All language subtitles for Cloud Atlas 2012 (1080p x265 10bit Tigole)

Subtitles downloaded from https://kickasssubtitles.com

Oh, lonesome night.

And babbits bawling,
the wind biting the bone.

Wind like this...

full of voices.

Ancestry howling at you...

yibbering stories...

all voices tied up into one.

One voice differing...

one voice...

whispering out there,
spying from the dark...

that fangy devil...

Old Georgie hisself.

Mm. Now you ear up close...

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

eye to eye.

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

the man I hoped might cure me
of my affliction.

Have you lost something?

REY: 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 led me to a disdain...

for flashbacks and flash-forwards
and all such tricksy gimmicks...

I believe that if you, dear reader, can
extend your patience for just a moment...

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

FROBISHER: My Dearest Sixsmith:

I shot myself through
the roof of my mouth this morning...

with Vyvyan Ayrs' Luger.

A true suicide is a paced,
disciplined certainty.

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

Couldn't be further from the truth.

Suicide takes tremendous courage.

- Any problems, 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 or I would expel
a cherry stone.

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

Remember, this is not
an interrogation or a trial.

Your version of the truth
is all that matters.

Truth is singular.

Its versions are mistruths.

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

Had my infatuations,
but we both know in our hearts...

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

There you are, Mr. Ewing.

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

outside the province of scripture.

Thank you, Reverend Horrox.

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

Haskell Moore is a great man.

Future generations
depend on men like him...

men capable of speaking the truth.

Quite.

When I first encountered
Haskell Moore's writing...

its perspicuity struck me as though
delivered through divine revelation.

The learned doctor and I have spent many
a night debating Mr. Moore's tractus.

I will concede that he makes a compelling
case as to why we are sitting here...

enjoying this divine lamb...

while Kupaka stands there...

content to serve.

Indeed. Well, Kupaka...

you enjoy your life here with us...

- do you not?
- Oh, yes, Reverend, sir.

Kupaka very happy here.

You see, this is Moore's
"Ladder of Civilization"...

the reason behind this natural order.

Please, Giles, do shut up.

I've been listening to this for weeks.

I would love to know what his own
son-in-law has to say about it.

Oh, well, let's see, uh...

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.

Uh, 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
real specific how to run plantation.

Georgian Way, best way, he say.

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

Reverend Horrox say slaves
like camel, bred for desert.

He say they not feel heat
like civilized folk.

Now we should get you out of the sun.

And what...?

What is that noise?

- Oh, there you are.
- What happened?

Ah, ah, ah.

It is as I suspected.
Gusano Coco Cervello...

better known as
the Polynesian Worm.

I once saw a man's brain
after the worm finished with him.

Maggoty cauliflower. Ugh.

But have no fear.

This particular devil and I
are well-acquainted.

Here we go.

Ah, yes, yes.

Oh, glug, glug, glug.

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.

Oh. No, unnecessary, I assure you.

I am a doctor, Adam.

A tiger cannot change its stripes.
Heh-heh-heh.

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

Mr. Frobisher!

Mr. Robert Frobisher!

Management would like
a word with you, please, sir!

Mr. Frobisher, open this door, please!

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

A letter is being drafted
to your father, sir.

Mr. Frobisher!

Hated leaving you like that.
Wasn't the goodbye I had in mind.

Someone's in a hurry.

By the time you read this,
I will be on my way to Edinburgh.

On my way to fame and fortune.

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

Vyvyan Ayrs is one of the musical greats,
Sixsmith.

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

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

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

- Hey!
- Before shooting up through...

the musical firmament...

eventually obliging Pater to admit that,
yes, the son he disinherited...

is none other than Robert Frobisher,
the greatest British composer of his time.

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

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

P.S.

Thanks for the waistcoat.

I needed something of yours
to keep me company.

St. George and the Dragon.

Reminds me that
composing is a crusade.

Sometimes you slay the dragon,
sometimes...

the dragon slays you.

All right then. Frobisher, is it?

I trust Mackeras taught you
enough to be useful.

I've had this little melody for 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.

I'd love to, sir.

Um...

What key are we in?

What key?

G-minor, of course!

And the time signature?

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

- I just need a little more time...
- You need?

My dear boy,
who is working for whom here?

- I apologize, sir...
- Are you an amanuensis or an apologist?

Now pay attention.

3/4 changing to 4/4 on the fourth bar
and back to 3/4 on bar five...

if you can count that high.

Crotchet G, pause for a quaver, repeat
G quaver, then E flat on the downbeat.

And so on.

All right, let me hear it.

Stop! Please, you're hurting me.

You must have misheard me:
I said I had a melody, not a malady!

Vyvyan?

Jocasta! Deliver me.

What's going on in here?

An exercise in futility.

Should I be introduced?

There's really no point.
The boy's as useful as the clap.

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

Would you be a dear
and get Henry to show the boy out?

Yes, of course, darling.

It's beautiful.

Yes.

That's it!

That's my melody!

Come on, Luisa!
We're meant to be together.

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

I'm telling you, baby, you can't leave me.
It's a past life thing or a future life thing.

It's you and me.

Look, for the last hour...

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

Who the hell do you think you are?

You write a bullshit column
for a fucking rag!

Elevator!

Thank you.

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

You okay?

No bones broken, I think.

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

Let me see.

Great. Power outage.

Perfect end to a perfect day.

Still glad the age of chivalry isn't dead?

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

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

Pfft. 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.

Mm.

That's her. My niece, Megan.

She's lovely.

A born physicist with a better mind
for mathematics than I ever had.

Did her PhD at Cambridge.
A woman at Caius.

Hm. Gives you hope for the world.

It's hot.

And we're still here. Heh.

That's a very peculiar birthmark.

Yeah.

My little comet. Heh.

My mother swore it was cancer.

She wanted me to get it removed,
but I don't know, I kind of like it.

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

Really? Who was it?

Someone I cared about very much.

Uh, a hypothetical question for you,
Ms. 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?

Hm.

Saved. Heh.

Taxi!

- You sure you don't need a cab?
- No, I've got my car.

Well, you know, if there's ever
something I can do for you...

please give me a call.

Thank you, I will.

Bye.

'Twas the Night
of the Lemon Prizes...

and amidst all that forced jollity...

I recall a moment of introspection.

Why?

Why would anyone in their right mind
choose to be a publisher?

This was the precise moment
that Dermot found me.

Oi! Timothy.

Ah. Hey, Dermot.

Bad news inexorably does.

- Fucking bullshit, it's a fucking waste.
- Ha-ha-ha.

Never forget, Herman Melville
writes a ripping yarn...

about a big white whale which is
summarily dismissed, and yet today...

it is lugged around in the backpacks...

of every serious student
of literature in the world.

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

I want people to buy me book now.

Well, as your publisher,
obviously nothing would make me happier.

But sadly, for whatever reason...

Knuckle Sandwich
has yet to connect to its audience.

You want a reason?
I'll give you a reason. Right there!

Oh. You mean Mr. Finch?

Felix-fuckin'-Finch!

The cunt that shat all over me book
in his poncy fucking magazine!

It wasn't that bad.

No?

"Mr. Hoggins should apologize
to the trees..."

felled for the making
of his bloated autobio-novel.

400 vainglorious pages expire...

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

Steady now, Dermot.

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

but never wisely?

Fuck him.

Dermot.

Ladies and gentlemen!

We have an additional award tonight,
fellow book faeries...

an award for Most Eminent Critic!

Mister... 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? Hm?

- I think you're gonna love this.
- Ha-ha-ha.

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

My thoughts?

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

like shock and horror,
flew as Finch had, here and gone...

Tequila. Couple of fingers.

While deep down...

I experienced a nascent sense of a
silver lining to this most tragic turn.

Overnight, Dermot "Dusty" Hoggins
became a cult hero to the common man.

Grabbed the critic and sent him
plummeting to his death.

And Knuckle Sandwich shifted
90,000 copies in less than two months.

I was, for the briefest of moments,
Cinderella...

and all memory
of past misfortune receded...

in the rearview mirror
of my dream come true.

- What the...?!
- Tim-o-tee Cavendish I presume.

Caught with your cacks down!

Uh, my office hours are 11 to 2.

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 fucking money?

Boys, boys, look here.

Dermot signed what we call a copyright transfer
contract, which means that, legally...

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

Uh, uh... All right, perhaps, uh...

we could moot a provisional sum
as a basis for ongoing negotiation.

Okey-dokey.

What sum we gonna moot?

50K would do for starters.

Fifty sounds reasonable.

Tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon?!

Cash. No bollocks.

- No checks.
- Old-fashioned money.

Gentlemen, the law says...

The law?

What'd the law do for
Felix-fucking-Finch?

Mm-hm.

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

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

Fabricants have no such memories,
Archivist.

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

May I say you speak Consumer
surprisingly well.

It is unfortunate
that most of Unanimity...

can only speak one language.

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

Of course.

Please describe a typical
24-hour Papa Song cycle.

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

Sonmi-451, Yoona-939...

From Revival, we
proceed to the hygiener.

After dressing, we file into the dinery.

At hour five, we man our stations
to greet the new day's Consumers.

Welcome to Papa Song's.

For the next 19 hours, we input orders,
tray food, vend drinks...

upstock condiments,
wipe tables, and bin garbage...

all done in strict adherence
to First Catechism.

Ooh! Ha-ha-ha.

What is the First Catechism?

"Honor thy Consumer."

After the final cleaning,
we imbibe one Soapsac...

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 "Xultation"?

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.

Sonmi-451.

If Yoona-939 woke you...

who woke her?

Seer Rhee.

Why would a Seer wake a Server?

Perhaps you should ask him, Archivist.

What's wrong with him?

He drinks Soap.

It makes him happy.

Then he sleep like us, in our box.

Do you ever think about...

what it must be like...

up there with the Consumers?

Third Catechism forbids such questions.

Yes, it does.

Come. Let me show you a secret.

Accessing storage.
Lost and Found.

Now...

Sonmi-ja...

we are inside a secret.

A kino? We're not allowed.
- Sonmi-ja.

No one will ever know.

Come.

This is a violation
of the ruddy Incarceration Act!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

This is a violation
of the ruddy Incarceration Act!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!

You could have been excised.

How did you justify
such a risk to yourself?

She was my friend.

Please describe the events
of September 18th, from your perspective.

I was stationed at pedestal one.

Yeah, do it! Ha-ha-ha.

- Go on!
- - You know she wants it!

Give her the shake!

Whoa. Oh!

Go! Go!

Oh! Unh.

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.

Elevator approaching.

Step away.

Code yellow. Area is secure.

Nay, this life of rotted luck
ain't no smileysome yarnie.

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

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

Was Adam's custom to kowtow his
ancestry with offerings and honorings.

Suddenwise...

that fangy devil's eyes, I felt them.

Who there?

Zachry.

Oh...

A darky spot you're in, friend.

Old Georgie?

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

Pa!

Jonas! Jonas, go! Go, go!

Zachry!

Zachry? Zachry!

Stay here.

Safe here.

Zachry!

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

Zachry!

No! Nay!

Zachry!

Zachry!

You say all'a time, yeah?

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

Father! Aah! Unh.

No! Jonas!

The True-true is what that is.

Whole Valley whispering about
the blood of Adam and his son on my hands.

But Rose and Catkin never believed
no yibbering, and stood by me.

Uncle Zach, look!

Yeah, I see them.

Prescients come bartering twice a year...

their ships creep-crawling on waves...

just floating on
the Smart of the Old Uns.

Barter'll be starting soon.

Yeah.

You must go find your ma.

What're you doing?

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

Say I gotta keep eye wise on ya.

You minding me while I mind the goats.

I see.

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

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

Sure you're all right?

Swear'by. Be home for supping.

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

If my tongue been more bold...

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

Uncle Zach!

This my big bro I yarning about.

What's what, sis?

Spesh guest hosting.

Thank you for the kindsome host
of my Valley stay.

I ain't yaysoed this, Rose.

Abbess sayso a gift of great honor.

She can be hosting then.

I bring you gift, Zachry.

Need no gift from a stranger.

Now kin 'n bros 'n half-strangers,
even the Abbess...

all come knocking...

to gape in wonderment, like Sonmi
herself were sitting in our kitchen.

Questions about Prescience and their
woahsome ship poured thick 'n fast.

How your ship slide 'n glide
so silentsome?

Fusion engines.

No one queried what
"fusion engines" was...

because they didn't want to look stupid
front of the gathering.

Fusion engines.

True really was,
Meronym answer the questions...

but no answer ever quenched
your curio.

All that answering done was teached
everyone to not trust her.

Nay, not a flea.

She a sly one.

Scheming and worming herself in.

Watch her, watch her close.

She's got secrets.

- Zachry Bailey!
- Sorrysome for waking you, Abbess.

I dream something
diresome's gonna happen.

Come in, come in.

Oh, let Sonmi guide your heart.

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

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

Oh. I know'd it.

- Spit'n cuss on your dreams.
- I know'd it.

"Bridge a'broken', hide below."

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

"Enemy's sleeping, don't slit that throat."

An auguring.

Oh, Zachry.

Trust Sonmi.

Keep Her warning with you.
Nail it to your memory.

Thank you. Thank you, Abbess.

Thank you.

Sonmi-451.

Wait, wait.

There's no reason to hide.

I know you are Sonmi-451.

My name is Hae-Joo Chang.

What has happened to Seer Rhee?

Soap overdose.

It is unfortunate that it had to happen
with everything going so well...

because now it is probable that
the Enforcers and the DNA sniffers...

will find out about you.

And if they do, if they realize
your connection to Yoona-939...

you will be excised.

But you have a choice:

You can remain here
and risk being discovered...

or you can come with me.

The foresail!

Two, six, heave!

Two, six, heave!

Close the gaskets!

Cape home!

Bear away a point.

Aye, aye, captain!

And hurry!

Friday the 15th.
We made sail with the morning tide.

Mr. Boerhaave had my cabin changed.

I have been quarantined to a storeroom
away from the other passengers and crew.

Henry argued in vain that the
Polynesian Worm is not contagious.

Hardly matters.

All I want to do now is return home
and unburden myself of this responsibility.

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

After my last letter, I'm sure
you're rushing to pack your bags...

but you needn't, really...

unless, of course, you wish to witness
the rebirth of Robert Frobisher.

Is it not miraculous how one's fortune...

can turn so quickly, so completely?

One moment,
leaping from a hotel window...

the next, gainfully employed by one
of the world's greatest living composers.

My only problem is that I accidentally
got hooked on a journal written in 1849...

by a dying lawyer during the voyage
from a Pacific Isle to San Francisco.

To my great annoyance, the pages cease
mid-sentence. Half the book is missing.

It's completely killing me.

Could you be a mensch...

and when you're next foraging
at Otto's Books, make an inquiry?

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

... Schuhmann and
Tom Marshall, my chief engineers...

and then we'll take some questions.

America loves oil.

America is addicted to oil.

Some fantasize about
wind turbines or pig gas.

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

The cure is nuclear power.
The cure is Swannekke.

- Hello?
- - Hello, Ms. Rey.

I'm frightfully sorry
for calling at this hour.

Dr. Sixsmith?

I need help.

I need 50,000 pounds!

Not two thousand, 50 thousand!

I can go through it again,
Mr. Cavendish, but the total's right.

2,343 pounds and 16 pence.

How is this possible?!
The ruddy money was pouring in.

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

The situation looked dire...

but I knew that Timothy Cavendish's
capital in this town...

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

McCluskie! Look, how are those
delightful kiddies of yours?

It's "Cavendish the Ravenous,"
ha-ha-ha, your favorite Timothy.

You heard correctly.

Charles Dickens' own, original,
authentic writing desk for 60,000 pounds.

I think that's very fair.

But our records indicate
that the desk is already accounted for...

by the Dickens House Museum.

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

In the darkness,
I suddenly saw the light.

Blood has always trumped water.

If the Hogginses brutes wanted
to turn this into a family affair...

they'd find the Cavendish clan
more than ready for the task at hand.

Oh, Satan's gonads, not again. Look,
just bugger off and leave us in peace.

- I'm only gonna ask you nicely once.
- Good to see you, Denny.

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

Why should I be forever
giving you handouts?

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

If I don't get my hands on 60,000 pounds,
I'm going to take an awful beating.

Well, get them to video it for us,
would you? Now fuck off.

I'm not joking, Denholme.

Why is this my problem?

Because we're brothers!
Don't you have a conscience?

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

Denny...

help.

Please?

Den, who are you talking to?

Hello, Georgette.

Hello, Timothy.

Right. All right. What, 60 grand?

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

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

Rise tacks and sheets!

I have begun to fear I may never
hold my beloved Tilda in my arms again.

The Parasite writhes at night,
igniting spasms of pain...

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

Mr. Ewing?

In the name of God! Help, help!

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

please.

My name Autua.

You know I, you seen Maori whip I.

You know I.

What do you want?

You help, Mr. Ewing.

If you no help, I in trouble dead.

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

The Prophetess is a mercantile vessel, not
an underground railroad for escaping slaves.

I able seaman. I earn passage.

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

No, no!

They no hear I!

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

But you lawman, aye?

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

No, I can't help you.

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

Then kill I.

Don't be absurd.

If you no help, you kill I just the same.
It's true, you know it.

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

Die here better. Do it.

Do it quick.

I found an old Transway marker, captain.

It's got to be the right mountain.

Problem is, the Valley people
are afraid of it.

They think the devil lives up there.

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

Meronym...

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

This dream of yours is going to kill you.

And for what? The off-world colonies
may no longer exist.

I gotta go, captain.

Thank you for coming. I'm in 1404.

I'll be right up.

Dr. Sixsmith?

Dr. Sixsmith?

It's Luisa.

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

Oh, God.

My Dear Sixsmith, you alone
could understand how I'm feeling right now.

Today, Ayrs and I presented our first
collaboration to Tadeusz Kesselring...

Ayrs' favorite conductor,
who arrived from Berlin.

It's called "Eternal Recurrence."
Wish you could hear it.

It's the most accomplished tone poem
I know of written since the war...

and I tell you, Sixsmith, that more than
a few of its best ideas are mine.

At our time of life, Ayrs, a man
has no right to such daring ideas.

I suppose I've won a rearguard action
or two in my war against decrepitude.

Dinner of pheasant
and Bordeaux, rich as butter-cream.

How I love to listen to men
of distinguished lives...

sing of past follies and glories.

The only broken note in the entire
evening was Ayrs' wife, Jocasta...

excusing herself early.

Sensed a buried bone.

Later I asked Ayrs about it.

He said Kesselring had
introduced Jocasta to him.

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

The subject was a prickly one.

Jocasta is a Jew.

So obviously,
a relationship was impossible.

Why "obviously"?

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

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

is that this world spins
from the same unseen forces...

that twist our hearts.

How is it'n, Zachry?

Samewise.

Mindin' some comp'ny?

Nay.

But goats'n surlywise herders
ain't known for our howziting temper.

Feelin' I ownin' you a real kowtow
for 'vadin' y'house with no sayso.

True sorrysome.

Fuggit, done's done.

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

Swap you, query for query.

Fair'by.

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

Why you here?

I needing a guide.

Guide? To what?

Mauna Sol.

"Bridge a'broken, hide below."

What's wrong?

We cross and recross
our old tracks like figure skaters...

and just as I was reading
a new submission...

a powerful déjà-vu
ran through my bones.

I had been here before,
another lifetime ago.

Ursula...

the love of my life?

I could think of no other
serious applicants.

What had happened to her?

And more importantly,
what had happened to the young man...

who had ridden this same train
composing sonnets...

to his "Soul Bound Love"?

The auguring come true, Abbess.
Broke bridge just like you say.

Meronym were there yibbering
about trekking up Mauna Sol...

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

Mind the Words o'Sonmi.

"Our lives are not our own."

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

past and present...

and by each crime...

and every kindness...

"...we birth our future."

Welcome to Neo Seoul.

Come on, out you come.

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

Thank you, Mr. Ewing. Thank you.

Now to tell the truth, I was worried...

you might try and eat me if you didn't
get something in that stomach.

Well, you safe, Mr. Ewing.
I no like white meat.

- Ha-ha-ha.
- Oh. Right.

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

tell me why you were
being whipped so savagely.

My uncle was a sailor.

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

I seen too much of the world.

I no good slave.

Why did you look at me?

Pain strong, aye?
But friend's eye more strong.

Look, you are a runaway slave
and I am a lawyer.

How do you imagine
we could possibly be friends?

All you need.

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

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

Because, smarty-pants, the only thing worse
than having you jump onto my balcony...

is the idea of you jumping onto
my balcony and being stuck out there.

Okay.

What are you reading?

Just old letters.

Sixsmith...

The plot has taken a sensual turn.

Last week,
Jocasta and I became lovers.

But don't alarm yourself. It is only
a carnal act performed in service.

Not unlike my role as amanuensis.

And I confess, women's hearts,
like their desire, remain a mystery to me.

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

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

between us like the silence between
notes that holds the key to all music.

P.S. Best news of all:

I've started my own work.

Uh, I called about an old recording...

written by a man named
Robert Frobisher.

Oops. Uh, busted.

I know I shouldn't be playing it.

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

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

This is the "Cloud Atlas Sextet"?

It's the "Symphony."

It's beautiful.

But I think I heard this before.

I can't imagine how.

I doubt there's more than a handful
of copies in all of North America.

But I know it.

I know I know it.

Before I realized it,
my feet had borne me back...

to the Temple of Sacrifice
where I offered up my virginity.

Back to those four days of paradise...

when Ursula's mater and pater slipped
off to Greece for a long weekend.

Or so we thought.

- Ursula!
- Oh!

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 dying.

- What happened?
- - Zach!

- Sonmi...
- The scorpion fish.

Healer say she be gone by sundown.

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

Be very still.

Termination charge, here.

Just enough to blow carotid.

How does it feel?

Good.

Catkin's dying!

- What?
- Trod on a scorpion fish.

You can save her. You got spesh smarts
in that 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 fate twistin' wrong...

n' click fingers make right.

I just a stupid goat herder, but I cog
you killin' Catkin by not acting...

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

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

if it be your kin?

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

I'll take you to Mauna Sol.

I know the way.

If you save Catkin...

I will guide you through the devil's
door if that's where you want to go.

While the past may call to us
with the enchantment of a siren...

better, I believed, to stay the course
set by dear brother Denny.

Just sign right here.

And tomorrow,
life could begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

This way.

Come on. Come.

Welcome to Habitat Mainframe.

Security: maximum.

Accessing Design Database.
Designating skin.

Designating texture.

That's Old Seoul.

If the tides keep rising
at their present rate...

Neo Seoul will also be underwater
in a hundred years.

Your food is in here.

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

This is your bed.

These are your clothes.

Mine? But these are 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.

Mama?

Huh?

I hungry.

Oh, baby.

Do you like them?

You look lovely.

Here.

Come here.

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

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

The rest of it?

What the ruddy hell
are you doing in my room?

Keys go walkies! Let's give these
to Ms. Judd for safekeeping, shall we?

Leave my things alone,
you pilfering cow!

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

Be warned, I do not stand for
offensive language in Aurora House.

Not from anyone. And I never make
idle threats, Mr. Cavendish. Never.

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

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

Ooh! Gawd! Bloody hell!

Tsk, tsk, tsk. A disappointing start.

Is this some sort of kinky S & M hotel?

I am Nurse Noakes.
You do not wish to cross me.

I am so sorry to keep you waiting.
Uh, I know it's a Ms...?

Rey.

Luisa Rey. Spyglass Magazine.

Right. Right.

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

Um, I was surprised to get your query.

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

- Anything you need, sir, just let me know.
- - Will do.

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

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

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

Oh. Probably just a fad.

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

That is where we keep the Eggheads.

Say hello to Nemo? Okay. Come on.

Hello, Mr. Cavendish.

Feeling super this morning?

No.

I checked in last night believing
that Aurora House was a hotel.

My brother made the booking, you see.
His idea of a practical joke.

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

There's some demented bitch
calling herself Noakes...

rampaging about the place,
impersonating a chambermaid.

But the point is this:

She struck me and she stole my keys.

Right?
I'll need those keys back, straight away.

Aurora House is your home now,
Mr. Cavendish.

Your signature authorizes us to apply...

Signature?

The custody document
you signed last night.

Your residency papers.

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

Never mind, it's all academic. Oh.

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

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

My keys, please.

Residents are not...

I'm not a ruddy resident!

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

You're breaking the ruddy...

uh, Anti-Incarceration Act
or some ruddy thing...

and I will not be subjected
to criminal abuse!

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.

Outside, fat snowflakes...

are falling on slate roofs.

Like Solzhenitsyn laboring in Vermont...

I shall beaver away in exile.

Unlike Solzhenitsyn, I shan't be alone.

Off somewhere?

You bet I am! To the land of the living.

Soylent Green is people!

Soylent Green is made of people!

- Ha-ha-ha.
- Oi! Get back here, you!

Oi!

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

in the police report as an accomplice!

I have better things to do than this!

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

Right!

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

Put me down!

" "You can maintain power over
people as long as you give them something.

Rob a man of everything and that man
will no longer be in your power."

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn,
20th century philosopher...

Complete Works
banned by Unanimity.

How do you know about him?

Hae-Joo.

But...

Seer Chang...

Please, you must call me Hae-Joo.

Hae-Joo...

Fabricants can be excised for this.

Our survival often demands our courage.

Knowledge is a mirror...

and for the first time in my life,
I was allowed to see who I was...

and who I might become.

Go clean the head.

Good morning, captain.

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

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

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

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

I assure you that this Moriori
had no choice.

Now, he has sworn to me that he is
a first class, able-bodied seaman...

capable of earning passage,
if only given a chance.

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

Did he ever explain anything to you?

He told me their goal was the creation
of a free-willed Fabricant.

Yoona had failed.

I was their last hope.

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

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

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

Nice.

Okay, you wait here and I will
go and find someone smarter...

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

Great.

Okay, what would Dad do?

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

Denny? It's me, Tim.

Timothy?

Where are you?

I think you ruddy well
know where I am!

But residents aren't allowed
access to phones.

Has someone smuggled one in?

You know the rules?

I helped write them, Timmy.

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

It's incredibly lucrative. You can't believe
what people will pay to lock up their parents.

Look, Den. You've had your fun.

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

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

What are you talking about?

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

I think a better question
in this instance would be:

What have you done to deserve this?

I don't know what you mean.

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

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

Georgette?

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

I'm afraid your penance has come due, Timbo.
It's time to account for your crimes.

Denholme...

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

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

Your exile is more
than enough reparation.

Although, ha, ha, I do have my fingers
crossed for a scenario involving you...

Nurse Noakes and a broom handle.

Cheerio, Timmy. Bye-bye now.

Sends his love.

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

I remember listening to his heart beat.

Your heart beats much slower than ours.

There is a gentleness to the sound.

I find it comforting.

Vyvyan, what time is it?

I don't know. Who cares?

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

Quick.

Find a pen!

I heard it in a dream.

I was in a nightmarish café...

blaring, bright light...

but underground, and no way out.

And the waitresses...

they all had the same face.

There was music playing, but unlike
any music I've ever heard in my life.

It began...

It began...

Wait.

It was so clear a minute ago.

Help me, Robert! Help me!
It's slipping away.

I've lost it.

It'll come to you, sir.

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

You are naïve, Robert.

I am anything but.

There is a gulf between these chairs.

What you want is no different
from what I want.

The gulf is an illusion.

How do I describe
that night, Sixsmith?

What had happened between Vyvyan and I
transcended language.

It was music that poured from his eyes,
that breathed from his lips.

Music as beautiful
as any I have ever heard.

What are you doing in here?

They found us.

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

Hae-Joo!

Stay with me.

Right here. I won't let you go.

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

I've talked to the captain.
He'll hear your case.

What's your name, boy?

Autua, sir.

This Christian gentleman,
who knows nothing about ships...

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

Very well.

Let's see you lower the main topsail.

Mr. Roderick, my bottle is empty.

Mr. Boerhaave, ready my piece.

What? Sir, you gave me
your word, captain.

Please. You can't do this!

Nobody tells me what I can
and cannot do on my own ship...

especially when it concerns
nigger stowaways.

Get them!

Cap'n, look!

He's got fish-hooks for toes.

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

No!

Hae-Joo!

Captain, please.

Look, if you could
just hear me out, please.

Look!

Ha-ha-ha.
The darkie's salt as I am!

Mr. Boerhaave?

It appears we have an addition
to our crew. Be sure he earns his keep.

Mr. Hooks!

Found her.

She was in the chem labs
looking for the bathroom.

Ah.

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

You know, introduce our little tribe...

and guide Ms. Rey through the, uh...
Through the tower.

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

I was meant to be in Seoul...

but the air-traffic-controller strike
screwed everything up...

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

You ever think the universe
was against you?

- All the time.
- Mm.

You mind?

I'm cool.

You seem nervous, Isaac.

- Do I make you nervous?
- No.

Actually, just the opposite.

Are you gonna tell me why
you covered for me?

"Freedom,"
the fatuous jingle of our civilization.

But only those deprived of it have
the barest inkling of what it really is.

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

The Corprocrats want you
euthanized as a deviant.

The Manufacturer is demanding
a period of study.

The psychogenomicists are screaming
for an immediate cerebral vivisection.

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

which means you're my problem.

I find it intriguing to imagine that...

beneath these perfectly
engineered features...

are thoughts that terrify
the whole of Unanimity.

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

There's a natural order
to this world, Fabricant...

and the truth is,
this order must be protected.

Inform the Archivist
and prepare her for Excisement.

- Yes, sir.
- Sir?

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

Killed, I was told.

All these recent excitements,
really, Adam, it's far too much.

You need to rest.

I had a girlfriend once.

She kept trying to get me
to read Carlos Castaneda.

You ever read any of that shit?

Oh, yeah.

But the relationship was doomed.

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

I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

And yet...

I can't explain it...

but I knew when I opened that door...

They destroyed most of the copies
of the report.

Most?

There's no good choice here, is there?

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

or worse.

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

Yeah, it'll be worse than worse.

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

Something praying on you, Zachry?

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

More scaresome 'bout the weather
than any devil.

You cog he's real?

Who tripped the Fall,
if not Old Georgie?

True-true?

The Old Uns.

That's jus' a rope o' smoke.

Old Uns got the Smart.

They mastered sick and seeds...

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

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

A hunger'n their hearts,
hunger that's stronger'n all their Smart.

Hunger? For what?

A hunger for more.

Belief, like fear or love,
is a force to be understood...

as we understand
the Theory of Relativity...

and Principles of Uncertainty...

phenomena that determine
the course of our lives.

Yesterday, my life was headed
in one direction.

Today, it is headed in another.

Yesterday, I believed I would never
have done what I did today.

These forces that often remake
time and space...

that can shape and alter
who we imagine ourself 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...

suggests 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...

and I suspect you heard it
and incorporated it into your dream.

I call it the "Cloud Atlas Sextet."

This is obviously the result
of our collaboration.

The "Atlas," I believe...

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

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

if I hadn't met you.

There are whole movements in the "Atlas"
that I wrote imagining us...

meeting again and again
in different lives, in different ages.

Yes.

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

or mine.

It is ours.

That is exactly how I feel, Vyvyan.

I'm sorry, I...

I thought...

You thought? You thought what?

That I might fancy a little buggering
from a fine young dandy like yourself?

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

You'll do no such thing.
You'll leave only when I say you can leave.

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

When it is finished,
then I will decide what to do with you.

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

Good luck with your composing.

I'm sure a sterile old
fuck like yourself...

is still capable of something
completely 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 commonplace...

in his brief and forgettable
career at Caius.

"Lock up the silverware." Unquote.

Be warned:

Leave here without my consent
and all the musical society will know...

of the degenerate Robert Frobisher.

After that...

even if you compose one of
the greatest symphonies ever written...

no one will hear it...

because no one will want
anything to do with you.

I won't let you go again.

I told you he'd come.

Two things became clear.

Hanging myself from
Edinburgh's flagpole was preferable...

to letting that parasite
plunder my talents a day longer.

I must complete my sextet.

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

Please
stand by for vehicle scan.

Clearance granted.

Any jailbreak's a risky proposition.

One little cock-up and we're dangling
at Her Majesty's pleasure.

I know, I know.

We could use code names...

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

So, Mr. Cavendish, Ernie Blacksmith.

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

To trust.

To trust.

I know, I know.

What about the parrot, then?
If ever there was a likely songbird.

Mr. Meeks is a fine
and honorable gentleman.

He would never betray us.

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

I know, I know.

Question is, old man:

Think you're up to snuff?

Unanimity requires
compliance. We have a security code red.

Prepare to be boarded.

What are we going to do?

Stay calm, stay calm.

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

I suppose I'm as hopeless
as Adam Ewing...

oblivious to all the unspeakable
forms lying in wait...

blind to the fact his friend
is poisoning him.

Henry, please.

The idea of losing this ring
distresses me beyond measure.

Don't be a silly puffin, Adam.
I'm sure your wife...

would set your health
above a gold loop.

I have seen the onset for dropsy
and it is not a pretty sight.

I know an excellent Spanish goldsmith
who works with such alacrity...

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

Give it to me!

Get your fuckin' hands off my pudding!

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

You've already eaten your pudding!

Stop it!

- Give it to me!
- Leggo, ya dos cunt!

Don't you talk to me like that!

- I'll speak to you any
way I... - You better get in here.

It doesn't mean you can have
two puddings just because you've already...

Stop it now! Unh!

You ruddy idiot!

You think you can get away with that?

Stop it!

I said, stop it!

Mr. Cavendish!

The room stank
of bitter medicine.

Curiously heavy things, guns.

Why did I take it exactly?

Can't say.

An intuition, a sense of significance...

that from this point on...

there was no going back.

Okay.

Sussin' them clouds, we run out time.

Hey, don't need no smart rope.

Yea.

See you fall, I catch you.

Hands in the air!

- Step off the vehicle.
- - Get down!

Get down! Now!

Fucking migrant monkey-talk.

It's okay.

Why do they hire these greasy subs?

Negative, sir. Definite illegal.

Detain him for now.

- I'm reading a second life form!
- Where?

- In the truck.
- Check it out.

Yes, sir.

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

I'm sayin' jus' once.
That offlander ain't gettin' to the top.

Time for you to let go of that rope.

You trespass, you pay the price.

Now drop that rope.

Drop that rope!

Drop that rope!

ForceCon One entering the truck.

Roger that.

Maintaining visual.

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

What?!

Freeze!

I.M.E, I.M.E.!

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.

Now drop that rope.

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

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

Hands'a'bleedin'...

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

Thank you, Zachry.

You saving me twicely now.

You fall, I'll catch you.

Excessive force confirmed.

Stop them. Stop them now!

What are you doing, boy?

I thought I'd made myself clear.

Do what you want. I'm leaving.

Fine, Frobisher. Go.

But I'll take this.

- Give that to me!
- It's mine!

I'm warning you...

Under the conditions
of this relationship...

I'm certainly within my legal rights.

Give it to me! Give it to me or, I swear
to God, I will kill you as you stand!

Please.

You're a coward.

- I'll do it.
- You won't pull that trigger.

Your kind never does.

Yes. Yes, well...

How fares our worm today, Adam?

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

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

You mustn't give up.

You must think of your beautiful wife.

You must think of Tilda.

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

Come on.

What are you doing?

Come on, come on. Hurry!

Nay, the dead never stay dead.

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

What is this place?

Before the Fall,
Old Uns built dwellings...

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

this place joined here with there.

Sonmi...

'Tis she.

The Old Uns prayed to Sonmi
same as Valleysmen?

Nay, not 'cisely same.

Move it! Move it. Step aside.

Over here. This way.

Get out of my way!

Come on.

Now, stay close.
Fabricants get snatched here.

All clear.

Thank you.

No sweat. We're partners.
But you gotta tell me what's happening.

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

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

Okay, but I hope
you realize you just said exactly...

what every character in any decent
mystery says right before they get killed.

Good night, Javier.

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

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

I mean, they were differing.

Differing.

How?

You want the True-true?

This is where you live?

This is where Union was born.

Sonmi weren't no god.

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

What?

I cog Valleysman b'liefs'.

I know Abbess teach'd you Sonmi was a
mir'cle, birthed o' Darwin God o' Smart...

but ain't the True-true.

Lies.

Her life was sad 'n judased.

She died tryin' to change
the Old-Uns thinkin'.

Lies, nothin' but lies.

Nay, nay, you're lyin'.

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

Sonmi?

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

Her words a heartsake blessin'
minder'me what's the True-true.

How long you lissin t'this?!

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

keep fuckin' your b'liefs up 'n down,
and in 'n out?!

Our lives are not our own.

From womb to tomb,
we are bound to others.

Zachry.

You o'right?

Finish your sussin'.

Shh, shh! Shh!

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

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

Be cool, all right?

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

How's that feel, huh?

Good conversation starter, isn't it?

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

You knew my father?

Korean War.

I was in the 21.

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

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

If your father hadn't done what he did,
I wouldn't be here.

Guess that makes two of us.

Oh, yeah, you ain't let go that rope
cause you a lustin'...

for that darkly, sweet'meat.

Ah, cog it all now.

This whore, with her cokeynut skin...

'n her slywise mask,
smilin' n wormin' her way...

so you trust n bring her here...

scavin n sivvin for what?

For what, fool?

They want the island.

Prescients want it all.

You judasing your kin for a piece of ass.

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

This Jezebel ignores
your yarns and ways...

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

It ain't true.

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

Take your spiker and...

slit her throat.

Protect your tribe!
Protect your sis and little Catkin!

Kill her now 'fore it's too late!

They will kill you.

You don't know these people like I do.

Yeah? Well, if that's all you came to
tell me, you're a little bit late.

Somebody just forced me
off the Swannekkee bridge.

This is out of control.

You know who did it?

A contractor.
Calls himself Bill Smoke.

And... Hm.

What?

He got Sachs.

- Isaac?
- A bomb on his plane.

The press is blaming the PLO.

He was a threat, like Sixsmith.
Like... you.

They all need to
get in here, so pass behind.

Bring them through.

Sonmi-451.

I am most honored to meet you.

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

Who's paying him?

The same guy that pays me.

Lloyd Hooks?

He was in Pikes Consulting.

Yeah, I heard of them.

They were, uh, lobbyists for oil companies.

But...

why would Big Oil hire Lloyd Hooks...

to run a nuclear reactor?

You got that same look
your father used to get.

You see it, don't you?

Hooks doesn't want the report discovered
because he doesn't want the reactor fixed.

He wants it to fail.

This is about the future of energy
in this country.

They want the explosion,
the chaos and carnage.

The more deaths, the better.

Unh! Can't cog it.

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

You come elbowing in my life,
yibberin' about the True-true...

an' never telling the whole true.

I need to cog what you're doing!

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

Help, why?

To steal our land?

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

Prescients dyin', Zachry.
Jus' like Catkin.

This world poisoned me and all my kin.

We get no help,
find no home offland away.

I sayso truesome, we not s'vive.

We not s'vive.

Ayrs has the dogs after me.

The bullet passed through,
killing little more than his appetite...

yet he's out for blood.

Will have to pay the piper.

I should call the cops.

Won't help.

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

Smoke'll be coming for me as soon
as he figures out I'm with you.

We need that report.
I can't protect you for long without it.

General Apis...

You, my dear...

are proof our efforts were not in vain.

But I'm just a dinery server.

I was not genomed to alter reality.

No revolutionary ever was.

I'm sorry.

I cannot do what you're asking.

Hm.

It would be a difficult choice for anyone.

But before you call your decision final...

there is one last thing
I would like you to see...

in order to fully understand
what we are fighting for.

Cross your fingers and toes.

If your prayer be answered...

will Prescients never return
to the Valley again?

Those wishin' to come with us
be welcome.

The Valley is my home.

Are you all right?

I know it is forbidden.

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

and all becomes clear.

Wish I could make you see
this brightness.

Don't worry, all is well.

All is so perfectly, damnably well!

I understand now...

that boundaries between noise
and sound are conventions.

All boundaries are conventions...

waiting to be transcended.

One may transcend any convention
if only one can first conceive of doing so.

At moments like this...

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

and I know that separation
is an illusion.

My life extends far beyond
the limitations of me.

All hands wear ship!

All hands!

Storm is coming, Mr. Ewing.
Got to get you down below.

Yes? Okay.

I'm not running a fucking charity.
Out with you!

On you go!

Oh, Mr. Ewing.

Uh, uh, oh. Uh, uh, oh. A word, if I may?

Dangerous times we live in, eh?

Quite a scandal.

They say this ruffian, Robert Frobisher,
is a composer.

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

What do you want?

The constable asked
to search my rooms.

I know how hard you're working,
so I told him...

there's no one on the third floor.

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

- That's all I have.
- Oh.

Mm.

What a beautiful waistcoat.

If these letters aren't important,
why do you keep reading them?

I don't know.

Maybe I'm just trying
to understand something.

What?

Why we keep making the same mistakes
over and over.

Maybe you should ask...

Megan.

What?

Do you know a Megan?

That's his niece.

How do you know that?

Looks like he mailed something to her.

Probably used the envelope
he was keeping the letters in.

Come on, Luisa.

First rule of mystery writing:
A good clue always leads to another clue.

When The Ghastly Ordeal of
Timothy Cavendish is turned into a film...

I'm thinking for the role of the hero
one part Sir Laurence Olivier...

with a dash of Michael Caine.

Who the hell is this?

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

Oh, is this about Mother?

Yes, it is, Mr. Hotchkiss.
I'm afraid you must steel yourself.

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

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

Do we really need to come right now?

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

and she seems quite upset
about her last will.

We'll be right there.

In mizzen up mainsail!

In mizzen up mainsail!

In mizzen up mainsail!

The plan was
a series of toppling dominoes...

that had commenced with Ernie
announcing my death to Nurse Noakes.

I know, I know!

Shh.

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

- I know, I know.
- Shh.

Mr. Cavendish?

Everything all right?

- Don't leave me here.
- Shh.

Mr. Cavendish?

You!

I knew it was too good to be true!

You cantankerous witch!

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

And so, adieu!

Which, translated literally from the
French, means "to commend before..."

God"!

Oh.

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

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

I got a call
from that reporter. Rey?

She was asking about Sixsmith.

- I see.
- You said she wasn't gonna be a problem.

Uh, well, some problems
are more resilient than others, Joe.

Where's the ruddy key?

Did he not leave it in the ignition?

His wife was driving! She took it!

The ruddy female
took the key in with her!

Sweet Saint Ruddy Jude,
what do we do now?

Look under the sun flap!

Yes!

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

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

- Shite!
- - Oh, no!

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

We're done for.

Oh, boy. I can't even believe
I agreed to do this.

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

Just keep walking.

I think he's behind me.

Whatever you do, don't look back.

Get out of my car or I'll sue!

I'm gonna flay your arse straight into
a coma if you don't open this door!

You! Out!

- Get out of my bloody car!
- Cavendish!

- - Get out of there, Cavendish!
- What's that button for?

Get out of my bloody car!

Yes!

- Yes!
- - Ha-ha-ha.

Oh, no.

It's Mr. Meeks. He does want to come.

Oh, dear.

Oh, 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!
- - Aah!

How thrilling!

Oh, no!

- Foot to the floor, Cavendish!
- Here we go!

Aah. Aah!

Here we go.

Man weather main!

Come on now,
Adam, handsomely does it.

Oh, the worm fights back.

It is always darkest before the dawn.

Mr. Ewing!

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

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

Then I stay here.

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

I must.

Mr. Ewing save my life. He my duty.

Listen to me, you ignorant ape.

Mr. Ewing doesn't want you around him.
You probably infected him to begin with!

He begged me, and I quote,
"Keep that dirty nigger away from me."

So, please, kindly respect his wishes!

Where'd he go?

I don't know.

- Oh, shit.
- What...?

To freedom!

Freedom! Ha-ha-ha.

Your like
again, that fought and...

Oh...

Oh!

- Fuck!
- Bullshit!

That's it.
England does it again.

Scotland goes down in flames.
Oh, the embarrassment!

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

Fuckin' English bastards!

H...

Help!

- Fuck!
- Joe!

No illegals here! No illegals here!
Boss away! Boss away!

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

I don't understand.

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

Are there no true Scotsmen
in the house?

Those there English gerunts...

are trampling all over
my God-given rights!

These people are mine.

A nation weeps...

They've used me
and my pals most direly...

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

Aye, pal.

We'll not let you down.

Now you just look here, you grebo.

You can go shag your bloody sporran...

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

We treat workers good!

No need union!

- Which way did they go?
- Aah!

- Shut up!
- My boss has many friends.

Shut the fuck up!

Don't make a mistake! Aah!

Stupid fucking wetback.

What, what, what was that, Adam?

How shall I comprehend
when you drool and dribble so?

Oh, let me hazard a guess.

Something in the key of,
"Oh, Henry, how could you do this to me?

I thought we were friends."

Well, unfortunately, you were wrong.

Wrong.

Like Horrox and your silly father-in-law.

There is only one rule
that binds all people...

one governing principle that defines
every relationship on God's green earth.

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

That way.

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

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

Part of the business.

Enjoy your retirement.

And don't call me a fucking wetback.

- Stand by to take in foresail!
- Stand by to take in...

Why, you ask?

It's absurdly simple.

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

so I have killed you for it.

Get away from Mr. Ewing or I kill you.

You!

Mr. Ewing, Mr. Ewing!

Got to flush you out.

Come on, Mr. Ewing, come on!

Die!

Die!

What was that?

Kona war cry.

Zachry!

Oh, no, no, Sonmi, no!

Zachry!

This is what the general
wanted me to see?

The end rushes towards me.

Unable to eat or sleep.

Like Ewing, the mortal coil
has become a noose.

Would rather become music.

They believe they are
going to Xultation...

but they are not, are they?

Welcome.

Take a seat.

Just relax.

This is to remove your collar.

Nay.

No.

Nay.

Rose.

Rose.

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

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

But more importantly,
to sustain their engineered labor force.

Recycled Fabricants are
a cheap source of protein.

Soap.

They feed us to ourselves.

That ship...

That ship must be destroyed.

Yes.

The systems that built them
must be torn down.

Yes.

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

Oh. Oh. Here, here, Catkin.

Oh. Oh, Catkin. Oh.

- Shh.
- No.

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

I broadcast my Revelation...

to the Twelve States
and Four Off-World Colonies.

Eighteen minutes later,
the Enforcers attacked.

To be is to be perceived.

And so to know thyself is only possible
through the eyes of the other.

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

and deeds that go on
apportioning themselves...

throughout all time.

Zachry.

Unc'a Zach!

Hide, hide!

Zachry!

No! No! No!

You kill chief. Now you meat.

Catkin.

- Safe now.
- - Unc'a Zach!

Safe, safe now.

Thank Sonmi.

No, thank you.

Come on, Mr. Ewing, one more.

One more.

Salt clean out your stomach.

Good, good.

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

See where we are?
See where we are? Stay here.

Home.

Home.

Megan Sixsmith?

Make them pay.

You can count on it.

Thank you.

My uncle was a scientist,
but he believed that love was real...

a kind of natural phenomenon.

He believed that...

love could outlive death.

Finished in a frenzy that
reminded me of our last night in Cambridge.

Watched my final sunrise,
enjoyed a last cigarette.

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

until I saw that beat-up trilby.

Honestly, Sixsmith, as ridiculous
as that thing makes you look...

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

Watched you for as long as I dared.

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

- Okay.
- - Thank you.

Corporal,
update the log book...

- and make sure there is a cabin...
- Captain say-soed take you with us.

I wanna go with Meronym.

Go where?

Prescients n'same boat as us.

Got no home neitherwise.

Nay... not yet.

You think someone going to hear
your prayer, come down from the sky?

P'haps. P'haps one day.

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

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

Hm.

I believe there is
another world waiting for us, Sixsmith.

A better world...

and I'll be waiting for you there.

May I help you, sir?

Yes, thank you, I'm looking for
a friend who came to Edin...

burgh.

I believe we
do not stay dead long.

Find me beneath the Corsican stars
where we first kissed.

Yours eternally, R.F.

No!

God!

No!

The report said Commander Chang
was killed in the assault.

That is correct.

Would you say that you loved him?

Yes, I do.

Do you mean you are
still in love with him?

I mean that I will always be.

Our lives are not our own.

From womb to tomb...

we are bound to others...

past and present...

and by each crime
and every kindness...

we birth our future.

In your Revelation, you spoke of
the consequences of an individual's life...

rippling throughout eternity.

Does this mean that you believe
in an afterlife?

In a heaven or a hell?

I believe death is only a door.

When it closes, another opens.

If I cared to imagine a heaven...

I would imagine a door opening...

and behind it...

I would find him there...

waiting for me.

- Oh!
- Oh, Tilda!

I'm home. I'm home.

I'm home.

Oh, God, I missed you so much!

Thank you, sir.

If I may ask one last question:

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

Yes.

Then why did you agree to it?

This is what General Apis asked of me.

What, to be executed?

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

I couldn't allow that.

And what if no one believes this truth?

Someone already does.

Adam? Good God!

I have just been recounting
your astonishing adventure.

Please join us.

Get him a chair.

No, no, thank you. I cannot stay.

Well, what are you doing here?

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

He did, but this couldn't wait.

I need to speak with you, sir. Privately.

Of course.

Excuse me.

Is that the contract from
Reverend Horrox?

It is indeed.

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

Are you insane?!

I owe my life to a self-freed slave.

And I cannot in good conscience participate
in this kind of business any longer.

This would make such a good book.

I'll drink to that.

Outside, fat snowflakes are
falling on slate roofs and granite walls.

Like Solzhenitsyn laboring in Vermont,
I shall beaver away in exile.

Unlike Solzhenitsyn, I shan't be alone.

Goddamn you, sir.
If you were not my daughter's husband...

Hello, Father.

Tilda?

What is going on?

I've come to say goodbye.

Goodbye? Where are you going?

We're moving back East
to work with the Abolitionists.

What?

That poison has rotted your brain.

Well, if it has, I highly recommend it.

I've not felt this good in years.

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

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

I'm going with my husband.

Adam!

Listen to me.

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

There is a natural order to this world...

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

This movement will never survive.

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

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

At worst, lynched or crucified.

And for what?

For what?

No matter what you do...

it will never amount to anything more
than a single drop in a limitless ocean.

But what is an ocean
but a multitude of drops?

Well, firey dyin'.

Mm. Just as well. My yarning is done.

No! Please!

Tell us one more!

Come on in here, you
little buggers! Come on, it's gettin' cold!

Uh, now, you heard your Grammy.
Go on. Get on with ya. Come on.

Eh? Eh?

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

Supposin' it minders me
of my Valley, huh?

Which is Earth?

Uh... There.

That one there. That blue shimmerer.

Yeah.

Now, help your Grampy up.

Oh, yeah.

Are you gonna tell us
'bout the woahsome ship...

and the big sleep
and all the nex'nexs?

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

Do you still love Grammy?

Your grammy is the best thing
that ever happened to me.

- Mm.
- Come on here, Grampy.

Lemme warm them old bones.