Sean lay on the cold, hard floor looking up at the bare arched ceiling of his robot maintenance shop. All around him the robots stood, erect and motionless like an ancient stone circle; monuments to a new age. Sean felt no hope. He had nothing to look forward to. He knew something about history – well, he knew what he could glean from the records that were kept on board. He had viewed the archives and images of the ancient world and man’s struggle to exist. Read how the ingenuity of his race had led them to strive and develop and evolve – socially, morally and personally. Discovered how the increasingly complex needs of the individual became paramount as aspirations moved beyond subsistence; eventually man aspired only to find himself, to secure his place in an ever-changing world. He knew only too well how in the end Man, in his endless quest for more, only succeeded in destroying his world (admittedly in a very imaginative way). History had all led to the hasty exodus of which Sean was lucky, he supposed, to be a part. Ultimately, that very thing that defines humankind ambition, self-awareness and opposable thumbs – made disaster inevitable. So what had Sean aspired to? To one day see a sky? To breathe un-recycled air? Realistically not. He aspired to love, but love had been hard to come by in such a confined environment. It was still hard for him to know, really, how he felt about his wife. He had nothing to compare it to, no other experiences love or life. He had aspired to put on a play; a real play with real people who thought and felt and functioned in the same way as the characters they were portraying. Like his race before him, he had over-reached himself. What he aspired to would destroy him. As Sean lay he thought about his ass, and how much he would miss it once he had been sacrificed to the mob.

He held out little hope that now, following the morning’s debacle, his family would finally pull together and help him retain it, just for a little while. He doubted that, even if they did, it would make much difference in the end. They couldn’t act, he couldn’t direct, and people didn’t want to see it anyway…… they wanted the Robot Players – the perfect, shiny, cold skinned automatons who never missed a cue, forgot a line or read someone else’s part. Whatever happened, his ass was toast.

The clock ticked defiantly past 8pm. It was 8.03pm in fact. Sean lay with closed eyes, making desperate last use of his aforementioned posterior. He opened his eyes again in order to stare at the just-too-low-to-be-comfortable ceiling. Instead of the roof, he saw Claire’s face rather sternly looking down upon him.

“Get up Sean, let’s get this over with.” “Eh?” grunted Sean.
Claire wrenched him to his feet, whereupon he stood, blinking blearily at his entire extended family, plus someone else he didn’t quite recognise.
“Who’s that?” he mumbled
“This is my mate Mick” piped up Danny “you said you might need some help”
Mick slouched, staring surlily at Sean from beneath a hoodie, and looking for all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Can he read??” Sean blurted out, rather tactlessly and slightly shrilly, for the adrenaline was once again getting the better of him.
The stare turned insolent. Sean didn’t care. Suddenly he was embracing the possibility that he could do this, and retain his ass for posterity. As it were.
“Right” he said, pulling himself together.

Sean clapped his hands loudly and enthusiastically. It was completely unnecessary since everyone in the room was already staring at him, waiting to see what he would do next. Sean needed it though. He needed to focus.

“We’re about to do something that hasn’t been attempted for decades. Before all this, before we found ourselves fleeing a doomed world, actors such as ourselves would be feted as heroes, celebrities; elite amongst our kind, in the same way that the Robot Players were… erm… are now.” “Sean?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Get on with it will you?”
“But darling, I’m just….”
“Sean, I think you’re losing people” “I told you that boy’s a prat, didn’t I luv?”

The whisper was a little louder than a whisper and probably deliberately so. David Miller was smiling, ever so slightly. Sean pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Ok, well if you all grab the scripts I gave you?”
“Sean.”
“Yes, dear?”
“You didn’t give us any scripts.”
“Really?”
“No. We all left remember? You really have to….”
“OK” Sean interjected, loudly, before scampering to a disorganised pile of his belongings in the corner of the workshop and scrabbling around a bit.
“OK.” Sean said irritably as he scrambled ever more frantically in the detritus.
“Right!” Sean cried triumphantly, as he emerged carrying an armful of the digital notepads. “Here are your parts…” Sean moved to each would-be actor in turn, handing them a script.

As Sean turned and walked back to the front of the room, his assembled players conferred and passed each other the correct scripts. Amidst the first murmurs of discontent, there was a clicking of stylus on screen, because secretly everyone was quite looking forward to it. Well, they wouldn’t have been there, otherwise…

Sean stood still for a while to gather his thoughts, his back to the cast, for he had become rather excitable and was aware that he was losing control of himself. It was only now that he was coming to realise how much stress he had been under of late. He went once again to the pile of stuff in the corner of the room, this time to find his own notepad. By the time he emerged successfully, the cast were silent, now engrossed in the great work.

“What are they on about?” Danny asked.
“I don’t think you’ve got the English version here, son” suggested Roger
“It’s Shakespeare!” cried Sean, as if that explained everything, and looked at his own screen. Which made very little sense to him.
“Look.” said Sean, in his most re-assuring voice. “Let’s read it through I’m sure we’ll get he hang of it – everyone take their positions, and let’s get going.”

Everyone just stood looking blankly at each other.

“Scene 1?” beseeched Sean. Everyone just stood looking blankly at Sean. Who pushed forward with abandon.
“Ok, scene 1. It starts with Francesco and Bernardo. Danny you can play Francesco, and… erm….” “Mick” Danny said, helpfully “Yes, Mick you be Ber-nar-do.”

Sean pronounced Bernardo phonetically and very slowly, so that Danny’s unsavoury looking friend would be able to understand.
“Sean.” Danny’s friend finally spoke up.
“Look, can you just read the part for now?” Sean was becoming frustrated. Already.
Danny’s friend grunted in resigned fashion.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (i), verses 1-14

Francisco – Danny Oliveson
Bernardo – Mick Poultice

BERNARDO:Who’s there?
FRANCISCO:Nay, answer me, stand and unfold yourself
BERNARDO:Long live the King!
FRANCISCO:Bernardo?
BERNARDO:Sean!

-------

“Look, I’ve told you once, just read it through, we’ll work it out as we go” Although Sean had to concede that this scruffy looking character did read very well.
“sigh”

Sean shooed Mick with his arms, in the universal symbol for getting on with it.

“come on, start again” “sigh”
“and stop sighing!”
“sigh”
“sigh”
“that’s not funny, Danny”

they wouldn’t get through the first scene at this rate.
“bloody hell, lad” said David.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (i), verses 1-14

Francisco – Danny Oliveson Bernardo – Mick Poultice

BERNARDO:Who’s there? FRANCISCO:Doctor
BERNARDO:Doctor Who?
ALL:Insane laughter

-------

Sean sagged to the floor, whilst he allowed the laughter to subside. He caught Claire staring at him, with a look somewhere between pity and contempt. The look alarmed him. Eventually, however, the hilarity subsided. Sean picked himself up, and the actors started again.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (i), verses 11-20

Francisco – Danny Oliveson
Bernardo – Mick Poultice

BERNARDO: Well, good night
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus

FRANCISCO:I think I hear them. Stand ho! Who is there?
HORATIO: Who’s playing Horatio?
BERNARDO:I was trying to tell you, guv…
MARCELLUS:

-------

“Tell me what?” Sean snapped back

“We don’t appear to have a Horatio. Or a Marcellus. And last time I read Hamlet, I’m pretty sure Horatio at least played quite an important role….
“Look Mick, just read the part!”
“I can’t, there aren’t enough actors…”
“Oohhh… bugger” Sean whimpered, and collapsed to the ground again.

As, to everyone’s bemusement, he rolled around and about on the cold hard (but surprisingly comfortable) composite flooring, the door to the corridor hissed open. In walked the cleaner, pushing a mop and carrying a bucket of soapy water. Hugo started slightly as he realised how many people were in the bay before continuing jauntily in his work, whistling tunelessly as he pushed his mop across the room and around Sean’s prostrate form.

Sean was roused from his self-indulgence by the touch of the damp, musty mop against his pale silken cheek. He struggled again to his feet to face up to the source of this horrible cruelty, only to find that it took the form of Hugo’s lanky frame. Hugo could be counted as one of Sean’s closest friends. They often spent time together, for Sean regularly worked late in order to seek solace from his family, or “Seany time” as he like to call it. Hugo’s role on the ship was something of an anomaly. His father had been requisitioned to work as a cleaner back when the cleaning droids had been requisitioned to form the Robot Players, and Hugo had uncomplainingly continued in the family line. What followed then, proved to be some kind of righteous fulcrum of cosmic symmetry.

“Hugo!” Sean said somewhat emotionally, before draping himself around Hugo. His family looked on, incredulous, as he hugged the cleaner much as a long lost lover would.
“Hugo,” Sean said again, taking a step back and clutching Hugo by both shoulders “you will play Horatio.”
The deep sincerity in Sean’s tone took Hugo aback and anyway, he wasn’t one for confrontation.
“OK” Hugo replied, uncomprehendingly.
Sean held onto Hugo for far longer than was comfortable, smiling up at him warmly and, if truth be told, rather disconcertingly.

“What about Marcellus then guv’nor?”
“What?”
“Marcellus..” Mick had an eye for detail that Sean wouldn’t have anticipated, looking at him. “Oh, Marcellus isn’t important”
“Well, he’s in this whole scene….”
“Sean have you ever actually read Hamlet?” Claire interjected.
“Shut up dear.”
“Don’t call me dear in that tone of voice…”
“Fine” continued Sean, in an equally fractious tone “Danny, you’re Marcellus.” “But I’m already Francisco” complained Danny
“Who leaves before Marcellus arrives..”
“So I leave the stage, and then come back on again right away?” asked Danny, confused

Sean stood staring at his brother, arms spread wide, as if nothing in the world could be simpler.

“Inspired work, guv, might need to find a fake beard….”
“Shut up, Mark”
“Mick” said Mick.
“OK are we quite finished yet? Can we just read through this scene this evening, just the once? Do we all think we can manage that?”
“Fine” came a murmur
“Fine” said Sean.
“Sean, I really don’t appreciate you talking to me like that…” Claire said, seething. “please” Sean whimpered, using every ounce of his acting talent to make plain how desperate he was to get on with things.
“You know,” said David, “I really don’t appreciate you speaking to my daughter like that” “look, I’m sorry, OK?” Sean mumbled
“You will be” Claire said.

The situation resolved Sean re-aligned his frayed nerves, and issued Hugo with a spare script.

“What’s this for?” Hugo asked, in all innocence
“You’re Horatio, you promised” Sean replied, pathetically.
“Who’s Horatio?”
“Erm, he’s a character in Hamlet; we’re going to perform Hamlet on Sunday. You promised..” tears began to well up in Sean’s eyes.
“What happened to the robots?” Hugo said, perfectly reasonably.
“They’re FINE” Sean insisted, again feeling growing tension in his temple. “anyway, are you in or out?”
“What do I have to do?” His voice cracking with the strain, Sean outlined the basics. “Wherever it says ‘Horatio’ in the script I just gave you, you read the bit next to it. Can you do that for me please Hugo?”
“Sure!”
“Marvellous. Shall we?”

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (i), verses 40-45

Marcellus – Danny Oliveson
Bernardo – Mick Poultice
Horatio – Hugo Spankworthy
Ghost – Roger Oliveson

Enter the Ghost

MARCELLUS:Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again
BERNARDO: In the same figure like the King that’s dead
MARCELUS: Thou art a scholar. Speak to it, Horatio
BERNARDO: Looks ‘a not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.
HORATIO:

-------

Sean swiftly realised the problem and dug Hugo in the ribs, jabbing with his finger at the correct place in the script.

-------

HORATIO: Ah… OK…. erm…. Most like. It…… harrows me with …erm ….. fear and … uh.. wonder

-------

Sean winced as Hugo massacred the script, but the fact he now had a full complement of characters did fill him, at last, with something approaching hope. As the first rehearsal ended and everyone hurried home Sean could even reflect on an entire scene completed. At this rate he knew that they would be lucky to read through the whole play once ahead of the performance, but small victories were the only victories he had for now. It may have been dreadful, but it was a start.