Zachary?

Zachary!

Stay here, safe here...

Kona will be feastin' on
Adam n' his boy by sun-up.

You say all the time, ain'ya?

"The Weak are Meat, the Strong do Eat. "

The true-true, what that is.

Whole valley whisperin' about the
blood o' Adam and his son on my hands.

But Roses and Catkin never believed
no rumors, and stood by me.

– Uncle Zach, look! – Yeah, I see them.

Prescients come barterin' twice a year,

their ships creep-crawlin'
on waves,

just floatin' on the
Smart o' the Old Uns.

Barter'll be startin' soon.

Yeah. We must go find ya' Ma.

What you doin'?

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

Say I gotta keep
our eyes on ya.

You mindin' me, while I mind the goats?

I see.

Stump is, who's gonna
mind your Ma at the Barter?

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

Sure y'alright?

Swear by. Be home for suppin'.

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

If my tongue'd been more bold,

could I have stopped all that
diresomes about to happen?

– Uncle Zach! – This my
big bro I yarned you about.

– What this Roses? –
Special guest hosting.

Thank you for the kindsome
hostin' in my Valleys stay.

I ain't sayso this, Roses.

– Abbess sayso a gift of great
honor. – She can be hostin' then.

I brin' you gift, Zachry.

Need no gift from a stranger.

Now kin n' bros n' half-strangers, yay,
even the Abbess, all come knockin',

to gape in wonderment like Sonmi
herself was sittin' in our kitchen.

Questions about Prescients n' their
whoahsome Ship poured thick n'fast.

How your ship's slidin',
glides so silent n'...

Fusion engines.

No one queried what fusion engine was,

cos they didn't want to look
stoopit in front o' the gatherin'.

Fusion engines...

True really was, Meronym
answered the questions,

but no answer ever quenched your curio.

All o' that answerin' done was
teach everyone to not trust her,

nay, not a flea...

She is lyin'...

Schemin' and wormin' herself in.

Watch her, watch her close.

She's got secrets.

Zachry Bailey?

Sorrysome for wakin'
you up Abbess but... a dream.

Some diresome's gonna happen.

Come in, come in.

That Sonmi guide your heart.

I gonna hear it for us

I prayin' for you.

Old Georgie's
hungerin' for your soul.

I knew it.

Spit a cuss on your dreams.

"Bridge broken, hide below"

"Hands are bleedin', can't let go"

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

An augurin'...

Trust Sonmi...

Keep her warnin' with you,
nail it to your memory.

Thank you. Thank you, Abbess. Thank you.

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 at
risk being discovered,

or you can come with me.

– Bear away, boy. – 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 store room
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.

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 the Pacific
Isles to San Francisco.

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

Half the book is missing.
It's completely getting me.

Could you be a mensch and
when you're next foraging

at Otto's Book's, make an inquiry?

A half finished book is, after
all, a half finished love affair.

America loves oil.

America is addicted to oil.

Some fantasize about
wind turbines or peat 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, Miss Rey. I'm frightfully
sorry for calling at this hour.

Dr. Sixsmith?

I need help.

I need £ 50,000, not 2,000, 50,000!

I'm going 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?

Mon cher, tis "Cavendish the
Ravenous," your favorite Timothy.

Mon cher?

You heard correctly,
Charles Dickens' own original

authentic writing desk for £
60,000. 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.

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
until you pay back the last lot.

Why-Why should I be forever
giving you a hand out?

Denny...

I've had a minor running
with the wrong sort.

If I don't get my hands on £ 60,000,
I'm gonna 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. Alright, alright.

What did you-60 grand?

It's gonna take some time, but, uh...

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

I've begun to fear that I may never hold
my beloved Tilda in my arms again.

My parasite writhes at night,
igniting spasms of pain,

while visions and voices,
obscene and monstrous, haunt me.

Mister Ewing...

In the name of God!

Mister Ewing, no fear.

No harm, no shout.

Please. My name Autua.

You know I... see 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...

you law man, right? Please.
Captain hear you, Mr. Ewing.

- I can't help you.

I'm afraid your fate is entirely
your own, and I desire no part in it.

Then kill I.

Don't be absurd...

If you no help, you kill I just
the same, is true. You know it.

I 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.

The 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're 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 got to go Captain.

Thank you for coming. I'm in 1404.

I'll be right up.

Dr. Sixsmith?

It's Luisa.

Go call the police. Right
now. Call the police!

My dear Sixsmith, you alone can
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 of the 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 with
Bordeaux rich as buttercream.

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.

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's it, Mr. Zachry? – Same always.

– Mindin' some company? – Nay.

But...

Goats, and sodowise herders,
ain't known for our housin' temper.

Feelin' that I owin'
you a real kowtow,

for invadin' your house with no sayso.

True sorrysome.

Well then... Done is done.

So, you mindin' a stranger
queryin' about your drivin'?

Swap you. Query for query.

Fair buy.

Cog you and come to learn
stitchin' n' milkin' our herdin'.

Why you here?

I needin' a guide.

Guide? To what?

Mauna Sol.

"Bridge 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 déjà-vu
ran through my bones.

I had been there 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 the same
train composing sonnets,

to his soulbound love?

Your augurin' come true, Abbess.

Broke bridge, just like you say.

Meronym wa' there, yebberin'
about trackin' up Mauna Sol,

why this Prescient woman come
cussin' n' twistin' on my life?

Mind the words of 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...

rebirth our future. "

Welcome to Neo Seoul.

Come on out you come.

This... maybe the biggest
mistake of my life but here.

Thank you Mr. Ewing.

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

if you didn't get
something in that stomach.

Oh you safe Mr. Ewing.

I no like white meat.

Ah. Right.

Before I decide what
I'm 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 ten years old.

Seen too much of the world.

I no good slave.

Why did you look at me?

Pain strong, right?

Friends eye more strong.

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

How did you imagine we
could possibly be friends?

All you need.

Jesus!

Javier Gomez, what did I tell
you about jumping onto my balcony?

Why d'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.

Best news of all

I've started my own work.

I called about an old recording

written by a man named Robert Frobisher.

Oops. 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 no 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 bore
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!

Naked.

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-what... – Zach.

– Sonmi... – It's scorpion fish.

Healer said 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 smart in that gearbag,

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 fatetwisty wrong,

click fingers, make right.

I just a stupid goat herder but I cog
you're killin' Catkin by not actin',

just like by I lettin' you up on
that bridge, you Kona meat.

If a Prescient be layin', with
poison meltin' her heart n'lungs?

If it be your kin?

Why do Precient life
worth more than a Valleysman?

I'll take you to Mauna Sol.

I know the way!

If you save Catkin,

I will guide you to the Devil's
door, if that's where you wanna 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 Den.

Just sign right here.

Tomorrow, life could begin
afresh, afresh, afresh.

This way.

Come.

Designating texture.

That's old Seoul.

If the tides keep rising
at their present rate,

Neo-Seoul will also be under
water in a hundred years.

Your food is in here.

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

This is your bed...

These are your clothes.

Mine? But these are...
Pureblood 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
Pureblood had shown me kindness.

I hungry.

Do you like them?

You look lovely.

Here...

Come here.

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

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

The rest of it?

...the bloody hell are
you doing in my room?

Keys... go walkies, let's give these
to Miss Judd for safekeeping, shall we?

Leave my things alone,
you pilfering cow.

Cause you're new, I shall not make
you eat soap powder, this time...

You're warned.

I do not stand for offensive language
nor lies, not from anyone.

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

I'll talk to you as I
ruddy will like, you thief!

Make me eat soap powder?
I'd like to see you try.

Ooh, 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. 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-it is a feisty magazine, but...

Anything you need,
sir, just let me know.

Will do. Guys, I'm
good thank you very much.

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

he says the public wants
more substance so...

Probably just a fad.

Come on follow me, let's start
you with the Chicken Ranch.

That is where we keep the eggheads.

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 chamber maid.

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.

Oh no, no, no. That
was the hotel register.

Never mind. It's all academic huh?

This is gonna make a hell
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... Carceration
Act, or some ruddy thing,

and I will not be subjugated
to criminal abuse!

I will not be subjugated
to criminal abuse.

Outside, fat snow flakes
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 soulsucker...

Right!

Take hands off
me, you bloody ruddy...

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.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, 20th
century philosopher complete works,

banned by Unanimity.

How did you know about him?

Hae-Joo.

– Seer Chang. – Please,
you must call me Hae-Joo.

Hae-Joo...

Fabricants can be excised for this...

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 can hope it remains,
old quail cock, by buggering off.

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

If I was I would be unable
to inform you of the stow-away

– that I have discovered
in my... – Stow-away?

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.

Stow-away? He's a stow-away
even if he shits silver nuggets.

Did he ever explain anything to you?

He told me their goal was the
creation of a freewilled Fabricant.

Yoona had failed.

I was their last hope.

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

I might start to take this
women's lib thing more seriously.

I'm sure they can use your support.

Nice.

Okay you wait here and I will
go find someone smarter who can

walk you through the details
of some of your questions.

Right.

What would Dad do?

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

– Denny, it's me, Tim.
- Timothee?

Where are you?

Ah, I think you ruddy
well know where I am.

But residents aren't allowed
access to phones.

Someone smuggle one in?

– You know the rules?
- I helped write them, Timmy.

I have been a principal investor
in Aurora House for twelve 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, 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 the 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.

Den...

– I'm... I'm so, so sorry.

- No no no, there's
no need to apologize.

Your exile is more
than enough reparation.

Oh, I do have my fingers crossed
for a scenario involving you,

nurse Noakes and a broom handle.

Cherry o, 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-find a pen.

I heard it in a dream. I
was in a nightmarish café...

Blaring, bright lights,
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 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 will 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, and breathed from his lips.

Music as beautiful as
any I have ever heard.

What-what are you doing in here?

They found us.

I'll be with you the
whole way, now focus on me.

Stay with me.

Right here. I won't let you go.

– Mr. Ewing. – It-It's alright.

- I 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 top.

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.

Specially when it
concerns nigger stow-aways.

Captain look! He's got
fish-hooks for toes.

Boerhaave, do not
make a mess of my deck.

Captain, please...

Look, if you can just hear me out...

The darkie's salt as I am.

Mr. Boerhaave!

It appears we have an
addition to our crew.

Make sure he earns his keep.

Mr. Hooks.

I found her. She was in the chem
labs, looking for the bathroom.

Ah? Well, perfect, then, uh, why
don't you take over from here, Sachs,

you know, introduce our
little tribe, and uh...

and guide Ms. Rey through
the... through the tower.

The 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 now I'm
on the... pond jumper tonight.

Do you ever think that the
universe is 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 Pyschogenomicists are screaming
for an immediate cerebral vivisection.

However, the problem you
create is a political one.

Which means you are 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.
Prepare for excisement.

– Yes sir. – Sir...

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

Killed, I was told.

All these feats and excitements,
really Adam, it's...

all too much. You need to rest.

I had...

a girlfriend once, she kept trying
to get me to read Carlos Castenada.

– 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
- I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

And yet...

I can't explain...

that 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...

It will be worse than worse.

You have to do...

whatever you can't not do.

Somethin' preyin' on you, Zachry?

You really ain't no fear about
meetin' Ol' Georgie on the summit?

I'm 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 just a rope o'smoke.

Old Uns got the Smart.

They mastered sick and seeds,

they make miracles
fly across the sky.

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

A hunger in their hearts, a hunger
that's stronger than all that 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 believe I would
never have done what I did today.

These forces that often
remake time and space,

they can shape and alter who
we imagine ourselves 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

at each point of
intersection, each encounter,

suggest a new potential direction.

Proposition:

I have fallen in love with Luisa Rey.

Is this possible? I
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.

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've 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 this is exactly how I feel, Vyvyan.

I'm sorry. I...

– 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 bag, 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 inmemorable.

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?

Mackerras himself wrote, and I quote:

"He is a prostitute whose liaisons
with perverts and sodomites

were common place 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
is 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 are
dangling at her majesty's pleasure.

I know, I know.

We could use code names,

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

So, Mr. Cavendish...

Ernie Blancksmith.

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 you going to do?

Stay calm, stay calm.

" It will end in tears.
" You've warned me.

I suppose I'm as hopeless as Adam Ewing,

oblivious towards the unspeakable
forms lying in wait,

blind to the fact his
friend is poisoning him.

Wait, please...

The idea of losing this ring
distresses me beyond measure.

Don't be a silly puff here, Adam,

I'm sure your wife will set
your health above a golden 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
fucking hands off my pudding!

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

You've already eaten...

Better get in here.

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.

Assessin' them clouds,
we run out o' time.

– Don't need no Smart
rope. – Yeah, see you fall,

I catch you.

Hands in the air. Now! Move
it, step off of the vehicle!

Get down. Down, now!

Fuckin' migrant monkey-talk.

Where do they hire these greasy subs?

Negative, sir. Definite illegal.

Detain him from now.

I'm reading a second life form.

– Where? – In the truck.

– Check it out. – Yes, sir.

You troddin' on the Devil's ground now,

Valleysman.

I'm sayin' it just once. That
off-lander ain't gettin' to the top.

Time for you let go that rope.

Trespass...

You pay the price.

Now drop that rope.

Drop that rope.

– Forcecom 1, entering
the truck. – Roger that.

turning on visual.

– It's her! – It'll be okay, uh?

Fire at me. Fire at me!

Who are you?

Commander Hae-Joo Chang.

First science officer
of the Union rebellion.

Why are you doing this?

Because I believe you have
the power to change this world.

Drop that rope... Let go that rope.

"Hands are bleedin', can't let go"

Hands are bleedin'. Can't let go.

Thank you Zachry.

You savin' me twice, ain't ya?

You fall, I'll catch you.

Excessive force confirmed.

Stop them. Stop them now.

What are you doing, boy? I
thought I made myself clear.

– Do what you want. I'm
leaving! – Fine, Frobisher...

Go, but I 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.

PACIFIC JOURNAL OF ADAM EWING

Yes. Yes, well...

How-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
downway. We've got them.

What are you doing?

Nay, the dead never stay dead.

Open your ears, and they
never stop a yibberin'.

What is this place?

Before the Fall,

Old Uns built dwellings,

beyond the sky, among the stars,

this place joined here with there.

Tis she.

The Old Uns pray to
Sonmi same as Valleysmen?

Nay... not cisely the same.

Stay close. Fabricants
get snatched here.

– All clear. – Thank you.

No sweat, we're partners. But you
got to tell me what's happening.

Okay, let me take off these
clothes, call the cops,

and I promise to 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 did you mean down there? 'bout...

The Old Uns and Valleymen prayin'
to Sonmi, not cisely the same?

Old men... they were different.

Different-

How?

You want the true-true?

This is where you live?

This... is where Union was born.

Sonmi were no God.

She died hundreds of years ago on
a faraway pen'sula, deadlanded now.

What?

I cog Valleysmens beliefs,

I know Abbess teached
you Sonmi was a miracle,

birthed o' Darwin god o'
Smart, but ain't the true-true.

Her life was sad n' judased, she died
tryin' to change the Old-Uns thinkin'.

Liiiies... nothing but lying.

Nay, nay you-you're lying.

The nature of our
immortal lives is in the...

Sonmi?

Before she died, she spoke
of her acts n' deedins'.

Her words are heartsache blessin',
remindin' me what's the true-true.

How long you lissin' to this?!
How long you jus' stand there,

n' let a stranger keep fuggin'
your beliefs up n' down, in n' out!

Our lives are not our own,

from womb to tomb,
we're bound to others.

Zachry.

You alright?

Finish your assessin'...

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

I'm not gonna hurt you.
I just want to talk.

Be cool. Alright.

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

How's it feel, uh? 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 two-one.

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

Mortar landed so close it could
have 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.

You ain't let go that rope cause you'
a lustin' for that darkly, sweet'meat.

I cog it all, now.

This whore, with her cokeynut
skin, and her slywise mask,

smilin' n' wormin' her way so
your trust her you brin' her here,

scavin' n' sivvin' for what?

For what, fool?

They want the island.
Prescients want it all.

You judasin' your kin
for a piece of ass.

She ain't your tribe,
she ain't even your color,

This Jezebel ignores
your yarns n' ways,

spinnin' n' spoutin' her whoahsome
lies, and you lap it up like a dog in heat!

– That ain't truth. – Ain't
it? Then do sumthin', stop her!

Take your spiker an' slit her throat!

Protect your tribe, protect
your sis, little Catkin,

kill her now, before 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 Swannekke 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 treat. Like
Sixsmith, like... you.

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?

Hughes & Pikes Consulting.

I heard of them.

They're, uh... lobbyists
for oil companies.

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 a thing, words
n'worrins' like a wasp's nest,

proke'd n'prod'd by you.

You come elbowin' in' our life,
yibberin' about the true-true,

and never tellin' the hole-true.

I need to cog what you doin'!

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

Help, why?

To steal our land? To
kill n' slave us all?!

What d'you want?!

Prescients' dyin',
Zachry. Just like Catkin.

This world poison me n' all my kin'.

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

I say the truesome. We not survive.

We not survive...

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 will 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 n' toes.

If your prayer be answered,

nay Prescients never
return to the Valley again?

Those wishin' to come
with us, be welcome.

The Valleys' my home.

Are you alright?

I know... it is forbidden.

Sixsmith. I climb the steps of
the Scot 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.

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.

Storm is coming, Mr. Ewing.
Gonna get you down below.

I'm not running a fuckin'
charity. Now off with you! Off you go!

Aah, Mr. Ewing!
A-a-a word if I may.

Dangerous times we're living in.
About that scandal. They say that

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. – Hmm...

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 patch Sir Laurence Olivier

with a dash of Michael Caine.

Who the hell is this?

Doctor Conway of Aurora
House, I'm covering for Dr. Upward.

– Is this about mother?
– Yes, it is, Mr. Hotchkiss,

- I'm afraid you must steel yourself

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

Unfortunately, it is an
inconvenient 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.

I'll be right there.

The plan was a series
of toppling dominoes

that commenced with Ernie
announcing my death to nurse Noakes.

– I know, I know. – Shhh!

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

– I know, I know. – Shh!

Mr. Cavendish?

Everything alright?

– Don't leave me here. – Shh.

Mr. Cavendish?

– You cantakerous witch!

Mr. Hotchkiss, your mother is my
dearest friend here. Do please hurry.

And so... adieu!

Which, translated literally from the
French, means: "To command before...

God"!

I have Joe Napier on Line 1,
Mr. Hooks. He said he can't wait.

For godssake, 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 going to be a problem.

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

– Where's the ruddy key? – He
did 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.

What is it?

It's not a key, what'd you do with it?

– What else could it be?
– Well, how does it work?

– Shit! – Oh no!

Well, think of something,
you're the genius,

you're the ruddy ruddy genius!

We're done for.

I can't even
believe I'm going to do this.

Is this thing working? I mean
is it even on, can you hear me?

Just keep walking.

I think he's buying me.

Whatever you do, don't look back.

Get out of my car!

What's that button for?

Oh no, it's Mr. Meeks.
He does want to come.

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, no!

Put it to the floor, Cavendish! – Here we go!

Here we go.

Come on, Adam, we haven't all
day. You really need to drink this.

The worm fights back,

it is always darkest before the dawn.

Mr. Ewing?

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

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

Then I stay here.

– No, no, no you can't. – I
must. Mr. Ewing saved my life.

It 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.

Shit!

To freedom.

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

– No immigrants here, no
immigrants here. – Look,

I'm not an inspector.
We need your help...

I don't understand.

We don't want the
police to get involved,

but there is a man trying to kill me

and we really need your help.

Are there no true Scotsmen in the house?

Those there English gerrrrunts

are trampling all over
my God-given rrights!

These people are mine.

They've used me an' my pals most direly,

and we are in need of a
wee bit of assistance!

Right, pal...

We will not let ye down.

Now you just look here, you grebo,

you can go shank your bloody sporran...

There were two people came in
here, which way did they go?

Which way they go?!

Shut up!

Shut the fuck up!

Stupid fucking wetback.

What-what was that?

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?"
Oh, unfortunately, you're wrong.

Wrong like Horrox and
your silly father-in-law.

There is only one rule that binds
all people, one governing principle

It 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 sonofabitch.

Part of the business.

Enjoy your retirement.

Amaba... este... perro!

And don't call me a fucking wetback.

"Why?" you ask.

It's absurdly simple. There is
gold in your trunk. I want it

so I've killed you for it.

Get away from Mr. Ewing or
I kill you.

Mr. Ewing, Mr. Ewing!

Got to flush you out. Come on, Mr. Ewing.

What was that?

Kona. War-cry.

Zachry!

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.

I'd rather become music.

They believe they're
going to Exultation.

But they are not, are they?

Welcome.

Take a seat.

Just relax.

This is to remove your collar.

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

The genomics industry demands a huge
quantity of biomatter for wombtanks.

and 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 turned down.

Yes.

No matter if we're born in a tank
or a womb, we are all Pureblood.

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.

You were then taken to a
Union controlled satellite link.

I broadcast my Revelations to the twelve
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 and are pushing
themselves throughout all time.

Hide.

From good chief, now you're meat.

– Catkin... – Uncle Zach.

Thank Sonmi.

No, thank you.

Come on, Mr. Ewing. One more.

One more. Salt clean out your stomach.

Close. Come on Mr. Ewing, come on.

Do you see where we are, Mr. Ewing?

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 anymore 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 sayso he'll take you with us.

– I wanna go with
Meronym. – Go... Go where?

Prescients in the same boat as
us. Got no home neitherwise.

Nay. Not yet.

You think someone'll gonna hear
your prayer, come down from the sky?

Perhaps...

Perhaps 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-I'm looking for
a friend who came to Edinburgh...

I believe we do not stay dead long.

Find me beneath the Corsican
stars where we first kissed.

Yours eternally. R.F.

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,

rebirth our future.

In your Revelations, 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 hell?

I believe death is only a door.

When its closes, another opens.

If I can't imagine heaven,

I would imagine a door opening.

And behind it,

I will find him there, waiting for me.

My love.

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. Give him a chair.

No no, thank you.

I cannot stay.

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.

Is that the contract the
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 snow flakes 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?

Ive 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 mad man.

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 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.

What is an ocean but
a multitude of drops?

Fire is dyin'.

Just as well, my yarnin' is done.

No, please Gran'Pi, Please!

Come on, come here, you little
buggars! Com'on, it's getting cold!

Now you heard your Gran'mi,
com'on, get on with you.

You like it out here,
don't you Gran'pi?

Supposin'... reminds me of my Valley.

Which is Earth?

That in there, that blue shimmerin'.

Now, help your Gran'pi up.

You gonna tell us about the
roguesome ship, and the big sleep,

and all the next-next?

Oh, your Gran'mi tells the
next-next way better than me.

D'you still love Gran'mi?

Your Gran'mi is the best
thin' that ever happened to me.

Come on here Gran'pi.

Let me warm them ol' bone.