Original subtitles

Lornsome 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,

OI' Georgie himself.

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 afflictions.

Have you lost something?

Question one.

What secret in Sixsmith report would be worth killing 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 an 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 stroke me as though delivered through divine revelation.

The learned doctor here and I,

already spent many a night debating Mr. Moore's tractus.

I'm only willing to conceive that he makes a compelling case

as to why we are sitting here, enjoying this divine lamb,

while Kupaka stands there, contempt to serve.

Indeed, ain'it. Uh, Kupaka...

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

Oh, yes, Reverend, sir.

Kupaka very happy here.

See, 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.

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.

Uh, prey, Mr. Ewing, continue.

Well, uh... 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.

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?

- Ah, 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. Ooph.

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

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

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

Well for starters, you would have died.

I... I shall find a way to repay you.

Oh, 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 told 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.

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'?

- 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 you.

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 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.

That'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 the 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 yourself. 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.

Re)'

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 uh... a hypothetical question for you, Miss Rey.

As a journalist,

what price would you pay to protect the 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,

and in its two lead forced duality,

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 failed 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 n'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-0-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 a fockin' contract for the event of a 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 soap sack and return to our sleep box.

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 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 secured.

Big Isle, 106 Winters After The Fall

Nay, this life all rot n' lookin' no smile a' some yawnee.

In rear's time, I ever fest the secret of Sloosha's hallow.

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

It was Adam's custom to cult out 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.

OI' 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 sundown.

You say it all the time, ain'ya?

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

The True-truth, what that is.

Whole valley whisperin' about the blood 0' Adam and his son on my hands.

But Rose and Catkin never believed those rumors, and stood by me.

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

Prescients come batterin' twice a year,

their ships creep-crawlin' on the waves,

just floatin' on the Smart 0' the Old Uns.

Barter'll be startin' soon.

Yeah. We must go find ya' Ma.

What are you doin'?

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

She say we gotta keep out 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.

She doin' 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 diresome's about to happen?

- Uncle Zach! - Thi's my big bro I yawned you about.

- What's about, sis? - Special guest hosting.

Thank you for the kindsome hostin' in the Valley's day.

I ain't saysoe this, Rose.

- Abbess saysoe a gift of great honor. - She can be hostin' then?

I brin' you gift, Zachry.

Need no gift from the stranger.

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

they gaped in wonderment like Sonmi herself was sittin' in our kitchen.

Questions about Prescience 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 stupid in front 0' the gatherin'.

Fusion engines...

True really was, Meronym answered the questions,

but no answer ever quenched your curio.

All 0' that answerin' done was teach everyone to not trust her,

nay, not a flea...

She's lyin'...

Schemin' and wormin' herself in.

Watch her, watch her close.

She's got secrets.

Zachry Bailey?

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

Some diresome's gonna happen.

Come in, come in.

Ooh, that Sonmi got your heart.

Ohh, I gonna hear it for us,

I'm prayin' for you.

Ooh, Old Georgie's hungerin' for your soul.

Ooh, I knew it.

Spit a cuss on your dreams.

“Bridge is 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-Ju Zheng.

What has happened to Seer Rhee?

Soap overdose.

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

Cos 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.

- 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 was not contagious.

Not that it matters.

All I want to do now is return home

and unburden myself from 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 islands 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 you 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 it 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.

Oh, Satan's gonads, not again. Look,

just bugger off and leave us in peace. I'm only gonna asking 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 had a minor running with the wrong sort.

If I don't get my hands on £ 60,000, I got to get 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 just set me right.

Denny. Help.

Please.

Den, who are you talking to?

- Hello, Georgette. - Hello, Timothy.

Right. Right, right.

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 begun to fear I might never hold my beloved Tilda in her 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, not shout.

Please. My name Autua.

You know I... see Moriori 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 rail road for escaping slaves.

I be able seaman, I earn passage.

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

Wow wow. 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-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'm 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 red 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 odd 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 me, 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.

Diner 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 the 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 her 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, Mr. Zachry? - Thin whiles.

- Minding some company? - Nay.

But...

Goats, and so do herders, they're known for housin' temper.

Feelin' that own n' your reveal count out,

for invadin' your house with no saysoe.

True sorrysome.

Well it... Now it's done.

So, you mindin' a stranger coverin' about your thrivin'?

Swap you. Query for query.

Fair buy.

Cog you and come dow. Learn stitchin' n' milkin' our heardin'.

Why you here?

I needin' a guide.

Guide? To where?

Mauna Sol.

“Bridge is 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 déjé-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 so bound a love.

Your augurin' come true, Abbess.

Broke bridge, just like you say.

Meronym wa' there, yeb her aback, trackin' up Mauna Sol,

why can this Prescient woman come cursin' 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 the 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.

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

How did you imagine we could possibly be friends?

All you need.

Ah, 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 jumping onto my balcony,

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

Okay!

What are you reading?

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.

I can get clear that Vyvyan had been there the entire night,

between us like the silence between notes, that holds the key to warm 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. Passed it.

I know I shouldn't be pulling 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've heard this before.

I can't imagine how.

I doubt there's no more than a... handful copies in the whole of North America.

But I know it.

I know I know it.

Before I realized it, my feet had brought 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 slift 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 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, spinessless, 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, would 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 your carotid.

How does it feel?

Good.

Catkin's dying!

- What? - She 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 Councils swear by a special order.

Say I can't go play Lady Sonmi for everythin' twistin' wrong,

and click fingers, make right.

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

just... by 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 the Precient's 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 apast me, Coltworth was 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 showed 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 digit 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 pilvering cow.

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

You're warned.

I cannot stand for offensive language in our arrays, 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. Uh, I know it's a Miss...

Rey.

- Luisa Rey, Spyglass magazine. - Right, right.

Luisa, this is Joe Napier, 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.

We'll 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.

Ah, never mind, it's all academic, huh?

This is gonna make a hell of a diner 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...

acting... conservation act, or some ruddy thing,

and I will not be subjugated to a criminal abuse.

I will not be subjugated to criminal abuse.

Outside, fat snow flakes are forming 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, pit and do them, you bloody sucker son of...

Right!

God, you take hands off me, you ruddy bloody...

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,

and by Unanimity.

How do you know about him?

Hae-Ju.

- Sir Zheng. - Please, you must call me Hae-Ju.

Hae-Ju...

Fabricants can be excised for this...

Well, survival often demands some 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're the hell that remains, old quail cock, by buggering off.

I'm afraid I can't do it, 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 free willed 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, uh, women's lib thing more seriously.

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

Nice.

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

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 know about where I am.

But residents are denied access to phones.

Someone smuggled 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 would pay to lock-out 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 am your brother, why are you doing this to me?

I think the better question is-would be, what have you done to deserve this?

I don't know what you mean.

Oh come, naughty old 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 up, Timmy. Bye bye now.

He 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. It was in a nightmarish café...

Blurry, bright lights, but underground and no way out.

And the waitresses... they all had the same face.

There was music played, not like 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-I talked to the captain, he'll hear your case.

What's your name, boy?

Autua, sir.

The Christian, gentlemen, who knows nothing about ships,

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

Very well, let's see you'd lower the main top, son.

Mr. Roderick, my bottle is empty.

Mr. Boerhaave, ready my piece.

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

P-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-away.

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

Boerhaave, you don't make a mess of my deck.

Captain, please...

Look, if you can just hear me, I'm...

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 am not even supposed to be here.

I was meant to be in Seoul, but the air traffic controller strike

put everything up, so now I'm on the... time jumper tonight.

Did you ever think that the universe was against you?

All the time.

You mind?

I'm cool.

You seem nervous, Isaac.

- Do I make you nervous? - No.

Actually, just the opposite.

Will 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 euthanased 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 this...

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-Ju Zheng?

Killed, I was told.

All this feast and excitements, really Adam, it's...

all too much, you'll need to rest.

I had...

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

- You ever read any of that stuff? - Oh yeah.

But the relationship was doomed.

Every time she brought up a new...

karma, that sort of 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 close my job...

or worse,

If I don't, a lot of people

And it will be worse than worse.

You have to do...

whatever you can't not do.

Someone preyin' on you, Zachry?

You really ain't feary about meetin' OI' Georgie on the summit?

I'm more scaresome 'bout the weather than in the Devil.

You cog he's real?

Who tripped the Fall, if not Old Georgie?

True-true?

The Old Uns.

That's just a rope 0'smoke.

Old Uns got the Smart.

They mastered sick and seeds,

they make miracles and fly across the sky.

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

A hunger in their hearts, a hunger that's stronger than all their Smart.

Hunger? For what?

A hunger for more.

Belief like fear or love

is forced 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 is of value.

But I know I could not have written it,

if I hadn't met you.

There are whole movements in the Atlas that I've read imagining us,

meeting again and again, in different lives and 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 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 you 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 unmemorable.

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." End of quote.

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 is preferable to letting that parasite

plunder my talent 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?

Forever those are 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 and waiting,

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.

Just seein' them clouds, we run out 0' time.

- Don't need no smart rope. - Yeah, see you fall,

I'll catch you.

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

Get down. Down, now!

Fuckin' migrant monkey-talk.

Why do they hire these greasy stubs?

Negative, sir. Definite illegal.

You turn 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' just once. That off-lander ain't gettin' to the top.

Time for you to let go that rope.

You trespass...

You pay the price.

Now drop that rope.

Drop that rope.

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

I turn in visual.

- It's her! - It'll be okay, uh?

Fire at me. Fire at me!

Who are you?

Commander Hae-Ju Zheng.

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 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 certain that I'm in 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- 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'll 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 them.

It is she.

The Old Uns pray to Sonmi same as Valleysmen?

Nay... not 'zactly 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 I tell you everything that happen 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 Valleymen prayin' to Sonmi not 'zactly 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 was no God.

She died hundreds of years ago on a faraway peninsula, deadlanded now.

What?

I cog Valleysmens beliefs,

I know Abbess teach you Sonmi was a miracle,

birthed 0' Darwin god 0' Smart, but ain't the True-true.

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

Lies... 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 heart savin' 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 do not belong to us,

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

Zach ry.

You alright?

Finish your saysoe...

If I wanted 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 start, 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 into your trust so you brin' her here,

scavin' n' sivvin' for what?

For what, fool?

They want the island. The Prescients want it all.

You judasin' your kin for a piece of ass.

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

she just 'bout ignorin' all your yarns n' ways,

spinnin' n' spoutin' her whoahsomse lies, and you lap it up, you dammit!

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

Take your spiker an' slit her throat!

Protect your tribe, protect your sister, little Caktin,

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.

Do you know who did it'?

The 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 thru.

Sonmi 451, I'm most honored to meet you.

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

Who is paying them?

The same guy that pays me.

Lloyd Hooks?

Hughes & Pikes Consulting.

I've heard of them.

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

Why would big oil... hire Lloyd Hooks to run a nuclear reactor?

You get that same look your father used to get. You see I told 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 0' 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 whole true.

I need to cog what you doin'!

I told you. I come to send a plea 0' help.

Help, why?

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

What d'you want?!

Prescients' dyin', Zach. Just like Catkin.

This world poison me n' all my kin'.

We get no help, ain't no home if I don' find a way.

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,

and he's out for blood. I'll have to pay the piper.

- I should call the cops. - It 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 pray' be answered,

nay Prescients never return to the Valley again?

Those wishin' to come with us, they're welcome.

The Valley is 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 brigthness.

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 trandcend 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, outwith you! Off you go!!

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

Dangerous times we have here. About that scandal. They say that

ruffian Robert Frobisher is a composer.

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

- What d'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. - Hmmm

What a beautiful... waistcoat.

If these letters are important,

- why d'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 letters in.

Come on, Luisa. First rule of mystery writing:

a good clue always leads to another clue.

When the ghostly ordeal of Timothy Cavendish is turned into a film,

I'm thinking for the role of the hero, one patch of Laurence Olivier

with a dash of Michael Caine.

Who the hell is this?

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

- Ooh, is this about mother? - Yes, it is, Mr. Hotchkiss,

I-I'm afraid you must deal yourself,

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

Unfortunately, it is an unconvenient 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 topling dominoes,

that had 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?

- And yet, Mr. Cavendish, the rule... - You temp-temperous 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 it can't wait.

For God 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.

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

- Where's the ruddy key? - He didn't 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 sunpad.

What is it?

It's not a key, what'd 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 bloody ruddy genius!

We're done for.

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

Is this thing working? I mean is it still 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!

Press that button thru!

Oh no, it's Mr. Meeks, he doesn't 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 off for a lifetime trife.

I know, I know.

- Rev in speed! - Ho, how fondling!

Oh, no!

Go for it, 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 in his treatment.

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

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're in need of a wee pit of assistance!

Right, pal...

We'll not gonna let ye down.

Now you just look here, you grebo,

you can go shag your bloody sporran...

They 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's that, Ewing?

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

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 silver bitch.

Part of the business.

Enjoy your retirement.

Amaba... a 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 off Mr. Ewing or you know I kill you!

Mr. Ewing, Mr. Ewing!

Gotta flush you out. Com'on, Mr. Ewing.

What was that?

Kona war-cry.

Zach ry!

Oh no no, Sonmi, no.

Zach ry!

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 to Exultation.

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...

The 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 control satellite link.

I broadcast my Revelation 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.

Thanks, Zachry.

No, thank you.

Com'on, Mr. Ewing. One more.

One more. Salt clean out your stomach.

Close. Com'on Mr. Ewing, com'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.

I finished it in a frenzy that reminded me of our last night in Cambridge.

Watched my final sunrise, enjoyed the 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.

Captain saysoed he take you with us.

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

Prescients in the same boat as all us. Got no home neithervvise.

Nay, not yet.

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

Perhaps...

Perhaps one day.

One day ain't but a flea 0' 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 Edinburg...

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 Zheng was killed in the assault.

That is correct.

But you say that you loved him?

Yes I 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're bound to others.

Past and present.

And by each crime and every kindness,

rebirth our future.

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

replicated throughout eternity.

Does this mean that you believe in an afterlife?

No heaven or hell?

I believe this is only a door.

When its closes, another opens.

If I can't imagine heaven,

I would imagine a thorough hope.

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.

And 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? Has not 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 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's 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.

Oh yes, I highly recommend it.

I've not felt that 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 paria, 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 yawnin' is done.

No, please Gran'Pi, Please!

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

No, you heard your Gran'mi, com'on, get on with you.

You like it down 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 split,

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, you Gran'pi.

Let me warm that Ii'le ol' bone.