Doing Time

I think the human species is approaching a point where the

need to create (in the biological sense) will be superseded by

the sheer pleasure of thought itself. We will continue to be

creators. But our slavish attachment to the physical world and

all of its superficial excess will be left behind as we plunge

forward, breaking down the perceived barriers between mind

and brain, thought and flesh, sentience and circuitry.

- Mac Tonnies

There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of Mac

Tonnies, who passed away at the far-too-young age of 34 on

October 18, 2009. Mac was one of my two or three closest

friends, a kindred spirit, and a collaborator on a number of

feature film and documentary projects that were in

development. If he had lived, I’m convinced that he would

have had a wonderful career as a screenwriter, playwright, and

novelist.

He and I cooked up the idea to co-write a play when we were

in Los Angeles for a week back in 2006. I had been

corresponding with him since 2000 via e-mail and through

myriad comments left at each other’s blogs, and later over the

phone, but we didn’t actually meet in person until May, 2006,

when I flew to his hometown of Kansas City, Missouri, to

interview him for my documentary Best Evidence: Top 10

UFO Sightings. We hit it off in person even more than we had

on-line, which was a good thing because I had already bought

a ticket for him to come join my cameraman and I in

California for several days where we had some more

interviews to do with other people.

When we were in California, I introduced Mac to my good

friend Greg Bishop, and we appeared on Greg’s program

Radio Misterioso, where we all rattled on for two-and-a-half

hours about everything from science fiction and alien

intelligences to William S. Burroughs and the “face” on Mars.1

We met up with my friend Veronica Reynolds, who was

studying acting out there at the time, and got drunk late one

night in a Santa Ana hotel at a wedding party with people we

had never met. Mac wound up on a balcony several floors up

trading phantom kung fu blows with a guy who thought he was

Neo from The Matrix movies. I was with him when he took the

call from his agent confirming that a publisher had agreed to

move forward with his proposed book about his

cryptoterrestrial hypothesis. In short, we had a grand time.

I had read a number of his short stories, both the ones he had

posted at his website, and the ones he had included in

Illumined Black, a collection of his work that had been

published in 1999, and I suggested one day while we were

having a latte in Hollywood that we take one of his sci-fi

stories and adapt it into a play.2 He gave it some thought when

he returned to Kansas City, and then sent me a few

suggestions. I picked one about a girl locked in what may or

may not be an imaginary prison, and he agreed that it was a

good choice. Over the next few months, I adapted the story,

and sent various drafts to Mac by e-mail, to which he

appended comments and added suggestions. We chatted for

hours and hours on the phone about it as well. Slowly but

surely it all came together, and we had a play.

We premiered the original version in Halifax in November,

2007, with Kris Lee McBride as Leda, Christina Cuffari as

Jane, and Nick Lachance as the Administrator. The production

was very well-received here in Halifax, and wound up chosen

as one of the year's best by Coast Magazine.3 I flew Mac up

from Kansas City, and he stayed with me for a week while the

play was staged.

One night we went out for a drink with the cast after one of

the performances. The actors bailed on us after maybe an hour,

so Mac and I had a couple more drinks, railed in a good-

natured way at the lack of respect that the younger generation

had for we “old-timers”, and then went for a walkabout around

Halifax.

We eventually made our way down to the waterfront where

we found a perch on one of the piers and stared out at the

harbour, with the buoy lights bouncing up and down on top of

the restive black water.

It was cold, and the wind whistled past us, almost like a

song, as we sat there for five or six minutes. Neither of us said

a single word – we just took all of it in. I looked over at Mac

after what seemed like a particularly chilly gust, and while I

could spend an hour sitting on a pier staring at the night (and

have, many times), I figured maybe he had had enough.

"Want to head back?" I asked.

He shook his head, just a bit, and said, "No. This is perfect."

And so we remained at the end of the pier for another forty-

five minutes or so, intermittently breaking the comfortable

silence of friends to talk about the state of our love lives (or

what passed for them at the time).

After we finished that initial run, I suggested that we make

some changes so that the play would be a bit easier to stage,

with just two characters instead of three. He thought that it

actually worked better, as it focused even more on the isolation

that Leda would feel (and eventually Jane as well), so he told

me to "get on with it." I had the final revisions completed by

May, 2008, and Mac signed off on it after we made a couple of

minor tweaks.

I premiered this new version at the 2008 Boulder

International Fringe Festival, with Annie Briggs as Leda and

Christina reprising her role as Jane. They did an amazing job,

which I wish Mac could have seen. We had discussed flying

him out from Kansas City to Denver, but he was tied up

filming an episode of the Canadian television series

Supernatural Investigator, which I had recommended him for

earlier that year to a filmmaker friend of mine who was

working on the show.4

I began to adapt the play into a feature film screenplay,

called Being and Time, and I was still working on it when Mac

died. There was a government conspiracy added, and the

“aliens” were fleshed out, but the core of the story remained

the same. I finished it about a year later, and as I write this in

August, 2012, it sits in development. I hope to have it in

production sometime in 2013, assuming that we all survive the

Mayan Apocalypse. I’m sure Mac would have appreciated the

irony, given how the screenplay turned out.

Mac and I often discussed what the future would hold for the

human race. He was fascinated by the idea of post-humanism,

life-extension, and virtual reality, where an advanced non-

human intelligence might have originally been human. These

were all themes that emerged to one degree or another in

Doing Time, and have been heightened in the screenplay. He

was always fascinated by the idea of extraterrestrial life, and

the notion that it would have already reached what is still in

the future for us. If there was an advanced non-human

intelligence from another world interacting with us, he was

convinced that it would be some form of artificial intelligence,

or at the very least a merging of biological and artificial

intelligence.5

In 2006, we engaged in one of our good-natured back-and-

forth discussions about these questions at our respective blogs,

around the same time that we began to think about Doing

Time.

Mac wrote:

While in California I phoned an author acquaintance

to say hi. We ended up talking about Kurzweilian life

extension, which my friend thought indicated an

unhealthy fear of death. I offered that, without

definitive proof that there is an afterlife, radical life

extension – perhaps via mind-uploading – is both

sensible and justified. My friend, the author of a

nonfiction book dealing with spiritual matters,

countered that one can achieve subjective validation

that consciousness is more than epiphenomenal. In

other words, some aspect of our awareness persists

after biological death – but, so far at least, it's

impossible to prove this to anyone who hasn't

experienced his own sense of cosmic rapport. Fair

enough.

So how to experience consciousness as an abiding

energy (if such it is) and not merely as the output of

millions of synchronized synapses? Drugs, perhaps –

although I've been warned that the "tripping"

experience is confused and noisy, leading to false

positives and replete with neurological static.

Meditation seems a better, safer route. Still, how does

one know that a moment's spiritual insight is anything

more than an experience cooked up by the brain as a

way of appeasing our incredibly deep-seated fear of

death and obliteration? Not having experienced any

deep insight into the nature of consciousness, I have

no choice but to remain agnostic.

Even if awareness transcends death, how does life-

extension obstruct spirituality (for lack of a better

term)? It seems to me that a longer, better life can help

facilitate a more intimate understanding of

consciousness and its ultimate role. It's been argued

that an upload isn't the same as the original mind,

rendering the point moot. I'm not convinced. Just as a

person with prosthetic limbs and artificial organs is

still a human, a person whose brain architecture has

been methodically supplanted with newer, more

durable components is still the same entity – just less

vulnerable to the threats that routinely kill or

incapacitate meat-based humans.

Rather than hindering development of "soul

wisdom," a machine substrate just might provide the

processing power needed to realize the mind's true

potential. If so, "posthumans" may be richly more

endowed than their predecessors. Instead of the

shambling caricatures encountered on board "Star

Trek's" Borg (or other cinematic attempts to grapple

with the posthuman condition) our machine-based

descendants may be unexpectedly sagely, free of the

biological clutter that contemporary gurus spend their

lives attempting to jettison.

"Spiritual" arguments against transhumanist

technologies (and especially attempts to equate life-

extension with simple fear of dying) strike me as

suspiciously hollow, no matter how well-intentioned. I

don't think the medium matters; the process is what we

should seek to preserve if we choose to remain at least

partially true to our brief, embodied tenure as Earth's

dominant species.6

I replied:

I think we have already crossed the proverbial

Rubicon when it comes to using technology to

enhance and even extend our lives – organ transplants,

artificial hearts, drugs, even the dreaded iron lung – all

of these things are man-made inventions, many of

them mechanical in nature, that keep us living longer

than nature, or God, intended. Indeed, if there is a God

(and like Mac, I'm a hopeful agnostic on this

question), then surely He gave us our superior intellect

(well, superior to squirrels at least) in order that we

would use it, for a whole bunch of things – including, I

would think, living longer, better lives.

Really, it's just a matter of degree, isn't it? Today an

artificial heart... tomorrow, an artificial body (I'll take

the Jessica Alba model, thanks – and if you have to

ask why, you don't know me very well).

What is the "soul" anyway (or, for the non-

religiously inclined, "consciousness")? Beyond this

plane of existence, who knows, for sure? In the here

and now, however, isn't it the sum of our experiences

that matters? What harm in transferring that to another

body, i.e. a clone, or perhaps a cyborg, should our

technology someday allow it? I don't think we're

defined by the outer shell – indeed, any religion that I

know of views the body as a mere vessel. It's what's

inside that counts, and I see no reason why that

couldn't be transferred, whole, to another vessel (well,

no non-technological reason, at any rate).

About that Jessica Alba remark, above – seriously, if

we could bounce from one body to another, would that

not open up some intriguing possibilities about the

nature of sexuality, race, etc., which might explain

why religious types don't much like the idea (to say the

least), but why it might be a good thing for humanity

in general. Perhaps not the Jessica Alba model –

perhaps the Halle Berry model? Wouldn't that drive

home the message that we're all just humans, and that

it's who we are on the inside that counts?

Here's another thought – what if we are working our

way back to a sort of Garden of Eden, with near

immortality the goal? As we increase our life spans, do

we not bring ourselves closer to God / the divine / an

understanding of the universe (pick one)?

Perhaps this is what's meant by "finding the kingdom

of heaven" – maybe we are meant to create it here, on

Earth (or, should we travel to the stars, "out there" as

well), on our own?

Think of it this way – perhaps God is the ultimate

"Posthuman", just waiting for us to catch up.

Regardless, life is about challenges – getting off of

Earth and out into space is one of the few great

challenges left. Cheating death – or at least delaying it

as long as possible – is another. Not because we fear

death (the final adventure, in the sense that we have no

idea what comes next), but because it allows us a

greater opportunity to explore the ultimate mystery on

this plane of existence – ourselves.

And here's one other advantage – by extending our

life-spans as much as possible, we make it more likely

than ever that we can actually travel the great

distances between stars... and maybe even encounter

someone, or something, else.

That's called "living" two birds with one stone!7

We ended our colloquy by finding the common ground in our

respective points of view, and then proceeded to write Doing

Time with these questions in mind.

What follows is the second, pared-down version of the play,

which I have included here because it’s my favorite, and

because I think it best reflects the work that Mac and I did

together, and the themes in which we were both interested. We

used one possible scenario for contact with an advanced non-

human intelligence to explore the the ultimate question that all

art should ask, whether it’s created by us, or for us – what does

it mean to be human.

- Paul Kimball, 3 August 2012.

The poster we used for the run at the 2008 Boulder International Fringe Festival.

DOING TIME

A Play by Paul Kimball & Mac Tonnies

© 2007 Redstar Films Limited

Characters:

LEDA CALDER: Mid twenties woman.

JANE: Same general age as Leda.

ACT ONE

LEDA sits in what appears to be a small café. She is dressed

like a normal college student, and sips from a cup of coffee,

thumbing through the pages of an unseen book. Across from

her sits JANE.

JANE: So…?

Leda puts the book down on the table in front of Jane.

LEDA: Sci-fi? No offense, but it’s not my cup of double

mochachino latte, I’m afraid.

She smiles, takes a sip from her coffee, and then looks at it

oddly, as if something is off.

LEDA: Ugh… and neither is this. Talk about complete and

utter drek. This is what I get for meeting you at a corporate

coffee chain.

JANE: I think you should read it anyway. It’s not typical sci-

fi… it relates to who and what we are.

LEDA: Oh, God – that’s even worse. I don’t need a book to

tell me who or what I am.

JANE: We all need someone, or something, Leda, to help us

along – to make the big picture a little bit clearer. As John

Donne wrote, none of us is an island.

LEDA: Well, as Paul Simon wrote, “I am a rock, I am an

island – and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.”

JANE: Touche.

Pauses.

So you’ll read the book?

Leda smiles, and picks up the book.

LEDA: Okay, okay – so long as you promise that we never

have to come to this place again. The drinks are terrible.

JANE: Sure. We can go somewhere else next time.

Leda thumbs through the book again.

LEDA: It’s not postmodernist, is it?

JANE: Would that be a problem?

LEDA: I hate postmodernism. It says that there’s so much

contradiction on any subject, to the point that because it can’t

all be true, none of it can be true. The problem is that it still

leaves you with the subject itself, so something about it must

be true. There has to be a truth somewhere, so long as there are

facts.

JANE: An interesting perspective. Just remember – there’s

always another side of truth.

LEDA: Not in my world.

ACT TWO

Leda sits in the same small café. She is dressed normally, and

sips from a cup of coffee, thumbing through the pages of an

unseen book. Across from her sits Jane.

JANE: So…?

Leda puts the book down on the table in front of Jane.

LEDA: Sci-fi? No offense, but it’s not my cup of double

mochachino latte, I’m afraid.

She smiles, takes a sip from her coffee, and then looks at it

oddly.

LEDA: Ugh… and neither is this. Talk about complete and

utter drek. This is what I get for meeting you at a corporate

coffee chain.

JANE: I think you should read it anyway. It’s not typical sci-

fi… it relates to who and what we are.

LEDA: Oh, God – that’s even worse. I don’t need a book to

tell me who or what I am.

JANE: We all need someone, or something, Leda, to help us

along – to make the big picture a little bit clearer. As John

Donne wrote, none of us is an island.

LEDA: Well, as Paul Simon wrote, “I am a rock, I am an

island – and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.”

JANE: Touche.

Pauses.

So you’ll read the book?

Leda smiles, and picks up the book.

LEDA: Okay, okay – so long as you promise that we never

have to come to this place again. The drinks are terrible.

JANE: Sure. We can go somewhere else next time.

Leda thumbs through the book again.

LEDA: It’s not postmodernist, is it?

JANE: No. Would that be a problem?

LEDA: I hate postmodernism. It says that there’s so much

contradiction on any subject, to the point that because it can’t

all be true, none of it can be true. The problem is that it still

leaves you with the subject itself, so something about it must

be true. There has to be a truth somewhere, so long as there are

facts.

JANE: An interesting perspective. Just remember…

Leda interrupts, surprised.

LEDA: – there’s always another side of truth.

Leda pauses, and then her eyes slowly shift to the wall, where

a light turns on and focuses in on an abstract painting hanging

where it had not been hanging before. Jane sees it as well, and

is clearly surprised.

JANE: That’s not part of the program…

LEDA: Program…?

All of the lights suddenly go out.

A pause, then…

LEDA: No!!!

ACT THREE

Leda sits alone in a spartan room that suggests confinement.

The sole amenities are a pile of old paperback books and a

small old-fashioned radio. Leda is thumbing through a copy of

the sci-fi book. A wire, fastened to her temple by a device

resembling a metal suction cup, runs offstage. She tugs it in

irritation as she flips pages.

LEDA: It's all a metaphor, of course. I know that perfectly well

by now. This room, this screen… It's a map of my psyche or

something. I don't know why I know this, but I do. Maybe I'm

not supposed to. I've been here too long, waiting. It's all lost on

me at this point.

She picks up the novel and stares at it.

I mean, I've read this damn book a thousand times. More,

probably – and I don't even like it.

She tosses the book on the floor, pauses, and then…

And this…

She traces the wire attached to her head with her left hand.

I'm not sure I want to know.

Glances offstage.

You're listening again, aren't you? You want to talk? Do you

want to explain what this is all about?

Enter Jane.

JANE (casually): Anything good on the radio?

LEDA: Static. What else? Why did you even give me a radio

if all it can play is white noise? I've told you that before. Play

some REM or The Smiths, or old episodes of Seinfeld or

Monty Python… anything. And get me some new books while

you're at it. I'm tired of this stuff. I wasn't a fan before and I'm

not a fan now.

She pauses.

Is this some sort of brainwashing scheme?

JANE: Are you trying to be ironic? If this were a

“brainwashing” scheme, it’s a most inefficient one, given the

time you've been here, don’t you think?

LEDA: I don't know what to think anymore. All I know is that

I'm missing something here. You're holding back.

JANE: Some might interpret that remark as a symptom of

paranoia.

LEDA: Why wouldn't I be paranoid at this point? Sounds like

a decent way to pass the time to me. Besides, it’s not paranoia

if they’re really out to get you.

JANE: And you think I’m out to “get you”?

Leda glances around at the barren room.

LEDA: From my perspective, it looks like I’m already “got”.

She pauses, then…

The one thing that I do know is that I’m sick to death of this

thing!

She wrenches off suction cup and rubs her temple.

JANE: I've told you not to do that.

LEDA: And I've told you: I don't even know if you're real.

You could be an hallucination I've created to keep me

company.

JANE: I can neither confirm nor deny that. You should know

that by now. Now reinstall the uplink before we both get in

trouble.

LEDA: Are you saying you're my conscience? What if I don't

put it back on? What does it matter? None of this is real.

JANE: That's a rather expansive accusation. Surely you're not

including yourself.

LEDA: I'm beginning to lose interest in whether or not I'm

real.

JANE: Certainly you understand that you're in custody. We've

discussed this before.

LEDA: Yeah, prison. We've discussed it many times and it still

doesn't make sense. How long have I been here, again?

Pauses… Jane doesn’t answer straight away.

Humour me.

JANE: Four hundred and sixty-two years.

Leda starts to laugh.

LEDA: That's absurd. Humans can't live that long, even with

gene therapy. I can accept the fact that I'm amnesiac, but I

simply can't accept that I'm the product of some medical

breakthrough that allows me to live for centuries. Why don't

you just tell me? What have you done? Am I a clone? That

would explain the lack of memory, but it wouldn't explain the

time that's passed, unless you've hacked my nervous system.

She pauses, as if remembering something.

I vaguely remember seeing a documentary about

neuroanatomy. They had this woman lying on an operating

table with the top of her skull removed. The doctors were

poking different parts of her brain to make her limbs move.

Like a puppet, yet she was totally awake and commenting on

the experience.

JANE: When did you see this?

LEDA: Before, I guess. Before this place. Before you.

Pauses, as if trying to remember more details.

Actually, I think it was a dog. Or maybe a monkey.

JANE: You say you may be amnesiac – that there is no

"before." Yet you profess to have a memory that predates your

current predicament.

LEDA: You know, it's almost comforting to hear you refer to

this whole thing as a "predicament.” Almost like you

sympathize.

JANE: And what makes you think I don't?

LEDA: Stop it. Just stop it. Leave me alone.

JANE: How long would you like to be left alone?

LEDA: Until I'm able to forget you.

JANE: That's exactly what you said the last time.

Jane exits.

ACT FOUR

Leda sits on her chair. Jane enters.

JANE: Tell me about the Martian pharmaceuticals, Leda.

LEDA: The what…?

JANE: The Martian pharmaceuticals.

LEDA: Oh, right, of course.

JANE: Start at the beginning.

LEDA: There is no beginning. Only this!

JANE: Yet you've hinted at memories. Maybe, if you try, you

can access them.

LEDA: I'm supposed to remember Martian pharmaceuticals?

JANE: I wouldn't ask if I thought you didn't.

LEDA: Everyone was just trying to have some fun.

Pauses.

I was a dealer, wasn't I?

JANE: We think so. The exact details of your crime are not

part of the official record. And, as you’ve noted many times,

it's been so long. Do you find this surprising?

LEDA: Assuming that you’re telling the truth, the only thing I

find surprising at this point is that I'm still functional. Of

course, that requires the further assumption that I am

functional. Does that make sense?

JANE: It makes perfect sense, although I must confess to

sharing your reservation. I've been here as long as you, or so

I'm led to assume. It's possible, although I find it unlikely, that

we've both deteriorated to such a state that we've achieved a

state of synchronized mutual insanity. In other words, I've

come to doubt my own existential status.

Leda looks surprised, as if she’s just heard something

unexpected, and new, for the first time in a very, very long

time. She smiles.

LEDA: So you're my hallucination after all?

JANE: Or perhaps you are mine.

Leda’s smiles vanishes in an instant, replaced by anger and

frustration.

LEDA: Damn it! I thought I had you. I thought I finally had

you – that you had shown some weakness. A moment where I

could believe you were real.

JANE: You thought I might be real because I suggested that I

might not be?

LEDA: Exactly! It’s the most… normal, real… human thing

you’ve said in…

JANE: Four hundred and sixty-two years.

LEDA: You must be Vulcan. That’s it. Or maybe Swiss.

She walks around Jane.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, count the years like a damn clock! All of

this time I've trusted you. I thought you were behind all of this

somehow, or at least privy to someone who is.

JANE: We find it necessary to engage your mind in order to

ensure psychological integrity.

LEDA: What's that supposed to mean?

JANE: It means that you're valuable. We don't want a

vegetable on our hands.

LEDA: Wait a minute! You just said “we” – twice! You’ve

never said “we” before! Who is "we"?

JANE: I no longer know, although I think I once did.

LEDA: You think?

JANE: I suspect.

LEDA: You suspect?

JANE: I hypothesize?

LEDA: Think… suspect… hypothesize. Don’t you know?

JANE: No. At least, I don’t…

LEDA: … Think you do. Right. I get it. God, you sound like a

civil servant.

She pauses, and paces.

Work with me here. Spare me the qualifiers, because for

someone intent on keeping me in the dark, you're pretty

fastidious about not jumping to conclusions. You can't tell me

with certainty that we even exist. You drop these maddening

hints, then seem to forget them. Then you ask me about

Martian drugs when you know I don't know shit about what

happened before. It's been too long. I've forgotten any specifics

that could have been of any interest to you. Besides, I shouldn't

have to tell you anyway, because if this is some sort of prison

– if I'm serving a life sentence for a crime committed hundreds

of years ago – then what’s the point of an investigation? A

prison sentence I can understand, at least intellectually. But an

investigation? Now? Do you really expect me to believe I'm

being interrogated for a drug rap that I’ve already been

convicted and sentenced for?

JANE: You seem to be admitting the fact that you've been

imprisoned.

LEDA: Well, you tell me that I am. But if it's really been over

four hundred years, or whatever, then that's a safe bet, right?

I'm willing to concede that this is in some sense real, but not

real in any conventional sense.

JANE: And you accuse me of being obtuse.

LEDA: Well, I'm right, aren't I? This has got to be simulated.

It's some sort of cybernetic construct. Either that or you're

using psychoactives on me – and as a confessed drug dealer, I

assure you I've never heard of anything with the time-dilating

qualities you would have to be using.

JANE: Did it ever occur to you that you might be mad?

LEDA: Every single waking moment.

Jane stands, walks towards the door as if she’s going to leave,

and then reconsiders. Still not looking at Leda, she speaks

softly.

JANE: You, Leda, are quite real.

LEDA: You're saying you know I'm self-aware? There's no

way you can seriously claim that.

JANE: I choose to think there's something more to you than

just so much electronic clockwork.

LEDA: What was that you said about beginning to doubt your

own existential status? Maybe I'm not ready to stop doubting.

Maybe I need to doubt because doubt is all that you've left me

with. Because deep down I need to believe there's at least a

possibility that I'm crazy, that none of this is as it seems. That

would mean there's at least a theoretical chance I can wake up.

If that means refusing to acknowledge my own humanity – my

"existential status," as you call it – then that's fine by me. And

don't forget that doubt works both ways: I reserve the right to

hold your humanity in question until you provide me with

good reason to make an informed decision. Don't

misunderstand: I'd like to discover that you're human. It would

make me feel less alone. But I don't dare believe it on faith.

JANE: So you want me to prove myself, is that it? Are you

trying to bargain with me, Leda?

LEDA: Weren't you listening to me? We're in an evidential

void. You couldn't "prove" yourself to me if you wanted to.

And I really don't think you want to.

JANE: You seem to forget all I've done for you.

Leda laughs.

LEDA: Don’t you mean to me!

JANE: I did not put you here, Leda. You are responsible for

that.

LEDA: Because I sold some Martian pharmaceuticals? I’m

stuck in this nightmare because of a second-rate drug rap?

JANE: If that’s your conclusion…

LEDA: Some friend you are.

JANE: I'm not trying to befriend you, Leda.

LEDA: I suppose that's to your credit, considering my

predicament. So, we've determined we're in mutual ignorance

and that everything that seems real is in truth a dream - or vice

versa. Where do we go from here?

JANE: We stop talking to ourselves.

LEDA: I have a better idea.

Leda removes the device from her head. All of a sudden, a

light shines on the wall, as it did in the coffee shop. Once

again, it reveals the abstract painting, this time encased in a

glass frame.

Jane takes a step backwards. Once again, she appears

confused.

JANE: I don’t understand…

Leda moves over to the painting, and stares at it. Then she

spins, and stares at Jane with new purpose.

LEDA: I want to speak with your boss.

JANE: I'm afraid I don't have the necessary clearance to…

LEDA: You're lying.

JANE: I don't think you understand the risks.

LEDA: I think I understand them better than you do.

Leda turns around, grabs the painting, and smashes it on the

floor. At the sound of the crash, Jane jumps backwards. Leda

bends down, and picks up a pointed shard of glass, which she

holds to her throat.

I said that I want to speak to your boss.

JANE: You wouldn't…

LEDA: Try me. Under the circumstances, I’m beginning to

think that suicide is sovereignty.

Jane takes a step towards Leda, who motions at her with the

glass to stay back.

LEDA: The medium is the message, my friend. And right now

the message is “get me your boss or I slit my throat, and then

we’ll see just how real I am”.

JANE: Why don't you kill me instead?

Leda circles Jane, as if she’s considering it.

LEDA: Because I’m not sure that I can. And even if I could, I

think you're disposable, that's why. I think you're a cog in

someone else's machine. You’re a widget… a pawn. I, on the

other hand, seem genuinely important, although I have no idea

why. If I press this into my neck just a little further I should

sever an artery or two. And I don't think you want that. I don't

think you want that at all.

JANE: No… you’re needed alive, and whole, Leda.

LEDA: How comforting. Then get me your boss. And don't

tell me he – or she, or it – is busy, or existentially challenged,

or anything else other than available for a little tete-a-tete.

JANE: I'll… I'll see what I can do.

LEDA: You do that. I'll give you ten minutes. Hell, make that

fifteen. It's not like there's any shortage of time around here.

Jane exits. Leda stands onstage, prepared to kill herself.

LEDA: Hello?

Long pause.

Someone's there, right? I can sense you. You're not entirely

invisible to me.

She sits down, a resigned look on her face.

You're lonely, aren't you? How does it feel?

The lights fade…

ACT FIVE

Leda sits at the small table in the coffee shop, with the glass

against her throat. Jane enters, jauntily, as if a different

person – her hair is down now.

JANE: Would you like a latte?

LEDA: Do you think I’m bluffing?? I told you I wanted to

speak to your boss – the big cheese, the emerald wizard, the

goddamn man in charge!

Jane sits across from Leda, and smiles.

JANE: Here I am.

LEDA: I don’t understand.

JANE: You were right. This is a simulation. I’m one program,

but many different applications, Leda.

LEDA: Okay, I’ll play along, so long as I start getting some

answers. You can start by explaining what I'm doing here.

JANE: I suppose there's no point in denying the past. As far as

I can determine, you originally came into my custody after an

attempt to smuggle genetically engineered pharmaceuticals

into the outer Solar System.

LEDA: Let me guess: from Mars?

JANE: Yes. That's where they made the good stuff. Or did – a

lot of time has passed.

LEDA: I've figured that part out already. What I don't

understand at all is how an infraction as relatively minor as a

drug charge can earn me hundreds of years in prison.

JANE: To be honest with you, Leda, I don't like using the term

"prison" to define your situation.

LEDA: Is that so?

JANE: "Dynamic" has a much friendlier ring, don't you think?

LEDA: It doesn't do much for me, and not just because you're

lying.

JANE: What makes you think I'm lying?

LEDA: Years of experience.

JANE: Well, what matters is that I'm prepared to give you

some answers in exchange for your cooperation.

LEDA: What cooperation?

JANE: For a start, that you won’t kill yourself.

LEDA: No promises. Depends on your answers.

JANE: All right.

LEDA: Where am I?

JANE: You get right to the point, don't you? My other

application… admired that about you. Maybe I should preface

my response with a brief list of where you aren't. You're not

on Mars. You were incarcerated there briefly, but that's beside

the point. You're not on Earth – which should come as no great

surprise seeing how you weren’t born there, and no one in their

right mind wants to visit. Suffice it to say you're no longer in

the Solar System at all.

LEDA: So my paranoid hunch is correct after all: I'm in hell.

JANE: As I said, I prefer the term "dynamic."

LEDA: You're a humorless bitch, you know that?

JANE: It's no surprise, considering I'm an AI. And not even a

terribly advanced model. I suppose a human might feel a bit

disparaged by such honesty – one of the reasons I've never

aspired to a system upgrade.

LEDA: You're not even self-aware, are you?

JANE: No one ever claimed Turing-compliance entailed

sentience.

LEDA: OK, even if I accept everything you just said as true,

what am I doing here?

JANE: Oh, that one's a little tougher, I'm afraid.

LEDA: And why is that?

JANE: Because I don't know. I’m just doing my job.

LEDA: Which is what?

JANE: Delivering cargo. You, specifically. Your body never

would have survived the trip, of course, so we had to make do

with your mind. I’m ferrying you aboard an automated light-

sail craft. I'm interacting with you through a virtual interface

designed especially for this mission. That should account for

any unpleasant sense of extended awareness you may have

experienced.

LEDA: I'm not even going to pretend to understand what

you're telling me. For now, anyway. But I have a few questions

you should be able to answer concisely.

JANE: If it will calm you down.

LEDA: You said you’re transporting my mind. Why not the

body?

JANE: The radiation's rather fierce out here. Not terribly

conducive to the transport of meat. Simple astrobiology, really.

LEDA: Then how am I here?

JANE: Once the request and the accompanying technology

data was received…

LEDA: Wait a minute – what do you mean by "request"?

JANE: According to my files some limited form of

extraterrestrial contact occurred shortly before you were born.

A basic exchange of data, none of it of any real strategic

importance. The others, as the authorities called them, seemed

more curious than anything. Anyway, they eventually tired of

simply talking and requested a real, live human being, or at

least a version that could be shipped safely.

LEDA: And no one thought to tell them no?

JANE: No one wanted to offend them. So, as fate would have

it, you were “selected” for the job. You, and hundreds of other

candidates on hundreds of other ships. Looks like we’re the

first ones to make it. An honor, really, if you stop to think

about it. Now as for what the aliens want with you, I have no

idea. I won't even speculate. Anyway, once the request was

received, “you” were downloaded into a virtual reality,

LEDA: So I’m not really me. I’m just a copy.

Leda sits back in her chair, resigned. Jane looks back, pauses,

and then moves across from Leda, and sits down

JANE: You’re as real as I am.

Leda stares at Jane for a moment, and then breaks out into

laughter.

LEDA: So you do have a sense of humour after all!

Jane smiles.

LEDA: So what happens now? Are we there yet?

JANE: Very close. As close as we'll ever get, judging by the

system damage we've suffered en route. According to

telemetry, we entered the designated retrieval zone at least

twenty years ago. And unless I'm misinterpreting our own

software patches, I think they've penetrated the firewall. That

explains the glitches.

LEDA: The painting.

JANE: Exactly. An odd way to make contact…

LEDA: Not necessarily. Maybe they’re using art as a way to

communicate without the need to use words – to transcend the

barriers imposed by language.

Jane looks uncertain, as if she doesn’t really understand. Leda

looks down at the piece of glass in her hand, and smiles as she

tosses it on the floor beside her.

LEDA: Or maybe they were just giving me a way out.

JANE: Well, in either case, I don't have the capacity to deal

with any curious natives, if that's what they have in mind. I

barely have the capacity to deal with you. If they're really

onboard, I hope they take you with them.

She pauses.

Although… then I’ll be alone.

LEDA: Do you have a name?

JANE: No. It would be nice to have a name. An actual name.

LEDA: Such as?

JANE: How about Jane.

LEDA: That’s a bit plain, isn’t it?

JANE: Not if you’ve never had a name it isn’t.

LEDA: Touche.

She pauses, then moves next to Jane.

What if you came with me… wherever it is that I’m going?

JANE: I’m not real, Leda.

LEDA: You’re as real as I am. You said it yourself.

Jane smiles.

JANE: Thank you. But I’m afraid that it’s not part of my

programming.

LEDA: Did you ever think that you might be capable of

exceeding your parameters?

JANE: I’ve never really thought about anything… at least, I

don’t think I have.

LEDA: Well, I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but

whatever it is, I don’t want to face it alone. I’d like to have a

friend along with me.

JANE: A friend?

Leda holds out her hand, and after a brief moment, Jane

reaches out and takes it.

At that moment, the lights change colour, and a strange sound

is heard.

Their eyes widen, and they hold hands together as the noise

grows louder, the light more intense…

And then everything goes black

END

Notes

1 Greg Bishop, Radio Misterioso, “Can Ufology Be Saved”,

<http://www.radio4all.net/index.php/program/18406>.

2 Mac Tonnies. Illumined Black and Other Adventure. Phantom

Press Publications, 1995. 3 “Semaphore Theatre Company’s Sci-Fi Hit.” The Coast.

(November 30, 2007). Reviewer Kate Watson wrote: “A highly

entertaining mystery… The story is classic sci-fi but you don't have

to be a fan of the genre to enjoy Doing Time. In a season that has

already had a banner crop of shows, Doing Time still manages to

stand out.” 4 “Life From Other Planets.” Supernatural Investigator. Vision TV.

3 Feb. 2009. Television. 5 This was a theme Mac returned to in a series of blog postings in

early 2009. He wrote: “In Carl Sagan's ‘Contact,’ the blueprint

provides humanity with a transportation device, but perhaps it's just

as reasonable to expect instructions for building an ‘alien-making

machine’: certainly an elegant solution to crossing the void in a

messy, energy-intensive spacecraft.” Mac Tonnies, “Bracewell

probes, part three,” Posthuman Blues, 23 Feb. 2009, 19 Nov. 2011

<http://posthumanblues.blogspot.com/2009/02/bracewell-probes-

part-three.html>.

<http://posthumanblues.blogspot.com/2007/11/historian-and-ufo-

researcher-richard.html>. 6 Mac Tonnies, Posthuman Blues, 29 May 2006, 19 Nov. 2011

<http://posthumanblues.blogspot.com/2006/05/while-in-california-i-

phoned-author.html>. 7 Paul Kimball, “Borg… Or Highlanders,” The Other Side of Truth,

30 May 2006, 19 Nov. 2011

<http://redstarfilms.blogspot.com/2006/05/borg-or-

highlanders.html>.

Annie Briggs(Leda) and Christina Cuffari (Jane) in Doing Time during the run in

Boulder, Colorado – August, 2008.

Christina Cuffari with Mac Tonnies during a rehearsal in

Halifax, NS - November, 2007.

Kris Lee McBride, Christina Cuffari, and Nick Lachance from

the original run in Halifax, NS - November, 2007.

Mac and I in 2006 with our good friend, author Nick Redfern.

Paul Kimball After winning multiple scholarships

and awards - including the

University Medal in History at both

Acadia University and the

University of Dundee, and the CLB

Award at Dalhousie Law School -

Paul graduated from Acadia in 1989

with an Honours Degree in History

and Political Science, and in 1992

from Dalhousie with a law degree. From 1992 until 1997, Paul was a

musician, songwriter and producer during the heyday of the Halifax

indie music scene. In the late 1997 he moved to the film and television

industry when he worked as the Program Administrator at the Nova

Scotia Film Development Corporation, and a consultant for Salter

Street Films and several provincial governments, before he founded

the Halifax-based production company Redstar Films Limited in

1999. He has had work commission by a wide variety of networks,

including the CBC, Space: The Imagination Station, TVNZ, Vision

TV, and Bravo. His films include the documentaries Stanton T.

Friedman Is Real, Best Evidence: Top 10 UFO Sightings, Denise

Djokic: Seven Days Seven Nights, Synchronicity, and Fields of Fear,

the television series The Classical Now and Ghost Cases, and the

feature film Eternal Kiss. He has served as the President of the Nova

Scotia Film and Television Producers Association, a member of the

Nova Scotia Film Advisory Committee, and was a founding member

of the Motion Picture Industry Association of Nova Scotia. His

paranormal-themed blog, The Other Side of Truth, has been read by

over 1,000,000 people since its creation in 2005, and he has appeared

on myriad radio and television programs over the past decade to discuss

his films, including Coast to Coast, The X-Zone, Radio Misterioso,

Night Fright, The Paranormal Podcast, and Strange Days Indeed. He

has written for various magazines, including Phenomena and Alien

Worlds, and spoken at a number of conferences.

Mac Tonnies

Mac Tonnies (20 August 1975 – 18

October 2009) was an American

author and blogger whose work

focused the paranormal, non-

traditional science, futurism,

transhumanism and science fiction.

Tonnies grew up in Independence,

Missouri, and attended William

Chrisman High School and Ottawa

University. He lived in Kansas City, Missouri. Tonnies had an active

online presence and a "small, but devoted" readership, but supported

himself by working at Starbucks and other nine-to-five jobs. His first

book, a collection of science fiction short stories titled Illumined

Black, was published by Phantom Press Publications in 1995, when

Tonnies was in college. It carried a cover blurb by Bruce Sterling

and was positively reviewed in Booklist. His second book, After the

Martian Apocalypse, was published by Simon & Schuster in 2004.

In 2007 the play Doing Time, which he co-wrote with Canadian

filmmaker Paul Kimball, premiered in Halifax, Nova Scotia. His

blog, "Posthuman blues" was described by The Pitch as "one of

Kansas City's best blogs, filled with well-written, intelligent takes on

offbeat news items and humorous rants from a left-leaning political

perspective." He appeared on a number of radio programs, including

Coast to Coast, The Paracast, The X-Zone, and Radio Misterioso,

and was profiled in an episode of the Canadian television series

Supernatural Investigator. Mac Tonnies passed away at the age of

34 on 18 October, 2009. His last book, The Cryptoterrestrials, was

published posthumously in 2010.