Implied Consent: Cast of Characters and Act I, Scene I

This is a part of Mr. Stolyarov's play, Implied Consent. To navigate through the various parts of the play, go here.

Cast of Characters (in order of appearance):

Quintus Grummond, 95- Self-made multi-billionaire

Servant

Oswald Grummond, 60- Only son of Quintus Grummond

Wesley, 60- Friend of Oswald

Paramedic

Edward Mark, 35- Businessman whose firm was recently bought out by Grummond Estate

Raymond Neville, 33- Manager of Grummond Estate

Trent Roberts, 45- Lawyer for Oswald Grummond

Employee of the Estate of Grummond

Dr. Everett Waltonford, 25- Biotechnology scientist at Grummond Laboratories

Victoria Grummond, 30- Great-niece of Quintus Grummond

Guest at the Grummond Mansion

Reporters

Daniel Bailey, 45- Correspondent for Standard News

Judge Benson, 55

Tax Agents

Guards of Grummond Laboratories

Additional paramedics, reporters, guests at the mansion, tax agents, guards, laboratory assistants, and spectators at court should also be employed as extras.

Act I

Scene I

(Enter QUINTUS GRUMMOND with SERVANT, onto a delicately kept garden path leading to a vast jogging trail outside the Grummond Mansion. It is November 10, 2102, a fine day to be outdoors.)

SERVANT: Sir, my belated congratulations to you for a birthday several days past. In your ninety-fifth year, you are fit beyond anyone's expectations, and may yet outlive us all.

GRUMMOND: Ah, yes, the wonders of the technology of our age, coupled with a modicum of self-maintenance! Longevity was not always so easily attained, you know. When I was born in 2007, most people were already dead by their late seventies.

SERVANT: And you saw an opportunity...

GRUMMOND: Yes, and their genomes were scoured for those little errors that would spring up in their middle and late years and ruin their lives. Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, Huntington's, and a whole horde of cancers in their company plagued men. These are but names for you, without any special significance, but, in our time, they were scourges. Many men thought that the battle I had fought against those perils was futile, that I, an arrogant, inexperienced pup of a venture capitalist with his intricate theories and moral ideals, was defying the most powerful forces of nature, or worse, tampering with what it meant to be human. Yet my investments taught them the true meaning of humanity, not defined by its limitations, but rather by its ability to overcome them, that there was no reason to leave man at the mercy of accidental pairings of molecular bases. And there was no reason not to profit from this insight, either. I do think you know the history of my rise...

SERVANT: Indeed, sir. Are you ready for your run?

GRUMMOND: Yes. Here, take my coat and arrange for its storage. (Removes coat and gives it to SERVANT) Afterward, you may do as you see fit.

SERVANT: Sir.

(He leaves with the coat. GRUMMOND enters the trail and begins to jog, making loops that encompass one half of the stage. On the other half, the scene shifts to a luxuriously decorated living room in the Grummond Mansion, where OSWALD sits, sipping on glass after glass of wine. He is in the company of WESLEY, a childhood friend. Both men are slouched, slightly chubby, mischievously unkempt, and steadily graying and balding, as they are in their early sixties.)

OSWALD: Marvelously fine stuff. Father never drank or bought any of it, and I think it must have been a gift someone made for him forty or so years ago. Well, then, more for us. Ever drank forty-year-old wine before, Wesley?

WESLEY: No, I've not gotten that far in my collection. I'm buying wine of every prestigious sort from every year in which it was made, in reverse chronological order. I've just finished my collection of twenty-seven-year-old wine, so I still have a ways to go. And the older the wine is, the more expensive it becomes!

OSWALD: Here, I will treat you... but, on one condition... Tell me how you got the money to do this.

WESLEY: Oh, that. My uncle died a few months ago, and left me a fortune. Now, at first, it was locked up in some useless fund someplace where I was not supposed to have access to it, but I got my lawyer, Trent Roberts, to settle things for me.

OSWALD (leaning forward with interest): Really?

WESLEY: Yes, Trent is a miracle worker. He says that he can tackle any case and any suit, just with what is already in his suitcase; he never showed me what was there, but it must be something powerful indeed. He was once able to convince a judge that the other side was composed of butterflies dreaming of being men, and, being butterflies, did not have any rights under the law. At another case, he cited the fact of his client being a butterfly dreaming to be a man as reason to apply numerous animal rights statutes in his favor. My case was pretty easy by comparison, you see.

OSWALD: Hmmm... I wonder if I could give him a call.

(In the meantime, QUINTUS GRUMMOND suddenly grasps his chest and contorts his body in agony, as a heart failure cuts short his jog. He falls to the ground unconscious.)

WESLEY: What, you have a suit?

OSWALD (drunk): I have many suits, of course! Though I prefer casual wear.

WESLEY (appropriates wine bottle after seeing that OSWALD is no longer able to lift a glass with precision): But are you sure you can afford one more?

OSWALD: If all goes well, I'll be able to pay for as many suits as I please!

WESLEY: If you wish, I'll have Trent come over. But I warn you, this man demands millions.

OSWALD (mumbling): I'll suit him with what I offer (collapses into chair).

(In the meantime, the SERVANT, walking in the vicinity, stumbles on the unconscious GRUMMOND. He is horrified by the apparent mishap, and runs back to the mansion to inform OSWALD. Several seconds later, the SERVANT rushes into the living room, breathing heavily.)

SERVANT: The young Mr. Grummond may be disturbed to know that his father has lost his consciousness and lies prostrate on the jogging path, with neither pulse nor breathing!
OSWALD (feigning shock): What? This is terrible! A calamity! Why had I not been informed of this earlier? (Glares at servant.) Have you been neglecting your duties?!

SERVANT (afraid of OSWALD's wrath): My sincerest apologies. I came as soon as I could.

OSWALD (deliberates the matter with a spark in his eyes absolutely improper to the occasion): I suppose I believe you. I also think you'll be believed if you say that in court. Very well. Call the paramedics immediately! (Whispers to WESLEY): Call Trent Roberts immediately, too! (WESLEY nods and leaves.)

(SERVANT extracts a visual image transmitter and looks into it with a sense of urgency. The transmitter is connected by a special line to the underground tunnels that ambulances use to travel almost instantly to their destinations. The medics are aware of the identity of the caller and the address without needing to be informed of it, as each visual transmitter is automatically able to recognize the owner of every other through an advanced system of caller ID.)

SERVANT: Medics, come here immediately! Quintus Grummond is on the brink of death!

PARAMEDIC (appears momentarily, from below stage, at the scene of GRUMMOND's fall, begins to examine the entrepreneur.): He has been out of his consciousness for some time. It looks like his heart suddenly stopped pumping blood.

OSWALD (interested): Just stopped?

PARAMEDIC: Yes, there was no defect in it that I could see. And my hand-held screen here shows quite an accurate diagram of his particular heart's internal structure. He was extremely healthy in his old age. It was just that his heart, like all of ours, was naturally programmed, by his genome, to perform only a certain amount of beats, and no more. He was on his last beat when he collapsed.

SERVANT (genuinely worried): But can it still beat, potentially?

PARAMEDIC: Of course. We can place him on life support indefinitely, and induce as many artificial beats of his heart as we need. Moreover, should his heart ever begin to manifest any deficiencies, we can always infuse some fresh cells into it and restore it.

OSWALD (in a sly, devious voice) But what about his brain?

PARAMEDIC: That is... a slight problem. The lengthy time period between his fall and my arrival had deprived his brain of blood and oxygen and rendered it defunct. He is, I fear, brain dead.

SERVANT (hopeful): But you will still place him on life support, no?

PARAMEDIC: Indeed. We had a... special arrangement with Mr. Grummond. In the event he should ever be disabled in any manner, we were instructed to sustain him on life support, indefinitely, no matter what amount of his wealth this would consume. This would not be a problem, given his immense fortune, of course.

OSWALD (scowls subtly, in a manner inaudible to the other characters): My fortune.

PARAMEDIC: I shall ensure that Mr. Grummond receives the optimal care, and that his life will be perfectly secure while he is with us. (Summons several assistants, who lay GRUMMOND on a mobile pallet, and disappear with him below stage.)

WESLEY (returning, with a slight grin): Oswald, Trent said it would be his pleasure to work for you. How shall you make financial arrangements?

OSWALD: Servant, leave! (SERVANT obediently departs.) Now, Wesley, how shall I pay? Through the Estate of Grummond. (They leave the stage, engaged in inaudible chatter.)