(The opening shot is nearly idyllic: cute, little house in a nice part of the American Megalopolis. White picket fence, golden retriever, flower garden, et cetera. We see a curly-haired youth, not more than nine, dressed fairly contemporarily: baggy jeans, sloganized t-shirt, the late 90s in a nutshell. He's bolting down a pop-tart at the kitchen table as his father enters, a little flustered.)
FATHER: Has anyone seen my briefcase?
(the son hops down from the kitchen table and disappears from the room, returning almost immediately with a briefcase, beaming. Dad smiles and tussles the kid's dark hair, just like his.)
FATHER: Thanks, Petey. Don't wanna be late today!
PETEY: Why, Dad?
FATHER: Big presentation today, kiddo… big one.
PETEY: Are you gonna be the boss?
FATHER: Pretty close, son, pretty close… hey, tell you what: if I get the promotion, I'll take you to a ball game this weekend. How does that sound?
PETEY: Can we go see the Yankees, Dad?
(Dad pulls a face)
FATHER: Aw, now why would you want to go watch those bums? Don't you wanna go watch the Mets instead?
PETEY: (with all the gravitas that a child puts on such a subject) All the kids at school say the Mets are losers, Dad…
(he hangs his head a little, so Dad squats down, eye-to-eye.)
FATHER: Let's go to a Mets-Yankees game sometime, then. Subway Series! Would that be fun?
PETEY: (sniffling) Yeah… but that's next year!
FATHER: Hey, I'm not going anywhere. We'll go next year, I promise.
(PETEY looks unmoved.)
FATHER: (cajoling) I'll even wear a Yankees hat…
(PETEY's face lights up. Such is the innocence of youth. Dad picks son up in a monster hug, which is interrupted as Mom enters, dressed professionally.)
MOTHER: Come on, honey. We're going to be late! At this rate we won't be able to drive Peter to school.
(PETEY flinches at his full name.)
FATHER: Oh, I think Petey's a big, tough guy. He can walk, I bet. Whaddya say, tough guy? Can you make it?
PETEY: Yeah!
(Mom is visibly worried.)
MOTHER: It's so dangerous out there, Johnathan…
FATHER: Melanie, we live in the middle of suburbia, he'll be fine. It's only, like, three blocks.
(Dad turns back to his son, who is already shouldering his backpack, grinning happily.)
FATHER: Besides, if anyone give you any guff, you can show 'em that judo I taught you, right sport?
(PETEY strikes a practices pose)
PETEY: You bet, Dad!
(Mom heaves a monstrous sigh)
MOTHER: Oh, all right. You can walk. Just… be careful! Where's my purse?
(she leaves the room, more than a little flustered.)
FATHER: And if you can't be careful, son… be the best!
(Mother returns frantically, still fussing over her son and leaving at least four hurried kisses on his forehead)
MOTHER: Oh, I hate being late! Johnathan, hurry up!
FATHER: Yes, dear. Yes, dear.
(they both head out, Dad turns back and pulls a face. PETEY tries his best to stifle a giggle. He follows them out, brown bag in one hand, backpack across the other shoulder.)
FATHER: (feigning seriousness) Remember, son, you're in charge til we get back! No wild parties!
(PETEY laughs again as Mom and Dad crawl into an SUV. Mom leans out of the window, waving, almost in tears.)
MOTHER: Good-bye, sweetie! Please be careful! We'll see you tonight!
(As the SUV trundles away down tree-lined boulevards, the camera pans over to see little Petey standing on the sidewalk. We get a slow zoom in on his happy face as a VO reads aloud a school report.)
PETEY VO: My hero is my Dad. He's the funniest person in the world, but he's also very good at his job. My Dad is a businessman, and he works in the same building as my Mom. They work in the same building, but they work for different companies. It's really big building in the city, where lots of people go to work. My Dad is my hero because…
(at this point, the camera is basically just a shot of the young child's eyes, but the audio is drowned out by the sound of roaring jet engines and, eventually, a cataclysmic explosion that rockets both Petey and the viewer out of a dream. We see that Petey, now PETE, is now nineteen years old. It's a hot, airless night in New York City, in a cramped apartment bedroom on a dizzyingly high floor. PETE is much different now, and in good physical shape: his shaggy curls have been tamed, as he now wears his hair incredibly short. The room is dimly lit, decorated with various sports trophies, awards, and a high school diploma that is brand-new, as it has yet to collect the amount of dust that arises from a teenage boy's standard of housekeeping. Above the bed, where Pete is now sitting bolt upright, a tattered, faded, ripped, taped and re-ripped poster of the 1986 New York Mets. There is not a piece of Yankee memorabilia in sight. PETE rubs at his face vigorously , as if trying to push the nightmare out of his mind. His face has a few early creases in it, and his brown eyes carry a weight that seems beyond his nineteen years.
PETE: Dammit.
(he shakes his head vigorously. It's obvious that this is a dream he has quite often, replaying his last moments with Mom and Dad. He takes a deep breath and swings his athlete's legs out over the edge of the bed, hunching over and taking deep gulps of air in an effort to stop his racing heart. His breathing eventually comes back to normal and, as the camera focuses on him in the half-light, we see his head snap up as he is aware of another presence in the room. We slowly see his hand reach for a wooden baseball bat next to the bed, and in an instant he snatches it up and whirls around, trying his best to find someone in the darkness.
PETE: Who's there?!
(silence answers back. Still holding the bat in front of him, he edges over to the lightswitch near his bedroom door.)
PETE: I know you're here… there's nothing in this apartment you're going to want to take. My aunt's dirt poor and all my electronics are out of date, so it looks like you picked the wrong rat hole to rob tonight.
(still nothing. PETE begins to fumble for the light switch, knocking over a thirty-year-old bottle of Old Spice in the process.)
PETE: (his voice starting to waver) D-don't try to freak me out, man. I know you're in here. I'll mess you up, man… I went to high school in East Tremont, man… you think you wanna mess with me?
(more silence)
PETE: ANSWER me, man! I'm not playing a game here! I hit 16 home runs last year, don't think I won't take your goddamn head off!
(he turns on the light and lunges where he thinks his quarry lies, but is surprised when he sees not a burglar, but a portly man in a brocade waistcoat and cutaway coat, appearing to be fiddling with a pocketwatch. He looks up momentarily and sees the youth brandishing a bat, and sighs, more disappointed than anything. He speaks in a clipped, posh accent, almost a caricature of British.)
MAN: Oh, damn.
(PETE's initial shock wears off. This was NOT what he had intended to see. Still, survival instincts eventually kick in, and he rushes at the man, tightening his grip on the bat and sending him to the threadbare carpet with one swing and a clubbing blow to the back.)
(There is a brief blackout that slowly fades back in to the dimly lit bedroom in New York. We see a closeup of the well-dressed man, now tied to a desk chair with a collection of extension cords, bungee straps, and two neckties. He struggles a bit when he finally comes to, but finds them quite snug.)
MAN: Well, this is a humbing experience.
PETE: (approaching him) So, you're awake.
MAN: (groaning) In one way or another… could you untie me, please?
PETE: Aw, no way, man! You think you can just show up here in the middle of the night, in the middle of my bedroom, lookin like that…
MAN: There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed…
PETE: (without stopping) and you think I'm just gonna let you go? Uh-uh, man… no way.
(The man looks up at PETE with an exasperated expression and sighs)
MAN: Very well then. I'll just have to escape myself. I knew Houdini, you know.
(he begins to fidget with the ropes, still talking)
Fabulous man, terrific taste in cakes. Taught me a thing or two about…
(he stops when he hears, and we hear, the hammer of a gun click back into position. The camera pulls out to see a .38 trained on the MAN, with PETE holding it. He is sweating profusely, his hands shaking around the trigger.)
PETE: Don't move, man. Just don't… don't move.
(the man sighs again and stops fidgeting)
MAN: I'm frozen, I assure you. Now will you put that thing down? You're liable to hurt someone.
PETE: I'm liable to hurt you!
(he repositions the gun and runs a dry tongue over cracked lips)
Now, you're gonna sit there, and answer me some questions. My aunt's gonna be home in an hour, and as you can see…
(he jerks his head in the direction of the gun)
she ain't too fond of strangers.
MAN: And you're going to keep that blunderbuss trained on me until then?
PETE: If I have to, yeah.
MAN: I don't doubt it. Man of your athletic accomplishments, you could probably hold your arm out like the Colossus of Rhodes for an hour or two…
PETE: How'd you know that about me?
MAN: I assumed you didn't make a habit of collecting other people's trophies…
(the man jerks his head to one side and we get a short montage of various trophies and ribbons as he continues)
I was never much for sport myself, outside of the occasional round of bocce or badminton… baseball, football, and running track? I believe, in this day and age, they'd call you a triple threat.
(he turns back to Pete and tries to smile disarmingly. PETE has none of it)
PETE: You an… admirer or somethin?
(he gives the Man a queer look, raising one eyebrow. It takes a while for the Man to catch on.)
MAN: Hardly, young man, as I've just met you, and… oh, you meant like that. Erm, no.
(he coughs uncomfortably)
no, no, no… you could ask Marilyn if you still don't believe me… although, now, I guess you can't. I have to say, though, I don't see anything particularly personal on these walls, Mr…
(he squints at a piece of paper on the desk nearby)
Rodney Pete. Strange, my recollection says you ought to be forty-five by now… and you certainly don't look like a journeyman quarterback…
PETE: It's Pete Rodney. You're readin' one of my old school assignments.
MAN: (squints harder) Ah! So I am. You must excuse me, the light in this room is simply dreadful and I don't have my spectacles.
PETE: (a little incredulous) Uh-huh.
MAN: So, like I said, Peter..
PETE: It's Pete.
MAN: It is also Peter. As I was saying, I don't see many personal effects in here. Posters, yes… but there are thousands of those made every day. Where are the family, the friends, the penpals and… no, wait… what year is this? Yes… the, er, Facebooks and blogs? I've always wondered what a Facebook looked like. How many pages does it have? Anyway, why no pictures, letters, heartfelt bric-a-brac?
PETE: My parents… they passed away. And I ain't got no friends.
MAN: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I lost my family, too, long ago… there was a war.
PETE: (softening a little) Me, too. So, what's your name?
MAN: Phineas Bogg.
PETE: (rolls his eyes) your real name.
MAN: That is my real name!
PETE: Whatever. The cops'll know who you really are. So, Phileas…
MAN: Phineas!
PETE: Uh-huh… so what're you doin' in this shabby-ass apartment in the middle of the night? You're dressed all fancy, this don't look like your part of town.
(as if on cue, there's the sound of sirens and gunshots out the open window)
PHINEAS: You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
PETE: (a conditioned response) What, you think you're better than me with your fancy clothes?
PHINEAS: Well, not to cause a row, but… yes, I do believe I know more on the subject than you, as a graduate of…
(he glances across the room at the diploma)
PS 34 as of… three months ago.
PETE: And that fancy way you talk?
PHINEAS: Where I come from, everyone talks like this.
PETE: England?
PHINEAS: (looks offended) Wisconsin.
PETE: You don't sound like you're from Wisconsin.
PHINEAS: Where I come from, everyone in Wisconsin talks like this!
PETE: I'll just add that to the crazy list. So, tell me what you do.
(PHINEAS says it plainly, as if he'd been asked it thousands of times…and he probably has)
PHINEAS: I'm a time-traveler.
PETE: Bull–
(the rest of the word is cut off by more gunshots outside the window.)
PHINEAS: Such language!
PETE: I call it like I see it. So, crazy-time-travelin-man, what are you doing here?
PHINEAS: You couldn't possibly comprehend it.
PETE: (cocky) Oh yeah? Well, I'm the guy holdin' the gun, and we got lots of time, so why don't you just try and explain it to me?
PHINEAS: So brave when they have a gun… very well. I'm an agent of the Time Equilibrium Service. It's our job to set right in the scope of history what went wrong. I was just on my way back from a very enlightening talk with Mahatma Gandhi when you, for lack of a better term, crashed my time machine.
PETE: (looking around quickly) I don't see no time machine.
PHINEAS: You don't see any time machine.
PETE: (reminding him) Man with a gun!
PHINEAS: (nearly growling with exasperation) I don't use a specific time machine, per se. I travel from place to place in the timestream like a droplet of water displaced in a river. You throw a rock in, and the water splashes about. I am that water, and the device in my pocket is the rock.
PETE: Oh, really? Let me see.
(despite PHINEAS' protestations, PETE quickly relieves him of a bauble in the pocket of his opulent waistcoat)
Looks like one of those old timey watches.
PHINEAS: It's not, and I'd prefer you'd give it back.
PETE: Maybe. Say, this is pretty awesome… how much did you pay for this?
PHINEAS: I didn't pay anything for it, it was standard issue!
PETE: Uh-huh, and which comic convention did you pick it up at?
(he flips open the lid very nonchalantly and, instead of seeing a simple watch, he sees a whirling mass of imagery and displays, scrolling through information at a dizzying pace: location, time, date, notable names, places, ideas, cultural information… and in the middle of it all a tiny, but well-proportioned map. PETE closes the lid with a click, his eyes wide.)
PETE: (shellshocked) I know what this is.
PHINEAS: I highly doubt that.
PETE: (exhuberant) This is an iPhone! Aw, damn, it must be a real new one, too! I ain't seen one like this before… this thing looks awesome! It makes me phone look like crap!
PHINEAS: It's not a phone, you 21st century digital boy!
PETE: (not listening) Hey, what does it mean if there's a red light? Do you have a voicemail or something?
PHINEAS: (panicking) Red light? Oh, no…
(he begins violently thrashing about in the chair)
Oh, they'll have me for this!
PETE: What are you talking about, you…
(he turns around to see PHINEAS flailing, nearly out of the restraints. He trains the gun back on him.)
Hey hey hey, settle down, man!
PHINEAS: (staring him down) I can't settle down, you stupid child! I need to get out of here! I've got a Red Light!
PETE: Why? What's so important about a red light?
PHINEAS: (blowing heavily) A Red Light means I have an assignment. Something has gone wrong in History and I need to use that device to go back and change it!
PETE: What, the iPhone?
PHINEAS: The Omni! I need it back, and I need to get out of here, so, if you wouldn't mind…
(in a bit of quick footwork, PHINEAS is able to stand, although still bound to the chair, and bull his way into PETE, his stocky form knocking the athlete over his bed. In a trice, PHINEAS is able to free himself and he set himself upon PETE, pinning him to the ground and taking back the Omni. Once retrieved, PHINEAS gets up and heads over to the window to activate the Omni. We see a shot of PETE grabbing the gun and placing it in the waistband of his pants, fire in his eyes. Just as PHINEAS is about to press "engage" on the swirling display, PETE charges at him in a rage, using all of his football skill to knock the strangely dressed man backward and halfway out the window, catching him by the ankles six stories above hard, unforgiving pavement. Rather than scared, PHINEAS seems very put out.)
PHINEAS: Oh, how wonderful.
PETE: What, you want me to drop you?
PHINEAS: YES!
PETE: You're crazy!
PHINEAS: And you're and IDIOT! Now let me go!
PETE: No way!
(Tension builds as we switch between shots of PHINEAS, PETE, the blinking red light on the Omni, a wider shot and the grisly possibility of a six story splatter-death. Finally, PHINEAS decides that something must be done.)
PHINEAS: Oh…. damn!
(He jams the "engage" button on the Omni, and the both of them immediately disappear. Again, the night has returned to normal… that is, more sirens and bullets.)
(The two of them land in what seems to be the middle of a wheatfield, all in a jumble. From the position he was originally, Pete pulls a swift roll to avoid landing directly on his head, springing nimbly to his feet. Phineas, on the other hand, lands in a supremely undignified heap, rump skyward, feet folded back over his head, all of his finery in rumples. He slumps over with a groan.)
PHINEAS: Oh, it's never anything soft, is it? It's never a bed, or a haystack, or a nice, warm bath… it's always the hard, unforgiving ground or, failing that, something even moreunforgiving… just once, would something firm be too much of a…
(he stands up and looks directly down the barrel of Pete's gun, hearing the hammer thumb back and looking into cold, unforgiving eyes of a 19-year old urbanite)
PETE: (voice trembling with the gun) Give me one… good… reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now…
(Phineas doesn't seem in too much worry after the original panic. He begins to briskly dust himself off and speaks shortly, without fear.)
PHINEAS: The reason is you won't.
PETE: What did you say, you son of a-
(He looks up from his coat to stare the young man down with a piercing gaze)
PHINEAS: You won't because your eyes betray you. Your eyes have seen enough pointless death and meaningless violence to last more than your short lifetime, and you're not about to perpetrate more of it, now. You're scared, and I understand that, but I'll wager you anything that the thing you're the most scared of is the thing you're holding in your hands… and not the person you're pointing it at.
(There's a tense minute, with the camera shifting between the two, no sound but the whisper of an errant breeze and the rustle of golden wheat. Finally, Pete lowers the gun. Phineas swiftly relieves him off it.)
PHINEAS: Now, that's better.
PETE: (sniffling a little) How'd you know?
PHINEAS: My dear boy, I've ventured through almost all of recorded history and far into a future you couldn't possibly imagine. The universal translator doesn't always work, and I've learned that to read people can save you a great deal of trouble… and a trip to the guillotine, on one occasion.
PETE: So, you're really a… time-traveler or whatever?
PHINEAS: No 'whatever' about it, young man. And, for a short while, it looks like you're stuck with me, at least until I can remedy the Red…
(a short, gentle beep resonates from the pocket, and PHINEAS quickly checks the Omni, noting with a gentle sigh)
PHINEAS: Light. Hm. Well, it seems, my boy…
(he claps Pete heartily on the shoulder and seems to sprain his wrist doing so)
PHINEAS: It seems that you are more important than I originally had surmised! It seems our very act of reconciliation was the entire purpose of this trip.
PETE: What do you mean?
PHINEAS: (showing off the Omni, which now shows a Green light directly to the right of where the red was displayed)
This green light means that the Time Stream has been put back in order. Furthermore, it means that the entire events of tonight were correctly implemented into the Stream.
PETE: I don't think I get it.
PHINEAS: Everything we just did, including you pointing that gun at my face, was supposed to happen. The timeline would have been out of rights without it happening, and when that happens, well… imagine if one tiny little thing had been different in your past.
(We get a short flashback about young Petey's joy at walking to school. If he had asked to be driven…)
PETE: So, we gotta get green lights?
PHINEAS: I have to, Mr. Rodney. There is no "we" here. You are not a member of the TES and therefore should not even be privy to this information or to this little adventure… yet the Omni made it so, and I was put in your bedroom…
PETE: Yeah, I've been meanin' to ask… what was up with that, anyway?
PHINEAS: Well, it may be hard to explain…
PETE: (sarcastic) I'll try to handle it.
PHINEAS: The principle of the Omni is psychokinetic energy: harnessing and augmenting the untapped power of the human mind to subvert the natural laws of the universe and open the way into the Time Stream. Unfortunately, a particularly nasty blast of mental energy can blow the entire thing off course… you just caught me on the way back from the opening performance of Pygmalion: I was there to make sure Mrs. Campbell had her car accident and the play premiered at the Hofsburg instead. You must have been having a rather awful dream to jolt me into your bedroom, Mr. Rodney.
PETE: (a beat, looking sour) I was. And it's Pete.
PHINEAS: Peter?
PETE: No.
PHINEAS: Petey?
PETE: (bristling) Only if I get to call you 'Phinny'
PHINEAS: …Pete it is, then. Now, Mr. Rodney!
(he makes no effort to apologize for not calling him by his first name, as Pete suggested. Pete is understandably baffled and annoyed.)
Let's see what we can do about getting you back home.
(he begins to fiddle with the Omni)
Let's see… New York, New York… the city so nice they named it twice, ha! Eighth of June, two-thousand-and…
(the Omni beeps suddenly. Phineas is a little taken aback, but then begins to study the screen.)
Oh! No time for that now, then! Red Light: Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, ninteen hundred and three!
(he begins fiddling with the device while Pete looks on, curiously)
PETE: Wait a minute… 1903? Isn't that… hey!
(as Phineas' finger reaches for the 'engage' button, Pete has to throw himself at the well-dressed man to make physical contact in time for them to pop out of frame again and re-emerge on a sandy dune on a gray morning. Phineas lands directly on his rump, but Pete, still in mid flight, careens a few feet farther into a sand dune, landing face first.)
PHINEAS: Well, that's a little better…
(He stands up and brushes away a few grains)
softer than before, to be certain… (frustrated) but now there's sand in my trousers.
PETE: (getting up and spitting) Try having it in your face! What's your problem, man? You were just gonna leave me in the middle of nowhere?
PHINEAS: That wasn't going to be the middle of nowhere in a few days, Mr. Rodney. That was the valley of the Little Bighorn.
PETE: What, where Custer bit it? Oh, thanks!
PHINEAS: You made the trip no worse for wear, didn't you? Now, hold still while I scan you.
(he holds out the Omni which begins to emit a blue light, looking Pete up and down)
PETE: What the heck's this, now?
PHINEAS: I need to create a holographic suit for you: something that will fit the period and not leave you looking like such a blasted anachronism, now hold still!
(Pete does as he's told and, in a trice, he's bedecked in loose-cut, high-waisted pants, a loose white shirt, braces, and a newsboy cap. Very much the working uniform of a young man in 1903.
PETE: Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
PHINEAS: Ah, don't you look smashing!
PETE: So is this what you're wearing, too? Some kind of holographic gizmo?
PHINEAS: (offended) Of course not. This is how I always dress.
PETE: Why?
PHINEAS: Because I look good. And you've been trying to lie to me, haven't you Mr. Rodney?
PETE: (looking worried) What do you mean?
PHINEAS: You know where we are, and why we're here. You know what happens at Kitty Hawk in 1903.
PETE: Yeah, so? Everyone does.
PHINEAS: Not everyone knows what the Little Bighorn was.
PETE: You're full of it. That's basic stuff!
PHINEAS: (droll) You'd be surprised what's considered basic knowledge in some places, Mr. Rodney. You're smarter than you let on, aren't you?
PETE: I just know what I know.
PHINEAS: Indeed. Well, I've still got a red light, so the object of this mission wasn't to get you a new set of trousers! There's really only one reason why we should be here… and what could be wrong. So, let's see what's keeping our two innovators from innovating, shall we?
(the two crest one of the dunes, immediately hearing a hot argument.)
FIRST VOICE: I'm telling you, Wilbur, it won't work!
SECOND VOICE: What other choice do we have, then? We've got to try!
FIRST VOICE: There's no point in trying if we know it'll fail!
SECOND VOICE: It won't fail! We can do this, Orville!
(at the top of the dune, Phineas and Pete look down on the proceedings. Phineas, with a tight-lipped smile, straightens his waistcoat.)
PHINEAS: Hm. Looks like we've found our problem.
(PETE tries his best to follow PHINEAS down the sand dune, but finds it rather difficult going. He staggers a bit next to the time traveler's firm strides as they head down to level ground, where they find WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT, sweat through with exertion and argument. WILBUR'S is the first voice we hear out of the melee.)
WILBUR: It's not working, Orville. The power is ample, but it keeps stalling after takeoff.
ORVILLE: It's just a mechanical flaw, Wilbur. We'll work it out. Trust me, if we can get the engine to start and run correctly, it will fly… beautifully!
WILBUR: That is what you always say, brother! How many times have we failed, hm? And each time, with each stall and crash my resolve weakens. I am sweat through from working the Flyer and arguing with you; I'm bound to catch cold in this dreadful headwind.
ORVILLE: Wilbur, please…
WILBUR: Enough, Orville. Each time we think the goal is within our grasp, we are faced with a new and insurmountable task. It is impossible, or God does not will it. I have said it often before, brother… if man is to fly, it will not be within our lifetimes.
PHINEAS: (approaching the two men) Well, now, I wouldn't say that…
(The two brothers, deep in their conversation, jump in surprise at the sudden appearance of the well-dressed man and teenaged boy.)
PHINEAS: It seems to be just a trifling error with your propulsion system, nothing more.
WILBUR: And who are you, sir, who has been listening in so rudely to our conversation?
PHINEAS: (without missing a beat, extending his hand to be shaken) W.C. Brinkley, local businessman, and this is my assistant, Johnny Moore.
PETE: (with a nervous wave) Uh, hi.
(The Wright brothers shake his hand, although WILBUR remains skeptical)
WILBUR: Mr… Brinkley. Hm. Pray tell, how is it you know of our device's problems?
(PHINEAS taps a finger to the side of his nose and gives a wink)
PHINEAS: My dear Wilbur, everyone could hear the problems you two were having all the way to Hatteras.
(WILBUR blushes a little and starts to admire his shoes, while ORVILLE steps in)
ORVILLE: Forgive my brother, sir. He is very frustrated with our continued lack of satisfactory results.
PHINEAS: Well, I can't say as he particularly SHOULD be!
(WILBUR's head snaps up, glaring at PHINEAS)
PHINEAS: Oh, don't look at me like that. You two are pioneers, out on this freezing land of blasted sand! Do you think everyone has a prototype Flyer like yours just sitting in their backyards?
ORVILLE: No, but…
PHINEAS: But nothing! You are blazing a trail where very few, if any, have walked before. You're often working on nothing more than theories and conjecture, like that rubbish Smeaton coefficient…
(WILBUR looks at him differently, now, interested.)
PHINEAS: And it's your job to somehow make it into reality. Now, don't you think you'll suffer a bump or two along the way?
WILBUR: In all due respect, Mr. Brinkley, we have had more than a few…
PHINEAS: (beginning to challenge him) And do you think that stopped DaVinci? Or Marconi? Or Morse?
WILBUR: (challenging right back) Those are great men of science! What are we, two bicycle makers from Ohio!
PHINEAS: Well, of course you will be, if you act lie that!
PETE: (jumping between them) OKAY! That's enough of that. Don't need you guys beating the crap out of each other right here on the beach.
ORVILLE: (confused) beating the what?
PETE: (covering quickly) Er, nothing. (to PHINEAS and WILBUR) You both need to calm down, though.
WILBUR: (exhaling loudly and stepping away from the confrontation) You're right, son. I do apologize for my behavior, Mr. Brinkley.
PHINEAS: (smiling) There is no need. I only hope you've taken my words to heart.
WILBUR: You make it sound so simple, so easy. You speak of us as if we were beyond mortal men, yet I have only just met you. From where do you get your strength and conviction?
PHINEAS: (smiling broadly now) Call it an inclination. Someday, I'll wager, the names Orville and Wilbur Wright will grace the pages of all history!
WILBUR: (rolling his eyes) You certainly are a confident one.
(WILBUR then sneezes rather nastily)
ORVILLE: (coming to the rescue) Oh, dear, Wilbur. I knew you'd catch a chill out here like that!
WILBUR: It's nothing, Orville, nothing.
PETE: Still… you should probably take tomorrow off. Rest up, and try again later.
ORVILLE: It will take us some time to make the necessary repairs. Until then, it is probably best that we retire. I'm starting to worry about my brother.
WILBUR: If you fussed over the Flyer like you did me…
ORVILLE: (ignoring his brother pointedly) If you'd like to join us for dinner, I think we can make room for you. You seem to know quite a bit about aviation, Mr. Brinkley, I'd like to talk with you a little more.
PHINEAS: Oh, I don't know if I know THAT much… but I never turn down a meal!
PETE: That's pretty obvious.
PHINEAS: (under his breath) Quiet, you.
(fade scene to after dinner. PHINEAS and PETE are reclining in a makeshift living room in part of an old storefront the Wright's are renting in Kitty Hawk. PHINEAS is gleefully picking his teeth.)
PHINEAS: There, now, my boy… for the turn of the century, it wasn't a bad meal, was it?
PETE: I'm more hungry for a Whopper.
PHINEAS: Odd note, through almost all of the rest of recorded history, the period from 1890-1910 is constantly referred to as "The Turn of the Century," more out of habit than anything else. Hundreds of years in the future, and THIS is still where the century turned. In a larger sense, I suppose a lot did turn, but…
(ORVILLE emerges from another room, drying a mug with a rag)
ORVILLE: I hope you enjoyed dinner, gentleman. Mr. Brinkley, you have an appetite that is only matched by your topics of conversation.
PHINEAS: I do what I can.
ORVILLE: But your boy is awful quiet. Does he… fear being in the Carolinas?
PHINEAS: I can't see why he would. Lovely place you have here… a bit cold, but lovely.
ORVILLE: No, sir, I meant…
(There is a crash coming from the kitchen, which all three rush to investigate. WILBUR is found face down on the wooden floor amongst a mosaic of shattered ceramic. ORVILLE drops to his knees, wincing as sharp shards dig into his legs.)
ORVILLE: Dear Lord… he's burning up. Something's wrong… he must have over-exerted himself today… Oh, God…
(WILBUR moans a little as ORVILLE looks up at the two houseguests.)
ORVILLE: Mr. Brinkley, can you help?
(PHINEAS wastes no time and kneels down as well)
PHINEAS: I'm going to need a cool washcloth for his forehead. Run and fetch it, will you?
(As ORVILLE turns to do what he's bidden, PHINEAS sneaks the Omni from his pocket and scans WILBUR's face)
PHINEAS: Oh, my.
PETE: What? What's going on?
PHINEAS: (rising) There's no time to explain. (to ORVILLE, who has just returned) Do you have a car?
ORVILLE: A truck, out back… but it's not much of one.
PHINEAS: It will have to do. Is there a druggist, or chemist, or…or… damn, what's the word?
PETE: Pharmacy?
PHINEAS: Yes, that's it! Is there one nearby!
ORVILLE: It's a short drive up the road, but–
PHINEAS: Then you stay here and watch after your brother. We shall get the necessary medication.
ORVILLE: But–
PHINEAS: No buts! Time is crucial and we must go!
(with that, PHINEAS and PETE exit the house and take off in the truck down a bumpy dirt road)
PETE: You mind telling me what the hell is going on?
PHINEAS: WE are going on, you and me. And on and on and on…
PETE: What does that mean?
(the truck takes a sharp turn as PHINEAS looks at PETE, a grave expression on his face)
PHINEAS: Do you know what Influenza is?
PETE: Of course I do! I'm not an idiot.
PHINEAS: Do you know what Spanish Influenza is?
PETE: (grudgingly, after a pause) No.
PHINEAS: The Spanish Flu was a pandemic that killed between 50 and 100 million people from June 1918 to December of 1920. There are several schools of thought as to its origin.
(the truck goes over a particularly nasty bump)
PHINEAS: Unfortunately, in my haste I forgot to innoculate you to the dangers of time travel, particularly the microbial ones.
PETE: Like this Spanish Flu?
PHINEAS: Yes.
PETE: But I feel fine!
PHINEAS: Of course you do! By your time the Spanish Flu was a distant memory, a thing for books no one ever reads anymore. Your bodies had all adapted to fight it, but the microbes still clung to your flesh, your hair, your clothing, trying vainly to infect you… or someone else. The people of Kitty Hawk in 1903 have no such defenses…
PETE: Do you mean…
PHINEAS: Yes, Mr. Rodney… we just started the Influenza Pandemic of 1918 fifteen years too early.
(The two continue bumping down the road in the ramshackle truck. We switch between views straight on through the windshield and from the side through driver windows.)
PETE: Are you kidding me?!
PHINEAS: Would I kid about something like this?
PETE: I don't know! I just met you!
PHINEAS: Do people joke about mass death in your time period?
PETE: Well…
(PHINEAS sets his jaw and makes a hard turn)
PHINEAS: Barbarians!
(They go over a nasty bump. PETE hits his head on the roof and pulls a face.)
PETE: (Angrily) Ow!
PHINEAS: Oh, don't be such a baby. I was once clubbed on the head by an Aztec priest, and I can assure you I didn't say "aaaow!"
PETE: (rubbing his head) What did you say then?
(a pause as PHINEAS gets very tense)
PHINEAS: Well, I ruddy well couldn't say anything! I was out cold!
PETE: Cool story, Mr. Wizard.
PHINEAS: I don't suppose you could tell me if you've been feeling ill in the past few weeks?
PETE: Uh… I was coughing a little last week, but I thought I was over it…
PHINEAS: Coughing a little? Oh, damn!
PETE: You now, you keep saying that. Aren't you from, like, the future?
PHINEAS: Yes.
PETE: And don't you, like, travel in time and stuff?
PHINEAS: (in a mocking tone) Like, yes… and stuff.
PETE: Then why don't you ever say anything cool when you swear? You sound like my Mom when you just say 'damn!' all the time.
PHINEAS: Would you prefer I say something suitably alien to your 21st century sensibilities? Perhaps I should be cursing you out in a Martian dialect, or say something charmingly anachronistic like, oh, I don't now… Bat's Breath?
PETE: Bat's Breath? What's that mean in the past?
PHINEAS: Nothing… but have you ever smelled a bat's breath?
(PETE goes silent and looks a little confused)
PHINEAS: We're here!
(The jalopy lurches to a stop outside a period pharmacy, bathed in the last glimmers of the evening sun. A wispy, balding man in an immaculate white coat is about to close up before PHINEAS barges through the door.)
PHINEAS: (As he bowls the pharmacist over) My apologies, sir, but we are in dire need of your establishment!
(PETE stops to help the man to his feet)
PHARMACIST: Wh-wh… what? Who?
PETE: I don't get him half the time, either, don't worry.
(PHINEAS is hard at work scavenging the shelves like he's preparing for a hurricane. He takes intermittent glances at the Omni as he busies himself clearing out the inventory. PETE goes to invesigate.)
PETE: Do you mind if I ask what the he–
(PHINEAS rounds on him and throws a cocktail of pills into his mouth. PETE recoils as PHINEAS sets upon him, tilting his head back and greasing the way for the pills with a strange black liquid he pulled from a vial inside his vest. PETE is understandably troubled, coughing and hacking after he manages to swallow the lot.)
PETE: What the hell is wrong with you?!
PHINEAS: There. You're inoculated and should prove no more biological damage to the timeline.
(He glances at the pills left in his hand, and then to the Omni.)
PHINEAS: And this should be sufficient for Mr. Wright. Off we go!
PETE: Ugh. I feel like I just tried to eat my grandma's parakeet.
(He makes to leave, but the pharmacist, who has been watching all of this with morbid wonder, stops him.)
PHARMACIST: Hey, you! Look at my store! You'd better pay for all of that!
(PHINEAS stops and pivots on his heel, pulling a massive handful of gold coins from his pocket and dropping them into the pharmacist's hands…and clattering them to the wooden floor.)
PHARMACIST: Are these… gold?
PHINEAS: Dubloons, actually. Don't spend them all in one place.
(He immediately turns to leave, ignoring the PHARMACIST'S yelps of joy)
PHARMACIST: I… I could retire with all this!
PHINEAS: (responding while exiting, not turning back and waving dismissively over his shoulder.) Then happy retirement!
(They return to the truck and try to return to Wilbur & Orville's shop. However, the pharmacist jumps in front of the truck as they try to speed away.)
PHARMACIST: STOP!
(they hammer on the brakes, and PETE's head thuds comically against the dashboard.)
PETE: (rubbing his forehead) I never thought I'd say this, but… I can't wait for someone to invent seatbelts.
(the PHARMACIST comes around to the driver's side door, where PHINEAS is not in the mood to chat)
PHARMACIST: Sir, I'd suggest you not go just yet…
PHINEAS: If you're trying to create some sort of elaborate apology, don't. Just let us go on your way and enjoy your gold.
PHARMACIST: But, it's dangerous out there!
PHINEAS: In my experience, it's dangerous everywhere.
PHARMACIST: But, you don't understand, sir! You, and your assistant… especially your assistant!
PHINEAS: Yes, that's fascinating, thank you!
(the truck speeds off, leaving the Pharmacists in the road, shouting)
PHARMACIST: It's a sundowner town! Sundowner town!
PETE: (looking back at the pharmacist) What do you think he was yelling about?
PHINEAS: (very focused) Probably something about bear grease and nerve tonic, no doubt.
PETE: He kept saying "sunflower," or something. You know what that means?
PHINEAS: Perhaps he enjoys the work of Mr. Van Gogh.
PETE: You're really not thinking about it at all, are you? Why?
PHINEAS: When you've been doing this for as long as I have, you learn when people's worries are simply archaic, and when they matter.
PETE: 'as long as you have?' What are you, like thirty?
PHINEAS: Twenty-seven.
PETE: So…
PHINEAS: It's different in the future.
PETE: Ah. So you don't think that there's any…
PHINEAS: (finally taking his eyes off the road and turning to PETE) No, I don't think that there is any reason why I should worry on a cold December night in nineteen hundred and three in North Carolina.
PETE: Well… what about me? Didn't he say he was worried about me more than you?
PHINEAS: I can't imagine why.
PETE: So if you're not in trouble… and I'm not in trouble… then why is there a roadblock up there, and why do those men have torches?
(PHINEAS whips his head back round to the road, where a small mob is waiting to intercept them. He turns again to PETE, his eyes wide.)
PHINEAS: What are you?
PETE: Excuse me?
PHINEAS: You're not Caucasian, are you?
PETE: What?
PHINEAS: You're not WHITE, are you?
PETE: Well, my Dad was white…
PHINEAS: Oh, damn.
(He hits the brakes and attempts to turn the truck around. The mob begins to slowly advance, faces ghoulish in the torchlight.)
PETE: What? What's wrong?
PHINEAS: He wasn't saying "sunflower," Mr. Rodney… he was saying "Sundowner." This is a Sundowner Town, which means anyone who looks like you and who isn't out of the city after the sun goes down…
PETE: (his eyes growing wide) What do you mean? They're gonna… kill me?
PHINEAS: If we're lucky.
PETE: How did you not now this was gonna happen? Didn't you know I was black?!
PHINEAS: To be honest, I never noticed!
PETE: HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW?!
PHINEAS: FUTURE!
(They manage to get halfway turned around before the mob finally starts to close in, and they can't go any further. Lots of closeups and zooms on worried faces and creepy faces in torchlight as the Sundowners close in on the truck. This might be a good place for a "TO BE CONTINUED" if you're into that sort of thing.)
(The mob continues to close in as we see the two of them in the car, terrified.)
PETE: This is really how it ends, huh?
PHINEAS: And here I thought I'd already seen my funeral…
PETE: Wait, you saw your own funeral?
PHINEAS: Well, I thought it was!
(one of the mob reaches for the door. PETE slaps at the door at where he thinks the door lock should be)
PETE: What? No locks, either? Who made these things?!
(meanwhile, the camera shifts to PHINEAS, who puts on his sternest resolve and opens his door. The mob parts slightly as he exits the truck, speaking to the masses)
PHINEAS: Er, Good evening, gentlemen.
(he scans the crowd a bit)
Yes, all gentlemen, as I expected… anyway, good evening to you all. I–
(one of the men from the crowd cuts him off, waving a torch in front of his face)
MAN: Stand back from that truck.
PHINEAS: (drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height)
Why?
MAN: (pointing towards PETE) You got a colored in that truck.
PHINEAS: A what?
MAN: (scrutinizing him with a bloodshot eye) You ain't from round here, are you?
PHINEAS: Er… Wisconsin, actually.
MAN: Then we might let you off this time… might take those nice shoes you got, though…
(the camera pans down to a brilliant pair of two-tone spectators. A couple members of the mob guffaw)
PHINEAS: I… I don't know if if they'd fit you, Mr…
MAN: Phineas.
PHINEAS: Really? That's my name, too! Isn't this just a small world, after all? Why don't we go have a drink and discuss what else we have in…
(the torch flashes in front of his face, again, closer this time. PHINEAS' eyes go wide.)
PHINEAS: …common.
MAN: (disturbingly level) You'd best get out of the way.
(he gestures to the truck where PETE is now completely surrounded. PHINEAS tries to blow it off.)
PHINEAS: What, him? Oh, he's nothing to worry about, really. I was, er, escorting him out of town myself, just now…
(another man pipes up from the back of the mob)
OTHER MAN: Ain't true! I saw them at Sniteman's pharmacy not five minutes ago!
MAN: Hear that, friend? Sounds like you're startin' to lie. Wonder what else you like to lie about…
(PETE suddenly lurches forward until he's directly behind PHINEAS.)
PETE: I promise I won't come back again, all right? Can't you just let us go, just this once? I mean, I'm not even one hundred percent bla–
PHINEAS: (intensely) No, no, don't say that… they'll only kill you quicker.
MAN: (smiling venomously) Kill you? Who said anything about killing you? Hey, did any of y'all hear me say I was gonna kill anyone?
(there is a chorus of "no's" in response. The man turns back to PHINEAS, feigning woundedness)
MAN: You've gone and hurt my feelings now, fella. I'm afraid we can't let you walk outta here for that.
PHINEAS: (heaving a sigh) Well then, I suppose we'll have to settle things your way then.
(he strips off his jacket and hands it to PETE. He begins to roll up his sleeves as he keeps talking.)
Such violence in history, so savage. I must warn you, Phineas… if that is your real name, sir… I sparred with James Figg, went three rounds with John L. Sullivan… AND I was the one who taught Jim Corbett how to act!
(he adopts a very prim, old-fashioned boxing stance, but stops suddenly)
Oh, I almost forgot…
(reaches into his brocade vest and pulls out the Omni, handing it to PETE with a sly wink)
Now, don't go misusing that, young man.
(he turns back to the man and re-adopts the stance)
Now then, good sir, the Marquess of Queensb–
(he immediately ducks as the torch comes flaring into the space where his head used to be.)
PHINEAS: (rising up) I say, sir. Bad form!
(the man swings again and misses. PHINEAS takes the opportunity to put a spectator shoe directly into the man's solar plexus, sending him staggering back into the mob.)
PHINEAS: Use the Omni, Mr. Rodney!
(now enraged, the mob starts to close in)
PHINEAS: (getting worried) Mr. Rodney…
PETE: (fiddling with the device) I don't know how this thing works!
PHINEAS: (ducking another torch) I thought your generation was tech-savvy!
PETE: My aunt doesn't even have a computer, man!
PHINEAS: Well do SOMETHING!
(punching out what few teeth remain in a man's mouth and wincing comically)
OW!
MAN: (staggering to his feet) You ain't gonna be able to fight all of us, Dandy-boy, not with those powdered fists.
(the mob starts backing PHINEAS up against the truck, hooting and cackling)
You ain't got nowhere left to go, so now–
(PHINEAS hears a click directly next to his left ear, but he's too afraid to turn around and look. Besides, the terrified expression on the OTHER Phineas' face tells him everything he needs to know. Spin the camera around to see PETE holding the gun steady.)
PETE: Now… I'm gonna show you how we do things downtown.
(he begins to move the gun in a slow arc, delighting in every mob-member that flinches as it passes over them)
You see, I know my auntie. She is one paranoid old crank. I got in late one night from Homecoming, and she almost blew my head off with this thing, blew it clear off!
(he shouts the last two words and everyone jumps… including PHINEAS, who is too afraid of the gun next to his head to even breathe.)
Now that I've got your attention, I figure this half-breed's gonna tell y'all what's what. My aunt got this gun at a pawn shop in downtown Queens, and I know she always likes to keep it loaded. That means I've got seventeen bullets in this thing… and probably one in the chamber. That's eighteen and, if I take a minute to use my inferior Negro mind, I can see that there's only about twenty of you… and I didn't even have to take my shoes off to count. Twenty of you, eighteen of me… who wants to take on those odds, huh? Because I can guarantee you I'll board myself up in the truck and fire til I'm empty.
(One of the braver mob guys takes a step forward, and PETE kneecaps him. The mob gathers round in shock as PETE starts shouting as loud as he can over the din and bustle.)
What, you think I'm AFRAID of you? You think I won't do it? I spent ten years of my life getting beaten, bullied, called everything but decent. I made myself be stronger, faster, and tougher than all of those bastards who tried to break me down… and I won. They didn't break me, they COULDN'T break me… and neither will you.
(Keeping the gun trained, PETE reaches for the Omni and desposits it in PHINEAS' hand.)
Get us the Hell outta here, man.
(His trembling fingers punch in a few coordinates and, linking arms, they disappear in an instant. Cowed and scared, like all bullies, the mob extinguishes their torches and slink back to their homes, leaving the wounded man lying, wailing, in the street. As the camera focuses on the wounded man, we hear footsteps until two scuffed black shoes are seen next to his tear-streaked face. The camera pulls up to see the PHARMACIST, Mr. Sniteman, with a stretcher and a wagon. He looks down at the wounded man with disgust.)
PHARMACIST: Serves you right, you ignorant son of a bitch.
(We have a nice dissolve, then, from the streets of town to a warmly lit room inside the Wright's workshop. WILBUR is in bed, asleep, but there is color to his face as seen by the hurricane lamp. We pan from WILBUR'S sleeping form to see PHINEAS, PETE, and ORVILLE standing over him.)
PHINEAS: (with a sigh) He should pull through all right.
ORVILLE: Oh, thank God.
PHINEAS: Although I scarcely think he'll be ready to fly until…
(he checks the Omni with a nod)
The seventeenth, I should think.
ORVILLE: I just hope the weather's fine out on those dunes by then. We can't stay out here forever.
PHINEAS: (smiling) Oh, I think you'll find the weather to your liking.
ORVILLE: You are so confident, Mr. Brinkley. Would that I had your confidence in our endeavors!
PHINEAS: (grinning broadly now) Well, what can I say? I know genius when I see it.
PETE: Other than when you look in the mirror?
(ORVILLE finds himself laughing, despite himself)
ORVILLE: Such a mouth on that one! He's dangerous to have down here, and no mistake.
PHINEAS: You have no idea. Well, Orville, I think the two of us will tidy up shop downstairs… you have plenty to take care of.
ORVILLE: I thank you, sir. And you, too, young man.
PETE: (visibly uncomfortable) Uh… yer welcome.
PHINEAS: (clapping PETE hard on the shoulder) Come now, Johnny Moore, we have dishes to attend to downstairs.
PETE: Uh, right.
(They head outside the bedroom and shut the door securely behind them. They are not three steps down the stairs before PETE begins bubbling.)
PETE: Oh, man! I just got thanked by Orville Wright! Orville Wright himself, man! That's… that is NUTS.
PHINEAS: (rolling his eyes) If only I could take every teenager back in time with me, he might gain a true understanding of History.
(they continue down the stairs, with PHINEAS adjusting his outfit in his customary businesslike manner)
Still, I suppose you were quite the help on this little excursion… the Omni doesn't lie, after all.
PETE: What do you mean?
(PHINEAS holds up the device over his shoulder, where a bright green light is shown above the spinning globe in the center)
PHINEAS: Green light, Mr. Rodney. Off we go.
PETE: (stopping on the stairs) …what?
PHINEAS: That's the rules, Mr. Rodney. Green light, good to go. If we stay here too long, we may even cause lingering damage to the timestream, and I dare say we've done enough tomfoolery as it is. Come along, Mr. Rodney… now that the job is over, we can see about getting you back to your time.
PETE: What about Orville and Wlibur? Or the pharmacist, or the mob in town? They've seen us, don't they know we exist? Isn't that one big problem to your timestream?
PHINEAS: The folks in town are too humiliated or scared of repercussion to mention anything about the strange incident until all credibility to their story will be lost. As for the Wright Brothers, Wilbur will write the whole thing off as a fever dream, and Orville will believe him. In a few days, the real W.C. Brinkley and Johnny Moore will arrive, and we will be pushed out of their memories. Never underestimate the human mind's tenacious ability to forcibly forget troubling times, Mr. Rodney. Now, off we go!
(They've reached the bottom of the stairs now. PHINEAS holds up the Omni in the makeshift living room, and bids PETE to grab on as well. PETE is reluctant.)
PETE: I don't think we should go quite yet.
PHINEAS: (wiggling the Omni aloft) Green light, Mr. Rodney…
PETE: But… we said we'd do the dishes, didn't we?
(PHINEAS stops waggling the device and lowers it, slowly. There's a strange expression on his face, puzzled but somehow familiarly pleased. )
PHINEAS: Did we?
PETE: You did.
PHINEAS: Well… (he smiles a little and leads PETE into the kitchen) a promise is a promise, after all. Go and fetch some water.
(he removes his coat and rolls up his sleeves)
I'll take care of this in here.
(He steals a glance as PETE heads out the back door to the pump. He smiles and sighs.)
We've got some time.
(We see the warm light of a kerosene lamp illuminate the two as they set to cleaning up the Wright Brothers' kitchen, a slow pull away out of the window over the sink that slowly fades to black. End of episode.)