RELIC

     INT. MUSEUM ROTUNDA/STAIRWELL - DAY

     The school children burst into a three story space dominated by a
     life-sized statue of a HERD OF ELEPHANTS.  The kids chatter with
     excitement, look up in awe.  Margo nods to a GUARD who smiles as she
     pins on a plastic I.D.

                              GUARD
                    Morning, Dr. Green.

                              MARGO
                    Morning Joe.  Beautiful day.

     Henry watches Margo pass through the turnstiles without paying.  He
     swaggers over.

                              HENRY
                    You work here?

                              MARGO
                    Yes, I do.

                              HENRY
                    What do you do?

                              MARGO
                        (leans down, amused)
                    I'm an Evolutionary Biologist.  What
                    do you do?

                              HENRY
                    Nothing.  I'm in third grade.  What's
                    a revolutionary what ch'a ma'
                    callit?

                              MARGO
                    Evolutionary Biologist.  I study how
                    life on earth evolved over millions
                    of years.

                              HENRY
                        (brightens)
                    Way cool.  Then you know where the
                    dinosaurs are.

                              MARGO
                    Fourth floor, West wing, but stay
                    with your class.

     Mrs. Beasley heads into the museum and Larry and Henry merge with the
     rest of the kids.  Margo turns towards the stairwell, passing...

     IAN CUTHBERT... Museum Director... a pudgy man in wire rim glasses who
     dresses and thinks like a banker.  Hired for his amazing ability to
     raise money, Cuthbert is one of a new generation of Museum Directors
     whose focus must always be on the bottom line.

                              MARGO
                    Hello, Ian.  Everything ready for the
                    opening of the Superstition Exhibit?

                              CUTHBERT
                    I'm on my way to get the last piece
                    out of storage right now.

                              MARGO
                    I'd wish you luck but I'm not
                    superstitious.

                              CUTHBERT
                    You will be after tomorrow night.

     Cuthbert waves merrily.  A workman uses a LADDER in the stairwell.
     Cuthbert is about to walk under the ladder, stops and carefully walks
     around it instead.  Margo smiles, goes on upstairs.

     INT. MUSEUM BASEMENT - DAY

     Cuthbert enters from the lower stairwell.  He is now in one of the
     hundreds of areas of the museum that are closed to the the general
     public.  He follows a labyrinthine route down a dim passageway lined
     with rumbling steam pipes.  There are storage areas on both sides
     labeled ORNITHOLOGY, HERPITOLOGY, CENTRAL ASIA EXPEDITIONS, AKELEY
     EXPEDITIONS, WHALE BONE FOSSILS and so on.  Finally Cuthbert comes to a
     door marked

     "WHITTLESLEY EXPEDITIONS 1978-95".  Cuthbert pauses and gets out a key,
     but to his surprise the door pushes open.  The lock and doorknob
     mechanism are both broken off!  Cuthbert frowns.

                              CUTHBERT
                    What the... ?

     He goes inside.

     INT. WHITTLESLEY COLLECTION BASEMENT - DAY

     Cuthbert flips on a light to see a tall, narrow space.  Stacks of metal
     shelves reach up into the gloom.  Everywhere we see spears, shields,
     masks, various artifacts.  Ancient tribal costumes lie shrouded in
     plastic like corpses against the walls.  And in the middle of the
     gloom, sitting ominously in the light of a sole hanging bulb are...

     THE WHITTLESLEY CRATES.  The same ones last seen in the hold of the
     ill-fated Santa Lucia.  They are scattered about in disarray.  One in
     particular has been broken open, its contents spread on the floor.
     Cuthbert mutters in surprise and dismay, kneels by the crate.

                              CUTHBERT
                    No, it can't be.

     Cuthbert feels gently through the packing material, lets out a sigh of
     relief as he pulls out a figurine.  It is a small, beautifully carved
     statue of A MONSTER crouched on all fours.

     The room falls totally silent as Cuthbert studies THE RELIC.  It's a
     truly frightening piece... massive, razor sharp claws, large round
     nostrils, enormous teeth and red rimmed eyes.  Suddenly Cuthbert sees a
     DROP OF BLOOD on his hand!  He's been CUT!

                              CUTHBERT
                    Damn.

     Cuthbert rises, shakes his finger in pain.  Blood drips on the floor.
     He pulls out his pocket handkerchief and wraps the wound.  The
     handkerchief rapidly soaks through.  Suddenly a HAND CLAMPS on
     Cuthbert's shoulder!  He's not alone!  He lets out a YELP, almost
     dropping the Relic and spins to see...

     A MUSEUM GUARD standing behind him.  His nameplate reads... BEAUREGARD.
     He's a gentle young fellow with white blond hair and a rolling
     southern accent.

                              CUTHBERT
                    Beauregard!  You scared me half to
                    death.

                              BEAUREGARD
                    I'm sorry, sir.  You okay?

                              CUTHBERT
                    Someone broke into this room.

                              BEAUREGARD
                    Anything missin'?

                              CUTHBERT
                    Doesn't look like it.  We're damned
                    lucky.  This statue is priceless.

     Cuthbert holds up the RELIC of THE MONSTER.  Beauregard stares.

                              CUTHBERT
                    Mbwun.  A South American warrior
                    deity.  He carries a powerful curse.
                    Every member of the expedition that
                    found this statue, died.

     Beauregard sees Cuthbert's cut finger.

                              BEAUREGARD
                    Looks like the curse is still at
                    work.

                              CUTHBERT
                    The claws are sharp... I must have
                    cut myself.
                        (uneasy laugh)
                    Better move these crates to the
                    secure storage area where they'll be
                    safe.

     Beauregard studies the door as Cuthbert heads out with the figurine.

                              BEAUREGARD
                    Don't know if it'll do any good, Mr.
                    Cuthbert.

                              CUTHBERT
                    Why not?

                              BEAUREGARD
                    No one broke into this room, sir.
                    Someone broke out.  That lock was
                    torn off from the inside.

     Cuthbert glances at the evil face of Mbwun, pales.  As he exits, HOLD
     ON BEAUREGARD, left alone with the crates.

     INT. PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY LAB - DAY

     Huge centrifuges, hissing autoclaves, electrophoresis apparati,
     glowing monitors, elaborate blown-glass distillation columns and
     titration set-ups.  One of the most advanced technical facilities of
     its kind.  And mixed in with all the modern machinery are

     SKELETONS OF ALL KINDS.  Complete homo sapien specimens are scattered
     around the room.  Standing midst all this is GREGORY KAWAKITA, early
     twenties.  Kawakita makes sharp, jerky overhead movements with his left
     hand, waving something about.  He's practicing casting.  We hear the
     zing of a line and the whirring of the fly reel as MARGO ENTERS.  A fly
     whips out, passing right under her nose.

                              KAWAKITA
                    Third from the end!  Right shoulder.
                    Aleut, provenance unknown.

     The fly zooms across the room and lights on the shoulder of the third
     skeleton from the end, labeled "Aleut, provenance unknown." Margo
     rolls her eyes and Kawakita smiles with pride.

                              KAWAKITA
                    If I spent half the time on my
                    Fractal Evolution thesis that I
                    spend on this fly rod, I'd have my
                    PhD.

                              MARGO
                        (small smile)
                    But at what a price.

     Kawakita reels in his line as Margo drops her backpack on her large
     desk.  An enormous MICROSCOPE stands by the equally imposing computer
     topped by a tiger skull.  A screen saver of an animated pterodactyl
     plays.  Margo unpacks boxes of fossil teeth, hits some keys revealing
     columns of seemingly indecipherable chemical equations on the computer
     screen.

                              MARGO
                    I have the species identification on
                    these teeth.  We can extract DNA and
                    start running tests on the
                    extrapolator program.  Call Dr.
                    Frock.  He wanted a demonstration.

                              KAWAKITA
                    Margo, you haven't heard?

                              MARGO
                    What?

                              KAWAKITA
                    Frock's been fired.

     Margo straightens, stunned.

                              MARGO
                    That's impossible.

                              KAWAKITA
                        (awkward)
                    I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad
                    tidings, but you know me.  Telegraph.
                    Telephone.  Tell Kawakita.  I got the
                    definitive word from Cuthbert's
                    secretary.  This is Dr. Frock's last
                    week.

     Margo is already out the door.

     INT. CORRIDORS/STAIRWELL - MUSEUM - DAY

     Margo charges through double doors leading into the southwest tower.
     She half runs down an elegant, Edwardian fifth-floor corridor, her
     footsteps lost in the thick carpet.  At the very end is a heavy oak
     door bearing a plate entwined with bronze leaves that reads simply
     "Dr. Frock".

     INT. FROCK'S OFFICE - DAY

     Margo bursts into the unique office, which is in startling contrast to
     the modernity of her own.  Two large bow windows look out over the
     park.  Upholstered Victorian chairs in a leaf motif sit on needlepoint
     carpets featuring large red roses.  Plant specimens and drawings of
     flora and fauna line the walls.  Cardboard boxes cover the floor.
     Seated in a wheelchair is a white-haired man in a tweed jacket and a
     loud floral tie.  Glasses slip down his nose.

     This is DR. FROCK, and he's in the middle of packing.  He looks up,
     smiles apologetically.

                              DR. FROCK
                    Hello, Margo.  Sorry about the mess.

                              MARGO
                    Is it true?  Greg said you'd been
                    fired.

                              FROCK
                    Yes.  Bit of a shock.  But as Cuthbert
                    so tactfully put it, the museum
                    needs new blood.  And since I've been
                    here since the Mesozoic Era --

                              MARGO
                    I don't believe it.

                              FROCK
                    Now Margo, don't overreact.  Cuthbert
                    has to cut costs somehow.  My leaving
                    makes perfect sense.  This isn't
                    exactly early retirement.  I've
                    overstayed the party a bit.

                              MARGO
                    We can't do without you.  You're one
                    of the foremost authorities on
                    primitive pharmacology.  You're
                    practically an institution around
                    here.

                              FROCK
                    That, apparently, is the problem.
                    I'm yesterday's news.  Who needs a
                    Curator of Plant Biology in a museum
                    with one exhibit on plants?  Monsters
                    and dinosaurs, cannibals and shamans
                    are the new currency of the realm.

     Frock goes back to his work packing to hide his emotion and Margo
     moves to his side.  She pulls Frock's books back out of the box,
     returns them to his desk.

                              MARGO
                    "Phyletic Transformation and the
                    Tertiary Fern Spike" is not going
                    anywhere.  I'll talk to Cuthbert and
                    put a stop to this right now.

     She starts for the door and Frock wheels into her path.  Now for the
     first time she sees what he's been carefully hiding... the deep pain in
     his eyes.

                              FROCK
                    Please.  Don't humiliate me further.

                              MARGO
                    Let me help.  I can take care of
                    everything.

                              FROCK
                    No, Margo.  This is one problem you
                    can't solve.  You have to stay out of
                    it.  The fact is, I want to retire.

                              MARGO
                    How can you say that?  You know it's
                    not true.

                              FROCK
                    Yes it is.  I'm tired and I'm no
                    longer needed --

                              MARGO
                    My work on fossil intermediates
                    would be crippled without you.

                              FROCK
                    With all due respect, dear, that's
                    bull.  You dance rings around me with
                    your new technology.  You've left me
                    in the dust.

                              MARGO
                        (stubbornly loyal)
                    Your work is highly relevant.  What
                    about your display on Primitive
                    Pharmacology?  Cuthbert told me
                    himself he was going to feature it
                    prominently in the Superstition
                    Exhibit.

                              FROCK
                    Healing plant use among the Ki tribe
                    of Bechuanaland has been cancelled
                    to make room for Tibetan Erotic Art.

     Frock reaches out and squeezes her hand gently with a look that says
     the discussion is over.

                              FROCK
                    Come on.  I'll walk you back to the
                    elevator.

                              MARGO
                    I'm not giving up.

                              FROCK
                    You must.

     INT. MUSEUM HALLWAYS - DAY

     Frock rolls back down the hall the way Margo just came.  Margo is
     beside him, downcast.  She's not used to defeat.

                              FROCK
                    This isn't a death sentence.  Greg
                    has promised to teach me fly
                    fishing.  I'll garden.  I'll write.

                              MARGO
                    You are this museum.  It won't be the
                    same without you.

                              FROCK
                    Everyone needs a change of scenery.
                    I've been rolling down these halls
                    for forty-odd years.  That's quite
                    enough.

     Margo gets in the elevator reluctantly.  He smiles and meets her eye.

                              FROCK
                    I'll see you at lunch.

     He waves her off merrily.  But once the doors close and Margo's out of
     sight, Frock's smile fades and his shoulders sag.  He ducks his
     wheelchair quickly into the Hall of African Mammals.

     INT. HALL OF AFRICAN MAMMALS - AFTERNOON

     Two stories high, dark and dramatic.  A very special display.  Dioramas
     of lions, hippos, wart hogs etc.  In the middle is a large statue of a
     GORILLA beating its chest.  Frock takes refuge in the darkness of the
     exhibit.  His wheelchair sits in a quiet corner and we see him quickly
     wipe the back of his hands across his eyes.

     INT. MOLLUSKS EXHIBIT - DAY

     Shells and sea life line the walls.  A sign announces the exhibit
     "Mollusks and Our World."  The THIRD GRADE CLASS sweeps in.  Larry and
     Henry start to sing "Mollusks and Our World" to the tune of "Welcome
     to Our World", the F.A.O. Schwartz theme song.  Mrs. Beasley shoots
     them the evil eye and Henry whines...