Zardoz Page #3

There is a stackup on some circuits.

Well, I've got time, and plenty of it.

Three weeks.

Define three weeks.

21 days, 504 hours,

30,240 minutes,

one million 814,400...

Do you mean he'd never seen

a clock before?

Obviously not.

- Are you not taking food with us, May?

- No.

Come, Zed. This way.

- She's taking her studies very seriously.

- She only has three weeks.

- Do you know yet how the brutal came here?

- No conclusion.

Insufficient data received.

Go in. Go on.

- Look into the ring.

- No retina abnormalities.

Fundus normal.

Disc and retinal vessels normal.

No haemorrhages or exudates.

Macular area clear.

Attention. Continuation of the trial

of George Saden of Vortex 4.

George Saden, accused of transmitting

a negative aura in second level.

This is not so.

I have studied our social, emotional

substructures for 140 years.

These thoughts

are constructive criticisms.

Pyramidical.

I am innocent of psychic violence.

As you examine my face and eyes,

you will see that this is true.

He's lying.

Are you looking for the head, Monster?

It's gone. Off on its endless journey

from vortex to vortex.

Round and round, like me and the bread,

for ever and ever.

- Will he be punished for that?

- Of course.

But you have no police,

no exterminators.

But we discuss it endlessly.

Every little sin and misdemeanour,

raked over and over.

- So what happens to him then?

- He'll get six months at least.

- Prison?

- Ageing.

- Ageing?

- Yes. I'm getting old myself.

Three months here, a year there.

These sentences add up.

So if you're bad

often enough, you'll die.

They make you old,

but they don't let you die.

- So what's to stop you killing yourself?

- I do now and again.

But the eternal tabernacle

simply rebuilds me.

- Would you like to see immortality at work?

- Yes.

Well, get a move on, then.

This is where they live...

the renegades.

They're condemned

to an eternity of senility.

We provide them with food,

but they are shunned.

They're malicious and vicious,

so in and out fast.

I myself feel quite at home in there.

Loamer.

Gray.

I loved this girl once, Monster.

You idle apathetic!

Melancholy sight.

Grayler.

Bone.

Whoa there, boy. Whoa.

You are asked to vote at the termination

of the trial of George Saden.

Final statement from the accused begins.

I confess to the charges,

but plead mitigation.

I try to suppress these thoughts,

but they leak out in second level

through the head wound of my third death.

I was imperfectly repaired.

No. That is not true.

- I think what I think.

- That's more like it.

I'm with you, George.

I hate you all.

I hate you all.

I hate you all.

Especially me.

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