(trembling)

  alone. Can't you talk to me? Can't we discuss what's happening to me? Don't you understand? I don't care about the money anymore. I want out!

  She spins toward the mural of the moon. Glaring, she grabs the model of the habitat and throws it across the room. Its glass and metal SHATTER.

  JAMIE

  Home! I want to go home! I want to see people! Breathe fresh air again! Eat chocolate cake! Walk barefoot in grass! Smile at the stars! I want to be...

  Her shoulders sag. In despair, she rubs her forehead.

  JAMIE

  Free.

  She gazes up, hoping.

  No response.

  BEEP.

  JAMIE

  (her voice drops)

  Free.

  She stoops to pick up sections of the model she destroyed.

  JAMIE

  I never understood what that meant before.

  Suddenly animated, she crushes the remnants of the model and hurls them away. They CRASH against the consoles.

  JAMIE

  (angry)

  But you won't release me from our contract, will you? This is what you wanted, isn't it? To watch me fall apart!

  (paces)

  You think you're so clever?

  No way! What you don't realize is you made a mistake! You didn't tell me it would be here with me! (gestures in fury toward the door)

  Full disclosure. Ever heard of it? You didn't tell me everything. You held back crucial information! And one thing I learned from my fiancee, whatever his name was, is a contract demands good faith.

  (another furious gesture toward the door)

  And that thing in there is definitely not good faith. What kind of monsters are you? Let me out of here!

  Jamie storms toward a bare wall, the only one in the room, and pounds on it in desperation.

  JAMIE

  Null and void! You hear me! The contract's... I want to be free!

  Abruptly a SIREN WAILS. Jamie flinches and covers her ears. THE SIREN KEEPS SHRIEKING.

  JAMIE

  No! Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!

  THE SIREN PERSISTS. Beneath it, the BEEP continues.

  Jamie sinks to her knees, still clutching her ears.

  JAMIE

  I'm sorry! Don't! Please, stop the...!

  (cringing from the SIREN'S WAIL)

  I'll do it! Yes! Whatever you want! Whatever I promised! If only...! Stop the...! Forget what I said!

  (tears trickle)

  I'll keep my word! I'll obey the contract! Whatever you want...!

  (she shudders, in pain)

  I'll do it!

  THE SIREN BEGINS TO DIMINISH, ITS WAIL LESS TORTURING.

  Jamie eases her hands from her ears, testing the threat.

  As THE WAIL BECOMES FAINTER, she shudders again and slowly relaxes.

  JAMIE

  Thank you. I will. I'll do it.

  (presses her hands together, as if in prayer)

  Thank you. Thank you.

  Wiping tears from her eyes, she struggles to stand. Unsteady, she again surveys the control room.

  The siren has finally stopped, but the BEEP continues.

  JAMIE

  (as if hypnotized, to the rhythm of the beep)

  "The oceans and the forests, the earth and the sky belong to..."

  (faltering)

  God help me.

  THE SIREN BLARES, A SHRILL ATTENTION-GETTER.

  She stiffens and glares toward the ceiling.

  JAMIE

  I told you I promised!

  With a frightened glance toward the door, she shuffles toward a section of the control room that we haven't seen.

  There, she reaches a treadmill, breathes deeply, and straps what looks like a blood-pressure cuff to each arm. Wires lead out of the cuff to a monitor.

  Nervous, she glances toward the door.

  JAMIE

  If you'd just been honest...If you'd only prepared me...

  THE SIREN WARNS HER. JAMIE cowers.

  JAMIE

  I know! I know! I hear you! But why won't you talk to me?

  With a frantic gaze, she studies the ceiling.

  No answer.

  Distraught, she steps on the treadmill and pushes a button. The treadmill begins to move beneath her. She starts to walk.

  CLOSE UP on the monitor to which her cuffs and wires are attached. Like an EKG, it shows FLASHING RED NUMBERS-blood pressure, pulse, and other numbers that we don't understand.

  Jamie walks in place, the treadmill moving beneath her.

  A WHISTLE BLOWS.

  Jamie presses another number on the treadmill.

  The treadmill moves faster.

  The monitor's numbers increase.

  Jamie paces increasingly faster and begins to recite.

  JAMIE

  My name is Jamie Neal. I'm an assistant professor of deep-space psychology.

  THE WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN.

  Flinching, Jamie presses another number on the controls. The treadmill moves faster. She hastens her pace.

  THE FLASHING RED NUMBERS go higher.

  Despite the effort of her increased pace, Jamie continues reciting.

  JAMIE

  Specialty - adaptation to confinement. Reactions to a limited environment. Potential aberrant behavior caused by the stress of...

  When THE WHISTLE SHRILLS AGAIN, Jamie presses another number on the treadmill's console. She's forced to pace even faster.

  JAMIE

  Claustrophobia.

  Sweat beads on her brow.

  JAMIE

  Five rooms. Two here in this central unit...

  (a nervous glance toward the door)

  three others, an entrance bay, a solar power station, and sleeping quarters, linked to this central unit by corridors.

  (swallows, wipes sweat from her brow)

  But I can't reach my sleeping quarters...

  (an even more nervous glance toward the door)

  unless I pass through there.

  ANOTHER SHRILL WHISTLE. Jamie hurriedly presses another button. As the treadmill increases speed, she's almost forced to run.

  JAMIE

  And we all know what's in there.

  She shudders.

  JAMIE

  You bet. For sure. We all know what I have to face in there.

  (out of breath)

  After you've made me fulfill my bargain.

  The FLASHING RED NUMBERS on the monitor go higher.

  Jamie's running now.

  JAMIE

  After you've put me through my paces for today.

  (wipes sweat from her brow)

  Or is this yesterday? I don't know anymore. Isn't that what you want to find out? How much stress can someone take?

  On the monitor, THE RED NUMBERS FLASH as if out of control.

  Instead of the whistle, THE SIREN ONCE AGAIN BLARES.

  Breathing rapidly, Jamie presses another number on the treadmill's console. Her pace decreases. Nervous but relieved, she presses more numbers, reducing her speed until the treadmill stops and she steps off.

  At once, after raising her Lakers sweatshirt to wipe her face, she stares toward the ceiling, then the door, in apprehension.

  JAMIE

  My name is Jamie Neal. I'm twenty eight. I've been here...I think...for sixty-four days. I think. Why didn't you give me windows? I want to see...

  (paws at a wall)

  the stars. The sun sets even here. Not on the schedule I'm used to. But I could get used to that schedule. And I'd love to see it. After sixty-four days.

  She squints toward the ceiling.

  JAMIE

  Or nights. How can I know? If only I could see... I bet the sunset...no smog here...the colors must be...

  (her voice drops)

  I remember...crimson...like a flower...a rose...in blossom...

  (melancholy)

  beautiful.

  In a sudden rage, she kicks the remnants of the habitat's model she earlier crushed.

  JAMIE

  Never mind windows! Why didn't you give me...?

  She spins toward the numerous consoles.

  JAMIE

  Computers! Temperature gauges! Pressure readouts! Oxygen monitors! Humidity! Gravity! Even dust! I can measure everything! Except the single most precious thing in my life!

  She slumps against a table.

  JAMIE

  Time. Maybe it's only sixty-three days. Or maybe sixty-nine. Or maybe I've been here only a couple of weeks. But it feels like...

  (despairing)

  Eternity.

  BEEP.

  JAMIE

  Why didn't you at least allow me to wear a watch?

  She gestures frantically toward the consoles.

  JAMIE

  Or let me have a clock?

  Nothing fancy! No digital astro-time calculator. No computerized star-date monitor, with comparative readouts for here and home and the Gemini galaxy and... Just a plain old-fashioned clock, makes a twisting motion with one hand, pretending to hold an object in the other

  The kind you wind up at night, and it ticks, and the hands go around, and if you want to wake up at a certain hour, you set the alarm. And when it rings, you know it's tomorrow. And if you make a mark

  (pretends she has a pencil)

  on a page every time the alarm goes off...and if you count the marks, you're sure how many days you've been here. You don't feel as if you're...

  (slumps against the wall)

  going crazy. Is that the point of the test? How would I react -not if but when I broke down? Because of...

  She stares in horror toward the door.

  JAMIE

  Time.

  The SIREN WAILS.

  JAMIE

  No.

  A SECOND WAIL.

  JAMIE

  Please! Don't make me go in there again!

  A THIRD WAIL.

  Tears stream down Jamie's face.

  A FOURTH WAIL.

  Jamie walks toward the door, as if hypnotized.

  JAMIE

  Fulfill my contract. Obey my orders.

  JAMIE's POINT OF VIEW-approaching the door.

  JAMIE

  Go through my paces.

  She pauses. OFF STAGE, we HEAR THE HISS OF THE DOOR SLIDING OPEN. We ZOOM TOWARD A CLOSE-UP OF Jamie's FACE: contorted, apprehensive, horrified.

  JAMIE

  Time. Yes, again. Time.

  The door has slid open. Beyond it, we see a CORRIDOR. But as if this is Alice in Wonderland, the corridor narrows and becomes lower.

  THE BEEP PERSISTS.

  JAMIE

  Time.

  She feels her pulse.

  JAMIE

  The beat of my heart. The only time I know.

  She takes a Walkman-sized object from a counter, straps it around her wrist, stares at a suction cup at the end of the object, and reaches beneath her Lakers sweatshirt, apparently attaching the suction cup to her chest.

  At once the BEEP BECOMES A LITTLE FASTER, as if the object on her wrist monitors the speed of her heart.

  JAMIE

  The constant motion of time. Except that it's meaningless without something to compare it to...Without something to appreciate... Without a sunrise. I could imagine a sunrise if...Why didn't you give me a watch?

  THE SIREN WAILS.

  Jamie flinches, clutches her fists in fury, and glares at the ceiling.

  JAMIE

  All right, I'm going!

  The BEEP that measures her heartrate INCREASES.

  She shifts through the doorway.

  The roof is low enough that she's forced to stoop now. The walls narrow until they touch her shoulders.

  THE BEEP GAINS A LITTLE MORE SPEED.

  JAMIE

  (walking stooped, glaring up)

  What I want to know is, when my heart beats faster, does that mean I'm getting older?

  (swallows, staring at the crawlspace)

  Would sixty-nine days that feel like sixty-three days...or however long I've been here... actually be the equivalent of a hundred and twenty days? Six months? The nine months you're paying me to stay here? Because time drags...

  The lowering ceiling compels her to kneel. The narrowing walls squeeze her shoulders.

  There's a crawlspace directly ahead.

  Jamie shudders.

  THE BEEP INCREASES.

  JAMIE

  But my heart feels like it's on rocket fuel. Speed. Does the speed of my heart affect time? Have I been here...

  The ceiling is now so low that she's forced to drop to her hands and knees.

  JAMIE

  Forever?

  She places a hand toward the crawlspace, about to insert her head. Trembles. Hesitates.

  AND THE SIREN WAILS.

  JAMIE

  Give me a break! I told you I'm going! I just need a minute to...!

  Abruptly the door HISSES shut behind her.

  She whirls.

  THE BEEP INCREASES SPEED.

  And something SIZZLES, the HUM AND CRACKLE of electrical current.

  She flinches, in agony, raising one hand, then another, trying to push herself off the floor. But the ceiling's so low she can't raise her back. She jerks one knee, then the other off the floor, desperate to minimize contact with the CRACKLING electrical current.

  JAMIE

  No! Please, stop! I'm going! 1 promise!

  She scurries into the crawlspace.

  At once, the CRACKLING current stops.

  Her face is contorted with pain as she sprawls on her stomach. The crawlspace is so small it reminds us of an air-conditioning duct. She breathes heavily, exhausted by the electrical current, slumping in relief.

  JAMIE

  No more! This can't go on forever!

  A sigh of despair.

  JAMIE

  Or maybe this is hell.

  She crawls awkwardly, wincing, bumping her head on the ceiling, scraping her shoulders against the tight walls.

  JAMIE

  Maybe you never meant to keep your word. Maybe you're just playing with me? Are you enjoying this, putting me through my paces, watching the way I react. Am I just some kind of...? Just a cruel sadistic game to you?

  With effort, Jamie reaches the end of the crawlspace and squirms toward another compartment. Her brow is moist. Her elbows and knees are dirty. The shoulders of her sweatshirt are frayed and grimy.

  She musters strength and struggles to stand...wavers...leans against a wall.

  Wiping sweat from her forehead, she stares ahead. What she sees makes her close her eyes in despair. She reopens them, squinting. Her voice cracks.

  JAMIE

  Why did you...? No! You broke the bargain again! You changed the rules! You...!

  THE BEEP INCREASES.

  With a sob, she struggles not to sink to the floor.

  JAMIE

  It's not the same! Why do you keep changing the...?

  Now we see the room Jamie has entered. It's completely bare. More important, the floor tilts upward - severely.

  JAMIE

  Not the same. Not the same.

  A

  SIREN WAILS. JAMIE