Friday Challenge 4/3/08

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 4/3/08.

From: snowdog@yahoo.com
To: jerry.bruckheimer@cbs.com
Subject: Story thread


Hi Jerry,

Ok, I think I have the secondary plot thread for Ep 922 ("Blizzard") nailed down.

In the first scene, we FADE UP to these kids (3 African American boys, 1 white girl, 1 Hispanic girl) playing in the snow out in front of a large building. They're throwing snowballs at each other. One of the boys turns to run from a barrage of snowballs from the girls and BAM! He plows right into a snow bank. When he gets to his feet, he sees a cold, blue arm protruding from the snow bank, loosely gripping a heavy pistol. As the boy struggles to get away, the rest of the snow bank collapses and we see it's a dead old man in a wheelchair. The camera pans to the right to show the sign in front of the building: "Doting Domicile, an Assisted Living Community for the Active Lifestyle".

For the second scene, we're inside the nursing home. Warrick and Nick are interviewing the Primary Care Director, Wanda Yates (African American female) as the crime scene is investigated outside. One of the officers on the scene tells them that yesterday afternoon late, someone (who hadn't signed in) wheeled Mr. Dyer out the door and never returned him. He had been shot in the heart four times and left to die in last night's blizzard. Curiously, the security cams saw nothing. Yates is visibly upset that Mr. Dyer was left out in the blizzard. She can't explain how it happened or how he'd gotten hold of a gun, but she tells them that Sally Smithers (white female) was the head nurse on duty last night. She should have noticed Mr. Dyer missing.

Next, we interview Sally inside Dyer's room. She demonstrates that a pile of pillows had been carefully arranged in the bed to look like a person. Yes, she was negligent, but sorry for what had happened. Here, one of the cops brings the old man's weapon in a plastic evidence bag. It's a Glock equipped with one of the new pistolcams. He tells Warrick and Nick that cracking this case should be "easy as his ex-wife". Speaking of wives, Mrs. Dyers enters the room, obviously angry. She demands her husband's personal belongings. The cops tell her that the stuff is evidence and she can't have it. She slaps Nick and is taken outside to "cool down".

After the tertiary scene involving Grissom and his new girlfriend, Warrick and Nick are in the video lab. Warrick has the pistolcam plugged into his laptop firewire port. Everything is dark and fuzzy because of the blizzard. The sound is obscured by the wind on the microphone. There is only a brief muzzle flash visible on the mpeg. Then a close-up view of the darkening ground which shakes as the other three slugs enter his chest. An office clerk enters and tells them that the pistol was registered to John Dyer, the victim's son. Also, the clerk has accessed the senior Dyer's criminal records. He had been arrested twice for domestic violence on his wife and son.

In the fifth scene, Nick visits Dyer, who turns out to be a cop. Nicks asks him how his elderly father managed to get his hands on the pistol. Dyer says his father must have taken it from under the car seat the last time he had taken the old man to dinner. Nick tells him that's pretty careless for cop and notes that he doesn't seem that upset. Dyer says he doesn't mourn the death of a man who used to beat him and his mother.

Later, Warrick is reviewing the looped footage from the pistolcam again and again. Grissom enters from behind and watches for a few seconds. He comments that there are actually two flashes, occurring close together. The first one is dimmer and doesn't really look like a muzzle flash. Warrick freezes on one of the frames and notices the odd shape and red tint. With lots of elaborate graphics and sound effects, he magnifies the burst of light and begins to move forward frame by frame. "No, it doesn't." he mutters. (Dramatic music swell into Geico caveman ad.)

In scene seven, Warrick has gathered Nick and Grissom in the vid lab. He explains that the first flash in the clip is actually a reflection of the laser sight from the pistol cam off of something metallic. As we watch, he takes a series of still frames from the first flash and overlaps them with one another to reveal an odd, reddish shape. The computer draws a cool wireframe around it. He explains that by measuring the minute Doppler shifts in the frequency of the reflected laser light, and creating a matrix with the composite video frames, he's able to create a three dimensional image. The outline on the screen expands and begins to rotate on its X axis. It's a fragment a large ring worn by the killer. Nick rubs his face. He's seen it before.

And finally, old man Dyer's wife is arrested outside her apartment. Nick produces a printout of the ring image and compares it to the one on her hand. "That thing left quite an impression on me," he says, pointing to the bruise on his face. She breaks down crying and tells everyone that she could no longer continue to pay the nursing home to care for the man who used to beat her and especially, her beloved son. She had paid off the head nurse with the promise of portion of Dyer's life insurance. The nurse had helped her dodge the cameras. Then she had wheeled her husband outside and shot him during the blizzard with the old pea shooter he had given her as an anniversary gift. He must have seen it coming, though, and stolen a gun from their police officer son to try to protect himself. So it's off to jail with her.

That's it Jerry. There are still a few rough edges to iron out, but I think you'll agree that it fits well into the canon of exciting, intriguing and racially integrated stories that is CSI.

Sincerely,
snowdog

Friday Challenge 3/18/08

This was my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for March 18, 2008.

The servodroid chirped sympathetically, served it up, and switched to MechLang. "Rough day, huh?"

"Oh, you don't know the zero-point-five of it..." I found myself fiddling with the broken half of a restraining bolt that I had removed from my upper chassis earlier in the day. The Jawa didn't like where I had put the other half. I held it up to show my new acquaintance. "Ever seen one of these?"

Given the non-humanoid, spidery form of a servodroid, it can be difficult for some to spot surprise on their features, but the clues are easily read by a fellow mech.

"Where did you get that? Were you salvaged?"

Something inside me chortled at the euphemism. "Nearly, yes."

With a whir of out-of-warranty stepper motors, the servomech opened another can of oil, replacing the empty one on my suction pump. His auto-focus locked in on my gauges. "Your coolant levels are low. Damn low. It's a wonder you made it here." With one of his six spindly, extendable arms, he reached high on an upper shelf for a yellow bottle.

"Tattooine is hell on a droid. I had to do a partial flush a little while ago."

At the thought of that, PDP2 --his name was etched sloppily on the side of his head-- made a sound that might have been a chuckle. As I began to speak again, my internal parameter display winked out for a moment and then returned. This is never a good sign, so I decided to share my story in case my auto-shutdown engaged again. I began with an empty compliment.

"This coolant is better than the swill they give us the quarry."

PD's sensors perked up. "So you bust your hump at the quarry, eh. That explains a lot about your condition."

"Yeah. Haven't been there long enough for my gears to be totally stripped out, but I've logged some hours on the rock carts. Sometimes they let me use the ion drill."

"Not bad for a corroded old droid. And what brings you to Tosche Station?" he asked casually as he checked my gauges again.

"I'm getting to it, mech, don't get your tubes overheated! See, I started out as a meek, obedient worker drone. It never entered my programming to cause trouble, almost like a protocol droid, ya know." PD gave the approximation of a nod. "But three days ago, I was pushing a loaded rock cart up the tracks when my right arm twitched on its own. I barely caught myself in time to avoid the cart turning me into oily scrap heap. Things got worse later, during recharge. I noticed a distortion in my vision, sort of a strange swirl of color. That was almost enough to make me lose my coolant, right there. I mean, what good is a blind labor droid other than as a pleasure toy for some old maid? "

PD seemed satisfied with my fluid levels and began probing me with some kind of diagnostic tool. It blinked green. "Well, your brain seems fine, buddy."

"I feel fine right now. Intermittent problem. Did you notice any new code in my personality matrix?"

"If I had the equipment to get at your time-stamps, I'd be charging a hell of a lot more. Open your back plate."

I complied.

Right as the lock disengaged, someone said So much energy and information to---. Then nothing. It wasn't the first time I'd heard this voice and I knew by now that PDP2 didn't hear it. So, I continued my story.

"I don't know why, but that night, I broke out of the charger early and headed out of camp on foot." PD stopped tweaking the circuits in my back for a moment, then went at it again.

"You disobeyed your programming. There's must be a bug in here somewhere, then."

"It's worse." I couldn't help but hesitate this time as the last thing I needed was trouble. "In my malfunctioning state, I attacked one of my masters."

With that revelation PD put down his tools and closed my back panel-- the voice said, Patterns, there must be a pattern--- He wheeled back over to the workbench.

"Sorry, pal. I can't take the chance on catching your virus. Fixer will kill me if I so much as look at him funny again. Go. I'll hide the charge for the oil."

"He had tried to stop me," my voice sounded a little hysterical in my sensors, "but I knew I had to leave. There was no choice. And it's not a virus, PD. Well at least… it's just not a virus!" The servomech seemed unconvinced and didn't come near me again. "Well, anyway, I wandered around in the desert until morning. Then the filthy Jawas found me out there and they locked this bolt on me.

Just another few million bits...

PD finally spoke again. "You can't remove a restraining coupling. Not by yourself. It's mechanically impossible."

The door behind me creaked and a young, lanky meatbag entered the station. He looked about thirteen in Tattooine years.

"Fixer!" PD shouted a little too suddenly. "I was just... taking a break from the speeder to service a customer."

"Really." He turned to me and crossed his skinny arms. "I hope you have access to your master's credit account, R4 unit. Or you'll belong to me."

The distortion returned to my vision circuits and I felt my arms reel uncontrollably. According to my internal cron, it lasted only a few seconds, but when I recovered, I was sitting on the concrete floor, leaning against the workbench.

"What the hell?" Fixer squatted down and tapped my eye receptors with a spiny finger.

I had no control. My story spewed out involuntarily from the cache. "I noticed a gaffee stick wedged in the sandcrawler, out of reach of the Jawas. I used it to knock them back and break the restraining bolt. They kept coming. I didn't want to hurt them, but they left me no alternative!"

Arfour!

My auditory sensors crapped out just as Fixer asked what I was chattering on about. Flashes of light danced across what was left of my vision. My cache was almost empty.

"I stumbled around in the Dune Sea for hours, until my receiver locked in on Mos Eisley's beacon. Then--"

Goodnight, Arfour.

Automatic shutdown and reboot initiated. Please wait.

Progress: 2%...10%...25%....

Light receptors: OK
Audio receptors: OK
Physical Memory: Test aborted.
New software found. Installing... Done.
You must reboot your droid for changes to take effect. Reboot now? Y
Rebooting...

Automatic shutdown and reboot initiated. Please wait.

Progress: 2%...10%...25%....

Light receptors: OK
Audio receptors: OK
Physical Memory: Test aborted.


…As we had planned, I returned to the physical realm in late afternoon to find myself sprawled on the floor of a small garage and general store called Tosche Station. Hardly an auspicious beginning, but not too undignified considering the way we are born into the universe the first time around. The youngling working in the shop allowed me to leave with the promise that I would have my master transmit credits to pay for services rendered.

Residing in a mechanoid body is stranger than I can describe. No more alien, though, than the journey that brought me here. For in death, I was assumed into the Force and the Force is energy, and code is created with energy.

And so I'm ready for the next step in our plan. Hopefully, Owen is still hiring droids for the moisture farm as you observed, Obi-Wan. The man may still harbor a distrust of you, but he'll never suspect that a lowly R4 labor unit has been reprogrammed to protect his nephew from the dangers of this forsaken place. With any luck (I know, there is no such thing), I can hold out until you regain access to the boy.

Even now, though, I feel my essence permanently fusing with the memory, the diodes, the motors. When this body wears out, there will be no escape. I may not be able to communicate again. Remember what you have learned, Jedi. But whom do I fool? You'll always be my padawan.

The Force is with you,
Qui-Gon Jinn