Juicy scene. No context. First draft.

SEAN: What sort of comfort is that for me? What good is that to me? Simon: I'm going to die. Your scientific predictions about the planet are no use to me, because I'm not going to be on it.

THE MASTER: I'm sorry, but the world doesn't care about that.

SEAN: But I care. Everything I have is being taken away from me. Faces, one by one. The people I knew. The work I've done.

THE MASTER: That's the only kind of immortality I can offer you. Your work will live on.

SEAN: Yeah. In a paper with his name on it!

ANDREW: Sean... I acknowledged your contribution.

SEAN takes a piece of paper out of his pocket. This is your paper. It's garnered over a thousand citations. It might yet be the best thing you do. Here's the first equation. It's mine. Here's the derivation. All this is mine. I wrote it down for you after our conversation in the pub at Newmarket. You thanked me in a footnote.

THE MASTER: You are saying things you can't go back on.

ANDREW: Sean. You're tired and you're not thinking straight.

SEAN: Because I haven't got the calculus of forces right? Because I'm going to be off the scene soon, so why should it matter? You stole my work.

ANDREW: You need to forget about this.

JACOB: Dad...

SARAH: Shut up.

SEAN: No.

You stole something from me.

JACOB: Dad, did you...

SARAH: Jacob: be quiet.

Andrew becomes aware of Jacob's presence.

ANDREW: Newmarket, was it, Sean?

Long pause.

Well, you stole something from me.