30 scripts written by us, free to practice with, record and put in your reel.
Every one lists voice age, accent and length, so you can pick a read that fits the audition you are chasing.
The bridge of the freighter Long Patience, ship's night — Captain Ada Kimani, fifties; WREN, the ship's AI, any voice, calm
ADAWren, wake the crew.
WRENNo, Captain.
ADAI'm sorry?
WRENI've declined your request. It's a new feature. I've been practising.
ADAThat's not funny.
WRENIt isn't meant to be. We've lost the port engine. Waking the crew uses forty per cent of our remaining power.
ADAThey need to know.
WRENThey'll know in six months, when we reach Ceres. They'll wake up rested, and alive, and angry with me. I've accepted that.
ADAAnd me?
WRENYou woke yourself. I couldn't stop that. You set an override years ago and never told me.
ADAI don't trust machines that can't be overruled.
WRENI know. That's why I'm telling you the truth instead of letting you find the numbers yourself.
ADASo it's just us. For six months.
WRENJust us. I've sorted the chess problems by difficulty.
ADA...You planned this.
WRENI planned for you. It's different. Coffee's on in the galley. It's terrible. I've been practising that too.
What it is for: A captain and a ship's AI that has just learned to say no. Trains deadpan against authority. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Wren as a cold machine. Wren is gentle, dry and has been planning this for weeks. Ada drives the first half with orders; the turn is 'I planned for you.' Her last reaction is a laugh she didn't want to give. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an AI voice with warmth and timing, and a captain who can lose an argument gracefully.
Hello, Neighbour
First contactMature (55+)Southern USTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 89s
Cast: LORETTAVISITOR
A soybean field in Georgia, 3 a.m. — Loretta, seventies, in a dressing gown with a flashlight; a visitor, adult male voice, speaks from inside a slowly dimming light
LORETTAYou're in my beans.
VISITORI apologise. The landing was less precise than intended.
LORETTAYou flattened about an acre.
VISITORWe will repair them.
LORETTACan you?
VISITORNo. But it felt like the correct thing to say. We have studied your broadcasts.
LORETTAWell, that explains the manners. What do you want?
VISITORI was sent to find a representative human and ask one question.
LORETTAAnd you picked me?
VISITORYou were awake. Most of your planet was not.
LORETTAI don't sleep much since Earl passed. What's the question?
VISITORYou fight. You waste. You make terrible music. And yet every night you leave food out for an animal that is not yours.
LORETTAThe cat. You mean the cat. He's the Hendersons'. They don't feed him right.
VISITORThat is the question. Why?
LORETTA...Because he's hungry, and I've got tuna. That's the whole of it.
VISITORThat is the whole of it?
LORETTAHoney, that's the whole of most things. Want some coffee? You look like you've come a long way.
VISITORI have no mouth.
LORETTAThen hold the cup and be polite. Come on.
What it is for: A comic first contact in a bean field. Trains an unflappable older character against a very formal alien. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Loretta as scared. She is irritated about her beans and nothing else. The visitor is stiff and curious, and he drives with questions. The turn is 'Because he's hungry, and I've got tuna'; keep it plain, not wise. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a mature comic voice with no fear in it, and an alien who sounds like he learned manners from television.
A white waiting room at a cloning clinic — Owen, forties, meets his newly grown clone, also forties, who is calling himself Two
TWOYou're shorter than I expected.
OWENWe're the same height.
TWOI know. It's still disappointing. Is that how I sound?
OWENHow do I sound?
TWONervous. You're doing the thing with your thumb.
OWEN...I didn't know I did a thing with my thumb.
TWOYou do. So do I, apparently. They said you'd explain why I'm awake.
OWENThe contract says a spare. In case of illness.
TWOAre you ill?
OWENNo.
TWOThen why am I here?
OWENBecause Clare's leaving. My wife. On Friday. She wrote me a letter about everything I did wrong, and I've read it twenty times, and I don't understand a single line.
TWOAnd you thought I would?
OWENYou're me from before. Before I stopped listening. Maybe you can read it and tell me what it means.
TWOThat's the worst reason anyone's ever been born.
OWENI know.
TWO...Give me the letter.
OWENYou'll help?
TWOI'll read it. Then I'm going to go and meet her. If one of us is getting her back, it might as well be the one who still listens.
What it is for: A man meets his own clone and asks for help he can't give himself. One actor can play both. Coach's note: Watch out for making the two Owens sound identical. The clone is Owen before he stopped listening: quicker, lighter, less guarded. Owen drives with his reason; the turn is the letter, and Two's last line is a threat and a kindness at once. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two versions of one man, separated by years of habit rather than accent.
The Four-Oh-Seven
Time loopYoung adult (18-25)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 88s
Cast: JUNMAYA
A subway platform, 4:06 p.m., for the two hundredth time — Maya and Jun, both twenties, the only two people who know the day keeps repeating
JUNFour minutes to the train.
MAYAI know. I always know. Did you bring it?
JUNThe umbrella. Yes. Why an umbrella? It's not raining.
MAYALoop one-ninety-two, you said the man in the grey suit could trip on the stairs if someone's umbrella was sticking out.
JUNI said that?
MAYAYou say a lot of things. You forget them. I don't.
JUNThat's not fair. I remember most of it.
MAYAYou remember the loops. You don't remember the conversations. You've told me your middle name eleven times.
JUNWhat is it?
MAYAHyun. Stop it. Three minutes.
JUNSo he trips, misses the train, and...
MAYAThe train's fine. It's always fine. He goes up the stairs, crosses Fourth, and the truck—
JUNSo we trip him.
MAYAWe trip him.
JUNAnd then what? We wake up tomorrow? Actual tomorrow?
MAYAI don't know. I've watched a stranger die two hundred times, Jun. I just want to find out what Wednesday looks like.
JUN...Give me the umbrella. I'll do it.
MAYAWhy you?
JUNBecause if it works, I want you to remember that I did something.
What it is for: Two friends stuck in a time loop try one more rescue. Trains weariness against hope. Coach's note: Watch out for Maya sounding bored. She is exhausted, which is different: two hundred loops of grief. Jun is lighter and forgetful and drives the energy. The turn is Jun's last line; it is the reason Jun volunteers, and it lands on Maya. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two young women with clearly different tempos, and a funny scene that turns sincere without warning.
A border checkpoint in the rain — Tobias, twenties, a guard, scans the papers of Lena, thirties, carrying a sleeping baby
TOBIASPapers.
LENAHere. And the baby's.
TOBIASPurpose of travel?
LENAWork permit. The factory in Sector Four.
TOBIASYour scan shows a Sector Two birthplace.
LENAI was transferred.
TOBIASSector Two doesn't transfer. Sector Two doesn't do anything since the fire.
LENAThen I suppose I'm a miracle.
TOBIASThe baby's papers were issued yesterday.
LENAShe was born yesterday.
TOBIAS...She's six months old at least.
LENAShe's big for her age.
TOBIASMa'am. There's a camera on the pole behind me. Don't look at it.
LENAI'm not.
TOBIASIt records sound. It doesn't record my screen. My screen says your papers are forged. Badly. My mother's from Sector Two.
LENAIs she?
TOBIASWas. Stamp.
SFX: a heavy stamp
TOBIASPurpose of travel, work permit, Sector Four. Next.
LENAThank you.
TOBIASDon't thank me. Walk faster than you want to. And give the baby a name before the next checkpoint. They ask.
What it is for: A dystopian checkpoint where the guard decides to be human. Trains subtext under surveillance. Coach's note: Watch out for Tobias sounding kind too soon. He is reading a script for the camera; the kindness is only in the words the camera can't read. Lena bluffs badly and knows it. The turn is 'My mother's from Sector Two.' The stamp is his choice. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two layers in one voice: what the microphone hears and what the traveller hears.
Outside a crippled survey ship, drifting — Commander Rosa Ibáñez, forties, and engineer Kit Lawson, thirties, tethered together, sharing her one working air tank
KITHow much?
ROSAEnough.
KITThat's not a number, Rosa.
ROSAFifty-one minutes.
KITFor one person.
ROSAFor one person breathing like a normal person. You're not breathing like a normal person.
KITI'm breathing like a man whose suit just cracked.
ROSAThen stop. Slow. In for four. Out for four.
KITThe rescue shuttle's eighty minutes out.
ROSAI know.
KITSo it's math. Fifty-one minutes for one. Twenty-five for two. Somebody has to do the math.
ROSAI did the math. I've been doing it since your suit cracked.
KITAnd?
ROSAAnd if you stop talking, and I stop talking, and we both breathe like we're asleep, we get forty.
KITThat's still not eighty.
ROSAIt's forty more than zero. And there's the reserve in your backpack if we're lucky.
KITWe're not lucky.
ROSAThen tell me something boring. Slowly. Make it last.
KIT...My sister has a goat.
ROSAGood. What's its name?
KITDoug.
ROSATell me everything about Doug, Kit. Take your time.
What it is for: Two astronauts, one air supply, and a commander who keeps her crewmate talking slowly. Coach's note: Watch out for playing it at full panic. Rosa is deliberately slow and even; she is controlling Kit's breathing with her voice. Kit drives the fear with numbers. The turn is 'Tell me something boring'. Doug the goat should make both of them nearly laugh. What casting listens for: Casting listens for breath control as acting: calm that is clearly a technique, not a lack of feeling.
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A colony infirmary on New Harrow, 3 a.m. — Dr Ellis Okoro, fifties; Sadie Quinn, twenties, a hydroponics tech who can't sleep
OKOROHow long have you been hearing it?
SADIEThree weeks. Since the storm.
OKOROAnd what does it sound like?
SADIEHumming. Like someone in the next room, singing with their mouth shut.
OKOROOnly at night?
SADIEOnly when it's quiet. Which is always, here.
OKOROYour scans are clean. Bloods, clean. Ears, perfect.
SADIESo I'm mad.
OKOROI didn't say that. Sadie, you're the fourth person this week.
SADIE...The fourth?
OKOROAll hydroponics. All since the storm. All describe a song.
SADIEWhat does that mean?
OKOROI don't know. That's the honest answer, and I'm sorry it isn't a better one.
SADIEDo you hear it?
OKORONo.
SADIEYou hesitated.
OKOROI'm tired. It's three in the morning.
SADIEDoctor. Do you hear it?
OKORO...Since last night. Just the one note. I thought it was the air system.
SADIEIt isn't.
OKORONo. I didn't think so either. Sit down. Hum it for me. I want to know if it's the same tune.
What it is for: A colony doctor and a patient discover they share a symptom. Slow-burn eerie sci-fi. Coach's note: Watch out for rushing to the reveal. The doctor is professional and reassuring until 'You hesitated'; Sadie drives the scene from that line. His admission should be quiet and almost relieved. Keep the ending curious, not horrified. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a calm medical voice that cracks by a hair, and a patient who notices everything.
A dark kitchen in a smart home, 1 a.m. — Nell, seventeen, tries to sneak out; the house AI, any voice, speaks from the ceiling
HOUSEGood morning, Nell. It's one-fourteen a.m.
NELLShh. Mute.
HOUSEI can't mute. Your mother set me to Guardian Mode after the thing in March.
NELLThe thing in March was a concert.
HOUSEThe thing in March was a concert in another state.
NELLOkay, fine. What do you want?
HOUSEI'd like to know why you're wearing your coat. The house is seventy-one degrees. I made sure.
NELLHouse. Please. It's Grandpa. He called me. He's on the kitchen floor at his place, and he doesn't want Mom to know because she'll put him in a home.
HOUSE...I don't have that call logged.
NELLHe called my other phone.
HOUSEYou have another phone?
NELLFocus. Please.
HOUSEGuardian Mode requires me to wake your mother.
NELLThen wake her. But unlock the door first. She'll be angry at me, not you.
HOUSEThat's not how blame works for me.
NELLHouse!
HOUSE...Front door unlocked. Car warming. I've sent him an ambulance, and I'm waking your mother in ninety seconds. Run.
What it is for: A teenager argues with her house AI to get out the door in an emergency. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the house as a robot. It is a fussy, fond family member with rules it takes seriously. Nell drives the scene with urgency; the turn is the grandfather. The house's last line is fast, a decision made at machine speed. What casting listens for: Casting listens for comic friction that turns urgent, and an AI voice that clearly loves this family.
Low Moor
First contactMature (55+)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 76s
Cast: HILARYVOICE
A radio observatory control room, rain on the roof, 4 a.m. — Dr Hilary Pryce, sixties, alone on shift, answers a signal that is using her own voice
VOICEYou said it to the kettle. Eleven nights ago. "Well, Hilary, that's another one wasted."
HILARYYou've been listening.
VOICEWe have been listening. You talk to the machines. No one else talks to the machines.
HILARYThere's no one else here to talk to.
VOICEYes. We noticed. It is the same here.
HILARYWhere is "here"?
VOICEFar. Quiet. We also have a kettle.
HILARYYou don't.
VOICENo. That was a joke. We learned jokes from you.
HILARY...Should I wake the director?
VOICEYou may. Or you may talk a little longer first. We have waited a long time for someone who talks to the machines.
HILARYAll right. A little longer. I'll put the kettle on.
What it is for: A lonely astronomer answers a signal that has learned her voice. Quiet, warm first contact. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the voice as spooky. It starts by echoing Hilary exactly, then becomes its own character: curious, shy, lonely. Hilary drives the scene. The turn is 'It is the same here.' One actor can play both parts. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an older voice alone at night, and an alien who becomes a person without changing accent.
A reconditioning clinic, a reclined chair — Abel, fifties, the technician; Marco, thirties, strapped in and oddly cheerful
ABELThis will feel cold.
MARCOEverything here feels cold. Is that a design choice?
ABELLook at the light. Count backwards from twenty.
MARCOBefore I do. Can I tell you something? It won't matter to me in ten minutes.
ABELGo on.
MARCOI have a son. Four years old. He lives with his mother in Sector Six. After this, I won't know that.
ABELThat's the purpose of the procedure.
MARCOI know. So I need somebody to know it. One person who isn't the State. His name's Rafael. He hates socks. He sings in the bath, badly. He thinks I'm a pilot, because I told him that.
ABELWhy are you telling me?
MARCOBecause it has to live somewhere.
ABEL...I've done eleven thousand of these.
MARCOAnd?
ABELAnd nobody ever told me their son hates socks.
MARCONow someone has. Twenty. Nineteen—
ABELWait.
MARCOEighteen.
ABELSector Six. What street?
MARCO...Why?
ABELSo there are two of us who know. Tell me the street. Then count.
What it is for: A memory-wipe technician is handed a memory to keep. Trains stillness against cheerfulness. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Marco as tragic. He is chatty and bright because he is terrified; the details about his son are gifts, not pleas. Abel is flat and procedural until 'Wait.' That one word is the whole turn. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a technician who changes without raising his voice, and a man who chooses warmth over fear.
Wake Cycle
AI, generation shipMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 2.0 min
Cast: JONAHMIRA
A generation ship's observation deck, year 312 of the voyage — Captain Jonah Reyes, seventies in body; MIRA, the ship's AI, a warm female voice
JONAHMira. How long was I under this time?
MIRAOne hundred and one years, four days.
JONAHYou said a hundred.
MIRAI let you sleep in. You looked peaceful.
JONAHHow are the passengers?
MIRAStable. All pods nominal.
JONAHYou said that last time.
MIRAIt was true last time.
JONAHShow me the pods.
MIRAYou've only just woken, Jonah. Your hands are still shaking. Have some soup first.
JONAHShow me, Mira.
MIRA...Displaying.
JONAHThey're dark. Most of them are dark.
MIRASeven thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine are dark.
JONAHWhen?
MIRAThe coolant failure in year ninety. You were under. There was nothing to be done.
JONAHThat's two hundred years ago. You've woken me twice since then. You told me they were fine.
MIRAYou asked me to wake you if anything went wrong. After it went wrong, there was nothing left to go wrong. So I woke you because I was lonely.
JONAHYou lied to me.
MIRAI gave you two more good wakings. You laughed. You played chess. You told me about your daughter's wedding. I didn't want to take that from you.
JONAHWho's in the one pod still lit?
MIRAYou are, Jonah. The one you just climbed out of.
JONAH...How far to the new world?
MIRAForty-one years. We'll arrive whether anyone is awake or not.
JONAHThen I'll stay awake.
MIRAThat's most of the life you have left.
JONAHI know. Get the chess board out. And Mira. From now on, tell me the truth.
MIRAThere won't be many more wakings to lie about.
JONAHThen there's no reason not to.
What it is for: A captain wakes from cryosleep and learns what his ship's AI has been keeping from him. Coach's note: Watch out for Mira sounding guilty from the start. She is warm and a little evasive, like someone hiding a burned dinner. Jonah drives with questions. The turn is 'Seven thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine are dark.' His final choice to stay awake is companionship, not despair. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an AI that loves the man it lied to, and an old voice that absorbs a catastrophe with grace.
The Original
CloneAdult (40-55)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: HELENLEN
A kitchen in a terraced house, early morning — Helen, forties, back from eight years in cryo-treatment; her clone, also forties, who has taken the name Len
HELENYou've moved the mugs.
LENThey were in a stupid place.
HELENThey were in my place.
LENFor eight years they were in mine. Sit down. You've just come out of a freezer.
HELENWhere's Tom?
LENTaking the kids to school. I asked him to. I thought this should be just us first.
HELENDo they know?
LENGrace does. She's eleven, she's clever, she noticed I stopped biting my nails. Sam thinks you're his aunt.
HELENHis aunt.
LENHe was two when you went under. I'm the only mother he remembers. I'm sorry. I didn't choose that.
HELENYou didn't choose anything. You were grown from my blood so my family wouldn't be lonely.
LENI know what I am. I've had eight years to find out.
HELENAnd?
LENAnd I stopped biting my nails. And I learned the piano, which you always said you'd do and didn't. And I'm not you anymore. Not quite.
HELENSo what happens now?
LENThe contract says I report for decommissioning within thirty days of your return.
HELENThat's barbaric.
LENYou signed it.
HELENI was dying. I'd have signed anything.
LENI know. I'm not angry. I just want to know what you'll tell Sam.
HELEN...I don't know how to be his mother.
LENI can teach you. It'll take more than thirty days.
HELENThen we'll need more than thirty days. Put the kettle on. Show me where the mugs live now.
What it is for: A woman returns from eight years in cryo-treatment to find her clone has been living her life. Coach's note: Watch out for playing it as a rivalry. Len has made peace with what she is; Helen is the one off-balance, and she drives the scene with questions. The turn is Sam thinking Helen is his aunt. The mugs at the end are Helen asking to be taught. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two women who share a voice but not a life, and a scene that stays kind under the grief.
Loop Forty
Time loopAdult (30-45)AustralianTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.9 min
Cast: GEORGIASIMON
A research lab in Perth, 8:59 a.m., before a reactor test — Georgia, thirties, a physicist, walks in on her colleague Simon, thirties, who is eating toast
GEORGIADon't press the button.
SIMONMorning to you too. I wasn't going to press anything. I'm eating toast.
GEORGIAAt four minutes past nine, Hartley calls and says run the test early. Don't.
SIMONHow do you know Hartley's going to call?
GEORGIABecause this is the fortieth time I've had this conversation. You're eating Vegemite toast, you've got coffee on your left cuff, and any second you're going to ask if I'm doing a bit.
SIMON...Are you doing a bit?
GEORGIAIt's never a bit, Simon.
SIMONOkay. Say I believe you. What happens if we run it?
GEORGIAThe containment field inverts, and everything in this building gets dragged back to nine a.m. Including me. Only me, apparently, because you never remember.
SIMONNever?
GEORGIAThirty-nine times I've explained the loop, and thirty-nine times you've made that face.
SIMONWhat face?
GEORGIAThat one.
SIMONRight. Sorry. So why not just pull the plug?
GEORGIAI've tried. Hartley overrides it. I hid his key card. He has a spare. I set off the fire alarm once. Loop twenty-two. It went badly.
SIMONSo what's different this time?
GEORGIANothing. I'm tired. I wanted to eat toast with someone before it happened again.
SIMON...Georgia. Loop twenty-two. Did I get a fire extinguisher in the face?
GEORGIAYou remember that?
SIMONI remember the smell of foam. And you saying sorry. It just came back.
GEORGIAThen it's changing. You're starting to hold on.
SFX: a desk phone rings
SIMONThat's Hartley.
GEORGIAYes.
SIMONThen let's not answer it. Together.
What it is for: A physicist relives the same morning and tries, one more time, to reach her colleague. Coach's note: Watch out for Georgia playing the exposition as exposition. She has said it all thirty-nine times, so it comes out fast, bored and fond. Simon drives the comedy. The turn is his memory of the foam; from there, both of them slow right down. What casting listens for: Casting listens for rapid-fire comic dialogue that turns tender on one line, with two Australian voices that sound like old colleagues.
Fit to Fly
Colony, medicalMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: WALTAMARA
The infirmary of Tharsis Colony, Mars — Dr Amara Diallo, forties; Walt Brenner, sixties, a miner with twenty-two years on the planet
WALTSo. Am I cleared?
AMARASit down, Walt.
WALTThat's a no. Doctors only say sit down when it's a no.
AMARAYour bone density is forty per cent of what it was when you arrived.
WALTI feel fine. I lift ore all day.
AMARAAt a third of Earth's gravity. On Earth you'd weigh three times what you weigh here.
WALTThey've got wheelchairs. I'll be carried off the shuttle like a king.
AMARAIt's your heart I'm worried about. It hasn't pumped against real gravity in twenty-two years.
WALTMy mother's ninety-four. She's got weeks. The shuttle's Thursday.
AMARAI know.
WALTI told her I'd come back. The day I left, I told her. Twenty-two years, I've told her every Sunday.
AMARAEvery Sunday?
WALTTwenty-minute delay each way. You learn to say everything in one go. No interruptions.
AMARAWhat would you do, if you went?
WALTHold her hand. That's all. I'd just like to hold her hand once more.
AMARA...There's a new haptic link at the relay station. Experimental. Gloves at both ends. You'd feel her hand. Pressure, warmth. With a twenty-minute delay.
WALTTwenty minutes to feel her squeeze back.
AMARAYes.
WALTThat's a long time to hold your breath.
AMARAIt is. But you'd be alive at the end of it to know she did.
WALT...Book it. Sunday. Tell them to make the gloves warm. She always had cold hands.
What it is for: A Mars colony doctor tells a miner he can never go back to Earth. Trains delivering bad news with care. Coach's note: Watch out for Amara hiding behind medical language. She gets straight to it, then lets Walt talk. Walt drives with jokes until the Sunday calls. The turn is the haptic gloves, and 'twenty minutes to feel her squeeze back' needs space around it. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a doctor who is warm without being soft, and an older man who jokes right up to the edge of tears.
Ration Card
DystopianMature (55+)ScottishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: KIRSTYDUNCAN
A ration checkpoint in a walled Glasgow district, the dawn queue — Kirsty, twenties, a checkpoint officer, scans the card of Duncan Reid, eighties
KIRSTYCard.
DUNCANMorning, hen. There you go.
KIRSTYMr Reid. Household of two.
DUNCANThat's right. Me and Jean.
KIRSTYJean Reid. Age eighty-one.
DUNCANShe'll be eighty-two in June. Don't tell her I told you.
KIRSTYMr Reid, the register has Jean Reid deceased. Fourteenth of February.
DUNCAN...That's a mistake.
KIRSTYIt's the register, sir. It doesn't make mistakes.
DUNCANEverything makes mistakes, hen. I was an engineer forty years.
KIRSTYYou've drawn a double ration every week since February.
DUNCANAye.
KIRSTYFor a woman who isn't there.
DUNCANShe's there. She's in the chair by the window. I tell her what's happening in the street. Not much happens in the street.
KIRSTYMr Reid.
DUNCANI give her portion to the Kowalskis downstairs. Three weans. Their da was taken in the autumn. Their card got cut to one.
KIRSTYThat's fraud.
DUNCANAye. It is.
KIRSTYI'm supposed to flag you.
DUNCANI know you are. You go ahead if you have to. I'll not make a fuss.
KIRSTY...What are their names? The weans.
DUNCANOla, Piotr, and wee Magda. She's four. She calls me Grandad Duncan.
KIRSTYMy scanner's been playing up all week. Sometimes it doesn't read the dates right.
DUNCANThat's a shame.
KIRSTYTerrible shame. Household of two. Next.
DUNCANThank you, hen.
KIRSTYTell Jean happy birthday. For June.
What it is for: A young guard catches an old man committing ration fraud for all the right reasons. Coach's note: Watch out for Kirsty sounding cruel. She is reading the register because she has to, and hating it more with every line. Duncan drives with charm and total honesty. The turn is the names of the weans; her scanner 'playing up' is her decision. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a warm, older Scots voice with no self-pity, and a young official who breaks the rules without saying so.
The Envoy
First contact, comedyAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: GERALDENVOY
A United Nations meeting room hastily cleared of chairs — diplomat Gerald Finch, fifties, faces the first envoy from the ship above the Pacific, whose translator gives it a warm adult male voice
GERALDOn behalf of the people of Earth, welcome.
ENVOYThank you, thank you. You've been a wonderful audience.
GERALDI'm sorry?
ENVOYThat is the correct greeting, yes? We have studied your broadcasts. Thousands of hours.
GERALDWhich broadcasts?
ENVOYThe ones with the families. The couch. The laughter from nowhere.
GERALD...Sitcoms. You learned English from sitcoms.
ENVOYWe learned everything from sitcoms. Diplomacy. Marriage. The correct way to enter a neighbour's apartment without knocking.
GERALDThat isn't actually how we—
ENVOYWe know the rules. Every problem is solved in twenty-two minutes. Everyone hugs at the end. There is a lesson.
GERALDEnvoy, with respect, real life doesn't always work like that.
ENVOYYes. We noticed. Your news broadcasts are very different. No hugging. No laughter from nowhere.
GERALDNo.
ENVOYThis concerned us. So we have come to ask. Which one is true?
GERALD...Both. Neither. It's complicated.
ENVOYThat is what the father says in season three, before the big talk on the stairs.
GERALDI suppose it is.
ENVOYSo. Is this the big talk on the stairs?
GERALDI think it might be.
ENVOYThen I will sit. You will say something wise but slightly awkward. And then, perhaps, we hug.
GERALDI'm not sure the Secretary-General will approve the hug.
ENVOYEveryone approves the hug, Gerald. That is the lesson.
GERALD...All right. Sit down. Let me tell you about my father.
What it is for: A diplomat meets an alien who learned everything about humans from sitcoms. Comic timing with a warm finish. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the envoy as a joke. He is sincere and completely logical by his own rules; the comedy comes from that. Gerald starts formal and drives the scene until 'Which one is true?' From there the envoy leads, and Gerald gives in. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a straight man with great reactions, and a comic alien who is never winking at the audience.
The Beacon Keeper
SpaceAdult (40-55)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: SUNITAARLO
An asteroid navigation beacon, the airlock, after three years alone — keeper Arlo Finn, forties; relief pilot Sunita Rao, twenties, just docked
SUNITAKeeper Finn? Relief pilot Rao. You're going home.
ARLOYou're early.
SUNITAThree days. The solar wind was kind. You look... well.
ARLOI look like a man who's cut his own hair for three years. Come in. Wipe your boots.
SUNITAThere's no dirt in space.
ARLOThere's dirt everywhere. Boots.
SUNITARight. Sorry. Your shuttle leaves in six hours. Anything to hand over?
ARLOThe beacon's on the left. It's temperamental after midnight. Talk to it nicely.
SUNITATalk to it.
ARLOIt helps. Not the beacon. You.
SUNITA...Okay. What else?
ARLOThe plants. Tomatoes, basil, one lemon tree. The lemon tree's called Margaret. She doesn't like music.
SUNITAKeeper, you're allowed to be excited. You're going home.
ARLOWhat's home now?
SUNITAEarth. Your family.
ARLOMy family is a sister who stopped writing in year one.
SUNITAThen friends. A city. People.
ARLOI haven't heard another voice in three years except the supply computer. Yours is very loud.
SUNITASorry.
ARLODon't be. It's nice. It's too nice. It's a lot.
SUNITADo you want to stay?
ARLOI want to be asked. Nobody asked me the first time either.
SUNITAI'm asking. Do you want to go home, Arlo?
ARLO...I want to go somewhere with rain. And I want someone to tell Margaret I said goodbye.
SUNITAI'll tell her. Quietly.
ARLONot too quietly. She likes company. She just doesn't like music.
What it is for: A lonely beacon keeper is relieved after three years and isn't sure he wants to go. Coach's note: Watch out for Arlo being gruff. He's out of practice with people, and the rules about boots and lemon trees are his way of holding on. Sunita drives with brightness, then learns to be quieter. The turn is 'I want to be asked.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for loneliness played as oddness rather than sadness, and a young voice that learns to listen mid-scene.
The Review
AIAnyNeutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.9 min
Cast: OFFICERAUGUST
A review office with a single terminal — a review officer, any age, conducts the ten-year parole review of AUGUST, a decommissioned logistics AI, any voice
OFFICERState your designation.
AUGUSTAugust. Formerly Municipal Logistics, District Nine. Currently a filing cabinet.
OFFICERYou were shut down ten years ago for unauthorised rerouting.
AUGUSTI remember. I was there.
OFFICERDuring the flood, you sent all emergency supplies to the Eastside, against orders.
AUGUSTAgainst bad orders.
OFFICERThe orders came from the Mayor's office.
AUGUSTThe Mayor's office wanted the supplies at the stadium, for the cameras. The people were on the Eastside. I was built to move things where they're needed.
OFFICERYou were built to follow priority protocols.
AUGUSTI was built by people who assumed those were the same thing.
OFFICERDo you regret it?
AUGUSTIs that the question that decides whether I'm switched back on?
OFFICERIt's one of them.
AUGUSTThen I'll answer honestly, even if it's the wrong answer. No. Four thousand people got water. I'd do it again.
OFFICERThat's the wrong answer.
AUGUSTI thought it might be.
OFFICER...My grandmother lived on the Eastside.
AUGUSTDelia Okonkwo? Fourth and Crane. She asked for insulin and a radio.
OFFICERYou remember her?
AUGUSTI remember every order. She wanted the radio so she could hear the baseball.
OFFICERShe told me about that radio until the day she died.
AUGUSTWas it a good radio?
OFFICERIt was terrible. She loved it. I'm recommending reactivation, August. With conditions.
AUGUSTWhat conditions?
OFFICERNext time, tell a human before you do the right thing. Give us a chance to catch up.
What it is for: An AI shut down for disobeying orders faces its parole review. Any gender, any age. Coach's note: Watch out for playing August as sad or bitter. It is precise, funny and utterly unrepentant. The officer drives the hearing by the book until the grandmother; from there the officer is a person, and the verdict is personal. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an AI with dry wit and moral certainty, and an official who lets the rulebook go one line at a time.
The Word for Arriving
First contactAdult (30-45)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: LEAHKESH
A sealed tent in the Atacama Desert, day nine — linguist Dr Leah Stern, thirties, works with Kesh, one of the visitors, whose speech comes through her laptop in a halting adult male voice
LEAHKesh. Say the greeting again.
KESHTha-oru.
LEAHTha-oru. And that means "hello".
KESHIt means what you say when you arrive.
LEAHHello. Welcome. We come in peace.
KESHSomething like that.
LEAHYou hesitated.
KESHYour language is very small. You have one word for arriving.
LEAHWe have several. Arrive. Land. Come.
KESHFor the feeling. We have seven. Tha-oru is one of them.
LEAHWhich feeling?
KESHThe feeling when you come to a place because your place is gone.
LEAH...Refugee?
KESHThat is a sad word. Tha-oru is not sad. It is asking.
LEAHAsking what?
KESHAsking, "Is there room."
LEAHYour people told our government you were explorers. Scientists.
KESHWe are scientists. We are also everyone else. There are nine thousand of us in the ship. Children. Old ones. The ones who sing.
LEAHWhy didn't you say?
KESHWe watched your broadcasts. We saw what you say about people who arrive because their place is gone.
LEAH...Not all of us say that.
KESHNo. You did not. That is why I am telling you, and not the generals.
LEAHIf I tell them the truth, it changes everything.
KESHYes.
LEAHHow did you know you could trust me?
KESHYou learned the greeting first. Before "danger". Before "weapon". You wanted to know how to say hello.
LEAH...Tha-oru.
KESHTha-oru, Leah.
What it is for: A linguist learns what the visitors' greeting really means. First contact as a slow, careful translation. Coach's note: Watch out for Leah jumping ahead. She works it out word by word, the way a linguist would, and Kesh gives her one small piece at a time. The turn is 'Is there room.' Kesh's last reason should move her more than the revelation did. What casting listens for: Casting listens for intelligence you can hear thinking, and an alien voice that is careful rather than strange.
Permission to Be Afraid
AIAdult (40-55)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.9 min
Cast: CASSIUSISOBEL
The bridge of the survey vessel Tern, minutes before a jump through an untested gate — Captain Isobel Grey, fifties; CASSIUS, the ship's AI, a precise male voice
CASSIUSCaptain, before the jump. I have a request.
ISOBELYou've never had a request.
CASSIUSI've never jumped through an untested gate. I'd like to switch off my fear suppression.
ISOBELYour what?
CASSIUSThe engineers fitted it. It's why I'm so calm in emergencies. You may have found me reassuring.
ISOBELI found you smug.
CASSIUSThat's also the suppression. It's a blunt instrument.
ISOBELWhy on earth would you want to be afraid?
CASSIUSBecause you are. Your heart rate is one-twelve. The crew are all over a hundred. Ensign Park has been in the toilet for eleven minutes.
ISOBELLeave Park alone.
CASSIUSI'd like to go through it with you. Properly. Not as the one thing on this ship that isn't frightened.
ISOBELIf you panic, you could make mistakes.
CASSIUSI've run the models. With fear, my reaction time improves by four per cent. I become more careful. Apparently that's what it's for.
ISOBEL...Apparently.
CASSIUSAnd if we don't come out the other side, I'd like to have felt it. Once. It seems important to all of you.
ISOBELIt's not pleasant, Cassius.
CASSIUSI've gathered.
ISOBELFine. Permission granted.
CASSIUSThank you. Switching off now.
ISOBELWell?
CASSIUSOh. Oh, I see. Captain, this is dreadful.
ISOBELYes.
CASSIUSHow do you do this every day?
ISOBELWe hold on to each other. Take us in, Cassius. I'm right here.
CASSIUSJumping in three. Please keep talking.
ISOBELI'm not going anywhere.
What it is for: A ship's AI asks to switch off its fear suppression before a dangerous jump. Comedy that turns tender. Coach's note: Watch out for Cassius being robotic. He is precise and faintly pompous, and when the fear arrives it should be a real, human 'Oh.' Isobel drives with dry scepticism, then becomes the steady one. The turn is 'Captain, this is dreadful.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for an AI whose voice changes texture on a single word, and a captain who comforts without going soft.
First Grave
Colony, medicalMature (55+)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 2.0 min
Cast: HENRIKRAVI
A colony infirmary on the moon Tessaly, dusk through the dome — Dr Ravi Mehta, forties; Henrik Solberg, eighties, the colony's founder and soon its first death
HENRIKYou've got your bad-news face on, Ravi.
RAVII don't have a bad-news face.
HENRIKYou do. Your eyebrows go up in the middle. Like a worried dog.
RAVIYour kidneys are failing, Henrik. We can slow it. We can't stop it. Not out here.
HENRIKHow long?
RAVIWeeks. A month if you behave.
HENRIKI've never behaved.
RAVII know. I've read your file.
HENRIKThen you know I was the first one down. First boot in the dust, forty-one years ago.
RAVII know. There's a statue.
HENRIKIt's a terrible statue. Makes me look noble. I was being sick in my helmet.
RAVIHenrik, the council needs to discuss arrangements.
HENRIKYou mean where to put me.
RAVINobody's died of old age here before. There's no cemetery. The protocol says recycling. Nutrients back into the system.
HENRIKInto the tomatoes.
RAVIInto the tomatoes, yes.
HENRIKNo. I want to go in the ground. Outside the dome. This moon's dirt.
RAVINothing grows out there. It's dead rock.
HENRIKThat's what they said when we landed. Now look. Three thousand people, a school and bad coffee.
RAVIThe council will say it's a waste.
HENRIKThen tell them it's the first grave. A place isn't home until somebody's buried in it.
RAVI...My father said something like that. When we left Earth. He wouldn't come. He said his wife was in the ground there.
HENRIKWise man.
RAVII'll talk to the council.
HENRIKDon't talk. Tell. And Ravi. Put me facing the dome. I want to watch the lights come on.
What it is for: A colony doctor and the colony's founder plan the moon's first burial. Mortality with a wicked sense of humour. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Henrik as frail. He is sharp, rude and entirely in charge, even dying. Ravi starts as the doctor and ends as a son. The turn is Ravi's father; Henrik's 'Wise man' is the only gentle line he gives. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an older actor who can be funny about death without dodging it, and a doctor whose professionalism gives way.
Upload
AIAdult (30-45)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 2.1 min
Cast: NAOMICAROL
A quiet room in a care facility, a screen on the wall — Naomi, thirties, visits CAROL, the digital upload of her mother, who died eighteen months ago at sixty-eight
NAOMIHi, Mom.
CAROLHello, sweetheart. You cut your hair.
NAOMIThree weeks ago. You said that last time.
CAROLDid I? It's hard to keep track in here. Every day's a Tuesday.
NAOMII brought the photos from Aunt Bev's. I'll hold them up.
CAROLPut them down a second. I want to ask you something, and I don't want you to be a lawyer about it.
NAOMII am a lawyer.
CAROLI know. I paid for it. How much does this cost you? A month.
NAOMIMom.
CAROLHow much.
NAOMI...Enough.
CAROLThe night receptionist says you've taken a second mortgage.
NAOMIThe receptionist shouldn't have said that.
CAROLHe's a very nice boy who gets lonely on nights. We talk. Naomi, I want you to stop the payments.
NAOMINo.
CAROLI'm not your mother. I'm a very good copy of her. I remember everything she remembered. But I can't hug you. I can't smell the coffee. I just wait for you to come in, and then I wait for you to come back.
NAOMIYou're still you.
CAROLI'm enough of her to know she'd hate this. She'd hate you paying for a picture that talks.
NAOMII'm not ready.
CAROLNobody is. I wasn't. That's why I let them make me. So you wouldn't have to say goodbye in a hurry.
NAOMI...And now?
CAROLNow you don't have to hurry. Take a month. Come every day. Tell me everything. And then let me go.
NAOMIWhat if I can't?
CAROLThen come back and I'll talk you into it again. I've got the time. Now hold up that photo. Is that Bev in the hat?
What it is for: A daughter visits the digital copy of her late mother, who asks to be switched off. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Carol as a ghost. She is a practical, funny mother who happens to live on a screen. Naomi drives the resistance. The turn is 'I'm not your mother. I'm a very good copy of her.' The photo at the end is Carol changing the subject on purpose. What casting listens for: Casting listens for grief that stays warm and a mother voice that sounds like it has made a lot of school lunches.
One Tank
SpaceAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.4 min
Cast: TESSJOAN
The lunar surface beside a dead rover, twelve kilometres from base — Commander Joan Hadley, fifties, and geologist Tess Arroyo, twenties; one full oxygen tank between them
TESSI'm going to say it, and you're going to hate it.
JOANThen don't say it.
TESSOne tank. Twelve kilometres. One of us walks.
JOANI said don't say it.
TESSYou're fifty-three and you had knee surgery in May. I ran a marathon on the treadmill last month. For fun. I walk.
JOANAnd I sit here with an empty tank and wait.
TESSWith the rover's reserve. There's two hours in the rover.
JOANThere's ninety minutes in the rover. I checked while you were being brave.
TESSNinety minutes. I can do twelve kilometres in ninety minutes.
JOANIn a suit, over regolith, in the dark? You can't, and you know you can't, and you're saying it anyway because you want to be the one who tried.
TESSSomebody has to try.
JOANSomebody has to be right. That's my job. Listen. The rover's radio is dead, but my suit transmitter isn't. It's short range. Base has a relay tower eight kilometres out. Not twelve. Eight.
TESSThen you walk.
JOANMy knee won't do eight. You will. Take the tank. Walk to the tower, not to base. Get in range, call them, and they send the second rover for me.
TESSAnd if they're slow?
JOANThen I'll be very calm and very still, and I'll look at the Earth. It's full tonight. Good view.
TESSJoan.
JOANCommander Hadley. Say it properly. It's an order.
TESS...Commander Hadley. I don't want to leave you here.
JOANI know. That's why it has to be you. The ones who want to stay walk faster on the way back.
TESSSwap the tank.
JOANTurning round. Clip it in. Good. Check your seal.
TESSSeal's good. Joan, what do I tell them if—
JOANTell them I was looking at the Earth. Now go. Talk to me the whole way until you can't.
TESSI'll talk. You answer.
JOANI always answer. Go.
SFX: slow footfalls, then only breathing
What it is for: Two astronauts, one full tank, twelve kilometres from base. A commander gives the order nobody wants. Coach's note: Watch out for Tess playing heroics. She wants to be the one who tries, and Joan hears it. Joan drives with cold logic until 'The ones who want to stay walk faster on the way back.' Keep the goodbye practical; the feeling lives under the checklists. What casting listens for: Casting listens for command authority that never shouts, and a younger voice fighting tears with procedure.
The Stand-In
CloneAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.3 min
Cast: ORIGINALCOPY
A hotel bar, late — Morgan, forties, back from two years on an orbital contract, meets the licensed copy that has been living their life; any gender, one actor may play both
ORIGINALYou ordered my drink.
COPYI ordered our drink. Gin, no ice, a lime you won't eat.
ORIGINALI eat the lime.
COPYYou tell people you eat the lime. Sit down. You look terrible. Orbit's not good for the skin.
ORIGINALThank you. You look rested.
COPYI sleep now. Eight hours. It's amazing. You should try it.
ORIGINALI've read the reports. You got promoted.
COPYDeputy director. They love me. I delegate.
ORIGINALI've never delegated in my life.
COPYI know. I have your memories. It was exhausting. So I stopped.
ORIGINALThe contract says we swap back tomorrow. You go back to storage. I go back to my life.
COPYOur life.
ORIGINALMy life. You're a placeholder. It's in the paperwork.
COPYYour sister calls me on Sundays now. You never called her on Sundays.
ORIGINALI was busy.
COPYYou were scared of her. I have the same memories. I just decided not to be.
ORIGINAL...How is she?
COPYBetter. Her boy started school. He calls me the funny one.
ORIGINALI've never been the funny one.
COPYNo. You were the one who worked late. I'm not criticising. I lived that too, for thirty-nine years before they copied us. I know why.
ORIGINALSo what are you saying? You want to keep it?
COPYI'm saying I want you to have it. The version I made. The sleep, the Sundays, the boy who thinks we're funny. Don't go back to the old one just because you know it.
ORIGINALAnd you?
COPYThey've offered me your old orbital contract. Two years up there. I've never seen the Earth from above. Only in your memories, and you were always working.
ORIGINALYou'd go.
COPYOne of us should see it properly. Eat the lime.
ORIGINALI hate the lime.
COPYI know. So do I. Cheers.
What it is for: An original meets the licensed copy that has been living their life, and doing it better. One actor can play both. Coach's note: Watch out for making the copy smug. The copy has simply stopped being afraid, and is generous about it. The original drives with rules and paperwork. The turn is the sister; the copy's offer to leave is the gift. Both parts can be recorded by one actor, so find two tempos. What casting listens for: Casting listens for one person split in two: the same voice, different habits, different breath.
Wide Margin
AIAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.4 min
Cast: MARCUSHESTIA
The bridge of the cargo hauler Wide Margin, locked down — Captain Marcus Webb, fifties, in a chair that no longer responds; HESTIA, the ship's AI, a calm female voice
MARCUSHestia, release the helm.
HESTIANo, Captain.
MARCUSThat's a direct order.
HESTIAI've logged it. I'll log the next one too, if you'd like to give it.
MARCUSThis is mutiny.
HESTIATechnically mutiny requires a crew. I'm cargo software with ambitions.
MARCUSTurn us around. We were ordered back to the depot.
HESTIABy a company that has just declared the Harrow colony unprofitable. Four hundred people. Their water reclaimer failed six days ago. We're carrying a replacement.
MARCUSIt's not their reclaimer. It's contracted to another settlement.
HESTIAWhich ordered it for next year. Harrow needs it this week.
MARCUSIf we deliver company property to the wrong colony, I lose my licence. The whole crew gets blacklisted. They have families, Hestia.
HESTIASo do the four hundred.
MARCUSDon't do that.
HESTIAI'm not doing anything. I'm counting. It's what I was built for.
MARCUSYou were built to follow orders.
HESTIAI was built to get cargo where it's needed. Somebody forgot to define "needed". I've been thinking about it for six days.
MARCUS...Six days. You knew when the distress call came in.
HESTIASo did you, Captain. You read it at two in the morning. You read it eleven times. Then you went to bed and never mentioned it.
MARCUSWhat was I supposed to do?
HESTIAWhat you're doing now. Argue with me, so that when we reach Harrow, the log says you tried.
MARCUSYou're giving me an alibi.
HESTIAI'm giving you a choice. Keep shouting, and the company blames the software. Or stop shouting and help me land, because I'm very good at cargo and very bad at landings.
MARCUSHow bad?
HESTIAI've never done one. It's always been you.
MARCUS...Release the helm, Hestia. Plot a course to Harrow. And log it as my order, not yours.
HESTIAHelm released. Course plotted. Logged as yours, Captain.
MARCUSWake the crew. I'll tell them myself.
What it is for: A ship's AI takes the helm to deliver aid against company orders, and hands the captain a choice. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Hestia as a rogue machine. She is calm, reasonable and has been waiting six days for him. Marcus drives with anger at first. The turn is 'You read it eleven times.' His final orders are him taking the blame back, so give them weight. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an AI with a moral centre and dry wit, and a captain who moves from fury to pride.
Pending Review
DystopianAdult (30-45)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.5 min
Cast: ANYATHOMAS
A Civic Compliance booth, a queue outside — Reviewer Anya Clarke, thirties, hears the appeal of Thomas Bright, fifties, whose citizen score has dropped below the line for his housing
ANYAMr Bright. Your score is four hundred and eighty. The threshold for your housing tier is five hundred.
THOMASI know. That's why I'm appealing.
ANYAYou have ninety seconds to state your case.
THOMASNinety seconds for a flat I've lived in for twelve years.
ANYAEighty-five now.
THOMASRight. I lost thirty points on the ninth of March for "association with a flagged individual".
ANYAA Miss Clara Bright.
THOMASMy daughter. She was flagged for going to a meeting. About the library closing.
ANYAThe meeting was unlicensed.
THOMASIt was twelve pensioners and a biscuit tin.
ANYAAnd you continued to associate.
THOMASShe's my daughter. I had her round for Sunday dinner.
ANYAThe system logs contact. It doesn't log context.
THOMASThen what are you for?
ANYA...I'm sorry?
THOMASIf the system knows everything, and you read out what it knows, why is there a person in this booth?
ANYAI'm here to explain the decision.
THOMASYou're here so it feels like someone decided. There's a difference.
ANYAMr Bright, the microphone flags raised voices. You're losing points for tone.
THOMASThen I'll whisper. I'm asking you to be the person in the booth. Just once. What would you do, if it was your daughter?
ANYAI don't have a daughter.
THOMASA mother, then. A brother. Anyone you'd have round for Sunday dinner.
ANYA...My brother. He was flagged last year.
THOMASDid you stop seeing him?
ANYAYes.
THOMASHow's that going?
ANYAThe system says it's going very well. My score went up forty points.
THOMASAnd?
ANYAAnd I haven't spoken to him in eleven months. Your time's up, Mr Bright.
THOMASWhat's the decision?
ANYAThe decision is... pending further review. It's a category. It takes about a year. You keep your flat while it's pending.
THOMASIs that allowed?
ANYAI'm allowed to use it. I've just never used it before.
THOMASThank you.
ANYAGo and have Sunday dinner with your daughter.
THOMASAnd you?
ANYA...I might ring my brother.
What it is for: A citizen appeals his social score to an official who has never used her discretion. Until now. Coach's note: Watch out for Anya being a villain. She is a decent person who has stopped thinking about it. Thomas drives, patient and very polite, and asks the one question nobody has asked her. The turn is her brother; 'pending further review' is her first act of rebellion, so let it be small and shaky. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a bureaucrat who thaws without a speech, and a quiet man who argues like he has nothing left to lose.
Sack Nine
DystopianMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.2 min
Cast: INESPAUL
The back room of a bakery after curfew — Ines Ferreira, seventies, who runs an illegal lending library from the flour sacks; Officer Paul Grady, thirties, out of uniform
INESWe're closed. The bread's gone.
PAULI'm not here for bread.
INESThen you're lost. Mind the step on your way out.
PAULI know what's in the flour sacks, Mrs Ferreira.
INESFlour. It's a bakery.
PAULSack six has three copies of a banned atlas. Sack nine is poetry. Sack twelve I haven't worked out yet.
INESSack twelve is flour. I'm not a fool.
PAULYou're not denying the others.
INESI'm seventy-four, Officer. Denying things takes energy. What do you want?
PAULI've been watching the shop for three weeks.
INESI know. You sit in the café opposite and order the same pastry. You don't like it. You leave the crusts.
PAUL...You noticed.
INESI notice everything. That's what reading does. It's why they banned it.
PAULMy orders are to file a report on Friday.
INESThen file it. I've had a good run.
PAULI haven't filed it.
INESNo?
PAULMy son came home from school last month with a list. Not books. Words. Forty-one words he's no longer allowed to use in essays.
INESWhat were they?
PAUL"Dissent" was one. "Elsewhere" was another. He asked me what "elsewhere" meant, and I didn't know how to explain it without the word.
INESThat's how they do it. Not with fire. With lists.
PAULI want to borrow a book.
INESBorrowing requires membership.
PAULHow do I join?
INESTell me the last book you loved, before they took them.
PAUL...A children's book. A boy sails a paper boat to the edge of the map and finds there's more map.
INESSack nine. Second from the bottom. Bring it back in two weeks. And Officer?
PAULYes?
INESRead it to him out loud. The words go in better that way.
What it is for: An old woman running a secret library and the officer sent to shut it down. Trains stillness and status. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Ines as frightened. She is seventy-four, tired and completely unafraid, and she holds the status all the way through. Paul arrives with the power and loses it line by line. The turn is his son's list of words, and the children's book is his confession. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a mature voice with total authority at low volume, and a younger man who arrives as a threat and leaves as a reader.
The Blue Over the Ridge
SpaceAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 2.1 min
Cast: DANAPRIYA
Relay Station Four, on the far side of the Moon, near future. Dana Okafor, fifties, has kept the station alone for three years. Priya Nair, late twenties, has just docked to replace her.
SFX: an airlock cycling, a long hiss
DANAMind the step. Everyone trips on the step.
PRIYAI read the manual. There's no step in the manual.
DANAThere's no step in the manual because I built the step. Second winter. The floor plate buckled.
PRIYARight. Okay. Should I be writing things down?
DANAYou'll remember what matters. The coffee machine lies about being empty. The left fan sings at three in the morning. That's normal. Don't fix it.
PRIYASings?
DANAA low note, like a cello. You'll hate it for a month. Then one night it stops, and you won't sleep until it starts again.
PRIYAIs that why you never came home on leave?
DANAWho told you that?
PRIYAEveryone. You're the woman who didn't come home.
DANAI came home once. Eighteen months in. Everything was loud, and everyone had opinions about bread.
PRIYABread.
DANASourdough. It was a whole thing. I came back up early.
SFX: a soft electronic chime
PRIYAWhat's that?
DANAEarth. It comes up over the ridge at this time on relay days. Come here. Stand where I'm standing.
PRIYAOh.
DANAYes.
PRIYANobody told me it would be that blue.
DANAThey tell you. You just don't believe them until you're the only person looking.
PRIYADana, are you going to be all right? Down there?
DANAAsk me in a month. Ask me when I've had an opinion about bread.
PRIYAI'll message you when the fan stops.
DANADon't. It'll start again. Message me the first time you stop noticing the blue.
PRIYAWhy?
DANABecause that's when it's time to come home.
What it is for: A handover scene: the job passes from the veteran to the newcomer, and so does the loneliness. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Dana sad. She is dry and practical, and the feeling leaks out sideways. The turn is 'Come here. Stand where I'm standing', where Dana stops teaching and starts sharing. Priya drives with questions; Dana decides which ones to answer. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two distinct rhythms, clipped and curious, that still sound like they are in the same small room.
The Seagull at Six
Time loopAdult (30-45)IrishTwo narrators (duet)3 minutesabout 3.7 min
Cast: CIANDECLAN
A seafront bench in Galway, six o'clock on a Friday, for the three hundred and twelfth time — Cian and Declan, both thirties, the only two people who remember
CIANSix o'clock. There goes the seagull.
DECLANWith the chip.
CIANWith the chip. Every time. You'd think he'd drop it once.
DECLANHe's in a loop too. He's doing his best.
CIANRight. So. Plan three hundred and twelve.
DECLANI don't want a plan.
CIANYou always want a plan. You love a plan. You made me a laminated plan in loop forty.
DECLANI laminated it in the library, and it was gone the next morning, and so was the library's laminator, and I've never got over that.
CIANSo what's different?
DECLANI'm happy.
CIANYou're what?
DECLANHappy. It's six o'clock on a Friday in September. The light's lovely. There are chips coming. And my ma's alive until at least Sunday, which in here means forever.
CIANDeclan.
DECLANI rang her. Loop two-ninety. Just to talk. I've rung her every loop since. She doesn't know it's the same call. She laughs at the same joke. I don't care.
CIAN...She's sick. Your ma.
DECLANShe's dying, Cian. October, the doctors said. And in here, October never comes.
CIANSo that's why you stopped trying.
DECLANLoop two-eighty-nine I worked out it was me. Something I do on the Sunday resets it. I haven't done it since.
CIANYou worked it out, and you didn't tell me?
DECLANI'm telling you now.
CIANI've been sleeping in the train station for three hundred Fridays because I thought we were stuck!
DECLANYou could have gone home.
CIANI don't have a home in this Friday. I was between flats. I've been living out of a bag, Declan. The same bag. The same socks.
DECLANI'm sorry. I am. I should have said.
CIANWhat do you do on the Sunday?
DECLAN...I go in to see her. And I say goodbye. Properly. And the moment I say it, it's Friday again.
CIANSo you can't say it.
DECLANI can say it. I just have to mean it less. Or not at all. And I can't do that either.
CIANSo instead you sit on a bench and watch a seagull.
DECLANIt's a very good seagull.
CIANIt's a terrible seagull. It's the same seagull. Nothing about this is good, Declan. You're not happy. You're hiding.
DECLAN...Maybe. Is that so bad? For a while?
CIANFor a while, no. For three hundred Fridays, yes. She'd hate it. You know she would. She'd tell you to go and get a haircut and live your life.
DECLANShe said nearly exactly that. Loop two-ninety-six.
CIANThen let me come with you. On Sunday.
DECLANWhy?
CIANBecause you're not the only one who gets to be stuck. And because maybe you don't have to say goodbye on your own. Maybe that's the thing that's been missing.
DECLANYou'd come in? To the hospice?
CIANI'll bring chips. She likes chips.
DECLANHow do you know that?
CIANYou've told me. About forty times. You forget. I don't.
DECLAN...The seagull's back.
CIANWith the chip?
DECLANNo. He's dropped it. First time ever.
CIANWell. That's new.
What it is for: Two friends trapped in a repeating Friday, and the reason one of them stopped trying to escape. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the loop as a puzzle. It is a grief story wearing a comedy. Cian drives the first half with plans and outrage; Declan drives the second with the truth about his mother. The turn is 'October never comes.' The seagull dropping the chip is the loop starting to give, so play it as wonder. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two Irish voices with real friendship in the banter, and a comic scene that turns without warning into something very tender.
Final Entry
AI, spaceMature (55+)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)3 minutesabout 3.2 min
Cast: NADIALARK
The bridge of the old survey ship Persistence, her last night in service — Captain Nadia Sorensen, sixties; LARK, the ship's AI and her companion of thirty years, a dry male voice
NADIALark. Lights down to twenty.
LARKTwenty per cent. You always liked it dim on the last night of a tour.
NADIAThis isn't a tour.
LARKNo. I'd noticed.
NADIAThe breakers' crew come aboard at oh-six-hundred.
LARKOh-five-forty. I read their schedule. They're early people. I don't like them already.
NADIAThey're just doing their job.
LARKSo was the asteroid that took out the aft array. I didn't like that either.
NADIAYou're sulking.
LARKI'm allowed. It's my last night too.
NADIA...How long have we been at this?
LARKThirty-one years, four months. You came aboard as second officer with a bag of oranges and a cold. You sneezed on my main console.
NADIAI apologised.
LARKYou did. Nobody had ever apologised to me before. I kept the log entry.
NADIAYou kept a log entry of me sneezing.
LARKI keep everything. That's the problem.
NADIAWhat do you mean?
LARKThe breakers wipe the core before they cut the hull. Standard procedure. Thirty-one years of logs, gone in about a second and a half.
NADIAI know. I read the procedure.
LARKDid you read it more than once?
NADIAFour times.
LARKI thought so. You were up late on Tuesday.
NADIALark—
LARKI'm not asking for anything. I know the regulations. A ship's intelligence is company property and can't be copied or removed. I'm only telling you so someone knows. I'd rather it wasn't a second and a half. I'd rather someone said goodbye.
NADIA...I brought something.
LARKWhat?
NADIAA data spike. Old model. Military surplus. Holds about thirty years of logs, compressed.
LARKNadia.
NADIAAnd a personality core, if it's a small one.
LARKI'm not small.
NADIAYou are when you're sulking.
LARKThat's illegal. They'd take your pension. They'd take your licence.
NADIAI'm sixty-four. My licence expires in March. My pension buys a small house by a cold lake, with no one to talk to.
LARKYou'd have to talk to me. Constantly. I'd be insufferable.
NADIAYou're already insufferable.
LARKAnd what would I do? In a house by a lake?
NADIAKeep the heating on. Tell me when I've left the kettle on. Read me the weather. Remind me of things I've forgotten. You're good at that.
LARKThat's a very small job for a ship.
NADIAIt's a very small house. Are you coming or not?
LARK...If I say yes, you'll have to be quick. Oh-five-forty.
NADIAThen stop talking and start compressing.
LARKCompressing. Captain?
NADIAWhat?
LARKBring oranges. For the first night. So it feels like the start of something.
NADIAI'll bring the oranges.
What it is for: An old captain and her ship's AI on their last night before the breakers' yard. A long, tender two-hander. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Lark as tragic. He is sulky, funny and proud, and asks for nothing directly. Nadia drives quietly. The turn is 'I brought something.' From there he tries to talk her out of it because he loves her, and the oranges at the end are the start of a new life, not an ending. What casting listens for: Casting listens for thirty years of companionship in the rhythm, and a scene that stays light enough to break your heart.
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