The Stars Came Back by Rolf Nelson Page B

you, what else might we do to clear atmo?
    Helton stand and walks away, leaving Slaver1 to think about his options for a bit.
     
    CUT TO
    Front of building by desk and door
    Helton walks up beside Harbin.
    Helton: ( Quietly) He’s got a point. Fliers have locks.
    Harbin: Hmph. (Points to a screen) One problem at a time.
    On one of the CCTVs, two men walk across the ground toward their building. One of them puts a hand to his ear trying to better hear a com unit. He stops walking and gesticulates like he’s arguing with someone. The guy in front of him stops and looks back. The talker turns around, shouting at someone near the mine entrance. He’s on the losing end of the argument and they both head back.
    Harbin: ( Murmuring quietly, fingering the edge of the scissors) Their lucky day.
    They watch the two return to the main mine building.
    Helton: What’s with that guy’s attitude?
    Harbin looks at him questioningly, looking for clarification.
    Helton: Why did they dump us and say “work off our debt,” and now he says we deserve to be here?
    Harbin: Compartmentalization.
    Now it’s Helton’s turn to look blank, not understand ing.
    Harbin: Op-Sec. And a way of getting good and marginal people to do bad things. If you tell the average guy to go murder someone, he won’t. But the guys on the ship that gassed us were told one story. They need to be smart enough and educated enough to get a sensitive job onboard, and patient enough to be in place a while; that’s not the typical psycho killer. So, they don’t directly hurt anyone. They can deny their evil to themselves. The ship and passengers then get passed to someone else, who is told a different story. We get passed along by who knows how many people, with yet a different story at each step. Each stupid grunt is fed a story that lets him live with himself and think his actions are justified. That way the people making the plans, and profits, only need a couple of real psycho-killers on the payroll, rather than dozens. Much easier to do. Each is in a separate compartment of information from the other. He possibly really does think we belong here and doesn’t know a single correct thing about us. Crime gangs, cult leaders, pirates, and politicians all do it. Military units, too. It is often called “need to know.”
    Helton shakes his head in disbelief.
    Harbin: It’s useful. And dangerous.
    Helton: Well, shit… With guys like that arou nd we might have to leave fast. Best not leave empty handed. I’ll see what I can find.
     
    CUT TO
    Series of shots:
    ●  Helton walking along shelving looking at boxes and bins and crates
    ●  Helton grabbing a couple of water bottles
    ●  Helton hefting a gym bag type duffel, then dumping it out
    ●  Helton popping open a box labeled “emergency rations” and tossing some into the bag
    ●  Helton stopping in front of a stack of footlocker sized crates labeled “6.5mm M210 Carbine”
    ●  Helton hears a door open, and voices arguing
     
    CUT TO
    View of front door
    Harbin stands next to it, one half of the disassembled scissors ready to stab or slice. The door opens, sunlight blasting into the relatively dark interior of the building. One guy walks in followed closely by two more, who are arguing. They all wear ill-maintained guard uniforms, and can’t see Harbin in the dark shadow beside the door.
    Guard1: -So I tell the guy “that’s bullshit,” and-
    Guard2: The hell you said that-
    Guard3: URK!?
    Harbin steps forward between Guard2 and Guard3, stabbing Guard3 in the throat with the scissors and shoving Guard2 hard from behind, tossing him forward onto Guard1, who stumbles and falls with Guard2 on top of him. Harbin grabs the very surprised, and nearly dead Guard3 and pulls him forward on top of the other two, while pulling out the scissor blade and slicing sideways as he does so.
    Guard1: (Stumbling forward) THE HELL ?!
    Guard2: (Falling on Guard1) WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!
    Harbin lunges forward and