3 Dimensional Interactive Movies

[The Holo Magi first draught.]
Act Three Scene Eight

[Orb, again, various bureaucrats in
sea salt crusted, sweatstained
two piece suits, as if they're pushed,
jostled and gently guided on, as sea plane
is played out in morse code and x, y, z in
the flats by lutes.]

-Satan and early Hitler in Vienna 1920.
Satan says to early Hitler, the watercolours
of your Blue Danube and little yachts are
indifferent if not poor. Says early Hitler
to Satan, you're no oil painting, yourself.
-Listen up: congeal, freeze, stiffen!

[The bureaucrats stand paralysed
mid step by the Magi's spell.]

You all, who have perpetrated an
outrageous white collar crime against
me through the nationalised insurance
company, I've...found a way to forgive you. $10
-What is there to forgive? Who are you?
-Miguel the Twentieth from the old days.
-You can't be - if he was alive he'd be old
and wrinkled, perhaps bald and stooping.
-Do I not have his chimera brown eye
and blue eye? Take a closer look, amigo.
-He does, he does. It cannot be denied.
-Chimeras are as common as twins,
they're one to the two dozen. And Miguel
had the eye colours the other way around. $20
I don't believe in face transplants, myself.
-I swear it's Miguel, he always had a young
and whiney voice. It's the same fellow, only
younger, he always favoured heeled boots.
-You accept my forgiveness, my amigos?
-Never. I'd sooner go blind in limbo.
-Do you believe our governor would've
stopped at me? Sent me into the eye of the
storm a little early? Setme for failure?
-He would. We don't want your forgiveness. $30
This is a circular, futile gambit.
-Orb, bring me my straw hat, fibreglass,
walking can and faux Minke whale leatherette
spats. Bring me my legs and my arm in
all the flavours of bio and mecha, bring me
a stool to sit on and a stool to rest my feet.

[Exit Orb, humming a tuk-tuk.]

-We did believe you'd come back a
broken hero, contest a hedge fund or two.
-You were an odd mixture of recluse and
reckless rube, the Stormchaser seemed a $40
lightning rod for bad luck and mutiny.

[Orb, above, chants:]

The bear got drunk on fermented honey,
The drones stung him to death,
His pelt is now a winter beehive,
Honey heat passes for his breath.

-The bear has gone into permanent
hibernation, the Queen Bee offseason
incubates. I'll miss you, Orb. You're
the only one who saw me as more than
a smokescreen of nanorobots and $50
two way mirrors. The Stormchaser Two
is fully automated, will take you back
to Colombia or thereabout. It shall
return unmanned, of its own accord.
-I'll upload the maps and charts
straight away into the bridge.

[End of Act Three Scene Eight first
draught.]